A Buried Body and Barkery Bites

by Aleksa Baxter

  I could barely breathe and my palms were all sweaty as I waited for her to gesture me to turn down some narrow rutted road or off into the driveway of another remotely-located mansion that was probably empty at that time of year.

  "Is Greta still alive?" I asked her, wiping my right palm on my pants for the third time.

  "Why do you care?"

  "Because she's my friend."

  I glanced in the rearview mirror and saw the sly calculation in her eyes. She knew if she told me Greta was dead I'd have no reason to cooperate with her. The fact that she wouldn't answer at all made my skin go cold.

  I shivered as I finally reached the highway.

  "Go left," she told me, pointing that gun into my back.

  But I couldn't go left. That was the wrong direction for my plan. So I turned right.

  "What are you doing?" she demanded. "I will shoot you."

  "Well, sure, you could. But think about it. You shoot me right now, in the middle of town, you're not getting away with it."

  She hissed at me, but I didn't care. I had a plan. And I needed to turn right to make it work.

  "Plus," I added. "If I take a left and head towards Denver, anyone who knows me and sees me headed in that direction is going to know something is up. This way I'm just headed home."

  She growled something nasty at me in Spanish, but she sat back again and let me continue onward.

  I tried not to show my relief. I was hanging by a thread as is, no reason to let her know she'd played into my plan. As we left town and the speed limit bumped up from twenty-five to forty-five, I slowly accelerated until I was going a comfortable fifty-two. (Or thereabouts. Like I'd told Matt, I didn't have a digital display.)

  A couple minutes outside of town she gestured towards a small dirt side road that led into a copse of trees about a hundred yards off the road. "Turn here."

  I ignored her.

  "I told you to turn," she screamed, pressing the gun right against the back of my head.

  "Sorry. This thing's an old boat. It doesn't maneuver easy."

  I closed my eyes for a brief moment, praying to anyone who would listen to please let my plan work. I was so close. So, so close.

  She hissed right in my ear, her spittle hitting my face. "The next time I tell you to turn, you turn or I shoot you."

  (I wanted to wipe my face, but I didn't because if my plan failed at least she'd have left behind a bit of DNA for the cops to track her down. Not that I put the odds of that working at more than one in a million.)

  I glanced back at her. "You're not even wearing a seat belt. Shoot me, you'll probably die, too."

  She smacked me on the shoulder with the butt of the gun as she unleashed a string of creative Spanish cusswords that not only accused me of a profession I've never engaged in, but also suggested some very creative ways to perform said profession.

  I clung to the steering wheel with all my might, scanning the road ahead of me for any sign of help I could find.

  Just when I thought I'd made a very serious mistake, there it was. A police car, nestled into place on the side of the road.

  She saw it, too.

  "Slow down," she hissed.

  I eased up on the accelerator, but made sure to stay two over.

  Now it was all in fate's hands. If the officer in the police car was Matt and if he kept his word and pulled me over, then I'd be saved. But if it wasn't him. Or if he decided to let me go because of his new-found tenderness towards me, then that was it. Game over. My body would be found down some remote mountain road someday.

  I didn't dare look. Lucia had crouched down and was pointing that gun right at my head. I flicked a glance at the odometer to make sure I was still over the speed limit and held my breath as we cruised past him.

  I hadn't even cleared his car before he flipped on his lights. He whipped out behind us, sirens blaring, and I finally allowed myself a moment of hope.

  "Don't stop," Lucia demanded, shoving that gun back against my neck once more.

  "You want me to run from the cops now? How do you think that ends? You think they'll just let us go because we decided we didn't want to be bothered with a ticket today?" I pulled the van onto the shoulder. "Sit back out of sight, would you? Unless you want to get in a shootout with the cops?"

  She glared at me, but moved to the back corner of the van where she was mostly hidden from view.

  Now came the moment of truth. I had a crazy woman with a gun in my van, Matt getting out of his car to give me a ticket, and I had to somehow let him know what was going on without getting myself shot in the process.

  Or him shot.

  Yikes. That was the last thing I wanted.

  I took a deep breath. Now or never.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  I decided to run for it before Matt reached my door.

  Lucia wasn't some law enforcement professional with lightning instincts. She was just a street thug with a gun. And she was busy watching Matt approach the van. This was my one and only chance to get away.

  I flung my door open, rolled to the ground, and shouted, "She has a gun."

  Matt stared at me open-mouthed for what felt like forever, his hand going to his gun out of sheer instinct, but still standing there, a giant target if she decided to shoot.

  "Get down," I shouted as I scrambled towards him, staying crouched below the line of the windows.

  He finally caught up to the fact that this wasn't going to be some flirty little traffic stop and ducked behind the rear bumper of the van.

  Just in time, too, as she shot out the back side window. If he'd hesitated ten seconds longer, she would've had him. He grabbed my arm and yanked me back towards the patrol car, shielding me with his body.

  I tensed, waiting for the sound of another shot to echo through the air. If he got shot because I'd put him in danger, I'd never forgive myself.

  But we made it safe.

