The Hound of the Sanibel Sunset Detective

by Ron Base

  “So then what was Vic doing in the Miami area?” Tree asked.

  “Supposedly, he was here to have open-heart surgery, but in fact it was something else entirely.”

  “Which was?”

  “In order to avoid going to jail for an art theft he committed as a young man, Vic Trinchera agreed to work with us as an informant. He came to Miami to make peace with Johnny Bravo and hopefully get himself reinstated in the family. That way he would be more valuable to us.”

  “That didn’t work out so well,” Tree said.

  “It is a big disappointment to me, and to the Force,” Melora said.

  “Well, I’m afraid there isn’t much I can do to help you,” Tree said. “I obviously wasn’t aware of any of this.”

  “And you have no idea why Mr. Trinchera would have need of a private detective—even a retired private detective?”

  “Not a clue,” Tree said.

  “What about your lawyer. What’s her name?”

  “Edith Goldman,” Tree said. Finally, a question he could answer truthfully.

  “Edith Goldman,” Melora repeated, as if to make a mental note of it. “And Ms. Goldman does not know why Mr. Trinchera wanted to see you?”

  “If she does, she didn’t tell me, and since the murder of Mr. Trinchera, I’ve only spoken briefly to her.”

  “She didn’t happen to say anything about a dog, did she?”

  “I can only repeat what I’ve already told you. I don’t know anything about a dog.”

  “You’re sure. This is Vic Trinchera’s dog.” Melora’s blue eyes focused on him, unblinking.

  “A dog you don’t like.”

  “That’s beside the point.”

  “I didn’t know he was a gangster, and I didn’t know he had a dog.” Tree thought the words came out of his mouth smoothly enough. During his time as a private detective, he had become quite a proficient liar, a dubious accomplishment, to say the least.

  “Yes, he did. Have a dog, I mean. Now the dog is missing.”

  “How do you know this?”

  “When I went back to get the dog—I mean I hated the idea. I don’t even like to touch them. Hate the sound of their barking. Anyway, when I arrived at the house, the dog wasn’t there.”

  “He called you, didn’t he?” Tree said. “I was there when he made the call. He called the police officer he was working with when he thought his life might be in danger. You picked him up.”

  Melora didn’t say anything. But her head moved up and down ever so slightly.

  “When you drove off with Trinchera, where did you take him?”

  She hesitated as though deciding whether to answer him. “To a safe place,” she finally answered.

  “It couldn’t have been very safe,” Tree said.

  “Unfortunately, Mr. Trinchera didn’t do as he was told. He put himself needlessly in harm’s way.”

  “That’s not so good for you, then, is it Sergeant Spark?”

  Her mouth renewed its twisting, as though she had tasted something she didn’t like. “It is most important we find the dog, Mr. Callister. Anything you could do to help us in that regard would be most appreciated.”

  “What does the dog look like?”

  “The animal is a French hound.”

  “I’ve never heard of a French hound.”

  “Apparently, these hounds are the French equivalent of the English foxhound. They use them for hunting.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Clinton. That’s the name he answers to. Clinton.”

  “A French dog named Clinton?”

  “Named after the U.S. president, apparently.”

  “What’s so important about this dog?”

  She regarded him with narrowed eyes. “I’m afraid I can’t tell you that. But there is a substantial reward if he is found.”

  “What kind of substantial reward?”

  “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I will have to check with my superiors.”

  “So it might not be so substantial.”

  “As I say, I will check with my superiors.”

  She placed a business card on the table. It contained the logo of the RCMP. She produced a ballpoint pen and then wrote a number on the back of the card. “This is my local cellphone. If you have more information or if you find the dog, don’t hesitate to call me at any time.”

  She handed him her card and looked at him expectantly.

  Tree said, “Like I told you, I’m retired. And now my prospective client is dead. I don’t think I’m going to be much help to you.”

  For the first time since they met, Sergeant Melora Spark actually smiled. She had a very nice smile, Tree thought. With the smile on, she did not look so rigid and authoritarian.

