As I reached for the door knob, it occurred to me that by playacting as one of the glacier's clan wolves, I might glean some information on why the clans come to see her. After a second I banished the thought. My current case is Mr. Sullivan and Ms. Pierpont, not my curiosity about how fares my family.
Slowly I pushed down on the door knob and poked my nose into the growing opening. Smells similar to those surrounding me permeated the air from inside. I did, however, pick up the scent of seven animals behind the door. Still acting the victim, I looked in with ears laid back, nose pointed down and my lower lip sucking on my upper lip.
At a glance, the room was a study hall. Chairs and tables stood on either side of a cleared path up to a counter. The side walls held paw-drawn maps of the seven glaciers on our continent. Each was clearly labeled as we knew them; however, below these were three or four lines, one under the other, of hairless apes' hieroglyphs. The intent was plain. Those must be the possible symbols the apes used to identify the glaciers.
At the tables sat five college-aged animals, each with black noses buried in two to three books before them, while off to the side, notebooks held testament to their adventures into the past. Behind the counter at the far end, a college-aged antelope jackrabbit sat also with nose buried in a book doing his own studies.
Ears swiveled to my entrance, yet no one looked to see who came in, save for the antelope jackrabbit, whose ears rose up high before he lowered the book he was reading. The jackrabbit stiffened as I approached. An aroma of uneasiness oozed from him as his ears lowered. It became quite apparent to me he'd had to deal with a few of the arctic wolves. Yet he remained behind the counter, folded his paws before him and tried to look nonchalant.
“How may I help you, sir?” he said when I was two steps away.
Still acting the part of a meek wolf, I asked, “Please sir, might I have a word with Mrs. Yenin?”
Though he tried to hide it, the jackrabbit's gaze strayed to the door behind me as if he expected someone else to come in, like the security guard. His throat worked as if he was afraid to speak, yet when no guard appeared, he asked, “Do you have an appointment?”
“I'm sorry, but no. My visit is unexpected even to me. Yet I must beseech your forgiveness and ask to see her.” I could see my act was slowly calming the jackrabbit; his ears rose a little, indicating a growing confidence.
He cleared his throat, “Yeah, sure, uh, let me see if she's busy.” He stood and left by the single door behind him.
Now that he wasn't my present goal I took note a map of Burrland was tacked up on the wall. Under each name of town and city were several paw-written hairless ape hieroglyphs, some of which had words below them like “Selfoss” under Furlton, “Helka” under Whiskeritch or “Reykholt” under Sable River. A third of the towns and cities had these other names, presumably the names hairless apes called these sites ten thousand years ago.
They seem to have deciphered some of the apes' hieroglyphs. I glanced behind me at the students and it occurred to me, With so many studying the hieroglyphs, it's a wonder the language hasn't been completely translated. Then again, perhaps enough has been revealed. Perhaps Mr. Sullivan used this place to decipher enough of his favorite book to locate a dig site that would prove his theory correct. I hid my nose in my flat cap to keep my questing mind's thoughts from belying my meek appearance. I see the students here are paying me no attention. Yet the jackrabbit was clearly apprehensive. If I hadn't adopted this masquerade, I wonder what might have happened?
The door opened in front of me, signaling I had to dump my thoughts to concentrate on the matter at paw. An old female horse came out, though she stood many centimeters shorter than most of her species and had enormous ears. After a sec, I understood why; she was a mule, the product of a female horse having unprotected sex with a male donkey. At one time such a combination was commonplace, as mules had qualities a growing society sought. These days, however, such offspring were rare. This mule wore a simple dress in muted colors of brown and black. Her brown hair and mane were cut short, a typical style for the elderly, and she wore a pair of large optical glasses resting on her long, rounded nose. She adjusted these with paws and looked me over with intelligent brown eyes.
“May I help you, young one?”
Young one, indeed… I thought. “Yes, Mrs. Yenin, I've some questions I'd like to ask in private, if that's agreeable with you?”
“If they're important, could they not be better answered by your clan?”
