The Case of the Invisible Dog

by Diane Stingley

  “You guys okay?” I asked softly, darting over to them from around the back of the cart. Lawrence was sitting next to it, his visor smashed on the ground next to him, rubbing his head and mumbling to himself. Myra sat a few inches apart from Lawrence and looked awful. Her skin was gray and ashen, and there were beads of cold sweat across her forehead.

  “The snake?” Myra asked in a hoarse whisper. “It’s gone?”

  “There was no snake,” I said quickly. “I just made it up to distract everyone.”

  “Oh,” she said, looking greatly relieved. “A clever plan, in its way, but I need a moment to regroup. I have an absolute phobia of snakes. It’s my only real weakness.”

  “Ah,” I said. “Your only real weakness.” Then I clamped my mouth shut. Who was I to judge another person’s denial? For all I knew I had a bunch of character flaws that I wasn’t aware of, either. Although I’m sure Phil McGuire would have no trouble providing me with a full and complete list.

  “Phobia?” Lawrence said, shaking his head. “That’s putting it mildly. As soon as she heard the word snake she went psycho!” Lawrence pointed his thumb in Myra’s direction. “She was like a crazy person. I didn’t know someone could move in so many ways all at once. Arms here, and then there, and all the time she’s shaking like we’re in the middle of an earthquake. Before I know what’s happening I’m flying right out of the cart. And then, like, two seconds later, here she comes out of the cart, too, crashing right into me. No offense, lady, but you’re pretty big.”

  “None taken,” Myra told him haughtily. “I’m sure that most of the world seems fairly large to someone of your petite stature.”

  “Well,” I said, giving Lawrence a pointed look, “somehow in the middle of all that it looks as if Myra managed to knock Nancy Brown out cold.”

  “I do have a vague memory of the side of my foot colliding with something hard as I dove to safety. Perhaps it was her head?”

  “Probably. And I’d say we both owe you a debt of gratitude. Right, Lawrence?”

  “Sure,” he muttered without much conviction.

  I took a couple of deep breaths and then glanced over at the limousine. It remained silent and closed. I wasn’t sure if that was a good sign or a bad one, but I had two guns. I was in a position to negotiate. Unfortunately, I would have to give one of those guns to Lawrence and hope for the best. But considering that we’d managed to blunder along so far without being killed, I was almost ready to believe that someone out there was on my side. Almost. “Shirley is still in the limousine. Myra, you’re going to take this gun, go back over there, and hold it on Chuck. Lawrence, you’ll take this other one. Don’t take the safety off. Don’t put your finger on the actual trigger. Don’t wave it around. Keep very still, hold on to it firmly, and just keep it pointed at Nancy. Okay?”

  “I know how to use a gun,” Lawrence said, offended. “I been hunting with my cousins since I was, like, five.” One of the problems in North Carolina is that there are actually too many deer; now I knew why.

  “And what will you be doing?” Myra asked as she stood up and then took the gun from me.

  “I will be trying to get Shirley out of that limousine alive.”

  “And I will be here, probably dying of my concussion, or suffering permanent brain damage,” Lawrence muttered as he rubbed the top of his head and got to his feet. “But that’s okay,” he added as he tugged on his pants belt. “Don’t worry about me.”

  I gingerly handed him the other gun once his pants were resituated and he pointed it at Nancy’s prone form. I waited until Myra had walked around the golf cart and over to where Chuck lay on the ground. She nodded her head, and I took a final check on Nancy. She was still completely out, which was a good thing, as Lawrence kept rubbing his head and did not appear up to the task of intimidating her, armed or not. I took a deep breath—you have to work with what you have—before stepping to the side of the limousine. I crouched down, then tapped on the window. It immediately rolled down.

  “There is a gun pointed at Chuck Brown,” I said quickly so that hopefully no one would shoot me before our negotiations got under way. “And another one pointed at Nancy.”

