by Cindy Brown
“He left her nothing,” said Chance. “She deserves so much—”
“Chance,” Billie said sharply. “The house is mine,” she said to me. “And Mongo didn’t leave a will. He was only forty-three. It’s not like he left me out on purpose, he just…Listen, I really don’t want to talk about this.” She put her script into a paper grocery bag and picked up her purse off one of the theater seats.
“Sorry,” I said following her and Chance up the aisle. “Hey, Frank took me down to the creek to listen to the gods talk in the cottonwoods. It was awesome. But I’m kind of surprised he’s comfortable here. Said something about Josh breaking his nose during a protest.”
“Josh has calmed down since then,” said Billie. “But Frank deserved that punch in the nose.”
“For protesting? Really?”
“Frank was protesting wolf hunting, just a week after all of Josh’s wolf traps were sabotaged and he lost a bunch of cattle.”
I wasn’t sure what I thought of all that. I felt sorry for the wolves and the cows. The interesting thing was: “Frank sabotaged them?”
“Him or his buddies.” Billie turned to me. “What were you doing with him, anyway?”
“I’m going to be a historical guide for the town. Frank said he’d give me the real story. You hear about that poker game?”
“What poker game?” Billie’s face blanched. Hmm.
“The one where Josh’s dad lost the ranch to Mongo’s dad?”
Billie’s face relaxed and the color returned to her cheeks. “Sure. Everyone knows about that.”
“There’s one thing I don’t get. Don’t gamblers usually bet the most valuable stuff last?”
“What do you mean?”
“Since Josh’s family made their living off the ranch, it seems like his dad would have put this property up before betting the ranch. Or even just bet the mine.”
“He was drunk,” said Billie at the same time as Chance said, “There’s gold in them there hills.”
Chapter 21
I laughed. They didn’t—at first. Then they both grinned and chuckled. Actors or not, they wouldn’t have passed an audition.
“Chance likes to go prospecting,” said Billie. “A hobby. In fact, he’s going to run the gold-panning attraction as soon as he gets the money to invest in it.”
“Saving up,” Chance said.
I made a mental note to dig into the gold mine. Then I made a mental note to say that out loud to Uncle Bob. He loved puns.
“See you tomorrow,” Chance said to me, tipping the black cowboy hat he always wore, indoors and out. “Walk you to your car?” he said to Billie. Annoyance flashed across her face before she nodded, but Chance either missed it or ignored it. I filed the exchange in my mental “what’s up with these two?” folder.
Billie began to lock the doors. “Just a sec,” I said. “I need to pee.”
“Must still be out of order,” she said. “They got a garden hose stuck in the toilet.”
“Oh, pooh. Oh!” I opened my eyes wide like I had a genius thought. “Didn’t Frank say there was one at Josh’s house?”
“Yeah. Check the forge as you walk past. If he’s not there, he’s probably at the house. But make sure you ask him first. Josh likes his privacy.”
The last light died as I walked toward Josh’s shop. When I reached the forge, it was dark. The iron gate was pulled across the opening, so I hiked down the hill to the little white house Frank had pointed out. Once I got there, I stepped onto a wide front porch overhung by old apple trees and peered through one of the windows that flanked the door. No Josh, just a neat room with bookshelves lining the walls and an age-blackened fireplace crafted of the same river rock as the house’s foundation. I knocked and waited. Nothing. I knocked again. Nope. No one home.
I tried the front door. It was unlocked. Should I? Even though this trip was mostly an excuse to talk to Josh, I really did have to go to the bathroom. But Billie had made a point that I should ask Josh. “He likes his privacy,” she’d said. Didn’t someone else say that too?
Seeing as how one man had been shot (maybe accidentally, I still wasn’t sure) and remembering Josh’s muscled arms, I decided not to chance it. I’d snoop from the outside instead.
I looked through the window again. An arched entrance on one side of the main room led to a small dining room. I could just see a sliver of a big old refrigerator in the kitchen beyond that.
