“Oh.” Henry pulled up his blanket and seemed ready to go back to sleep.
Valerie just looked at Babs. This wasn’t a party, but she couldn’t blame her for trying to make it one. Babs’s life was pretty much on hold while she took care of her dad and worked. This was a break in the routine. “You never want to see a news van parked in front of your house or that of anyone you love.”
“There’s that detective that came to ask me questions.” Babs squealed as Detective Potts filed onto a makeshift dais with the captain. Councilman Smithers was standing behind them, along with several other people.
The sun was shining, a typical Southern California day, and neighbors stood outside the parameter. Over the shoulder of the main area could be seen the front picture window of Panda and Mitzi’s house, with Brutus glaring out at everyone from a table right behind it. The entire event had a circus-like quality to it. Valerie silently wondered where Ekk and Elsa were.
Chapter Nine
WOLFRUM DIDN’T LICK his wounds for long. Back at the castle, he called his followers into the courtyard area. “All true believers, there is only one Sun. We have heard that the enemy will try to recreate the ritual of the dog sun in the United States of America, home to our brothers under another name. They are doing this with women.” The crowd burst into angry muttering.
“Silence!” The talk ceased almost immediately. “Already forces are gathering to see this mockery of a dog sun ritual doesn’t occur. None of this could have happened without someone in this very castle helping these inept creatures.” More muttering as the monks looked in their midst as if one would be visible. Bruno looked ready to tear that someone apart, limb by limb.
“We’ll find the traitors in our midst, and by noon tomorrow, our gallows will be casting their shadows across this very yard. All is going in accordance with our ancient scripture. Let us howl in the name of the true Sun!”
The Wolf-Ravens howled and began their chant.
EKK AND ELSA hadn’t been idle. As soon as they awoke, they checked in with their handlers from the Hercynian Garden to find out their next task. The quick holograms were more like text messages, but did the job in an emergency. Thankfully, they were gone from the Fowler house before the hordes of police, news crews, and curious onlookers arrived. Their mission now was to secure fighters for the showdown to come, for Ehren knew that Wolfrum wouldn’t let the sun dog ritual proceed without interference. Too much was at stake.
A familiar, late-model Lincoln pulled to the curb, and they hopped in the back. “Thanks, Alex.” The attractive woman merely nodded in the rearview mirror. Fiona Castlebaum turned around to the tiny couple in the backseat. “Buckle up, kiddies. We’ve got some work to do.”
DICK MORTIMER WAS at home, getting ready for the “Alive at Five” broadcast. His house was on the bluff, within walking distance of the museum. The house had been in his wife’s family for years, and it was exquisitely furnished. The security system was flawless, guarding priceless art of the old craftsmen that hung on the walls. He already had his pajamas, robe, and slippers on, a Thursday night ritual. Blanca, his wife’s white, French bulldog, snuffled up to him on his expensive leather couch, searching for treats.
He looked to see if Beatrice was watching and carefully moved the animal to the floor.
“Dick,” his wife called from the kitchen, “did you forget to feed Blanca again?” Her voice often made him jump.
“No, dear.” He glared at the dog. “Besides, she could stand to lose a few pounds.”
Beatrice Vanderhooven-Mortimer appeared in the doorway, all three-hundred-fifty pounds of her. “Is there a hidden message in there?”
He stood. “No, precious, I was talking about the dog. Can you bring a blanket for Blanca?”
Bea tossed a quilt at him. “What are you going to watch?” She settled in on the couch, which groaned under her weight.
Dick made a face. “There’s a press conference about that woman who kidnapped her lesbian partner. Good friend of Juniper Gooden.” He couldn’t help but smile.
“That Gooden? Ha! I’ll bet you can’t wait.”
“It’s not gloating. It’s about the integrity of the museum.”
“Sure it is.”
The large woman sat on the white, Sunpan Modern Bughatti, grain-leather sofa with her chocolate ice cream. With her free hand, she started playing with his hair. Dick looked like he would like to be anywhere else on the planet but there. Blanca farted in his general direction.
