Murder Had a Little Lamb, page 6
“I’m the school chaplain. Here at Worth, we believe that even teenage girls are capable of developing a moral compass—at least, with enough prompting.”
I laughed.
“So I guess I should call you Reverend Evans,” I observed.
He shrugged. “Richard works, too. Whatever you’re comfortable with is fine with me.”
“In that case, I think I’ll stick with Reverend Evans,” I told him. “But please feel free to call me Jessie.”
“Jessie it is,” he replied. “By the way, I couldn’t help noticing your van out in the parking lot. It is yours, isn’t it?”
“It’s mine, all right. It’s actually a clinic on wheels.”
“Really? You mean you treat animals right in your vehicle?” A look of delight crossed Reverend Evans’s face. “What a clever concept!”
“A lot of people find it useful,” I agreed. “My clients are generally people who are really busy—or for various reasons have a hard time getting out of the house. It’s also a great option if an animal is seriously ill and would be traumatized by getting in a car and traveling to a regular vet’s office.”
He nodded. “I can think of a long list of scenarios in which your services would be just the ticket. I take it you have everything you need right in the van?”
“That’s right. An examining table, medications, you name it. I even have an assistant who travels around with me some of the time.”
“In that case, could I impose upon you to take a look at my dog, Chach?” Reverend Evans asked. “He’s a shih tzu and he’s been limping a bit. At first, I assumed he’d stepped on something sharp, and that it would heal on its own. But it’s been almost a week now, and I’ve been thinking that I should really have it looked at.”
“Have you examined his paw?” I asked, frowning with concern.
“I tried, but he kept yelping and pulling it away. I was afraid of hurting him, so I just left it alone.”
“So you haven’t had a chance to see if he’s got a cut.”
“I’m afraid not.”
“You should probably have him looked at as soon as possible,” I said. “I’d be happy to do it—the sooner, the better.”
“How about tomorrow after your class?”
“Tomorrow’s great. Why don’t we shoot for around ten forty-five?”
“Perfect.”
His forehead tensed as he said, “Now I feel bad that I waited so long. It’s just that this has been such a crazy week.”
“I’m sure you’ve had your hands full,” I said, “counseling the girls and all. After that terrible thing happened to their art teacher, I mean.”
Reverend Evans shook his head. “Such a tragedy. I do hope the police catch Mr. Stibbins’s killer before long.”
The police … or anyone else who’s been given the challenge, I thought grimly.
Aloud, I said, “I take it Mr. Stibbins was extremely well liked here at the school.”
Reverend Evans looked startled by my comment. “Well, he’d certainly been here for a long time. He was kind of a fixture.”
“You must have known him pretty well,” I ventured.
“Not really.” Thoughtfully, he added, “Certainly not as well as someone like Claude Molter. He’s our music teacher.”
“Were the two of them close?”
He hesitated before saying, “They certainly had a lot in common.”
“Like what?”
Thoughtfully, Reverend Evans replied, “Even though Nathaniel and Claude were in entirely different fields—art and music—they were both extremely accomplished. Claude is a world-renowned violinist. He began his career as a child prodigy in Belgium, where he was born. But he went on to perform with some of the greatest orchestras in the world.”
“Wow,” I said, sincerely impressed.
“I understand he’s also a count.”
“A count?” I’d never run into a count before. That is, aside from Count Dracula, Count Chocula, and the Count on Sesame Street. And none of them was real.
I was about to ask Reverend Evans as diplomatically as I could how a count who was a music prodigy ended up teaching in a private girls’ school on Long Island. But before I had a chance, he changed the subject by saying, “I’ll be sure to bring Chach to school with me tomorrow. While I’m tied up with school business, he can stay in his carrying case.” Chuckling, he added, “I’m not saying he’ll like it, just that he’ll do it.”
“Then I’ll see you both tomorrow,” I said.
