Shallow Graves - Jeremiah Healy (4 page)

The good part was that I could be vague without
seeming rude. "I'm doing a death case for Empire."

"Empire? I thought they hated you."

"They do. It's a long, boring story/'

"The death case. Here in Suffolk County?"

"Right."

Nancy nodded. She had her professional obligations, I
had mine, and we both knew it was best not to mix them.

Going back to the lamb, I said, "You still on
for the conference in Dallas?"

She smiled without showing teeth. "Convention. I
confirmed it this morning"

"They still want you to talk?"

"Uh-huh. One of the panels at plenary session."

"What does 'plenary' mean?"

"Before the whole convention in the big
auditorium?

"Quite a feather in the young prosecutor's cap."

"It'll hold me till you do."

By the time we were ready for dessert, the pianist
had taken a break. Over the hushed talk and clinking of cutlery, I
said, "You know, I thought about embarrassing you with a cake
and singing."

Nancy looked up, horrified. "You didn't?"

"Picture it. The Great Nancy Meagher, the center
of attention at her convention, unbearably self-conscious in the best
hotel restaurant in Boston."

"That would be cruel, John."

"Cruelty has its place. Instead, though, how
about a chocolate mousse torte?"

"You memorized the menu?"

"That one kind of jumped out at me."

Our waiter wheeled over the dessert cart anyway.
Nancy picked a seven-layer walnut cake and a tea I couldn't
pronounce. I went with the torte and the last of the wine. Pointing
my fork at her cake, I said, "There's still time to stick a
candle in that."

She looked up. "Want a taste?"

We exchanged forkfuls, making appropriate "ummm"
sounds.

The pianist came back on just as we were finishing. I
said, "We could order some brandy, hear one more set?"

Nancy seemed to consider it as he began playing
again. Then she frowned. "What is that?"

I looked at the piano, thinking it would help me.
"Something with words, but . .

"A theme song, like from television."

"Yeah. Sure. 'The first mate and the skipper,
too . . .' "

Nancy put a hand to her mouth. "Gilligan's
Island!"

I said, "Maybe it is time for the check."

We walked up Commonwealth to Fairfield and then over
to Beacon and the condominium I was renting from a doctor doing a
two-year residency in Chicago. We got only as far as the parking lot
because Nancy wanted to sleep home in South Boston to be fresh for
battle the next morning. My silver Prelude, 'old' but reliable, took
us to Southie, finding as always a spot on the street near her place.

I climbed the stairs behind Nancy. Drew Lynch, a cop
whose parents owned the property, opened his door on the second
floor, just to be sure that she was okay. As we reached her door on
the third, I thought for a moment about the model in Holt's photo.
Mau Tim Dani died in an apartment on the same floor in a probably
similar building across town in the South End. Nancy turned the key
and pushed the door. A ball of fur swirled around her feet, biting me
at the sock line of my shoes.

I said, "Can't you teach him not to do this?"

"He's an attack cat, John. Aren't you,
Renfie1d?"

At the sound of her voice, Renfield backed off. A
gray tiger, the yellow eyes seemed to move independently as he looked
for any exposed flesh. Nancy had named him after the Englishman in
Dracula who eats small mammals. A few months before, he'd been
declawed up front and neutered, but at almost a year old, he was
still a terror with his teeth and rear claws.

I said, "Do they make cat muzzles?"

Nancy swung her briefcase onto the kitchen table. "I
don't know why you two don't get along better."

"He senses I'm a competitor for your
affections."

"He's a eunuch now. Maybe I should take him for
therapy."

I moved in behind her. "Depends on what
affections he's competing for."

Nancy arched back into me just a little. "I
think we left off with your thumb pad."

"Shall I start making the rest of me
accessible?"

"No. It's my birthday, I get the bathroom
first."

"And in the meantime?"

"You get Renfield. Try to tire him out so he
doesn't bother us."

"You have any tranquilizer darts?"

Nancy moved into the bedroom and closed the door
behind her.

I sat down on one of the kitchen chairs, unbuttoning
my collar and tugging down my tie. Renfield hunkered onto his
haunches, eyeing the end of my tie with bad intent.

I said, "Don't even think about it."

Renfield suddenly looked up and past me. I fell for
it. As soon as my head was turned, he was on my lap, the rear paws
pedaling for purchase, the claws sinking through my suit and the
teeth sinking through my tie.

I yelled and stood up, prying him off and dropping
him from about waist height. He hit the floor on all fours, but cried
out, slinking away and favoring his right hip in a limping circle.
Nancy's head and bra-strapped shoulders came around the bedroom door.
"What was that?"

"I don't know. I just dropped him and — "

But she'd already spotted Renfield, now lurching near
the pantry shelves, trying to scuttle under the lowest one.
"Renfield? Renfield, what happened?"

"Nance, I told you. He — "

She was out in the kitchen now, trying to corner him
gently.

"Jesus Mary, John! He's just a little cat. What
did you do to him?"

"Nothing. Like I said, he jumped on me and I
dropped him."

"It looks like his leg is broken."

"It can't be. I just let him go from like here."

Nancy glanced at my hands in front of my belt, then
finally got Renfield bracketed. He let her pick him up, a little at a
time. Once in her arms, Renfield hissed at me.

"John, he's hurt."

"He probably just pulled something."

"Pulled something? The marathoner's a vet now?"

"Nancy, give me a break, okay? I dropped him
from like three feet in the air, and he landed on all fours. He's a
cat, he ought to be able to take that."

