Hare Today, Dead Tomorrow by Cynthia Baxter Page B

Mrs. Thorndike,” Theodore Simcox said meaningfully.
    “Oh! Mr. Simcox told me about your daughter. I’m so sorry.”
    She acknowledged my expression of sympathy with a nod.
    In addition to being completely caught off guard by the realization that I’d just met Cassandra’s mother, I also experienced a whole new level of understanding. Up until this point, I’d been so wrapped up in worrying about Suzanne that I’d barely thought about the people who had known and loved Cassandra Thorndike—and how much they were suffering. A young woman was dead. And that meant her parents would have to live with the terrible sadness of having lost their daughter for the rest of their lives. I felt a surge of determination to find out who had killed Cassandra Thorndike—not only for Suzanne’s sake, but also for the people who had loved the poor young woman.
    Mrs. Thorndike turned her attention back to Theodore. “Thanks again for running the show for us for a few days, Theo.”
    “I’m glad there’s at least something I can do, Joan,” he replied earnestly.
    “You’ve lifted a tremendous burden off my shoulders. I need to be at home. I just don’t feel right, leaving Gordon on his own. He’s devastated.” Glancing back at me, she added, “Right now, all the wineries on the East End are gearing up for the busiest time of the year. Not only is autumn the time of the harvest; it’s also the height of tourist season. From September through November, I think most of us feel that our business is orchestrating tastings and hayrides instead of turning grapes into wine.”
    For a moment a small smile lit up her face, and I could see a trace of liveliness I hadn’t noticed before.
    The smile quickly disappeared. “But right now, my husband and I simply can’t cope with the day-to-day operation of the winery. In fact, the only reason I came in today is that one of our employees called to tell me that my cat, Coco, is ailing. I brought her here a few days ago to help with a mouse problem we’ve suddenly developed. But she’s apparently been acting strange, dragging around like she has no energy and squatting down in a weird position. They also said that for the last day or two, she hasn’t been eating or drinking. So I came to pick her up and take her to the vet.”
    “If you’d like, I could take a look at her.” In response to her puzzled look, I added, “I’m a veterinarian with a mobile services unit. You might have noticed my van on your way in; it’s right in your parking lot. I’d be happy to treat your cat.”
    “Oh, would you?” she asked gratefully. “It would make things so much easier. But could I trouble you to drive your van to my house? It’s not far, and I really want to get home to Cassandra’s father. He’s having such a difficult time coping with his daughter’s death, and every minute I’m away seems like too much.”
    I guess my expression reflected my confusion, because she added, “I should probably explain that I’m actually Cassandra’s stepmother. Her real mother passed away when she was a little girl. At any rate, would you mind coming over? I know it’s a lot to ask.”
    “It’s no trouble at all,” I assured her.
    “Terrific. I’ll just grab Coco and meet you at the house.”
    She began giving me directions, then decided it would be simpler for me to follow her home.
    Turning back to Theo, she said, “Feel free to close up early. I know you’ve got enough to take care of without doing double duty by running my vineyard as well as your own.”
    “Now, Joan, don’t even think about it,” he insisted. “You know that a lonely old bachelor like me doesn’t have anything else to do on a Saturday. There’s nothing on my schedule for the rest of the day except the roast-beef special over at Clyde’s.”
    She smiled gratefully. “Thanks, Theo. You’re a real friend.”
    As I pulled out of the Thorndike Vineyards’ parking lot, I could scarcely believe my good fortune.