Okay, that's weird. Why would she ask that, when it's clear the clan comes here to talk with her? I put the question aside and said, “I doubt as much.” I still held my flat cap before my muzzle and I knew we'd never met, yet I got a sense she knew me quite well.
“Very well. If you'll come around the counter and follow me?”
I caught the sound of a huge sigh from the jackrabbit as I followed the mule into a room filled with shelves upon shelves of varied-sized books. Without a backward glance she led me to the back and into a small office to which she closed the door to give us some privacy. While I stood until she settled herself in a chair her demeanor changed.
“You may dispense with the charade, Braxton. You're far too well known to me for playacting and I'm too old to keep it up.”
That got me. I raised an eyebrow as I lowered my flat cap. “You know me or merely know of me?”
“In truth, both.” Mrs. Yenin indicated with a paw a chair in front of her book-and-document-covered desk. “Please, sit. I've a crick in my neck already today.”
I looked at the one-size-fits-all chair. Tall animals would find it too short and short animals would find it too tall. I took up the chair and slid my tail into the V before I settled.
Mrs. Yenin preempted my questions. “I assume Javier gave you my message.”
“Javier?” I inquired, checking the back of the chair and adjusting, as my tail got pinched. “Oh, you mean the sun bear. Yes, he was quite vague, if that was your intent to get me here.”
“No, my message was quite clear. For your own safety, you need to drop the case you're delving into.”
I looked across the desk. “Tell me, Mrs. Yenin, why do you care? Why the warning? What might I find if I continue investigating Mr. Sullivan's disappearance?”
Mrs. Yenin dropped her nose to look over her optical glass frame and directly into my eyes. “Your death.” She settled back in her chair, crossed her legs and adjusted her dress. “Which would be a tragic loss.”
“Beg pardon?”
Mrs. Yenin dismissed my confusion with a wave of her paw. “The point being, Braxton, I've delayed in my duties far too long. Your father's clan is coming to an impasse and only you can set matter straight. So let me revise my warning. Drop what you're doing and go back home.”
Duties? Father's clan? What the hell?
“Oh and don't take that white-tail jackrabbit with you, she'll find another animal in time.”
If confusion was a commodity, I'd be the richest wolf in Furlton City. I sat up straighter and planted my paws on my knees. “Mrs. Yenin, where in the hell is this all coming from?”
If a mule could roll here yes she would have. Instead, she sat up all proper, interlaced her fingers, and rested her paws on the desk. “Mr. Snow, my predecessor gave instructions to leave you alone. I see now that was a mistake. Your father's clan is on the brink of collapse. You need to shrug off this civilized coat you're hiding under and take your rightful place as clan leader. The sooner the better.”
Dwelling on my family was not why I came here. Nor was having a guilt trip dumped on my doorstep. My father's clan can survive without me easily enough by electing another leader, and if that leader isn't strong enough, another will take his place. I decided to reroute our odd conversation for more pressing matters at paw. “Mrs. Yenin, I came here to learn what you know about Mr. Sullivan's disappearance, not to socialize about my past or my father's clan. So please, what do you know and why would going forward with the
case be any more dangerous than any other case?”
Mrs. Yenin readjusted her optical glasses. “Mr. Snow, the fact of the matter is certain parties wish to keep the status quo. Rocking their world will get one killed, and Mr. Sullivan is doing just that. Whether he's still alive or not is no concern of mine. Whatever he has uncovered will eventually become public. As a scholar of the old world, I can assure you of this certainty. However, your investigation into that fox's disappearance may expose unsavory activities some wealthy animals are involved in. This does concern me. You're too valuable to our founding fathers' goals to pass beyond this life before you father a pair of cubs—”
“Hold it, hold it!” I interrupted with ears gone back. My head was spinning. “Why does my life concern you?”
