A Taste Fur Murder

by Lyle, Dixie

  “Really. When I asked you if you felt the same, I meant about this place. About feeling … like we belong here. Like this place is special, somehow.”

  “Your office?”

  He grinned, which just made me want to kiss him again. I managed to stifle the urge. “No, not my office. Not even the estate. I think it’s the graveyard.”

  I blinked. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

  “That’s it, isn’t it?” he said. “When you talked about being in contact with other supernatural beings. It has something to do with the graveyard. I can feel it.”

  “Yes,” I blurted. Maybe this would get me in trouble, but I had to give him something. “Yes, the graveyard is important. I can’t say why, but it is. And guess what? I’m supposed to protect it.”

  “You are?”

  “Yeah.” I’d thought telling someone else my secret—well, a tiny bit of my secret—would be a relief, but it just made me feel anxious and guilty.

  “From what?”

  “Someone who wants to destroy it and turn a fast buck. But I think I know who, and I’m working on proving it.”

  “Can I help?”

  There was that damn urge again. I took a step back and said, “Thank you—but no. You’ve got enough on your plate, and I’m not supposed to involve anybody else. But don’t worry about me—I can do this.”

  He nodded. “I have absolutely no doubt that you can. And since I’m sticking around, maybe you can even tell me about it, someday.”

  “I will if I can,” I said. Then, before one of those awkward pauses could set in, I said, “Well.”

  There was that pause. Dammit.

  “I better get back to making dinner,” he said.

  “Right. I better get back to—that thing I was doing,” I said.

  And then I turned around and left.

  I found Tiny sitting patiently in the foyer. [At last. Everything all right?]

  “Fine,” I muttered. “Come on. Let’s go catch us a killer.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  I led Tiny out to the parking lot, and then to one particular vehicle. It was locked, of course, but I knew that wouldn’t stop Tiny. Human beings have five million olfactory receptors spread out over an inch and a half of epithelial tissue; bloodhounds have four billion spread over fifty-nine square inches. Yes, I looked it up—like I said, I’m a research geek by nature.

  Anyway, a car isn’t a hermetically sealed environment. And even with the heavy rain washing away any traces on the outside of the vehicle, there were still scent particles inside. A bloodhound could identify a scent with as little as a single cell—and all I needed were two.

  I told Tiny what we were looking for. He stared at me thoughtfully for a moment. [I see. That would explain a great deal. I can’t say that I’m all that surprised, though. I did warn you.]

  “That you did. Now, make with the sniffing, please.”

  He shifted from muscular rottweiler to sad-eyed, droopy-eared bloodhound, and began to sniff around the car. He concentrated on the cracks around the doors and where the windows met the frame, then crouched down and crawled under the chassis. He came out wearing a satisfied, doggy smile.

  [It appears both of us were right, Foxtrot. What tipped you off?]

  “The money trail. He’s been buying up land around the graveyard, presumably for some kind of big real estate development. With ZZ out of the way, all he had to do was convince Oscar to let him purchase the land. Knowing how greedy Oscar is, I don’t think it would have been a hard sell.”

  And that was when Kenny Gant, the owner of the vehicle in question, strolled up.

  He had a suitcase in one hand, and was clearly planning on leaving. As soon as he realized I was standing next to his car with a bloodhound next to me, he stopped dead. The easygoing smile never left his face, though; Kenny Gant was a born salesman, and he didn’t spook that quickly.

  But then again, he’d probably never faced down a real spook.

  “Hello, Foxtrot,” he said, ambling toward me casually. “Here to see me off?”

  “I didn’t know you were leaving, Kenny. Urgent business elsewhere?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact. There’s a deal I’ve had cooking that appears about to boil over. Pleasure, alas, must make way for commerce.” He glanced down at Tiny curiously. “Yet another dog? You’re going to give Caroline a run for her money in the animal department.”

  “Oh, this one’s just a loaner. I needed him to confirm a theory, which he just has.”

  Kenny’s eyes were clear and guiltless. He was good, I’d grant him that.