I hadn’t bothered to check my schedule. Even if I didn’t have a slot available right after my class, I knew that having the chance to talk to Reverend Evans again was worth shifting a few appointments around.
After all, the chaplain’s job was helping things at the school run smoothly. That undoubtedly entailed finding out as much as he could about the intrigues lurking beneath the surface—which meant that he and I already had a lot in common, too.
• • •
As I drove away from the Worth School, I was buoyed by the good start my investigation was off to. I was also encouraged by my teaching debut.
But it was time for me to shift gears, to throw myself into the role in which I felt most comfortable. Fortunately, my first call of the day was going to be a happy one, since instead of treating an ailing pet I was paying a kitten a well-visit call.
Smokey’s owners, Deborah and Jeff West, were first-time cat owners who lived nearby in Brompton Hills. This morning, only Deb was at home. In fact, as I pulled up in front of her house, a charming white saltbox that I suspected had been built in the eighteen hundreds or even earlier, she came out of the house with the dark gray kitten in her arms.
“Hey, Dr. Popper,” she greeted me. Just like the last time I’d stopped by, she was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, and her dark blond hair was clipped back loosely so the wavy strands hung around her face. She wasn’t much older than I was, yet unlike me, was new to the world of animal ownership.
“Hi, gorgeous,” I greeted Smokey as Deb stepped up into my van. “Wow, she got really big!”
“We’ve already had her for two months,” Deb said proudly. “She’s really grown. She’s frisky, too.”
Since Sunny wasn’t spending her mornings with me while I was teaching at Worth, I asked Deb to hold Smokey as I took her temperature. Next I weighed her, commenting, “Last time she was three point six pounds, and now she’s at four point six—up a whole pound. How did she do after the last vaccine?”
“Fine.”
“That’s great. How’s her health in general? Any vomiting? Coughing or sneezing? Diarrhea?”
Smokey appeared to be in great shape. In fact, she reminded me of Cat back in her spunky days of kitten-hood. Not only was their coloring nearly identical, so was the wise look in their eyes.
“This might sound like a strange question,” Deb said, “but do people bathe cats?”
“It depends on who you ask,” I replied. “I don’t, since most cats need to be sedated in order to be bathed. But they pretty much groom themselves, so unless they run into a mud puddle or get skunked, they should be fine.”
I answered a few more of Deb’s questions, then said, “I’m going to give Smokey her second and final upper respiratory vaccine. I’ll give it between her shoulder blades. It may be tender in that area. The next shot is rabies, in about two weeks. Then I’ll start the leukemia vaccines, a series of two.”
Her owner watched anxiously as I injected Smokey with a one ml solution of FVR vaccine, the common term for the Feline Rhinotracheitis-Calici-Panleukopenia Vaccine. I noticed that Deb flinched, but Smokey hardly did at all.
Still, this was the kind of visit I most enjoyed. Smokey was healthy and starting out her life with people who treasured her. As for the Wests, I knew they were going to have years of happiness with the new addition to their family. And the fact that I could play even a minor role in that amazingly rewarding relationship was what my job was all about.
• • •
At the end of the day, as I climbed back into the driver’s seat of my van one last time, I was pretty wiped out. As I turned the key in the ignition, I was picturing the evening ahead, relaxing with Nick and my animals. In fact, when my cellphone rang, I just assumed it would be him.
But when I glanced at the caller ID screen, I saw the caller was someone else I knew: Patti Ardsley, the producer of my weekly TV show, Pet People.
“Hi, Jessie!” she greeted me. As usual, she sounded as bubbly as a glass of champagne. “I know that every week I start bugging you around now about what your topic for the next show is going to be, but for this week, I came up with an idea of my own.”
“Great!” The truth was that I’d been so busy over the past few days, first with my ill-fated wedding and then with taking on the role of teacher of the rich and famous in the name of investigating a murder, that I hadn’t given a single thought to Friday’s TV spot. In fact, I was relieved that Patti had come up with an idea, since the last time I’d checked the index cards in my brain, they’d all been blank. “What have you got?”
