by Lyle, Dixie
“Sorry to interrupt,” I said, “but I was wondering if I could talk to you for a minute about what happened to Maria.”
Victor stopped his waxing, dropped the rag on the hood, and straightened up. He didn’t quite snap to attention, but the effect was the same. “Yes. What do you want to know?’
“You drove ZZ and Mr. Kwok into town last night, right?”
“Yes. They stayed until very late—quarter to three.”
I nodded. Official operating times didn’t mean much to ZZ—she was perfectly willing to wave a thousand dollars under someone’s nose to convince them to stay open longer, and add a few hundred more at the end if she’d enjoyed herself. Her tipping habits had become the stuff of legend in local restaurants. “Then you drove them home?”
“Yes.” He hesitated, then added, “We made one stop.”
“At?”
“The all-night drugstore.”
I grinned. ZZ kept her own supplies well stocked, but she was gracious enough to inquire about her partner’s preference when it came to brand. “I see. So you got back here shortly after three AM?”
“Yes.”
“Did you see anyone when you got here? Notice any lights on, hear anyone?”
He frowned. “No, ma’am. I let Ms. Zoransky and Mr. Kwok off at the front door, then drove into the garage and parked. I went straight upstairs and to bed.”
“What time were you up and around this morning?”
“I rose at eight o’clock.”
“Anyone else up at that hour?”
“I did notice Ms. Kim going for a jog through the gardens.”
Part of her workout routine, no doubt. “Okay, thanks. Oh, and I was wondering if you could do me a favor? ZZ was going to donate a few books to the local library, and asked me if you could drop them off. There’s a box in the foyer.”
“Certainly. I’ll put them in the trunk and do it this afternoon.”
“Would you mind going now? The library’s expecting them before noon.”
“Of course. I’ll take one of the other cars.” He sealed the jar of wax and put it on a shelf, then turned and strode off.
[I think you may have offended him,] Tiny observed.
“Don’t worry about it. As far as Victor is concerned, brusque is just another word for ‘efficient.’”
I waited until Victor came back with the box I’d set out, put it in the trunk, and drove off. Once he was out of sight, Tiny and I went up the exterior stairs to the door of his apartment and I used my key to let us in.
The place was just as neat and orderly as Victor himself: modern, streamlined Ikea furniture, a metal bookshelf holding volumes on history, aircraft, and architecture—Victor wasn’t much for fiction, it seemed—and a gleaming, mostly stainless-steel kitchen.
“Go to it,” I said.
Tiny nosed his way around the room. While he worked, I took a closer look at the bookshelf. Down at one end, on the very bottom, there were three books that looked out of place: Not only were they thinner and smaller than the reference material, they were considerably more worn—and very familiar looking.
“No way,” I said. I pulled all three out and stared at the covers, one by one. “Tiny! You won’t believe this!”
[What is it?] He trotted up to me eagerly.
“Look! The Mystery of the Stuttering Parrot! The Mystery of the Singing Serpent! And The Mystery of the Headless Horse!”
He sniffed at them. [All I smell is old paper and ancient ink.]
“Then your nose isn’t as sharp as you think. What you’re smelling is my childhood—you’re smelling adventure and teamwork and mysterious beggars with scars on their faces. These are Three Investigators books!”
He gave the barest puzzled whine. [I fail to see the significance. Enlighten me, please.]
“With pleasure. The Three Investigators are Jupiter Jones, Pete Crenshaw, and Bob Andrews. They’re adolescent boys who live in Hollywood, have the coolest headquarters ever, and solve mysteries with the help of Alfred Hitchcock.”
[Oddly, I don’t feel enlightened at all.]
I brandished the books at him excitedly. “I’ve been looking for these three titles forever! I collect them!”
[Ah. It all becomes clear to me now.]
“Really? Well, I’m still confused. I mean, I guess I could have mentioned it to Victor—wait, I think I remember talking to him about it a few weeks ago. I mentioned that the books were really popular in Germany, and asked if he was familiar with them. He said he wasn’t. So why would he lie?”