"Well, obviously he couldn't." She shifted
him carefully to hold him more easily. "I should never have had
him declawed."

"Nance, he was shredding your furniture. And
spraying it, too. Were you not going to have him fixed now, either?"

That got me the steady, even voice. "It's my
birthday, John. It's my birthday, and you crippled my kitty."

"Nancy, he's not crippled. His leg looks fine —
"

"He was limping!"

"His leg seems okay. It's his hip, like it's out
of joint, maybe."

"First he pulled something, now he's got a
dislocated hip?"

I put up my hands. "Okay, okay. We'll take him
to the vet's. Right now." I started digging in my pants for the
car keys.

"No. No, let me call first."

I waited while Nancy, using just two fingers of one
hand, found the animal hospital's number in her address book and
dialed it. The half of the conversation I heard was: "My cat
just fell from about three feet above the floor and . . . No, no, he
didn't land on his back or head. He landed on his feet . . . No, it
just seems to be his leg. Or hip, maybe . . , Well, I don't know if
he's in pain. He's limping around and . . . No, he cried out once"
— Nancy looking to me, me nodding to her — "but that's it.
Now he's just hissing and . . . No, no, not at me. At — just
hissing a little, now and then . . . You do? You're sure? Well, I
guess that makes sense . . . Yes, yes, thank you. I appreciate . . .
Right, right. Bye."

Nancy hung up the phone. "A family just arrived
with a collie who'd been hit by a car. The vet's covering by herself,
so she had to go."

"So should we bring Renfield in?"

"The vet said no. She wants me to wait until
morning because he might just 'walk it off.' "

I thought about saying, "See?" Instead, I
said, "That sounds like a good idea."

"She said to pay a lot of attention to him, to
make sure he's comfortable. If he seems to be in constant pain,
though, I should call her back."

I couldn't think of a good way to ask the next
question, so I didn't. Nancy answered it for me by moving forward
with the cat. Renfield growled, burrowing his head into her crossed
arms.

"John, I really think he has to sleep with me
tonight."

"I understand. I'll take off."

"No. No, could you stay here, on the couch? If
he has to go in at three A.M., you could drive and I could hold him."

"Sure, Nance."

"I'm sorry about this."

"Same."

Nancy carried the cat into the bedroom. Over her
shoulder, Renfield snarled at me, his two front teeth like the fangs
of his namesake.
 
 

-4-

I THINK THE SOUND OF A VERY LIGHR RAIN WOKE ME UP.
THE DIGITAL clock on Nancy's VCR said 8:20 A.M. Now 8:21. I sat up,
my back creaking. The night before, I moved past her bedroom to the
living room and tried the couch. Fine for sitting and cuddling, a tad
short for sleeping. I'd taken the seat cushions off and spread them
on the floor, covering myself with an afghan Nancy's mother had
crocheted two years before she'd died. Even so, my kidneys felt as
though someone had forgotten to hinge them.

I got up and put the couch back together, folding the
afghan on an armrest. At the bedroom door, I knocked, got no answer,
and knocked louder. Opening it, I saw a made bed. I didn't hear any
water running in the bathroom, so I moved all the way back to the
kitchen. There was a note propped up between the salt and pepper
shakers:

John,
I woke up
early and took Renfield to the vet's. I looked in on you but you were
asleep. I'm sorry you got the floor and I'm sorry I got mad at you.
Call me later,
Nancy

I read my kidneys the part about the floor, but they
weren't much comforted. Raiding the refrigerator, I had a couple of
English muffins and orange juice.

In the bathroom, the scent of Nancy's potpourri was
zingy in the air. I weighed myself on her scales. It was an old
building, and depending on where I put the scales, the needle moved a
little more or a little less. I liked by the sink best, coming in at
just under one ninety there.

I wanted to see the Dani woman's apartment house
before talking with the people at the modeling agency. Given the
time, I couldn't really go home, change, and run for a while first,
so I decided to make a short visit instead.

"I got to Mrs. Feeney's just as she was putting
the carnations out on the sidewalk."

But I get roses instead?

I straightened back up, almost using the headstone to
steady myself against the stiffness.

"Transference, Beth."

Fight with Nancy?

"Not exactly." I told her about Renfield.

So, the question is, did the cat jump or was he
pushed?

"Not funny, kid."

I'm sorry, John, but it was an accident, you can't
let it get you down.

"
I know."

The rain had turned to mist, the mist curtaining a
rainbow that vaulted over Logan Airport across the harbor and down to
the foot of her hillside, almost touching two men in a small boat,
fishing. The convex edge of the rainbow was red, then yellow, and
finally blue-green near the concave edge.

Is Renfield all that's distracting you, John?

I looked back from the rainbow. "No. Remember
Harry Mullen?"

At Empire?

"Right."

Sure. Is he all right?

"Sort of." In a way I couldn't do with
Nancy, I caught Beth up on the case so far.

And you smell a rat.

"I don't know. I can't see Harry suckering me,
but Brad Winningham was never exactly my rabbi, and Holt should have
told me to hit the pike."

Maybe you're looking for a reason not to take the
job.

"Because I'm still bitter over what Empire did
to me?"

A pause. And maybe over when they did it.

I thought back to Winningham coming into my office,
now Harry's office, with the jewelry claim. Sign off or sign out. It
was Christmas time, two months after a priest and I had buried Beth.
My leaving the company, the boozing, a kid on a bike that I nearly
turned into a hood ornament.