Collared: A Gin & Tonic Mystery

by L. A. Kornetsky

Focused on her new search parameters, she picked up without thinking when her cell phone rang, answering automatically. “Mallard Professional Concierge Services. We Do What You Can’t. How can we help you today?”

  Most people paused before responding to that, as though catching their breath. There was no such hesitation on the other end of the line, however.

  “Ms. Mallard.”

  Her heart stuttered, then started again when the voice enquired as to her rates. Not DubJay. Not some mysterious other figure. Not . . . she didn’t know what she’d feared.

  Tonica appeared in the doorway, clearly drawn by the sound of the phone. She rattled off her introductory spiel, and asked as to the nature of his problem.

  “Oh. Ah . . . no, I’m afraid our service does not cover that.” She looked up at Teddy, her eyes round with a combination of horror and amusement. “No. Ah, no, thank you. Yes, good-bye.”

  She couldn’t click the call closed fast enough, but her hands were trembling, and when she put the phone down on her desk her head followed, resting face down on the surface while her shoulders trembled from effort.

  “Ginny?”

  “He wanted . . .” Her words were muffled by the desk, so she lifted her head enough that the words came out more clearly. “He wanted a surrogate.”

  “A surrogate?” He didn’t get it. She patted her belly, unable to actually say it out loud.

  “Surrog— Oh.” He got it.

  She lifted her head all the way, and they stared at each other with that same mix of horrified amusement, until she couldn’t take it any longer and the laughter exploded out of her, a helpless, hiccuping noise.

  It wasn’t that funny, really. But she couldn’t stop.

  Finally it ran down, and she leaned back in the chair and looked at Tonica, who was still leaning in the doorway, his arms crossed, a little smirk on his face. “Feel better?”

  Yeah. She did.

  “I’ve finished cleaning the main room and the bathroom—I didn’t want to go into the bedroom without permission.” He blushed a little, just the tips of his ears, like a little kid. “But other than the papers, it’s set. You’re going to have to upholster the sofa, though. Or just get a new one.”

  “Yeah. If we actually get paid for this . . . or maybe we should offer to sell the papers to the competition, too, and see how much we can make.” She indicated the screen. “I’m looking up potentials.”

  “Are you seriously suggesting . . . no. You’re not.”

  She sighed. “No, not seriously. Any of these three would benefit from Jacobs going down, but it could just as easily be someone from out of state, or . . . anyone.” She hit the PRINT button, and the printer rumbled to life. “We can’t do a damn thing about them, anyway, other than finish the case and make them not our problem anymore. I just want to know names, in case they approach us again.”

  Approach: such a nice word. Much nicer than threaten or assault.

  Tonica seemed to find her logic reasonable. “So. You think DubJay’s awake yet?”

  “Yeah.” She was sure he’d been awake at least as long as they’d been; he had never struck her as being the kind to sleep in.

  Tonica clearly sensed her hesitation—well, it wasn’t as though she’d been hiding it. “Soonest done . . .”

  “Don’t patronize me, Tonica, or I’ll make you call.”

  “He didn’t hire me.”

  “Right.” Usually she appreciated reasonable people and reasonable arguments. From him, it just irked her.

  “He’s not going to suddenly read your mind.”

  “All right, I said.” She glared at him, and muttered something Tonica politely pretended not to hear. “Fine. All right.” It wasn’t like it was her mother. She could manage this.

  Ginny picked up the phone and dialed the number on the business card taped to her desk.

  A ring. Second ring. A third ring, and then the almost unnoticeable pause-click that meant she was being transferred.

  “This is Walter Jacobs. Please leave a message and I will return your call as soon as I am able.” Calm, smooth, reassuring. The perfect phone voice. She opened her mouth to leave a message, as requested, and then pressed END instead.

  “He’s not picking up. And I . . . whatever I say to him, I don’t want to give him time to practice his response.”

  “Ginny.”

  “It’s not avoidance. It’s practical. And since, as you so often point out, I’m terrible at reading people, especially someone as smooth as Wally . . . shouldn’t I try for every possible advantage?”

