Think Murder (5 page)

I once heard someone say “Happiness is a warm puppy.” My sentiments exactly. I can’t have a dog in my apartment, so I get my “warm puppy fix” by volunteering at an animal rescue center. After lunch with Duncan, I was more than ready for a distraction.

The Cutie Pie Puppy Rescue Center takes in and cares for dogs that have been abandoned or abused, providing care until new homes can be found for them. The owner of the property donates the space, and the center is staffed by an eclectic group of volunteers who help out by walking the dogs, playing with them, and cleaning up after them.

I discovered “Cutie Pie” last year, and pop by whenever I can. The last time I was there, Tuesday, they had gotten in an adorable chocolate lab we nicknamed Brandy. It was love at first sight. I couldn’t wait to see that playful puppy again.

There are lots of volunteers most Saturdays, which is good because weekends are the most popular time for drop-in visits by people thinking to adopt a dog. When I got there, Joan was manning the reception table. Joan is a retired teacher who dedicates most of her time to volunteering for animal rights and other noble causes. She’s almost always there.

Joan waved me over as soon as she saw me come in. “Hi, Adina. Glad to see you here today. It’s been a busy day.”

“What’s up? Lots of adoptions?”

“So far, lots of lookers – no takers. You know how it goes. Lots of people with questions about the different dogs.” Stacey and Evan, two other volunteers, were busy talking with visitors.

The center can house up to 12 dogs at a time. The dogs are kept in enclosures of various sizes. We try to rotate through the roster so that everybody gets taken out as often as possible. Today, the center was home to only nine dogs, seven of which were up for adoption – including that chocolate lab. Two other dogs were being nursed back to health. They would become candidates for adoption after recovery and rehabilitation.

“How can I help? Who’s next up for a walk?”

“The adoption candidates have been getting lots of attention. It would be great if you’d take out the beagles first.”

The beagles, nicknamed “Bread” and “Butter,” had been at the center for almost two weeks. A couple had found the puppies abandoned near a highway, dehydrated and on the verge of starvation. Since then, both dogs had gained weight and had begun to show interest in playing with other dogs and people.

I grabbed a couple of leashes and plastic baggies from a nearby shelf, then headed for their enclosure. Both dogs were excited to see me open the gate. I attached the leashes and out we went.

I tried to keep the two dogs’ leashes from tangling up while the beagles enthusiastically explored their surroundings. Beginning to doubt the wisdom of taking them out together, I decided it would be a short walk and started back for Cutie Pie.

I had no sooner untangled the leashes again when Bread took off behind me on my right, with Butter taking a shortcut between my legs. They suddenly dashed around me circling left, toppling me to the ground.

“Need some help there?”

Still on my butt, I looked up to see a dark-haired stranger in faded jeans gazing down at me with the hint of a smirk on his face. The beagle brats were climbing on top of me, trying to lick my face.

Without waiting for my reply, the guy reached out and took Bread’s leash and set to untangling us. I freed Butter’s leash in tandem. He extended his hand, and I let him help me to my feet.

I brushed myself off while thanking him. “Do you like dogs?”

“Absolutely.”

“Are you interested in adopting a dog? The rescue center is right over there.”

“I know. That’s where I’m headed.”

“Great. Well, I better get these two back inside.”

He walked beside me as I closed the remaining distance to the rescue center. He opened the door and let me and the dogs go in ahead of him. I returned Bread and Butter to their enclosure without further mishap.

Joan looked up as I approached her desk. “Oh, Adina, back already? Did the beagles give you a hard time?”

“You might say that. I won’t make that mistake again. They tangled my legs up until I lost my balance and fell flat on my butt. Talk about embarrassing. A stranger had to come to my rescue. On the positive side, the guy who helped me out seems to like dogs, I think he might even adopt one.”

“That’s not exactly what I said.” The guy had followed me over to Joan’s desk and had been listening to our conversation.

Joan glanced over my shoulder and remarked, “I see you’ve met our newest volunteer.”

He ignored my discomfort and extended his hand. “Sort of. Bruce Dunn at your service.”

