Robin had moved my purse in his renewed search for his keys. I shoved it back into its accustomed place in the corner of the kitchen counter. Robin told Sophie, “Mama’s out of the shower! The milk wagon is here! But let’s see if we can play a little longer.” He put his fingers in the baby’s grasp and then moved them gently back and forth. Sophie gave one of her fleeting smiles.
“Look at her,” Robin said. “She’s just been playing and playing. Hasn’t fussed at all. Even Moosie came over to say hello.”
“How did that go?”
“Moosie couldn’t have been more nonchalant. She strolled over, sniffed her, sat and looked at Sophie for a few minutes to see if she’d do anything interesting. When Sophie didn’t, Moosie went out the cat flap.”
“That cat’s pretty smart about staying in our yard,” I said. “I know this is a minor problem—in the big picture of our issues—but I’m a little worried about her. I suspect she’s deaf.”
Robin was surprised. “Maybe Dr. Lowell knows how to find out,” he said hesitantly. “I don’t know what a feline deafness exam might be. Why’d you think of that?”
“I don’t think Moosie can hear Chaka or Lulu barking at her.” I was reinterpreting several past instances when I thought our cat was being either very provocative or recklessly bold.
“Speaking of Chaka,” Robin said, to my astonishment. “I wonder what rescue organization the sisters used. I had been wondering…”
I looked at him blankly. Obviously, he was expecting me to pick up on his idea, but honestly, I had nothing.
“If we might get a dog?” he said hopefully.
That was so far from my list of conversational topics that I just goggled at him. “A dog?”
“We always had at least one, when I was growing up.” I’d never applied Robin’s mom’s love of her two little pets to the likelihood that Robin’s family had always had dogs. “Do you hate the idea?” Robin was truly anxious.
“No,” I said, though I wasn’t sure that was true. I was scrambling to assemble a response. “I like dogs just fine. I’ve never had one myself, but I’m sure I can find books on how to take care of one. I have no problem with Lulu or Chaka, except Lulu gets kind of yappy. But Peggy says that’s because the Cohens haven’t trained her. She says if you spend time with your dog, they can turn out fun to have around. I’ve noticed obedience classes on the community board at the library. Robin, how long has this been on your mind?”
“Well, since before Sophie. But we had so much on our plate that it didn’t seem like the right time to bring it up.”
“We’re still pretty occupied with our new household member,” I said, nodding toward our daughter. Her arm waving was done, and her eyes were fluttering shut and then snapping open. She didn’t want to miss the party. (I was a little concerned that she was falling asleep without feeding, but I was willing to give it a try.)
Robin was still waiting hopefully.
“Okay, I am not against us getting a dog. But let’s let Sophie grow a little bit first, since she’s taking up so much of our time and energy.”
A quiet knock at the door ended the dog discussion, to my relief. Since Robin had Sophie, I answered the door.
Detective Levon Suit grinned at me. “Roe, how you doing?”
“Hi,” I said, off balance. I was no longer glad to see Levon. It was unpleasant to realize that our relationship had changed overnight, since he’d become a detective. But I forged ahead. “It’s a little early in the morning for a visit. Can I get you something to drink? Coffee?”
“No, but thank you,” Levon said, ambling by me. I looked over his shoulder to see that the sky was overcast and the air felt damp. Just great.
Robin said hello, and gestured to Sophie on his lap to explain why he wasn’t standing to shake hands. Levon was tactful enough to take the opportunity to praise Sophie, and I felt somewhat warmer toward him.
“Katrina’s due to pop at any moment,” Levon said. “And we’ll have us another one of these.” Levon and Katrina had been married since high school graduation.
“That’s so great! Have you picked out a name?”
“Katrina’s old-fashioned about that. She thinks it’s bad luck, like buying baby clothes before the birth.”
I had never heard that one, and I’d thought every tired old superstition and bit of folklore had been trotted out and presented to me as gospel while I was pregnant with Sophie.
I was thinking about our bed. Though I’d slept all night, I was still tired. That weakness told me just how sick I had been. I needed to feed Sophie soon. I should call Aubrey to tell him about John, though I was almost certain he knew already. A cadre of parishioners kept Father Aubrey Scott abreast of all the happenings in his flock.
“What can we do for you, Levon?” Robin asked, thank God. He could tell I was zoned out.
“I came to tell you a few things.”
Not to ask them. Great! “We’re all ears,” I said, and I noticed that Robin and I were actually both leaning forward slightly.
“The preliminary word is that what killed Tracy Beal was a blow to the head,” Levon said. “But she didn’t land on a rock when she fell. There was nothing like that in the area of her head. So the blow wasn’t accidental, we figure. As you probably saw at the crime scene, she had been holding a knife. At least, it was by her right hand. But there was no blood on the blade. She hadn’t used it.”
That was a lot of information to absorb at one time.
“Okay,” Robin said. “Thanks for telling us. Can you say if she was hit while she was standing up, or while she was on the ground?”
Good question. I leaned against Robin’s shoulder, which felt very comfortable just now.
“The medical examiner says she wasn’t standing upright,” Levon said. “But she wasn’t lying flat on the ground, either. It’s a strange depression, Dr. English says. Whatever caused the dent in her skull, it hit her really hard, one big blow. And that’s what—that’s all—we know about her death until the ME does a thorough autopsy. Her clothes didn’t turn up anything interesting.”
“How come she turned up here at all? With no warning?” What little energy I retained was channeled into this grievance. Why hadn’t we been alerted when Tracy had escaped?
“We were waiting on a doctor’s decision about whether or not Tracy was mentally competent to stand trial. She was in the jail wing of a private psychiatric facility until four days ago. Then she escaped.”
“No one told us,” I said, my anger (and my voice) rising as I spoke. Sophie’s eyes flew open, and Robin glanced at me meaningfully. He stood to carry Sophie to her room, jiggling her gently, and humming.
In a quieter voice I said, “Levon, she tried to kill me the last time she was out. Don’t you think we should have known the minute she went missing?”