Authors: Amanda Flower
Seeing that I was alone, O.M. picked up her half-smoked cigarette and fished a lighter out of her oversized dark denim jeans.
I set the flowers on one of the umbrella tables, remnants of the Blocken Fourth of July picnic that seemed so long ago. “Care if I sit beside you?” I asked.
She shrugged. I climbed onto the picnic table next to her and leaned against the garage. We didn’t speak for a few minutes. O.M. smoked, and I secondhand smoked. Her pixie-like face was devoid of makeup and expression.
“Want a cigarette?” She held the pack out to me.
“No thanks.”
She shoved it back in her pocket and turned her face away. I wished I smoked.
“Those chocolates look good.”
She handed me the box. Moon-shaped thumbnail prints indicated ninety percent of them had been investigated and passed over. Chocolate encrusted O.M.’s right thumbnail, creating a muddy swamp color with her poison-green nail polish.
I chose a piece that was free of nail marks. I popped it in my mouth. Apricot. Yuck. “You know there’s a guide on the box lid, so you don’t have to mutilate all the candies.”
“When they get all mixed up, the guide’s shot to hell.”
She had a point. I swallowed the apricot candy. At least she was talking to me, even if belligerently.
I tried to soften her further. “I like your hair.”
She ran her hand, the one free of chocolate, thankfully, through it. After a full minute of silence, she whispered, “I dyed it for the wedding to make Mom mad. She hasn’t noticed yet.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Yeah.”
“When is the funeral?”
“How would I know? They don’t tell me anything.” She took one last drag of her cigarette and stubbed it under the picnic table. She carefully placed the butt in her pocket. “My parents and Kirk are fighting over the arrangements and stuff. He wants her to be buried in Virginia. If he thinks that Mom’s going to let that happen, he really is psycho.”
“He did lose his fiancée,” I said in Kirk’s defense.
“I lost my sister, and I didn’t go crazy. He was so angry yesterday. I thought he was going to hit my dad.”
“Over the funeral?”
“Yeah, I guess. I was upstairs in my room with music on when he came over. I couldn’t really hear them until Kirk started yelling at Mom and Dad. By the time I got to the stairs and could see them, Kirk was so bonkers, I couldn’t understand what he was saying with that Southern accent of his. After Kirk left, I asked what happened, but Mom acted like I wasn’t even there.”
Looked like I had my first suspect: the furious fiancé.
I saw an opening. “Have you been missing any photographs of Olivia?”
She seemed surprised by the question. “No. I mean I’m not missing any. But if my parents are . . .” she shrugged. “Why?”
“Uh,” I began. I didn’t want to tell her about the engagement picture, but I didn’t want to be another exclusive adult. “Things get misplaced.”
O.M. frowned. Before she could persist, we heard a car roll up the driveway. A car door slammed, and a moment later, Mrs. Blocken stood by the gate I’d left opened.
I jumped off the picnic table.
“Olga!” she called. “Have you seen—” Mrs. Blocken stopped when she spotted me. Her face reddened to the shade of her coif. “What are you doing here?”
“I—”
“Leave my house at once. How dare you come here?”
O.M. pulled her knees to her chest and looked away, out into the yard.
“I didn’t mean to upset you, Mrs. Blocken.” I felt like a five-year-old.
Her eyes blazed. Her attention transferred to the bouquet of flowers I bought. “Where did these come from?” She picked up the vase and read the card. “Do you know why Olivia chose you as a bridesmaid?”
I blinked, struck dumb by the question.
“To get back at me.”
“At you,” I managed to say.
“She wanted to get married in Virginia, and I said absolutely not, that her father and I would only pay for a Stripling wedding.” She spun the vase in her hands. “I didn’t know about the wedding party until a month ago when it was too late to replace you. You should have heard the glee in her voice when she said your name.”
Mrs. Blocken looked me directly in the eye and dropped the vase onto the cement walk. The beautiful hand-blown glass shattered into a thousand pieces.
“I’m sorry to bother you,” I whispered and fled, trampling the lilies and roses as I brushed past her.
I told myself that I didn’t care about Mrs. Blocken’s hostility, but my tear ducts thought differently. Wiping my eyes and muttering, I drove to the duplex. I pulled into the drive and spotted Ina sitting on the front porch, Theodore in her lap. I rubbed my face vigorously before getting out, so it’d appear I only had a nasty sunburn.