I shook his hand, “Nice to meet you, and thanks again. I’m Adina.”

He just nodded and smiled.

Now that I had time for a better look, I saw that Bruce was tall, over 6 feet, and well built. His dark hair and olive complexion set off amazing green eyes. Wow.

Bruce turned back to Joan, “What do you need from me today?”

Joan sent Bruce off to walk Gus, a full grown German shepherd. She then suggested I refill the water bowls in the enclosures, and see if any of the visitors needed help.

I stopped to pet the dogs in each of the enclosures as I worked. Brandy, the chocolate lab, was still there, and I couldn’t resist taking extra time to play with him. He probably wouldn’t be at the center for long. The better looking and affectionate dogs seldom were.

Bruce must have come back and gone out again while I wasn’t paying attention. The next time I noticed him, he was returning a mid-sized mix-breed to her enclosure. Aptly nicknamed Patch, the dog was all black except for the area surrounding her right eye.

Bruce caught me watching him and smiled. I smiled back, hoping I wasn’t blushing. I was sitting on the floor, rubbing the lab behind his ears, when Bruce walked over.

“That’s a handsome lab. Looks like a purebred. I wonder how he ended up here.”

“Not sure. He’s beautiful and has such a sweet disposition. I can’t imagine how anyone could abandon him.”

Just then, Evan, another volunteer, called me over to help deal with a sudden influx of visitors. I spoke at length with a young couple who were contemplating getting a dog. They both wanted a dog. Problem was – she wanted a lap dog, he wanted a ferocious beast. They departed without reaching an agreement.

I looked around hoping for another chance to talk to Bruce. He was nowhere to be seen. The dogs were all there, so he must have already left.

On my way out, I stopped to talk to Joan about the schedule for the coming week. During the day, when most of us are at work, Joan and a few other retired people hold down the fort. For the evenings, she tries to make sure two or three volunteers come by to check on the dogs and walk them, weather permitting.

I confirmed that I would come on Tuesday as usual and was pleased to see that Bruce was also listed for Tuesday. Something to look forward to.

That night I slept soundly for the first time in days. I hadn’t set an alarm, so it was almost noon when I got up.

The beautiful fall weather would be perfect for a visit to the zoo. Sure, I’ve been there at least a dozen times, but I keep going back. Admission is free, and it’s only a short Metro ride from my apartment. I threw on a pair of jeans, a bright green t-shirt, and comfortable shoes. With my hair pulled back into a pony tail, I was ready to go.

The entrance to the National Zoo is located on Connecticut Avenue a short stroll from the Woodley Park Metro stop. Good weather meant lots of visitors, including tourists and local families.

I followed the main path and wandered at my leisure, bypassing the loop through the Asia Trail and heading for the Giant Panda exhibit. The Pandas have a special appeal as they lumber around outside. I know they can be dangerous; still their cuddly appearance conjures up warm fuzzy feelings. My timing was great. Both of the adult pandas were in the yard. I soon regretted not having brought my camera with me – instead I snapped a few pictures with my smartphone.

After my fill of panda watching, I camped out on a bench opposite the elephant enclosure. The zoo was a great place for people watching. Most of the people gave off positive vibes. I couldn’t help smiling at the energy and enthusiasm of the kids as they dragged their parents from exhibit to exhibit.

A petite young woman was taking pictures nearby, her strawberry blond hair flowing in the wind. For just a second, I thought Hilary, too, had come to the zoo. The woman turned around, and I was jolted back to reality. And back to thinking about Hilary.

I got up and followed the main path a bit farther, then circled around towards the park entrance and headed home.

Back at my apartment, I finished a romance novel and had a light dinner. As 7 p.m. approached, I tried to mentally prepare myself for my weekly call home. If I don’t call every Sunday evening, my parents won’t let me hear the end of it.

My mother answered almost immediately. “Hi, sweetheart. How are you?”

“I’m fine. How are you and dad?”

“Well, your dad’s allergies are acting up. Nothing he can’t handle.” She rambled on, “Weather’s nice though. The leaves are starting to turn such pretty colors.”

