Murder in the Dog Days (Maggie Ryan) (2 page)

Olivia sprinted for the door. “Listen, Nate, when Edgy comes out tell him the story’s there on the table. See you tomorrow!” She escaped and ran downstairs.

The heat hit her like a wall when she opened the front door. Dog days. She was dripping by the time she reached them. They had started on “Blowin’ in the Wind.” She caught Jerry’s eye but he only winked and held up a cautioning hand. “How many times must the cannonballs fly?” he sang. Her little niece, still dancing, was trying to sing too. “Answer blowin’ inna wind!” she chirped. Olivia had to smile. She hadn’t heard little kids singing those songs for years. It was a whole different age now. No Peter, Paul and Mary hits. No Woodstock. No peace marches. All gone. Except maybe for Maggie. Pregnant again, Jerry’s sister was recycling an old red maternity T-shirt emblazoned with a peace sign. And recycling the old songs too. Nostalgia time.

The handful of listeners applauded heartily when they finished. Jerry took a sweeping bow and loped over to Olivia. “Hiya, Livid. Aren’t we great?”

She tried to contain her smile. “You’re a bigger ham than Nick is! And you don’t even have the excuse of being an actor.”

“Listen, the instant the MD business starts to drag I’ll be off like a shot! I mean, this is fun! Besides, the Maggot was wearing her peace shirt. How could I resist?”

“Yeah, it’s all my fault.” Maggie, leading her little daughter, rejoined her brother with a grin. Her eyes were the same laughing jay-blue of Jerry’s. “Kid sisters are always to blame. Are you a kid sister, Liv?”

“No, thank God.”

“Some people have all the luck. Hey, how’s Joanne Little doing?”

“She’ll win hands down if her lawyers don’t clown around once too often. And speaking of clowning around, are you guys finished? Ready to go pick up the Colbys?”

“Hey, look!” Maggie’s husband called gleefully. Nick O’Connor was a big, bald, pleasantly homely man who periodically appeared in TV commercials selling beer or paper towels. Olivia was sorry she hadn’t been able to see him in any plays, but they’d all been in New York. Right now he was picking coins from the open case where he was about to stow the guitar. He jingled them jubilantly in his hand. “We made seven bucks!”

“Wowee!” Jerry scooped up small Sarah, grabbed Maggie’s hand, and capered over to inspect the haul. “We should have left the guitar case right next to the sidewalk!”

Olivia shook her head, got out her keys, and climbed into the driver’s seat of the Ford passenger van parked a few steps further up the street. She turned on the air conditioner and tapped the horn. Within seconds the others piled in, still jabbering excitedly about the commercial future of their little quartet.

Dale Colby lived in the Sandford subdivision, a set of nearly identical one-story ranch houses grouped around a small park. A century ago it had been woods and farms traversed by Union soldiers in search of the Confederate Army. What they’d found was Mosby’s irregular cavalry band, who struck and then melted back into their home woods in the best guerrilla tradition. Today the area had a reputation for low prices and good schools, no trace of its bloody past.

Olivia pulled into the driveway behind the Pinto. Donna Colby, a neat, worried-looking blonde, opened the front door for them. “Oh—please come in. Sit down a minute,” she said. “Dale’s on the phone. He’s—well, he’s not feeling too well today.” She waved them into the immaculate living room with a flutter of her hand.

Olivia said, “Donna, do you remember Jerry? And this is his sister Maggie Ryan. Her husband Nick O’Connor. And this is Sarah.”

Donna smiled brightly at their greetings. “Glad to meet you. This is Tina, with the Barbie dolls. Say hello, Tina.”

A girl about nine was sitting on the hearth. She looked up and said, “Hi!” She exchanged a solemn glance with Sarah, who trotted over to inspect the dolls. At another nervous wave from Donna, the two men sat in the wing chairs.

Donna continued, “And Josie, with the book. Josie, put your feet down!”

A twelve-year-old girl on the pink-flowered sofa sullenly removed her sandaled feet from the cushions.

Maggie glanced at the book and murmured to the girl, “My favorite character is Gollum. Who’s yours, my preciousss?”

Surprised hazel eyes flicked up. Olivia saw the touch of interest before defiance returned. “The Nazgul,” Josie declared.

