Pecked to Death (12 page)

The next day didn’t start well.

Once again Sadie’s breakfast was interrupted by the slap of newspaper on table. She was once again the headline, only this time her chicken head was off, her face exposed. Worse still, her arms were out mid-flap.

“What were you doing?” Gideon asked.

“There was a little kid in that car who wanted me to flap my arms when I clucked,” Sadie explained.

“And you did it?” he asked.

“I got an extra dollar,” Sadie said.

“You have no shame, apparently, but are you trying to humiliate me? I still have to live here after you’re gone.”

“Gee, Dad, aren’t you the one who told me there are no small jobs, only small people?”

“That was to motivate your sixteen-year-old self to get a job; that doesn’t apply to a college graduate degrading herself for a few dollars a day.”

Sadie was suddenly fed up with being her father’s doormat. She stood. Even though she only reached his shoulder, the height advantage made her feel more powerful. “What sort of job did you expect me to get for two weeks? It was your mandate that I find a job. I found a job, and now you’re not happy with it. You don’t like me; I get it. But for the sake of simplification, could you find a topic and stick to it? Because this constant switching of sides is making me dizzy. You want me to work, you don’t want me to work, you want me to make up with Luke, you don’t want me to make up with Luke. What do you want, Dad? What do you want?” The question had more weight than she intended.

“I want you to be the woman I raised you to be!” he shouted. “I want you to stop acting like your mother’s puppet. She’s dead, Sadie. You can stop trying to please her.”

“At least while she was alive, I made her happy. That’s a whole lot more than I can say for you!”

“Watch it!” he yelled. His index finger came up to point in her face. Sadie clambered backwards and tripped over the chair. Gideon lowered his hand and his voice. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing,” she said as she righted the chair and smoothed her hair. “You took me by surprise.”

“You backed up like you thought I was going to hit you. I’ve never hit you in your life.”

“Yeah, well, there’s always a first time,” Sadie said. She was aiming for a light tone, but it fell flat in light of her nervousness and Gideon’s inspection. Why did he have to be so perceptive?

“I’ve seen women act like that before,” he said.

“Just how many women have you yelled at, Dad?”

He ignored her attempt at humor. “The women I used to arrest, the ones whose husbands or boyfriends beat them, had that same sort of jumpiness.”

Sadie rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Dad, too many years as a cop made you paranoid. I have to go.”

He didn’t stop her, but he did keep a close eye on her as she grabbed her plate of cookies and let herself out of the house.

Sadie’s hands were shaking as she left the house, but the brief walk around the block helped her get everything back under control so that by the time she arrived at the Kaplan’s house, she was smiling.

“Sadie, I knew you were going to come see me,” were Shirley Kaplan’s greeting words. Sadie was momentarily stunned into speechlessness by her neighbor’s outfit. She was still wearing one of her many housecoats, but it was accessorized by a turban, an honest-to-goodness turban with a fake ruby in the center.

“How do you do, Mrs. Kaplan?” Sadie heard herself say and was glad years of good manners took over when original thought fled. Her old neighbor looked like a kook.

“Come in,” Mrs. Kaplan said. She made an expansive gesture with her hand as she stepped aside.

“I brought cookies,” Sadie said as she thrust the plate forward.

“I sensed that you would. Is this your mother’s recipe?”

Don’t you know?
Sadie wanted to ask. She had far too much of Gideon’s cynicism to believe in what he had always called con-man mumbo jumbo. Even if she were a believer, it would be difficult to swallow her dowdy neighbor’s sudden transformation into a spiritualist. “Yes, it is,” Sadie answered. She followed Mrs. Kaplan to her kitchen and grimaced at the cloying scent of incense.

They sat at the kitchen table, but instead of setting out the cookies, Mrs. Kaplan pulled out a packet of Tarot cards and began arranging them.

“Oh, Mrs. Kaplan, I’m not really into the occult,” Sadie said.

Mrs. Kaplan reeled back as if Sadie had slapped her. “Neither am I,” she said, and then she continued to lay the cards on the table.

“Those are Tarot cards, aren’t they?” Sadie asked.

“Yes,” Mrs. Kaplan said.

“I don’t believe in them, nor do I believe in my horoscope or having my palm read.”

“No one believes until it makes a difference in their lives,” Mrs. Kaplan said. “I’ll show you, and you’ll understand.”

“I really just wanted to talk to you about Abby,” Sadie tried again.

“Abby was a believer,” Mrs. Kaplan said.

Sadie froze. “What?”

Mrs. Kaplan nodded, but didn’t stop doling her cards. “She came to see me for a reading two weeks before she died.”