MAYOR REED WAS in the only five-star restaurant in Merryville and had just moved with his companions to the bar. A well-groomed young man with his hair shaved up one side, drying a cut crystal tumbler, looked up when the august group of heavy hitters entered. The mayor flashed his five-thousand-watt smile and said, “Sir, would you be kind enough to put the station on Channel Five?”
“Of course, Mayor Reed. What can I get you to drink?” The TV screen soon showed the small house on Thistle Drive.
He and his companions ordered single malt Scotch, for this was a memorable occasion.
MITZI, JUNIPER, AND Panda were due to land in a couple of hours. Valerie’s lawyer needed that time to set up a press conference of her own.
After dropping Fiona and the elves at Panda’s tax office, Alex raced to the airport, her Lincoln chewing up asphalt going north up the 405 to LAX. She was thinking that Merryville might turn international when traffic ahead of her started bunching up. She applied the brakes, but the luxury vehicle only seemed to go faster. As if in a dream, she pumped the brakes but nothing happened. The cluster of stopped cars was rapidly approaching.
Snapped into that millisecond-by-millisecond attention that such a situation causes, Alex put the car in neutral and turned to the left to the shoulder of the freeway. She hoped she didn’t take anyone with her in what was sure to be one hell of an accident.
OUR LUFTHANSA FLIGHT Number 456 touched down on the tarmac after almost twelve hours in the air from Frankfurt. Mitzi and I were holding hands, like we do every time we take off or land. In fact, when I have to fly alone, I put my hand over my heart and say in my mind, “I’m holding your hand in my heart.” We had slept, wept, traded stories, and were happy to be alive and together. We waited in the crowded aisle to deplane, unaware of the drama unfolding on our front lawn at home.
“ANYTHING MORE? THE press conference is about to start.” Gary Smithers needed just one more thing to add to the announcement about to be made.
The old CSI technician dusted off his hands and snapped his plastic case shut. “Sorry, got some dog bones buried about a year or two ago.”
Smithers looked absolutely intense. “Are you sure they’re dog bones?”
The technician laughed. “They sure look like it. I’m not a forensic anthropologist, but—”
“But it could be human, right?”
“Well, anything’s possible.” He picked up his case.
“Thanks.” Smithers went to Detective Potts and said, “We got human bones.”
After a fist pump, Potts straightened his tie and joined the police commander on the makeshift stage.
Cameras flashed. A uniformed police commander with bars on his collar stepped to the mic. “Thank you, members of the press, ladies, and gentlemen. We’ve called this press conference to give you, the public, the latest on the investigation.”
In the back row, Councilman Smithers stood serious faced, every bit the public servant. He could see his cousin, who had reported the situation, smiling from the crowd.
The commander said, “Here is what we know. Approximately one week ago, the owner of this home, Mitzi Fowler, went missing. Her wife, Panda Fowler, a local tax preparer, fled the country with Juniper Gooden, the embattled curator of the Merryville Museum. Interpol has been notified.”
The crowd murmured loudly, and young reporters keyed the story into their hand-held devices. Philip, veteran reporter for the Bee raised his hand. “How could that be, when—”
“We’ll be
taking questions in a minute. The Merryville PD was notified of suspicious activity by a concerned neighbor, and this was verified by veteran detective Charles Potts, who also noticed digging in the backyard.”
Potts nodded when the commander mentioned his name, like an old cowboy would tip his hat.
The commander went on. “I’m going to turn this over to Detective Potts, who will bring us up-to-date on the results of the backyard search.”
Potts took one step up to the microphone and cleared his throat. “At one-fifty-seven this afternoon, a CSI team from the department did a grid search in the backyard of this property. Several bones have been found, which have yet to be positively identified. They do appear to be human.”
