Bark M for Murder

by An Anthology

  Gennie sighed. “To see the wicked witch of the west,” she said.

  “I beg your pardon?” Maddy asked.

  “That’s what I call my trust officer,” Gennie sighed. “Her name is Myra Lansing. Joe set up this complicated trust thing before he died. All the bills get sent directly to Myra at the Olympic National Trust Company downtown. She pays the bills automatically and gives me a generous spending allowance for other things as well, but if I want anything beyond that, I have to go in and talk to her. That’s the other reason I wanted you along today, Maddy. You’re much more experienced with business matters than I am. I thought you could help me with this. You know, talk to Myra; explain to her why I need to do this for Jamil.”

  Maddy had never been particularly close to Joe Gaylord nor had he struck her as being an intellectual heavyweight, but in that moment she said a small prayer of gratitude for the man’s incredible wisdom and foresight. If only Maddy had known there was a sharp-eyed trust officer somewhere standing guard over Gennie’s money. Had Maddy been armed with that smidgeon of knowledge, it wouldn’t have been necessary for her to worry, to say nothing of putting herself in mortal danger.

  “I’ll do whatever I can,” she told Gennie. “Now give me the address.”

  The Olympic National Trust building was a low-rise former bank at the far north end of 4th Avenue in Seattle’s Denny Regrade neighborhood. The building looked solid but not at all ostentatious. After parking on the street and plugging the meter, Maddy followed her sister inside.

  No wonder Joe decided to do business with these people, Maddy thought, looking around the spare but modern office. They’re not into squandering their clients’ dollars on interior design.

  A very businesslike receptionist greeted Maddy and Gennie as soon as they entered the lobby. “I’m sorry,” she explained. “Ms. Lansing got caught up in a complicated telephone meeting. She asked me to show you into the conference room. Can I get you some coffee while you wait?”

  “Sure,” Maddy said, following Gennie into a window-lined room to the left of the receptionist’s desk. “But first… I’ve had a long drive. Do you have a little girl’s room?”

  The receptionist smiled. “Right this way,” she said. “It’s down that hallway.”

  Maddy went where directed. Once safely ensconced inside the stall, she scrounged a scrap of paper and a pen out of her purse and scribbled a note: “I think this guy is trouble,” it said. “Don’t give her the money.” After signing her name, Maddy folded the paper and stuffed it in her pocket.

  On her way back to the conference room, Maddy stopped in front of the receptionist’s desk and slid her note surreptitiously onto the shiny desk’s otherwise clutter-free surface. “Please see to it that Ms. Lansing reads this before she comes in to speak to my sister,” Maddy urged. “It’s very important.”

  The receptionist scanned the note and then nodded. “I’ll be sure she gets it.”

  “Good,” Maddy said.

  “What was that all about?” Gennie asked when Maddy arrived in the conference room. “I saw you talking to the receptionist.”

  “The restroom is out of toilet paper,” Maddy said seamlessly. “I thought she’d want to know.”

  Lying was becoming easier and easier.

  When Myra Lansing marched into the conference room, Maddy took one look at the tall, uncompromising figure the woman cut and breathed a sigh of relief. Myra was about Maddy’s age or maybe a bit older. Her iron gray hair was pulled back in a no-nonsense bun from which no stray hair dared escape. She wore a brown suit with matching lace-up pumps—sensible shoes that went far beyond sensible. Myra Lansing could have been a librarian—straight out of the nineteen fifties. And like librarians from way back then, she didn’t look like she allowed much to get past her. The contrast between her staid good looks and Gennie’s pathetic striving for a youthful appearance couldn’t have been more pronounced.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Gaylord,” Myra said cordially to Gennie. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  “This my sister, Maddy Watkins,” Gennie said, gesturing vaguely in Maddy’s direction. “And this is Myra Lansing.”

  Myra reached out and took Maddy’s hand. “I’m pleased to meet you,” she said gravely. “I’m always glad to meet my clients’ family members. It makes me feel closer to them. Is that Miss or Mrs. Watkins?”

  Good, Maddy thought. None of that silly Ms. stuff here.

  “Mrs.,” she said. “Thank you for asking.”

  Myra took a seat, gracefully smoothing her wool gabardine skirt in the process. “Now, Mrs. Gaylord. Is there a problem?”

  Gennie gulped like a kid caught doing something wrong at school. “I need some money,” she said.

  “Of course,” Myra agreed pleasantly. “How much? Where? When? For what purpose?”

  Gennie took a deep breath. “Twenty thousand dollars,” she answered. “In cash. And I need it today.”

  Myra didn’t bat an eyelash. “And the purpose?” she asked.

  “Well,” Gennie began. “It’s for a friend of mine. He’s in a difficult situation, and I wanted to help him out. You tell her, Maddy. You’re far better at this than I am.”

  We’ll see, Maddy thought. Did Myra read my note or did she even get it?

  “Gennie’s friend, a young man from Saudi Arabia, is in something of a crisis,” Maddy began. “It seems his mother-in-law is desperately ill. He needs to fly home immediately with his pregnant wife and child, but due to the fact that they’re going at the last minute, the prices are sky high.”

