Three Bedrooms, One Corpse(26)

I dabbed some antibiotic ointment on the worst scratches and pulled on my coat. I was bracing myself for the ordeal to come.

Madeleine wailed all the way to Dr. Jamerson’s of- fice. Nonstop.

Sometimes I loathed that cat.

“Oh, good, Madeleine’s right on time,” said Dr. Jamerson’s nice receptionist with a distinct lack of en- thusiasm. I returned a grim nod.

“Let’s see. What does Madeleine need today?” She knew damn good and well.

“All her shots.”

“Charlie’ll get his gloves,” she said, heaving a re- signed sigh. “He’ll be with you in just a minute.” Charlie helped Dr. Jamerson with the really difficult animals. He was a huge cheerful young man, working at the vet’s office until he had enough saved to go to college full-time instead of part-time. “Is she here yet?” I heard Charlie ask the reception- ist apprehensively. A moment later Charlie stuck his head out into the waiting room.

“Right on time, as always, Miss Teagarden! And how is your kitty today?”

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Madeleine yowled. The Labrador on the other side of the room began to whine and pressed his nose against his owner’s leg. Charlie winced.

“Better bring her back,” he said with false assur- ance. “Doctor’s waiting.”

I struggled with the heavy carrier, knowing I’d have to heft it myself, since Madeleine had found out last time that her paw could fit through the mesh door nicely, even with her claws fully extended. Dr. Jamer- son had all Madeleine’s shots laid out ready, plus a gen- erous supply of cotton balls and antiseptic. His jaw was set, and he gave me a grim smile.

“Bring her on, Miss Teagarden. We got through her neutering before, we’ll get through her shots now. Thank God she’s a healthy cat.”

That thought certainly gave me pause. If Madeleine was like this when she felt good— “Oh, dear,” I said. I pulled my gloves back on. “Are you ready?” “Let’s do it,” Dr. Jamerson said to Charlie and me, and we all nodded simultaneously. I unlatched the cage door and pulled it open.

Fifteen minutes later I emerged from the vet’s office, lugging the cage with the cat screaming triumphantly inside. She’d had her shots. And we’d pretty much had ours, too.

“He didn’t bleed very much, Mother,” I said reas- suringly when she called to see how Dr. Jamerson was doing.

“I sold him a house. He’s such a nice man,” she

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sighed. “I wish you’d take that cat to Dr. Caitlin. He went through Today’s Homes.”

“He wouldn’t see her,” I said.

“Oh.”

“What time Saturday night?” I asked. “The ban- quet.”

“What did you do with your invitation?” “It got lost or something.”

“You need a bulletin board and some thumbtacks.” “Yes, I know. What time do we need to be there?” “Drinks at seven, dinner at seven thirty.” “Okay.”

“I’m going to be showing him some more houses, you know.”

“Oh—no, we didn’t talk about it.”

“Nothing as grand as the Anderton place, but all in the one to two hundred thousand range. He must be planning on doing a lot of entertaining.” “He’s the head man here. I guess so.”

“Still, a single man . . . why does he want that much room?”

“I don’t know.” Because he came from a poor farm in America’s heartland? I had no idea.

“Well, I hope you know what you’re doing.” “I do too,” I said softly.

“Oh, Roe, have you got it bad?” My mother was suddenly distressed.

“Yes,” I said, and closed my eyes.

“Oh, dear.”

“I’ll see you Saturday night,” I said hastily. “Bye, Mother.”

“Bye, baby.” My mother was worried.

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I’d rented a movie to watch that night, and I was curled up in front of the television wrapped in a quilt and eating crackers and peanut butter when Martin called. He just wanted to see if I was okay, he told me, after the incident with Sam Ulrich the morning before. He was lonely in his hotel room, he told me. After I hung up, I thought about his exercise equip- ment and his running and his racquetball, and I closed the peanut butter jar.

And before I went to bed, I thought about Sam Ulrich—and Idella and Tonia Lee—and I double- checked all my doors and windows.

I’d just pulled on my jeans and a sweater the next morning when the phone rang.

“Roe,” said the warm voice on the other end, “how are you this morning?”

