The Case of the Invisible Dog (18 page)

“She's the caregiver who was working at the Pittfords' last night. She was brought in for questioning because the paramedics thought there was something suspicious about the symptoms that the Pittfords had. And the fact that they both got ill at the same time. The minute she told us about two women showing up in the Pittfords' driveway last night—one of whom was dressed as a plumber with a fake beard but then forgot to disguise her voice—I knew it had to be you and Shirley Homes.”

“Are the Pittfords going to be okay?” I asked, wanting to know and realizing that further denials were pointless.

“They're alive. But it looks as if they'll both be heading to a convalescent home in a few days. It will take them a long time to recover…if they ever do.”

“What happened?”

“We still don't know.”

“Was it…deliberate? I mean, did someone do something to them?”

“Like what?” he asked, cocking his head and staring at me with an expression in his eyes—think cat staring at mouse—that made me want to bolt from the room.

“I don't know. It's just seems strange that they would both get sick at the same exact time. And after what happened to Matt— Why are you looking at me like that? You don't think that
we
had anything to do with whatever happened to them, do you?”

“I need to know what you were doing over there,” Detective Owen said, and he wasn't kidding around. Those deep blue eyes of his were looking
discomfortingly
serious.

“Um, well, Shirley wanted to try out this new disguise she'd come up with for a, uh, costume party she's going go. And we were both hungry so she suggested that we head over to Waffle Barn. She just loves those Barn Buster waffles. And it just so happens that the Waffle Barn is very close to Matt Peterman's neighborhood. And we happened to be driving down that cul-de-sac, and we happened to see that caregiver sitting out on the front porch having a cigarette…” My voice trailed off as a new and disturbing thought occurred to me.

“You
happened
to be driving down the street where Matt Peterman lived? And you happened to see Debbie Slack sitting on the porch of the Pittford house, right across the street from Matt Peterman's house?” His frown deepened as he waited for me to give him an answer.

“We thought, maybe, you know, since we were in the area, that if we drove by at night we might see a dog running around. We—that is, Shirley doesn't believe that Matt was dreaming when he heard those barks. She's still trying to, um, find a logical explanation. Like, maybe a stray dog that runs around there at night looking for food. She's a little obsessive about things like that.”

I knew that I was rambling on idiotically. I also knew that I should probably fill Detective Owen in on what Shirley and I had discovered inside Matt's house. But somehow, sitting there, knowing he wouldn't take me seriously, and not wanting to increase whatever suspicions he already had about us, I found that I couldn't.

“Not the invisible dog again. Now, look, we have a viable suspect for Matt Peterman's murder. We are going to close that case. You two need to quit interfering and stop this nonsense about that stupid dog.”

“A suspect?” I asked. “You mean his— I mean, who?”

“I can't tell you that.”

“But what about the Pittfords?” I blurted out. I knew I was getting on his nerves—never a good idea with a homicide detective who already has his suspicions about you—but I couldn't help feeling that he was missing the big picture.

“What about them?”

“If someone did this to them, then don't you think—” I stopped myself. No, he wouldn't think that any of this was tied together. But I did. I just didn't know how. “I mean, what are you going to do about it?”

“Investigate. Just like we always do. Without any help from you or Shirley Homes.”

I thought long and hard as I drove to the office that morning. The suspect Detective Owen had in mind had to be Patty, the ex-wife. I was starting to have some doubts. She might have had a reason to torment Matt, and to kill him, but why would she hurt the Pittfords? So what if she didn't do it? What if this poor, innocent woman ended up rotting in jail for years and years? There were stories like that all the time. I almost got the part of the wife of a falsely accused murderer. She held out hope for as long as she could. But it wasn't as if they had the greatest marriage. And she was still young, and wanted children. I understood her conflict. I could have acted the hell out of that part.