  “So is it your intention to lend this man… ?” Myra paused, picked up one of the yellow pads that had been lying in the middle of the conference table, and retrieved a pen from her pocket. “What did you say his name is again?” she added.

  “Jamil,” Gennie answered. “Jamil bin Mahmoud.”

  “So is it your intention to lend Mr. Mahmoud the funds necessary to make his flight arrangements?”

  “That’s right,” Gennie said eagerly. “And they hope to leave this evening. That’s why it’s so important that we do this in a hurry.”

  “Haste makes waste,” Myra replied with a smile. Maddy wanted to reach across the table and hug her.

  “What kind of security is he offering?”

  “Security?” Gennie asked.

  “If he’s going outside the country, he needs to leave you some kind of security, preferably physical property of some kind, so that, in the event of a default, you’ll have recourse—some way of getting your money back.”

  “Default?” Gennie repeated. “Jamil isn’t going to default. He promised he’ll send me the money as soon as he get to Saudi. That’s where his assets are.”

  “I see,” Myra returned. “How old did you say Mr. Mahmoud is?”

  “I didn’t,” Gennie said irritably. “He’s twenty-nine.”

  “And does he own any real estate here in Seattle? If we could put a lien against a home or a condo, I’m sure this wouldn’t be all that difficult.”

  “I don’t know,” Gennie answered.

  One of Myra Lansing’s eyebrows rose until it almost touched her hairline. “You don’t know?” she asked. “If you’re willing to lend him this much money, you must have some idea about his living arrangements. Does Mr. Mahmoud have a job?”

  “He drives a cab.”

  “I see,” Myra said.

  And Maddy was sure she did see.

  “Well?” Gennie urged.

  Myra held her pen to her lips. “Well,” she said. “Here’s the best I can do. He’ll have to come in to the office here and sign papers. Since he’ll need to put up some kind of property against this loan, he should bring along the title to whatever that is. Once the papers are signed and in order, I’ll have to give him a cashier’s check. We don’t keep that kind of cash here in the office, but if it’s made out in his name, he shouldn’t have any difficulty cashing it.”

  “This is outrageous!” Gennie objected. “We’ll never
be able to get all this done in time for him to leave today.”

  Myra shrugged. “Then he’ll have to make arrangements to leave tomorrow or the next day. I’m a trust officer,” she added. “There are certain procedures I’m obliged to follow.”

  “This isn’t fair!” Gennie exclaimed. “After all, it’s my money, isn’t it?”

  Myra nodded. “And we’re required by law and by the guidelines set up in your late husband’s trust documents to preserve your funds to the best of our ability.”

  “You won’t give it to me?”

  “I told you the conditions under which the funds will be made available,” Myra said firmly. “If Mr. Mahmoud wants to make this trip as badly as you say, I’m sure he’ll be more than happy to comply.”

  Without another word, Gennie stood up and stalked from the room. Behind her back, Myra gave Maddy a wink and a nod. She’d read Maddy’s note, all right. And she’d also understood the message. Wicked witch of the west? Myra Lansing wasn’t that, not by a long shot.

  Out on the street, Maddy found a furious Gennie pacing back and forth. “What am I going to do?” she demanded when Maddy joined her on the sidewalk.

  “I don’t have any idea,” Maddy answered, and that was the God’s truth.

  “I’m going to have to go tell Jamil that I don’t have the money,” Gennie said. “And here, I already as good as promised.” Then she turned to Maddy with a sudden hopefulness on her face. “What about you, Maddy? Could you lend him the money? I know for sure he’ll pay it back.”

  “That makes no sense,” Maddy said. “I don’t even know the man.”

  That wasn’t true, of course. She had a very clear picture of Jamil bin Mahmoud, a none too flattering one of him carrying a tire iron and holding it aloft in a very threatening manner. “If your own trust officer won’t give him money that’s really your money,” Maddy added, “I don’t see why I should give him any of mine.”

  Gennie sighed, giving up. “I suppose you’re right,” she said. “But I do have to go tell him. I can’t just leave him hanging like this. I have to let him know so he can make some other arrangements. Let’s go. I’ll tell you how to get to his house.”

  Maddy’s heart fell. The last thing she wanted was to be anywhere in close proximity to Jamil bin Mahmoud—especially without her Glock in hand.

  While Gennie stood waiting with her hand on the door handle, Maddy fumbled with the car keys. Suddenly her fingers seemed too stiff to operate the simple entry clicker.

  “Which way?” she asked, once she finally managed to unlock the door and get inside the car.

  “He and his family live in a small apartment down in the Rainier Valley,” Gennie said. “I’ve never been inside, of course, but I was curious, so I took a cab and drove by once.”

  “His family” my aching pattootie! Maddy thought. And I already knew he lived in the Rainier Valley.

  As she followed Gennie’s directions, Maddy’s heart thumped in her chest. Once Jamil saw her, the jig would be up and no telling what would happen next. Whatever it was, it wouldn’t be good.

  “There,” Gennie said, pointing to an apartment building that sat half a block off Martin Luther King Jr. Way. Only the roof line was visible behind a thriving Seven Eleven and a decrepit abandoned gas station. “It’s that one right there.”