I hopped off the porch and jogged around the side of the house. Now that I was down on the ground, the windows were almost too high for me to see through. Almost. I stood on my tiptoes. Nothing interesting in the dining room, except for the beautifully wrought iron chandelier that hung over an antique oak table. An open doorway led into the kitchen, which had a back door—one of those types with a window at the top. A perfect spying spot.
I went around the back. The yard was lush and wild, shaded by cottonwoods and covered with that long green grass I’d seen by the creek. I could hear water burbling. Ah. The creek must turn and run past the back of the house. That would explain the trees and grass.
Something rustled in the tall grass to my right. A snake? I jumped onto the steps leading to the kitchen door and stared at the place where I’d seen the grass shiver. Something jumped in my peripheral vision, to my left and…at knee height? That didn’t make sense. Focusing on that spot, I caught another movement off to my right again. I felt like I was at the DMV doing that test where they check your side vision by flashing lights, but this felt way creepier, given the fact that I had no idea what might be in that long grass.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Josh opened the kitchen door.
“Aaaaaah!”
“That’s not much of an answer.”
“Um,” I composed myself. “I have to pee.”
“Still not an answer.” He crossed his arms, and the sleeves of his t-shirt rode up, exposing his muscled biceps.
“I was at rehearsal.”
“There’s a bathroom in the opera house.”
“The toilet’s out of order.”
“Still? Come on in.” He pointed toward a closed door off the kitchen. “It’s through there.”
After using the facilities, I thanked Josh, who stood with one hand holding open the door to the backyard. A hint if I ever saw one. “How’d you know where to find me?” he asked.
“Billie told me.” And Frank too, but that didn’t help with my line of questioning. “Why didn’t you tell me when you gave me the tour?”
“I don’t want people to know. Don’t want tourists tromping down here to take a look at the house.”
“Yeah, Billie said you like your privacy. I was wondering—”
“Then she should have known better to send you down here, unless it was an emergency.”
“It sort of was.”
“You coulda gone outside.”
What was up with this guy? He’d been friendly during our tour of the town. Why so hostile now?
The grass jittered behind Josh. The movement must have drawn my eyes for a second because Josh turned too. “What?”
“Just…the grass. Do you have snakes?”
“Where are you from again? This is Arizona.” He closed the door. “Better go out the front way. And don’t come down here after dark. It can be dangerous.”
I followed him through the dining room into the main room. I stopped beside one of the bookshelves. Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, a whole shelf full of Zane Gray novels, some Stephen King…No business-type books. “Dangerous?” I asked, mostly to distract him so I could snoop more. “Don’t snakes mostly come out during the day?” Leaves of Grass, Walden Pond, Of Mice and Men…
Josh raised his eyebrows, surprised that the city girl knew anything. “Yeah, you rarely get trouble from snakes at night, but there are lots of holes from them
and ground squirrels, that sort of thing. In the dark, it’d be easy to miss them. You could fall.”
Ooh, perfect opportunity to ask, “Like Billie? Oh, no, that was into a door, right?”
“Billie fell into a door?”
“That’s what she said caused her black eye, but I remember you saying something about her being safer since Mongo was gone. I was hoping that was true because, well, she and Chance seem awfully close and I was hoping it wasn’t him.”
“Billie ‘fell’ into something a couple times a year. Swore it wasn’t Mongo, but she’s not that clumsy.”
“She said they lived together, but Chance said something about Mongo being out a lot? Out where?”
“No one knows. Mongo used to disappear pretty regularly. Pretty sure he was out drinking, maybe gambling like his old man, but he’d never say anything. Don’t even think Billie knew.”
“And her and Chance? Seems like something’s going on there.”
Josh sighed and ran his fingers through his dusty hair. “Listen, I don’t like idle gossip, but you’re going to be working with them. Billie told me that the last time Mongo took off for a while, she and Chance…got together. Ever since, he’s been following her around like a lovesick calf.”
