Foul Play

Chapter Eight

The twenty-minute men had followed Amy, just as Jake had predicted. She could see them through the window in the clinic waiting room. They were sitting in their van, drinking soda, doing crossword puzzles. Creepy, Amy thought. She was living in a goldfish bowl. She had weasely little men following her around, waiting for her to say the wrong thing, waiting for her to make the wrong move. A shiver ran down her spine. Definitely creepy.

She watched Jake come chugging into the lot and breathed a sigh of relief. Jake, the trusty dispeller of gloom and doom. The knight of the breakfast table. Slayer of dragons and rude newsmen.

Her hero coasted to a stop beside the van.

His maroon jeep-thing shuddered violently, backfired, and settled down to a brooding, sullen silence.

Mrs. Boyd jumped from her seat in the waiting area. “What was that? Was that a gunshot?”

Amy sent her a crooked smile. “That was Dr. Elliott. His car backfired.”

“Oh yes,” Mrs. Boyd said. “I’d forgotten about his car.”

Jake came whistling into the office with Spot in tow, a new tie dangling from the collar of his button-down shirt and the morning paper under his arm.

“Good morning,” he said to Mrs. Boyd and her cat, Sarah. “Good morning, Amy,” he said, plopping the paper on her desk and planting a big smackeroo kiss on her surprised lips.

“We’re engaged,” he explained to Mrs. Boyd. “We’re getting married soon. Maybe this afternoon, if we get a cancellation.”

Mrs. Boyd smiled her approval.

“Do we have any cancellations?” Jake asked Amy.

Amy wasn’t able to share his enthusiasm. An uneasy feeling was prickling at the nape of her neck, and there was a leaden depression settling in the pit of her stomach.

“We’ve had four cancellations,” she whispered, turning her back to Mrs. Boyd. “All from people who were bringing their animals in for surgery that would require boarding.”

Jake raised his eyebrows in question.

“One woman asked if we’d seen the morning paper. She sounded sort of… huffy.”

Jake unfolded the paper on Amy’s desk and began turning pages. “Omigod.”

Mrs. Boyd looked up with interest.

Amy read the headline and clapped her hand to her mouth.

“Is that the article about the clinic?” Mrs. Boyd asked. “Isn’t that a clever headline?”

“Clever,” Jake said numbly. He read it aloud. “Doc Loses Cock.” It sounded as if he’d been emasculated. The story itself was innocuous enough. More human interest and humor than criminal, but obviously it was damaging. Nine o’clock in the morning and they’d had four cancellations.

“This is crazy,” he said to Amy. “This calls for drastic action.”

Amy nervously twisted a pencil in her hand. “What did you have in mind?”

“Jelly doughnuts.”

“Pardon?”

“There’s a great bakery in the supermarket across the street.” He reached into his pocket and handed Amy a twenty-dollar bill. “Some men smoke. Some men drink. I eat jelly doughnuts. I always feel better after a jelly doughnut. Get some for yourself, too. And don’t forget Mrs. Boyd.”

“I like the kind with cinnamon sugar,” Mrs. Boyd said.

Amy trudged over to the bakery. This was all her fault. Jake had turned to jelly doughnuts because of her. What would be next? Boston creams? Another week of this and he’d be hooked on Napoleons and eclairs.

She pushed through the barkery door and took a number. This chicken stuff was only newsworthy because Lulu was implicated, she thought bitterly. She’d been hardly noticed as a clown, important to just a few hundred children, but as a chicken thief she was infamous, a scandalous joke. If it continued she’d ruin Jake’s business. People didn’t want to leave their beloved pets in the hands of a woman accused of eating her competition for lunch.

She stepped up to the counter and chose a dozen doughnuts. Why couldn’t she have gotten a job in a bakery? Bakeries were cozy and smelled great, and if you were accused of cannibalizing the doughnuts nobody cared too much.

The girl behind the counter stared at Amy. “Do I know you?”

Amy shook her head vigorously. “Nope. I’m new in town…”

“I know! You’re Lulu. Your picture’s in the paper.” She handed Amy the bag of doughnuts and winked. “Having a change of menu today, huh?”

