The Wicked Flea

herself tightly in her simulated malamute coat, and marched out my front door.
    Good riddance! But when Anita left, the house felt empty. Steve wasn’t, of course, hiding in a closet or under the bed. Still, I couldn’t help wishing she’d been right.
     

Chapter 30
     
    I was a fan of Sherlock Holmes even before I met Althea Battlefield, but my friendship with her renewed my interest and pleasure in the adventures of the Great Detective. Not that I’m exactly eligible for membership in the Baker Street Irregulars or the Adventuresses of Sherlock Holmes. But my admiration and enthusiasm pleased Althea, in part because my attitude contrasted sharply with Ceci’s refusal to share the absorbing passion of Althea’s life. Ceci’s late husband was also an ardent Sherlockian, as were Althea’s closest friends, Hugh and Robert, and Ceci maintained that she had endured all that one person could be expected to tolerate of Holmes, Watson, Greek interpreters, and the like. Although Althea never said so outright, in her heart she believed that Ceci was too stupid to appreciate the brilliance of Holmes. On that point, I disagreed with Althea; Ceci was silly, I thought, but not stupid. Still, I valued Althea’s good opinion of me and took pains not to be lumped with the Sherlock-ignorant likes of Ceci. As Rita once remarked, “Althea is one of your good mothers.” I pointed out that the original, my own mother, had been a good one, but Rita said that all of us could use all the good mothers we could get. Consequently, my feelings about Althea were nothing to be ashamed of. Wise Rita! Had Dr. Foote ever said anything half so insightful? Not in my hearing.
    On Sunday morning, with the presumed blessing of at least one of my good mothers—Althea—I phoned Steve’s clinic and played Sherlock Holmes by cleverly disguising my voice. On Sunday? Steve kept the clinic open on Sundays, albeit only from nine to one and with a small staff. Even so, that’s a committed vet for you. But I digress. Anita had probably stopped Steve from working on Sundays himself except in emergencies, but I felt confident that someone other than Steve’s answering service would pick up the phone. I didn’t intend to talk to Steve, anyway. I just wanted to find out where he was. Indeed, where was he? His wife might not know, but his staff would.
    I recognized the voice of the person who answered, an assistant named Mary Kelly. Whenever Holmes went undercover, so complete was his success in assuming his new identity that even Watson was taken in. Feeling wonderfully self-confident, I spoke in the low, gravelly, and sophisticated tones I’d practiced. Hurling myself into the role, I said, “Hello! I wonder whether you could tell me which veterinarians you have there today?” I regretted the phrase as soon as it left my lips. Which veterinarians you have...? It sounded as if they were for sale! Which brands of dog food do you carry? But my verbal clumsiness turned out not to matter.
    With no hesitation, Mary said, to my disappointment, “Holly, you sound terrible! Do you have the flu or something? Oh, no! It’s one of your animals! You’re crying. I’m so sorry. Which one is it? Steve isn’t here. He’s at a conference in Cleveland. But Dr. Greenberg can see you right away. It’s not Rowdy, is it?”
    Ignoring the slight to Kimi and Tracker, I assured Mary that my animals were fine. Stammering a little, I said, “I, uh, just had a question. It can wait. When did he leave for Cleveland? I, uh, happened to see Anita yesterday, so I assumed...”
    “You won’t catch her at a veterinary conference,” Mary said sharply. “For God’s sake, there just might be an animal there! I don’t know if you’ve seen Steve lately, but he looks terrible. His skin is kind of gray, and you can hardly get a word out of him, not that he used to be exactly talkative, but we’re all worried about him. That bitch is driving him crazy. She’s totally paranoid! I mean, Holly, you know him, he doesn’t even complain about her, for God’s sake, and Friday she decided he wasn’t really at the conference, and she must’ve called here ten times. He’s in Cleveland! I talked to him yesterday. And I called him. I placed the call. He’s there. But I think he must be avoiding her, so she’s decided he’s up to something. I hope he is! But he’s not. I think he must just be avoiding her. Who could blame him? You know she’s trying to make him move to