If there was anyone more cynical than Gideon, it was Abby. Why would she suddenly throw off decades of debunking spiritualism in order to visit Mrs. Kaplan? “How are Mr. Kaplan and the kids?” Sadie asked.

“Sue Ellen just had another baby, but they want quiet time together as a family for a couple of months before I’m allowed to come see her. Toby is backpacking through Europe with some friends, trying to find himself. As for my husband, well, your guess is as good as mine. He still works long hours.”

Mr. Kaplan was an accountant. He owned his own business, and was a notorious workaholic. When Sadie’s mother was alive, Mrs. Kaplan had tried hard to make friends with her, figuring the two neighborhood outsiders could stick together. But Victoria Cooper hadn’t wanted friends, and Shirley Kaplan had returned to her lonely life, defeated.

Now she laid out several cards in front of Sadie and shook her head. “Your life is in transition,” she said. Sadie didn’t point out that everyone in the contiguous United States who had access to technology and had watched the video of her backside knew that her life was in transition. She wanted to protest the cards again, but she thought of her mother’s rejection of the woman and remained silent. She tapped another card. “And this one is the empress card. It means, um…” She moved away from the table, bent over, and rifled through a book. The glaring yellow cover told Sadie that the book was
Tarot for Dummies,
even if she couldn’t read the title. “Pregnant!” Mrs. Kaplan announced, closing the book with a snap. “You’re pregnant.”

“No, I’m not,” Sadie said.

“The cards are never wrong,” Mrs. Kaplan said.

“Neither is my body,” Sadie said. “Mrs. Kaplan, I am definitely not pregnant.”

“Symptoms can take a while to show up. Maybe it’s like those women on television who don’t know they’re pregnant until they’re in the delivery room.”

Sadie didn’t want to waste time arguing over cards she didn’t believe in anyway. She decided to try again to get to the heart of her visit. “What else did you and Aunt Abby talk about during her visit?”

“The weather, her roses, my kids, my husband, his job, things like that.”

“How did she seem?” Sadie asked.

“Warm and pleasant, even more so than usual. Abby was a nice woman, but she was especially nice that day. I think she was interested in what I had to tell her about her future.”

“What did you tell her?”

“I’m not sure I can break client confidentiality that way,” Mrs. Kaplan said.

Sadie fought the urge to shake her. Maybe there was a reason her mother hadn’t wanted to be friends. By all indications, Mrs. Kaplan had more than one screw missing. “I’m fairly certain that death nullifies confidentiality,” Sadie assured her.

Mrs. Kaplan’s fingers twisted nervously on the table. “Well, I’ve been feeling sort of guilty, actually, like maybe I should have done something more for her.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that Abby got the death card,” Mrs. Kaplan said. Her tone was laced with self-recrimination, as if Abby’s death had been her fault.

“What was Abby’s reaction?” Sadie asked.

“She laughed and waved it off. She said that she was going into her eighth decade so of course death was coming for her soon. I regret that I didn’t make her see the imperative nature of the situation. The cards are never wrong.” She eyed Sadie’s belly, probably looking for signs of her supposed baby.

“Is there anything else you can think of, anything at all?”

“She talked to Abe for a while. I don’t know what the conversation was about. He’s not home, of course. Good luck tracking him down.”

The mean part of Sadie almost suggested that Mrs. Kaplan use the cards to find out where her husband was. The kind part of her won out, thanked her hostess, and left. Once outside, she breathed deeply to try and clear her head of the noxious odor of incense. That was when she noticed the sign in the window, slightly larger than an index card and printed with blue ink. “Madame Zora: Fortune Teller, $25, Walk-Ins Welcome.”

Had Abby paid the fee? If so, why? Sadie felt like there was something she was missing, but she didn’t know what. Regardless, it was time to go to work.
I’d better be careful,
she thought as she went home and donned her chicken suit.
According to Madame Zora, I’m about to lay an egg.

Thanks to the fact that Sadie had headlined the morning paper again, even more cars were lined up to hear her cluck, say hello, or take her picture. Sadie was happy to comply, not only because it meant extra money for her, but because a lot of the people who drove through the line were people she knew. Former teachers and dance instructors drove through with well-wishes and stories about Sadie from the past. Some wished her luck. To them she explained that the chicken gig was temporary until she moved and started the next chapter of her life. She assured everyone that she would soon move on to bigger and better things than the television station she had left. After so many times repeating the same thing, she almost started to believe it herself. She had been the weather girl for a miniscule station in Nebraska. Surely wherever she went next would be a step up.

Her optimism lasted into the evening because she didn’t have to go home and confront her father again. Instead she had a date with Hal. She assumed it was a date because he had asked and he was paying, but at the same time she didn’t have the sense that he was interested in her. He had seemed a little bit lonely and bored, and since that was exactly what she was, she was looking forward to the date.

