3 Panthers Play for Keeps (20 page)

Chapter Forty-two

I had no idea why Laurel Kroft would have a receipt that belonged to the Haigens in her office. I also had no idea why the Haigens would have donated those fancy wheels. Just because I didn’t like them didn’t mean they wouldn’t have found a buyer, especially if they were willing to knock a bit off the price. But I was pretty sure that that’s what I was looking at: a receipt for Richard Haigen’s SUV.

As I sat there, another thought came to me. Forty-eight thousand. That was probably more than they paid Mariela in a year. Well, I had chided them for not caring about her, about a human being who lived with them. Maybe they didn’t care about money either, except as a means of obtaining those pretty toys of which Richard was so fond.

That seemed unlikely, and I found myself re-reading the words on the page.
Donation
. That much was clear. Dierdre had said that they were selling the Benz, and Tracy Horlick had indicated that the sale had been at a loss. But maybe neither woman knew the whole truth. I briefly played with a scenario in which Richard gave the wheels to Laurel and maybe told his wife that he had sold it short, to explain why he didn’t have any extra cash on hand to show for the deal. Nick had been the one handling the so-called sale, but that part didn’t surprise me. Wingmen have been covering for their friends’ affairs since long before SUVs had hit our little town.

That left Laurel’s role in the little charade open. Or maybe not: I didn’t see her as one of his pretty toys, but from what Creighton had said, she enjoyed playing the field. Personally, I found Richard Haigen repugnant. Then again, I wasn’t so crazy about Laurel, and women have been swayed by money before. Especially women with expensive taste.

If she had been more involved with Richard Haigen than she had let on, then her reticence in talking to Creighton made sense, too. She wouldn’t want to tell him that she and Haigen had been lovers. Wouldn’t have wanted a payoff, either, and might have—out of guilt or remorse—donated the pricey car. In that light, the choice of charity seemed almost like a kiss-off. I liked that scenario. It had style.

It also didn’t fit. Why, exactly, I wasn’t sure. At first, I told myself that it wouldn’t be on the floor. Laurel was too neat to have left this letter lying about. I was sure her taxes were a lot higher than mine, but I’d also have bet they were a lot better organized. On a whim, I went through her drawers again. Yes, there they were. Deductions, office. Deductions, home. Both folders were empty, the contents undoubtedly off with some forensic accountant. Creighton might know who—and for the span of a breath, I thought about telling him. About giving him this receipt and asking if, in fact, it was being deducted from the estate.

Of course, it could be that this receipt simply hadn’t been filed yet. This one page could have been neatly stacked with the other bills and papers on her desktop. Probably had been, before the techs got here. But no. That tech—Jefferson?—he’d been rude, but I’d bet he was neat. They all were.

Still, that wasn’t it. This had been dropped, and then left in situ. Someone had deemed it unimportant without the context. Even the charity sounded innocuous. I shook my head and stood up. I was tired. Hungry. Spot was waiting.

I nearly sat back down, it hit me so hard. The charity was wrong. Granted, Laurel Kroft hadn’t been under oath at the time, but I could still hear her going on about service animals. “People underestimate the range of a living creature,” she had said. “What these animals do is priceless, and if I’m ever in a position to really help them, that’s what I’d do.”

Laurel wouldn’t have given a car to research on eyesight. She’d have given it to help service animals. The only person who cared so much about vision research was Richard Haigen. It was his car. This letter had come from his house.

It was a leap; I knew it. And I had no idea what it meant. Just the same, I was sure I was right. And that I’d been in Laurel’s place long enough. Folding the letter into my pocket, I went downstairs and grabbed the sack of dry food and Spot’s dish. For a moment, I considered exiting through the front door. It would serve Creighton right if I left the big house’s main entrance unlocked. It might also get a tech in trouble, and so I slipped out the back, the same way I had come in. Besides, I might need egress again, and it would be better if nobody had known I was there.

Spot smelled the kibble as soon as I opened the car door. He was too well behaved, however, to beg, and all I got was an echo of my own rumbling innards.

“Let’s get you over to the Haigens.” I said, giving him a pat. Maybe they’d have some answers. Maybe they’d feed me, too.