  The smile was gone quickly as she rose to her feet. “Please call me when you find the dog,” she said.

  “I’m not looking for the dog,” Tree reminded her.

  “I will be in touch, Mr. Callister.” She collected her shoulder purse and left the restaurant.

  Kim the server returned with Tree’s grouper. Her smile was a bright hope for the future. “Can I get you anything else?” she asked.

  8

  A mournful howl rose from inside the house on Andy Rosse Lane as Tree approached. Clinton, agitated, was alerting anyone looking for him as to his whereabouts.

  He waited just inside the door, full-throttle tail wagging, one of Tree’s sneakers clasped between his jaws—a gift for his new pal, the forgiveness for desertion. Tree took the sneaker and thanked him with a soothing hand. “However, you’re supposed to be quiet so people can’t find you,” he admonished. “You are not supposed to be announcing your presence to the entire island.”

  Clinton excitedly followed him into the kitchen. The dog had not touched his water or his food since Tree left. “What? You think I’m going to abandon you, is that it? So you’re saving your food, just in case. Is that what you’re doing?”

  Tree opened the refrigerator for a Diet Coke while Clinton went over and sniffed at his food. He then helped himself to a long drink. The tips of his ears dipped into the water bowl.

  “Here’s the thing, Clinton, you don’t have to worry,” Tree said, leaning against the counter. “No one’s going to desert you.”

  Seemingly satisfied with this reassurance, Clinton began to wolf down his kibble. Tree watched him, shaking his head. “But what is it about you? First your owner is anxious to give you to me. Next my lawyer wants to know where you are, and now the Canadian police are after you. What kind of dog are you, anyway?”

  Tree stroked Clinton’s head. Clinton looked up briefly at Tree with those big baleful eyes, and then returned to his food. Tree’s cellphone rang. It was Rex Baxter.

  “I just wanted to make sure you’re at Fun Friday,” Rex said.

  “I told you I was going to be there,” Tree said.

  “I know what you told me,” Rex said, irritably. “I just want to make sure you do it, that’s all.”

  “It’s important to you, so I’ll be there.”

  “Maybe I just miss you, and I call you because I long to hear the dulcet tones of your voice.”

  “That could be it all right,” Tree said.

  “I’ll see you in a while,” Rex said, hanging up.

  After Clinton finished eating, Tree took him along Andy Rosse, the hound relieving himself and marking his territory at intervals. The beach was crowded this afternoon, so Tree kept the dog on his leash. Clinton turned out to be quite the celebrity, everyone coming up and admiring this unusual dog. He’s a French hound, Tree explained in response to the questions, reciting what he had discovered online. They are known as Porcelaines, the French version of the English foxhound seen in those old hunting prints.

  This explanation, repeated over and over, appeared to satisfy most of Clinton’s admirers, particularly children. Clinton took all this attention in stride. He permitted a little girl to play with his ears, and he waited patiently while a little boy decided
whether or not he had the courage to touch his nose—patience paid off. He finally worked up the nerve, and, as he petted the dog, his face glowed with pleasure.

  Tree found that he was enjoying himself, strolling along the beach beneath a late afternoon sun with this four-legged creature who overnight had become a fixture in his life. A couple of days ago, he would not even have thought of a dog. Now, he had to admit to himself, he was having trouble imagining life without one.

  Back at the house, Tree changed into a pair of long pants, put on a fresh shirt, made sure Clinton had water in his bowl, and collected his keys. Clinton stood glumly watching him. When Tree opened the door, the dog tried to scramble out. Tree had to grab him by the collar. “No, boy, you stay here, okay? I’m going to be only an hour or so, and then I’ll be back, and we’ll go for another walk.”

