“YouTube is your friend there,” Dylan suggested. “You can find plenty of pontificators explaining history. Too many, but I remember one who was pretty good. I’ll help you find him.”
“Still sounds like a lot of work,” Wade said. “But I think your mother would be so proud that you chose a challenge.”
A few minutes later they had the joy of watching Chaucer gallop in circles as he explored the grass and woods in front of the Witecki house. When Mari showed up with her dog-centric shopping load, Alyson was ecstatic, oohing and ahhing over Chaucer as Wade buckled on a neon orange collar.
“Very Halloween!” Alyson clapped her hands. “You are such a handsome dog!”
Chaucer wiggled with enthusiasm before plopping into a magnificent ‘sit’ to accept her head strokes and praise.
To Dylan’s surprise, Wade’s next move was to bring out a laptop to the terrace. He connected to a concierge veterinarian services site. Wade efficiently set up two patient files, one per dog and briefly conversed with the veterinarian about an evaluation for Chaucer which was quickly followed with a request to evaluate Killer’s underbelly.
Dylan found himself holding the little dog up to the computer monitor as Wade wrote down the dosage for a recommended antihistamine.
“That’s a small dog,” the veterinarian warned. “Don’t overdose.”
“Any chance it’ll make him wired?” Dylan asked. “Because that’s what happens to me.” He sighed. “Antihistamines and chocolate do something to my system, big time.”
“I suspect Killer will be sleepy. Go ahead and bathe him and then start with the dose I suggested. Call me back if there are any issues.”
Dylan sat down in a terrace chair, relieved at the expertise rendered so easily by Wade’s credit card.
“Thanks,” Dylan said.
Wade grinned. “A new special perk of Witecki Enterprises. Health care for employee pets.”
The next two hours sped by as dogs were washed, Killer dosed, lunch consumed and plans laid for the afternoon.
“I’ve got an appointment with our insurance agent,” Wade told Dylan and Mari. “Can you keep an eye on Alyson and Chaucer this afternoon?”
“I don’t need babysitting,” Alyson objected. “I can work on The Canterbury Tales stuff.”
“Why not work on the terrace?” Mari suggested. “Dylan and I can survey close to the house.”
Wade exhaled. “Alyson, if I go, you’ll keep track of Chaucer?”
“Sure!”
“And we’ll have Killer,” Mari said. “We know he’s barky.”
Dylan grunted. “Maybe.” He looked down at the little terrier, curled up in a tight circle on the floor of the kitchen. “He’s looking pretty out of it to me.”
He looked up at Wade, “But go to the appointment. We’ll be fine.”
The fruiting bodies and plasmodium of slime molds are eaten by other species, including several species of beetles, flies and fungi. There are slime mold beetle species named for George W. Bush (Agathidium bushi), Dick Cheney (Agathidium cheneyi) and Donald Rumsfeld (Agathidium rumsfeldi).
Chapter Thirty-five
Killer remained asleep as they cleaned up the lunch plates. The little dog didn’t move when Alyson tramped by, fetching her laptop, then a glass of lemonade and finally bringing Chaucer, who walked easily at the end of a new leather leash.
“Back in a minute,” Dylan said. He dashed upstairs to the yellow guest room that he was already thinking of as ‘his’ room and made for the pile of doggy jackets and accoutrements. He pulled out the rainbow-striped chest carrier and took it downstairs.
Mari giggled as Dylan knelt on the floor to guide Killer’s paws through the holes in the frontal pack. “This I gotta see.”
She laughed again, photographing Dylan donning the pack with Killer’s scruffy and sleeping face peeking out over the vibrant stripes. She sent it off in a text message.
Moments later there was a ping of reply, and Mari laughed. “Yousef says he’s impressed by the company you keep. You’re moving up in the world.”
Wade left. Alyson sat at the patio table and began her work with Chaucer lying on the deck beside her.
Dylan carried Killer to the side yard of the house and leaned the carrier and its dog occupant against a log while Mari began collecting small forbs. These they carefully examined and documented. They found rattlesnake plantain, false vanilla, fading twin flower, a large clump of fringe cups and Siberian miner’s lettuce.