Mrs. Yenin didn't flinch or hesitate. “Not merely your life, Mr. Byrghir Snow.” She shocked me by saying my birth name. “But all arctic wolves are my concern. If you'd remained in your clan instead of running away, by now you'd know why. As you didn't, it fell on your sisters.” Mrs. Yenin looked at her desk, selected a book out of the six present, and stood. “I gave you my warning. I've given you enough details to tweak your curiosity. The rest is up to you.” She turned her back and raised her arm to set the book on an upper shelf. “It's time you went home, Mr. Snow. Take over your father's responsibilities and pass on your genes to the next generation.” She glanced at me and whispered, “The future could use them.”
I sat there with my jaw open. Mrs. Yenin slid the book in place before she turned my way, a smirk around her lips.
“Go home, wolf.” Mrs. Yenin walked behind me and opened her door.
I stood. I looked at her with tail drooping and ears back. “Could you at least tell me how you knew my real name and who my true threat is?”
Mrs. Yenin folded her arms and said simply, “No.”
“Why not?”
“I had not meant to lay any guilt on you, but I see it's necessary.” Mrs. Yenin took my arm and led me out. “If you stay, what remains of your family will pass into history without another pad note.” She stepped back into her office and started to close her door. A thought crossed her face and she added, “Oh, and your fiancée, Joann South, will pay with her life if you continue to pad down this path.” She closed her door.
I stood staring at a piece of wood that separated me from answers that a moment ago hadn't even existed in my mind. Flat cap still in my paws, I worked it in a circle as I fought down a strong erg to bust down the door and demand she tell me what 'By the Maker' was all that about? I knew it'd be fruitless. If she'd been a full horse or even a donkey it might have been possible to intimidate her into explaining herself. But a mule? Their rep for stubbornness was legendary.
I snorted. “That had better not be a threat!” I put on my flat cap and snugged it down so the brim sat just above my eyes. “If anything happens to her, I'm coming after you.”
My threat fell around me unanswered. My ears caught a sound and I turned to see the antelope jackrabbit staring at me from the other end of the book shelves. His ears were down and he was quaking on his pads. From out of nowhere I held a wish to make him lose his bladder. I clamped down on the urge like a steal trap and locked it back in its cage. Such acts are no longer part of my life, I told myself firmly. Even so, I couldn't take the heat out of my eyes as I padded past him and left the building. Outside in the open air I breathed in the city smells and exhaled the air of the Library of History.
Our conversation had taken no time at all; I wanted to stay the day bouncing questions off of her. Regardless of my unanswered personal questions, some concerning Mr. Sullivan had been answered. Paws in pockets, I put pads to work walking me in no particular direction as I considered what was next.
When I stopped my pads and looked around, I found I'd unconsciously brought myself to Clair South's apartment building. I looked up to the third level, where on the other side Clair had made her burrow. I glanced up at the sky. Joann could possibly be home. I took a deep whiff. Of course you're not going to smell her, you idiot, I told myself then sighed. The heart wants what it wants. Paws reapplied into pockets, ears lowered and tail drooping, I turned and headed for home.
****
I'd reasoned out during the rickshaw ride home that I'd have to sit in Mr. Sullivan's workroom and go through his head by piecing his work together. In this way I might discover where he'd gone. However, is it worth it? I asked myself. Is losing Joann over this worth it? I stepped out of the rickshaw and thanked my driver. I hate not finishing a job.
I put my paws behind my back as I walked up to the apartment complex, then it occurred to me, Mr. Sullivan left the museum under his own power. The fact he hasn't resurfaced doesn't mean unknown forces are at work. It simply means he's following his dreams. These conclusions reintroduced a spring in my step. I can quit looking with a clean conscience.
I checked my mail in the row of boxes. What of Ms. Pierpont? This froze me until I recalled, Mr. Palan hired me to find Mr. Sullivan, not Ms. Pierpont. I looked back out onto the street and the small park beyond. Mrs. Boro, an African dog, and her daughter were returning. For a brief moment I pictured Joan paw in paw with my own cub. I lowered my muzzle and eyed my bills. If I quit, Mr. Palan will demand restitution for all the bank notes he paid out on me.
I scanned the row of mailboxes and caught, out of the corner of my eye, Hedrick or possibly Olsten padding my way at a jog. Now what? I rolled my eyes as he lumbered over.