  He studied her, or the wall behind her, she couldn’t tell. But he didn’t call her on it. “All right. Point taken. Look, if we can’t talk to him, and we’re still waiting on my contact’s friend, I think we should go back and talk to Joe again.”

  “Weren’t you the one last night saying to leave it alone, not go back there?”

  “Yeah. I don’t know why, but . . .” He was clearly expecting her to argue with him, to bring up the fact that the original plan had been to not go anywhere near Joe’s hotel again, that doing so might lead people directly to him, but it seemed unreal, now, that anyone would attack them in a high-end hotel. And maybe they could convince Joe, after what happened yesterday, that he needed to go to the authorities. If Tonica’s contact didn’t come through, that was the only way he could be safe.

  “Let me get Georgie’s supplies.”

  “We’re not bringing the dog again,” he started to protest, but Georgie, as though understanding the conversation, had already gotten up to stand by the door. She turned and looked back at the humans, and her body language clearly said, “I’m ready for guard duty. Let’s go.”

  Ginny stood her ground, hands on her hips and a stubborn expression on her face. “You know she’s a sweetie, and I know she’s a sweetie, but people who don’t know the breed look at her and think ‘scary.’ So far the attempts to back us off have been—mostly—nonviolent. But you got threatened, and my place got tossed, and I don’t know about you, but I’m woman enough to admit that I’m scared. Unless you have a concealed carry permit you haven’t told me about?”

  “I can handle myself in a fight.”

  “With Georgie, we might be able to avoid a fight. Isn’t that the point?” She was a little surprised at the sudden streak of macho coming to the fore, but she supposed—she didn’t really know him all that well before. She thought she had, but . . .

  When she’d thought of Teddy Tonica, she’d seen a bartender who happened to be well-read, with a good eye for people. She wouldn’t have expected him to pick up a Morons book so he could do things right, or to live in an apartment that was both spartan and tastefully monied, or to have contacts . . . well, no. She had expected him to have contacts who might be able to do things, but she’d thought they’d be more on the seedy side.

  “All right,” he said, “the dog comes. But I need to stop by Mary’s to . . . pick up something.”

  That something turned out to be a classic sawed-off shotgun, which he took out from under the bar.

  “Jesus. You really do have a carry permit? Is that thing legal?”

  “I’ve worked in places a lot rougher than Mary’s. Some habits, you learn them hard and never let go.”

  “Where did you go to college?” She’d never thought to ask, never even assumed he’d gone to college, but she was learning to reconsider a lot of things now.

  He laughed, a short bark, as he put the rifle down on the counter, and reached below for the box of ammo. “Yale.”

  “Yale.” Her echo was barely audible.

  “Class of ninety-four. Political science. Solid B average, but no real ambition to do anything with it.”

  The woman’s voice reciting his CV was cool, and unexpected. Mary’s was still closed—Tonica had made Ginny wait a few steps behind while he disconnected the alarm system and keyed open the door—and they’d closed the door behind them when they came in.

  She had come in anyway. Tall—sh
e looked Tonica straight in the eye, so at least five feet eight—with sleek black hair Ginny immediately envied, and skin that looked sallow in the badly lit interior of the bar. She was dressed in dark slacks and a button-down shirt that could have been either business casual or casual dressy; she didn’t look like either a would-be thief or anyone’s flunky. The badge she offered for inspection with her right hand confirmed that assessment.

  “Elizabeth Asuri.”

  Tonica reached over and turned on another light, so they could see the newcomer better. She blinked, but didn’t otherwise react, just stood there with the badge in her outstretched hand, watching them patiently.

  Ginny took the offered badge for inspection, but since she’d never actually seen a government ID before, she had no way of telling if it was fake or not. That was something they made look so easy on TV—but really, who saw federal IDs on a regular basis? Was there a class you could take, to identify what all the initials and seals meant? If so, she was definitely taking it.

