Bye, Bye, Love

by Virginia Swift

  Any one of those people might have been the dweller-inthe-dark who’d written the note Sally had found that cold morning, a few very long weeks ago.

  Sally sat brooding about what she’d learned, about a murder weapon in Jimbo Perrine’s gun case, and about at least one can of tainted protein powder in Nina Cruz’s pantry. Nina might, as Nels Willen believed, have acquired bovine spongiform encephalopathy from diseased organ meats during her long-ago convalescence in Switzerland. Or she might just as easily have gotten sick from long-term exposure to a lethal dietary product someone had passed off to her as soy supplement. Sally had to find the connection between mad cow disease and Jimbo Perrine.

  Scotty Atkins was, no doubt, running down every possible link. And he could, and surely would, find the answers. Sally didn’t have his skills or his resources, or his authority. She ought to leave the job to the pros.

  But she could think of one person she could talk to. A person who might, or might not, be willing or able to talk freely with the cold-blooded Detective Atkins. Someone who might know something she didn’t know she knew.

  Time to see how poor old Arvida Perrine was doing.

  For an impetuous person, Sally Alder had experienced very few compulsions. But this was one. She didn’t hesitate. She didn’t stop to call. She didn’t even give it the infinitesimal pause between a first and second thought. She hurried home, got in the Mustang, and drove straight to the Perrine house, a battered little stucco affair with a detached garage, on a muddy gravel side street in West Laramie.

  As Sally approached the front door, she could hear a large dog barking inside. She rang the bell, hoping the Perrines weren’t the kind of family that went in for vicious Rottweilers. Arvida answered, filling up an ample white sweatshirt silkscreened with an image of a black Labrador retriever and holding an identical barking dog by its collar. “Chill out, Zeppo,” said Arvida. “It’s just a lady who used to play music with your daddy.”

  Zeppo quit barking, but he strained against Arvida’s hold, wagging his tail like crazy and looking as if he was just dying to jump up on Sally and give her face a lick.

  “Jimbo liked to think he was a great hand with hunting dogs,” Arvida explained. “But that man couldn’t train a dog to save his life. This one never quite understood the command ‘Drop it.’ Ate every duck he was ever sent to retrieve. He took early retirement. Kids love him. Come on in, Sally.”

  They walked into a living room that was cluttered but clean, littered with cardboard boxes and stuffed animal heads. “I’m just packin’ up the mounts. Up ’til now, I haven’t had the energy, but the kids are at school and I feel like I can finally get around to it. I’m hopin’ I can find somebody to buy the whole collection, and not have to sell ’em off one by one. I’d even be willin’ to throw in all the things in his taxi-dermy workshop out there in the garage, although whippin’ that stuff into shape’s gonna take some work. Jimbo wasn’t much on neatness to begin with, and he was in the middle of a couple big projects. The cops were in there right after he died, but it’s been closed up ever since. I just opened the workshop door for the first time, and it about flattened me. Probably have to air the place out for a week before I’ll be able to stand gettin’ in there to clean up.”

  Sally shuddered involuntarily.

  “Yeah,” said Arvida. “I know what you mean. Want some coffee?”

  “That’d be great,” Sally said.

  Arvida let the dog loose, and, as expected, he leapt up, put his front paws on Sally’s chest, and lopped out his big tongue. Sally’d always had a soft spot for black Labs. She let him give her a sloppy dog kiss, then removed him from her body and shoved his rear end down on the floor, issuing the firm command, “Sit.”

  Zeppo sat.

  “Would ya look at that!” Arvida said. “Maybe you should train hunting dogs.”

  That was all she needed. “Think I’ll stick to history. How are you, Arvida? How are the kids?”

  They went into a kitchen that hadn’t been updated, oh, maybe ever. Yellow paint, harvest-gold appliances, gold-and-brown linoleum floor, a wood-grained Formica table with V-shaped metal legs. But cozy enough on a cool fall day. As Arvida put on the kettle and got out the jar of Taster’s Choice and two shiny brown ceramic mugs, Zeppo paced the kitchen. Arvida opened a back door and let him out. “The kids are still in shock. So’m I, truth to tell. My mom thinks we oughta get a therapist.”