Or…what if she hadn't acted alone? What if she'd had help? And that's why the Pittfords were now in the hospital. They had discovered something or overheard something that they weren't supposed to…something about the invisible dog…

When I walked into the office that morning, anxious to share my new theory, Shirley's door was already open. I spotted that hat on top of the bookcase out of the corner of my eye. I toyed with the idea of sneaking in there one day, and taking that hat, and…

“Tammy?” Shirley called out. “Come join us.”

I saw Myra sitting in the chair across from Shirley as soon as I got halfway across the room. Today she was dressed in a wild purple shirt, pants that were swirling with large red and purple flowers, and purple lace-up boots that came to the bottom of her knees.

“Tammy, hello,” Myra said as I walked into Shirley's office. “Shirley has been telling me that you're hot on the trail of a killer.”

“Those were not my words,” Shirley said, giving her head a small shake as she caught my eye.

“Sit down right here next to me, Tammy,” Myra said, smiling at me as she patted the chair next to her. “And spill all the gory details.” I took a seat. I wasn't sure what to think about Myra. I didn't know if Dr. Morgan had been telling the truth. I didn't know if she and Shirley had a simple sibling rivalry, or if there was something deeper going on, something that would end up harming Shirley.

Yes, she drove me nuts. But I wouldn't want to do anything that might help Myra take over her money and her life if that was her goal. “I believe that Shirley is being humble,” Myra purred, “which is very much out of character. Which leads me to believe that there is something truly delicious going on.”

“Not really,” I said. “Just a little investigation, that's all.”

“That's all?” she asked with raised eyebrows. “And it is still going on? It actually exists? It is not a figment of my sister's imagination?”

“No, it's real.”

“But poor Matt Peterman, your first client, is dead? And you think you might know who the real killer is?”

“Now, Myra,” Shirley said. “That is not what I said at all. I simply said we had some information that might possibly help the police in their investigation of our client's murder.”

“Ah,” Myra said, nodding her head. “And have you informed the police of this very important information?”

“Not as yet,” Shirley told her. “We have a few more details to put together.”

“Is that right, Tammy?” Myra asked, turning to face me. “That's all that is going on?”

“That's it,” I said. “In a nutshell.”

“In a nutshell. I see.” She was trying hard to act amused and indifferent, but I thought she seemed on edge and irritated. “And have you solved the mystery of Dr. Morgan's true identity?”

“No,” I said quickly, watching Myra's face for any sort of reaction, but her expression remained the same.

“No doubt one of my enemies trying to trick Tammy into giving them information,” Shirley added. “To no avail, though. Tammy is cleverer than that!”

“Your enemies? I see.” Myra peered across the desk at Shirley, who sat there with a serene expression on her face. Myra glanced over at me, and then back at Shirley, and finally back at me. “You seem like you are a person of sense, Tammy. I hope you will use it. Shirley has an unfortunate habit of dragging people along into her messes.”

“No messes so far,” I said lightly, giving her a smile while I lied through my teeth.

“Good to hear.” Myra stood up and smoothed down the oversized collar at the top of her purple shirt. “I hope you can help Shirley keep it that way. I am getting tired of having to come behind her with a mop and broom.”

“A task no one assigned to you,” Shirley said quietly.

“But one that is mine, nonetheless. Have a good and productive day.”

Shirley and I sat there silently until we heard Myra make her lumbering way through the office door and out the front. We listened to her footsteps go thumping down the stairs until they faded away.

“I apologize, Tammy,” Shirley said with a hint of color flushing her cheeks. “My sister is in many ways more intelligent than I am, if you can believe it. But she lacks courage. She lacks vision. She lacks imagination.” Shirley leaned back in her chair and sighed. “Together we could have…but it is fruitless to waste time on what might have been. And I am being selfish. I should be thinking about you, not my petty family concerns. How
are
you?” It was unsettling to be confronted with those large piercing eyes as they rested unblinkingly on my face.

“I'm fine,” I said hesitantly, thinking she was hinting around that she wanted to know if I have made a decision regarding my job. I wasn't sure what to say to her at this point. I wasn't even sure what I was going to do yet.

“Are you?”

“Yes.”