  She handed the badge to Teddy, who only glanced at it before handing it back to Asuri.

  “Wasn’t expecting the Feds,” he said. “To what do we owe this honor?”

  “A mutual friend called me last night.” Asuri talked directly to Teddy, which pissed Ginny off more than a little, but there was no way in hell she was going to interrupt. The woman, who looked to be in her fifties in better light, unnerved Ginny, although she couldn’t have said why.

  Tonica didn’t seem to have any such hesitation, although he didn’t seem too trusting, either. “I thought she was going to call—”

  “She did, and was given my name as someone who might find your situation of interest. I did. I would like to speak with Mr. Jacobs, please.”

  “Junior or Senior?”

  Ginny thought Asuri almost but not quite cracked an expression before stuffing it back under federal reserve. “Senior. For now.”

  Georgie was almost beside herself. She was supposed to go with them. That was her job, Penny had said, to protect the humans, her humans. But they’d gone off in someone else’s car, someone whose smell she didn’t know, whose voice was unfamiliar, and they’d left her here, locked up! What was she going to do? Where was Penny? Penny always knew what to do.

  Awash in misery, Georgie let out a low, pained yowl, packing all of her confusion and unhappiness into the sound. It echoed throughout the bar, and gave no comfort at all, because nobody came to see what the matter was.

  How could Ginny do this to her? Didn’t she understand Georgie had a job to do?

  Settling into an unhappy curl, Georgie let her nose rest on the floor, trying to pick up the faint trace of Penny in the place, and did the only thing she could do. She went to sleep.

  13

  Asuri had a car that screamed government issue. She also had a thing against letting dogs in the car. Ginny had balked at first, but when the agent had indicated an utter willingness to leave her there with Georgie, she relented. This had been her job first; she wasn’t just going to turn it over to a stranger because the woman waved a badge around.

  Asuri had, at first, simply wanted the address where Joe was staying; either one of them coming hadn’t been on the table.

  “He knows us, he trusts us. And we told him not to let anyone else in, no matter who they said they were.” Ginny had planted her feet and crossed her arms, projecting as much reasonable stubbornness as she could. “Without us to vouch for you, he won’t say a word.”

  “And he trusts you—even though you work for his nephew?” But Asuri had sighed and given in, clearly not wanting to waste the time arguing. “Fine. But the dog stays here.”

  Now, pulling in to the hotel, Teddy found himself wishing they’d brought the dog and left the agent. She clearly did not think much of having amateurs along, and was rubbing Ginny entirely the wrong way. It wasn’t just a female thing. He had no problem with women in positions of power—his mother had been one—but Asuri was . . . irritating.

  “So you thought it was just one hop and skip from getting peoples’ dry cleaning and setting up kids’ parties to investigating a missing person?”

  “A personal concierge service is more than party planning.” He could practically hear Ginny’s teeth grinding from the backseat.

  “Look, I’m just saying, you guys managed, but you got lucky. You’re good at what you do, but stick to databases and mixing drinks, and let the professionals handle this, okay?”

  “Not bad for a bunch of meddling kids and their dog, in other words?” He knew that the tone was going to piss her off, but better she focus on him than patronize Ginny. He could let it slide off—she was about to explode.

  Never mind that Asuri was right: he didn’t like the woman’s attitude.

  Asuri handed the keys to the valet, and they walked—or stalked, in Ginny’s case—into the hotel, bypassing the front desk and heading straight for the elevator bank.

  “I’m not trying to play the role of ‘government asshole,’ ” Asuri said.

  “No, it just comes naturally,” Ginny muttered.

  “Mallard!” Teddy didn’t know when he’d turned into the adult in this team, but it wasn’t a situation he enjoyed.

  “They issue it with the suit and the gun.”

  The touch of humor seemed to be the right olive branch. “You carry a gun?”

  Somehow, he wasn’t surprised that information perked Ginny up. Then again, a woman with a gun perked him up, too. He’d take any bet that hers was smaller, sleeker, and more deadly than his, which had gone back under the bar counter, locked up in its case again, before they left.