  “I’ll tell you what,” Maddy said. “I’m sure Jamil has a certain amount of pride. Having to ask you for money must have been terribly humiliating for him. How about if I wait here in the parking lot? That way, when you tell him, you’ll both have some privacy.”

  Gennie’s eyes filled with tears of gratitude as she reached out to take her sister’s hand. “That’s what so wonderful about you, Maddy,” she said. “You’re the most thoughtful person in the world.”

  Gennie hurried out of the car and started in the direction of the apartment building, disappearing behind the side of the dead gas station. Maddy, expecting to be struck by lightning at least, remained behind the wheel of the Taurus. Soon she was overcome by something that felt very much like a hot flash, although she hadn’t had one of those in at least ten years.

  Hoping for relief, Maddy rolled down the windows. No sooner were the windows open than Aggie and Daphne, tongues lolling, stuck their head out. Lost in thought, Maddy paid no attention to the car that pulled in and stopped next to hers-not until someone came up beside her and rapped sharply on the roof of her car.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” Detective Mort Caudill demanded.

  By the time Maddy turned to look, Aggie and Daphne were greeting the man as though he were a long-lost friend.

  “I’ve got Emergency Response Team guys all over the place. What are you trying to do, screw it up?”

  “Emergency Response Team?” Maddy managed. “Why?”

  “Early this morning, the latent fingerprint people ran the prints off that tire iron and got a hit. It turns out your friend Jamil is a suspected killer,” Caudill answered grimly. “Thought to be armed and dangerous.”

  “Oh, my!” Maddy exclaimed. The realization that Jamil really might have killed her sent a swarm of gooseflesh shooting down her legs.

  “We figure he’s not going to give up without a fight,” Caudill added. “We’ve spent the last hour evacuating the other residents from the apartment building, but it turns out there’s a glitch in our arrest warrant. We’re waiting on that to close down all streets within a three-block radius. Now get the hell out of here and let us do our job.”

  “But my sister,” Maddy objected.

  “Your sister? What about your sister?”

  “Her name’s Gennie, Genevieve Gaylord. I just dropped her off. She came to tell Jamil that she’s not going to be able to lend him any money. He’s trying to leave the country. He told her he needed help with the plane fare.”

  “Shit!” Caudill muttered. He turned and sprinted off, disappearing from sight just as Gennie had.

  No matter the provocation, Maddy had never uttered that word aloud in her life. She usually protested vigorously when other people dared use it in her presence. This time, however, considering the direness of the situation, the term seemed entirely appropriate.

  Naturally Maddy should have stayed where she was, safe and out of danger, but not with Gennie’s life hanging in the balance.

  “Come on, girls,” she said to the dogs, grabbing their leashes. “Let’s go.”

  Desperate to see what Caudill was going to do, Maddy chased after him. Intrigued by this sudden change in circumstances, the dogs darted ahead, dragging Maddy along faster than she could have managed under her own steam. When she rounded the corner of the gas station, she pulled the dogs up short.

  Trying to stay out of sight, Maddy stationed herself between a reeking, almost overflowing Dumpster behind the convenience store and the bedraggled laurel hedge that lined the edge of the apartment building’s pothole marred parking lot. The building itself was one of those modern complexes where the bottom level is half a flight of stairs down and the second level is half a flight up.

  Nowhere was there any sign of life. If Detective Caudill had come this way, it looked as though the earth itself must have opened up and swallowed him.

  Just then two people—a man and a woman— emerged from one of the lower-level apartments. The woman wore a very short skirt, and she walked funny. It looked as though the man was holding on to her, hugging her close to him with one arm around her midsection while, at the same time, pushing her forward. Then the sun glinted off something metallic and Maddy realized he was holding a gun to Gennie’s head.

  “Oh, my God!” Maddy exclaimed. “He’s using her as a human shield. What are we going to do?”

  She looked around desperately, searching for the sharpshooters Detective Caudill had told her were there, but they were nowhere in sight. There was no sign of them—no sign of anyone. The place seemed completely deserted, and Jamil and Gennie were coming straight across the parking lot toward where Maddy and the dogs sto
od. That meant Gennie must have told him where the car was.

  Needing a weapon, Maddy wondered briefly if there was a tire iron hiding somewhere in the trunk of the Taurus. But these days all those necessary pieces of equipment were usually stowed away in some cute little kit. One of those would take forever to find and open. There wasn’t enough time. She looked around desperately for a rock or a brick. Seeing nothing, she turned instead to the stinking Dumpster, grateful that this one wasn’t on an early-morning pick-up schedule.

  Pulling the dogs with her, she dragged them behind the Dumpster.

  “Sit!” she commanded. “Sit and stay!”

  Once the dogs did as they were told, Maddy dropped their leashes. It took more effort than she expected to raise the heavy lid and hold it aloft. Inside, however, she found exactly what she needed— an empty gallon jug of Vino Blanco. Fortunately for her the heavy glass bottle was well within reach. Plucking the bottle from the reeking refuse, Maddy decided to worry about germs later.