[I think perhaps I can clear this up. On what day were you born?]
“Day of the week, you mean? A Monday, I think.”
[No, I mean the date.]
“June fifth. Why?”
[Because it means you have a birthday coming up.]
I blinked in surprise. Really? Cold, precise Victor went to the trouble of finding me three books I didn’t own based on a single conversation I barely remembered? “Okay, but—how did he know I don’t have these?”
[He strikes me as being the straightforward type. He probably asked someone.]
ZZ, of course. She knew how much I liked the series, and she was very resourceful when it came to planning surprises. Of course, I was usually the first resource she turned to … but she was entirely capable of enlisting others. Shondra, maybe, or Avery. For all I knew, a crack team of elite ninjas broke into my house while I was at work and cataloged my entire library.
“This is thoughtful,” I said. “Maybe a little too thoughtful. I mean, Victor’s okay, but I don’t find him attractive. I hope this isn’t some kind of romantic gesture.”
[I hate to interrupt your musings on a potential future mate, but do you think we could get back to looking for the murder weapon?]
I carefully replaced all three books. “Sorry. Back to work, right.”
Tiny finished his circuit of the living room, then went through the kitchen, the bathroom, and two neatly organized closets. We left the bedroom for last.
It was just as clean and tidy as the rest of the house, but he’d left some magazines on the floor next to the bed. When I got a better look at them, I realized my fears about a possible infatuation were groundless. Victor’s tastes seemed to run more to large hairy men than medium-sized, mostly hairless women. Tiny didn’t comment on the magazines, and neither did I, though I now felt both embarrassed and ashamed at invading Victor’s privacy. Sure, I was trying to catch a killer, but I wasn’t a big fan of the ends justifying the means. Next time I’d let Tiny do the snooping and keep my nosiness to a minimum.
Mental note: Make sure Victor gets a BIG bonus this Christmas. And maybe the biggest, glossiest coffee-table book on the history of aircraft architecture I can find.
When we’d subjected the entire place to Tiny’s olfactory glands, he pronounced it carfentanil-free. I made sure everything was exactly where we’d found it—Victor, I thought, would notice the slightest deviation—and then left, locking the door behind us.
[Who’s next?] Tiny asked.
“Juan Estevez.”
We found him in the library, reading a novel. “Shouldn’t you be out by the pool?” I said. “I can get someone to bring you some refreshments.”
“I don’t like the sun. Too much risk of melanoma.” He kept his eyes on his book.
“We’ve got plenty of shade, too. And sunscreen, if you forgot to bring any. We can even supply swimming trunks.”
He finally put his book down and looked up at me from the divan he was perched on. “Thank you, but I prefer it in here. The air-conditioning is nice, and it’s quiet. Mostly.”
I deliberately misinterpreted his statement. “Yes, that was quite an uproar earlier, wasn’t it? I’m so sorry about all the disruption.”
His expression softened. “Not a problem. I was sorry to hear about your maid.”
“Thank you.”
“These things happen, I guess.”
“You didn’t—hear anything, did you?
Your room is directly below ZZ’s bedroom, and the sheriff is trying to establish a time of death.”
“Hear anything? Like what?”
“Well—a loud thump, maybe?”
He winced as he realized what I was talking about. “Oh. No, nothing like that. But I was exhausted last night—I turned in around eleven and slept straight through. If it was any later than that, I wouldn’t have heard a thing.”
“Okay, then. Sorry to have bothered you.” I left him to his book.
Only Kenny Gant was left to talk to, and we’d already searched his room. “Tiny, I think you should get started searching the grounds—it’s a big job, and the sooner we begin the better. I’m going to have a little chat with Mr. Gant and then we’ll reconvene. Meet me under that tree Tango was perched in earlier, okay?”
[I shall.]
He trotted off, and I went in search of Kenny Gant.