  “What, you thought I did my job by waggling my finger?” Something that might have been a smile touched her face. “Actually, yes, mostly I do. I haven’t had to draw my weapon outside of training in quite some time and I plan to keep it that way. What floor?”

  “Seven.”

  The rest of the ride was made in silence. When the doors opened, Asuri took the lead. “Two steps back, and stay quiet,” she told them, the hint of humor gone now. Ginny took one look at that expression, and nodded, falling back, Teddy at her side.

  Asuri walked up to the suite and knocked on the door. When there was no response, she turned her body slightly, and beckoned for Ginny to step forward, a gesture of her head indicating that the other woman should try knocking. She did so, hitting her knuckles once against the door and calling out, “Mr. Jacobs? Joe? It’s Ginny Mallard. Open the door, please?”

  There was no answer. No sound came from inside, not even that of someone trying not to be heard. The doors were thick, but not that thick. Teddy had a creeping sensation of something very much not right crawling across the back of his neck.

  “Gin . . .” he reached out to touch her shoulder, although he wasn’t sure what he would have said or done. She backed up, apparently feeling the same unease.

  “Both of you, back away.”

  Neither of them hesitated; they stepped backward until they were lined up against the far wall, their gaze still on the closed door. Asuri slipped the gun out of her holster, holding it not up and ready, but down, pointed at the ground, and reached for the door handle.

  It opened without hesitation, which it should not have done. Teddy took a quick look at the lock mechanism; there was a wad of something stuck there, just enough to disable the automatic lock. Like you would for a party, if you were expecting people to stop by and didn’t want to have to keep opening the door. But they had distinctly told him to keep the door locked . . .

  Adrenaline spikes were nasty things. Teddy didn’t approve of them. He tried to control his breathing, and resisted the urge to back away from the door in a high-speed retreat. Two women were not going to show him up!

  The fact that, next to him, Ginny was trembling slightly helped.

  Asuri slipped in through the door, the hand with the gun lifting slightly now. The insane impulse to follow her had him taking a step forward, then he stopped. Ginny exhaled, as though sh
e, too, were fighting the impulse to follow.

  “Amateurs,” he said softly. “Trying not to get shot.”

  “Yeah.”

  They waited, ears straining, until Asuri reappeared at the door, her gun now holstered.

  “Go get hotel security. Now. And then go home.”

  “Joe?”

  “He’s dead.”

  “He killed himself?” Ginny was in shock. Teddy thought he might be, too. Why else would he feel that numb, as though it didn’t matter? Not that he’d known the guy, really . . . but he’d met him. Talked to him. Liked him, even.

  “Unless someone else wrote the note, then forced the pills down his throat. It’s possible—especially under these circumstances. But I don’t think so.” Asuri hadn’t let them back into the suite, and now the entire place was filled with cops, so they were talking in the hallway, down and away from the action.

  “Please.” Ginny’s voice was thin, soft. “Can you tell us . . . ?”

  Asuri frowned, then looked back at the cluster of cops. “There were no signs of any violence, or agitated disturbance. Someone down the hall reported loud noises last night—a man and a woman yelling at each other, about an hour after you say you spoke with the girlfriend. Front desk confirms that she left in a hell of a huff a little while later, all tears and fury. She’ll be questioned, but I’m betting he went on his own impulse. From your own testimony, he was on the edge, and pretty much without any good options.”

  “Were there . . . any papers there?” Ginny asked.

  He could see Asuri start to say something, and then stop.

  “We called you,” Teddy reminded her. “We did the good-citizen thing.”

  “You called someone who called me,” she corrected him. “That’s not quite the same thing.”

  They waited, identical expressions of worry and curiosity on their faces.

  “There were a number of files, and some media,” she said, finally. “They will be given to the right people.”

  Protecting the Jacobs family name wasn’t an issue now, Teddy supposed. The only one left to hurt was DubJay himself. Whatever Asuri had come for, she’d gotten.