  As Tree got into his car, he could hear Clinton howl from inside. He worried all over again that if someone was looking for the dog, Clinton was doing a good job of providing his whereabouts. By the time Tree started the Beetle up, however, Clinton had gone silent. Relieved, Tree backed the car onto Andy Rosse Lane and threaded his way down Captiva, across Blind Pass onto Sanibel Island where the traffic became congested. Even taking the back way along West Gulf Drive didn’t save him much time. It was nearing six o’clock by the time he got off the crowded causeway and turned onto Port Comfort Road. The Lighthouse Restaurant parking lot at this time of night was nearly full, but he finally found a spot at the end, near the marina.

  The two young women behind the reception desk greeted him with smiles that gave him hope. He went into the crowded bar. He couldn’t see any sign of Freddie, but Todd Jackson, elegantly turned out as always, stood at the bar beside Rex Baxter who, for the moment, had his back to Tree. When he turned, Tree could see that Rex had his arm around an attractive woman. He recognized her with a start.

  Kelly Fleming.

  Anyone from Chicago would have recognized her. At one time she was the Windy City’s best-known newscaster.

  She was also Tree Callister’s second wife.

  9

  Kelly produced one of her glittering smiles as he approached the bar. Kelly specialized in those smiles, her stock in trade back in the day: the smile, the charm, Kelly lighting up every room she entered, her audience immediately in the palm of her hand.

  As a broadcaster, you could debate her merits, but as a charmer, Kelly Fleming had no equal. That’s what had brought Tree down. He stood no chance against her full court press. However, as soon as the conquest was final, Tree swearing for once to be a good husband or at least a better husband, the thrill of victory soon faded. Kelly grew bored and was off in search of other rooms to light up. Tree was left in darkness; single again.

  She looked great in a white skirt and fuchsia-colored knit top, he thought as he embraced her. Face a little rounder, figure slightly fuller, but Kelly still; the hair, the makeup, the jewelry, the familiar scent of Guerlain—everything pretty much unchanged.

  “How have you been, Tree?” Kelly said, embracing him warmly, as if he were her best friend in the world. But then everyone was Kelly’s best friend in the world.

  Until you weren’t.

  “I’m fine, Kelly. How about you?”

  “Didn’t you hear?”

  “Hear what?”

  “I’ve been downsized, of course,” she said brightly. Personal adversity had to be promptly admitted to, accompanied by assurance that the essential Kelly was unbowed.

  “They had me anchoring news at four. Ratings were great, everyone was happy—I knew I was doomed. Sure enough. Out on the street. Age, I assume. But what can you do, Tree? It’s television. It’s not if they cancel you, it’s when they cancel you. What about you? Rex tells me you’ve upset everybody on Sanibel Island with this private detective business.”

  “I’m retired.” Tree said it like an announcement.

  Kelly looked surprised. “Retired? How can you retire?”

  “People keep shooting him,” Rex said. Until now, he had been silent, although that was hardly an unusual state for the men in Kelly’s life. When Kelly was present, she held court, all eyes focused on her.

  Still, Tree thought Rex uncharacteristically tense; but then it wasn’t every day you showed up with your best friend’s ex-wife. Maybe that had something to do with it.

  “When you were a reporter in Chicago, I marveled that more people didn’t shoot you, Tree,” Kelly said with a grin. “Could be your past is finally catching up to you.”

  “In more ways than one,” Tree couldn’t help but note.

  Kelly arched her eyebrows, the only indication that she had caught the irony. Freddie chose that moment to make her entrance, also no shrinking violet in the perfection department, Tree mused as he went to greet her. If there was ever a day Tree wanted Freddie to look wonderful, this was it. She did not disappoint. What’s more, she could easily match Kelly’s smile dazzle for dazzle.

  “I’ve heard so much about you,” Kelly said when they were introduced.

  “Isn’t that funny?” Freddie said. “I’ve heard almost nothing about you, Kelly. Tree doesn’t talk much about his ex-wives.”

  “There are so many of them, he hardly knows where to begin,” Kelly said.

  Tree caught Roberto the bartender’s eye and ordered Freddie a glass of chardonnay. Rex was watching him as though not certain what to make of all this. What was he expecting? Tree throwing punches? Not tonight, he decided, handing Freddie her wine. “What about you, Kelly? Would you like something?”

