Even as her body racked with sobs, a part of Melanie’s mind stood watching dispassionately, taking in the scene and rating her reactions. The tulips, miraculously unharmed, were in gorgeous bloom. Would she keep them? The neutral doctor in her brain poked her with its usual incovenient analysis. Was she crying for Morris? Or was she crying for the nut who gutted her cat to create a Two-for-One “I Psychotically Hate You” bouquet? Perhaps she was really wracked about the prospect of dickering over her no-show fee with Albert’s no-frills insurance company? Or… the doctor voice sniggered… perhaps her grief in fact was for her stockings. The special-order pair had cost her a fortune, and she wouldn’t be able to get replacements in time for the ceremony tonight.
A soft snuffling noise distracted Mel from her tears. Finola had crept into the room and was tipping her nose with obvious distaste over the few intact areas of Morris-the-pinata’s glistening fur. A low growl buzzed from the cocker spaniel’s throat. Melanie wondered if Finola thought the cat was somehow disrespecting her by not jumping up and running away, or if she was was complaining because she’d been cheated of the chance to eviscerate the cat herself.
Melanie wiped her face, smoothed her skirt, and stood shakily. “Think,” she muttered. She began mentally digging for the bits of data she’d retained from her Criminal Psych class a decade ago. The smuggling bit was inconsistent with the revenge bit. Her vengeful psycho was surely dreaming that Morris would haunt her forever. By proxy, then, Morris’s killer would also haunt her forever. The stuffing of the cat was intended to not only shock Melanie, but to destroy her peace of mind.
It was also meant to intimidate everyone around her. The culprit probably timed the delivery to coincide with Albert’s appointment. Was Albert himself invloved? She didn’t think he was, but these squeaking pseudo-intellectual impotents… you just never knew. If not, then the sender must have other means of observing her reaction. The need to see her response would be irresistible.
Finola was now carefully sniffing the thick white dust that clumped around Morris. Mel shooed her away. The last thing she needed right now was a bitter spaniel doped out on she didn’t know what.
A smuggler, however, was going to want the product to be moved on as quickly and as quietly as possible. Two perps? So one of them had interfered with the other’s plans.
Unless the whole idea was to set Dr. Melanie Rainwater up and get her busted… Well, she’d see about that.
She reached for the phone. Then reconsidered. Police would be very curious about all kinds of things. They might get particularly curious about her association with the mayor. She could hardly afford that kind of scrutiny right now.
Perhaps… yes, perhaps it was time to call in that favor.
Turning again for the phone, Melanie caught a glimpse of Finola dashing out the door with the sad corpse of Morris in tow. Fur, powder, and God knows what else went flying in every direction. “Finola!” she yelped, bolting after the dog.
This installment contributed by MJ.