“Right! The Ringwraiths!” exclaimed Maggie approvingly, perching on the arm of the sofa. “I always wanted to be able to fly too. I still want to be an astronaut.”

“Really?”

“Sure. As long as I can still have a hobbit-hole. Maybe on the moon.”

The girl rewarded her with a tiny cautious grin. “I know where there’s a hobbit-hole.”

Olivia left them to discuss Tolkien and turned back to Donna. “Shall we go rouse Dale?”

“Well—” Donna looked nervously at the hallway that led back to the den. Dale, theoretically on vacation, had been working at home for the last three weeks, doctor’s orders, while he adapted to a new medication. But Edgerton, not the easiest of managing editors, continued to send him assignments. Not that Dale would want a real vacation.

“I’ll go,” Olivia told Donna. “I have something to say to him anyway.” She marched through the hall to the last room, a den outfitted with file cabinets and an IBM typewriter that put the old machines in the Sun-Dispatch office to shame. Dale was a neat worker, his notes in careful stacks. Even the brass lamp perched at the edge of his desk was polished.

Dale was on the phone. “Of course I’ll be discreet, Mrs. Resler. Thanks so much.”

“Lying to sources again, Dale?” teased Olivia, when he’d replaced the receiver.

He turned in his desk chair, not amused. He was a handsome man with shrewd hazel eyes and sandy hair, but small teeth made his smile seem miserly. “Hello, Olivia.”

“How are you?”

“Rotten. As usual.”

“It’ll gradually improve, Jerry says.”

“Yeah. Everyone who isn’t going through it says that.” He stood up, moving easily, Olivia saw, not the little hesitations and hurries that had characterized his last weeks in the Sun-Dispatch office. He’d be back to full-time soon.

Behind Olivia, Tina ran past into her own room across the hall. Little Sarah was right behind her. Dale winced.

“I’ve got a message for you from Nate,” Olivia said.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Leon Moffatt stopped by to complain to Edgerton about something you were doing.”

“Moffatt?” Dale’s eyebrows crept up in pleased inquiry.

“Yeah. Mrs. Resler came to complain too. But Moffatt really seemed furious. Edgy whisked him into the office out of earshot. But Nate thought you’d want to know.”

“Moffatt! All right!” Dale hurried back to his chair. “Listen, Olivia, I won’t be able to—”

“Sunshine on my shoulders,” bellowed John Denver’s recorded voice from across the hall.

“Goddamn it, Tina, turn that off!” roared Dale, charging to the door so vehemently that Olivia stepped back. In the sudden silence that followed he spotted his wife at the end of the hall. “Donna! Bring me one of those sandwiches you made!”

“A sandwich? But the picnic—”

“I can’t go to the beach now! I haven’t been able to have my nap yet. Besides, this story is getting interesting.”

Olivia regarded Dale with amusement. A true reporter. Dale at work was a perfectionist, even rigid, with files that were actually orderly and a strict self-imposed schedule. She could never run her life that way. But she shared the insanity that relegated all things, even sickness and trips to the beach, to a lower order than the demands of a story. Still, she said, “Nate suggested that you go easy.”

“Aw, come on, Olivia, you know better than that.”

“Yeah. I do.”

Donna came hurrying down the hall with a plate containing a wrapped sandwich, a little bag of potato chips, and a mug of coffee. “Dale, the children wanted to go to—”

“Right! Exactly!” He took the plate and plunked it onto the table. “Take them away!”

“You mean go without you?”

“Right.”

“But honey, I was hoping you’d get some rest.”

“Donna, honey.” Dale took her by the shoulders. “I’ll take my nap first, I promise. And if you take my daughters away a few hours, I may even get some work done.” He released Donna and rolled his eyes at Olivia. “Never, ever try to work in the same house with kids!”

“Yeah. My niece has already taught me that,” Olivia agreed. “Come on, Donna, I guess he’s serious.”

Donna Colby was not only an immaculate housekeeper but a good organizer. The picnic basket she’d raided for Dale’s lunch was packed, towels and toys ready. Nick and Jerry carried them out to the van and lifted Tina into the back seat. Olivia held open the door that led from kitchen to garage while Sarah jumped from the step with Maggie’s help. Josie came running back in through the garage, coltish and stiff-legged, and bounded awkwardly past them and across the kitchen.

