by Clea Simon
A short bark—“Home!”—was my answer.
“Sage!” Her person reprimanded him. “Don’t bark at the nice lady.”
“It’s all right, Mr. Luge.” I slid from the sofa to kneel by the chair and held out my hand once more for the Chihuahua to sniff. “I think she’s protecting you.”
“You are, aren’t you?” I did my best to visualize Larry, as well as Ronnie and Albert, for good measure.
“Treats!” She barked once more, oblivious to danger and safe in her person’s arms.
Chapter Fourteen
“Now we’re talking.” Wallis settled into the cushion beside me, eyes half closed in a satisfied grin. We weren’t, not really, but as I’ve learned to better understand the thoughts of the tabby before me, so has she become more colloquial in her communication. I believe it amuses her, to use human slang. At the moment, it did not amuse me.
“Wallis.” My tone would have been enough with any of my clients. She only let her eyes close further, the spread of her whiskers serving to accentuate her self-satisfied Cheshire smile. “I am not bringing Greg Mishka home.”
“Pity.” She lifted one hind paw and inspected her toes. The pads were perfectly pink between the tufts of white fur, and I suspected she was trying to avoid my direct gaze. “Because, that other one...” She meant Creighton, of course. “If he’s not going to come around anymore...”
“What?” I was in no mood, and as I reached up to take a nonexistent tuft of fur from between my teeth, I realized why. “You know, I respect your privacy,” I growled. “I do not plumb your thoughts to find out what you’ve been doing—or thinking.”
She bit a toenail, and I stopped myself from once again reaching to my own lips. “Will you cut it out?”
Foot still aloft, she turned her cool gaze on me. “I’m only pointing out the obvious, Pru,” she said, without a word. “You’ve finally learned how to listen, and you’re making a hash out of it.”
“Great.” I left the room, ceding the sofa to the cat. In a way, she was right. It wasn’t so much that she discussed my most private thoughts as if they were open for debate—anyone who lives with a cat knows they can read our minds—it was that she had identified what was becoming a very sore spot.
For starters, Jim Creighton. I didn’t know whether it annoyed me more that he had not only not come around for several nights now or that he’d made no effort to reach out and explain his absence. He’d worked major cases before, even cases that I was involved in, and still managed to find time for a brief nocturnal visit. I’m a big girl, and I’ve made my own limits clear. I no more want to be owned than Wallis would. But I’ve no interest in chasing a man who covers so much territory for his work, and I’ve long gotten past the point of what in the city they’d call “ghosting.” I saw the man often enough in our professional capacity. He wants it to be over, he could tell me.
“Or you could ask him.” I didn’t need Wallis, sidling up beside me, to hear that thought. I consciously kept my mind blank as I poured myself a bourbon.
“You think I care that much about your love life?” The question surfaced, even as she lapped delicately at the bowl of water I’d left out. “You have this gift, and yet... The rest was lost as we both turned in surprise: Wallis at the sound of car wheels on my gravel drive, me at the headlights I could see turning from the road.
“Hey, stranger.” I was grinning as I opened the door, rather to my own surprise.
“Hey.” Creighton looked tired, with lines I didn’t recall around his mouth and eyes. “I’m sorry, it’s been a bad couple of days.”
“You don’t have to explain.” I took his hand. And for once, Wallis held her tongue.
It wasn’t until later that all my questions came rushing back, along with that vague sense of outrage. I’m not so dim that I didn’t recognize the latter for my own part in it—nothing like thoughts of another man to make me lash out in guilt. But the questions were real, and I figured my beau was probably in as good a mood as he was ever going to be.
“You’ll never guess who I ran into today.” We were lying in bed, and he turned toward me, brows raised. “Larry Greeley.”
He nodded, settling back on his pillow. Not the response I’d expected.
“He was over in that new development—Pine Hills? One of the summer people has a Chihuahua. Nice guy, older. Larry and Ronnie were making the rounds. Ronnie’s moonlighting, doing yard work. But I can’t see Larry making that much effort.”