By midafternoon Amy had covered her bright yellow sweater with a blue lab coat, hoping to be less conspicuous. Most of the clients had stared at their toes or buried themselves in magazines. A few had good-naturedly flapped their wings and clucked at her. One woman asked for her autograph.

At five o’clock Amy had a splitting headache and was almost happy when the last two appointments of the day canceled. She wanted to go home and hide. She wasn’t usually one to run from a problem, but this wasn’t the sort of thing she could easily confront. If she said nothing at all, it implied guilt. And if she tried to explain, it smacked of guilt.

Jake perched on the corner of her desk, a stethoscope dangling from his neck. “Why so glum?”

“Never in a million years did I think it would come to this. People actually believe I took that bird.”

Jake made a face. “Nah. They’re just confused. Once they have the time to sort it out, everything will be fine. In a week this whole thing will have been forgotten, and we’ll be sitting around having a good laugh out of it.”

“I think you’re being optimistic.”

“You bet,” Jake said, hopping off her desk. “This is a special day for me. I got engaged today, and I’m taking my wife-to-be out to a fancy restaurant to celebrate.”

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea. Maybe we should keep a low profile for a while…”

Jake pulled her to her feet. “We’ll be discreet. I’ll wear my glasses with the nose attached, and no one will recognize us. You go home and get all dressed up in something pretty. I’ll pick you up at seven.”

She wondered if Jake was right. Would it all go away in a week? What if it didn’t? Everything he’d worked for would be ruined. She turned onto Ox Road, solemnly noting the twenty-minute men close behind. They must be getting tired. Didn’t they need a shower? Why didn’t they just go out and get a respectable job like everybody else… selling shoes or shampooing carpets. She parked in her driveway, and the newsmen parked half a block away.

“How subtle,” she said, sarcastically rolling her eyes.

Not even a bubble bath could wash away the feeling of foreboding. She should be ecstatically happy she thought. She was in love, and she was engaged. Her lawn had gotten cut. What more could a woman want? She lethargically soaped a leg and realized the water had gotten cold. Hormones, she thought, pulling the plug. It had to be hormones that made her so droopy. She’d used up all her hormones this morning and now she was empty.

She dropped a pale-pink dress over her head and felt a little better. It was her favorite dress. Romantic feeling and romantic looking, with a softly flared skirt, a clingy bodice, low scoop neck, and slightly ruffled cap sleeves. She slipped her feet into strappy bone sandals and finished the outfit with a pair of antique pearl earrings.

“Very nice,” Jake said when he saw her. His eyes said more. They were liquid and admiring, filled with pride and infinite love for the woman standing before him. He was almost overwhelmed with a feeling of fiercely possessive tenderness. She seemed so delicate and vulnerable in the simple little dress that subtly molded to her body.

Jake locked the front door and waved to the van. “We’re going out to dinner,” he shouted. “Hope you’ve got a tie!” He turned to Amy. “Don’t they ever give up?”

Amy shook her head. “I suppose you have to admire their tenacity, if not their judgment. What I can’t understand is, why me? There must be a real news void in Fairfax County.”

Jake gunned the motor of the sporty red car. “Sorry,” he said. “I’m not used to a car that starts the first time.”

He backed out of the driveway and reached for Amy’s hand as he slowly drove through her neighborhood.

It was a stable, family-oriented subdivision that took pride in its appearance. Lots were large, having been carved at a time when land was readily available. Trees planted by those first homeowners, some twenty years previously, were mature and plentiful. Lawns and shrubbery were lush from spring rains and an unseasonably warm May. Flowers grew everywhere. Huge thick beds of impatiens nestled in red-and-white glory at the base of azalea bushes, dwarf hollies, and juniper. Clematis vined over mailboxes, geraniums grew in oak tubs on porches, and lavender phlox marched along sidewalks.

A good place to raise children, Jake thought. Good schools, good people. He could easily afford to buy the Cape Cod, and with three bedrooms and bath upstairs, it was large enough for a whole passel of kids. He wondered about Amy’s views on having a family. Maybe she wanted a career. That was okay. Whatever Amy wanted. If they couldn’t have kids, they’d raise dogs.

Amy felt contentment creeping into her. It radiated from Jake’s hand, up her arm to her heart. He was smiling, thinking secret thoughts, and he generated peace and well-being. She was an alarmist, she decided. A few cancellations didn’t mean the end of the world. She should listen to Jake. Everything would be fine. It was all absurd, anyway. Wasn’t it?

