Footprints in the Butter by Denise Dietz

Author:Denise Dietz [Dietz, Denise]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: cozy, dogs, mystery, women sleuths
ISBN: 9781611870237
Google: f-KAW4nQtx0C
Publisher: Untreed Reads
Published: 2010-11-03T23:49:08+00:00

Chapter Twelve

I had contemplated the pillows, Doris Day’s face, and the quote above her head, ignoring background images. Blending into the background, wallpapering the canvas, were miniature musical instruments—piano, drums, violins, sax, clarinet. Even if I had focused on the instruments, I probably would have dismissed them, because Doris had been one heck of a singer before she’d hit it big as a film star.

After last night, however, my senses were synchronized.

Alice Shaw Cooper played the clarinet, at least she did. She had marched during our high school football games, and she was always out of step. The band members would be playing “Tie a Yellow Ribbon ‘Round the Old Oak Tree,” their left feet stomping forward on Yellow while Alice’s left foot heel-toed the turf on Ribbon.

I thought maybe Doris Day’s clarinet was larger than the other instruments. Was that a clue?

What about Manson? Another clue? Or had Wylie portrayed Manson as a soldier because Wylie believed that war and Charles Manson were equally evil? Murder was murder, even if it was politically, therefore morally sanctioned. Once upon a time I had believed that, and I guess I still did.

Forget Charles Manson! Forget Stewie! Sing, sing a song.

I couldn’t forget Stewie. But I could hide him inside my snagged pantyhose drawer, along with Wylie’s rape-seduction.

Hitchcock sat by the answering machine, his maple-leaf ears on a par with its blinking red button. I gave Hitchcock’s shaggy black head a pat and hit MEMO.

“Ing, it’s me. Bet you thought I was dead, huh? Well, I’m not. Surprised? Look, we have to talk. There’s this restaurant across from the shopping mall, called the…um…what the hell is it called? Fig Garden? No, Olive Garden. Meet me there between five…no, five-thirty and six. Come alone. You like crossword puzzles so much. What’s a seven letter word that means a state of distress?”

That was it. The whole message. I turned off my answering machine and stared at the phone. My condition was one of distress. Hitchcock bounded toward the kitchen and his doggie door. When he returned, he carried a dirt-encrusted chew bone in his mouth. Placing the bone at my feet, he wagged his tail. Then he flopped down in front of the coffee table.

“Thank you,” I said, staring at the bone. “What a good, sweet dog.” But my voice seemed to come from far away, another planet maybe.

I’ve never fainted in my life, not even when Dwight’s car crashed and he lay there with his shattered body and shattered dreams, not even when the dreadful, deadful news about Stewie squeezed itself through multiple telephone lines. I’m simply not a better-go-fetch-the-smelling-salts-again kind of gal.

With that last thought, I plunged into darkness.

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