Read The Fright of the Iguana Online
Authors: Linda O. Johnston
The Fright of the Iguana (28 page)
Nor was Nya’s murder suddenly solved, nor the attack on me.
With Jeff sometimes hovering ominously over my shoulder, I did my delightful duties as a pet-sitter. I loved the little bit of law I practiced, particularly when my self-styled bodyguard allowed me to stay at the office on my own.
Then, without telling Jeff my immediate plan, I hied myself to Methuselah—er, Medicure—Manor with Lexie. It was a three-story, homey-looking home, and I held my breath as I walked in.
The people I saw might have had some age, but they all looked well tended. And even somewhat spry. And the place even smelled good—like lemon, but not overdone.
After asking to speak to whoever was in charge, I introduced Lexie and me to the African-American headmistress, Delia Underwood. She appeared a little overwrought and flighty to be the person in charge of the care of a bevy of elders with varying needs, but what did I know? She was shorter than me, and a whole lot thinner, and I gathered that she, too, bordered on senior citizen status. Her face was wrinkly, her forehead set in a frown, and she tended to wave her hands as she spoke.
“I’ve heard you’re looking for volunteers for people to bring their dogs to help perk up the people who live here,” I said, sounding as perky as I could.
“Well . . . yes, but the last person we had who did that didn’t work out. Where did you hear about us?”
“Oh, a newspaper mention a week or two ago that requested people with pets to volunteer.” Not something I’d read, but Rachel had described it as her impetus to bring Beggar here. “Can we give it a try? Lexie just loves people.” At which cue, aided by a tiny tug on her leash, my adorable Cavalier stood on her hind legs, put her front paws on Delia’s knees, and wagged her tail enthusiastically in a request for a pat.
Delia complied, and we got our feet and paws, respectively, in the door.
Delia was too busy to act as our guide, so she introduced us to a couple of other volunteers who came almost daily to help deal with residents—feeding, washing, dressing, entertaining, and whatever was needed. Sally and Shannon were closer contemporaries to Rachel than me, and both claimed to be preparing for careers in health care.
That first visit was both delightful and depressing. Some residents were in full possession of their senses, but their bodies’ abilities were waning. Lexie immediately charmed them, allowing them to pet her as well as their limbs would allow.
Others’ minds and memories were fragile, but all appeared to appreciate cute canines. They sometimes said odd things, but all seemed charmed as well.
I was glad to leave that evening. Promised to be back the next day.
WHICH VISITS WENT on for four days.
Okay, I admit it. I used Rachel’s problems at the senior citizens’ residence as a distraction from all my own issues.
Which served to drive Jeff crazy, an added bonus.
But I informed Borden I was working on a personal issue and had to slack off my legal matters for a short while. Adorable man that he was, and so devoted to the idea that we all should love our law practices, he had no problem with my disappearing each afternoon for a couple of hours, then returning for a short while until I had to leave for my pet-sitting stuff.
During those times on hiatus from the Yurick firm, I hied Lexie and me to Methuselah Manor.
And damned if I, too, didn’t get a whole lot of satisfaction in watching the elderly residents perk up as my loving Lexie leaped up onto their laps—with my assistance, or that of my usual accompanying volunteers Shannon and Sally, after assuring those laps weren’t too fragile to accept her.
My entourage and I, including a pet-loving aide or two, usually meandered from one tiny room, each with two occupants, to the next. I especially enjoyed an elderly lady named Agnes. She was in her nineties but as spry as someone a couple decades younger, and her mind was totally with it. She appeared to be Shannon’s pet resident, too.
Then there was Bill, a boy at heart despite his aging body. He appeared to be Sally’s favorite. Delia, who came along at times, too, was most fair, not showing favoritism to any of them. Nor did she seem partial to dogs, although she was absolutely delighted to have us around to stimulate the seniors in her care.