Why was it baby animals—calves and puppies—who were lovesick? Shouldn’t it be grown-up animals that fell in love? I dragged my brain away from that tangent and instead said, “I hate to say it, but that brings up another question, one that concerns Billie’s safety again…”
“I know. Could Chance have shot Mongo on purpose? It’s been on my mind too.”
“And?”
“It’s possible. People do all sorts of things for love.”
Chapter 22
“Hello, my baby, hello, my honey, hello, my ragtime gal,” Arnie sang when he picked up the phone the next morning.
“Did they give you Percocet?” I asked.
“Maybe. Marge!” He yelled so loud I had to hold the phone away from my ear. “Ivy’s on the phone.” Then in a normal tone of voice: “She wants to take all the calls right now.”
“Imagine that.”
“Send me your love by wire,” he sang. “Baby, my heart’s on fire.”
“I’ll take it from here, chickie.” Marge must have picked up the other line. “Bye now.” There was a click.
“So he’s doing okay?” I said.
“He’s not so good on crutches, but the man can sing.”
“Just wanted to check in with you. I’m digging a little at Gold Bug Gulch, but haven’t found anything concrete. And as far as Lassie…”
Marge sighed. “Yeah. I figured if you’d found him, you would have told me first off.”
“But I’m going to go talk to a pet detective today—get some pointers. We’ll find Lassie.”
“I thought firemen found lost cats and dogs.” I sat in a comfy chair in the home office of Joy Rogers, pet detective.
“Where’d you get that idea?” Uncle Bob entered the room, his hands full with two large bags from Filiberto’s, redolent of chilies and pork and whatever it is that makes Mexican food smell so great.
“Um…Leave It to Beaver? Or maybe Father Knows Best. There was a fifties marathon on TV last night.”
“I think you may have seen a fireman getting a cat out of a tree,” said Joy.
“That was it.”
“Not sure if they really do that.” Joy stood up from behind her desk and took one of the bags from Uncle Bob. Late forties or so, she had dark springy hair and a wiry body. She looked way more comfortable up and moving around than she did behind her big wooden desk. “Thanks for bringing lunch.”
“Thanks for meeting with us. Pink says you’re the best.” Uncle Bob pulled a couple of wrapped burritos out of one of the bags and handed me one. “Ivy here would like to ask you a few questions.” He sat down in a chair next to me and tucked a paper napkin underneath his shirt collar.
“You heard about the pack of Chihuahuas in Sunnydale?” I asked Joy.
“Who hasn’t?”
“Well, my friends’ dog Lassie joined the circus, so to speak.”
“Really? Big dogs don’t usually take up with the little guys.”
“Lassie’s a pug.”
“That makes more sense.” Joy nibbled on her shrimp taco as I filled her in on the details and how I had tried to find Lassie. “All right,” she said. “You’ve done a good job. You know this dog at all?”
“Yeah.” My throat began to close up. I swallowed hard.
Uncle Bob must’ve seen I was struggling. “She used to, uh, dog-sit Lassie.”
I found my voice. “I love him.”
“Sorry. That’ll make it harder on you, but it might increase your chances of finding him, since you might be able to predict his behavior. If you had to fit her…Lassie?”
“Lassie, and he’s a he.”
“Like all the real Lassie actors in the movies,” added Uncle Bob. Sometimes he couldn’t help showing off his trivia knowledge.
“Lassie the boy pug.” Joy smiled. “Okay then. If you had to place him in one of the following personality categories, would he be, A) Gregarious, B) Aloof, or C) Fearful?”
“A,” I said. “Definitely gregarious.”
“Good. You’ll have a better chance of finding him, because he’s more likely to respond to people. And people will be more likely to try to catch him since he’s a cute little pug. Lots harder to convince folks to pick up pit bulls. But…” Joy leaned back in her chair. “That could also be a problem. People are more likely to pick him up and keep him, unless he’s wearing a collar.”
