Paws before dying

Sunday, at Jack Engleman’s. And apparently he’s called her, but that’s it. And now he sends these incredibly expensive flowers. I don’t like it. It feels off.”
    “So what does she think?”
    “Oh, she’s thrilled. Anyway, come over. Maybe she’ll go out, or maybe she’ll stay in her room and read Jane Austen.”
    “And we’ll stay in yours, and I’ll read you anything you want.”
    “Look, Steve, I’m serious. I need to talk. It’s about Rose Engleman. People are saying things, and Kevin told me there’s an inquest. He let it drop, and then when I asked him about it yesterday, he said he didn’t know any more about it. And that’s probably true, because he’s Cambridge, and that’s Newton. Anyway, we need to talk, and not on the phone.”
    “It’s because I didn’t send roses, isn’t it?” he said. “If I bring them with me, will you get rid of her?”
    “Please! And if you want to bring something, stop at McDonald’s and get me a fish sandwich, a chocolate shake, garden salad with Ranch. And some fries. And get a Quarter Pounder with cheese, and a salad, and diet something for Leah, and whatever you want.”
    But he showed up with human Eukanuba, premium-quality chow, which is to say, frozen gourmet take-out stuffed sole in aluminum trays, mussel and shell salad, three-dollar-a-loaf French bread, one of those dark-chocolate cakes made with heavy cream and no flour, and a bottle of white Burgundy. Jeff called to see if Leah wanted to go to the Square—she did—and just as she finished eating a two-thousand-calorie wedge of cake with a glass of diet iced tea, I heard him at the back door. When I pulled it open, he was smirking. His hands were behind his back. He followed me into the kitchen, nodded to Steve, and gave a half-shy but elaborately sweet imitation of a magician as he presented Leah with a bunch of daisies and mums that probably came from a supermarket, but were pretty, anyway, and would undoubtedly last a lot longer than the roses, which were, fortunately, in her room.
    “Nice kid,” Steve said when they left.
    “Very,” I agreed. “You know, when he calls, he actually talks to me? And not in that sort of stiff, pseudo-adult way you get when kids suddenly turn on the manners, either. I can’t believe that with him around, she’d really be interested in the other one, roses or no roses. He’s... I don’t know. What can I say? You take one look at him, and you don’t want your sixteen-year-old cousin going out with him. He’s probably all right, but you just don’t.”
    “You want some advice?”
    “Sure.”
    “Don’t say that to her.”
    “I know better than that,” I said. “I should probably tell her that you and I are both crazy about Willie and don’t trust Jeff, right?”
    “Do we?” He reached over and cupped my chin in his hand. “Come on.”
    “You come on,” he said gently. “Or did someone else send you roses?”
    A while later, when we were back in the kitchen finishing the cake and the Burgundy, I said, “Can we talk now?”
    “Sure,” he said.
    “Actually, first, I want to talk, and I want you to listen, okay? Because between Leah, and not getting any work done, and the heat and everything, I’m not thinking too clearly. Okay? And then I want you to tell me everything you know about pacemakers.”
    “Not a lot.”
    “Fine,” I said. “Then just listen. First of all, it’s obvious that the autopsy showed something, or maybe it failed to show something. For instance, maybe it showed that lightning didn’t hit her. I don’t know. Autopsy results aren’t public.”
    “Her husband will know.”
    “Why?”
    “Because they’ll have told him. In a case like that, the family’s informed.”
    “Are you sure?”
    “Pretty sure. You could ask him.”
    How?” I said. “What am I going to say? ‘Gee, Jack, people are saying that Rose was murdered, and I wondered if I could see your copy of the autopsy report because I’m low on bedtime reading and...’?”
    “Are people saying that?”
    “In a way. Some of what I heard was just kind of frivolous. You know how people talk about the top handlers. First of all, everybody resents them, mostly just because they win, but also because some of them have a bad attitude. They’re arrogant. And some judges do let them bend the rules. Mostly, though, people who basically want to have fun resent it when the whole thing gets turned into a high-pressure contest.”
    Steve has a