Jake’s hand tightened on hers. “What is it, Amy? What are you thinking? First, you’re tense, then you relax, then you’re tense. Are you having second thoughts about marrying me?”

“Remember I told you my dad was in the service? Well, when I was a kid, we were always moving. It seemed like I was constantly struggling to prove myself. I had to prove I was smart to new teachers. I had to prove I was trustworthy to new friends. Every time I reached that spot where things started to come together, we’d move. I developed a kind of sense about it, like an animal that can feel earth tremors before they’re recorded on a seismograph. I’d get an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach, and sure enough, my dad would come home and announce his new orders. I keep getting that feeling, Jake. Little tremors. I can’t get rid of them.”

He didn’t know what to say. He could hear pain in her voice and wanted to soothe it away, but he’d felt the tremors, too. Probably that was why they were going out to dinner. A big loud show of happiness and solidarity. It’s like the big bad wolf trying to blow my house down, Jake thought. There was something out there, something foolish and threatening, and Jake hoped his good solid house of brick could withstand all that huffing and puffing. He drove past George Mason University and into the town of Fairfax. He turned onto a back street and parked in a small lot, pleased to see there wasn’t room for the van.

They walked hand in hand through a quaint alley to the sidewalk and the front of the restaurant. Amy looked down the street at the large white wooden town hall that had been converted into a library. The Wiley house was just across from them, its front yard neatly divided into rectangles by staked string, evidence of historical excavation. Fairfax was an old town, founded by Lord Fairfax, and it had preserved much of its colonial character. Amy liked that. It gave her a feeling of stability and permanence.

Jake guided her into a restaurant that might easily be overlooked by an unknowing passerby. It was a brick row house with ornate white window moldings and an elaborate white portico. The only advertisement was an engraved gold plaque on the door, which stated that this was “Daley’s Tavern.”

The interior was divided into several small dining rooms, elegantly decorated in eighteenth-century Chippendale and Queen Anne. Amy barely had time to admire the fresh cut flowers in the cool lobby before they were shown to an intimate corner table with a view of the tiny backyard garden. “It’s lovely,” Amy said.

Jake relaxed into his cherrywood side chair. He agreed. It was lovely, and it was far removed from dancing roosters and canceled castrations. He hadn’t realized how badly he’d needed a break from the great chicken caper until they’d entered Daley’s.

There was sanity in Daley’s. People were sitting in ten miles of bumper-to-bumper traffic on I-95, and they were standing twenty deep at the checkout of the Gourmet Giant supermarket. He, on the other hand, had the good sense to come to Daley’s. He felt his eyes glaze over in smug complacency.

Daley’s was an island in the sea of suburban frenzy. It was calm. It was cool. It was conducive to pleasant conversation.

He looked at the menu and ordered grilled fish. Amy ordered the same. The formally dressed waiter brought them an assortment of warm muffins and breads and a small tub of whipped butter.

Amy buttered a pumpkin muffin and chewed it thoughtfully. “You know what we should do? We should trail Veronica Bottles just like that van is trailing me. Stick to her like glue. Maybe she’s got Red stuck away somewhere. Maybe…”

Jake made a strangled sound in his throat.

Amy’s eyes widened. “What’s the matter? You sound like Mrs. Jennings’s cat when she coughed up that hairball.”

“You weren’t supposed to be thinking about Red,” he said. “This is supposed to be a romantic interlude. We’re supposed to think about love and sex.”

“Oh.” She nibbled on her muffin. If she thought about sex, she might jump across the table after him. He was incredibly handsome in a navy blazer and blue shirt with red striped tie. His dark lashes shadowed his eyes in the subdued lighting of the room, and there was the hint of a rakish smile at the corners of his mouth, as if he knew a wicked secret. It was a smile that sent a rush of heat tingling through her. She returned the muffin to her bread dish and rearranged her napkin, waiting for the desire to subside. “Well, what about love?”

“Is that what you were just thinking about? Love?”

Amy busily buttered a second pumpkin muffin. “Yup. I was thinking about love. I was thinking that it’s… um, lovely.”

“I was thinking about sex,” Jake said, his voice low but casual.