“Oh, hi, Franklin.” Mild curiosity stirred within me. “I’m all right.”

“Not too shaken up by your dreadful experience?” “You mean finding Idella. It was just horrible, Franklin, but I haven’t dwelt on it.” I’d been dwelling on something else. I felt myself smiling, and was ashamed. “That’s good. Life goes on,” he said offhandedly. “I called to see if by chance you would go with me to the Realtor’s banquet?”

Well, well. The legendary Franklin Farrell was ask- ing little old me for a date. He’d probably gone out with every other woman in Lawrenceton.

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“Franklin, how nice of you to ask. I’m flattered. But I already have plans for that night.”

“Oh, that’s too bad. Well, another time then.” “Thanks for calling.”

If anyone had been there to see me, I would have raised my eyebrows in amazement. Franklin Farrell without a date, and the banquet so close? Something must have happened to his original plans. Did this mean someone had canceled on Franklin? That would indeed be news.

I drummed my fingers on the kitchen counter. The next thing I knew, I was asking Patty to connect me with Eileen.

“How are you doing, honey?” Eileen asked, but without her usual boom.

“I’m just fine. You?”

“Still upset, Roe. I just can’t stop seeing Idella, thrown down like a sack of garbage.”

“It had to have been quick, Eileen. Maybe she didn’t know anything about it.”

The paper had quoted Lynn as saying it was believed Idella’d been strangled like Tonia Lee, though that wouldn’t be a certainty until the autopsy. I did hope it had been quick, but I had a conviction that Idella had known exactly who was killing her and that she was being killed. I tried so hard not to imagine that that I bit my lip.

“I hope not,” Eileen was sighing. “Listen, Roe, not to change the subject, but I have to get on with my work, I guess. I took yesterday off. Do you want to do any more house-hunting today?”

“I don’t think so, Eileen. I’ve kind of lost my taste

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for it, for a little while at least. I liked the Julius house so much better than anything I’ve seen, but I have to ponder long and hard about whether I could live out of town without getting the willies every night.” “I can understand that, believe me. Just give me a call when you make up your mind.”

“Listen, Eileen. Do you know if Idella had been dat- ing anyone special?”

“If she was, she didn’t tell me who. But she had been very ‘up’ lately, dressing more carefully, cheerful, eyes shiny, etcetera. Idella wasn’t one to talk about her per- sonal life. I worked with her for a month without her mentioning her children!”

“She was closemouthed,” I said, impressed. “I just wondered if she hadn’t been dating Franklin Farrell.” “I would be extremely surprised,” Eileen said in- stantly. “You know what a reputation he has as a ladies’ man. Idella was very shy.”

She’d have been a real challenge to a Franklin Far- rell.

“You heard they questioned Jimmy Hunter?” Eileen told me suddenly.

“Yes, but I don’t believe he’s guilty.” “It’s got to be someone,” Eileen said practically. “Though I hear his alibi for the time Idella was killed is pretty strong.”

“So there are two stranglers in Lawrenceton, attack- ing real estate saleswoman?”

“You’ve heard about copycat killers. Maybe this is one.”

“What about the thefts?”

“I’m not the police,” Eileen said irritably. “I’m just

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hoping all this is over and I can go back to my job without being scared every time I have an appointment to meet someone at an empty house.”

“Sure,” I said, instantly contrite. “I’m a friend of Susu’s, or at least I used to be in high school.” “We’re not going to come out of this with everyone happy.”

“Of course not. Listen, when do you walk every eve- ning?”

“Terry and I usually walk at five in the winter, seven in the summer. Did you want to join us?” “Oh, how nice of you! No, I’d just slow you down. I thought I might give it a try, but I’d better go by myself at first.”

“Then be careful.”

“Okay. See you Saturday night.”

“Bye.”

I actually found myself a tiny bit regretful I wasn’t going to see Franklin in action. Amina had told me a date with Franklin was like being in a warm, soothing bubble bath. You felt cherished and delicate and pam- perable. And of course you wanted that to go on and on, so the date extended very easily into bed. Once or twice, or perhaps even for a month. And then Franklin stopped calling and you had to come back to the real world.