“What’s the rush, honey?” asked Donna, who was picking up the last bag from the kitchen table.

“Tina forgot Ken and Barbie.” Josie disappeared into the dining room and the hall beyond. Olivia heard her sandals slapping unevenly on the hardwood floor.

Dale’s roar could be heard all the way to the garage. “Damn it, Josie, aren’t you gone yet? I’m trying to make a call!” A whoosh, a slam, a click of bolts closing.

Josie, looking small and white, beelined from the bedroom to the garage, Ken and Barbie clutched in her fists. Donna looked after her despairingly, then stepped into the dining room. “We’re leaving, honey. Bye.”

There was no response. Donna waited a moment, steadying herself with a hand on the wall, then turned and came back into the kitchen with a tremulous smile. “He’s really not feeling very well. And he’s so involved with this story.”

Olivia tried to think of something charitable to say. “It’s tough to dig up stories even when you’re healthy.”

“Yes, and there’s other pressure. He got a letter this morning from his first wife. I don’t know what it said, but—” Donna shrugged. “It’s hard for him these days.”

“Hard on the kids too,” Maggie observed. She and Sarah had negotiated the step and were watching Donna too.

“Yes. I wish the doctor had waited until they were in school before he started this new drug.” Donna, her face drawn, followed them through the hot garage to the van. “They were in camp this summer, but it only lasted through July.”

“Well, let’s take them to the beach,” Maggie said pragmatically, opening the van door. Jerry had turned on the air conditioner. They climbed into the coolness gratefully and headed for distant Bethany Beach.

Thunderheads came boiling down from the northwest as they finished the picnic dinner. A cool gust of wind hit Olivia’s damp back and sent goose bumps running along her skin. “God, that’s great!” she exclaimed. “I haven’t felt cold for months!” She joined Nick and Maggie, who had started to pick up toys and sandals from the water’s edge. “Guess it’s time to get back.”

“Right,” said Nick. “I think Donna will be just as glad.”

It was true; they had hardly arrived before Donna had sought out a phone to call Dale, though the line was busy so she soon gave up. She had been pleasant, had sat out the swim but had joined in the wild volleyball game that pitted the women—including little Sarah—against Nick and Jerry, who made up for their reduced numbers by shouting sexist comments such as “Here you go, doll babies,” or “Hurry up, dainty Maggot!” It had been impossible to keep score, especially since the men insisted that points scored by women were more delicate and therefore smaller than their own robust variety. Donna had smiled about it too. Afterwards, though, she had seemed restless, as though uncomfortable outside the well-ordered home she ran.

The wind grew stronger. The younger children, excited by the looming black clouds, shrieked and ran around. Maggie didn’t help by suggesting to Josie that it looked like the arrival of the evil Lord of the Nazgul on his unholy winged steed. Josie had been quiet all day, haughtily rebuffing her mother’s sympathetic questions, refusing to put on her swimsuit and collecting shells and pebbles instead. But she enjoyed Maggie’s suggestion and began to instruct Tina and Sarah about ways to save Barbie and Ken from doom. Sidestepping the darting children, the adults threw toys and towels into the van helter-skelter, no trace remaining of Donna’s careful packing. Even so the first drops were falling as they finally rounded up Sarah, wriggly and sandy in her little red swimsuit, and closed the van door. The return trip, through heavy rain, was slow. At last they drove through the last of the storm into an oddly cool, cloudy twilight. The world seemed stunned by its sudden scrubbing.

The children were inspired all over again by the wet unfamiliarity of the yard. Tina ran to the side of the garage. “The little house is gone!” she squealed, pointing at the muddy remnants of some earthen creation. Josie renewed the doomsday chronicle of the beach, which required much running about and flapping of arms. Nick and Jerry joined in, chanting ‘When shall we three meet again, in thunder, lightning, or in rain?’ to the delighted screams of the girls. Olivia had to grin at them. It was true, the relative coolness was invigorating.

She helped Maggie carry some of the towels as far as the kitchen door. Donna, visible through the dining-room door, was calling timidly, “Dale?” There was no answer. She turned back, hand trailing along the wall, and returned to the kitchen with a shrug. “Probably on the phone,” she said with a quick apologetic smile.