  “Probably a good idea,” Sally said, reminded once again that Wyomingites were not cartoon stereotypes of themselves. Therapy: it wasn’t just for neurotic Coastals anymore.

  “I’m gonna call our doctor and get some names today,” Arvida said. “Think I’m finally ready to talk to somebody.”

  “I can’t imagine what you’ve been through,” Sally said, sitting down at the table.

  Arvida sighed, settling into a chair and leaning her chin on her hand. “It’s bad enough him getting killed. But now they’re sayin’ he murdered that woman. Jimbo was a lot of things, but, I tell you, Sally, the man wouldn’t of done it. We always been hard-pressed for cash, and he might of done one or two skanky things to make a little extra money. But even for a million dollars, he wouldn’t kill a person, no matter who they were. He might of hated her and everything she stood for. But I still can’t see it. And I reckon I knew him better’n anybody.”

  “What do the police say?” Sally asked.

  Arvida’s mouth hardened. “They think I’m just some damn dumb redneck’s damn dumb wife. Somebody shot Nina Cruz with Jimbo’s rifle, and when they came to search this place, they found the weapon in Jimbo’s gun room. Their way of thinking, must’ve been him.”

  Sally faced a dilemma. Scotty had lectured her about leaking any information he gave her. And he’d told her about Jimbo’s illicit gun trading. Surely the man’s wife must at least have had her suspicions. She’d as good as admitted she knew he was slipping around outside the law. Telling a person something they probably already knew wasn’t a violation of confidentiality, right? “Jimbo used to buy and sell guns, didn’t he?” she asked as Arvida spooned instant coffee granules into the mugs and poured in boiling water.

  Arvida nodded. “People came and went. He had it mixed up with his taxidermy. I expect some of the big UPS shipments he sent and received weren’t elk racks or whatever. But I never asked him for details.

  “He once told me that there were two kinds of people in the world; men and women. Women should stay home and raise their kids and keep a clean house, and leave everything else to the men. He tried to be a good provider, but there was always something. One time he got hurt at work, and the insurance company refused to pay the workman’s comp—they said he was liftin’ too heavy a load, and he should of known. We didn’t have no money to pay the doctors, let alone a lawyer to sue their sorry asses at the cement plant. So he’d moonlight. And we wouldn’t talk about it.”

  Sally thought a minute. “Maybe he bought that gun from somebody who used it to shoot Nina Cruz,” she said. “Can you think of anybody it could’ve been?”

  Arvida shook her head. “No, and it’d be hard to find out. He didn’t keep no records. And any rate, the police talked to some of his hunting buddies. One guy said he’d admired that Marlin 336 last year when they went out after deer. Jimbo’d had that rifle awhile.”

  Sally sipped at the coffee, which did nothing to improve the bitter taste in her mouth. “So what are you going to do?”

  Arvida rocked a little in her chair. “Don’t know. But I gotta pull myself together. My mom’s been great, but the kids need me. It’s funny. In a way, I have to get back to where I once belonged. I been pretty much a mom and nothin’ else for the last ten years. Every penny we had came from Jimbo. But I supported myself from the time I got outa high school, and I worked right up to the time Jim junior was born. I’ve done everything from wait tables to work in an office, and I can do it again. Might even take a couple business courses over at L Triple C,” she said, referring to the communit
y college in Cheyenne. “Mom says she’d watch the kids.”

  “Do you need anything?” Sally asked.

  “Nah. I was a big mess at first, but I’m gettin’ it together.” And then, much to Sally’s surprise, Arvida giggled. “It’s kinda weird. I used to be a big-time stoner. Before the kids, me and Jimbo used to smoke so much weed, we were in a permanent fog. Then, once we were parents, we pretty much quit—or at least I did. He probably got loaded on hunting trips and like that, sitting around the campfire, for all I know. Me, I haven’t even seen marijuana in years. So it blew my mind that when people started dropping off all that food after Jimbo went, somebody left us a nice little shoebox full of dope brownies.”

  Sally started. “You’re kidding,” she said.

  “Nope. Really good ones with chocolate chips. Just left ’em right on the front doorstep. I knew it the minute I smelled ’em. It ain’t a smell you forget,” she observed.