  But I was better.

  “I really think you ought to go back in the house, maybe help yourself to one last glass of cognac,” I said. “Once Sheriff Brower gets here, you won’t get another chance for a while. A very long while.”

  The puzzled look on his face was letter-perfect. “Sheriff Brower? What are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about a murder plot so ridiculous I can barely believe it myself. You might actually have a shot at avoiding conviction, just because the DA will have a hard time convincing a jury to take this story seriously.”

  “Okay. Before you have me locked up, how about letting me in on the joke?”

  I met his eyes squarely. “You used a monkey to frame a robot.”

  The grin that broke out on his face was a masterpiece of disbelief and astonishment. Really, I wished had a picture of that grin; it deserved to be framed in some museum dedicated to the great deceivers and con men throughout history. “I did?” he laughed.

  I laughed right back. “Yes, Kenny, you did.”

  “And not just any monkey,” he chortled. “A drunk monkey, right?”

  I stopped laughing, but not grinning. “No, Kenny. Amos was a decoy. You knew what would happen if you fed him booze, and you came prepared with the tranquilizer pistol. The monkey that killed Maria by plunging a spring-loaded syringe into her belly—the one you spent months training to do just that—wasn’t drunk at all. He was a little confused, because ZZ was supposed to be in the room and not a maid, but he did what he was supposed to. Then he climbed back down and got into his cage in your car, and you took him away in the morning.”

  Kenny wasn’t laughing anymore. He still seemed merry, but there was a certain calculating look in his eyes. The look of a salesman who’d just realized his pitch wasn’t working and it was time to switch tactics. “Oh, sure. And the GEQ prints on the window and the poison in Estevez’s room?”

  “Both planted—the tracks by the monkey, the poison by you. You slipped a little something into Estevez’s drink at dinner that night—it was easy, when everyone’s eyes were on the monkey. He slept so deeply you had no problem sneaking into his room and getting the GEQ feet and remote, and it was just as easy to go back in the morning and replace the feet. The remote you threw in the hippo pool on the way to see Caroline. You—and your monkey—were with Caroline all night, giving you the perfect alibi. Only you killed the wrong woman, didn’t you? So you had to try again.”

  “I suppose you have a crazy theory about how I did that, too, huh?”

  I shrugged. “No, there you just waited for your opportunity and brought ZZ a cup of tea. You figured she’d never wake up, so it didn’t matter how blatant you were—all you had to do was make sure you didn’t leave fingerprints on the saucer, and stash the remaining carfentanil outside wherever you’d hidden it the first time. But she did wake up, Kenny; about fifteen minutes ago. And once she was strong enough to talk, she told me who gave her the tea.”

  That was a lie, of course. But I had to bluff; I couldn’t really prove what I was saying, and if he got in his car and left he could be out of the country before I could find a way to stop him.

  He stared at me, his smile seeming a little forced, now. “Two monkeys, huh. And how did you arrive at this frankly hard-to-believe revelation?”

  I nodded at Tiny. “You know animals, Kenny. You know how good at tracking a bloo
dhound is. This particular dog belongs to a friend of mine; he’s a federal investigator who specializes in illegal animal trafficking. People coming in with exotic birds drugged to the tailfeathers and stuffed into luggage, that sort of thing. When this dog indicates that he’s found the scent of two different capuchin monkeys in your car, I tend to believe him. So do the authorities.”

  Kenny snorted. “So? That doesn’t—”

  “It doesn’t matter, Kenny,” I interrupted. I had to keep him on the ropes. “I know you’ve been buying up land around the graveyard, and ZZ knows who drugged her. You’re going to prison.”

  We locked eyes. Moment-of-truth time—I could see him weighing his options. Everything I had was circumstantial—he could just walk away.

  But he didn’t know that.

  The emotion I felt when he pulled the pistol out of his pocket was an odd combination of terror and triumph. On the one hand, I’d done it; I’d unmasked the killer, proved that I was smarter than he was.

  On the other, he might just kill me.

