Because I'm Watching (33 page)

He waved back and called, “Hi, Sheriff Kwinault. I guess you're lucky enough to dislike herring salad, too?”

“Can't stand it.”

He gave her a thumbs-up and went back to his reading.

Kateri asked Rainbow, “Are the other seniors sick?”

“Yep. Mr. Setzer is in the hospital, too. According to Mr. Harcourt, Mr. Caldwell's too stubborn to go to the hospital. So he's home tossing his cookies. Quiet morning at the ol' Oceanview Café.” Rainbow leaned over the counter. “Now dish.”

“About what?” As if Kateri didn't know.

“Last night, you left with Stag Denali.”

Kateri sipped her coffee. “So?”

“So did you get to see him running through the forest naked? So to speak?”

Kateri did not smirk. She did not. “I don't know what you mean.”

Apparently that wasn't enigmatic enough, because Rainbow slapped Kateri's shoulder. “You did! I worried you were celibate for so long you were going to dry up and blow away, and now you're involved with Stag Denali. The way I hear it, he's not named
Stag
for nothing!”

“Could you say it a little louder?” Kateri glanced around.

Mr. Harcourt was peering over his glasses at them.

In a piercing whisper, Rainbow repeated, “Now you're involved with Stag Denali!”

“Yeah, that's better. Don't tell everybody, okay? I don't know if he's going to stick around.” Although from what he said, he'd had the hots for her for years. Which was flattering and weird at the same time, and not a topic of discussion. “I really need to see Cordelia. She was going to give me more texts she … found.”

Rainbow stopped grinning. “What kind of texts?”

“She thinks we didn't rescue the right girl. Or there's another girl out there.”

Rainbow grew still and grim. “What is it with people? The ones who are only happy when they hurt someone?”

“I don't know. I don't understand it. But I sure see enough of it.” Kateri thought about the Terrance boys, still in jail, thank God, and still threatening to break out and hurt her in ways that would, quote, “leave you more deformed than you already are.”

“If that's true about the girl, if there is another abused child … kudos to Cordelia. It's a good thing to know.”

“Yes, but I wish she could figure out who's sending the texts. Not knowing makes this so frustrating.”

Rainbow fetched a frosted doughnut out of the case, placed it on a plate, and slid it across to Kateri. “You might as well eat it. Today we don't have enough customers to finish them up.”

“If you're going to put it that way…” Kateri took a bite.

“You know who Cordelia is for you? You know how in the books the police detective always has a secret psychic who warns him of upcoming trouble, but the warning's so vague he can't do anything to stop it?”

Kateri thought about it and nodded. “You're right. That is so Cordelia.” Her phone rang. She looked at it, muttered, “This is never good,” and answered. “What's up, Dr. Frownfelter?” She listened, stiffened in shock. “I don't believe it.”

“What is it?” Rainbow asked.

“No, I really don't believe
that.
”

Rainbow leaned over the counter again. “What?”

“Did you call the ambulance? Or the … morgue?”

Rainbow gripped Kateri's wrist. “Who's dead?”

“I'll be there as soon as I can.” Kateri ended the call. “Dr. Frownfelter went to check on Mrs. Butenschoen; she's missed some doctors' appointments and that's not like her. He knocked, no answer, got her key out from under the fake rock by the front door, went in, and discovered Mrs. Butenschoen's body in her kitchen”—she met Rainbow's incredulous gaze—“hanging from her light fixture.”

 

Give me another week & she'll have come back on her own. Or they'll commit her.

 

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

Jacob sat in his broken recliner in the dark living room with aluminum foil over his windows, waiting for Friday, when he would put on his military uniform, go out to Brandon's funeral, and present the eulogy for a man who had died too soon.

Fitting that this would be his last act on this earth.

Outside, sirens wailed, but he did not care.

They came closer and closer. He did not care.

They stopped on the street. He did not care. He did not wonder who had run the stop sign at the end of the block or if Madeline Hewitson had poisoned someone … or poisoned herself.

But if he truly didn't care, why was he standing and walking to the door? Why was he opening it and looking out into the morning sunlight?