  Only because that wasn't her goal. The van spun out onto the highway, leaving a long black tire mark behind. I should've taken the darned keys with me, but I hadn't been thinking that clearly.

  Matt fired one shot, but missed. (I was kind of glad, honestly. It was going to be a pain enough to replace that back side window. Those things are not cheap. I didn't even want to think about what I'd have to do if he shot out a tire or something.)

  "Maggie, what the hell just happened? Who was that?"

  I gave him the ten second version of what was going on, glossing over the fact that Lucia had caught me breaking and entering at Greta's house. (Didn't actually fool him for one minute. He knew darned well that even if I hadn't entered the house yet according to my story, I'd been up there fully intending to do so.)

  "And you're not hurt?" he asked.

  "No, I'm fine."

  "Good. Stay here." He moved me out of the way, got back in his car, and sped off after her.

  Part of me kind of wished he'd taken me along for the pursuit. It would've been fun to be in a police car going a hundred miles an hour, chasing down some murder suspect.

  But the more rational part of me was just glad to be out of it. And hoping that I'd get my van back in one piece. It might be old and ugly, but Fancy loved it.

  I saw three more police cars speed by while I was standing there trying to figure out what to do next. Lucia had taken my cellphone so I couldn't call for a ride, which meant I could either hitch a ride back into town, walk there myself, or hope that Matt remembered that he'd left me on the side of the road once it was all over.

  I wasn't willing to bet on Matt's memory, so I crossed the road and started walking back the way I'd come. Fortunately, Darryl, one of the café regulars who leads hunting trips during deer hunting season and generally hangs around talking to people the rest of the year, drove by not long after and offered me a ride to the barkery.

  "You coming in?" I asked as he pulled up outside. "You just saved me a hot, dusty walk to town. I figure you earned a cinnamon roll or a sandwich or a coffee or whatever yo
u want."

  "Nah. Rain check."

  "Done." As I walked inside he pulled out, his truck making a banging sound loud enough to wake the dead.

  Jamie frowned at me. "Why'd Joe just drop you off? What happened to your van? Are you okay? Come on. Sit down."

  She set me up with an ice cold Coke and a chocolate croissant (something new she'd been working on that was absolutely heavenly).

  "Now spill. What happened to your van?"

  "Wait. First we need to make a couple calls." I called the vet and told him I'd be a bit longer picking up Hans. He was absolutely fine with it, thankfully. Then I called Matt and left him a message so he'd know I was at the barkery. I also asked him to retrieve my phone.

  (I know. He was probably in the midst of a high-speed chase right about then, but I figured it was better to call his cellphone than to call the police station and let it get around that I'd been involved in yet another police matter. Not that it wasn't going to be obvious since she was in my van. But, well, you know.)

  Jamie stared me down from across the table. "Alright, missy. I've heard enough today to know that a lot happened while I was off yesterday. And that you didn't bother to tell me about it. Why not?"

  "I didn't want to ruin your good news."

  "Maggie. You're my friend. If something serious happens to you, I want to know about it."

  "Okay. Fine. So I guess I'll start with finding Friedrich's body."

  "What?"

  "I thought you said you'd heard some of what happened yesterday."

  "Yeah, obviously not as much as I thought I had."

  I spent the next half hour filling her in. When I was finally done she just sat back and stared at me. "It was only twenty-four hours, Maggie. How do you do that?"

  I shrugged. "A special skill, I guess."

  One I'd gladly exchange for being good at botany or flower arranging or something a little more peaceful.

  Matt arrived shortly after that and I jumped up. "You got her? You got Lucia?"

  He nodded. "We got her. Good thing about that van of yours. It doesn't really do more than seventy, does it?"

  "No. You get it to seventy-five and the whole steering wheel starts to shake like it's gonna come apart." I grabbed his arm. "Did you find Greta? Is she…" I searched his eyes for signs of the worst.

  "Not yet. But we will."

  "Then why are you here? Why aren't you out there looking for her? Did you check Lucia's car? Her GPS?"

  "Officer Clark is taking care of it."

  "I don't want him to find her. I want you to."

  Matt smiled. "I'm glad you have such faith in me, Maggie, but it seems I have a few witness statements I need to collect. Starting with yesterday at Greta's house."

  I muttered something not very polite as I threw myself into a chair. "Fine. Let's get this out of the way so you can go do what actually matters."

  Jamie squeezed my shoulder. "Be nice, Maggie. Here." She handed me another Coke and Matt a coffee. "Have you eaten lunch today? Either one of you?"

  Matt grinned at her. "I'd love a panini and soup, if you don't mind."

  I just shook my head. "How can you two be talking about lunch when Greta is out there, who knows where, maybe still alive?"

  Jamie wisely left Matt to answer. He leaned across the table and held my gaze. "Maggie. You can't do everything. Officer Clark will find her, wherever she is. And he'll let me know as soon as he does. Now, please, be cooperative?"

  I rolled my eyes, but I answered all of his questions. If helping him do his silly paperwork helped put Lucia away, I'd do all the paperwork in the world. But someone somewhere better be working on finding Greta.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  We were just finishing up with my last witness statement when Matt's phone rang. I gripped his arm without even thinking about what I was doing. "Who is it?"