A massive stump sat a dozen feet into the woods, behind a band of knee-high salal. As a sunbeam lit up the stump, Mari called, “I think there’re early sulfur tufts out.”
“Really? They usually need some rain.” Dylan stood up and peered into the woods. “Cool. I see them.”
“We should check them out.”
Dylan looked over to the deck where Alyson still sat, sometimes scrolling and sometimes typing. Chaucer was with her. Dylan looked at Killer, asleep in the rainbow carrier, propped up against the log. “Okay. A quick peek.”
They plunged into the woods and thrashed through the undergrowth to the stump. They discovered not only glowing yellow sulfur tuft mushrooms but also a fascinating collection of crusts and polypores on the back side. “Gold mine!” Dylan crowed. “Look at this!”
“Turkey tail or false turkey tail?” Mari asked.
“Look underneath. Cream or orange?”
“Orange.”
“Stereum hirsutum then. Not Trametes versicolor.”
They were on their knees behind the massive stump when they heard Killer bark. Mari rocked back on her heels and threw a confused look at Dylan. “He’s awake?”
Dylan leapt up and went charging through the underbrush, breaking out of a swath of sword ferns to see Killer struggling to escape the carrier pack. Dylan scooped up the dog and turned to the house, only to see a faded blue truck departing down the driveway. He could see the back of three heads through the rear window of the truck, with the middle one being shorter and having hair the color of Alyson’s.
He ran, tucking Killer and the carrier under his arm, like a football. He skidded to a stop at the edge of the terrace. Chaucer, tied to the patio table, was straining at his leash, looking intently after the receding blue truck. The big dog rapidly shuffled his feet and whined.
Mari came running up. “Alyson’s gone?” Mari’s eyes were wide with horror as she frantically looked around, as if Alyson might dart out from the house, having pulled a prank.
“There’s a note.” Dylan stood at the table, staring at the laptop screen that was still open to a word file. Alyson had typed, “I am going to discuss fashion with Victoria. How very exciting.”
“What the hell?” Dylan stared at the words.
“She’s being sarcastic,” Mari said. “And she’s telling us where they are taking her.” Mari already had her phone out, tapping to reach Wade. She reached his voicemail.
“What do I say?” Mari’s wild eyes skittered to Dylan. “We lost Alyson?”
Dylan took her phone and said, “Alyson is not on the deck. Chaucer is. A blue truck just left the property. There’s a note that indicates Alyson has gone to talk fashion with Victoria. We are going up to Victoria’s now.”
With that, he clicked off.
Mari’s chest was heaving as she hyperventilated. “Should we call the police?” This was followed by “How can you be so calm? This is a disaster!”
“Easy,” Dylan told her. “You don’t have the experience I have with fucking up.” His mind raced through scenarios, and he quickly said, “We’ve notified Wade. I’m not sure we need the police just yet. There’s a small possibility that Alyson is messing with us. Let’s go up to Victoria’s with the dogs. We’ll say we’re on a walk.”
“It’ll take us fifteen minutes to walk up to her place!”
“No. We’ll go in your car and park just outside the turnoff to her driveway.” Dylan reached down and unfastened Chaucer’s leash from the table leg.
Mari started texting on her phone. “I’m telling Garrett where we’re going.”
“Fine. Once we’re in the car, I’ll text Yousef.”
Dylan put on the dog carrier. Killer, who had been looking about, yawned and closed his eyes. Chaucer quivered with suppressed eagerness, but managed to not pull as Dylan walked him to Mari’s yellow Volkswagen.
It took a moment to get Chaucer into the miniscule back seat. Mari was already inside the car, fastening her seat belt and putting the car into reverse the moment Dylan swung the passenger door closed.
“I’ll bet Aunt Bea is out in her workshop,” Mari said as she took the Volkswagen down the long drive at a rapid clip. She thrust her phone at Dylan. “But go ahead and leave a message. We might as well tell the universe we’ve lost Alyson.”
Dylan struggled to text as the little car bumped down the drive, but he had a message out to Bea by the time Mari was turning left in the community parking area.
