by Lyle, Dixie
And now she was blocking the exit.
It was clearly something she’d thought out. The hedge was at least nine feet high, so I couldn’t leap it the way I had the fence. I couldn’t go through the gate, and if I turned around and ran she’d catch me. Tiny might have been able to slow it down, but I didn’t think Tango could do the same.
“No kidding,” I muttered. “Let me handle this.”
I’d faced down bullies before. Sometimes it was all about what Keene would call “front”: how expensive their clothes were, how cool their car was, how up-to-the-second their technology appeared to be. Or, if you were an electrocuted ghost elephant from the turn of the century, how big and bright the lightning bolts arcing between your tusks were.
Pretty big. Pretty bright.
Okay, so I didn’t have much in the way of front. Sometimes it was all about attitude—unflappable calm in the face of imminent danger, mild amusement at being threatened, an unspoken implication that you could wreak havoc with a single phone call. Considering that the last time I’d met Topsy I’d run like a cockroach fleeing a flashlight, I thought the unfazable option was closed, too.
But that was okay. Neither one of those was really my style. I preferred good old-fashioned negotiation. It was a martial art in its own right, with holds, strikes, and throws designed to play to your strengths and capitalize on your opponent’s weaknesses. I had a black belt in this particular skill, and a really killer pair of shoes to go with it—not to mention my secret weapon.
“Hello, Topsy,” I said. I couldn’t see her eyes, which was disturbing; they were just two more patches of darkness in the shadowy bulk of her skull. I could see the harness of chains she wore on her head, though, and the little crackle of sparks that leapt from link to link. “I think it’s time you and I talked.”
My secret weapon gave a little mental cough.
I paused. “Then this would be a really bad time to tell me you don’t speak Elephant.”
“Leave that up to me, okay? Just translate.”
“What do you want?” I asked Topsy.
The sounds that emanated from Tango’s mouth were almost as eerie as when she spoke Hyena. I’ve read that some of elephant communication is in ultra-low frequencies that humans can’t even hear, which probably explained the long pauses in between sounds.
Tango listened to Topsy’s reply, then relayed it: <“I want you to go.”>
“Out of the graveyard?”
<“Yes.”>
“What do you offer me if I do this?” Even though leaving the graveyard was exactly what I wanted to do, I had to ask for something in return; any demand had to be met with a response to keep the negotiation on an equal footing.
<“I will not crush your spirit when you die.”>
Well, that was comforting. It showed an alarming awareness of the situation, though—Topsy knew what she was and where we were.
“I will go,” I said.
Topsy shuffled to one side, unblocking the path.
I should have listened to her. But I made a classic negotiating mistake: I was so eager to close the deal I took the first offer on the table, and didn’t look at it closely enough. I substituted bravado for due diligence, and strode past Topsy with my head high.
Or tried to, anyway.
She let me get directly opposite her before she grabbed me with her trunk, snaking it around my waist like an anaconda pouncing on a rabbit. Cold, heavy darkness squeezed my ribs together …
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Topsy lifted me off the ground—not far, just a few inches, but enough to let me know how completely helpless I was. She turned me so I was facing her, and bellowed at me.
“What—what’s she saying?” I managed. I could hardly breathe; it felt like I was being bear-hugged by a glacier.
“That … won’t be necessary,” I gasped. “But thank you … for offering.”
Tango looked at me like I was crazy, but she repeated the message. Topsy considered me for a few seconds afterward, then dropped me to the ground. It was less than a foot, but it felt as if I’d fallen a mile. My knees gave out and I crumpled to the ground.
“I’m fine,” I said shakily, and got to my feet. Topsy produced another bellow, then abruptly turned and shambled away.
“What—what did she say?” I asked.
Wonderful.
* * *
By the time we got back to the house, I’d managed to pull myself together enough to appear like a competent professional rather than a terrified survivor of a supernatural shakedown. Everyone was already gathered at the breakfast table. Hana Kim gave me a cheerful hello, while Keene looked like getting up this early was the equivalent of running a marathon. He nodded blearily and downed a shot of espresso.
Kenny Gant was halfway through an omelet, while Mr. Kwok was sipping a cup of tea. Oscar was nursing a Bloody Mary and some buttered toast. I went straight to the head of the table and said, “Good morning, everybody. I have some news.”
I told them about finding the controller, though I didn’t mention Keene was there. I was now pretty sure he had an alibi for the night of the murder, and there was no point in making him look suspicious to everyone else.
“Good Lord,” Oscar said. “You went into the hippo pool? By yourself? Are you mad?”
“And why didn’t you wait until this morning?” Hana Kim said accusingly.
“Because she wanted to see if one of us would do the same thing,” said Kenny Gant. “Smart move. I take it nobody else showed?”