  He pried my fingers loose with a gentle smile. "Officer Clark. But I can't tell you what he has to say if you don't let me answer."

  I leaned in as he answered, trying to overhear the conversation. Matt stood up and walked away, mostly listening. To give myself something to do other than yank the phone out of his hand and ask if they'd found Greta, I went over to see Fancy.

  She was snoring away in her cubby, making little snuffling noises as her feet jerked in a puppy dream. I almost woke her, but she doesn't do well when she's startled out of a deep sleep, so I just stared down at her and smiled, wondering once more at how lucky I was to have her in my life and thinking how much she'd changed everything.

  Before her I'd been a happy little workaholic. But after? As soon as I realized this wide-eyed little puppy was looking to me to protect her, I'd had to change things. No more long hours. No more weeks on end of travel. She was too precious to suffer through that.

  One little puppy had flipped my life end over end.

  I glanced across the room to where Matt had just hung up the phone. If one puppy had changed my life that much, what would being with him do?

  I squashed the thought.

  "So?" I asked. "Did they find her? Can I see her?"

  He didn't answer, just walked over to me.

  "Matt. Please…"

  He nodded. "They found her."

  "And? You're not doing me any favors here. Just tell me what they found."

  "She's alive."

  My knees almost gave out. I leaned against the edge of Fancy's cubby. "Oh, thank you."

  He rested his hands on my shoulders. "But."

  "But?"

  "She's in pretty rough shape. It's…gonna be touch and go for a while."

  "Why? What did that vile woman do to her?"

  "Greta tried to escape. To get back to Hans. She knew he needed help."

  "What did she do to her?" I clenched my fists, ready to go track that woman down and do her serious harm for hurting my friend.

  "Shot her. Twice. At least one of wounds is infected."

  I moved towards the door without even realizing it, but Matt grabbed and pulled me close. "Remember, Maggie. The most important thing is that she's still alive. Greta's a force. She'll make it through this. You know she will."

  "I'd like to see her."

  "Not today. Today we need to go get that kennel for Hans and get him settled in at your place and then get Fancy home. There'll be time to see Greta later. I promise."

  "Okay, fine."

  I wanted to argue, but I knew he was right.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  A week later I stopped by the hospital with a cinnamon roll and coffee for Greta. She was finally doing well enough to receive visitors. According to Matt she wasn't the least bit coherent the first couple of days and she'd let slip a few pieces of information that would've led to a criminal investigation or two if the cops had been so inclined.

  Fortunately, they weren't. What happened in Germany could stay in Germany as far as they were concerned.

  As I approached her door I saw a man in a very expensive suit walk out. He gave me a small nod as we passed in the hall.

  "Who was that that just left?" I asked as I set the cinnamon roll and coffee on her tray table.

  "Estate lawyer. He came to tell me the terms of Friedrich's will."

  "Oh. Right. I thought you guys had a pre-nup?"

  She patted my hand. "Ah, Maggie. You are so sweet sometimes."

  (I'm pretty sure that was code for naively stupid, but I let her have it.)

  She carefully sat up, wincing with the effort. Lucia had shot her once in the shoulder and once in the lower back. Fortunately, neither shot had done long-term damage, but they definitely caused some short-term pain.

  "Friedrich left me almost everything in his will."

  "Including the painting?" I asked as I helped her slice the cinnamon roll into bite-sized pieces.

  She chuckled. "No."

  "No?"

  "He amended the will right before he died." She handed me a packet of papers sitting next to her bed. "Read the first page."

>   I skimmed the text that covered all the legal basics. When I reached the part about what he'd left her, I almost choked.

  "Six hundred and twenty-five million. Not bad." Especially for a man she'd married for a painting. I figured maybe I should reconsider my extreme stance against random marriages.

  But it was the next paragraph that was the real brow-raiser. I glanced at her. "I assume this is referring to the painting you wanted?"

  She nodded.

  "Wow. He sure knew how to twist a knife, didn't he?"

  He'd left her everything. An estate valued at approximately six hundred and twenty-five million. But he had very explicitly not left her the painting. He'd bequeathed it to a museum in Germany on the condition that while Greta was alive it never be leant to any private collection and never be allowed to leave the museum premises.

  "At least you can go see it if you want, right?"

  She shook her head. "No. I have not been back to Germany since my second husband died. I am not welcome there."

  I handed her back the papers. "This was no accident. He knew why you married him."

  "It would seem so."

  "Can you challenge it?"

  "No."

  "Ouch."

  "Yes, ouch. Such a tragedy, don't you think, that my husband had bought a forged painting and never knew it?"

  It took me a few seconds to understand what she was saying. "Greta."

  "What? These things happen in the art world, yes? Things are not always what they seem." She took a sip of her coffee. "Now, tell me how my Hans is? Is he doing okay?"

  I spent the next twenty minutes filling her in on Hans and everything that had happened over the last week, including Lucia's arrest and Wilhelm's failed attempt to flee to a country that didn't have an extradition agreement with the United States. (Unfortunately for him, his pilots hated him as much as anyone and they'd turned him into the authorities for the reward money.)