“That’s good. Weather’s been good here, too. Not so humid this week.” My mother and I have managed to disagree on almost everything over the years. As a result, weather has become one of our favorite topics.

Then the interrogation began, “So how’s your job?”

I resolved to take the easy route and not mention Hilary’s murder. It would have triggered too many questions and a lecture on the dangers of living in D.C.

“Work is fine, mom. Nothing new.”

“Are you still volunteering at that dog place? You know, if you moved back home, you could have a dog of your own instead of walking other peoples’ dogs.”

“Yes, mom. I know. But these dogs don’t have owners. They need to be cared for until families can be found. Besides, I like it here.”

Next came my favorite question, “Anything else new?” Her not so subtle attempt to inquire into my love life. The same questions every week. And my answers almost never changed.

“No, mom. Nothing much new here.”

“Are you sure everything is OK? I hear strain in your voice.”

I wavered for a split second. “Really, I’m fine. Just tired. Is anything new up there?”

“Well, Goldstein’s boy, Peter, has moved back to town. He’s a lawyer now. He’s 28 and single. Perhaps we can have his family over for dinner next time you visit.”

I groaned. “No matchmaking!”

“Adina, you aren’t getting any younger. I worry.”

“I’m only 25 and I meet new people all the time.” With more confidence than I felt, I added, “One of these days it’ll be Mr. Right.”

She shouted to my father to see if he wanted to come to the phone. “Your dad is watching a game on TV. He sends his love.”

“Send mine back. Gotta go now.”

“Don’t forget to call next week. Bye.”

It was still early, so I took a shower, then curled up and watched TV for the rest of the evening.

Monday morning always comes too soon. Back at the DIPPeR, office life had not quite returned to normal. A large memorial plaque was on display near the receptionist’s desk, with Hilary’s picture and the caption ‘Hilary A. Sterling, 1990-2014’.

When I checked my Inbox, I spotted a message from Kaye – Subject: Funeral Arrangements for Hilary Sterling. Duncan had already told me that the funeral would be that day in Wyoming. Part of me wanted to be there, but it was too far and too expensive a trip for me to make.

“Hilary Ann Sterling, 24, died September 3 in Washington D.C.

She was born September 12, 1990, in Cheyenne, Wyoming. She graduated from Kennedy High School and held a B.A. in Urban Planning from Northwestern University.

At the time of her death, she worked as a Research Assistant at the Drake Institute for Policy Planning and Research in Washington D.C.

She is survived by her parents, Thomas and Katherine Sterling of Cheyenne, a brother, Bradley Sterling of Boston, Mass., and her paternal grandmother, Grace Sterling.

A memorial service will be held on September 8 at 2 p.m. at the Fellowship Memorial Chapel on Grant Street, with interment to follow at Hillside Cemetery.

In lieu of flowers, memorial contributions can be made to the Kennedy High School Scholarship Fund.”

The obituary also included the link to a page for online expressions of sympathy. I clicked the link and saw that a couple of messages had already been posted, alongside a photo of Hilary in a cap and gown from her college graduation, smiling brightly. I started to compose a message and found myself at a loss for words. I’d have to give it more thought and try again later.

Restless and thirsty, I headed for the kitchen. The kitchen was more crowded than usual. As soon as I walked in, the room grew quiet. Only a few people continued to speak in hushed voices. Others turned to stare at me, then quickly averted their eyes.

Uncomfortable doesn’t begin to describe how I felt. I scanned the room until I spotted Michelle. Her cringe spoke louder than words. I made my tea and took it back to my desk without stopping to talk to anyone.

Michelle came over to my cubicle, head hung low. “Adina, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say anything, but you know how I get after a couple glasses of wine. We were discussing what happened to Hilary and I blurted it out. Don’t worry, there were only a few people there.”

“Obviously that was enough. My guess is everyone knows now. Or didn’t you see how people looked at me in that kitchen.”

“I’m so sorry,” she repeated.