I carefully didn’t look at Keene. “No. Whoever the killer is, either they didn’t know about our search plans, or I beat them to the punch. Either way, I’m having it analyzed by an expert right now. If he can pull any relevant data from it, we have a good chance of nailing the murderer.”
Now I risked a glance at Keene. He seemed a lot more awake than he had a minute ago, but not concerned; if anything, he appeared hurt.
“When will you know anything?” Oscar asked.
I glanced at a clock on the wall. “My guy is going to call any minute. I’ll have news then.”
Right on cue, my phone chimed.
I met everyone’s eyes, one by one, before I answered; if a killer was looking back, he or she disguised it well. “Hello?”
“Foxtrot. No good news. Unit’s been thoroughly trashed, on every level. Nothing retrievable in any form.”
I kept my disappointment from my face. “I see. Very good. I’ll arrange for the police to pick it up—everything’s documented?”
“Of course.”
“Thank you. I’ll talk to you later.”
I hung up, but didn’t say anything for a moment. Neither did anyone else. I could try to bluff, maybe draw the killer out—but I’d tried that tactic once already and only snagged Keene in my net. No, the killer hadn’t shown because he or she wasn’t worried, and they weren’t worried now. “I’m afraid the controller was a dead end,” I said. “My expert couldn’t find anything.”
“Maybe your expert wasn’t good enough,” Kenny Gant said. “You should have turned the controller over to the police.”
“They’re welcome to take a stab at it now,” I replied. “But believe me—if my guy says he can’t get anything, then there’s nothing to be had. This isn’t TV—Sheriff Brower doesn’t have a high-tech lab in a back room that can extract DNA from the sweat of someone’s fingertips. And even if he did, I think our k
iller’s too smart to leave any obvious traces behind.”
“So what are we to do now?” asked Mr. Kwok.
“I don’t know,” I admitted.
“I do,” Oscar said. “I’m going back to bed.” He got up, nodded at everyone, and left. I could almost see his hangover trailing along behind him.
“Think I’ll pay a visit to Caroline,” announced Kenny Gant. “She was going to show me some footage of a Liger—amazing animals. Cross between a lion and a tiger, believe it or not.”
Hana Kim muttered something about training. Mr. Kwok frowned and sipped his tea. Keene yawned and said, “Well, I suppose I’ll do what every musician does with a disaster.”
“What’s that?” I asked.
He gave me a sleepy grin. “Write a song, of course. In fact, I’ve been working on a little something I’d like you to give a listen to. After brekkie?”
“Uh, sure.”
I retreated to my office. Tango joined me, trotting along at my heels. It was amazing how fast everyone had accepted her, but cats are like that: They just move in and declare ownership. “I don’t suppose you detected any suspicious reactions from the group when I broke the news,” I asked her as I shut the office door.
“Me? I’m going to call Sheriff Brower. Then I’m going to gargle with broken glass and drink some salted lemon juice.”
“Because it’ll be such a pleasant experience compared with the previous one.”
Tango shook her head.
“Seven lives and you’re just figuring that out now?”
I sat down and prepared myself mentally. There’s a particular frame of mind you have to get into when you know people are about to yell at you, and a subset you need to apply when you know you’ve screwed up. You can’t get too defensive, but you can’t just meekly let them browbeat you, either. Accept consequences, not judgment; you’ve made a mistake, but that doesn’t mean you’re incompetent. Let them get angry, answer their questions as honestly and politely as you can, try to figure out how to fix the problem when they’ve blown off enough steam to be reasonable again, and whatever you do don’t lose your own cool.
I talked to Shondra first, bringing her up to speed. She was upset, of course—leaving her out of the loop on a covert operation was tantamount to blasphemy in her books—but I downplayed the danger of the situation as best I could. “I needed you focused on ZZ’s safety,” I told her. “This was a simple search, over in a few minutes. You would have turned it into a huge production with scuba gear and searchlights and whatnot.”
“Whatnot is my job, Foxtrot. I’m very good at whatnot. My whatnot expertise is what you pay me for and might just save your life.”
“I know. I’m sorry. Please stop saying whatnot.”
“Promise me you won’t do something that stupid again.”
“That stupid? I promise.”
She sighed. “You’re already quantifying other gradations of stupidity, aren’t you?”
“You know me so well. Gotta go, I have further stupidity piling up on my desk.”
Then I called Brower.
It wasn’t pretty. It wasn’t pleasant. There was yelling, though not on my part. I was threatened with incarceration, three times. When he finally calmed down I assured him that Avery had documented everything and had many impressive credentials to back up his observations. Then I gave Brower Avery’s address, apologized one final time, listened to him swear at me, and then hang up.
“Well, that went just swell,” I said. “I wonder if I can still catch the killer when I’m in a jail cell.”
“Don’t you mean…”
“Never mind.”
My phone rang, showing an unlisted number. I answered. “Yes?”
