I watched him for a while, then asked, “I take it the chinchilla didn’t work?”
He shook his head. “She said it was them or her. I thought she’d be back. I thought she’d get to miss them, but it hasn’t happened.” He sighed. “So I have to get rid of them, I guess.” His fingers sank deep into the gray fur, almost disappearing. “I keep hoping she’ll change her mind. Do you think she will?”
Not only was I not a matchmaking assistant to Aunt Frances, I was also not a marriage counselor. “I’d ask her that question.”
“‘Them or me,’” he quoted mournfully. “It was after I got an e-mail from her saying ‘Them or me’ that I went out with Carissa after meeting her at that car dealership. It was just that once; she didn’t know I was married. She was a lot of fun. But it wasn’t right.”
“Because you’re still married?” I asked.
“I love my wife,” he said. “I’m going to figure out a way to get her back. And anyway, I don’t want anyone else to know about the rabbits, so I stay away from women in general.”
“Sorry?”
“Ah, you know what woman are like. They want to get to know you.” He rolled his eyes. “They want to talk about feelings. Guys are easier. They just talk about sports. You can know a guy for years and not know anything about him.”
Which didn’t make any sense, but I knew what he meant. And though I also knew his blanket statement was by no means true for all women and all men, I did know a lot of them who fit nicely into his pigeonholes.
“You’re the only person I’ve told about the rabbits outside of my family. Well, you and Dr. Joe.”
I used my index finger to make a cross over my heart. “Hope to die and stick a needle in my eye, I won’t tell a soul.”
“Thought so.” He thumped me on the shoulder. “Like I said, Chris said you were okay and I trust Chris.”
“Really?” My eyebrows went up. “I mean, that’s nice. It’s good to trust people.” I winced at my inanity, but Greg didn’t seem to think my statement was stupid.
“You got that right,” he said. “That’s why I felt okay telling the county cops about Carissa and why I couldn’t have killed her.”
“The detectives talked to you?”
“Yeah, short, fat guy and a tall, skinny one? They were out here a couple days after Carissa died. Guess she’d been on Facebook about the time we had dinner,” he said. “Just what I need, my name all over social media. But, hey, at least she didn’t know about the rabbits.” He grinned.
“So, why did you lie to me earlier, about knowing her?”
He lifted his shoulders. Let them drop. “The whole thing is so hard to explain. If I’d told you I was separated from my wife and only went out with Carissa that once, would you have believed me?”
Maybe. Then again, maybe not.
The indecision must have shown in my face. “See?” he asked. “You’re not sure. To have it all make sense I would have had to tell you everything, and I didn’t want to. Sometimes it’s easier to lie than to tell the truth, right?”
Sure. But that didn’t make it right.
“All I want is to be left alone,” he said. “That’s why I’m looking for the right boat. Out on the water no one will bug me.”
“Or the bunnies?”
He flashed me a wide smile. “Or the bunnies.”
• • •
First thing the next morning I called Dr. Joe, the vet.
“Greg Plassey?” he repeated. “Sure, he’s one of my clients. Him and his… uh…”
“His rabbits,” I said.
Dr. Joe made a noise that didn’t sound quite like a laugh. If I hadn’t known Joe to be a large African-American man in his mid-forties with a wife, three children, and a thriving veterinarian practice, I would have said he giggled. But the idea of a six–foot-three, two-hundred-and-fifty-pound man giggling was so unlikely that I pushed it to the outside edge of probability.
“Oh, you know about the bunnies?” Dr. Joe asked. Then he giggled.
“I was introduced last night,” I said. “Greg showed me his new litter and I was wondering how old they were. He couldn’t quite remember,” I lied, “but he said you were out there that night.”
“Yeah, held his hand more than anything else. Weird way to spend a Friday night.” There were a few keyboard clicks and he gave me the date of Carissa’s murder.
For a brief second, I considered the possibility that Greg had bribed Dr. Joe to lie for him. Then I discarded the idea. I’d once overheard Dr. Joe berate his youngest son, who worked at the vet clinic after school, for not telling the complete truth about cleaning a dog cage. This was not a man who would lie for a client.
“The little bunnies,” I said, “they’re really cute.”
“Cute, sure.” Dr. Joe chuckled. “I keep trying to come up with the right phrase, only Plassey’s name doesn’t rhyme with any rabbit breed I know about. Greg, either, come to think of it.”
“Phrase?” I asked.
“Like for a headline. Hey, you’re the librarian. I bet you could come up with something good. No, wait, I got it. Baseballer’s Bunnies! No, wait, here’s a better one: Pitcher Plassey’s Penchant for Plush Pets.”
He laughed loud and long, and though I’d basically rolled my eyes at Greg’s assertion that he’d never be able to live down the jokes, I was beginning to understand the isolated house and the tall fence. If Dr. Joe, a man who loved animals of all shapes and sizes, was laughing at Greg’s much-loved pets, the response of an average Joe would be even worse.
Having a fortune might be nice, but I was suddenly very, very glad I wasn’t famous.
• • •
That evening, as I was finishing up the dinner dishes of a plate, knife, and fork and tossing a foam container from the Round Table into the trash, my cell phone rang with the Scrubs theme song.
Eddie, in his new favorite sleeping spot of smashing himself against the window while perched on the top of the dining bench, twitched his tail at the noise.
Smiling, I picked up the phone and thumbed the phone on. “Hey.”
“Hey yourself,” Tucker said. “Are you doing anything? Thanks to coming in yesterday when I didn’t have to, I have an unexpected night off.”
Still smiling, I sat down and gave Eddie a few pets. Immediately cat hair shot straight up toward the ceiling, then drifted about while deciding what object it was going to grace with its final resting place. “Well, I had a busy night planned. I was going to finish reading a book, watch the sunset, then go to bed with a brand-new book.” I watched as a majority of the Eddie hair wafted down onto my navy blue T-shirt.
“Hmm. You sound swamped. Is there any way you could be persuaded to modify your plans?”
I started to cite the quote of “I might, rabbit,” but changed my mind. There were enough rabbits in my head without adding a cartoon version. “I’m certainly willing to listen to another offer.”
“How about the same basic plan, but replacing the reading with some quiet conversation?”
It sounded wonderful. “I think that could be worked into my schedule.”
“Excellent.” His voice sounded odd. I heard a knock and looked up. Tucker was standing at the screen door, flowers in one hand, a bottle of wine in the other, and my picnic basket at his feet.
Grinning, I went to the door and swung it open wide. “What would you have done if I hadn’t been home?” I took the flowers and gave Tucker a kiss.
“Donated the flowers to the hospital and saved the wine for another occasion.”
“Clever man.” The houseboat’s storage capacity didn’t provide room for extras like flower vases, so I trimmed the ends of the colorful blooms and popped them into a white mixing bowl while I told Tucker where to put the picnic basket. “There,” I said, putting the flowers in the middle of the dining table. “They look happy there, don’t they?”