“Mr. Snow,” the polar bear began. He looked agitated. “My boss would like a word with you.”
Not wishing to deal with the big oaf, I dipped into my vest pocket and pulled out Mr. Palan's business card and gave it over. “I work for this outfit now. If you need a private detective, this is the contact name and address here.”
I turned to leave only to have a large white paw land heavily on my shoulder, arresting my attempt to leave. “My boss said you, Mr. Snow.”
The polar bear's eyes pleaded. I eyed him and he pulled his paw off.
“Please sir, “he added, more agitated.
“What's wrong?”
“It's Ms. Nelson, sir.” He clasped his paws and fidgeted. “She's missing.”
I'll admit that admission took some seconds to hit, and when it did, my muzzle dropped. But I recovered quickly and asked. “When?”
He stood still a moment, trying to think. “I can't say. Maybe this morning. My boss knows for certain. He and Mr. Nelson talked some long while before sending me and Hedrick out for you.”
The fact Olsten said “This morning.” Earned him a grimace. “Are you sure she's missing and not just avoiding you?”
Olsten's face took on puzzlement. “Why would she do that?” He shook his head. “It matters not. She's missing and my boss said to get you.”
“All right, fine. Let me put my mail away first.” I started to turn but the heavy paw landed on my shoulder.
“Boss said now.” Olsten's eyes hardened with determination. “Please, sir.”
I rolled my eyes. Dealing with these polar bears is like dealing with cubs.
Suffice to say, after giving my word I'd go with him, Olsten allowed me to dump off my mail before hailing a rickshaw to take us to Mr. Bryn Nelson's home.
Once we arrived, Olsten took the lead to politely knock on the front door.
An older gray fox in a black and white cotton maid outfit opened the door. “May I help you?”
Olsten stammered. “Huh, Mama, yeah, huh, Mr. Snow—”
“Apparently I'm wanted by Mr. Nelson about his sister,” I supplied.
“Oh yes, quite. He's expecting you, Mr. Snow. Please come in.”
I wiped my pads on the doormat before walking into the home. Oddly enough, the maid closed the door on Olsten, leaving him outside. I didn't bother to inquire as to why.
“Please, remain here as I announce you.”
I nodded compliance and watched her walk away with a swish of her upraised tail. Although you'd think the f
ox would show signs of agitation even if she was trained to act prim and proper to attend to her duties for her employer, she gave no outward signs. I eyed her, as she made it clear by the movements of her hips she was all female. Whether this unconscious or by orders, her nonchalant moves had me questioning her intent.
Either she's the very embodiment of a cold heart or something's off.
I scratched under my muzzle. Best be on your pads, wolf. I pretended to occupy myself by looking more closely over the entranceway, which was decorated in white with black accents. The white walls held pleasant motifs in black of open meadows, designed to give the animal present a feeling of openness. In front and to the right of the closet hallway stood a tall grandfather clock as wide as I was. Its polished gold and silver pendulum and weights reflected all surfaces in three dimensions while the clock face held bluish tones to make the twenty-four gold numbers easier to see. A second look at the weights showed I'd forgotten to doff my flat cap. Doing so to show politeness for the situation, if things were as I'd been told, I had it in my paws when the maid reappeared.
“If you will follow me, Mr. Snow?”
The maid still gave no show of distress. Because of this I took a casual deep whiff. The other polar bear was here. By the freshness of a scent I pulled in, Mr. Uchi could still be here. Discounting the old scent of Ms. Nelson and the scent of the fox before me, one other animal is present. What's glaringly missing are the two to three other scents which should have been left by the police. This had my tail twitching and my ears shifting front and back. Yet there was a logical explanation. Mr. Nelson could have gotten a ransom note stating harm would befall Ms. Nelson if the police were notified. Regardless of my sprinting thoughts, I followed the maid into the living room. She turned left and headed for a mahogany door in the middle of the wall and knocked before she opened it.
Braxton Snow P.I. (The Snow Adventures Book 1) Page 14