It was Keene. “Hello, love. You available yet? I need your pretty pink ears.”
“Why didn’t my phone show me your number? I have it programmed in.”
He chuckled. “I’m a rock god, Foxtrot. I go through more mobiles than Ozzy does bats. Now, are you coming downstairs to hear my latest creation or do I have to sing it over the phone?”
I bowed to the inevitable—humoring the guests’ requests, no matter how odd, was part of my job. “I’ll be right down. Where are you, the theater?”
“Good Lord, no. This wee tot is barely out the chute—he’s hardly ready to stagger out in front of the footlights just yet. No, I’m down in the library.”
Well, at least I wouldn’t have to deal with full amplification and a drum set. “I’ll be down in a minute.”
“Ta.”
I slipped my phone in my pocket and stood up.
“I have to. It’s part of what I do.”
“Really?”
I headed for the door. “First of all, catgut hasn’t been used for musical instruments in decades. Second, if you really don’t like music, you don’t have to go.”
“Uh-huh. I’ll leave the door open a crack so you can come and go as you please. I shouldn’t be long.”
On my way there, I passed Hana’s room. I paused, listening, and heard a rapid-fire tapping of computer keys coming from within. Huh. Didn’t sound like she was training for the next Olympics to me.
An idea came to me. It wasn’t a completely ethical idea, and normally I would have told it to take a hike—but I was investigating one murder while trying to prevent another, so maybe my conscience could stand bending the rules this once.
I pulled out my phone and called Avery. “Hey. Have you been descended upon by the forces of law enforcement yet?”
“Not yet.” He didn’t sound worried, but he never did. “Anything I need to know?”
“Just that I’m a terrible person. I need you to do something else for me, when you have a minute.”
“Which is?”
“I have a guest spending a lot of time on the ’Net but keeping it secret. I’d really like to know—in general terms—what she’s doing.”
“Sure. I have remote access to your server—I’ll take a look and pass along the information.” He paused. “As soon as I’ve finished talking to the police, who just showed up.”
“Thanks a million. Bye.”
Since Avery was the one who set up all our Internet access and troubleshoots our system, I knew it wouldn’t take him long. You know, unless they arrested him—and that would have been a huge mistake on Brower’s part. The only things scarier than Avery’s skill with computers were the lawyers that owed him favors.
Keene was waiting for me in the library, barefoot, dressed in torn jeans and a loose-fitting silk shirt in a brilliant shade of orange. On anyone else the outfit would have screamed homeless pirate; Keene somehow managed to cram the phrase but lovable between the two words. He was sprawled out on the couch with an acoustic guitar in his hands.
“Ah, my audience arrives at last,” he said. “I was starting to worry you wouldn’t show.”
“No, you weren’t.”
“No, I wasn’t,” he admitted cheerfully. “Pass up a private performance by yours truly? I don’t mean to sound vain, but there are fans out there who would sell a kidney for this.”
I took a seat on a large, overstuffed chair. “Vain? Not at all. Are you planning on going for a jog later, maybe a little run on top of the lake?”
“Depends on my mood. Might just turn the whole thing into a nice Cabernet and go for a swim instead.”
“That sounds a lot more enjoyable than
paddling through hippo dung.”
“Yeah. So you really had the thing the whole time?” He was watching me intently, but didn’t seem angry. If he were, I wouldn’t blame him.
I shrugged. “Sorry about that. But you showing up when I was expecting the killer … well, you can see my point, right?”
He nodded. “Oh, absolutely. A bit dim of me, I admit—in my defense, I plead an overabundance of enthusiasm and wine. But you should have known better.”
“What, now you’re the voice of reason?”
“I agree, it’s very odd. Let’s stop and go back to me being the irresponsible one and you being all clearheaded and bright-eyed, shall we?”
“Done. Can I hear the song now, or do you need one of my kidneys?”
He strummed the guitar softly, once. “All right, you asked for it. It’s not done, but—well, here we go.”
His fingers found the frets he was looking for, and he started to play. It was a gentle, simple melody, not what I had expected at all; Keene’s hits were mostly post-punk, fast-paced rockers with catchy riffs you could dance to.
He sang:
Everybody loves you but not like I do,
Everybody loves you but you don’t get a song
They say that you’re cute but you can’t go out with them
They say that they love you but you can’t come along
One day you’re gonna leave me, you’re really gonna break my heart
I know that day is coming but all that I can do
Is to love you right now, love you this very moment,
I’ll love you forever
That’s my love for you.
He let the final notes hover in the air. “Well? What do you think?”
I blinked. “That’s really nice. Does it refer to what I think it does?”
“It’s about animals, yeah. Companions. The animals that people love, pets or otherwise. Most of them don’t get as long a life as we do, do they? But we fall in love with them anyway. Sad … but inspiring, too.”