“India,” Ina called. “I read the
Dispatch
this morning. It doesn’t look good for Mark, does it?”
I waved away her question. “How did Theodore get out here?”
“Who? This little mite?” She scratched him under his double chin. He purred with the ferocity of a jet engine.
“I don’t think
little
is the right adjective, but yes, the cat in your lap.”
“Well.” She settled in for a good tell-all.
I sat down on the glider beside my door. This could take all afternoon.
Theodore purred.
“I was out in the yard, rotating my leprechauns,” Ina said.
I glanced at the yard; the leprechauns were in a different configuration.
“You know they get tired of being in the same place all the time.”
I nodded and wondered if I had anything in my duplex suitable for lunch.
“I was trading Blinky with Petunia.”
“What?”
“India, you really should learn their names.” At my blank stare, she added, “The leprechauns’ names.” She shook her head in disgust.
I rubbed my left shoulder. “Ina, what about the cat?”
“Right. I was out here moving the gang around, when I heard a terrible ruckus from your apartment. I mean really terrible. Banging. Screams and yells. It was awful. I thought for sure you were being murdered. You know the town’s homicide rate skyrocketed this week.”
Yeah, from zero to one.
“I broke into your apartment with my key, and Templeton was beatin’ the stuffing out of this little guy. Your wildcat was in a rage. He was biting and scratching. Just awful. I clapped my hands, and Templeton ran into your bedroom, but poor little fella just lay there. I felt for sure he was half-dead. I picked him up as gentle as could be and brought him over to my place to care for him. He didn’t make a peep while I tended him and brushed his fur back into place. Templeton might have rabies. Won’t that be sad if you have to put him down?”
“Templeton does not have rabies.” I enunciated each syllable.
Ina looked doubtful. Theodore hung over her thin arms like a swooning maiden. It really wasn’t the best day for me to referee cat wrestling. “Can you watch Theodore for the rest of the afternoon, until they both settle down?”
“Why of course. I’d hate for anything to happen to this little fella.”
Little
. I snorted mentally. “Do you need a litter box or anything like that?”
“No, no, I have everything I need for Fella, left over from Archie.”
Archie was Ina’s prehistoric feline who floated to the big catnip garden in the sky three years ago. The cat had lived to age twenty-five.
“I’ll wash Archie’s things down real good for the fella.” Glumly, she added, “They’ve been collecting dust for so long.”
“I better check on Templeton.” I hurried into my apartment. I shut and locked the door behind me. For whatever that was worth. Ina had a key.
Tufts of black and gray cat fur littered the living room and kitchen. I followed the line of fur puffs down the short hall into my bedroom, where the real battle had raged. Fur covered the bed and the fitted sheet had innumerable tears. My laziness had paid off. If I had made my bed that morning, the cats would have shredded my grandmother’s quilt.
Templeton slept in a tight ball in the middle of the bed. The slumber of the triumphant. I sat on the bed next to him, and he opened one yellow eye. A tuft of gray fur hung from his mouth.
After checking the cat over for injuries and finding none, I carried him to the kitchen where I presented him with a peace offering in the form of a can of tuna.
Even with the unwelcome distraction of Feline D-Day, I couldn’t chase the image of Mrs. Blocken and the vase of flowers from my mind. I had to think of a better plan of attack to find the origin of that photograph. Only I, and now Mark, knew that I’d stolen the photo from his office. If I continued to ask about it, suspicions would rise. Even O.M. had asked me why I wanted to know if they’d misplaced any photos of Olivia. I could easily imagine what her mother would say. I would have to be subtle. I laughed in spite of myself. My parents had not set any example in subtlety.
A tap on the door knocked me out of my reverie. Ina. Theodore was draped over her right shoulder, covering her entire torso.
“Why is the door locked?” she asked.
“I didn’t want Templeton to get out and wreak havoc in the neighborhood.”
Ina ignored the transparent lie. “In all the excitement, I forgot to tell you that that filthy Englishman stopped by earlier.”
“Filthy Englishman?”
“That detective fellow.”
“Detective Mains?”
“Yeah, that’s right.” Ina adjusted Theodore higher on her shoulder.
“What did he want?”
