Jennie Bentley - Spackled and Spooked

Outside stood an older lady with gray hair cut in a mannish crop. Looking at the wrinkles crisscrossing her face, I put her close to the three-quarters-of-a-century mark, but the rest of her showed no sign of succumbing to old age anytime soon. She was dressed in a green shirt and tan pants with dirt on the knees, and under one beefy arm she held Jemmy, while in the other hand, by the scruff of her neck, she hoisted Inky. I was impressed. Hauling both cats at the same time is a chore, especially when they’re unwilling to be hauled, which is most of the time. But she wasn’t even breathing hard, in spite of Inky’s irate yowls and efforts to free herself.

“These critters yours?” She looked from Derek to me with sharp, dark eyes.

“Mine,” I said, making no move to take them from her. I’ve been scratched enough to know better. “You can put them down.”

“And let ’em go right back to digging in my garden? Nosah!” She snapped her lips closed. Nosah-no, sir-is the Mainer’s way of stating an emphatic negative.

“You’d better come in then,” I said, moving back, “and then you can let them go.”

She stepped across the threshold, still holding both cats, and Derek swung the door shut behind her. As soon as she put them down, Jemmy and Inky took off, tearing across the hardwood floors, skidding around the corner. Inky hissed once across her shoulder before she disappeared.

“My name is Avery Baker,” I added, extending the hand that wasn’t holding the knife, “and this is Derek Ellis.”

The older woman shook my hand, her grip tight enough to grind my bones together. I hid my paw behind my back, surreptitiously flexing, after she let go. Derek gave as good as he got, I was glad to see, after switching the crowbar to his other hand. “And you are…?” he prompted as he squeezed.

“ Venetia Rudolph. Next door.” She took her hand back and tucked both into the pockets of her baggy khakis. I did my best not to giggle.

“Well, we’re sorry about the cats. We brought them from home to take care of any mice, and they must have gotten out.” I had in fact let them out myself sometime in the midmorning, after they’d sat at the door complaining for fifteen minutes, but Venetia seemed so upset about the fact that they’d been in her yard, that I thought it better to make it sound like an accident. “I hope they didn’t ruin your lovely landscaping.”

The landscaping of the red brick ranch to the left of us was lovely. There were bushes and plants of various sizes and shades of green in containers and beds all around the front of the house, and when I’d been out in our backyard earlier, I’d seen huge beds of flowering plants behind the house, as well. This late in the year, it wasn’t as beautiful as I could imagine it might be in May or June, with every flower in riotous explosion of color and texture, but I could make out climbing roses on trellises around the back deck, a patch of what could only be monstrous sunflowers off to the side, and pots of colorful pansies marching up the stairs and all along the railing.

Venetia smiled tightly. “They found the herb garden. And the catnip.”

“Oops,” I said.

Derek hid a grin. “Sorry about that, Miss Rudolph. It won’t happen again.”

“You’d best make sure it doesn’t,” Venetia Rudolph said and turned to leave.

“May I ask you a question, Miss Rudolph?” I said quickly.

“In addition to the one you just asked?”

What an old battle-ax! I bit back a sharp retort. “Another of the neighbors told us that our house is haunted. He said he’s heard screams at night and seen lights go on and off and shadows move past the windows.”

“Hogwash!” Venetia barked.

“And Derek and I have both heard footsteps walking down the hallway when no one was here but us.” I glanced over at Derek for confirmation. He nodded.

Venetia ’s eyes slid sideways to the opening to the hallway. She must have been in our house before, to know where it was. Either that, or the layout of her house was exactly the same. “The cat,” she said.

I shook my head. “Jemmy walks like a man, I agree, but he was outside. Savaging your catnip. And yesterday he wasn’t here at all. Sorry.”

“Harrumph! In that case, young lady, I’m sure I can’t help you. I’ve lived next door for twenty-five years, and no screams have ever disturbed my sleep.”

She turned toward the door again.

“Well, have you ever seen anyone around? Squatters? Anyone who might have broken in? People hanging around, doing stuff to the house? The cable guy?”

Derek must have thought I was stretching the point, because he rolled his eyes. I rolled mine right back at him and focused on Venetia.

“No one who shouldn’t be here,” she said promptly. “There were some squatters in the basement once, but that’s two or three years ago. I called the police on ’em, but they up and left before anyone could move ’ em out. The man from the lawn care company cuts the grass every couple of weeks, and twice a year, someone comes out to service the heating system. Once in a while, a handyman will nail down a loose roof shingle or clean out the gutters. But if you’re asking if I’ve seen anyone suspicious hanging around, the answer is no.”

“I see,” I said. “Thank you, Miss Rudolph.”

She waved me aside. “You make sure your kitties stay out of my catnip, Miss Baker. And you, too, young man.” She looked up at Derek for a second as she trotted past him and out the door. He shut it again just in time to stop Jemmy and Inky from following. Both cats skidded to a stop, tucked their plumy tails around their haunches, and gave him identical, affronted looks. Jemmy, the more vocal of the two, complained loudly.

“I brought some cat snacks,” I said, heading for the kitchen and the bag I had left there in the morning. “Maybe that’ll make them happier.”

“Unless it’s catnip, I don’t think so,” Derek answered, “but it’s worth a try.”

“So Venetia Rudolph-what a name!-never saw or heard anything spooky.” I dug out the cat treat box and gave Inky and Jemmy a fish-shaped crunchy each. “Or anyone hanging around, either.”

“So she says,” Derek said, folding his arms across his chest.

“Why would she lie?”

“She’s a closet romantic and she was hunting for the manuscript of Tied Up in Tartan ? She’s the next door neighbor, and she’s lived here twenty-five years. She might have had a key this whole time. Most people hide a key outside or give one to a neighbor to keep.”

“That’s true,” I said. In New York I’d given the girl in the apartment across the hall a copy of my key, just in case I lost mine. Here in Waterfield, Kate had a copy, and so, of course, did Derek. It made sense that one of the Murphys would have given their neighbor, Venetia Rudolph, a key to their house for emergencies. Or to another of the neighbors. “Guess I’ll have to read Tied Up in Tartan now, to see what’s so exciting.”

“Like you needed an excuse,” Derek said. I smiled.

We left the house around six, scrambling because we were running late. Derek’s dad, Ben Ellis, and his wife Cora had invited us for dinner, and Derek wanted to please his dad by being on time. He loved his dad dearly, and always worried that he had disappointed the older man by not taking over his medical practice. Derek had, in fact, gone through both medical school and a four-year residency before deciding that he wanted to be a renovator instead of a doctor. That was when Melissa decided she’d had enough of being Mrs. Derek Ellis and wanted a divorce. The marriage had been rocky for a while, Derek had told me, but it was the career change from physician to glorified handyman that had been the final blow.