Lawrence was peering out his window when we came around the corner and past the shrubbery.
“You okay?” he asked. “I heard shouting.”
“Way to have our back,” I said.
“You told me to wait in the van; I waited in the van. Now you’re mad that I waited in the van? Chicks. This is why you drive us crazy.”
—
We drove all around Springville in that ridiculous van with that ridiculous sign for over an hour, me bored to tears as Lawrence peppered Shirley with questions.
“So, Shirley,” Lawrence said the moment we’d turned out of the cul-de-sac to wait until the coast was clear, “what do you think the most important thing is for a private detective to know?”
“That’s a complicated question, Mr. Dunbar.”
“I know, I know. Everything is complicated. But if you had to pick one thing. Say you’re in front of a firing squad, and the only thing that will keep the squad from filling you with bullet holes is if you answer my question, what would you say?”
“A rather farfetched situation, Mr. Dunbar,” Shirley said. “But if I had to pick that one, all-important quality that every private detective needs, I would say that it is paying attention.”
“Attention to what?”
“To everything, Mr. Dunbar. To everything.”
“And by everything do you mean every single thing? Or just some things?”
I did my best to block the two of them out, pulling off my cap occasionally to give my scalp some air—my thick hair gets scratchy when I wear hats and the cold, dry air was frizzing it completely out of control—and wishing I was somewhere else. Anywhere else. And suddenly I was remembering the sitcom that I’d been up for. The part I didn’t get. The last part I tried out for. The part that was down to me and Jamie Rhinehorn. The part went to Jamie Rhinehorn. I don’t know why. The woman had all the emotional range of a turtle. The show ran for three episodes before getting canceled. Thinking about that always makes me feel better.
But I could have made that show work. I knew just the twist to give that character so that even mediocre writing would have seemed funny. Or at least funnier…if the Mark thing, and the sitcom thing, and the finding-out-most-of-my-money-was-gone thing hadn’t all happened at the same time, then maybe…
“Don’t you agree, Tammy?” Shirley asked.
“Hmmm?” I asked, coming out of my reverie as she nudged me in the side.
“Where do you keep floating off to?” Shirley asked, turning sideways for a moment to face me.
“Nowhere,” I said with a shrug, pushing my hair back on top of my head and repositioning my cap.
“Maybe you should think about having someone work for you who pays attention,” Lawrence said, glancing over at Shirley. “Know what I mean?”
“Eyes on the road, Mr. Dunbar. I believe that it should now be safe to return to Matt Peterman’s since we have been gone for over an hour. Tammy, do you agree? Or shall I repeat the question for a fourth time?”
“No. I agree. I agree completely.”
At that point I would have agreed to just about anything in order to get out of that van.
—
Shirley had Lawrence cut his lights and turn off the engine before we turned in to the cul-de-sac. We coasted down the street silently, and everything appeared to be quiet. There was a porch light on at the Pittfords’, but no light or any other sign of activity over at the Browns’.
“It looks as if the coast is clear,” Shirley whispered. “Pull into Matt Peterman’s driveway, Mr. Dunbar. And then park the van around the back.”
“You got it.”
Getting inside Matt Peterman’s house was pretty easy. The sliding glass door that Shirley had broken that first night had been boarded up but not very well. We managed to pry off one of the side boards and stepped inside. Shirley took a flashlight out of her Al’s Plumbing overalls pocket and shined it around. Fortunately, I’d remembered to bring a small one of my own tonight. I pulled it from the inside pocket of my jacket and flipped it on.
The furniture in the house was shabby, and there was a lot of empty space. In the living room there was only an old plaid couch with rips in the sides, a glass coffee table full of small nicks and scratches, and a poster of the Carolina Panthers thumbtacked to the wall. But next to the poster was a large flat-screen T.V. that looked brand new.
“I think there is one question that we need to be asking ourselves,” Shirley said as she directed the beam of her flashlight toward the kitchen.
“Which is?”
“If I were an invisible dog, where would I be hiding? Taking into account, of course, the fact that there is no such thing as an invisible dog. Since that is impossible, we need to explore all other possibilities, no matter how improbable. Any thoughts?”
“Maybe we should retrace Matt’s steps. He always heard the dog when he was asleep, right? I mean, the sound of a dog barking always woke him up. So maybe we should check out his bedroom and see if we find anything.”
“My thoughts exactly.”
The upstairs was even more depressing than the downstairs. One of the rooms was completely empty, and another was just a storage room filled with boxes, a couple of ratty chairs piled one on top of the other, and a treadmill covered with dust. The bathroom off the hallway had one stained towel hanging on the rack next to the sink and a pile of men’s health magazines sitting on the floor next to the toilet.
I picked up the magazine on top as Shirley examined the shower. On the cover, there was a gorgeous male celebrity under the headline “You CAN Get Back in Shape!” with a picture of a Caribbean beach in the background. The guy had never been out of shape, and Matt had probably never been in shape. And even if Matt had somehow found a way to the Caribbean, he still would have had his combed-over hair and orange tan. I set the magazine back down on the floor. It was depressing. The last thing I needed was to get depressed over the broken dreams and shattered hopes of someone else. It was personal for me, but I couldn’t afford to let it get too personal. I didn’t want to be sad; I wanted to stay angry and focused.