As the Volkswagen reached the pavement of the county road that ran up the hill, Dylan was on his own phone, sending a message to Yousef. He started with “Going to Victoria Cunningham home.” He paused. What did he want? Yousef to know where he was? For Yousef to come to assist?
Mari floored the Volkswagen and the little car roared up the hill. Dylan went with “Messy?” and hit send, confident that Yousef would come if he could. There was, of course, the very real possibility that Yousef wouldn’t check his messages for hours.
They reached the top of the hill, and Mari steered the car to the shoulder of the road, stopping a few feet from the drive that led to the two big houses.
Dylan eased out of the Volkswagen and into a wall of tall huckleberry bushes. Still wearing the frontal doggy pack, he used his forearm to cover Killer’s face as he edged to the front of the car.
A honeysuckle vine twining through the top of the huckleberry gave him an idea. He unsheathed his mushrooming knife and cut off a foot of the vine, stripping off the twinned leaves as he made his way to the front of the car.
Mari was standing next to the driver’s side door, coaxing Chaucer to climb from the back seat. Dylan joined them as Chaucer scrambled out.
“Hold up a sec.” Dylan knelt next to the big dog and scratched a velvety ear before threading the vine through the shackle loop of the knife and tying the knife to the inside of the new, bright orange collar.
Dylan stood up. “Probably being paranoid here, but that’s our only weapon, and I’d just as soon no one knows about it. Anybody asks, tell them I left the knife in the woods.”
Mari nodded. “God, I hope we’re weirded out for nothing.” She clucked to Chaucer, and the big dog fell into line next to her left knee. Woman and dog crested the hill and then turned down the long driveway to the houses.
Dylan followed, carrying Killer, who was looking about with some alertness.
The joint entrance curved, then straightened, revealing two large, single-level homes, each sand-colored, with a mid-century modernistic flair to the rooflines. The houses sat cheek-to-jowl, with a tight, high row of hedge running between the two driveways. The first house had a silver Lexus SUV parked out front. The faded blue pickup sat tucked in on the far side of the Lexus, next to the hedge.
There was no sign of Alyson.
They hesitated at the back of the vehicles.
“I guess we just walk up to the door and knock,” Dylan suggested.
“And say what?” Mari’s voice rose with a touch of hysteria. “We’re selling Girl Scout cookies?”
“No. That we’re looking for Alyson.”
“She’s inside,” came a voice from the far side of the hedge.
Cayden Kenyon stepped out, cradling a shotgun. “Go on inside. Bring the dogs. This will be perfect.”
Over a thousand species of acellular slime molds have been documented. Almost certainly there are more species living in the woods of the world, perhaps abundantly, but not yet noticed by humankind.
As we look more carefully, we will learn new and surprising things.
Chapter Thirty-six
Killer’s head swiveled as he kept an eye on the Commissioner. Dylan took a step back. Although Cayden Kenyon wasn’t pointing the shotgun directly at them, its presence was enough to make compliance mandatory.
“Inside,” Kenyon ordered. “Through the front door.”
Mari lifted her chin and strode down the bluestone walkway to the double front doors of the house. Chaucer fell in step with her easily, leaving a gentle bend in the leash.
Dylan followed as Mari reached out with a graceful gesture to push the doorbell button.
He had to give Mari credit. She was responding to this pressure with style.
The royal blue door opened and Killer went on alert as one of the men from the blue truck stood in the doorway. The little dog squirmed and started barking. The doorman frowned, using one hand to push back his long, greasy hair and the other to touch a pistol in a holster on his left hip.
“Shut the dog up,” Commissioner Kenyon commanded. “Now.”
Dylan used his right hand to cover Killer’s eyes and push the little dog’s head into his chest. “Shh,” he murmured. “I get it. These are the bad guys.”
There was nothing to do but follow Mari and Chaucer inside. A wide foyer narrowed to arching tunnel with a hallway branching to the right. The grimy man who had acted as doorman ignored the turnoff and led them further down the hall to an expansive living room.