***

“Did we have an appointment?” Dierdre Haigen was looking better today, and as she eyed me up and down, I realized I, on the other hand, was probably the worse for wear. For one thing, I was still damp, as was Spot, and the smell of wet dog was stronger than the wood smoke I’d caught a whiff of as I’d walked up to the door. “Because Richard is taking a nap, and I would really prefer he not be bothered.”

“Didn’t Officer Creighton call you?” She shook her head, then caught herself. “He may have spoken to my husband. As I’ve said, he’s now taking a nap. I assume it had something to do with that unfortunate woman?”

I nodded. That was one way to put it. “I’d say that you’ve acquired a service dog a bit earlier than scheduled.”

She blinked at me and down at Spot, and it hit me. She didn’t know about Laurel. She thought I’d been referring to Mariela, and my follow-up must have sounded like a non sequitur. Well, there would be time for that. Spot, looking up at her, remained quiet. In my head, however, I heard one word:
“Hungry?”

That was enough of a cue for me. “Here,” I said, holding out Spot’s ceramic dish and making a big show of wiping my feet. “Why don’t you take that into the kitchen?”

With little choice, she took the bowl and we followed her down a hall. While I’d been hoping for a cozy hearth with a spring fire roaring, I should have known better. With its white tile and stainless fixtures, the Haigen kitchen looked as sterile as the rest of the house and even less used. Two ovens, at least that I saw, would have made some women very happy, but Dierdre skirted these with distaste. I’m no homemaker, but it all seemed pretty nice to me. Nice enough so that when I spilled some of Spot’s kibble, pouring it into his bowl, I felt compelled to pick it up.

“So, who will be in charge of Spot’s care?” It was too much to hope that Raul might be back, but I certainly couldn’t picture Dierdre doing anything in this room.

“Oh, we haven’t yet figured things out.” She giggled, a little nervous, I thought. “We’ll be hiring somebody, I’m sure. But for now, well, we may have to cut back a bit.”

“Huh,” I said, trying not to sound curious. I had wondered about the lack of staff, but had put it down to the move—the self-imposed rustication—or to Richard’s discomfort with his growing disability. If they were cutting back to economize, why donate a pricey car? Even if Dierdre hadn’t been able to get the blue book value for the Benz, she could have made enough to pay a maid for a year, easily. Then again, if her husband had given it away behind her back, that could be a cause of the tension I had sensed. I wondered how long he’d be asleep and what I could do until he woke. In the meantime, I handed her the bag of dog food. She took it as if it were a sack of coal, holding it away from her body. I couldn’t imagine her with anything less clean.

“I do offer my services as a dog walker.” I didn’t want to trek out here every day. Then again, that could be a useful entrée. And, yeah, I felt sorry for Spot. “For a fee,” I hastened to add.

“I’m sure Richard and I will arrange something.” She made a vague gesture, like maybe the house would be able to run itself.

“Is Nick around?” I still didn’t know his place in the scheme of things, but I was willing to bet he’d have one.

“Nick? Why, no.” She was looking increasingly uncomfortable. “He’s not been around for days.”

That was curious and almost certainly untrue, but I couldn’t think of a way to call her out. Meanwhile, Spot, always attuned to moods, had stopped eating and was looking up at us.

“Full
,” he said.

I almost replied out loud.
“You can eat
.”
I worked instead to project my thoughts.
“Be comfortable. Eat as much as you want
.” I felt bad enough leaving this animal here. I wasn’t going to have him make himself sick because Dierdre Haigen wasn’t comfortable with animals.

“She’s full
.”
He looked up at me. I could sense frustration and something else: a sense of discomfort.
“Too much…
”

I got it. I nodded. Dierdre had her hands full. She wasn’t the one who had my sympathy, though.

“Perhaps I could take him around now?” I really didn’t want to encourage Dierdre to think of me an on-call walker. I did, however, want an excuse to poke around.

“Oh, sure.” Her pretty face would have been creased in concentration, if it weren’t for the Botox.

“Do you have any questions?” I didn’t care about her. Spot, however, was going to be here for a while. “About the dog’s care?”

“No, no.” She waved the idea away. “I just—we weren’t prepared. It’s been a shock.”

There was no answer to that, so I signaled to Spot that he could lead me, thinking we’d go out back. The guide dog stopped before we reached the foyer and turned, sniffing the air, down a well-lit corridor.