  “No, I think I’m fine, thanks, Tree,” Kelly said. “I didn’t get in from Chicago until late this afternoon after we sat on the runway for an hour. So I’m kind of beat.” She looked at Rex. “What do you say, Rex? Are you ready to get out of here?”

  “Yes,” Rex said quickly. His relief was almost palpable. He wanted this encounter, but then seemingly did not want it at all.

  Tree put his hand on his friend’s arm and said, “How are your contacts in Miami television these days?”

  Rex looked at him. “Pretty good. Why do you ask?”

  “Earlier today on WBBH they interviewed a Canadian writer named James Devereaux. I’d like to get in touch with him.”

  “Did you try Googling him?”

  “First thing I did. But there’s no phone for him. I’m hoping you might know somebody at the station who can get me his number.”

  “Let me see what I can do,” Rex said.

  “I appreciate that, Rex. Thanks.”

  “Although I’m not sure what that has to do with you being retired.”

  Freddie said to Kelly, “How long are you going to be here?”

  “I’m never letting her go,” Rex said. He said it with more vehemence than he probably intended.

  Freddie broke the ensuing awkward silence, saying, “Well, that settles that, doesn’t it?”

  ________

  Clinton was waiting at the door when Tree and Freddie arrived home. He presented them with one of the high-heeled shoes Freddie could no longer wear because of the arthritis in her big toe.

  “Dries Van Noten,” Freddie observed, carefully removing the shoe from Clinton’s jaws. “You have fine taste, Clinton, I’ll give you that.”

  They attached Clinton’s leash and walked him along Andy Rosse Lane toward Captiva Drive. Friday night, the street was jammed with tourists swarming in and out of the shops, filling the restaurants. Tree told Freddie about his lunch with Melora Spark of the Mounties.

  When Clinton paused to relieve himself, Freddie said, “So how are you feeling?”

  “About Melora Spark?”

  “About your ex-wife with your best friend.”

  “I don’t have a problem with it,” Tree said.

  “Tree, come on.”

  “Okay, I admit, it is a little weird. Rex introduced me to Kelly—and Rex warned me not to marry her.”

  “Why didn’t he want you to marry her?”

  “He said she was
wonderful, but fickle, like most television personalities, as far as he was concerned. That what she wanted today was probably not what she would want tomorrow. He said he was giving it three years.”

  “Was he right?”

  “No, he was absolutely wrong. I only lasted two years.”

  “You never really told me what happened.”

  Clinton started up again, tugging Tree along behind him. “It was a long time ago,” Tree said. “She said there wasn’t another man involved. But then it turned out there was.”

  “How did you find that out?”

  “Rex told me.”

  “That she was having an affair.”

  “I knew she’d had an affair,” Tree said. “It was Rex who told me she was still having an affair.”

  “And you don’t feel bitter about any of this?”

  “No, I don’t. Things had to unfold a certain way. I couldn’t possibly have stayed married to Kelly because I had to end up married to you. That was my destiny. So you see, everything happened just as it should have. If anything, I’m grateful to Kelly and Rex, because they brought me to you.”

  She took his arm and hugged against him as they walked. “You are something of a charmer, aren’t you Walter Tremain Callister.”

  “I’m only reporting the facts as I see them—and don’t call me Walter.”

  “Are you going to say anything to Rex?”

  “I’m not sure what I would say,” Tree said.

  “Maybe you should warn him to stay away from Kelly,” Freddie said. “Maybe she’ll break his heart, the way she broke yours.”

  “She didn’t break my heart,” he protested.

  Freddie gave him a look.

  “Rex is a big boy. He knew Kelly before I did. And besides, all this was a long time ago. Hopefully, we’ve all learned a few things about relationships since then.”

  “Kelly, too?”

  “You can live in hope,” Tree said.

  10

  Not that he thought about Kelly much anymore, but when he did, he always remembered their third date, a Saturday night party. That would be it. He had decided he was not going to see her again.