Foul Play (9 page)

Good riddance, he thought. He was never much of a bachelor, anyway. He wanted to be married. He wanted mortgage payments and crabgrass and Amy snuggled next to him for the rest of his life. Amy, who felt responsible to a bunch of Munchkins.

He stretched on his bed and linked his hands behind his head, wondering what
Amy was doing. He didn't like those two slimeballs camped outside her house, but he felt powerless to remove them. He picked up the phone to call her and realized he didn't know her number. He tried information, but she wasn't listed.

“That's it. I'm going over there.”

He stopped at the head of the stairs. He couldn't go. It would compromise Amy's image. “But maybe she's in danger. Maybe those creeps are knocking on her door right now.” Jake, he told himself, this is the woman who wasted Safeway. Probably he should worry about the creeps. “Okay,” he shouted, making flamboyant gestures, “I'm going to take a shower. I'm going to put this out of my mind. I'm being silly, right?”

He was still asking that question at five in the morning. He was freshly showered and dressed for the office in a button-down and striped tie. He'd eaten a grapefruit, drunk a gallon of coffee, and tried to fry an egg, but it had stuck to the nonstick pan.

“So I'm being silly. Big deal. You know what they say. Better silly than sorry. I'm
just going to go over there and check things out. I'll be cool. No one will know.”

It was black as pitch when Jake drove past Amy's house in a camouflaging cloud of his own exhaust. The van was still parked across the street, and the little Cape Cod house was ominously dark. Jake swore softly and continued on.

He parked around the corner and crept through a neighboring yard. He climbed Amy's split-rail fence and sprinted across her back lawn. Now what? He tried windows. If he found any of them open, he was going to throttle her. Okay, all windows secure. Patio door locked with jimmy bar. He tiptoed up the stairs to her deck. Deck door locked with jimmy bar. Good. Motley looked at him from the other side of the sliding door and meowed. Jake tapped on the window to the cat.

“Kitty, kitty, kitty,” he said. Motley continued to howl. Jake saw a light flash on in the hall and a dark figure shuffle out of the shadows.

Amy scratched her head with both hands, yawned, and stretched. “Motley, you're
going to wake up the whole neighborhood. How can anybody sleep with this racket going…
Ehhhhhh!
” she screamed. There was someone on her porch! He was awful. Huge and crazy looking and…It was Jake.

She slumped against the wall and put her hand over her heart. “It's the big one,” she said. “Heart attack city.” She opened the sliding door and pulled Jake inside. “What the devil are you doing out there? You scared me half to death.”

“I…um, I came for breakfast. I tried to make an egg, but it stuck to the pan.”

Amy cocked an eye at him. “Breakfast? Are you kidding me?”

“Okay, so I was worried. And lonely.” He stuffed his hands into his pockets and grinned his most endearing grin. “And hungry.”

Hungry she could believe. He was looking at her as if she were the last jelly doughnut in the world. “Jake, the sun will be coming up in half an hour. How are you going to get out of here?”

“Simple. Once you leave, they'll leave. Then I leave.”

“And you want to waste time having breakfast?”

Jake removed his tie and followed her into the bedroom. What a strumpet, he thought happily. She wore a pale-pink-satin shirt-type nightgown that was rolled at the elbow and slit up the side with matching panties under the shirt. The sort with wide flared legs, like shorts. The sort you could reach your hand into with no trouble at all. The sort you'd strain your eyeballs trying to get a peek into.

He quickly stripped and slid between sheets that were still warm from her body and subtly fragrant with perfume and shampoo. Amy straddled him, resting her silky bottom on his thighs. She slowly unbuttoned her shirt, letting it hang loose while she leaned forward to kiss him. He reached for her and she retreated, laughing.

“Tease,” he said huskily.

“You ain't seen nothing, yet.”

They lay together for a long time afterward in silent affection. Amy was the first to speak. “I'm going to be late for work,” she said softly.

“Maybe your boss will give you the day off.”

She sat up and stretched luxuriously. “I don't think so. He's a terrible slavedriver. Work, work, work.”

Jake slapped at her bare bottom, but missed, as she headed for the shower. “Do I get to share a shower with you?”

“Definitely not. I know about your showers. You can use the upstairs bathroom.” She washed quickly, towel-dried her hair, and shook her head to fluff her curls. She decided on black cotton slacks and a bright yellow knit shirt, dusted a hint of blush on her cheekbones, and swiped at her eyelashes with the mascara wand.

“Perfect,” she said to her reflection in the bedroom mirror. “The guys in the van couldn't possibly miss this shirt.”

She had coffee brewed and an omelet browned to perfection when Jake entered the kitchen. They sat opposite each other at the little table.

Jake cleared his throat and tapped his fork on his coffee mug to the tune of “Yankee Doodle.” He'd reached a decision while he
was in the shower. He was going to ask her to marry him. He couldn't manage another sleepless night. Besides, they'd known each other for five days. That seemed like a respectable amount of time. It wasn't as if they were rushing into anything.

“Amy,” he began.

Amy looked at him over the rim of her teacup.

“Amy…” He wondered if a breakfast table was romantic enough. He wanted to do this right. After all, proposing to a woman wasn't an everyday occurrence. Someday they would be telling their children about this. He could just hear it. Amy would lower her voice conspiratorially and say to their daughter, “…it was
so
romantic. Your father swept me off my feet at the breakfast table.”

Jake added salt to his coffee and stirred it with his fork.

Amy's eyes widened as she watched this. Premature dementia, she thought. Probably brought on by too much sex. Maybe his tie was too tight, cutting off the oxygen to his brain.

He leaned forward and took her hand.
“Amy…” Lord, what if she turned him down? It was possible. She was a goddess, and he was just an out-of-shape veterinarian who lost chickens. He didn't even have a decent car. Probably he was going bald and no one had told him. Baldness was one of those things everyone knew but the baldee, because it crept up on you from behind, starting with a small shiny patch of skin on the top of your head. And he thought he detected the beginnings of a paunch this morning. He shook his head sadly. She'd never marry him. Never in a million years. “Amy…”

“Yes?”
Amy shouted.

Jake stared at her for a moment, then let out a whoosh of breath. “I was afraid you'd say no.”

Amy blinked at him. “I don't think I heard the question.”

“Didn't I ask you to marry me?”

“Was that what you were trying to do?” Amy said, trying to suppress the laughter.

“Did I do it all right? Was it romantic enough?”

Amy nodded. “It was wonderful. I was
just distracted for a moment because your tie is hanging in your coffee.”

Jake looked down, a horrified expression registering in his eyes.

Amy gently lifted the tie and blotted the tip with a paper towel. How could she not love a man who proposed with his tie floating in his coffee? It was…real.

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 éclairs.

She pushed through the bakery 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.”