  “Yes, this is a tranquilizer pistol, Foxtrot. But it’s loaded with a massive dose of carfentanil. If I shoot you with this, you won’t fall into a coma—you’ll fall into a grave.” His smile had returned to full force. He thought he could still win.

  Tiny growled. [I’m sorry, Foxtrot—he’s downwind, so I didn’t detect the chemical.]

  “It’s all right,” I said to Tiny. “He’s not going to shoot me.”

  “Aren’t I? I also have a hypodermic with me, Trot. I shoot you, take the dart, and leave the hypo with a few traces of carfentanil inside it beside your body. After your failed attempt to kill your boss, you decided to kill yourself. Tragic, but eminently believable. And I can explain to ZZ that you gave me the tea to give to her—I can be very persuasive when I want to be. Haven’t you noticed? Caroline sure did.”

  I glared at him, but I couldn’t think of an epithet strong enough to call him. Then I did. “Gant, you stink worse than hippo dung. A whole pool of it.”

  And that’s when Tiny sprang.

  Gant shot him in the chest, which is exactly what Tiny was hoping for. Carfentanil, despite its powerful anesthetic properties, didn’t have much effect on ectoplasm.

  And tranquilizer pistols were only good for one shot.

  Bloodhounds, though, aren’t the most agile of creatures. Gant dodged backward, and Tiny’s lunge fell short. Gant turned and ran, back toward the house. Tiny and I chased him.

  Tango’s voice in my head, loud and urgent.

  Yes! Where are you?

 

  I didn’t bother looking. Gant darted to the left, heading toward the side of the house, with us in hot pursuit. Exactly what we were going to do when we caught him, I wasn’t sure.

  Around the side of the house. Down to the pool and past it.

  Through the gate, and into the graveyard.

  I halted at the threshold, Tiny skidding to a stop behind me. Tango shot past both of us, a black-and-white blur, calling out

  “Um,” I said.

  Now Tango had stopped, too, about twenty feet away. She looked back at us impatiently, and then she got it.

  A scaredy-cat, Tango definitely wasn’t. But whether she was right or not, I couldn’t let Gant get away. I took a deep breath, and sprinted into the graveyard.

  Gant was already out of sight, but I had a bloodhound with me. I just followed Tiny, who led me straight to the stand of oak trees around Davy’s Grave. I couldn’t see Gant—but then he stepped out from behind one of the trees. He was breathing hard, but he had the pistol out and aimed at me.

  “Thank you for giving me time to reload,” he panted. “That dog of yours is going to be dead in about a minute, you know. I can’t believe it’s still on its feet.”

  “He’s tougher than he looks.”

  “Then I won’t waste another dart on him. Next one goes straight into you.”

  I couldn’t see Tango, but I could hear her in my head.

  No! Tiny can take a dart full of carfentanil, but you can’t. And if you leap on him, the gun might fire and hit me anyway.

  “You know,” said Gant, his breathing slowing, “This is actually better. Less chance we’ll be disturbed. I’ll leave the gun, too, right beside the body of the dog.”

  Tiny, I think now would be a good time for the real you to make an appearance, don’t you?

  I can’t, Foxtrot. I’m not allowed to let anyone but you see me transform.

  Oh, crap. That made sense, actually.

  But Gant was ready now; if Tiny tried another lunge in his bloodhound form, Gant would shoot—and this time he’d hit me.

  But he wasn’t going to do anything right this minute. Gant’s grin was back, because he thought he was in control again. He couldn’t see what I could: the circle of ghost animals that was starting to form around us. Dogs, cats, birds, even shimmering goldfish swimming through the air; they all gathered around the Protector of the Graveyard to see what was going to happen.

  “You know, I really thought I’d planned this thing right to the hilt,” Gant said. “Using a drone to kill someone is hardly news—the army does it all the time—but training a monkey to do the job? That was such an unlikely scenario I thought no one would ever even consider it. But you did. Bravo.” He kept the gun trained on me and fished in his pocket with his other hand.

  “Thanks, but I had help.”

