Charlaine Harris - A Bone To Pick

It was still raining after I’d washed the pot and the spoon and the bowl, so I sat in Jane’s chair in the living room, watching the rain and wondering what to do next. After a moment, the cat heaved herself up onto my lap. I wasn’t quite sure how I felt about this liberty on the cat’s part, but I decided I’d give it a try. I stroked the smooth fur tentatively and heard the deep percolation start up. What I needed, I decided, was to talk to someone who knew Lawrenceton in depth, someone who knew about Carey Osland’s husband and the Rideouts’ tenant. I’d been assuming the skull came from someone who lived close by, and suddenly I realized I’d better challenge that assumption.

Why had I thought that? There had to be a reason. Okay-Jane couldn’t transport a body any distance. I just didn’t think she’d been strong enough. But I remembered the hole in the skull and shuddered, feeling distinctly queasy for a moment. She’d been strong enough to do that. Had Jane herself cut off the head? I couldn’t even picture it. Granted, Jane’s bookshelves, like mine, were full of accounts about people who had done horrible things and gone unsuspected for long periods of time, but I just couldn’t admit Jane might be like that. Something wasn’t adding up.

It just might be my own dearly held assumptions and preconceptions. Jane, after all, was a Little Old Lady.

I was worn out physically and mentally. It was time to go back to my place. I unseated the cat, to her disgust, and filled her water dish, while making a mental note to call Parnell. I stuffed my car full of things to throw or give away, locked up, and left.

For Christmas, my mother had given me an answering machine, and its light was blinking when I let myself into my kitchen. I leaned against the counter while I punched the button to hear my messages.

“Roe, this is Aubrey. Sorry I didn’t catch you in. I’ll talk to you later. See you at church tomorrow?”

Ah oh. Tomorrow was Sunday. Maybe I should go to the Episcopal church. But since I didn’t always go there, wouldn’t it look a little pointed to show up right after I’d had a date with the pastor? On the other hand, here he was inviting me personally, and I’d hurt his feelings if I didn’t show… oh hell.

“Hi, honey! We’re having such a good time John and I decided to stay for a few more days! Stop by the office and make sure everyone’s busy, okay? I’ll be calling Eileen, but I think it would impress everyone if you went yourself. Talk to you later! Wait till you see my tan!”

Everyone at Mother’s office knew that I was strictly an underling, and that I didn’t know jack about the real estate business, though it wasn’t uninteresting. I just didn’t want to work full-time for Mother. Well, I was glad she was having a great time on her second (literally) honeymoon, and I was glad she’d finally taken a vacation of any sort. Eileen Norris, her second-in-command, was probably ready for Mother to come back. Mother’s force of character and charm really smoothed things over.

“Roe, this is Robin.” I caught my breath and practically hugged the answering machine so I wouldn’t miss a word. “I’m leaving tonight for maybe three weeks in Europe, traveling cheap and with no reservations, so I don’t know where I’ll be when. I won’t be working at the university next year. James Artis is over his heart attack. So I’m not sure what I’ll be doing. I’ll get in touch when I come back. Are you doing okay? How’s Arthur?”

“He’s married,” I said to the machine. “He married someone else.”

I rummaged in my junk drawer frantically. “Where’s the address book? Where’s the damn book?” I muttered. My scrabbling fingers finally found it, I searched through it, got the right page, punched the numbers frantically.

Ring. Ring. “Hello?” a man said.

“Robin?”

“No, this is Phil. I’m subleasing Robin’s apartment. He’s left for Europe.”

“Oh, no,” I wailed.

“Can I take a message?” the voice asked, tactfully ignoring my distress.

“So he’s going to be coming back to that apartment when he returns? For sure?”

“Yep, his stuff is all here.”

“Are you reliable? Can you give him a message in three weeks, or whenever he comes back?”

“I’ll try,” the voice said with some amusement.

“This is important,” I warned him. “To me, anyway.”

“Okay, shoot. I’ve got a pencil and paper right here.”

“Tell Robin,” I said, thinking as I spoke, “that Roe, R-O-E, is fine.”

“Roe is fine,” repeated the voice obediently.

“Also say,” I continued, “that Arthur married Lynn.”

“Okay, got it… anything else?”

“No, no thank you. That’s all. Just as long as he knows that.”

“Well, this is a fresh legal pad, and I’ve labeled it ‘Robin’s Messages,’ and I’ll keep it here by the phone until he comes back,” said Phil’s voice reassuringly.

“I’m sorry to sound so-well, like I think you’ll throw it in the wastebasket-but this is the only way I have to get in touch with him.”

“Oh, I understand,” said Phil politely. “And really, he will get this.”

“Thanks,” I said weakly. “I appreciate it.”

“Good-bye,” said Phil.

“Parnell? This is Aurora Teagarden.”

“Oh. Well, what can I do for you?”

“Madeleine showed up at Jane’s house today.”

“That dang cat! We’ve been looking for her high and low. We missed her two days ago, and we were feeling real bad, since Jane was so crazy about that durn animal.”

“Well, she came home.”

“We sure got a problem. She won’t stay here, Aurora. We’ve caught up with her twice when she started off, but we can’t keep chasing after her. As a matter of fact, we’re leaving town tomorrow for two weeks, going to our summer place at Beaufort, South Carolina, and we were going to check her back in the vet’s, just to make sure everything went okay. Though animals mostly take care of themselves.”

Take care of themselves? The Engles expected pampered Madeleine to catch her own fish and mice for two weeks?

“Is that right?” I said, letting incredulity drip from my voice. “No, I expect she can stay at the house for that two weeks. I can feed her when I go over there and empty her litter box.”

“Well,” said Parnell doubtfully, “her time’s almost up.”

The cat was dying? Oh my Lord. “That’s what the vet said?” I asked in amazement.

“Yes, ma’am,” Parnell said, sounding equally amazed.

“She sure looks fat for a cat that sick,” I said doubtfully.

I could not understand why Parnell Engle suddenly began laughing. His laugh was a little hoarse and rusty, but it was from the belly.

“Yes, ma’am,” he agreed with a little wheeze of joy, “Madeleine is fat for a cat that’s so sick.”

“I’ll keep her then,” I said uncertainly.

“Oh, yes, Miss Teagarden, thanks. We’ll see you when we come back.”

He was still barely controlling his chuckles when he hung up. I put down the receiver and shook my head. There was just no accounting for some people.

As I retrieved my Sunday paper from my seldom-used front doorstep, I could tell it was already at least 83 degrees. The paper predicted 98 for the day, and I thought its forecast was modest. My central air was already humming. I showered and reluctantly put my hair up in hot curlers, trying to bring order into chaos. I poured my coffee and ate breakfast (a microwaved sweet roll) while I burrowed through the news. I love Sunday mornings, if I get up early enough to really enjoy my paper. Though I have my limits: I will only read the society section if I think my mother will be in it, and I will not read anything about next season’s fashions. Amina Day’s mom owned a women’s clothing shop she had named Great Day, and I pretty much let her tell me what to buy. Under Mrs. Day’s influence I’d begun to weed out my librarian clothes, my solid-color interchangeable blouses and skirts. My wardrobe was a bit more diverse now.