Brett Halliday - Die Like a Dog

Only the mouth was a discordant note in the carefully-wrought perfection of Anita Rogell’s face, and the shock-effect of that feature, Lucy knew immediately, had been carefully and unerringly calculated as a vivid contrast with the overall effect.

It was a large, coarse mouth with full, pouting underlip daringly accentuated with heavy lipstick that had a violent orange tinge. It was hard to describe the effect that garish mouth had against the background of cold fragility that was the dominant characteristic of Anita’s face. It was a bold and shameless promise of fire and lust that lay beneath the otherwise placid exterior, a flagrant and provocative flaunting of sexual precocity which would have remained otherwise concealed.

At least, that’s the way it struck Lucy as she stepped into the overheated room. She had no way of knowing how it would appear to a man who looked at Anita for the first time, and the fleeting thought crossed her mind that she would give a great deal to get Michael Shayne’s reaction to the woman in front of her.

But she said composedly, “I apologize for intruding like this, Mrs. Rogell, but when we at Haven Eternal learned of your bereavement we felt morally obligated to bring to your attention certain of our unique services which have lessened the pangs of grief of other pet-owners and which we sincerely hope will partially assuage your own.”

It was a speech she had learned by rote, and she delivered it glibly and with what she hoped was a commendable show of sincerity.

Anita had her card between the thumb and tapering forefinger of her left hand. She glanced down at it with a tiny frown puckering her smooth forehead as Lucy spoke her lines, and said, “I don’t think I understand exactly what you want from me.”

Her voice was unexpectedly husky and deep, with a rich resonance that seemed to vibrate in the silence after she finished speaking.

“It isn’t what we want from you, Mrs. Rogell,” Lucy told her. “It’s what we feel we can do for you that counts with us. Is it possible that you haven’t heard of Pet Haven Eternal?” She made it sound as though such abysmal ignorance on the part of Anita was utterly unthinkable, and the woman nibbled at the bait by saying, “The name does sound familiar, but I really don’t know…”

“This little booklet will explain much better than I can if I talked for hours,” Lucy interrupted her, opening her bag and extracting the brochure. “It will only take a moment of your time to glance through it and determine which of our services you feel would be most suitable to assure your dear Sombre Daffodil Third that final peace and utter tranquility that every owner of a four-footed friend who was so devoted in life must desire for the canine soul that has passed onward over the Great Divide to enter the realm of peace that passeth understanding.”

Lucy noticed a peculiarly wary, almost frightened glint in Anita’s eyes as she completed this remarkable speech and pressed the booklet into the woman’s somewhat reluctant hands, and she thought, “Oh, dear. Did I overdo it that time? I don’t think this gal is as dumb as I anticipated. Watch your step, Lucy Hamilton, and get down off your cloud.”

Aloud, she said, “By merely glancing through this you will see that we have one of the finest plants in the United States. And I assure you our charges are extremely moderate. We are incorporated as a non-profit organization and our greatest desire is to be of real help to all those who have suffered the inconsolable loss of a devoted pet.”

Anita glanced at the pastel-colored cover and arched her golden eyebrows slightly. “A pet cemetery? I’ve heard they are quite the vogue around New York, but didn’t realize there was one in Miami.”

“We all felt you must be unaware of our existence when we read the newspaper item this morning concerning the departure of your Daffy. We don’t ordinarily solicit business, Mrs. Rogell, but we did feel it our duty to offer you an opportunity to avail yourself of our help and our trained personnel.”

“Do sit down while I glance through this,” said Anita absently. “Even though it’s too late now to help my Daffy.” She paused on the second page. “Really? A crematorium just for pets? Such a wonderful idea! If I had realized all this…”

“It’s never too late, Mrs. Rogell. We can arrange any service you desire with the utmost promptness. After all, it was just last evening, I believe…?” She paused delicately, and Anita nodded without looking up, turning to the next page with pictures and descriptions of individually designed grottos for those who could afford the tariff.

“Yes. It was just last night. Very suddenly and unexpectedly. But I have a thing about death in any form, Miss Hamilton. An inner horror. A sort of instinctive repulsion that is practically a complex with me.” She lifted sorrowful violet eyes to Lucy, closed the booklet and gently tapped it against her knee with a sigh. “I’ve always felt that purging by fire is the only decent way to dispose of one’s mortal remains, and I would so much have liked to have that for Daffy, but I didn’t realize it was possible and so I had the little darling buried immediately here on my own grounds overlooking the bay.”

“But that was less than twenty-four hours ago,” suggested Lucy tactfully. “There’s no physical reason… that is, if you truly desire cremation there’s nothing to prevent it even yet. Our attendants are most discreet and understanding. You can be assured that Daffy will be… er… disinterred with the utmost loving care and taken directly to our crematorium for the… uh… final purging by fire which you desire.”

“You mean… dig her up now?”

“Well, yes.” Lucy wanted to add that she didn’t believe Daffy would mind one tiny bit, but she bit back the words and went on persuasively. “A single telephone call is all it requires. Within an hour we can have a trained attendant here driving an unmarked car who will attend to all the details with the utmost circumspection.” She hesitated a moment and then played what she hoped would prove to be her trump card: “And the cost is so very moderate. You simply won’t believe it when I tell you the truly infinitesimal sum that will be required to reduce Daffy to a handful of fire-purged ashes in a Grecian urn of your own choosing… or even an individual design hand-crafted by one of our specialists.”

She stopped and waited, holding her breath while she calculated swiftly how low a sum she should quote if Mrs. Rogell rose to the bait. She hadn’t the faintest idea what the normal charge of Haven Eternal would be for such a deal. Probably in the hundreds of dollars, she guessed. She’d keep it under a hundred, she decided. Ninety-seven-fifty sounded like a nice, enticing figure.

But Anita Rogell shook her head decidedly. “I couldn’t do that. I haven’t the heart to disturb Daffy now. I’m sure she’s comfortable and happy in the spot Charles chose for her final resting place. It would be a desecration to disturb her now.”

“I don’t see that at all. It’s often done… you know… with human beings. After all, circumstances change…”

“No.” Anita closed the booklet and held it out to her. “I do appreciate your coming here and all the information you’ve given me. I’ll be sure to mention Haven Eternal to any of my friends who might be interested. But it is too late now to be any help to Daffy.”

“Perhaps it isn’t, Mrs. Rogell.” Lucy Hamilton was thinking fast and extemporizing as she went. “We have a very special service that isn’t even mentioned in our regular booklet. It’s… something we have inaugurated recently for pet owners who feel they will be happier if their loved ones are buried close to them. You definitely must have a marker for Daffy. A… a headboard at least. Something very simple and inexpensive, if you think best. We even have plastic markers today, though we do think that plain granite or marble is more appropriate. And we also do individual landscaping of your own private burial plot,” she rushed on, “and provide perpetual care if you wish it. Or you can have one of those cunning grottos built right here on your own grounds over the spot where Daffy is already interred.”