  “Is that supposed to scare me? Am I supposed to believe the cavalry is going to come riding in to save you?” He took out a small, plastic-wrapped pack, shook a cigarette halfway out, and put it up to his mouth.

  “No, not really.” I had brief visions of Ben appearing on the crest of the hill, striking a manly pose, then calling up a tornado to throw Gant into another time zone. Oh, and he had his shirt off—Ben, not Kenny.

  “No? I’m disappointed in you, Foxtrot.” He replaced the cigarette pack in his pocket and dug out a lighter. “You don’t have a lot of cards left to play. I figured you’d try to run a bluff, at the very least. It’s not like you have anything to lose.”

  “A bluff? On an old wheeler-dealer like you? You’d see right through it, Kenny. No, I thought I’d try something else.”

  He smiled around his cigarette, then lit it casually and pocketed the lighter. “Screaming for help, maybe? You could give it a try, but it’s guaranteed to get you shot.”

  “That’s true. Unless I’m screaming for help right now, and you can’t hear it.”

  He looked thoughtful. “Cell phone?”

  I shook my head. “No. Maybe I should have called someone before running after you like a damn fool, but I didn’t. I did yell—in fact, I’m yelling right now—but it’s not so much a scream for help as a cry for attention.”

  “You’re not making a lot of sense, Foxtrot.”

  I smiled. “That’s probably because I’m doing something a little crazy. I mean, deliberately trying to attract the ghost of a homicidal elephant by using the spiritual acoustics of a mystical nexus via a telepathic cat? That’s not exactly a rational solution.”

  Gant’s expression was getting more and more puzzled. Either I was trying to distract him with nonsense, or I was having some sort of breakdown. He kept the gun trained on me but began glancing around nervously.

  He didn’t see the hulking black form rise slowly on the crest of the hill behind him. He didn’t see the animal spirits part to let the giant, shadowy shape lumber through their midst. He didn’t see the electricity silently arcing and flashing from her chains as she shambled toward us. But I did, and I let it show on my face.

  “I’m not falling for that,” Gant said. “There’s nothing behind me, and I’m not taking my eyes off you.”

  “That’s fine,” I said softly. “Do me a favor, would you
? You’re standing upwind, and I really don’t want to die with your smoke in my eyes.”

  He made a magnanimous gesture, and stepped to the side. As he did so, a breeze caught the red ember of his cigarette and made it burn just a little bit brighter.

  Topsy was already angry. When she saw Gant’s cigarette, her anger flared into rage.

  I didn’t know what I was expecting. I didn’t even know for sure if Topsy could hurt anyone except me. But I did remember that detail about what set off her final rampage: when her drunken handler tried to feed her a lit cigarette.

  I gambled. Kenny lost.

  With a deafening bellow I think even Kenny heard, Topsy lowered her head and charged. She rammed one of her midnight-black tusks right through Gant’s chest, and tried to lift him off the ground with it.

  Gant’s eyes flew wide open. He rose a foot or so into the air, and then lightning exploded through his body. Sparks crackled from his eyes, his mouth, the ends of his fingers, while bolts of blue-white leapt in jagged arcs around his torso. I could smell burning hair and leather.

  Then Topsy lowered her head, and Gant slid off the tusk and onto the ground with a boneless thump. Wisps of smoke curled up from his body, but the tusk had left no visible wound.

  said Tango.

  Quiet. This is the tricky part …

  What had just happened to Gant was horrifying, but I couldn’t afford to show weakness right now. Topsy and I stared at each other. This was our third face-to-face meeting, and the previous two hadn’t gone well. But this time, I wasn’t running away and I wasn’t backing down.

  I took one step forward. Very carefully, I put my foot on the still-burning cigarette that lay where Gant had dropped it, and crushed it out.

  Tango—translate this. “We don’t have to be enemies. I’m not like him.” I pointed at Gant’s smoldering corpse. “You hate the little fire that people hold. I know. It burned you, and then later it burned down your home.”

  Topsy pawed the ground and trumpeted.