Animal Appetite by Conant Susan

Author:Conant, Susan [Conant, Susan]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Nineteen

On Saturday morning, after Steve had left for his clinic and I’d finished such daily chores as vacuuming up dog hair and washing my own, I made a fresh pot of coffee and covered my kitchen table with every bit of material I’d gathered about Jack Andrews’s murder: Jack’s obituary, Shaun McGrath’s, the photographs Claudia had given me, the notes I’d made about my conversation with Brat Andrews, the Violet Wish portrait of Chip, Randall Carey’s book with the chapter about the murder, and the list of people I’d phoned to inquire about the mysterious Tracy—that tall girl, as everyone called her—who’d handled Jack’s show dogs. On the kind of yellow legal pad to which every real writer is addicted, I jotted notes about Gareth Andrews’s mad rambling: rats, dead and alive, their sharp teeth, the stench of death, Claudia, Oscar Fisch, the recovery movement, “Uncle” George Foley, and John Winter Andrews, who, in his son’s deranged mind, now and forever drank rat poison, yet did not die.

The surviving members of Jack’s family, I thought, had told me all they were willing or, in Gareth’s case, able to relate: Even if I ignored Oscar Fisch’s plea to stop “harassing” Claudia (and her child, too, of course), I’d probably learn nothing new. Had Claudia, in fact, stolen the library copies of Mass. Mayhem? Breaking into her house on Francis Avenue, I decided, wasn’t worth the risk. There was probably an elaborate alarm system, and I was a dog writer, not a cat burglar; I’d certainly get caught. Brat, I felt convinced, had said everything she intended to say. As to Gareth, I had no illusion that I could distinguish between his delusions and whatever more-or-less accurate memories he retained. It occurred to me, however, that if Gareth had been on Fayerweather Street near the time of Professor Foley’s death, whenever that was, his purple parka and aqua backpack-—never mind his behavior—would’ve made him memorable. As one more odd duck paddling and quacking in Harvard Square, Gareth might be easy to overlook; near Governor Weld’s house, however, there’d be watchers on guard for just such rare birds. Oscar Fisch clearly didn’t want to talk to me. Randall Carey claimed to remember no more than he’d written in a book ten years earlier. Despite extensive efforts, I’d had no luck in tracing the untraceable tall Tracy, whose short brown hair might now be long and gray, and who might have switched from golden retrievers to black-and-tan coonhounds, Kerry blue terriers, or no dogs at all.

I again phoned the McGraths, who still hadn’t returned my call. This time, I got an answer. The voice was a woman’s.

“Shirley McGrath?” I asked.

“Yes.”

The names in the phone directory, I reminded myself, corresponded to the names given for Shaun’s parents in his obituary. Eighteen years ago, Shaun’s parents had lived in Arlington. This Shirley McGrath lived there, too. She must be Shaun’s mother. If not, I was about to make a real fool of myself. “My name is Holly Winter.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.