  Sally recalled the time in college she’d decided to give Alice B. Toklas’s famous recipe a try. The rank herbaceous odor of baking marijuana had filled the kitchen as soon as the brownies began to cook and had gotten increasingly strong. By the time they were done, the thought of actually eating one had made her want to puke. Fortunately, she was living with roommates who prized a good buzz far above a palate-pleasing experience. The brownies had disappeared in ten minutes.

  “I know what you mean about the smell,” Sally said. “It’s a lot easier to think about choking one down if you haven’t been around them when they’re actually cooking.”

  “No kidding. And even so, I thought about throwin’ ’em right in the trash. But I guess I kind of fell back on my old bad habits. Took ’em into my room so the kids wouldn’t get ’em. And whoever made ’em must of done something right—cooked the dope into the butter or something—because these were delicious.

  “At least I paced myself. In the old days, I’d’ve just been gobblin’ ’em up. Probably put myself into a coma. But I guess you get a little wiser, or at least older. Kept myself to two a day. Perfect dosage, I thought. Heck, I was so zoned, half the time it was all I could do to get up and go to the bathroom. Finished ’em off two days ago. Finally feel a lot better today. I’m ready to start coping now.”

  Arvida drank a little coffee, shaking her head. “But it was good, I think. I needed to space out. I think my mom knew, but she didn’t say anything.” She giggled again. “I got a real kick out of being stoned on my ass while the cops were trying to grill me. I think Jimbo would of appreciated it.”

  “Wow,” said Sally, aware that she was sounding a little loaded herself. “Who do you think left them?”

  “I don’t have a clue. I can think of a few who might have done it ten years ago, but pretty much everybody I know has straightened out, or at least keeps up a good front. Like I said, Jimbo might of had some buddies who’re still smoking weed.”

  Suddenly, there was a huge racket in the backyard. Clanging, banging, the sound of something heavy and hard running into something big and unstable. A big crash, rolling and sliding sounds, the tinkle of breaking glass.

  “What in the name of the Lord is going on out there!” Arvida exclaimed, rushing out the back door with Sally hot on her heels.

  Something, or someone, had gotten into the garage.

  “Zeppo!” Arvida yelled, waddling as fast as she could toward the workshop entrance, “You dumb dog! What the hell are you doing?”

  And then she burst out laughing. By the time Sally joined her at the door, she was nearly hysterical. It wasn’t hard to figure out why.

  Looking in the door to the taxidermy workshop in the garage, Sally was greeted by the sight of a reeling monster. Jimbo’s last mounting projects had evidently included a fine elk head capped with a magnificent set of antlers. Zeppo had somehow dislodged the head from wherever it had been perched, inserted his own head completely inside it, and gotten stuck. Now he careened around the workshop, the antlers clearly too heavy for his Labrador neck, wreaking havoc. He’d already tipped over a large wooden shelf, and the shattered remains of glass containers and their contents lay in chaos on the rapidly flooding cement floor: animal parts, plastic syringes, sewing miscellany, objects Sally couldn’t identify. The place reeked of decomposing animals, spilled chemicals, and stale cigarette smoke.

  Zeppo whirled, trying to remove the elk head, and an antler swept across a workbench, catching a huge jar full of glass eyes and hurling it through the air. They watched as the jar flew up, hurtled down, and smashed on the floor, eyeballs bouncing and scattering as the floor began to flood with a crazy mix of powders, crystals, and liquids, mingling promiscuously, hissing and sizzling in spots. In the midst of the spinning eyeballs, a small piece of white paper drifted down at the edge of a spreading puddle of bubbling yuck.

  Arvida grabbed Zeppo by his antlers and yanked. The elk head came off with a slurping pop, and he rushed out the door, yelping.

  “Hey, Sally!” yelled Arvida. “Hurry up and help me get the little bastard!”

  Sally snatched the piece of paper before it got soaked with whatever hideous concoction was brewing on the floor. Something was written on it, but she didn’t stop to read. Hastily stuffing the paper in a back pocket of her jeans, she ran out of the garage to find Arvida collaring Zeppo and turning on a garden hose. “I’ll hold him,” she told Sally. “You hose the hell out of him.”