No kidding. Amy grimaced when she realized she’d buttered her thumb.

The waiter placed a shallow bowl of cold zucchini soup before each of them and smiled pleasantly. “Everything all right?”

“Perfect,” Jake said, his eyes never leaving Amy’s.

When the waiter had retreated Amy shook her bread knife at Jake. “You’re seducing me in a public restaurant. Shame on you.”

“Is it fun?”

“It’s outrageous and excruciating.”

He took her hand, rubbing his thumb across the tender flesh of her palm. “Do we need a big wedding? Can we get married tomorrow?”

Amy averted her eyes and tasted her soup. Marry him now, instinct told her. Before it’s too late. That’s insane, she retorted. Nothing’s going to happen.

“Amy?”

She gave herself a mental shake. “A big wedding isn’t necessary, but I’m sure my parents would want to attend.” Her face brightened. “We could have the wedding in my house. Just a few family members and close friends.” It would be wonderful, Amy thought. She would fill the house with spring flowers and wear a tea-length dress. Something lacy and Victorian and incredibly romantic. And afterward they could go outdoors for champagne and petit-fours. Thousands of elaborately decorated petit-fours.

Amy was distracted by voices being raised in the next room. The voices grew louder, the twenty-minute men appeared in the doorway, and Amy felt as if her heart had just been freeze-dried. She stared at the men in grim fascination as they approached her table with the minicam running.

“This is Amy Klasse,” Ponytail’s assistant narrated, “better known as Lulu the Clown…”

“Ignore them,” Jake said. “Eat your soup.”

The newsman continued: “… and Dr. Jacob Elliott, owner of the veterinary clinic where Rhode Island Red was mysteriously taken from his small cage.”

Jake kept his eyes on his soup, but Amy could see a flush rising from his shirt collar, darkening under his tan. “Ignore them,” she mumbled. “Eat your soup.”

“Dr. Elliott, this is a very expensive, very romantic restaurant. Am I right in assuming Miss Klasse is more than an ordinary employee?”

Jake coolly stared into the camera lens. “Absolutely. There’s nothing ordinary about Miss Klasse.”

The man persisted. “We’ve been told from reliable sources that Miss Klasse is under suspicion for the abduction of the rooster. That, in fact, the police searched her garbage for evidence. Is that correct?”

Jake sighed, took his napkin from his lap, and laid it beside his plate. “You aren’t going to give up, are you?”

Ponytail grinned malevolently. “No.”

“Excuse me,” Jake said, suddenly standing, taking the smaller cameraman by surprise. In one quick movement Jake lifted the minicam from Ponytail’s shoulder, removed the microphone, and deposited it in a nearby glass of Burgundy; then he took a swipe at the butter tub, spreading a thick layer of grease on the camera lens. He carefully handed the minicam back to its owner and returned to his seat.

“What do you think of the soup?” he asked Amy.

Ponytail muttered an oath and snatched his microphone from the glass of wine. His eyes were small and glittery. His breath whistled from between bared teeth.

Rodent, Amy thought with a shiver, the man’s mousy, dirty-blond hair fueling the comparison. “He looks rabid,” she whispered to Jake.

Ponytail reached across the table, grabbed Jake’s tie, and plunged it into his zucchini soup. Jake looked at the tie in controlled resignation.

“I’m going to stop wearing ties,” he said, blotting at it with his napkin. “This is getting boring.”

“I’m going to ruin you and your little friend here,” the enraged cameraman ground out. “I’m gonna nail your hide to the wall.”

“Don’t mess with me,” Jake said levelly. “I specialize in neutering.”

Two uniformed policemen strode into the dining room accompanied by a glowering headwaiter.

“I’m pressing charges,” Ponytail said. “This… veterinarian willfully destroyed an expensive microphone.”

The officer looked at Jake apologetically.

“Maybe you’d better come back to the station house with us.”

Amy held out her hands. “I’m going too. Do you want to handcuff me?”

“No ma’am,” the policeman said. “I don’t think you look dangerous.”

Jake stood and helped Amy to her feet. “A lot you know,” he said to the smiling policeman.