“Walk.” I gave him the command before Dierdre could say otherwise. Silently, I added to it.
“What’s here, Spot? What are you smelling?”

There was something, to be sure. Spot had stopped by an opened door. I looked in at what seemed to be an office. On the far wall, big windows opened onto the grounds. A low fog seemed to hang over the wooded area, dense and gray. “Oh, he won’t be going in there,” said Dierdre.

“But if Richard is working in there…” Spot, standing by my side, might have been staring out those windows. Now that the rain had stopped, the squirrels were getting frisky. I thought there might be something else going on that was attracting his interest, though.

“Richard no longer handles any paperwork. Not anymore.” Dierdre had adopted a dismissive tone, and I wondered how long that would last once her husband was awake. The fog looked awfully thick. “He’s retired.”

“Retired, my ass.” Richard Haigen announced himself with a growl, like a bear coming out of hibernation. I half expected to see him out in those woods, but when I turned, I found him rumbling down the hall, one hand out to the side in what had probably become a habit. “Who’s there, Di?”

“It’s Pru.” I announced myself. At my side, Spot came to attention. “I’m here with Spot.”

“And you didn’t wake me?” That was directed toward his wife. Neither of us responded, but I saw her pull herself up and waited for what was to come. “Dierdre?”

“You needed the sleep, dear.” Even with the endearment, she didn’t sound that affectionate. Still, I was surprised that she hadn’t apologized. I got my second shock when he didn’t respond, not even with a snarl. Maybe there had been a paradigm shift, as she assumed more of the day-to-day running of the Haigen household.

“Well, what’s on the docket for today?” He seemed energized, perhaps by the nap. “Another training session?”

“We could do that, if you want.” I still hadn’t had lunch, but I’d trade a burger for a chance to get into that office. “I really came to bring Spot by, though. I know it’s earlier than we had planned, but I thought, given everything, he should stay with you now.”

He looked up, the confusion clear on his face. I guessed Dierdre had been wrong. Creighton hadn’t called.

“You’ve not heard about Laurel Kroft?” I watched his face for any sign of response. “Have you?”

He stared at me, his mouth opening slightly, and I could have sworn his confusion was real. When he turned toward his wife, however, I thought I saw her shake her head, ever so slightly.

“Dierdre, what’s going on?” Macular degeneration or not, he’d seen it too—or sensed some change in her.

“Now, Richard, don’t start getting excited.” She walked up to him and put her hand on his arm. But if she thought she was going to lead him out of the room, she didn’t know her husband.

“Don’t treat me like a child.” He shook her off. “I’m going blind, not deaf. What
happened
?”

“Laurel had an accident, dear.” She stayed by his side. “A tragic accident.”

I opened my mouth and then shut it. So Dierdre
had
known about Laurel. Curious to hear what she knew—and how she was going to peddle this to her irate spouse—I waited. Spot stiffened, anticipating a threat.

To my surprise, Richard didn’t argue. If anything, her non-explanation seemed to take the edge off his anger. “An—accident?” His voice was softer, uncertain. “She—you mean?”

Dierdre nodded. Then, as if unsure whether her husband could see her, she elaborated. “We’ve lost her, Richard. It was tragic, but…it happened. She’s gone.”

It was the coolest rendering of a murder I’d ever heard. Odds were, Creighton wouldn’t have shared everything, but the platitudes Dierdre were offering sounded like Laurel had died peaceably in her bed. Maybe she didn’t know the details. It was possible that nobody had told her. Still, she had to know the pretty shrink had died violently and way too young.

What was more chilling was that he seemed to accept it. As I watched, he deflated, all that anger dissipating and leaving him so weak, he reached for the wall. Spot, by my side, stood up.

“Work
.”
It was a simple statement. He, too, sensed Richard’s vulnerability and sought to go to him. I held the dog back, though, wanting to see what would happen next.

What I saw was a complete turnaround from their usual routine. Dierdre came forward and took her husband’s arm again. This time, he didn’t shake her off. Instead, he seemed to lean on her as she turned and walked him down the hall. I was dying to follow, but the reason I’d silently given Spot held true for me as well. Better to watch and learn.