Fear on Four Paws

by Clea Simon

  “Not me!” The agile little beast was growing frantic. “Not about me! Beard...”

  “Albert.” Of course. I should have realized. The ferret was worried about his person. After all, he had seen him taken away—caged, a concept any animal could understand. How that tied in with what I suspected, I didn’t quite understand.

  “Do you think he’s tied up in some kind of scam?” I didn’t want to take my eyes off the road. I didn’t need to. I could feel the ferret’s agitation subside slightly as he considered the question and—just as important—realized that I was taking his concerns seriously.

  “He’s not...” More chittering and then that anxious whine again. “He means well.”

  That wasn’t what Frank was saying. Not exactly. But I was getting a sense of affection. Of food and warmth shared between the two, and of time spent enjoyably in each other’s presence. In its way, it was a relationship, as companionable and mutual as anything Jim Creighton and I shared. No wonder the poor beast was worried.

  “But what were you trying to do?” I would put aside my own fear. The horrible panic I had felt when the ferret had gone missing. Clearly, Frank had his own reasons for going AWOL. “What were you trying to find?”

  “The beast.” The whine was revving up, as the ferret grew more alarmed again. “Danger. Danger!”

  “It’s okay.” I needed to calm him down and find another way in. “You’re safe.”

  “No!” Frank wasn’t buying it. “Trap!”

  “Wait.” I pulled over to the curb. I needed to understand what was going on. And if anyone saw me talking to a ferret, well, I would deal with that later. “Frank, what is it? What did you think you could do?”

  “Trap!” Frank was so upset that instead of the usual phrases, I was getting pure emotion. Combined with the whine and his agitated hopping, this was the equivalent of him yelling at me—or having a panic attack.

  “Is this about the bear?” Surely, the little ferret couldn’t have been thinking to find the bear in the woods. What would he have done? Did he expect the wild animal to come and, well, bear witness about what had happened that day?

  “No! Not the bear!” Frank was positively screaming. “The man! The man!”

  “I understand.” He was scared, but I didn’t dare reach out to touch him, as much as I wanted to smooth his fur. Instead, I tried to pitch my voice in a reassuring tone. Calming—steady and low. “I’m going to take you home, to Albert’s place,” I said.

  That only set him off again, hopping and, yes, hissing like a cat.

  “Please, Frank. Calm down. Believe it or not, Albert’s safe.” I knew he picked up on my meaning. Whether he shared my confidence was another matter. To try to soothe the harried beast, I thought about Creighton. Yes, he and I were often at odds, but I had no doubt he was an honorable man. He would treat Albert fairly, and he wasn’t likely to do anything until he had a good command of the facts. “In fact, after I take you home, and I’m going to see if I can find out what exactly is going on.”

  A low whine interrupted me, and I looked up confused. That’s when it hit me. Frank didn’t necessarily understand the difference between an investigation and an indictment. He probably didn’t care if Albert had been arrested, or simply brought in to answer questions. Maybe the ferret wasn’t concerned about Albert getting a fair trial. Maybe Frank was worried about Albert because he thought his person was guilty.

  Chapter Thirty

  There was no point in trying to hide my surprise. The sleek creature in my passenger seat probably read me better than most other humans, including my own mother. But I couldn’t help turning over my newfound realization in my mind as I pulled back onto the road and began—rather slowly, for me—to drive.

  “I thought you didn’t see what happened...” It was a statement, rather than a question. Still, I waited for an answer. “That you were worried, because Albert was asleep.”

  “Hungry.” It wasn’t the response I expected. But Frank was already moving about, obviously frustrated by my inability to understand. “The man…the box.”

  And maybe I was reading the ferret’s signals wrong. “He’s not in a cage.” I tried to explain. “Not exactly. And they’ll feed him.” Not as often or in the quantity he was used to, I was sure. But that might not be a bad thing, considering the animal control officer’s girth.

  “No! Hungry...” I was definitely missing something, and Frank was growing increasingly upset again. Then it hit me. Animals, unlike us, live in a continuous present. It means they can survive despite terrorizing odds. It also means they have problems communicating tenses.

  “You’re saying Albert was hungry?” I thought back to the scene. He hadn’t trapped the bear for food. And he certainly hadn’t killed his friend for—“Wait, you mean, he wanted something.” Hunger would be a catch-all word to an animal. Although ferrets are known to covet toys and shiny objects, they would still, like any animal, think in terms of food. “You mean, greedy?”

  My passenger turned away, though whether in frustration or dismay I couldn’t tell.

  “Albert wanted something.” I tried again. The flash of warmth that came in response convinced me I was on the right track.

  “Fear! Trap!” The ferret was standing, at this point, his front paws in the air as if he could explain through gestures.

  Maybe he could. “You mean that Albert wanted something—and this led him into trouble?” This seemed like the obvious conclusion, and Frank appeared to accept it, settling down in the bucket seat as I turned off toward Albert’s apartment.