Faced with her sincere regret, I couldn’t stay too mad. “It’s alright. It was bound to come out eventually. I’ll survive.” We chatted for a few minutes before she went back to her desk.

After typing up and editing correspondence for Matt, I had time for some game-therapy before my meeting with Dr. Stickler. At precisely 11, I knocked on Dr. Stickler’s open door. As a senior program director, he had one of the largest offices at the DIPPeR. His desk was devoid of clutter; the few items he had out were lined up like soldiers prepared to march.

“Good morning, Adina. Please sit down.” He remained seated, gesturing to a chair. “I understand that you have agreed to help us wrap up the project that Hilary was working on. Mr. Murphy clearly holds your skills in high estimation.”

“I’ll do my best, Dr. Stickler.”

“Glad to hear it. Before you start, let me tell you a bit about the project.” He leaned back in his chair.

“The Land Use Survey examines trends in the reallocation of land in rural areas for commercial purposes. It focuses on four states with sizeable areas of undeveloped land – Virginia, West Virginia, Tennessee, and Kentucky. I plan to present our findings at the Regional Environmental Impact Conference next month and publish it as a paper in the EPC journal.”

He continued, “The study spans the years 2008-2012. Hilary had already collected the data and had begun summarizing it. I need someone to complete the statistical analysis of the data and summarize the trends, including charts and graphs. If you could take care of this by the middle of next week, I’ll take it from there.”

The way he put it, it sounded like an ominous task. I nodded, at the same time trying to squelch that little voice inside that had me wondering if I was in over my head. Dr. Stickler proceeded to explain the task in greater detail, while I noted the types of tables and graphs he wanted me to generate based on the data.

“I have arranged for IT to reset Hilary’s password so that you can access her files on the server. You should receive a message with the details sometime today. There are printouts and notes in the folder on Hilary’s desk. Let me know if you have any questions.”

“Of course, Dr. Stickler.”

I returned to my desk just as Michelle messaged me to hurry up. I checked the time and realized I had been in Dr. Stickler’s office for more than an hour.

Michelle and Amber were waiting for me when I reached the reception area. Michelle smiled. “Finally. I was afraid you were still mad at me.”

“I was in a meeting with Dr. Stickler. I’ll fill you in over lunch.”

“Can we please hurry up? I’m starving over here,” interjected Amber. Amber is always hungry.

Our lunch break is 45 minutes long. Not bad, but given the time it takes to go out and come back, we stick to places with fast service. Amber was on a health kick, so we went to a sandwich place where she could get a giant salad. Me, I’d be happy to eat pizza every day.

When we were seated, Michelle apologized again for divulging my secrets. Amber, who had been with her at happy hour, came to her defense.

“Adina, you should have seen Michelle on Friday. Holly, Ryan and Zach were with us. They started hypothesizing about Hilary’s death. Well, you know, Michelle was all tipsy… she shocked us all when she blurted out that you were the one who found the body.”

“It’s OK. I get the picture. Did the guys at least have some interesting theories on what might have happened?”

Amber volunteered, “Holly said she saw one of the papers mentioned that it might have been one of those happy hour hook-ups gone wrong. You know, when couples sometime go at it in a bathroom stall.”

I laughed, “Ridiculous. She didn’t even talk to anyone else at McSweeney’s that night. Besides, even if I hadn’t been with her, Hilary was totally in love with Duncan.”

Michelle piped up, “Holly has always been jealous of Hilary, especially since she started dating Duncan. I think she has a crush on him.”

Holly, with her whiny voice and excess weight, was one of the few women under 30 at the DIPPeR that Duncan hadn’t dated yet. Based on his past conquests, I doubt he would even flirt with her.

“Now that Hilary’s out of the way, it’ll be interesting to see who Duncan dates next,” Amber commented.

Michelle and I exchanged knowing glances. When Amber had started working at the DIPPeR, Duncan was already seeing Hilary. Unlike Holly, Amber’s porcelain doll features and slim build might appeal to Duncan. I bit my lip, while Michelle responded, “Safe bet it won’t be Holly.”

I asked, “So did anybody have any other theories?”