I also especially liked—well, let’s just say there were a lot of people there whom I immediately adored. Lexie and I enjoyed entertaining all of them, as well as some of the other aides, both old and young. Unfortunately, the rest of my life sometimes interfered, and I both gave and received calls on my cell phone, but, hey, everyone appeared to understand.
Lexie and I left each day with smiles on our faces—well, Lexie’s was more a canine tongue-lolling pant, but she certainly looked happy after we both received final hugs from those whom we’d visited.
Until that Thursday. When an outcry arose in Agnes’s room not long after Lexie, Sally, and I had left. The elderly dear suddenly stood in the doorway, glaring at my dog and me. “My diamond necklace is gone,” she cried.
“My baseball autographed by the Pittsburgh Pirates, too,” shouted Bill from his door. “Someone stop those thieves!”
Chapter Twenty-four
LEXIE AND I halted immediately. “I assume you’re not accusing us,” I said swiftly.
“You were in my room,” Agnes asserted.
“Why would you have a diamond anything in a public place like this?” I asked, drawing closer to her. She hadn’t struck me as senile but I had to inquire, just in case.
“Because it’s precious to me,” she said sadly. Her wrinkle-surrounded eyes were a brilliant blue, enhanced by the sheen of tears that threatened to spill down her wizened cheeks.
“Same goes about my ball,” Bill said. “We never had any trouble here at all till we started having people with dogs come in to play with us. Do you know Rachel? She had a really nice Irish setter, but she stole from us like you.”
I gritted my teeth but forbore from defending our maligned honor. Yet. Meantime, a throng of residents and workers including volunteers and aides started to gather around.
“Actually, yes. I know Rachel. In fact—” I motioned to one of the middle-aged aides who wore a yellow uniform and white sensible shoes. “Here she is.”
The aide in question stripped off a salt-and-pepper wig to reveal Rachel’s short, sassy black mop beneath. From a pocket she pulled out a tissue and wiped some of the thick makeup from her face, immediately revealing its real youthfulness.
“Hey!” shouted Bill. “What’s she doing here?”
“Helping me unmask your thief,” I replied as Rachel withdrew, from another pocket, a teeny digital camera.
“Who did you get?” I asked her.
“Sally,” she said with a snort of disgust. “You?”
“Same goes.” I drew my handy-dandy multitalented cell phone from my pocket. “This takes photos, too. And some are bound to show Sally snitching the missing items. I shot some pictures without watching as Lexie entertained on one side of the rooms and Sally stood behind us doing whatever she did. I checked some of the photos, and a few show her rooting around in drawers while our attention was diverted. How about you?”
“About the same, after I pretended to be enthralled with your entertaining but instead palmed my camera and kept pushing the button to shoot photos.”
“Hey!” Sally said. “I didn’t do anything. You’re blaming me just to hide your own stealing.” She was as falsely blond as she was an honorable volunteer at this facility. She’d claimed she’d all but decided on a career as a practical nurse.
Practical pilferer was more like it.
“You can lie all you want,” Rachel said. “Our cameras will tell the truth.”
Which was when Sally started to make a run for the door—only to be stopped by a uniformed cop.
Yes, headmistress Delia was in on our charade. She had to be, so that Rachel could use her acting and accompanying makeup skills to hang around when Lexie and I did, being our backup and co-camera person. We’d signaled Delia to call the cops as soon as we’d determined that today was the day, and the real culprit was about to be caught.
And Rachel cleared.
“I’m sorry!” Sally sobbed. I noticed she held a tote bag over her shoulder, ostensibly filled with large-print books and magazines for the sometimes myopic inmates. As she cried, the bag slipped not too surreptitiously to the floor. I’d no doubt the authorities would find inside, at a minimum, Agnes’s diamond and Bill’s ball. “Please let me go. I’ll never do it again.”
“Not here you won’t,” I said. “We have the evidence, and it’s my opinion as an attorney that charges be pressed. What if we let you go and you decide to pull this at some other unsuspecting elder-care facility? Unless you’ve a record of some kind, you’re much too likely to be allowed inside other doors.”