Outside the restaurant a crowd had gathered around the squad car. Amy faltered a moment when she saw the number of people who had been drawn by the flashing lights on the black-and-white. The crowd parted as the curious parade marched from the restaurant. Two policemen, Lulu the Clown, Jake the veterinarian, and the twenty-minute men complete with battery pack and video. One of the officers helped Amy into the back of the squad car.

Amy clasped her hands in her lap and swallowed back tears. She was disgraced. Publicly humiliated. Plucked from the ritzy restaurant like an undesirable fugitive.

And if that wasn’t bad enough, the restaurant was just three doors down from the Times office. Without a shadow of a doubt, at least one of those people in the crowd had been a reporter. Tomorrow there would be more newspaper pictures. She could imagine the headlines. “Lulu Arrested with Lover Accomplice.”

Two hours later Amy and Jake were back in the little red sports car. “That wasn’t so bad,” Jake said. “They didn’t even arrest us.”

Amy took little solace in that fact. There’d been a horde of photographers everywhere she’d gone. She couldn’t blame them. She was news. Human interest in a bizarre sort of way.

Jake wistfully looked at the restaurant. “You think they held our table?”

“I think they’ve probably burned our table.”

“Didn’t feel like eating fish, anyway. How about a burger?”

“As long as I don’t have to get out of the car. If one more person clucks or cock-a-doodles at me I’m going to commit mayhem.”

“I know the perfect place. We’ll go to the McDrive-in We’ll get McFries, McShakes, McBurgers, and McCookies.” He pulled into the drive-through and shouted his order into the order machine. He grinned at Amy. “Is this romantic enough for you?”

Amy had to smile with him. He was invincible. He’d joked with the policemen and jollied her through the entire ordeal. He’d proudly announced their engagement to every passerby newsmen included. In fact, he seemed to be not at all bothered by the fact that his life was going down the toilet.

Nothing had gone right since he’d known her, she silently wailed. He’d ruined two ties, pitched himself into a Dumpster, been made a public spectacle, almost been arrested, and had his reputation slandered. This wasn’t going well. They weren’t just talking tremors here. They were looking at earthquake-quality vibes. She shrank back into the seat when Jake reached for the bag of food.

The girl behind the counter leaned out the drive-through window. “Hey, aren’t you the lady who cooks chickens? Like wow. Like omigod.”

Amy smiled weakly and nodded acknowledgment as Jake stepped on the gas and turned the car toward Main Street. “You’re getting quite a following. I never thought I’d have a wife who was famous,” he said, reaching for his chocolate shake.

“I think the word is infamous. I feel like Lizzie Borden.”

Jake took a long pull on the straw. She was mustering up a reasonable amount of bravado, but under it all she was really hurting, and he wasn’t sure exactly why. Part of it was a sense of responsibility to maintain a certain image for the children who had watched her, but it had to be more than that. She’d looked like an angel in the police station with her blond curls and serious wide blue eyes, responding politely to everyone. A credit to her acting ability, he’d thought, remembering the few unguarded moments when the facade had slipped, and she’d seemed so lost. Almost victimized. Like a piece of driftwood, floating downstream, unable to control its journey.

He snitched a french fry while he waited for a light. It was always dangerous to second-guess someone. Maybe he was reading too much into this. She’d led a very law-abiding, sheltered life. Maybe she’d just been overwhelmed by the police station. He didn’t want to be insensitive, but he also didn’t want to make more of this than it was. Hell, maybe they should just move to Arizona and start over.

They finished their meal on the back porch, topping it off with fresh strawberries and ice cream, watching the night sky spread a calming blackness over the earth. Jake played with the ruffle on Amy’s sleeve. “Is there something you’d like to talk about?”

She didn’t want to talk. She didn’t want to think. She was afraid if she thought too clearly, she’d have to make painful decisions, so she kept her eyes on the oak tree at the far perimeter of her yard. Its trunk was thick and gnarled; its branches spanned the house. A survivor, Amy decided. It had eluded the bulldozers that had leveled the land in preparation for her housing development. It had been in the appropriate place: a small swale between two lots. Perhaps that was her problem… she was never in the appropriate place.

A warm breeze moved through the leaves, producing a hypnotic clacking sound. She felt Jake’s fingers at the nape of her neck, stroking, caressing. She closed her eyes and gave herself up to the pleasure of his touch, a lovely lethargy taking possession of her. Jake always knew how to make her feel better.