Amber added, “Ryan suggested maybe it had something to do with drugs, you know, a deal gone bad. Only catch being that none of us knew of Hilary having any drug problems.”

“Of course not. Hilary wasn’t into drugs,” I responded automatically. At least not that I knew of. Duncan used a recreational drug now and then, had she started using? I kept my thoughts to myself.

“What if she walked in on a drug deal? Witnesses get eliminated all the time, don’t they? At least they do on TV,” Michelle suggested.

I shrugged. “That might be a valid theory.”

“Anyway, Adina, it must have been terrible for you, finding her body and all that. What happened?”

“Amber, I wish I knew. I can’t imagine why anyone would kill Hilary.”

“Adina, you were there when it happened. You must know something,” Amber pressed on.

“All I know is that one minute we were at the table talking, and then almost the next she was dead on the bathroom floor.”

Wide-eyed, Amber waited for me to go into details. When it became obvious that I wasn’t going to elaborate, Michelle changed the subject before Amber could continue with that line of questioning. “So… why were you meeting with Dr. Stickler?”

“Well, Hilary had been working on a project that has to be completed in the next few weeks. That land use study she was always talking about. I guess there’s not enough time to recruit a replacement, so Matt suggested that I might be able to help out – Stickler needs lots of graphs and charts, and a presentation for a conference next month.”

Amber was emphatic. “But he already has a secretary. He should have Carol help him.”

I paused, not sure how to respond. The secretaries at the DIPPeR sometimes got territorial. Amber didn’t want me to horn in on a fellow secretary’s turf. Never mind that Hilary wasn’t a secretary, and technically neither was I. Besides, I didn’t want to be quoted as having put down Carol’s skills.

Michelle saved me again, “That sounds right up your alley, Adina. Nobody whips up charts and presentations the way you do.”

“Thanks, Michelle,” I laughed. “Anyway, it’s just temporary. I’ll help out with this one project. I’ve had a pretty light workload lately so it’ll help keep me busy until Matt’s next project kicks in.”

Amber seemed appeased, “It didn’t sound like a very interesting project. Better you than me.”

Michelle tapped on her watch. We threw our trash in the nearby bin and hurried back to the office.

After lunch, I sat down at my computer and logged on to the project files. Thankfully, Hilary was well organized. She had created folders for each state, with subfolders for data, background, graphs, and so on. I also found a folder for the report, which contained an outline, a working draft, and several files containing notes.

I started by checking out the draft – to gain a better sense of what the project entailed. At the same time, I could see what was done and what was missing.

The report structure included an intro chapter, a chapter for each state, and then a chapter comparing the states’ data. The first few chapters were almost finished. They even included many of the charts that Dr. Stickler had told me to create, complete with placeholders for missing data.

By contrast, the chapter on West Virginia was quite sketchy. So was the comparison chapter. I was going to need to fill in the gaps, presumably model the presentation of data after the chapters on the other states. My thoughts were interrupted when Matt stopped by my desk on his way out. It was past 5, so I logged off my computer and went home.

I knew I should take Daniel’s advice and not spend too much time alone. Easier said than done. Especially on a Monday night. After a quick shower and dinner, I decided to give writing a sympathy message another try.

I searched for the obit notice and clicked the link. Several more messages had been posted. Most of them were the short standard expressions of sympathy, ‘sorry for your loss,’ ‘thinking of you,’ ‘heartfelt condolences,’ and so on.

Hilary’s brother, Brad, had posted a short yet moving tribute. I had never met Brad but Hilary had spoken of him with love and admiration. Clearly, they had been close and he was hurting.

I didn’t want to write something impersonal, or that echoed the sentiments of a Hallmark card. I drafted and deleted my first 10 or more attempts. In the end, I posted a short message:

Hilary was so many things – talented, warm, caring, always willing to help others, a good friend. My life was enriched by having known her. I’ll miss her dearly.

That done, I curled up in bed in front of the TV set. I fell asleep somewhere near the end of a rerun of “Doctor Zhivago” on the movie classics channel.