  “Well done,” Shirley said calmly as her face came into view underneath her ridiculous hat. I peered inside the limousine as the window continued down. Sitting beside Shirley, holding a sleek handgun at her head, was a glamorous woman in her late thirties or early forties. She had ash blond hair pulled back into an elegant twist and clear, light blue eyes shaped like almonds. Her skin was ivory-toned and poreless, with just a hint of makeup. And she wore a shimmering pearly white silk blouse over pale gray tailored slacks; both were so well made and conformed so perfectly to her shape that they seemed more elegant than some of the Oscar gowns I’d seen. And I’d seen a few. (The first couple years that I was in L.A., I was one of those people who waited outside to watch the movie stars arrive on the red carpet. I thought it would be fun to look back on one day. It isn’t.)

  There was a clear partition between this woman and the driver, but all I could see was the back of his head. He did not move or express any interest in what was happening in the backseat.

  “I believe you are laboring under the mistaken belief that I care whether or not that very large woman kills Chuck, or whether that odd little man kills Nancy,” the woman said. Her voice was soft and educated, and as scary as the sound of bats’ wings brushing against the top of a cold cave. “I do not. That is why I did not interfere with that amusing little show you just put on. They are employees. Employees can always be replaced.”

  “Oh,” I said, crushed. I had no plan B.

  “So it would seem that you are without any real leverage,” the woman said as if it didn’t really matter to her one way or the other. “And I still have a gun pointed at the head of Shirley Homes.”

  “Oh,” I said again, now completely defeated.

  “Tammy is normally much more articulate,” Shirley said. “I can’t imagine what’s gotten into her today.”

  “Gee, I don’t know. Maybe having a gun pointed at me and then trying to save your life has left me at a loss for words.”

  “But my life is not in danger.”

  “There’s a gun pointed at your head.”

  “Oh, that. I am not worried in the slightest.”

  The woman in the limousine cocked her head, puzzled. I looked at Shirley, wondering what in the world she was talking about. “This is all for show,” Shirley said with a smile. And then she winked.

  The woman in the limousine looked startled for a moment, and then she threw her head back and laughed deep from her belly. Shirley smiled knowingly, and I felt completely at a loss.

  “You mean we were never in any danger?” I asked.

  “Oh, the rest of you might possibly have been in some danger,” Shirley said with an annoying air of nonchalance. “But not me. It wouldn’t be any fun if the game ended in the first round, would it?” she added, turning to look directly into the barrel of the gun and the eyes of the woman holding it.

  “No. That would not have been any fun. Tammy, is it?” the woman asked, with a glance in my direction. “I find you more entertaining than I would have expected. I believe that we will meet again. If you will kindly step aside, Shirley is now free to leave, as are the rest of you. On your way out, please have your two associates drop their guns to the ground. I will keep this gun pointed at you until you are all out of sight. If I see anyone’s arm reaching anywhere, or a cell phone placed at anyone’s ear, then someone will pay the price. It won’t be Shirley, just one of you, who I will pick at random. So be very careful. Oh, and feel free to toss Nancy out of the cart. Leave Chuck where he is. I will take care of them myself.”

  Chapter 23

  “I’m very confused,” I said, sitting inside the dining room of the Sturdy Oaks Country Club forty-five minutes later, waiting for my wine to arrive.

  “I am also confused,” Myra said, waiting for her chocolate martini.
<
br />   “I would give my right nut to be confused,” Lawrence said, waiting for his draft beer (“The best stuff you got!”) to arrive. “Oops. Sorry, Shirley. But confused doesn’t even begin to describe the problems that my brain is experiencing right now. Of course, the major concussion that I probably have,” he added with a nod toward Myra, “definitely doesn’t help.”

  As a member of the Sturdy Oaks Country Club, Myra had the privilege to bring guests into their dining room. I’m sure that under normal circumstances she would never have agreed to be seen with us. But these were not normal circumstances. After we got into our carts and drove away, I waited until we had made it down the dirt driveway, crossed the street, and were safely back on the golf course sidewalk, out of view from the limousine, before stopping and pulling out my cell phone.