When we went into Matt’s bedroom it was more of the same. His bed was unmade, and the sheets were frayed and paper thin from so many washings. There was nothing on the walls, and the battered dresser was covered with receipts, a huge jar of coins, and two piles of laundry he hadn’t bothered to put away. The only personal touch was a huge beer stein sitting on the side that had Oktoberfest 2008 engraved on the front.
“Wow,” I said, feeling sad all over again in spite of myself.
“Have you found something?” Shirley asked.
“No, it’s just…I feel so bad for the guy. Look at this place. It’s pathetic. It’s…it just makes me feel bad for him.”
“If I chose to think about the kind of life that was lived here, I might find myself feeling sad on Matt Peterman’s behalf, also. But that accomplishes nothing. We must stay focused on the task at hand. We are looking for clues, Tammy, and the source of the invisible dog.”
I took a deep breath, trying to shake off the sadness, knowing the only thing I could really do for Matt at this point was to try and find him some kind of justice.
“So I guess you’re thinking the same thing I am, right?”
“Try to refrain from guessing,” Shirley said with a sniff. “And at least be so good as to articulate what it is that you are thinking so that I can ensure that we are on the same course.”
“Well, it doesn’t seem likely that his ex-wife could sneak a dog into Matt Peterman’s house every night without him noticing. Especially since he was such a light sleeper. So there must have been some sort of device in here, right?” I asked. “Something with a timer that would go off at certain times each night and make the noise of a dog barking?”
“Of course!” Shirley said, waving her cane toward the ceiling. “I was hoping that you would put those pieces together! A device with a timer set to go off at certain times every night to wake Matt up! A
device that made the noise of a dog barking!” Shirley lowered her cane and whirled around. “So the first order of business is to search this room from top to bottom!”
We did. We searched his bedroom from top to bottom and didn’t find a single thing that looked like an invisible dog device.
“Hmmm,” Shirley said when we finally had to admit defeat. “So it is not in here…but that does not mean it is not in this house. We will go from room to room until—”
“Wait!” I said.
“Tammy, please try not to interrupt me when I am thinking or formulating the next crucial step in our investigation.”
“Sorry, but remember that first night, when we heard that bark? You heard it up here, but I heard it, too. And I was still downstairs, by the kitchen, next to the bottom of the staircase.”
“You were downstairs the entire time?”
“Yeah. And I bet the device is around there. Think about it. If the barks came from the bedroom, Matt might have figured it out eventually. Or found the device. But if they came from another part of the house, they could sound like they were outside. Especially if they woke him up and he wasn’t thinking all that clearly. Should we go take a look?”
“Of course we should go take a look. Had you given me this critical piece of information earlier, we would not have wasted all this time searching his bedroom!”
“But—” I started to bring up the fact that I had been standing right there at the bottom of the stairs that night when she came running down. It wasn’t my fault if she hadn’t been paying attention.
I stopped myself. Everyone has a line that you cannot cross. It’s different for everyone, but it’s there. I knew instinctively that this was hers. This moment wasn’t all that important to me; but emotionally speaking, it was life and death to her. “Sorry,” I said. “I thought I told you.”
“Not to worry,” Shirley said, softening immediately. “And perhaps I was a little harsh. You are still learning and I must have patience. Come along.”
Shirley and I went downstairs, and I walked over to the spot where I had been standing when I heard that single bark. I looked around; nothing caught my eye. Shirley took her flashlight and shone it across the floor. I then got down on my hands and knees and moved around slowly. I went to my right, and to my left, and finally, when I went backward a few inches, I felt a tiny ridge.
I crawled back until my face was over the ridge. I moved my fingers back and forth until I felt a gap where the carpet had been cut. Leaning down to examine it more closely, I could see the borders of a small square that had been stitched back together. I grunted a little, trying to get the stitches undone, but they were too tight.
“Ah,” Shirley said, kneeling down beside me. “It is just as I suspected—once I had the correct information. The vital clue was to be found here at the bottom of the stairs.”
“Yes. The carpet has been cut up and then stitched back together. But I can’t get it apart.”
“Here,” she said, handing me a nail file out of the side pocket of her overalls. “I always carry one with me. It’s amazing what you can do with a nail file. Sometimes, Tammy, the simplest inventions are still the most effective. I have actually made a study regarding that very thing.”
I nodded my head as Shirley continued chattering, while I used the nail file to slice through the threads. By the time I had cut through two of the sides, the carpet came loose. A metal device had been placed into a small hole drilled into the wood underneath the carpet. Two wires could be seen on the side of the metal box. I used my fingers to trace the path of the wires as they wound out of it. The path led under the carpet where the edge of the bottom stair met the wall. I laid down and looked up to see the two wires—painted white like the color of the wall—traveling into the wall that divided the kitchen from the staircase.
“And then there is the bobby pin. So common, so…”
“Shirley. I think I found something.”