Since she had been dressing like poultry for days, Sadie pulled out all the stops getting ready for her evening. She straightened her hair, applied her makeup so carefully that she was pageant-worthy, and picked one of her go-to date outfits, a navy dress that had been one of Rick’s favorites. Thoughts of Rick hurt less and less. From a distance of more than half the country, Sadie could finally see how shallow and self-involved he was. But he was handsome, wealthy, and famous—her typical pattern for selecting a partner. Next time she was ready to date, she definitely needed to think outside the box. She was tired of dating the same guy in a different suit. She wanted someone deep, but men who valued depth and character weren’t exactly knocking down her door. People misjudged her, and that was mostly her fault for putting up a front.

“Hello, gorgeous,” Hal drawled when she showed up at his door. Something about him put Sadie immediately at ease, and she wondered what it was. He certainly wasn’t her usual type. With his strawberry-blond hair, big brown eyes, and smattering of freckles, he looked like a perpetual little boy. Maybe because he was a friend of Luke, she knew he had already been vetted. Luke always hung out with fellow geeky nice guys like himself.

“How can I help?” she asked as she followed him into the kitchen.

“I’m good, thanks,” he said.

“I can cook,” Sadie said. Her tone was more defensive than she intended. He held up his hands in surrender.

“I believe you. But I think I have this one covered. Sit and take a load off. How was the chicken walk today?”

“The best. I’m thinking of making a career of it. How was the hospital?”

“Piece of cake. I don’t know why people say becoming a doctor is hard, especially if you hide in the supply closet all day while the nurses do all the work.”

“I admire your dedication,” Sadie said.

“It’s a calling,” he replied. She watched while he removed containers of what looked like leftover Chinese food from the fridge, sniffed them, and dumped them in containers to heat in the microwave.

“You went all out,” she said.

He gave her a sheepish smile. “Sorry. That thing about med school is sort of true. I worked fifteen hours today. I was going to impress you with my mad cooking skills. Now I’m going to impress you with my capacity to sleep through even the most interesting evening.”

“No worries. Even with food that may or may not be spoiled and a comatose companion, this is shaping up to be the best night I’ve had in a while.”

“Are you one of those beautiful women who likes to pretend that you never get asked out on dates?”

“Of course not. I’ve rarely been without a boyfriend since I hit puberty. Let’s just say that things haven’t been going my way lately.”

“Ah, the butt flash incident,” he said.

“Among other things. Thanks for bringing that up, though. I was hoping not to go more than an hour without being reminded that I flashed my fanny to all of North America.”

“Don’t be embarrassed—it’s was a fantastic few seconds that will live forever in infamy.”

Sadie groaned and pressed her hands over her face. “Please stop talking.”

“You would be surprised how often I hear that,” he said.

“I don’t think so,” she replied.

He laughed. The timer on the microwave dinged, and he began arranging dishes on the table between them. “Help yourself,” he commanded.

“With my fingers?” she asked.

He used the heel of his hand to thump himself in the head. “Sorry. I’m really making an awesome impression here. Honestly, I’m not usually like this. On a normal date, I step up my game, get a bucket of chicken, use the fancy paper napkins with Styrofoam plates.”

“Don’t tease me with what I could’ve had,” Sadie said. She slid off the stool and gave him a shove toward his. “Why don’t you sit and let me get stuff before you fall asleep standing up. And, for the record, we didn’t have to do this tonight. You could have canceled, and I would have understood.”

“Every day is like this. If I don’t grab some moments when I can, then my whole life is devoted to the hospital. Believe me—nothing short of death would have kept me from canceling this night.” He winced when he realized what he had said. “Great, Hal, mention death to the woman whose friend just died. Luke told me about your neighbor, and I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Sadie said. “I’m not one of those oversensitive people who can’t talk about difficult things. Although, if you mention that television commercial with the puppy, I will be forced to run sobbing from the room.”

“Duly noted,” he said.

Sadie gathered plates, cups, silverware, and napkins, filled the cups with ice and drinks, and sat.

“Your servitude is really making me rethink marriage,” Hal said. “Maybe it’s time to find a wife. What do you say, Sadie? All this could be yours.” He gestured around the small, dank kitchen that reeked of reheated Chinese food.

“I feel like a Princess from a fairy tale right now,” Sadie said.

“I can see that I’ve overwhelmed you. Later, after you do the dishes and clean the kitchen, we can talk more about my offer.”

“The mind boggles over the fact that you’ve stayed single this long,” Sadie said.

Hal shrugged. “I’m a scientist, but some things defy rational explanation. You, for instance. You’re possibly the prettiest woman I’ve ever been this close to in real life, and yet you seem content to eat what I can only hope is broccoli from a cheap plastic bowl in my slummy kitchen. What gives?”