As always, the neighbors had gathered on his lawn. Web was there, too, although why he'd come by on a Sunday, Jacob did not know. But rather than the usual circus atmosphere brought on by disaster and flashing emergency lights, the crowd stood silent, their arms crossed over their bellies, their faces grim, and when they spoke, they spoke in whispers. They stared across the street at Mrs. Butenschoen's house, where an ambulance waited, lights flashing, siren now silent.

Jacob did not care about Mrs. Butenschoen.

He didn't care if she was ill.

He didn't care if she'd had an accident.

He looked over the heads of the crowd toward Maddie's house.

Across the street, Mrs. Nyback and Maddie stood each in her own yard, yet close against the fence that divided them. Their body language was the same as that of the other neighbors: closed, distressed, uncertain. Mrs. Nyback clutched her dog tight in her arms. Spike responded to her desperate embrace with a display of teeth and aggression, wiggling madly and fighting Mrs. Nyback's embrace.

Nasty little dog.

At Mrs. Butenschoen's house, the front door opened.

The neighbors shuffled forward, straining to see.

The EMTs came out the front door and down the stairs. They carried a body bag on a stretcher.

What the hell had happened?

Dr. Frownfelter followed the stretcher. As always, he looked tired, but now he looked aggrieved and distressed, too. Sheriff Kwinault walked with him, and he was talking to her, shaking his head, gesturing, his body language rejecting … something. Mrs. Butenschoen's death?

How? Why? Maybe Jacob was paranoid—or possibly more paranoid—but this was one horror too many.

He came to the edge of his porch, caught Mrs. Franklin's eye, and gestured her over. “What happened?”

In a faint voice, she said, “Mrs. Butenschoen killed herself.”

What? Bullshit.
“Mrs. Butenschoen—”

“Committed suicide.”

Now Jacob knew why Dr. Frownfelter was shaking his head. No way Mrs. Butenschoen would commit suicide. “What makes anyone think she took her own life?”

“She hung herself on the light fixture in her kitchen. She wrote a note on her computer and left it open on the table. Rumor is she had cancer and that's why…” But even as Mrs. Franklin spoke, she didn't sound convinced.

“When did this happen?”

“She's been hanging there for days. A couple of days, anyway. I didn't notice she wasn't around. I mean, I did, because she wasn't complaining about my kids playing in the street. But I was relieved, you know?”

“I know.”

“What's happening here on this street is spooky. Everything about it is spooky.” She glared at the house next to his.

Jacob's gaze followed hers.

Dayton Floren stood in his own yard, hands in his pockets, wearing a faint smile as, with Dr. Frownfelter and Sheriff Kwinault as honor guard, the EMTs loaded the body into the ambulance.

“Floren posted bail,” Mrs. Franklin said. “He's a proven arsonist. Now none of us is safe in our beds.”

She sounded more than a little agitated. “I thought you were moving,” he said.

“Floren reneged on the contract, too.”

Jacob thought she considered that a greater crime than arson. On the other hand, in his kitchen the faint odor of smoke still lingered, so he held a grudge, too. He put all his strength of will into his glare, and in seconds Floren glanced his way.

The real estate man jumped, ducked his head, and hurried into his house.

Jacob's attention returned to the scene across the street and, inevitably, to Maddie.

She was looking at him, but as soon as their gazes met, she looked away, as if she were ashamed. Which she should be; for all the misery he had suffered, no one had ever tried to poison him before.

She appeared to be in control of herself, no longer drugged and hyperactive. Yet she looked sad and weary, too, and he found his heartstrings unwillingly tugged. What was it with the woman that she could try to kill him one day and he felt sorry for her the next?

She reached across to the dog in Mrs. Nyback's arms and rubbed his head, and for a moment the dog leaned into her touch. Then Maddie yelped and pulled her fingers back.

Spike had bitten her. Again. Didn't the woman ever learn?

Maddie disappeared into her house. She came back with a plastic canister, popped the top, and offered a treat to Spike.

The little shit snatched the treat.

With another yelp, Maddie pulled her hand back, examined her fingers, and wrapped them in her T-shirt, he supposed to stop the bleeding.

Mrs. Nyback smiled apologetically and petted Spike's head, oblivious to the fact that her darling boy was a monster.

Which made it even more startling when Spike started frothing at the mouth.

For the first few seconds, the two women stared as if they did not understand what was happening.