“He’s not. He likes to jingle it, and it can make you crazy, so they only put it on him when they take him for a walk. He’s never gone out of the yard before without Marge or Arnie.”
“The pack mentality can be strong. It’s like a really great party is sweeping by your front door. Pretty tough to not join in,” Joy said. “So, no collar and gregarious. First of all, make sure people know his name and that he belongs to someone.”
I thought of the posters we’d put up. “Yeah. Done that.”
“There are a couple more things you can try. Since this is the desert, you can watch for the pack by places that have water.”
I’d done that too but kept quiet, hoping for more.
“You might look for tracks…”
Done a little bit of that.
“And you can buy wildlife cameras, set them up in areas you think the dogs might frequent.”
Ah. Hadn’t done that.
“The cameras have motion sensors and will take photos of whatever moves, stamping them with dates and times.”
“That’s a great idea.” I felt encouraged for the first time.
Joy held up a hand. “They’re pretty expensive, and if the pack is traveling, they might move from watering hole to watering hole.”
“Right. I bet my clients would buy one or two though.” Not only did Arnie want to find Lassie, he loved gadgets.
“Hunters use those cameras, right?” Uncle Bob said between bites of his enormous burrito. “To track game?”
“Yeah,” said Joy. “Seems a little unfair to me.”
“Hunters…” Uncle Bob said. “I don’t even want to ask this, but there are coyotes and cougars out there and…”
“And I hate to say it,” said Joy. “But yeah. Lassie’s chances aren’t great.”
“Is there anything else you would do?” I tried to keep the pleading tone out of my voice.
“Yeah. I’d bring out my secret weapon. Sam!” she called.
The click of toenails on tile floors announced Joy’s secret weapon. The enormous bloodhound padded over and leaned against her. She scratched one of his floppy ears. “Meet Sam Spade, my certified trailing and decomposition dog.”
“
Decomposition?” I put down my burrito.
“We’re pretty good about finding lost pets—a seventy-five percent success rate. But it’s a big scary world filled with cars and cougars and coyotes, and some of the pets—too many of them—we find…later.”
Chapter 23
Funny how the word decomposition makes you not want to eat a burrito filled with mushy brown stuff. Instead, I fed little bits of tortilla to Sam the bloodhound. Not the beans. That would be mean.
We talked more about dogs as we finished up lunch. Then Joy stood up and stuck out a hand. “It’s been great to meet you, and I wish you the best of luck.” She handed both of us business cards. “Since you know Pink, I’m happy to have given you a few pointers. But you should know, this is my business. If you need to hire me and Sam, well, you’d have to hire me and Sam. And I charge two hundred dollars an hour.”
Uncle Bob and I managed to keep from saying anything until we were outside the front door. “We are in the wrong business,” he said.
“I don’t know. If I had to find people’s mostly dead pets, I think I’d charge that too.” I kissed my uncle on his stubbly cheek and hopped into my pickup. According to the dashboard clock, I had just enough time to make it to Gold Bug Gulch in time for afternoon rehearsal.
When I got there, Billie was waiting for me outside the opera house. “Ivy!” She waved as I climbed the steps to the porch. She seemed awfully excited to see me. “You know, that top suits you. Really brings out those green eyes.”
“Wow. You think so?” I said in my ditz voice. What else would an airhead say? “Maybe it’s my new mascara.” Yeah, that would work. Except I wasn’t wearing any. Oops.
Billie didn’t seem to notice. “Come on inside out of the sun. Don’t want to ruin that pretty skin of yours.” She hopped off the porch and beckoned me to do the same. “Let’s go around to the backstage entrance.”
When I got back down to the dirt street, Billie slung an arm around my shoulder and walked us around the side of the building. Being a theater, there were no windows and only one door: the stage door. Billie unlocked it and held it open for me. “Got a couple of costumes for you to try on. They’ll look great on you. Gonna have to beat off the men with a stick.”