Now the murmurs turned to gasps. Flash photography lit up the scene, and several stringers ran to their cars to beat the others in writing up the story. Inside and unimpressed, Brutus stretched out his yoga leg and gave the audience a clear view of his asshole, which he began licking with gusto.
“HOW WAS FIRST Class?” Mitzi asked Juniper. “I mostly slept, but fabulous. I won’t lie.” We made it to the curb, but there was no one to pick us up.
Not knowing who was supposed to, we decided to take care of ourselves and Mitzi called Uber. Once we got on the freeway, I said, “Sure glad we’re not on the other side. The traffic’s completely stopped.” Emergency vehicles were present with lights flashing. There must have been a terrible accident.
“I just want to go home,” Juniper said with gusto.
“OH MY GOD. I can’t believe this is happening,” Valerie said. “Don’t the police know they’re on their way back?”
Babs was halfway to the living room from the kitchen with more snacks. “Call them.”
Valerie was still trying to process all that was happening. “The police?”
Suddenly, Henry barked out a laugh and kept it up, pointing at the screen.
Not seeing anything funny, Valerie turned to the old man. “What?”
“That cat is lickin hisself.”
They looked again, and it was pretty hilarious. Everyone was so focused on the information being given, it took a slightly off-center perspective to see the cat seemingly sitting on the speaker’s shoulder, and yes, “lickin hisself” where the sun don’t shine. Even Valerie had to laugh.
The phone rang and Valerie picked it up on the first ring. “Juniper?”
“Yes, baby.”
“Are you really here? I mean, on American soil?”
“Yes, my love, we’re on our way home.”
“Did Alex get you?”
“Who? Oh, your defense attorney? No, we Ubered it. I’m just glad you’re not in the hoosegow.”
“Oh, I thought she, oh, never mind. I’m going to our house now. Tell Panda and Mitzi—just tell them to go home as soon as they can. There’s a press conference being held on their lawn.”
After a beat, Juniper said, “I don’t think anything could surprise me anymore.”
VALERIE WAS ON the front lawn when the Uber cab dropped Juniper off. Panda and Mitzi gave her a quick hug and went on to their house. Once inside, Juniper and Valerie hugged for a long time. Juniper looked into her eyes. “So, Walter died?” Walter was the man on hospice that Valerie stayed with to the end.
Valerie loved that Juniper was thinking of her and what she’d been through, when obviously she had traveled across the world and been through God knows what.
“Yes. His little dog was right there with him till the last.”
“What happened to the dog?”
“Walter’s niece took him.” She held Juniper, who looked thin, at arm’s length. “Are you really here? I’ve been so worried.”
“There’s so much to tell, but right now we have to get ready for the ritual tonight. Let me fill you in on what I know.”
“Back atcha, but first come look at the TV.”
“ALIVE AT FIVE!” The station’s theme music played as the talking head cut back to the press conference.
Those truly paying attention would have seen Councilman Smithers being signaled by his frantic aide to leave the stage. Gary Smithers appeared angry at being torn from the limelight, then, after some whispering, couldn’t seem to depart fast enough. The police commander looked over his shoulder then back at Potts and shrugged. “We’ll take your questions now.”
The place went crazy. Reporters from radio, TV, and online media jockeyed to be heard.
“Is it true that there were sixteen bodies found in the backyard?” That was from the yellowest of tabloids, the LA Cryer
“No. Next question.”
“Why isn’t Valerie Gooden in custody now?”
“She’s currently out on bail. Next.”
“Is Interpol involved?”
“We’re not prepared to comment, only that wheels are in motion. There may be an international connection in this case. Next.”
“Isn’t it true that to have a murder you need murder victims?” This from Phillip at the Merryville Bee.
“Sometimes it takes awhile to find the actual bodies. In this case, which I remind you is an ongoing investigation, things are developing quickly. Bones have been found.”
“’Because I just got a call from someone who tells me that Mitzi Fowler is alive.” Phillip said it calmly, but it was a calling out.