But Jacob knew what was happening. He knew immediately.
Poison. Again. Damn you, Madeline Hewitson.
He started down the stairs.

This was going to get ugly.

Mrs. Nyback patted Spike's back in a fast, frenetic beat.

Spike went into convulsions.

Maddie tried to pry Spike's teeth apart, but the dog had them clenched as it strained and jerked.

Jacob saw the moment Mrs. Nyback figured it out. She looked at Maddie in horror, pulled the dog away, pointed, and in loud, high hysteria she screamed, “Murderer! Murderer!”

Maddie backed up, shaking her head.

At the shouts, Dr. Frownfelter turned, observed, and in long strides got to Mrs. Nyback and the dog.

Sheriff Kwinault slapped the ambulance as a signal for it to go, and followed Dr. Frownfelter.

The doctor took one look at the convulsing dog, pulled a small brown bottle from his capacious coat pocket, flipped Spike upside down, and shook a drop into the dog's mouth.

At once the dog threw up the contents of its stomach.

Dr. Frownfelter shook the dog like a rat, cleaning it out.

Mrs. Nyback shrieked in wild hysterics.

The sheriff tried to talk to Maddie, but Maddie cried piteously and shook her head.
No. No. No.

Sheriff Kwinault looked across the street to the neighbors assembled on Jacob's lawn, all riveted by the drama. She frowned. Pulling out her cell, she made a call.

As Jacob strode through the crowd, the muttering started. In an instant, they changed from decent individuals to a mob with a goal and a target. They were ready to attack—ready to attack Maddie.

Jacob got to the sidewalk in front of his house, faced them, and in his command voice said, “The law will handle this.”

Like Mrs. Nyback, Mr. Franklin pointed an accusing finger at Maddie. “No, sir. No, sir! This woman has made our lives hell and now she killed an old lady's dog. Maybe she killed Mrs. Butenschoen, too. Madeline Hewitson deserves to hang!”

“You're not the one who gets to decide she's guilty.”

“She
is
guilty,” Mrs. Franklin said. “I saw her poison that dog!”

Hard to argue with that. Yet Jacob couldn't let them lynch Maddie. “The police will handle this. Listen. Hear the sirens? Reinforcements are on their way.” He headed across the street in time to meet two patrol cars as they pulled up in front of Maddie's house.

Deputy Bergen, Officer Moen, and two other officers climbed out. Bergen went at once to Sheriff Kwinault. Moen headed for Maddie and offered his handkerchief. The other officers moved to halt the advance of the crowd, yelling for them to stand back.

Jacob also stopped, observing everything with a keen eye.

Dr. Frownfelter handed the once again snarling dog back to Mrs. Nyback.

She cradled the little beast like a baby, petting him and crooning.

Dr. Frownfelter called Officer Moen over and spoke to him.

Moen clearly objected, looked toward Maddie, and objected again. Then at the sight of the trembling, tearful Mrs. Nyback, he yielded. Taking her arm, Moen led her toward the patrol car.

Jacob walked to Frownfelter's side. “You sent them to the veterinarian's?”

Frownfelter pushed his fingers through his rumpled white hair, rumpling it even more. “The dog should be all right, but I don't know how much poison she gave it and with little beasts like that, it's best to be thorough.” The two men watched as Deputy Bergen handcuffed Maddie, still crying, and put her into the car's backseat. The doctor mumbled quietly, “There is something seriously wrong here.”

Sheriff Kwinault walked up in time to hear the comment. “Yes. Dr. Frownfelter, I want your opinion.” To Jacob she said, “I understand you used to be military police.”

“That's right.”

“Your opinion, too.” She tapped Bergen gently on the thigh with her stick. “Bergen, let's have a confab.”

Bergen left the door open to allow Maddie some air, gestured Officer Knowles to stand guard, and along with Dr. Frownfelter and Jacob, followed Kateri to the shelter of Maddie's front porch.

She put her back to the street, perched one hip on the railing, and in a quiet voice that carried plainly to Jacob's ears, she asked, “What do you say when in the space of a few weeks on one street in one small town, someone drives a car into a house, a house is set on fire, a man is reported holding a screaming, struggling woman in the middle of the street in the middle of the night, one neighbor commits suicide, and a dog is poisoned?”