  “What are you doing?” Shirley asked as she and Myra rolled up next to us.

  “Calling the police,” I said.

  “There is no point,” Shirley said.

  “But—”

  “By the time you convinced the police of our story—if you were able to convince them—and they put us through to Detective Owen, you would then have to explain the story all over again to him. And even if he believed you, by that time she would be long gone, without a trace. She is obviously a woman with deep resources who can adapt quickly to changing circumstances. And we would, no doubt, lose whatever goodwill we have managed to build with the police department. We need to think and we need to plan before taking our next step.”

  “You’re just going to let her get away without at least trying to stop her?” I asked, dumbfounded.

  “Yes,” Shirley said with a sad smile. “I have met the enemy and I know what she is made of. There are times when one must admit temporary defeat in order to savor success on another day. This, my dear Tammy, is one of those times. It is a bitter pill to swallow, but swallow it we must.”

  “Okay,” I said, puzzled, as I put my phone away. This did not seem like the Shirley Homes I knew, who until now had never let anything, not even reality, stand in her way.

  “Well, I need a drink,” Myra said. “And Shirley, I need to know what in the world is going on. Once we have retrieved our clubs, will you join me at the club for a good, stiff drink, some food, and some explanations? I will spring for a taxi so that Tammy and that other helpful colleague of yours can make their way home.”

  “Myra, I would be delighted to join you, but my colleagues are part of the story and deserve to join us. We come as a unit. Take it or leave it.”

  Myra looked at me and grimaced. Then she looked at Lawrence and scowled. “I’m too tired and overdone to argue the point,” she said with a sniff. “Very well. But everyone will behave in a civilized manner.”

  “Good. It’s settled, then. Since you are in the dark regarding much of this story, I will fill you in as we ride along.”

  —

  When we arrived at the clubhouse dining room, the hostess led us over to the most remote table in the back—Myra’s specific request. Clubhouse rules did not allow hats to be worn in the dining room, so mercifully Shirley had left her newest one behind at the cloakroom, along with our visors. I returned my silver clips back to each side of my head to help tame the combination of frizz and hat-hair that appeared the instant I took off my yellow visor.

  As we made our way across the dining room—with its plush, elegant carpet; crisp, white linen tablecloths topped with fresh tulips and burgundy candles; and a pine-scented fire crackling in the huge stone fireplace, I saw the two tan golfers whose game we had interrupted. They were dining with two other couples. Three bottles of wine littered the table, along with the remains of six lobster dinners that were being cleared away. A gleaming, silver champagne bucket holding two empty bottles sat next to the table. When we walked past, one of the men gave Myra a cheery “Hello!” She nodded and smiled tightly, sighing loudly once we were out of earshot from them. When we arrived at our own table Myra quickly plopped down on the chair facing away from the rest of the room.

  “So, you are all confused?” Shirley asked with a self-satisfied voice once we’d ordered our drinks.

  “Yes,” I said, still very perplexed by the strange conclusion the day had taken. “Who was that woman? And why did she make you get in the limousine by yourself? What did you talk about?”

  “That is…Ah, here are our refreshments. My good man, may I examine that water, please, before you make your exit?”

  “Of course,” the waiter said, maintaining his professional demeanor as Lawrence gaped at his tuxedo shirt and bow tie in awe.

  Shirley lifted the lid on the silver teapot after he set it down and dipped her pinkie finger in at the side. “Excellent,” she pronounced. “Myra, I may think about joining this club after all. They serve Earl Grey, and understand that hot tea is a term rendered meaningless without the essential ingredient of hot water. Give my compliments to the kitchen, my good man.”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” he said as he finished setting down the rest of our drinks.

  “I’ll have another,” Myra said wearily before she’d even taken a first sip of her martini. I’m pretty sure that she was already rethinking her rash decision to bring us here.

  We placed our dinner order—steak and fries for Lawrence, Denver sole and asparagus for Shirley, shrimp scampi for me, Chateaubriand with Hollandaise sauce for Myra—and as soon as we had handed the waiter our menus, we all stared expectantly at Shirley.