I glanced over. Creighton’s eyes were still open, so I kept talking. “I think he was casing those houses, Jim. You know Larry.”
“Did you see him attempting entry?” His voice was light, but there was something in it I didn’t like.
“No,” I admitted.
“Emerging from someone’s house or property in a suspicious manner?”
“He was in Ronnie’s truck. Ronnie was trying to get this monster mower out of the truckbed. I think it belonged to the condo.”
A nod.
“Come on, Jim. There are a lot of old folks there. They’ve got money, and they don’t know Beauville the way we do.”
“And you were over there—why?”
“A client, Jim.” I was losing my post-coital buzz. I was also lying, at least technically. Ernest Luge wasn’t a client. Not yet, anyway. I decided to take the offensive.
“And what’s going on with Albert? You can’t really think he killed his friend, can you?” Creighton didn’t answer, but I could feel him shift. “I mean, if it had been a drunk driving accident or something, I could understand it.”
“Pru, come on.” His voice was still soft, still warm. “You know I can’t talk about work with you.”
“Never stopped you in the past.” I rolled onto my side, facing him. He’s good to look at, especially without his clothes. But right now what I wanted was to be able to read him. If only he’d been a cat. “You asked me to cover the office, so I’ve got a vested interest in what’s going on—and what your plans are.”
I was thinking about Albert, about the suspicion I had that he knew more than he was letting on.
“Pru...” He was beginning to growl.
“You think he knows something, don’t you?” I had no facts, but I’ve learned to trust my instincts. “You think he knows more than he’s telling you, and so you’re holding him until he talks. Until he gives someone else up.”
Bells were going off. Those same instincts were telling me I was pushing too hard. But I don’t like it when anyone—a person or an animal—won’t talk. “Come on,” I tried to make it light. “You can’t really think he’s a killer. Do you?”
“All right, then.” With a sigh that came from more than the exertion, Creighton sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. I started to reach for him, ready to make up and undo the damage I had wrought, but he was already standing. Already retrieving his clothes from where they’d been scattered around the room.
“Oh, come on.” I was pissed at myself as well as at him. “Don’t be like that. You just got here.”
“And maybe I shouldn’t have come over at all.” He seemed focused on his pants as he stepped into them. “Not while I’m in the middle of an investigation. Not while people you know are involved.”
“So you do suspect him.” That was more than I’d expected. “Jim?”
Another sigh, as he zipped his pants. “Pru, come on.” At least he was talking to me as he began to button his shirt. “I know you care about Albert. No—don’t say it.” He stopped me before I could protest. “I know you do, like you would for, I don’t know, a turtle or some particularly dumb hound. But you can’t get involved in this. Not this time. You can’t help him.”
“And you can?” He didn’t respond, only squatted to retrieve his shoes from beneath the dresser. “Jim, he’s stubborn. You know that. He’s going to stick by his stupid st
ory that he couldn’t have killed Paul Lanouette in the camp shed because he didn’t have his keys.”
The stupid keys. I didn’t understand how Albert could think they’d be an alibi. Maybe that was the point. “He’s saying that, isn’t he? And that’s why you’re holding him?”
“Stop.” He held up his hand. “Enough. I care about you, Pru, and I know you have a tendency to, well, meddle in things you shouldn’t. This time, though, you’ve got to stay out of it. I’ll see you when it’s over.”
Of all the responses that flooded my head, none seemed particularly apt. And so I lay there, uncharacteristically silent, as my beau picked up his shoes and walked to the stairs. It wasn’t until I heard the front door close behind him that another voice made itself heard.
“Good work with the questions,” sniped Wallis, as she jumped up to the bed beside me.
“Thanks a ton,” I barked back. But she was already asleep.
I might’ve been silenced by Creighton’s stonewalling, coming as it did when he’d already done his best to disarm me. But I’m no fool. He wasn’t going to share what he knew, not yet anyway. That didn’t mean I couldn’t do some digging on my own. And if I found something that might interest my law-abiding beau, well, then, maybe he’d have to play ball.
