Evil Breeding

did.
    “Meet me there. Can you meet me there?” Her speech was rapid and driven. “I take flowers there all the time. That’s where my mother-in-law—” Her voice broke like a teenage boy’s. She took a breath. As if praying for the dead woman’s salvation, Jocelyn added, in fervent defense of the unaccused, “Christina never meant anyone any harm in her whole life, you know. She was the only person like that I ever knew. I take flowers to her grave. I can, uh, I can do that. I do it all the time. I can be there at, uh, five-thirty. Five-thirty?” I nodded.
    Jocelyn’s directions to Christina Motherway’s grave were hurried and jumbled. I kept bobbing my head and saying that yes, yes, I understood. I did, of course. The directions to Christina’s grave were also directions to Peter’s, and I knew exactly where his was.
    “Five-thirty,” I said when she’d finished. “I’ll be there. Are you sure you can drive? Can you make it home? And back? Are you sure you...?”
    Her sudden, bitter laugh startled me. The volume and strength were frightening. “If I’m killed in a car accident, it’ll be a stroke of luck. It’d be a nice way to go.” In parting, she added, as if savoring a tempting possibility, “There’d be nothing personal about it. Not like if someone did it to you. Or if you had the guts to do it yourself.”
    Her face wore a freakish smile.
     

Chapter Twenty-three
     
    JOCELYN’S SMILE LINGERED on the periphery of my consciousness. Her words rang in my ears: “the guts to do it yourself.” Her voice had caressed the phrase. Falsely believing that I could return everything she’d sent to me, she’d spoken fondly of her own death. I remembered the night at dog training when Sherry, whose best friend knew Jocelyn, had traced Jocelyn’s problems to low self-esteem. Rita would have said, as Rita always did, that everything was more complicated than that. For Jocelyn, however, suicide would be a simple solution to the simplicity of low self-esteem and to whatever unknown complexities had landed her in her present situation. And she had the means. The Soloxine leaflets had been removed from the lids of bottles. Inside those bottles were deadly little pills.
    I cursed myself for having given the photographs, the leaflets, the note from Giralda, the birth certificate, and the other original materials to Kevin Dennehy. Only a few of the photocopies I’d left with Althea would pass as originals. But they would have to do; they were all I had. When I kept my appointment with Jocelyn at Christina’s grave, I could not arrive empty-handed. I would give her a sealed packet. It would not, however, be all I had to offer. Jocelyn had sent the material to me because she’d seen me as a source of help. She hadn’t been entirely wrong. Getting low scores in the obedience ring because you’re docked points for handler errors? I can fix that. And I really could have helped with Wagner the Growling Shepherd. Then there’s Alaskan Malamute Rescue. I am not merely an active member of Alaskan Malamute Rescue of New England, but an ardent proselytizer. Interested in adopting a homeless malamute? Call me! Better yet, visit our Web site at http://www.amrone.org .
    See? I’m a proselytizer. But what I do is Malamute Rescue. People Rescue is Rita’s job. I intended to enlist her help. Jocelyn’s husband had just been murdered. Her mother-in-law had died under suspicious circumstances. Jocelyn could be the next murder victim. She was terrified. Once she discovered the absence of the documents she’ sent me, she might become suicidal. Rita would know. Rita knew about women’s shelters. She knew about women! People! Clinics, hospitals, resources. My task, then, was to talk Jocelyn into returning home with me. I was meeting her at five-thirty. Rita was usually back by seven-fifteen, sometimes earlier. She would see Jocelyn’s terror for herself. She would make phone calls. She and I would drive Jocelyn to a haven, a sanctuary, a safe house. If I failed to convince Jocelyn? At least she’d have the photocopies. For all I knew, the copies would serve whatever purpose she had in mind. They’d have to!
    It was now three-thirty. I could zip out to Newton, retrieve the things I’d left with Althea, and be back in plenty of time to meet Jocelyn. When I politely called Althea to say I’d be stopping in, I got stuck in a prolonged conversation with Ceci, who can take longer to say nothing than anyone else