  “I am not sure who that woman was,” Shirley said, dipping her tea bag into the pot of water. “She asked me the very same thing. When I answered in the negative, that I had no idea who she was, she smiled. It was a rather pensive sort of smile, with just a hint of bitterness. And then she said that our mutual destinies had been decided four generations ago. And that the game had just begun.

  “Based on those statements, it was clear that she is the great-great-granddaughter of one of my great-great-grandfather’s enemies, a fact she immediately confirmed, but she refused to reveal her identity. Unfortunately, that list is long and varied, just as the list of the world’s evils is long and varied. Although I have my suspicions.”

  “Shirley,” Myra said, shaking her head.

  “That is why she did not want to kill me,” Shirley continued, paying no attention to Myra. “She thinks that I am the mouse to her cat, and she isn’t done toying with me yet. She means to have revenge, but she also means to take her time. Apparently she has been watching me for years, tracking all my movements, waiting for the right moment, waiting to see if I was aware of my true identity. When I opened my office and began placing ads, she knew the time had come.”

  “The time for what?” I asked.

  “To toy with me. To test my abilities. To see what I am made of. To create a mystery that she knew I could not resist. And thus was born the Case of the Invisible Dog. She learned of my daily forays into the establishment of Mrs. Hobson and then researched many of the woman’s regulars in order to pick a suitable candidate for her sordid game. She chose Matt Peterman.”

  “She set this whole thing up?” I asked, dumbfounded. “Wait a minute. That elderly woman who was talking so loudly the morning you first met Matt Peterman. The one who pushed him to let you help him. She was part of this?”

  “That was the woman in the limousine herself, which she took great delight in revealing. Like me, she is a master of disguise. Pity. I was rather fond of Edna. And she wore the loveliest lilac scent that seemed to linger in the breeze after she was gone.”

  “Lilac?” I asked. “I think I saw her once. I was downtown talking to…someone. I remember smelling lilac perfume as she walked past.”

  “Perhaps that was her,” Shirley said doubtfully. “Or simply another elderly woman who enjoys the scent of lilacs. But to continue. I had been watched, my daily habits scrutinized. She knew how easy it would be to arrange for Matt Peterman and me to meet, with a little assistance on her end. Tammy, you asked Chuck Brown why they tormented M
att Peterman instead of simply killing him. I asked her the same thing. It was done to draw me in—the mystery that no one else would take seriously. She knows my family’s history; she knows the passion I have inherited. She also said that it was great fun. That is the nature of the person we are dealing with.”

  “So it wasn’t just about making money?” I asked.

  “Oh, money will be made. Money will most definitely be made. Money is to her what oxygen is to other people.”

  “Then can’t we go to the police with that? Try and get them to open an investigation into Merryweather Properties? I already mentioned them the last time we were there, so maybe they’d listen to us. And did you see that sign?”

  “I do not put much stock in signs,” Shirley said dismissively. “Or omens.”

  “The sign on that undeveloped land across from the golf course, where she was waiting for us. Merryweather Properties now owns it.”

  “Ah. I misunderstood the sort of sign to which you were referring. And naturally I noticed the sign. Nothing escapes my observation. But in answer to your previous question, before you sidetracked me with all that distracting business of signs, I brought up Merryweather Properties. And when I did, she dared me to follow that line of inquiry,” Shirley said with a half smile. “I believe she has covered her tracks nicely. Merryweather is a shield, one arm of the octopus, so to speak, with so many arms its origin cannot be traced. She does nothing in her own name, and the discovery of that name will be a rigorous undertaking in and of itself…”

  “What about Angie Berger?”

  Shirley shook her head. “I asked her about that, too. The woman insisted that she had nothing to do with Angie’s disappearance. She said the Browns had only threatened her for dramatic effect, to further my interest and curiosity. Since she fully admitted to everything else, I don’t see why she would lie about Angie. That part of the puzzle remains unsolved.”