“It’s going to be terrific!” Patti exclaimed. “A friend of mine has a bzzz bzzz bzzz…”
I assumed she was saying actual words, but thanks to the flawed technology that cellphone users are forced to put up with, she sounded more like a bee than a human.
“You’re breaking up!” I shouted into the phone. “What did you say your friend has?”
“Bzzz, bzzz, bzzz,” came the reply. Or at least something that sounded a lot like that.
By that point, I was desperate to start the drive home. And since talking on cellphones while driving is against the law, that meant I had to find a way to end this call.
“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” I assured her. “I’ll just show up on Friday morning and assume that you’ve taken care of the rest. Thanks, Patti!”
I hung up, figuring that whatever she had in mind, I could wing it. I’d certainly done that before.
In fact, these days winging it seemed to be something I was getting better and better at in pretty much every area of my life.
• • •
Half an hour later, as my van bumped along the long driveway that led to my home sweet home, I was lost in thought, imagining the evening ahead. I pictured myself stretched out on the couch with Cat lying on my chest, Lou sprawling on the floor next to me, and Nick telling me all about his day.
As I neared the cottage, I expanded my fantasy to include Chinese takeout and a pint of Ben & Jerry’s. I was practically in a daze by then.
But as I turned into my driveway, I let out a yelp, slamming on the brakes just in time to keep from hitting someone foolish enough to be standing smack in the middle of it.
Chapter 4
“Diamonds are a girl’s best friend and dogs are a man’s best friend. Now you know which sex has more sense.”
—Zsa Zsa Gabor
Forrester Sloan!” I yelled as I jerked my van to a halt, threw open the door, and jumped out. “What is wrong with you? You scared the living daylights out of me!”
“Anything to get a reaction,” he replied breezily. “You know I love it when you get an adrenaline rush and your cheeks turn pink and those green eyes of yours get all shiny—”
“For heaven’s sake, I almost ran you over!”
“I noticed.” Smirking, he added, “For the second time, no less. You may recall that that’s the way you and I first met. In fact, this might be a good time to use that tired old phrase, ‘We have to stop meeting like this.’”
It was true that my vehicle and Forrester Sloan’s person had come this close to making contact once before. I’d been on my way to treat a polo pony on an estate in the ridiculously affluent community of Old Brookbury when he’d darted in front of me. At the time, he was covering the murder of a dashing young polo player. Before I knew what was happening, he had roped me into helping him.
“At any rate,” I asked impatiently, “what are you doing here?”
“This is actually a social call,” he replied, grinning. “I came to express my condolences—in person.”
“Over Nathaniel?” I asked, blinking.
“Over your wedding getting called off.”
“Thank you—”
“I didn’t find that out until this morning,” Forrester continued. “When you and I spoke on Saturday, I just assumed you’d finally tied the knot. Especially since you neglected to mention that you hadn’t.”
“We almost tied the knot,” I said quietly.
“But once I thought about it,” he went on, “I wasn’t all that surprised that when it came time for the Jessie Popper I know to say ‘I do,’ instead she said, ‘I don’t think so.’”
“But—but—that’s completely wrong!” I sputtered. “I mean, that’s not at all what happened!”
“No? You mean your wedding didn’t get called off at the eleventh hour?”
“It did, but that’s not the reason!” I insisted.
I sounded like a four-year-old, trying to convince a grown-up that she wasn’t the one who’d gobbled down all the cookies. But Forrester always had that effect on me. Not that I found him the least bit attractive. Sure, he had intense gray-blue eyes, thick blond hair that softened into curls at the back of his neck, and a definite preppy look that some women might find engaging.
But not me.
“For heaven’s sake, a man was murdered!”
“I know,” he replied. “I’ve already written several articles about it, remember? But you have to admit that it was pretty convenient.” Forrester leaned against his car casually, still grinning at me in a way that made my blood boil. “For someone who was looking for an excuse not to get married, I mean.”