“…everyday. When one looks at a bobby pin one thinks of hair. But there is so much more to the deceptively simple bobby pin than…”
“I think this is where the sound came from.”
“…just hair— What sound?”
“The sound of the invisible dog.”
“Ah, yes.”
“I’m not sure how she was creating those barking sounds yet. We have to find the other part of the system,” I said as I crawled back out from underneath the staircase.
“I don’t believe she was making the barking sounds. I believe, Tammy, that this system of boxes and wires were the means used to produce the actual barking sounds.”
“That’s what I meant—” I stopped. “Did you hear that?” Shirley looked around and cocked her head. “Sirens,” I said, leaping to my feet, ready to flee.
“Indeed,” Shirley said calmly.
“Don’t you think we better get out of here?” I asked. “Maybe the Browns saw us and called the police.”
“That seems highly unlikely. We told Lawrence specifically to keep an eye out for that. And furthermore, why would the sight of a plumber’s van responding to an evening emergency possibly alarm them?”
A plumber’s van might not; the van we drove in, that was another matter.
“Better safe than sorry. The last thing we need is for the police to find us here. And those sirens sound like they’re getting really close. I think we need to get out of here.”
“Very well. You are no good to me if you start to panic. Watson may have had his shortcomings, but he always managed to keep a calm head.”
“I’ll work on that,” I said as I dashed toward the broken window as fast as my feet would take me.
“Hey,” Lawrence said when I made it outside. He was still sitting inside the front seat of the van without a care in the world. “You guys find anything?”
“Shhhh.”
“What’s the problem?”
“Pay her no mind, Mr. Dunbar,” Shirley told him as she strolled up to the van. “She is letting herself get into a panic because she hears sirens.”
“Oh. Now that you mention it they do sound kind of close.”
“This is a big world, Mr. Dunbar, with many emergencies and…oh, dear, I believe Tammy may be right after all,” Shirley said as we saw the glare of headlights shining through the trees in front of the empty house next door. Whoever was running that siren was driving down the cul-de-sac and headed our way. “Now, just remember, we are Al’s Plumbing Service, and we have every right to be here.”
“Got it,” Lawrence said.
I took a look at the two of them, and then I looked at our sad little homemade sign on top of the van, almost torn to shreds by this point. The logo and phone number for Pizza Hut were clearly visible. No one with the slightest grounding in reality would believe for a minute that we were a legitimate plumbing company.
The board that I’d removed was lying on the patio. I ran over and placed it back where it had been so that hopefully the worst we could be charged with was trespassing instead of breaking and entering. I knew that if we were taken in, Detectives Owen and Addams would throw the book at us.
I stepped back to make sure the board stayed put and had to ask myself: What was happening to me? When had I become someone that a couple of detectives would want to throw the book at? The minute I went to work for Shirley Homes, that’s when. And now I would have a criminal record, which would make looking for another job even more impossible. How would I possibly explain the situation to a prospective employer?
Maybe if I got down on my knees and begged for mercy, and promised to never do it again, and swore I would starve to death before working one more day for Shirley Homes…maybe the judge would reduce the charges and…
“Tammy!” Shirley hissed. “Look!”
I looked up and realized that the sirens had stopped, and the police had not pulled into Matt Peterman’s driveway. I saw Shirley standing at the edge of his house, peering around the corner at the view across the street. I tiptoe
d over to where she stood and took a look for myself.
There was an official vehicle with a flashing red light parked in the Pittfords’ driveway. But it wasn’t a police car. It was an ambulance.
Chapter 14
“What’s going on?” Lawrence called out from the van as Shirley and I stood there watching the Pittfords’ house.
“Shhhh!” we said in unison.
For a long time nothing happened, and then all at once everything happened. A stretcher was brought out and then another one right behind it. The caregiver that we’d talked to earlier came walking out behind the second stretcher, and we could see her waving her hands around as she said something to one of the paramedics. He appeared to be ignoring her.
The first stretcher was loaded into the ambulance and we heard more sirens approaching. Shirley and I both ducked our heads back behind the wall for a moment until we saw the next set of flashing lights stop across the street.
We peered around the wall again and saw that a second ambulance had arrived and was parked in the driveway, next to the first one. Then I saw that there was a third vehicle, which was parked next to the curb—and this time it was a police car.
As the second stretcher was put into the ambulance, two police officers got out of the car next to the curb and walked over to the caregiver, who stood in the driveway watching the second ambulance drive off. We stared as the police questioned her and she waved her hands around whenever she talked. One of the police officers shook his head and pointed toward their car. The caregiver shook her head. There was more conversation. The caregiver stopped waving her hands around and started walking toward their car, with the two police officers following behind.
Then she stopped and said something while she pointed frantically toward the house. One of the police officers nodded his head. She turned and ran up the lawn to the front door with both of them on her heels. I held my breath, thinking she was trying to escape. But a couple of minutes later the three of them came out of the house. She was carrying a purse, and the minute they stepped outside she pulled out a pack of cigarettes, yanked a cigarette from the pack, and puffed on it all the way down the yard until she had to stub it out and get into the back of their car.
The Case of the Invisible Dog Page 19