She stared off into space, a picture of distraction. She hadn’t heard me or seen me come down the stairs, I guess, because I startled the hell out of her by saying, “What can I do for you, Anna?”
She shivered a little. Maybe from the chill I put into the question. She looked up into my face, studying it for a moment before glancing toward Geoff, the ancient security guard. I followed the glance and saw that Geoff was looking at her with tender sympathy. Geoff, who by some calculations is rising 130 (and by others, was Tutankhamen’s boyhood friend), enjoys the sight of a pretty face but is not one to be swayed by such. So when I saw that look, I felt a little ashamed of my own reaction to her.
“Have you eaten?” I asked her.
“No, but-”
“Then let’s have lunch,” I said.
I looked back at Geoff, who was beaming at me. “I’ll sign you out,” he said. That damned old man has controlled my behavior for years.
I took her outside before anyone else from the paper had an unspoken suggestion to make and came to a halt. There’s a burger place not far from the paper, but in just a few minutes it would be crowded with other reporters. I thought we might want a little more privacy. She needed to walk off some of that anxiety, anyway.
“There’s a place down the street called Rosie’s. Ever eaten there?”
“No. We can go wherever you like.”
THE walk was silent but did seem to make her a little less woebegone. The sky was blue, the air was crisp and clean, the whole city had washed its face. When we stepped into Rosie’s and found a booth, she revived enough to notice the decor of the bar and grill, which had been designed as a tribute to Rosie the Riveter. The proud daughter of a war worker had established the business, then willed it to an old coot named Johnny Smith, who gave me grief for not coming around more often. By the time Johnny and I were finished exchanging news of mutual friends and family, Anna said maybe she’d order something after all.
After we ordered, she said, “About Altair…,” but I held up a hand, giving her the palm-out stop sign.
“Until we’ve eaten lunch, I forbid discussion on three topics: Ben, Sheila, and Altair. After we’ve eaten, fine.”
She looked completely stymied.
“Tell me about your new place. Do your dogs like it?”
She left the description of the new place at “renting a small two-bedroom with a big yard,” and named an address very near the one where I had found Sheila Dolson’s body the night before. She didn’t seem to want to talk about the house, but it has never been hard to get Anna to talk about her dogs.
I wasn’t just trying to get Anna to relax, although it seemed she did. I needed to shake off some of my own initial hostility. Working on a story, I would have guarded against softening my attitude over anecdotes about pets, but this was not an interview. Talking about Rascal and Devil enlivened her; hearing her stories reminded me of all the reasons I liked her. She was strong and bright and dedicated to doing good work. She was an animal lover. And someone who could look beyond the superficial when dealing with other people.
We finished eating in a more companionable mood. Johnny Smith came by and cleared the plates and asked us if we wanted coffee; she did, I didn’t. Noticing that he was getting a crowd for lunch, when he came back with the coffee I asked if we were tying up his table, but he told us not to worry, a couple of other parties were leaving. He went off to help other customers.
Anna fiddled with the cream and sugar and stirring, then set the spoon aside. It was the starter’s gun, I guess, because the next words out of her mouth were, “You must think I’m the worst judge of character on earth.”
“Are you talking about Sheila or Ben or both?”
“I…I’d rather not talk about Ben. I’ve always hated spending time with a woman who whines about her lover or husband or ex-whatever the case may be. It’s private. It’s like, ‘Hey, come over here and watch me wash my underwear!’ No thanks.”
I smiled. “I understand the sentiment, especially if you’re talking about the people Frank calls ‘town criers,’ because they’re crying about a breakup all over town.”
“Exactly.”
“Still, Anna-it can be tough to go through a breakup alone, whether you’re the one leaving or the one left. Blabbing to strangers is one thing, confiding in one or two trusted friends is another.” I paused. “That said, I guess I’d rather not be your confidante when it comes to Ben.”
“Agreed.” She traced the rim of the saucer again. “If you and Frank are angry with me, or don’t want to have anything more to do with me, I’ll understand.”
“No need to draw a treaty up over it, is there?”
“No,” she said softly. “No, it’s not a war.”
She gave a little shake of her head, took a sip of coffee, and said, “I misjudged Sheila. Ben suspected her of being a liar, and he was right. I admit that in some ways she was…”
“A fake?”
She flinched. “I don’t know. I guess so. When I saw the newspaper this morning, I called Ben, and he told me that Sheila probably planted the teeth she supposedly found yesterday.”
I didn’t say anything-I was distracted by the fact that she had called Ben. Maybe this breakup was only temporary.
“It was a horrible shock, reading the story,” she said absently, apparently caught up in her memories of seeing the front page. “It was a bad way to find out what had happened.”
“I found out in a bad way myself.”
She looked up at me, eyes widening. “I’m sorry-of course it was. I didn’t mean that as a criticism. I mean, I know Ben thought you owed us-him-a call, but that’s nonsense. You were probably exhausted by the time you got home.”
“Yes. It was a long night.”
“The article said it didn’t look like a robbery?”
I hesitated. Something in her manner struck me as being a little sly. Or maybe I simply trusted her less because she had dumped Ben. Still, I was uneasy. Not knowing where the conversation was headed, I answered cautiously. “No. At first I thought we might have interrupted one in progress, but the police seem to have ruled that out. She didn’t own much of value, and the dog would have deterred most prowlers.”
“Altair was crated, though.”
“I wanted to ask you about that-was he usually crated at night? There were a couple of dog beds in the house.”
“She told me she crated him in the evenings. Most of the time, whenever I was at the house, it was during the day and he was loose. She told me she also used the crate during the day when she had to leave him alone, which wasn’t often.”
“Why crate him, then?”
“Well…like a lot of energetic, smart dogs who begin to feel bored if they’re left alone too long, Altair can entertain himself in ways that are not appreciated by most humans.” She smiled. “Sheila told me he has a real knack when it comes to opening kitchen cabinets and refrigerator doors.”
I began to wonder if I should call home.
“She also used the crate for transport,” Anna went on. “Or for search situations when there were a lot of other dogs around.”
“In any case,” I said, “a robber wouldn’t know that Altair was in a crate until after he was in the house, right? Most wouldn’t take that chance.”
“No…”
“Look, Anna, do you know if Sheila had any enemies here in town?”
“Other than Ben?”
“Not being her blind follower doesn’t make him her enemy,” I said tightly.
“No, of course not. For God’s sake, I’m not suggesting he would have harmed her. That’s not even in Ben’s nature. She saw him as an enemy, though, I think.”