Okay, I’d been unjustly accused in my day of something a lot more heinous than cadging a signed baseball, or even a costly diamond. I sided with the innocent, at least till proven guilty. But this young lady had thought nothing of stealing, then allowing my own pet-sitting protégé to suffer the consequences.
Harsh, on my part, to suggest throwing the legal book at this young bitch? Could be.
But I stuck by it. And smiled as the police escorted Sally out the door as I heard Delia say, “I’m so sorry about everything, Rachel. Could you bring Beggar back one of these days? Everyone was so happy when you and he visited.”
Lexie and I strolled down the hall, accepting the accolades and thanks of the inhabitants. I didn’t hear Rachel’s response, but felt certain it was positive.
“SURE, IT WORKED out wonderfully,” I told Darryl later that day at his Doggy Indulgence Day Resort. Lexie was cavorting in one of the canine play areas with some of her fastest friends.
“I’m really glad for Rachel and you,” my bespectacled best friend said with obvious enthusiasm.
Equally obvious to me was that something was on his mind. We stood by the desk where pets were checked in and out each day, and the place appeared as wild as usual, with attendants conducting playtime with visiting pups and attempting to keep them from acting all wolfen and gnawing on one another. Darryl, who usually seemed happily distracted by his place’s habitual chaos, seemed awfully sedate.
“Does this mean that Rachel or you will have more or less time to pet-sit?” he asked, handing me my first clue to what was weighing on him.
“You have another referral?” I asked, surprised at Darryl’s uncharacteristic subtlety. He usually just blurted out his requests, and I’d take on any pets I had time to handle. Sometimes those I didn’t have time for, too. I owed Darryl a lot, including my part-time pet-sitting avocation, which he’d gotten me into when I was desperate to make a few dollars.
“Sure do,” he said, sounding as relieved as if I’d told him I’d take it on. “I hinted at it the other day.” Oh, right. He had. Well, I’d find him a pet-sitter, even if it couldn’t be Rachel or me. “I’ve got a customer who can’t come here because she’s in heat.”
“A purebred?” I inquired, since most owners Darryl dealt with who had mixed breeds had them neutered—or Darryl would hound them until they did.
“A show dog,” he answered. “This would probably have been her last season before spaying, but her owner wanted to breed her one more time and unfortunately hadn’t arranged an appropriate beau. The owner’s home with her today but wants someone to make frequent visits to coddle her canine baby over the next few crucial weeks. She’s determined to find the right male to mate her bitch with before the next season rolls around, and then she’ll have her spayed.”
“Good deal,” I said. “I know a lot of people who are convinced that even show dogs should be spayed early and not be permitted to reproduce, what with the overpopulation of potential pets in shelters these days.”
“No need to preach to this particular choir,” Darryl said, and I knew he wasn’t kidding. “Show dogs may be exceptions, and I’m all for people having pets who need day care, but I hate to hear of so many not ever being placed in loving homes.”
“Tell me who the dog is and where she lives, and if Rachel or I can’t take care of her, I’ll find your customer a PSCSC member who can.”
Darryl obliged by telling me exactly which lady dog he was discussing.
And that’s when I started to really smile. I unexpectedly had the solution to several problems, thanks to this suddenly sunny season.
OF COURSE I called Jeff, to let him know my latest moves. That was our temporary compromise, at least during daylight and while I kept in close telephone contact with him. And didn’t do anything too nutsy, like going into dark alleys alone. Or visiting all-but-empty homes of pet-sitting clients on my own, unless I called him from the front door and kept talking.
Then I called Darryl’s client for Critter TLC, LLC’s pet-sitting fun and frolic—not to mention my ulterior motive. Her owner was a workaholic CPA who should have had a letup as late in April as it now was, but she was winding down some of her own customers’ posttax filing calculations and therefore her working hours remained nearly 24/7.
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