I confess I was thinking of Ernest Luge as well as I dragged my laptop over to the bed and entered Larry Greeley’s name. City folks might come out here expecting some kind of bucolic wonderland, but I knew better. And while gentle Helen Birman might have Tillie to look after her, to me the lame old man and his tiny dog were just the sort that Greeley and his chums would prey on.
As I typed, Wallis started to snore. She doesn’t think she does, but she does—a faint sound, half sigh, half grunt with each exhalation. “Greeley,” I muttered in response. Nothing popped up, so I tried again: Laurence. Lawrence. All I got was a blank screen and a blinking cursor.
With a louder grunt, Wallis woke and licked her nose. “I don’t know why you bother.” Even her voice sounded sleepy. “Prey animals that don’t know how to save themselves...”
She drifted off, and I stared at the screen. It wasn’t like sleep was an option for me. I was too angry at Creighton. And, truth be told, at myself. I had no idea what had happened with Paul Lanouette. I got involved with this because of a bear—a healthy, young creature who was once again roaming free. Albert was not my concern.
No, a small voice that wasn’t Wallis’ piped up. But you know he’s in over his head. And if he’s in trouble, then so is Frank.
I closed my eyes and took a breath. This was it, what was bothering me. After that morning with Growler—when Tracy Horlick had been particularly horrid—I was more aware than ever of how my species victimizes others. Albert might not be my favorite human. But the fat man was essentially guileless. Witless, too, and that made him an easy mark for anyone who wanted to take advantage of him. Much as I might fight it, I did feel the slightest bit protective.
Not just of him, but of Frank. The ferret was more than a pet—a vulnerable animal. He was a friend. An ally. Hell, the slinky little creature had helped me out of some jams recently. And while I might not have more than a passing sympathy for the dumb beast who carried him around, I couldn’t help but relate to Frank in his distress. My aid might not have been necessary to help out old Mrs. Birman or Ernest Luge. But Albert wasn’t going to come home safely without my help. And Frank, his ferret, needed me.
Wallis sighed and rolled over, showing her tiger-striped back, as I went back at it, switching my search terms to seek out break-ins in the greater Beauville area. Rather to my surprise, I didn’t find any—although that could have been our chamber of commerce at work. A search of the online police blotter was a little more helpful. No robberies had been reported this season—at least none that made it online—but there had been some little things. A lawn mower had been taken two weeks before. I thought immediately of Ronnie, but it wasn’t the Evergreen condo association reporting the theft. More gardening tools—a hedge clipper and a trowel—had gone missing, as well. Hardly the stuff of a major criminal investigation.
Mindful of the cat, I put the laptop aside and tried once more to sleep. The night’s exertions—and the bourbon—must have worked eventually, because the next thing I knew, the ceiling was dancing with shadows as the morning sun lit up the trees outside. And I was panting with panic, having dreamed myself trapped like that bear and unable to get free.
Chapter Fifteen
I waited until I was in my car before calling Greg. I suspected that like most people who deal with animals, the warden was an early riser. But dawn comes early in the spring, and I didn’t need to wake a hardworking man from his slumber. Besides, I didn’t want Wallis butting in with any snarky comments about my love life or the options I may or may not have.
What I did want was information about the illegal trap—and to hear if any progress had been made in the investigation. My dreams had been disturbing, disordered images of cages and snares, and this was one problem I could throw myself at. Anything else, I told myself, was besides the point.
“Hey, Pru.” He was already in his truck. I could hear it running a little rough and remembered him saying something about the points.
“You check the condenser on that?” I raised my voice to be heard over the bark of a backfire. Behind him, the early morning cacophony of birdcall, undisturbed by the engine noise.
“You call to ask me about my truck?” He laughed, and I felt my face warm. Creighton had a lot of good qualities. He wasn’t a gearhead, though.