Which, it turned out, was harder to do than I’d thought. Being an animal person, he’d been quite intrigued by our collection the last time he was here, so I checked there first. No sign of him, or of Caroline. He wasn’t out by the pool, or on the tennis courts or in the gardens. I could have simply called him, but I wanted to talk to him face-to-face.
I checked the house last. I’d just been there, but it was a large place and I could easily have missed him. I decided to start with his room.
The door was ajar. I knocked gently and then pushed it open. “Kenny? I was wondering if you had a minute—”
The door swung out of the way. Kenny Gant wasn’t there, but someone else was.
Caroline Durell. And she had a gun in her hands.
CHAPTER EIGHT
I froze.
Caroline and I stared at each other for a second.
Then she grinned and said, “Foxtrot, hi! I’m just returning Kenny’s monkey, but he’s not here. I was about to call you and see if you could track him down for me.”
I glanced down at her feet. Amos screeched at me from the carrier he was locked in, apparently fully recovered. “Oh. How’d you get in? And what’s with the firearm?”
“The door was unlocked. And I was returning the pistol, too—Kenny forgot it at the clinic.”
I realized it was the same dart gun Kenny had shot Amos with last night. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know where he is, either. I guess I’d better give him a shout.”
I pulled out my phone and looked up his number, then called. “Hi, Kenny? Foxtrot. Caroline’s brought your monkey back and he’s all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful,” he replied. I could hear traffic noise in the background; apparently he was no longer on the grounds. “I’m in town, at a garage. Came in to get a little something to cheer Amos up and ran into some engine trouble.”
“Nothing serious, I hope?”
“Well, I hope not. They did ask to weigh my wallet before giving me an estimate, though. Is that bad?”
I laughed. “Not if your wallet was planning on going on a diet. Do you need a ride back?”
“No, they’re giving me a loaner. I’ll be back in around twenty minutes or so. Do you mind keeping an eye on Amos until I return?”
“No, not at all. I’ll see you then.” I hung up.
I hesitated, then said, “That pistol seems a lot smaller than what I’ve seen on TV—aren’t rifles usually used to fire tranquilizer darts?”
“Yes, the pistol’s a little unusual. But tranqs are generally only needed to put big animals to sleep, and you want to do that from a safe distance. Rifles are much more accurate at range.”
“And they probably need more sleepy juice, too—I mean, it must take a pretty big dart for a buffalo.”
“It’s not really a question of the dart’s size, more one of the drug’s potency. Large animals get a super-concentrated opiate, knocks them right out.”
“A super-concentrated opiate? That sounds dangerous—do you keep any of it around? You know, for our larger animals?”
She studied me for a second, and pushed her glasses up with one finger before answering. “Yes, I do. It’s under lock and key, of course, and I don’t advertise the fact that we have it. But any veterinarian dealing with large exotics like ours needs it on hand.”
So the carfentanil could have come from the estate’s own supply—but according to Caroline, only she had access. I leaned down and peered at Amos. He looked back at me with wide, intelligent eyes. “I wonder what monkey Heaven is like,” I murmured. “Lots of bananas, I guess.”
“Not necessarily,” said Caroline. “Capuchins are omnivores, like humans—they’ll eat just about anything. Fruit, yes, but also seeds, nuts, buds, frogs—even crabs.”
“Crabs?”
“Sure. They use rocks to smash open the shells.”
“That sounds pretty violent. I mean, aren’t capuchins used as helper monkeys?”
Caroline tossed the gun down on the bed. “Oh, absolutely—they’re the smartest of the New World monkeys, they’re adaptable, they’re easy to feed and train. But I wouldn’t really characterize them as violent—from a species point of view, they’re lovers, not fighters. Polyamorous and polygamous. Frankly, a rambunctious monkey is more likely to attempt mating with something than wrecking it.”
“Or in Amos’s case, guzzling it.”
“There’s a reason for the saying Monkey see, monkey do. As fellow primates, they’re very good at imitating our behavior—good and bad. Stealing the occasional gulp of booze is hardly the worst animal habit I’ve come across.”