“Truly, I’m an enigma,” Sadie said.

“I’m beginning to think you are. Especially because my good friend Luke won’t tell me anything about you. And every time I bring up your name, he gets this look like…”

“Like someone just ran sharp fingernails down a long chalkboard?” Sadie suggested.

“Exactly,” Hal said. “What’s up with that?”

“There’s no way to answer that question without making you realize that I’m not, in fact, perfect. So I choose to ignore it.”

“Fair enough. Let’s talk about murder.”

“You’re a gifted conversationalist, Hal,” Sadie noted.

“I know, and yet this is the first date I’ve had in a year. Crazy. Anyway, tell me how you’re trying to solve this murder.”

“You really want to know?” she asked.

“Not as much as I want to know what happened between you and Luke, but almost. Besides, I need to discuss something interesting to try and stay awake, so if you could make the story suspenseful, that would be great.”

She explained to him Abby’s will, and her insistence that she had been murdered. “I’m so confused," she admitted. “Nothing sounds like it was murder, and Abby’s actions toward the end aren’t like her at all. I have no idea what to think.”

“Do you think she was murdered?”

“No.”

“Then your job is done, and you did your best. Put it to rest.”

“Just because she wasn’t murdered doesn’t mean something wasn’t wrong. I feel like something is off, and I can’t put my finger on what it is. It’s driving me crazy.”

“I have an idea,” Hal said. He stood, washed his hands, and pulled out a piece of paper and pen from the drawer. “Let’s write down everything you know. Organizing information is often the first step toward assimilation.”

“Wow, you hide your inner nerd well. I didn’t see it until just now.”

“What gave me away? My love of organization, or my use of the word ‘assimilation’?”

“It was a combination, really. And the fact that you have nice pens. Nerds love their pens.”

“This is Luke’s,” he said.

“Case in point,” she replied.

Hal ignored her as he drew a chart on the paper. “What do we know so far?”

“Abby died. Doctor Jones said he was with her.”

“Doctor Moses Jones?”

“Is that his real name?”

“No, I was making a joke about his age. He should have retired eons ago. People see him coming at the hospital and jump out of his way because he would rather club you over the head than look at you. He’s grumpy.”

“That he is, but I’ve never known him to be a liar or less than ethical. So when he says he was with her at the end, I’m forced to believe him. He also hinted at the fact that she had hidden health problems, and he said her death was peaceful. He definitely didn’t believe the murder scenario.”

“If you believe that, then why can’t you let it rest?”

“Because I think it’s possible that he might have killed her.”

“I think I just saw my career flash in front of my eyes. Are you really accusing the venerable Dr. Jones of murder?”

“Of course not. But you wanted to try and help me organize my thoughts; these are the thoughts. So far no one knows about them except you and Luke.”

“Okay. For the sake of argument, let’s not let anyone else inside that circle. And let’s move to the couch because this stool feels too much like standing.” They transitioned into the living room. Hal sat and surprised Sadie by pulling her feet into his lap. “There’s no ottoman,” he explained. “This seems cozier.”

“It’s definitely cozy,” she said. She wasn’t sure how she felt about having her feet in his lap, but she didn’t move them.

“Back to this,” he tapped the paper. “What else?”

“Next I spoke to Maddie, Luke’s mom. She told me that Abby had been acting a little standoffish, which wasn’t like her, and that she had a boiling fight with Gideon, my father.”

“Fight with Gideon,” he whispered as he wrote. “Next?”

“The women across the street told me that Abby had an argument with the bank teller over her account but didn’t know why. Rex Warren said he heard Abby and the doctor have a heated discussion, and Johnny said she accused him of swindling her out of some money.”

“Johnny money,” he mumbled. “Anything else?”

“Madame Zora thinks I’m preggers.”

He dropped the pen and looked up. “Huh?”

“Another neighbor, Shirley Kaplan, fancies herself a psychic now. She also said she gave Abby a reading. She, unlike anyone else, said that Abby was warm and friendly. And she also said she gave Abby the death card, and Abby laughed.”

“That’s weird,” Hal said.

“No, that’s the most normal thing I’ve heard. Abby didn’t believe in any of that garbage. Laughter was in character for her. It’s why she went in the first place that I can’t figure out. Oh, and Shirley—excuse me, Madame Zora—said that Abby also spoke with her husband, Abe.”

Hal finished writing and studied the sheet, making notes here and there. “So here’s what we know for sure,” he surmised. “Abby died. She was acting strange before her death, strange here meaning that she lashed out at friends and visited a psychic. Two questions remain: Did she say she was murdered because her mental state was altered, or was her mental state altered because she feared she was going to be murdered?”