And it continues, much like the bottlenecking associated with a horrid car crash.
30 Death
"You know it's the right thing, Brenda."
"I know…. I know, it's just..."
"C'mon, you've got to get it together. The vet's going to come back here any minute."
"I know."
"If this is too much for you, you can wait outside."
"No."
"I think maybe you should."
She looks at him, a little startled. He is always, always looking after her. Looking out for her. It's good of him, sweet of him. But sometimes there is something in his tone that bothers her.
She doesn't want to make this a fight.
"Okay."
The ride back home is very, very quiet. He's talked her into mass cremation, so they won't get the ashes back. Everything he's said is perfectly true. She has no reason to resent any of it.
Then again, she's always been prey to her emotions.
It doesn't matter to her that they don't have anywhere to keep them. It doesn't matter to her that individual cremation is far more expensive. It doesn't matter to her that it's just a cat, after all, they don't live very long and, yes, they can get another one.
All that really matters is that Kitty is gone. She'd walked out into that waiting room and now she'll never see her beloved, irritating, smelly, gender-bending cat again.
She hasn't cried yet. She doesn't know why. She's been a bit tetchy with Fritz, and he's kindly let it slide.
Well, he's let it slide, and that is kind of him. As for whether or not he's done it in a kindly way… That dull, annoyed look he gets, that 'Brenda, stop being absurd' look, it hurts. It's justified, yes. It's kinder than any comment. But it still hurts.
"The last place Mr. Franklin was seen was Maria Hiller's birthday party."
"And do we have the guest list?"
"Yes."
"Anyone of interest?"
"Not really. We're just going through the list, getting alibis. But I thought you might like to get this one yourself."
She looks down at the file. "Yes, I would. Thank you, Lt. Flynn."
"Mrs. Howard, what a pleasure."
He's the same as ever, she sees. "Oh, I'm sure it is. Where were you last Friday night?"
That chesire grin. "Before or after Mrs. Hiller's party?"
"After."
"Mmm. Yes. I was with Mrs. Hiller." Still that wicked grin. A little less mysterious now, though. He is laughing at her. Laughing at the way she trails after him, picking up the list of his bad behaviors like filthy socks. She swallows, a faint hint of bile dancing on the back of her tongue. She doesn't really feel up to this.
"And will Mrs. Hiller be able to confirm this?"
A very droll chuckle. "I suspect so."
It's a close thing, but she manages not to slap the smugness off his face. He hasn't aged as much as she thinks he should have. She wonders if he goes to a surgeon to keep it that way. She doesn't think so. He's too vain, in a backwards sort of way. She thinks there's a cat-like aspect to his agelessness.
Something must show in her face, because his grin fades.
"You seem a bit off, Mrs. Howard. Is something wrong?"
"You mean aside from a man being shot in the face?"
He looks very serious now. "Yes. Aside from that."
She hitches her oversized bag back onto her shoulder. "Nothing that's any of your concern, Mr. Dutton." He is still looking at her with that calm, serious face. Cool in once respect and warm in another.
"I see." His voice is… impossibly neutral. Nothing from him for what feels like a long minute. Then, a sigh. "I am sorry, Mrs. Howard, not be able to help you. I do hope you get your man."
Then he does something that makes her heart skip unhappily. He lays a hand on her shoulder for a fleeting moment. Not a pat, not a grasp- just a brief pressure.
She walks a little stiffly when she leaves him, as if the ground were rolling beneath her. In the car, she has to put her head in her hands. For the first time since the vet's office, she feels the stinging heat of tears.
She, too, is very sorry. She wishes she has Kitty's ashes, so she can say it aloud.
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