Thirty feet of windows bracketed a wide sliding door leading to a bluestone terrace, rimmed to waist height with stonework.
There was no cross remaining, but there were small streaks of ash on the terrace pavers and on the retaining wall.
In the living room, three straight-backed chairs were lined up in front of a broad fireplace. Judge Victoria Cunningham sat, majestically erect, in the middle chair, her arms behind her back. On her left, closest to the wall of windows, was a chair currently tipped back on its back legs by the slouching, long body of Einar, who was managing to look both casual and furious. His hands, too, were behind him.
The third chair, to the right of Victoria, held Alyson, big-eyed and silent. Her hands were clasped in her lap, tied together with a plastic zip tie.
“Richie!” the Commissioner called. “We need two more chairs.”
Dylan searched his memory banks. If Richie was the second Blue-Truck-Guy, then the grimy guy who opened the front door had to be Randall.
Richie came out of the dining room, carrying two stacked chairs.
If Killer hadn’t liked Randall, he really did not like Richie. Killer barked like a machine gun. Dylan covered the dog’s face and turned toward the windows.
“Quiet,” he told the little dog with a fierce edge to his voice. Killer wiggled and whined, but fell silent.
Richie set the chairs to face the wall of windows.
“Sit.” The Commissioner motioned with his shotgun.
“We have sore shoulders,” Dylan came up with a near whine. “We were carrying all that art around last night. Both of us are hurting.”
Mari was already starting to sit down in the chair as Dylan spoke. She took his lead without so much as an eyeblink. “You don’t need to tie me up,” she groaned. “I really do ache.”
“Bullshit, sister,” Randall answered. But he fastened her hands to the front. Chaucer sat down at her side, looking worried.
Dylan kept his face poker player still. It was good for Mari to have her hands in front. She was within easy reach of Chaucer’s collar and the mushrooming knife. Even better, the zip tie looked to be a light strand. A heavy, military handcuff zip tie would have been much worse.
He wasn’t so lucky. When Dylan sat down in the, Randall grabbed a hand and yanked it back.
“Owww!” Dylan yelled. “Easy there!” He did his best to look pitiful. “Look, just put my hands behind me. No need to wrap me around the chair.”
Randall acquiesced. Dylan’s hands were zip tied together, but at least he
wasn’t also tied to the chair. To his immense relief, Killer didn’t bark or lunge at Randall.
The little dog yawned, still slightly stoned from the antihistamine.
Randall pulled the tie shut, but not brutally tight. Dylan did his best to “V” his wrists a bit to get some wiggle room. As a handcuffing went, Dylan was relieved. It could have been worse.
Killer hung in the front pack, eyes drooping shut.
“Where’s your knife?” Randall asked, opening the top of Dylan’s sheath.
“Left it in the woods,” Dylan told him. “I was prying something and set it down.”
Randall stared at Dylan, hard. Dylan was unfazed. Lying-Like-A-Rug was one of his go-to ADHD success behaviors. The trick was to not look too innocent.
“You should leave now,” Mari said. “More people are coming.”
Richie, now established in Dylan’s mind as the more dangerous of the two greasy henchmen, moved forward.
For a moment Dylan was afraid Richie was going to backhand Mari, but Randall shook his head, stepping closer to Mari’s chair.
“Not yet,” he said.
“More people coming is excellent news,” Commissioner Kenyon smiled. “We need your auntie, for sure.”
Mari’s face drained of color. “Why do you need Bea?”
A fourth man walked in from the dining room. He was broad-chested, his hair pushed up into a long wave over shaved sides, and he wore a red, tropical print shirt under a tactical vest.
He looked at Mari with an icy smile. “We need her to make a video statement. She’ll tell the world how she ripped off donors with her non-profit work.”
Mr. Tropical Shirt grinned. “With you here, it’ll just take a little messing around, and she’ll sing our song like a bird.”
Mari swallowed and did her best to sit up straighter. Victoria gave her a small nod of approval.
Mr. Tropical Shirt crossed his thick arms and looked down at Dylan. “Small dog. Rainbow outfit. Guess we got us a gay-tard here.”
The Slime Mold Murder Page 21