Detective Potts stepped forward to the mic. The commander put up his hand to hold him back and spoke directly to the reporter, “Young man, if you have information relevant to this situation, you need to speak directly to the detective in charge, Detective Potts.”
Potts elbowed his way to the microphone. “Phillip, in a case like this, there are always psychics, crackpots, and others who turn up and want to inject themselves into the investigation. Why I remember...”
As he went on, the majority of the press were turning around and gasping as an Uber cab pulled up and Mitzi and Panda Fowler stepped out. Pandemonium ensued.
The police commander barked, “No more questions!” Then he said to a TV cameraman, “Turn those damn things off.”
WHEN WE ARRIVED, the small crowd in front of our house went wild and several things happened at once. The Uber driver looked wide-eyed as he put bags on the street and quickly sped off. I faced cameras flashing in my eyes and drew Mitzi up next to me. People were shouting questions now.
“Where have you been?”
“Why didn’t you call the police and tell them you were all right?”
“Where is Juniper Gooden?”
There were too many questions to answer. Mary and Scott, our next-door neighbors, came forward. They made a protective flank on both sides of us and led us to our front door. “Leave them alone,” and “Get off the lawn,” I heard them say.
“What the hell?” Mitzi said as the door closed behind us. Mary stayed for a few minutes and filled us in on the recent happenings in the hood, then she left to help disperse the crowd.
REPORTERS RAN TO their cars. The commander looked at Potts coldly. “My office, fifteen minutes.” And then he left.
TV cameras were being stowed in vans. Phillip clicked off his call to the newsroom. He had quite a scoop. Other than techies wrapping up cords, he and Potts were the only two left on the lawn, which was littered with coffee cups and wires leading to microphones. Potts looked dazed, then he fixed his gaze on the young reporter. “If I find out you knew something and didn’t come forward...” His tone was menacing.
Phillip was undaunted. “I only have one question left. Who was driving this train wreck? Give me an exclusive, and I’ll make sure you don’t take the fall in the public eye.” He held out a card.
Potts said, “I’ve got your number,” and trudged off. He sat in his old, unmarked Crown Victoria and smoked a cigarette.
MAYOR REED, AFTER watching these things unfold on TV, said brightly to his comrades, “Let’s go get dessert.” When asked about the stunning turn of events, he said, “Oh, I’m just glad our citizens are home safe. That’s what matters.” He wasn’t ca
lled the Teflon Mayor for nothing.
DICK MORTIMER WAS livid. “How did the police screw this up so badly?”
“There there, Dickie, I’m sorry that your Juniper woman is not a serial killer.” Beatrice, his loving wife, started toward him.
Blanca crawled up in his lap as if to comfort him, too, because dogs are generally nicer than people, bad gas notwithstanding.
He was so mad he shoved Blanca, Bea’s baby, to the shiny wood floor where she failed to land on all feet and struggled to get up. He gasped, knowing this was the one unforgivable sin.
“Dick! How dare you!” Red faced with anger, Beatrice picked up the pudgy animal and held her close. He thought how alike their faces were, animals and their owners and all that.
“Bea, I’m just upset,” he said, but the fight continued into the night. Beatrice ended up with Blanca snoring softly beside her in the couple’s Duxiana bed. Dick slept on the white, Sunpan Modern Bughatti, grain-leather sofa.
FIONA, EKK, AND Elsa were in the office of Fowler Tax Services. “It’s extremely small,” Fiona said, hands on hips.
“How much room do you need?” Elsa moved some of the chairs.
“She’s right,” Ekk said. “According to Ehren, we only need them to stand in the four spots. Then, whatever’s going to happen, happens.” He referred to his written notes, which magically had appeared from his little sleeve.
“No, I don’t think so. The parking lot is much better.” The flamboyant woman walked out the front door and scanned the landscape. “Ekk, do you think we were followed?”
“Nothing on my radar. Why do you ask?”
Elsa said, “You know Wolfrum will do anything in his power to stop the ritual. It would be weird if no one was watching us.”
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