Ina thought for a minute. “Let me see,” she paused. “He showed up when I was breaking Fella and Templeton apart. I’d left the door open, and he waltzed right in. Isn’t that like the English, always invading something?”
“What did he want?” I repeated before she could travel too far off track.
“I’m getting to that,” she said. “Of course, I’d remember better if Fella and I had a place to sit.”
Mutely, I let her in. She sat on the edge of the velvet sofa and placed Fella, aka, Theodore, next to her. In my peripheral vision, I watched Templeton streak to my bedroom. I wanted to tell her to get on with it, but Ina does everything according to her own sense of timing, so I waited.
“He asked if you were home, and I said no. Then, he asked if I knew where you were, and I said that you do not consult me concerning your schedule.” She bestowed me with a look.
“Is that all? Did he say why he wanted to see me?”
“No, he didn’t. Normally, I would have asked, but I was so worried about Fella here, I didn’t. I thought Fella was a goner, for sure. But you’re made of stronger stuff; aren’t you, boy?”
The cat purred agreement.
“Thank you for telling me, Ina, but I have to be off again . . .” Ina cocked her head at me, not picking up on the obvious hint.
“I don’t think that Templeton and Theodore should be together for a while, so if you could take Theodore back to your apartment, I’d really appreciate it.”
“I see your point.” She rose and hefted Theodore back onto her shoulder. “Where are you off to, in case you get any more surprise visitors?”
I ushered the two to the door. “Tell them, I’m at the dentist.”
If Mains was looking for me, I knew I needed to find out about the engagement picture fast before he figured it out. Dr. Blocken was the next obvious person to talk to, and I was betting that he was at his office. When Olivia and I were kids, that’s where he’d always gone after a fight with his wife. I just hoped that he’d talk to me.
Dr. Blocken’s dentist office angled onto the square, a circle of manicured grass and centennial sycamores surrounded by pavement and flat-faced store fronts. The Presbyterian and Lutheran churches indicated east and west, respectively. The square’s real estate is a coveted commodity in Stripling and parking on the square even more so. However, at one-thirty on a summer weekday afternoon, I easily found a space two buildings down from Dr. Blocken’s office, which butted hips with a beauty parlor on the right and a CPA on the left. A tanning salon leased the second floor of his building. Meticulously renovated with Western Reserve airs, the building shone as if it existed at the turn of the twentieth century. A large white wooden tooth declared Dr. Donald Blocken D.D.S. over the main entrance.
A woman smoking a filter cigarette stood under the tooth. Blond, burly, and busty in office casual dress, her head appeared to sit directly on her bosom like a basketball on a lopsided shelf.
The basketball rolled left to right as I approached the door. “Closed.” She took a long drag from her cigarette and added, “Family emergency.”
I felt my shoulders droop.
“If you have some type of dental emergency, all of Dr. B’s patients are being referred to Dr. Keller over on Darcy Avenue.” She spoke with rapid-fire precision like a woman too busy to relish her words. “We don’t take walk-ins anyway. You didn’t have an appointment, did you?”
I shook my head.
“I didn’t think so. I would’ve known.”
“I’m a friend of the Blocken family and was wondering if I could speak to Dr. Blocken on a non-dental matter.”
She picked stray bits of tobacco ash off her tongue. “You’re not a reporter, are you?”
“No.”
“There was one from the
Dispatch
here earlier today, salivating at the doorstep. If you are a friend of the Blocken family, you certainly know why.”
“Olivia.”
She nodded. She looked me up and down, starting at the crown of my head and stopping at the tip of my toes. “What happened to your toe?”
“Cooler fell on it.”
She grunted. “Dr. Blocken’s here. What did you say your name was?”
“I didn’t. I’m India.” I omitted my last name.
She followed suit. “Nance. I’m Dr. B’s office manager.” She held out her hand. I shook it.
She dropped her cigarette on the walk and crushed it with her flat foot. “Wait here while I tell him.” Nance dug a key out of her hip pocket and unlocked the office door, shutting it behind her. For the next ten minutes, I witnessed downtown Stripling loll through the long July afternoon. A handful of pedestrians shuffled by, and the garden club, grouped on a nearby corner, argued over the cause of the drooping petunias fringing the edges of the square. Some members decried too much water; others claimed not enough.