“You mean you didn't notice?” she asked, staring at me intently.

“Notice what?”

“Oh, dear. I don't even know how to say it. But it's the most dreadful news. Not for me, Tammy, but for you.”

Looking at the expression on Shirley's face as she stared back at me, I gripped the handles on either side of my chair. Whatever news she had must be very bad. Was it Aunt Ilene? Anna? I didn't stop to wonder what it was that she thought I should have noticed. I didn't stop to think why Shirley would know about it before me, or how anyone would have known to contact her. No one that I knew had the office number. I told everyone to call me on my cell if they needed to reach me. I shuddered at the thought of somebody I knew calling while I was out of the office and Shirley answering the phone.

“Oh, dear. I never thought I'd have to be the one to break it to you. It appears that your detecting skills have not come as far along as I had hoped. I was prepared to offer comfort—what little comfort I could. As you know that is not my strong point. It is not one of the strengths of the Homes family. Yes, we have the gift of superior intelligence, our uncanny ability to see what others miss. But we pay a price, a very dear price. We—”

“Shirley, for the love of God, just tell me.”

“It's…oh, how do I say this? Your beloved fern is gone, Tammy. Gone forever.”

“What?”

“Yes, it's true. Myra informs me that the atmosphere here is not conducive to the successful raising of a fern. There was fungus, Tammy, a fungus without a cure. It was only a matter of time. Myra took it down to her car before you arrived.”

“That's what you had to tell me?” I asked now that my heart had stopped pounding like a sledgehammer.

“Yes. I am so sorry. I know how much it meant to you, having that fern to take care of. A textbook case of transference: It was something to care about until Mr. Right comes along. I myself do not have that problem, of course. I don't have to wait for Mr. Right to fill the void of an empty life. I have a mind that is always waiting to be filled with new knowledge, new theories. But you—”

“Please stop.”

“You would rather not discuss it. The pain is still too fresh. I understand.”

“Yes, I would rather not discuss it,” I said through gritted teeth. There was no point in trying to convince her that the fern had simply been a way to fill my time when I first got there, and that I had no strong emotions one way or the other now that it was gone.

“Tammy, I know this is a painful subject for you. And forgive me if I am overstepping the boundaries of our relationship. But it has been clear to me for some time that you have a broken heart. Of course that is just a metaphor. If you really had a broken heart you would, naturally, be dead. But it is a powerful metaphor and I'm sure you know what I mean.

“Now, don't look so surprised. I am a Homes after all. I see what others miss. And I have also, unfortunately, been down this road with Myra many times before she finally gave up on men—or they gave up on her, I'm not sure which. I can see from the expression on your face that you do not wish to discuss this. Very well. Let me just say this.

“You are a wonderful, commonplace woman. I think the loss of your beloved fern will turn out to be a good thing in the end. It was, perhaps, an unhealthy attachment. Somewhere out there is a wonderful, commonplace man who will be perfect for you. Together the two of you will share quiet evenings enjoying your television shows. And on the weekends you can liven up your nights with bowling, or bingo, or a mindless movie based on comic book characters.

“And if Mr. Right doesn't come along, that doesn't mean you cannot find purpose in your life. Remember Watson. He only enjoyed a few years of wedded bliss but lived many more productive years on his own, assisting my great-great-grandfather in the pursuit of justice. You might consider adopting a cat. I'm given to understand that many unmarried, childless women such as yourself find great comfort in the companionship provided by the feline species. In the meantime, if you wish, we could replace the fern with a simpler plant that will not demand so much time and energy. Perhaps a ficus?”

“No. That's okay.”

“A clean break. Good. A stiff upper lip and forging on, head held high. Excellent. And on that note, let us return our attention to this most perplexing case of the invisible dog.”

“Good idea,” I said quickly. “Because I have a new theory of the case.”

“Oh?” Shirley asked with raised eyebrows.

“One that I'm sure will come as no surprise to you,” I added. “And I appreciate how you give me the space to develop these theories on my own and then let me run them past you so that I can learn.”