“Maybe I should.” I admit it, I purred. “But not this time.” I gave it a beat, just to let him wonder. “I was calling about the bear, actually. I wanted to know if you’d found out anything—if you had any leads about who might have trapped him or why.”
“No leads, though I’ve got some ideas.” I waited. Greg wasn’t given to idle speculation. Outside my own open window, the birds were getting busy. Food and childcare, love and rivalry playing out in trills and whistles. “So that’s what I’m competing with?”
I blinked. Had I let something slip? “Excuse me? I think the connection went out for a moment.”
“For you.” He raised his voice, and I found myself hoping that nobody was in earshot. “I mean, are you thinking about Albert’s job? I’m sorry, Pru, I know he’s your friend.” He didn’t give me time to respond. “But I can’t see him keeping it after this.”
“You can’t think Albert would actually be behind this?” I stammered, desperate to explain the certainty I felt in my gut. “He’s too lazy and, frankly, too chicken. He’s not the type to trap a bear—to trap any wild animal. I mean, he might steal your donut, but...”
“Pru, I’m not saying he’s in it alone. But he was there. And who knows what else he’s a part of?”
“What?” This was all new. “I thought, maybe they’d all been drinking or...” I didn’t know what I thought.
“This is more than just missing paperwork.” Greg’s voice sounded more distant as he drove. Around me, the birdcall was increasing in volume. “That trap? The tranq? That was a professional setup, and you know as well as I do that there’s big money in the dark wildlife trade. Best guess is someone wanted that bear alive for some reason, and none of the possibilities are good.”
“How would Albert even know how to get involved in something like that?” The man I knew could barely function.
“I bet he was recruited.” I was about to argue. Albert was no wildlife expert, and the only tranquilizer gun I knew of was in Greg’s truck. He didn’t give me time. “Face it, Pru, from all you’ve told me about Albert, he’s got no problem with earning some bucks the easy way. From what I hear, he’s not doing anything to help himself, either. Jim Creighton called me yesterday. Said Albert wasn’t talking. That he clammed up whenever they tried to get a statement out of him. He’s going to have to hand him over
to the staties soon.”
“But the idea...” The squawking outside was maddening. My temples were pounding.
“Maybe someone came to him. Made him an offer.” Greg sounded very far away. “Maybe someone’s got him scared. I don’t know, Pru. But if he won’t cooperate, he’s going to be the one going down.”
I had to stop at the edge of town and root around in my glove compartment for some aspirin. I knocked it back with the coffee in my travel mug, and sat there by the side of the road with my eyes closed, waiting for it to kick in.
Greg was guessing, same as me. But his speculation was informed and intelligent. A for-profit scheme that required a live bear—and Albert had been roped in as well. I didn’t know what I’d thought. A prank, a case of mislaid or misunderstood paperwork. A misdemeanor, nothing more. Add in money, though, and everything got more serious. Not to mention that this all made it more likely that Paul Lanouette’s death might not have been the result of some drunken accident.
One thing Greg had said struck a chord. If Albert were removed—arrested or even simply fired—I stood a good chance of being named his replacement. Never mind that I did it already or that I was more qualified than Al or his predecessor, a glorified dog catcher who had been someone’s crony back in the day. I was a local girl come home. Plus, Creighton would put in a word for me, no matter where we stood as a couple. He was honorable that way.
I had to confess, the idea had some appeal. It would make my life a lot easier, not having to hustle for every stupid gig. Even if I converted Ernest Luge into a client, I’d probably lose him once the autumn foliage was gone. In fact, with the cold weather, even the locals cut back. The Chinese restaurant would probably put me on every other week like last winter, as their business dried up. Heating my old heap of a house wasn’t going to get any cheaper, of that I was sure.
It wasn’t only winter. The GTO needed a new exhaust system, but I’d been holding off, hoping to put some money aside. Having a steady job meant a paycheck year round. And with Albert’s gig I’d be my own boss, more or less, with only the city to answer to—and the occasional call from Greg.