My mouth dropped open so wide that a butterfly could have flown in. I quickly snapped it shut.
“Not that this is any of your business,” I told him through gnashed teeth, “but Nathaniel Stibbins’s murder precipitated a family crisis. I can’t begin to tell you how distraught my future mother-in-law is. In fact, she wants nothing more than for this heinous crime to be solved so we can all get on with our lives—”
“Wait a minute,” he said, his eyes narrowing. “You’re investigating this case, aren’t you? That’s the real reason you didn’t want your name in the paper. It had nothing to do with violating your personal privacy or losing clients!”
“Both those reasons are completely legitimate!” I protested.
He didn’t appear to be listening. “I should have figured that out,” he said, shaking his head slowly. “After all, the guy is related to you.”
“Not quite,” I corrected him. It wasn’t until I’d said those words that I realized the correct thing to have said would have been not yet. “But yes, you’re right. I have been taking a few steps to see if I can help figure out what happened. At my future-mother-in-law’s insistence.”
“I get it,” Forrester said. “Who has time to pick out new flower arrangements when she’s investigating a murder? Of course, multitasking is in style. Unless, of course, there’s some relief mixed in there with all the grief …”
“Forrester, I think you’d better leave. As in right now.”
He laughed. “I don’t blame you for being embarrassed, Popper. Not only did you bail out of your own wedding, you didn’t even have the common decency to invite me to the ceremony. Still, I’ve decided to forgive you for your faux pas—”
“I don’t care if you forgive me!” I cried. “I don’t want you to forgive me! I just want you to get out of here before Nick comes back and—”
“Ah. So the lucky man, as we used to call him, isn’t home.” Forrester’s gaze shifted over my shoulder, toward my empty cottage. “You know, some people might offer an unexpected visitor a cup of coffee. Especially if that visitor took time out of his busy schedule to drop by.”
“Forrester, you’re not only unexpected, you’re also unwelcome. So please—”
“Or better yet, how about you and me going out? I was thinking dinner, but I’d also be up for a long walk along an isolated beach …”
“No, Forrester!”
“Why not?” he asked, looking baffled. “It’s not as if you’re married!”
“I’m still engaged!”
“Are you?”
“I most certainly am!”
He just cast me a skeptical look.
“Look, Forrester,” I said in a low, even voice, “it’s been a long day. If you don’t mind, I’d really like you to—”
We both froze at the sound of tires crunching against gravel.
Nick? I thought, not knowing whether to feel relieved or guilty.
When a car I recognized as Sunny McGee’s pulled around the bend, I was thrilled we were being interrupted.
I had to admit that I was also glad that it wasn’t Nick who was pulling into the driveway. I didn’t want to have to deal with him finding me here with Forrester, as innocent as our little tête-á-tête may have been.
At least in my eyes.
“Sunny!” I cried, dashing over to her sporty little car as she turned off the ignition. “I’m so happy to see you!”
“Hi—i—i,” she replied, clearly confused by my unusually enthusiastic greeting.
“I hope you remembered that we have some important business to attend to,” I said, casting what I hoped was a meaningful look at my assistant.
“We do?” Sunny repeated, sounding surprised. But she was a pretty smart cookie. “Ohmygosh, Jessie. I almost forgot. You’re absolutely right. If we don’t get that done by tonight, I don’t know what’s going to happen!”
Forrester glanced from me to Sunny and back to me. I could tell by the look on his face that he didn’t buy our little act for a second. Still, even he knew that three’s a crowd.
“In that case,” he said, his eyes burning into mine, “I’ll leave you two to meet your deadline. I wouldn’t want to stand in the way of—what is it you’re in such a hurry to do?”
“None of your business,” Sunny snapped.
She immediately glanced at me, her anxious look saying she wasn’t sure if she’d just overstepped a boundary. I put her fears to rest with an approving smile.