“Actually it’s two—theft and substance abuse. No wonder Oscar and him seemed to hit it off.”
She sighed. “Well, I don’t know about the theft, but Oscar’s pretty good at hitting the bottle and spending money. Which, by the way, is another behavior it turns out capuchins have an affinity for.”
“What, spending money? You’re kidding.”
“Exaggerating, maybe. They did a study where they taught capuchins they could choose between getting food directly, or get a token instead—a token they could then trade in for larger amounts of food. Money, in other words. They picked it up surprisingly quickly.”
“Money handling, drinking, stealing … so that’s how stockbrokers evolved.”
“Afraid so. Along with the rest of us…”
* * *
I didn’t feel comfortable waiting for Kenny Gant in his own room, so Caroline and I went downstairs with Amos. She asked me how Tiny and I were getting along and I told her the truth, which was just fine.
“Where is he, anyway?” she asked. “I thought you two were inseparable.”
“He’s—being taken for a walk,” I said. “I’m trying to get him used to other people.”
“Oh? Well, you can leave him with me anytime you want. He seems like a real sweetheart.”
“Deal. I’m sure he’d love to hang out at your digs for a while.”
Caroline left me and the monkey in the living room while she returned to her animals. I hoped Tiny was keeping out of sight … and then I remembered that he could alter his appearance. Caroline might see him, but she wouldn’t recognize him.
I sat there and collected my thoughts. I’d done just about all the searching I could, and turned up nothing. I’d talked to all the guests. What I needed to do now was look at Shondra’s video logs so I could see if anyone had arrived or left the estate last night.
The last time anyone had seen or talked to Maria had been a little after seven PM when she’d taken a break for a quick meal in the kitchen. Consuela had knocked on ZZ’s bedroom door at seven AM. Sometime in those twelve hours Maria had died, and I wouldn’t be able to narrow that window down any more until—
I dug out my phone, looked up the number of the county coroner’s office, and punched it in. I had to deal with an assistant first—a different one from the first time I’d called—but I was good at that; it was what I did on a regular basis. Whether you called them receptionists, executive assistants, secretaries, or even interns
, it was these people—people just like me—who actually ran things. I understood how this system worked, and in fact had invented a martial art I called chat-fu to deal with it.
It broke down something like this: We began with the greeting ritual. I established a friendly but professional tone. First strike: I gave her my name. It got inside her professional detachment and she responded with her own. Point to me.
We circled, warily. I feinted with a harmless question and she answered automatically, lowering her guard further. I segued effortlessly into small talk, a whirl of movements meant to occupy her attention and shift her stance from combative to receptive.
I made her laugh. I offered sympathy for how hard her job was and apologized for taking up her time. Her impatience for getting me off the phone was tempered by the fact that she now liked me. When I finally got around to what I wanted, I phrased it in such a way that it was me and her against our respective bosses, neither of whom understood or appreciated how much we did for them. In this particular case I made it all about the insurance, which was always a convenient catchall to obtain all sorts of esoteric information. She consulted a file and told me that the initial estimate of the time of death, according to the state of rigor mortis the body was found in, was between 10 PM and 5 AM.
I thanked her and hung up. Down to seven hours—not ideal, but better.
Kenny Gant strolled in a few minutes later. “Ah, there he is,” he said, bending down to peer into Amos’s crate. “Naughty monkey. From now on you need to wear your collar.” He produced a short leash and collar from his pocket, and when he opened the crate’s door Amos meekly let him put it on. “Good boy.”
The monkey scampered out of the crate and onto Kenny’s shoulder. “I think I should keep him in my room until we leave. Excuse me.”
“All right. Take it easy, little guy.”
When they’d left, I got up myself and went upstairs. I found Shondra and ZZ in Shondra’s office, ZZ looking a little impatient. She brightened when I came in, and said, “Foxtrot! Be a dear and take over, will you? Shondra should really be going over these changes with you.”