Shirley shrugged her shoulders. “Proceed with your theory.”

“Well,” I said, “I'm sure you must have noticed a pretty amazing set of coincidences that have recently occurred.”

“Of course,” Shirley said nonchalantly, flicking her fingers in the air with an air of complete indifference.

“Who is the first person we met when we went to search Matt Peterman's house? Angie Berger. Who was it who kept pointing us toward the Browns? Angie Berger. Who was it who came to see us with a story about them threatening her, and then disappeared into thin air before we could do anything to verify what she told us? Angie Berger, that's who. The same person who took care of the Pittfords, who have now been hospitalized. So…” I said, drawing the syllable out and waiting for her to take the ball and run with it.

“Oh, dear,” Shirley said with a shake of her head. “So now you have reason to believe that due to this unfortunate set of coincidences the police will begin to suspect poor Angie Berger of somehow being involved?”

“Well,” I said, “maybe that's what I would have thought before I had the chance to learn so much from you. But now, thanks to your guidance, I believe, as you do, that she actually is a viable suspect. Think about it…er, I mean, of course
you
have already thought about it. If Patty was behind the invisible dog, then Angie was the perfect person to help her out. She's there all the time, the Pittfords don't need her at night so she could sneak over there and turn on the device…maybe Patty even had a key so Angie could let herself inside. Patty offers to pay her—of course you're thinking of how eagerly Angie accepted money from you all along. I just wish I'd trusted your instincts from the first moment you spotted her on the Pittfords' porch and
knew
she must be guilty. But then maybe Angie didn't think it was such a big deal, helping Patty mess with her ex a bit—not until Matt is killed.

“And the more she thinks about it, the more she freaks out. So she comes to you in a panic with her story about the Browns. And then she's outside smoking by herself, and she thinks about it some more, thinks about what deep trouble she's in, and she takes off. Maybe the Pittfords overheard her talking on the phone with Patty. Maybe they asked her about it. She realizes that they can tie her in with Patty so she gives them the wrong dose of their medication. Or maybe she puts some pills in their lemonade or their ice cream or something before she left.”

“Angie?” Shirley asked, deep lines etched in her forehead.

“Have I covered all the points that you were hoping I would notice? I really hope that I'm making some progress.”

“Yes, of course,” Shirley said quietly, after a long sigh. “Yes,” she said again, sitting up straight and resuming her usual brisk attitude. “And however much it might pain us to discover Angie's villainy, we must not let that stand in our way. Justice must be served; Matt Peterman's murder must be avenged. Our next course of action is clear. We meet back here this evening to complete our search of Matt Peterman's house. Once we have the evidence in hand, we will decide where to proceed from there.”

“Um,” I said. “I was thinking…” What I had been thinking was that I could go back to Matt's by myself. Without Shirley there to distract me, I didn't think it would take long to discover where the wires from that metal box led. And maybe I could figure out how the barking sounds had been made. And then I could figure what to do about it without getting myself incarcerated for breaking and entering and generally pissing off the Springville Police Department.

“Delighted to hear it. And what were you thinking
about
?”

“I don't know what good it would do to go to his house again,” I said. “I mean, for you. It should be pretty simple to figure out where those wires lead. Even I can handle that. Maybe your time would be better spent here in the office, thinking. Looking at all the clues, the little details that everyone else would miss, putting it together the way that only you can. Trying to figure out how it all fits so that even the police will have to be grateful for your efforts.”

Shirley stared at me for a moment and then leaned back in her chair. “Ah, Tammy,” she said, shaking her head. “I thought you had begun to grasp my methods more thoroughly than that. I do not delegate; I participate. Without taking another look at the
means
of Matt Peterman's eventual murder—which may have taken place at his office, but began at his home with the arrival of an invisible dog—my efforts shall feel incomplete.”

“Damn,” I said without thinking, and instantly realized not only what I had just said, but that Shirley had sat forward and was staring at me with laserlike intensity. “Just when I'm thinking I've made progress,” I quickly added, sighing for extra effect. “I guess I still have a lot to learn.”