  I’d given some thought about where to take the little mustelid. In some ways, the office might have been a natural choice. Frank was used to hanging out in the desk, and I could visit him regularly there. Besides, when—or, if—Albert got out, he’d be right next door and could pick up his pet himself.

  But the ferret had been through a lot, and I couldn’t see camping out in a desk drawer once more as ideal. Besides, I had no idea how long Albert would be this time, especially if he’d begun to talk. And with all of this talk about “traps” I didn’t think it would be healthy for the little animal to be anywhere where he might spy Jim Creighton or, really, anybody with a badge. I’d hoped to communicate my confidence in Creighton, but to a ferret who had seen his person taken away, I didn’t know how long that would last.

  There was also the question of the legality of having a ferret on city property, but considering that Albert and I were animal control—and this was Beauville, after all—such punctiliousness wasn’t top on my list of concerns.

  No, I wanted to get Frank back into a safe place where he could wait in comfort. And if Albert was detained, it would be easy enough for me to drop by, although I suspected—having seen my colleague’s lair—that the ferret could easily find enough to eat and entertain himself, either among the provisions that Albert had laid in or those that made their own way inside.

  Maybe that was why I slowed further as I rounded the corner on Albert’s street. Even at that speed, I feared that my turn had thrown the ferret off balance. Although he had ridden the sway and movement of my GTO admirably, I heard him scramble to regain his footing as I swung onto Albert’s street. I let up on the gas and was about to voice an apology, when I realized that, no, he hadn’t fallen. He was simply scrambling up to get the best view of what he must consider his own home.

  “Here we go—” I caught myself in mid-sentence, suddenly struck dumb. I’d expected to be able to pull up right in front of Albert’s place, much as I had that morning. Only now a trio of cars stood out front: Beauville’s two police cruisers and the powerful sedan that I recognized as Creighton’s.

  For a moment, I feared the worst. More violence. Another murder. Then I remembered that Albert left his place unlocked. Could someone have taken advantage of the open space? I didn’t imagine Albert had much of anything to steal, but still, years
in the city had taught me that some people will see any open door as an invitation.

  As I pulled up, I saw Creighton coming down the front steps. He saw me, as well, and so there was nothing for it but to roll down my window and call out.

  “Hey,” I leaned out and called, aware all the while of the animal on the seat beside me. “What’s up?”

  “I could ask you that.” He stood back and squinted in the sun. He looked handsome enough to eat, which might have explained the distance.

  “I’ve got Albert’s pet ferret.” I nodded to the creature on the seat beside me, who now stood upright and was stretching his pointed nose toward the window, eager to pick up any scent. “I thought I’d bring him back here. You know, while Albert’s busy with you.”

  “You’ve been driving around with that in your car all day?” The hint of a smile, though it could have been sun.

  I shrugged. Better not to lie if you don’t have to.

  “Well, you can’t go in there.” He glanced back up at the apartment. I couldn’t see who was in there. If this was now a murder investigation, the state would have sent its own people. I eyed two other vehicles parked nearby and suspiciously nondescript. “And we can’t have an animal running around in there.”

  “Afraid he’d destroy evidence?” I made it sound like a joke. In truth, I was trying to find out what was going on.

  “Nice try.” He backed up a step and turned, the interview over. “Can’t you bring it over to County? Surely Doc Sharpe would let you use a cage for a few days.”

  “A few days?” I wasn’t deaf. I wanted to confirm what he’d said.

  “Most likely.” He turned to go. “We’ll see.”

  With that, he walked to his car, leaving me to do the reckoning. Creighton could hold Albert for up to seventy-two hours before the state charged him, but I didn’t know if the earlier detention would count into that. Then again, he could just be keeping the portly official while he executed a search warrant. Figuring in that “few days” comment, odds were good that my cop boyfriend was still investigating, and this was a fishing expedition, though what he hoped to find was a mystery to me. Of course, it was also possible that Frank’s protector had been arrested, and that Creighton expected him to make bail. Either way, the window of opportunity for me to clear my fat colleague was closing.

  Plus, I had a ferret in my car who needed a place to stay.

  “Frank, what are we going to do?” I turned toward the masked animal and met his black eyes with my own.

  “Fish?” His face, like most animals, maintained its serious expression, but I couldn’t help smiling.

  “No, that’s an expression,” I explained. “When I said a ‘fishing expedition,’ I just meant Creighton was searching for something.”

  “Let’s fish then. Go hunting! Fish!” He repeated, with more emphasis. And after a moment’s hesitation—was I giving the lithe creature too much credit for abstract thought? Was he, in fact, hungry?—I realized that I was the one being dense.

  “Yes,” I nodded in agreement. If Creighton could investigate, we could too. The question was, where to begin.

  “Hunting ground?” The answer was so obvious, I had to laugh. Frank seemed to enjoy this too, as he chirruped in a satisfied manner. I put the GTO in gear and began to drive away, when another thought hit me. