An Embarrassment of Itches Read online

  “But your husband is the Treasurer’s brother-in-law—”

  The look of professional concern returned. “Why don’t you go home and get some rest, Dr. Reese? It sounds like you’ve had a very trying day.”

  She collected her cart and briskly wheeled it off in the opposite direction.

  What was I doing? The mayor was right. Focusing on the new ordinance was just my brain’s way of shielding me from the bigger issue of Amanda’s death. It wasn’t the first time I’d fixated on smaller problems to regain control of my life.

  So instead of chasing after Mayor Austin, I put a box of Cap’n Crunch in my basket along with the pre-paid mobile and the other impulse-buy junk food items I’d grabbed and headed for the checkout.

  Next stop: a run home for a quick shower and to settle Ming before heading back out for my appointments. A glance in the bathroom mirror revealed that between the rain and the dive into the pool, my mascara had run into large black circles under my eyes, making me look like a wet raccoon.

  Great. Joe’s first impression on seeing me after twenty years was a dumpy, befuddled, clown-faced wreck of a woman instead of the independent, competent, professional I was. It had nothing to do with wanting to appear attractive, either, darn it. It had everything to do with needing him to know I’d done fine without him.

  No wonder the mayor had looked at me as though I’d crawled out from under a rock.

  Nothing I could do about it now. Thinking about Joe reminded me to call the sheriff’s office with my temporary phone number in case they needed to contact me.

  The hypothermic and emotional shock had left me as ravenous as Ming, but instead of eating a nutritious lunch of soup and salad, I wolfed down a plate of tortilla chips doused in hot queso sauce that I’d picked up from Bucky’s. Yes, I know. Not exactly healthy fare. I didn’t care. A shower hot enough to boil a lobster and a fresh change of clothes had me almost feeling human again, finally warm from the inside out.

  My house was an old double-wide whose former owners had believed in making do or doing without. It had taken four layers of primer and hours of scrubbing the windows with vinegar water to remove the nicotine stains, but even the bright coat of paint couldn’t improve the overall gloom within. The house was still as dark as the Black Hole of Calcutta, especially on a rainy day. I only had one spare room, where I locked Ming with a litter box, food, and water. He’d peered at me balefully from inside the carrier, his pupils dilated to the point all the blue had disappeared from his eyes, and I’d chosen to wait until later to attempt his first dose of medication. His growls followed me around the room as I sprayed kitty calming pheromones about and pushed Remy back out when he tried to shove his way in.

  I hurried out to see the cruciate patient. Jake was a middle-aged Lab who’d partially torn the ligament in his stifle—or knee to you and me—and since stifle surgery could cost as much as three thousand dollars for a dog of his size, his owners had opted to go with conservative management first. His treatment consisted of rest, pain management, and twice weekly sessions of cold laser and acupuncture. After that, I vaccinated Waddles, only slightly behind schedule.

  But now finished with the day’s appointments and having some time to kill before meeting someone from the sheriff’s office out at Amanda’s to feed the animals, I couldn’t delay the inevitable any longer.

  I had to call my mother.

  At five-eight, I towered over my mother’s tiny bird-like frame. Julia Reese was pretty in an Audrey Hepburn kind of way, and I came off as a great hulking Amazon beside her. She still dressed in crisp polyester pantsuits made popular in the seventies, and her shining cap of auburn hair came in a box from the drugstore. A schoolteacher until they forced her to retire, she had her thumb in every pie imaginable—from organizing community literacy programs, to running a Sunday school class, to manning food bank drives. Charities loved her, administrators feared her, and I had always lived in her shadow that was much larger than her five-two frame.

  She prided herself on her fierce independence and carried a gun wherever she went. I grew up hearing how I’d never been pretty enough to find someone to take care of me, so I’d better learn to take care of myself. I can appreciate the desire to raise a daughter who could stand on her own two feet. I really could. Unfortunately, according to her, I also wasn’t smart, talented, or plain good enough, either. With an adult’s perspective, I’d concluded it was neither rational nor personal. Liz, who’d married well, had children, and managed a successful career, came in for just as much criticism. Small wonder Liz hadn’t wanted to move back home when Dad needed help.

  Once, when I hadn’t been back in town very long, I’d attended a veterinary association meeting in Birchwood Springs, the nearest large town about an hour away. I’d silenced my phone for the duration. When I arrived back at my dumpy trailer at nearly eleven p.m., my mother was waiting in my driveway. The first words out of her mouth were, “You need to call the sheriff’s department and tell them to stop looking for your body.”

  There had been no emergency. She’d simply wanted to talk to me, and when she couldn’t reach me for a few hours, her first assumption was that something terrible must have happened. Another time, when I planned an out-of-town trip for mandatory continuing education, my flight was scheduled for the tenth anniversary of 9/11. My mother called me every day for a week to ask me what kinds of funeral arrangements I wanted, and who did I want to take care of my animals? Did I have a spare key to my car? Because she was going to have to pick it up from the airport when I died. That sort of thing. I had to take a fistful of Xanax before I could get on the plane.

  On meeting my mother for the first time, one of my friends from vet school had said, “Oh, my God. All these years we thought you were exaggerating.”

  Yep. That’s my mom.

  I half expected her not to answer the phone when I called, as she wouldn’t recognize the number, but no such luck. She picked up on the third ring.

  “Hey, Mom. It’s me, Ginny. I had an accident with my phone today, and this is my new number for the moment.”

  I’d hoped the news of Amanda’s death hadn’t reached her yet, but no such luck there either.

  “I heard about your friend’s death, my dear. So sad. But then these artist types can be unstable. I suspect she lost all her money and was going to be forced to live in a garret.”

  And my dentist wondered why I ground my teeth.

  “It wasn’t like that, Mom.”

  “Well, what could it have been? It’s all over town that she drowned herself. And you were the one to find her. I didn’t want to say anything before, but I always questioned your friendship with her. The two of you couldn’t possibly have had anything in common. What would a decent young woman be doing living all alone, anyway?” My mother sighed. “You know, if you would just start going to church again, I’m sure you could meet a nice man so you wouldn’t be living alone, either.”

  A tic developed under my left eye.

  For a split second, I considered telling her it wasn’t a suicide, but she’d find out soon enough and jump to the conclusion it was murder instead of an accident. I really didn’t want to have the “you need a gun” lecture right now. Navigating the waters to find a safe channel of conversation was always tricky with my mother. You never knew when you’d get bogged down on a sandbank of criticism or flooded when some gate of warnings unexpectedly opened. I didn’t want to have the “nice man” conversation, either. For someone who was adamant I was too homely to warrant finding true love, she was very much set on my meeting the right kind of person and settling down now. I decided to fire a diversionary shot across her bow.

  “Why didn’t you tell me Joe Donegan was back in town? And don’t say you had no idea he’d returned because you know everything that goes on in Greenbrier.”

  “How could you not know he was back? Ginny, they held a special election when Sheriff Linkous retired and everything. I assumed you did know.”

  I
chewed on the inside of my cheek. She had a point. I paid more attention to politics these days than I used to, but I still hadn’t heard. And I should have. How is it no one in the entire community had seen fit to share the juicy news that Joe was back—if nothing else, to gauge my reaction?

  “I didn’t see a single yard sign,” I muttered.

  My mother’s exasperation came through loud and clear over the phone. “Because he ran unopposed. There was no need to campaign.”

  Huh. That was unexpected. A member of the Linkous family usually held some form of office in Greenbrier, but then again, perhaps they were all busy running the various family businesses. If you needed your heat pump fixed, some remodeling done, or a new well dug, you usually called a Linkous.

  “Oh.” That still didn’t explain everything. “I’m surprised no one mentioned it to me, that’s all.”

  “Well, I imagine most of the women in town saw you as potential competition and kept the news to themselves.” She gave a loud sniff. “And any man interested in you—”

  I cut her off. “You didn’t bother to tell me either.”

  Like most tactics with my mother, this one failed miserably. “What would you have done differently had you known? Driven into Bristol for a decent haircut? Bought a nice outfit for a change? Made an effort to lose weight?” Her pause wasn’t long enough for me to mount a rebuttal. “I suppose it’s because you work with animals, so you haven’t noticed the change in your appearance, but you have let yourself go, my dear.”

  At least animals don’t run down a never-ending list of your failings every time you meet.

  She continued with airy unconcern for my feelings. “At any rate, it shouldn’t matter to you one way or another if Joe Donegan has returned to town. That chapter of your life is closed. Right?”

  Funny how when she said it, I wanted to prove her wrong.

  A second later, it hit me. Mom hadn’t wanted me to know Joe was back. Interesting. I would have thought she’d have been all over the idea of a new eligible man in town for me.

  Obviously, for some reason, Joe wasn’t eligible in her eyes.

  “Of course.” Speaking with conviction would surely make it so. “Listen, when is the next town council meeting? I know it’s sometime this week.”

  Curiosity sharpened the pitch of my mother’s voice. “Thursday evening. Why? I thought you’d given up on the zoning stuff long ago. Is this about that new development people are talking about?”

  “No. I found out today from one of my clients that the County Treasurer, in his infinite wisdom, has eliminated annual dog licenses. Now you buy a lifetime tag.”

  If disappointment could be measured over the phone like an earthquake, my mom would have hit at least a 3.4 on the Richter scale. She liked a good battle and frequently told me I’d given up too easily on my own zoning issue.

  “I don’t see the problem,” she asked. “Won’t people save money in the long run?”

  “The problem is that before, you had to show proof of a rabies shot. Therefore, ipso facto, if a dog had a current license, it meant it was also vaccinated for rabies. That no longer holds true now. The whole point of licensing is not simply to generate revenue for the county—it’s to make sure people vaccinate for rabies. That’s just flown right out the window.”

  “You’ll need some data to back up your case.” You could almost hear my mother straining at the leash, begging to be released to tackle this problem. “I’ll call Betty and ask her to do some research.”

  Yikes. The last thing I’d intended was for my mother to rustle up her dogsbody to look up information for me. Betty had been my mother’s aide back when she was a teacher, and they’d both retired around the same time. I had no idea what my mom paid Betty to be at her beck and call twenty-four/seven, but it wasn’t enough. And I definitely didn’t want my mother coming to the council meeting on my behalf like bad legal counsel.

  “I doubt there’s any specific data available. It’s more a case of pointing out to the Council the stupidity of the decision in the hopes they’ll have some sway with the County Treasurer.” I futzed about with my phone until it made a beeping noise. “Oh, I’ve gotta go. I’m getting a text coming in. Talk to you later.”

  I ended the call before she could think too much about who would text me on a new phone. As my excuse had been a complete ruse, I jumped when a real text alert came through.

  I didn’t recognize the number, but the text read: Someone from the sheriff’s department will meet you to feed the horses. What time will you be there?

  I glanced at my watch. It wouldn’t get dark before almost seven p.m. now. Might as well get this over with so I could come back and eat something that resembled a proper meal for a change.

  I can be at Amanda’s in 30 minutes. That work?

  I got a thumbs up emoji in response.

  It wasn’t entirely surprising to discover Joe’s car waiting on the other side of the cattle guard. As soon as I pulled into the drive, he started his engine and led the way to the barn. I hoped when he assigned himself as my babysitter, he realized he’d have to meet me before and after work each day. I looked forward to telling him how early that might be.

  “You look like you’re feeling better,” Joe said by way of greeting when I got out of the car, Remy at my heels.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  He’d been ruffling Remy’s ears when my sharp tone made him glance up. “Nothing. You’ve got some color back now. You were white as a sheet this morning. Even a little blue around the edges.”

  “Good save,” I muttered as I pushed past him.

  Both he and Remy followed me into the feed room, where I collected several cans of cat food and a container of dry kibble. “The two of you should wait here. I’m feeding the ferals first, and they won’t come out if you’re there.”

  “No worries. I’ll hang back enough to stay out of your way, but I need to keep an eye on you.”

  If I rolled my eyes any harder, I might develop vertigo. “How much longer are the restrictions on my accessing the property? Because the animals need to be fed twice daily.”

  “It’s not up to me. The coroner has to determine cause of death and whether it was an accident. Once he releases the scene, I’ll let you know.”

  “An accident, huh?” Something about that didn’t sit right with me. “That is, if Amanda didn’t give a hoot that Ming had gotten out, or that she decided to take off her shoes and then she slipped and fell into the pool. Striking her head on what?”

  “You know I can’t discuss the case with you except in general terms.” My words had caused a slight glint in his eyes, as though they’d struck metal and created a spark. “But how well did you know her? She might have had too much wine. The tox screen will take a few days, but then we’ll know.”

  He folded his arms across his chest and leaned into the doorjamb. “One would almost get the impression you wanted it to be murder.”

  I suspected he was deliberately rattling my chain, so I remained cool. “Of course not. I refuse to believe it was suicide. An accident would be tragic, but acceptable.”

  He gave a little snort of suppressed laughter and rubbed the tip of his nose.

  I placed my hands on my hips. “And what, pray tell, is funny about that?”

  “Nothing.” He folded his lips inward, as though biting off a comment, before adding, “It’s just you haven’t changed a bit.”

  Huh. I could argue with him on that, and I was tempted to do so. Instead, I gave Remy a stay command and hoped for the best. Remy’s stay was a bit wobbly at best, and he frequently oozed his way closer to me after only a few seconds. He might well still be technically “down,” but there was a good chance he’d be waiting for me outside the feed room when I got back. I picked up the selection of cat food and headed out.

  Joe trailed behind me, coming to a stop at the edge of the clearing, keeping his distance as promised. Harley, the fat black and white tom who was the tamest of them
all, stopped dead in the middle of trotting up to greet me to fix Joe with a slit-eyed glare.

  “Hey, cat,” I said by way of greeting, and shook the container of dry cat food. Automatically, my voice shifted into the silly cat-speak I used when addressing the colony. If I’d burst into song, I would’ve sounded like Snow White. “Are you hungry? Pay no attention to the man in brown. He’s not going to bother you.”

  After I doled out some dry food into the bowls stationed in various places, I popped the first of the cans and began dividing them as well. Harley wasted no time in eating. Through the dead grass and brush behind the barn, I saw a flash of white, but had I not known what to look for, I’d never have spotted Solomon. The brown striped tabby with the white bib blended perfectly into the weedy brambles. “Come on out, meow-meow. Dinner’s waiting.”

  Seeing that he would not come any closer to the food bowls until I retreated, I rejoined Joe at the other side of the clearing. Solomon crept out to eat, one ear trained in our direction the entire time.

  “Is that all of them?” Joe asked as we headed back to the barn.

  I shook my head. “Blackjack didn’t show up. Hopefully, it’s just because you were with me, though it’s not like him to miss dinner on a cold night. He’s pretty shy, though. Also, there’s a new tom that’s shown up recently. I need to trap him as soon as the weather warms up enough that I don’t have to worry about him freezing overnight. He’s picking fights, and he needs to be neutered and vaccinated.”

  “I guess that’s something the new owners will have to deal with.”

  Something I didn’t want to think about right now. As expected, Remy lay half in, half out of the doorway to the feed room when we returned to the barn. His ears dropped to half-mast as I made a negative clucking sound and took him by the collar. Once I walked him back to the original spot where I’d left him, I set down the cat food and repeated the command to lie down and stay.