“Indeed,” Shirley replied as she leaned back in her chair again, steepling her fingers. “But take heart. Your awareness of that fact, and your willingness to acknowledge it, shall be the foundation on which to build. Those who believe they already know everything have no hope of improvement or progress.”

Indeed.

So once again, in spite of my misgivings, Shirley and I made plans to return that evening to search through Matt Peterman's house and see if we could discover the rest of the trail that led to the invisible dog.

I had suggested to Shirley when we'd been making our plans for the evening that maybe she could do without the disguise this time around. I even played it smart—so I thought—by saying that with her masterful detecting skills, disguises weren't necessary.

I don't know why I thought she would listen to me; she never listens to me. And I don't know why I was surprised when I drove up and saw a very tall female nurse standing in front of our building.

When I first stepped out of my car it took every ounce of acting ability I possess in order to pretend I hadn't recognized her. “My name is Hope Littlewell,” Shirley explained in a quivering falsetto voice as she pointed proudly to the flimsy cardboard name tag on her top pocket.

She had on a gray wig, wire-rim glasses, and dark red lipstick, but it didn't hide her a bit. Anyone who had ever met Shirley would instantly know that it was her. But what really made the disguise a total bust—besides the cardboard name tag—was that her nurse's uniform looked like a Halloween costume. Or the wardrobe for a porno movie. She even had on one of those pointed white caps that nurses don't wear anymore. But at least she wasn't wearing
that hat.

“I work for TLC HomeCare,” she went on, using that horrible, fake elderly voice, while I pretended to be blown away by her cleverness. “I was scheduled to take care of the Pittfords this evening. No one contacted me to let me know they are currently in the hospital. Oh, dear me, I must have been given the wrong address. I thought this was where they lived. They live across the street? Oh, dear.” Shirley nodded her head and tapped the white cap. “I think that should, ahem, just about cover it,” she concluded, changing back to her normal voice midway through.

“And who am I supposed to be?” I asked, glancing down at my now standard evening attire: black jeans, hoodie, jacket, mittens, and ski cap.

“You are my devoted daughter who is giving me a ride because I do not drive. Really, Tammy, we should be halfway to Matt Peterman's house by now, not getting bogged down in these petty little details.”

“So I've been thinking,” I said as I pulled out onto the street. And I had been. Shirley and I had decided not to meet up until eleven so that if the Browns were home they'd probably be asleep. When I left the office earlier that afternoon I had plans for a quick nap followed by a perfectly awful movie showing on TNT to enjoy. But I couldn't concentrate. I kept thinking about the case. Every time I put the facts together it felt as if the Patty-Angie theory seemed to fit. And yet…

“Always a worthwhile occupation, but unfortunately not utilized by the vast majority of the population,” Shirley replied. “This is the second time in one day that you have made such an announcement, and I am very happy to see that our short acquaintance has already resulted in such positive developments in your character.”

“Yes, well, what I was thinking is that this whole thing with the invisible dog seems a little crazy.”

“Yes, to the untrained mind, unfamiliar with the world of private detection, this
whole thing
does strike one as crazy. However, Tammy, this is the world I inherited from my great-great-grandfather, a world hidden from the general public. But take heart. In the end, once the mystery is solved, it will all make sense.”

“No, what I mean is…not to speak ill of the dead, but I don't think Matt was all that bright, so I kind of doubt he was married to a rocket scientist. The more I think about it, the harder it is to picture his ex as the mastermind behind the invisible dog. It seems too complicated. And as for Angie—”

“Quick on her feet, that girl,” Shirley said, with a sad smile. “Such a shame that she decided to use her skills for evil rather than for good.”

“Yes,” I muttered. “But not, er, a real high-energy type. I could see her doing it for a night or two for some extra cash, running over in the middle of the night to make those barking noises happen. But weeks? I don't know. It feels like we're missing something.”