  By the time they were done washing him off, they were all drenched and shivering. Clouds had scuttled in to cover the sun, and the temperature was dropping fast. The stench of mingling chemicals was getting stronger.

  “Christ!” yelled Arvida, dragging the dog toward the house. “I hope whatever shit he was using on the animals doesn’t catch on fire or something!”

  “I’ll call nine-one-one!” Sally shouted back.

  Chapter 26

  The Bill of Sale

  Two full-scale fire engines, an ambulance, and a hazardous-materials team arrived within minutes. The hazmat guys insisted that everybody clear out while they secured the toxic scene, and the EMTs weren’t listening to any talk about everyone being unharmed. Once again, Sally found herself standing in the freezing cold while they examined her on the scene, and then rushed her off to undergo decontamination at Ivinson Memorial. One of the EMTs told her she ought to program 911 into the speed dial on her cell phone. It was getting old.

  Better safe than sorry, she guessed. She and Arvida seemed to have survived the encounter with the Chimera, and Zeppo himself had been shipped off to a vet to be treated for exposure to noxious substances. At the very least, he’d no doubt stepped in nasty stuff and gotten himself a snootful of formaldehyde. That couldn’t be real good for anybody.

  The police had come, of course, and questioned both of them. They told Arvida she wouldn’t be able to go back to the house until the chemicals had been completely cleaned up. She’d better make other arrangements. “We can stay with my mom a few days, I guess,” she said, drooping with renewed exhaustion. She said almost nothing after that, and when her mother came with the children to pick her up, they let her go.

  Hawk had brought Sally some dry clothes, and once again, she found herself in the bleak hospital cafeteria, facing down a scowling Scotty Atkins. This time, Dickie Lang-ham had joined the party. Except for them, and a lone worker in a hairnet closing out the cash register, the place was deserted.

  “This one’s a regular angel of mercy, isn’t she, Sheriff?” Scotty asked Dickie as they sat sipping the nearly undrinkable hospital coffee.

  “A good neighbor, at the very least,” Dickie agreed. “Really nice of you to go out there and see how Arvida was doing.”

  Sally looked down into her plastic foam cup. “I’d have said she was doing better until her home turned into a Superfund site,” she said.

  “What, exactly, were you doing out there?” Scotty asked.

  “Paying a condolence call. Looking in on a bereaved acquaintance.” She gave up the pretense. “I figured she might t
alk to me. Tell me things she wouldn’t tell you guys. Her husband obviously thought of himself as some kind of rebel outlaw. You think she’d spill her guts to a tight-ass cop like you, Scotty? Or how about you, Dick? I mean, you’re a really nice guy and all that, but you think she was completely unaware that you all were keeping an eye on Jimbo? The woman’s not a complete moron.”

  Dickie sighed and cracked open a piece of his nicotine gum. “Mustang, when I tell you the FBI’s put somebody under surveillance, don’t automatically assume I’m sneaking around in a trench coat, planting bugs under the coffee table. I hate to have to admit it, but, you know, sometimes those guys don’t share their little projects with us. It gets in the way, if you really want to know.”

  “The feds are famous for keeping secrets from local law enforcement,” Hawk put in.

  “Everybody’s an expert,” said Scotty. “Okay, Sally. I’ll admit, I don’t have a lot of patience when it comes to interviewing witnesses. Sometimes, maybe, I even resort to a little bullying.”

  “A little!” Sally exclaimed.

  “Don’t bully back, Sal,” Hawk said mildly.

  “We’re dying to know, Sally,” said Dickie. “Did she tell you anything you think we might not have known?”

  Sally looked at the three men. Almost as one, they folded their arms on the table, waiting for her answer. “You promise she won’t get in any trouble?” she asked.

  “No,” said Scotty.

  Dickie tossed him an exasperated glance. “Maybe,” he amended. “Depends. Probably not, okay? Assuming she hasn’t done anything really terrible.”

  “Is eating dope brownies really terrible?” Sally asked.

  All three men burst out laughing, Scotty included, catching Sally completely by surprise. “She’s been cooking up marijuana brownies?” Dickie finally asked.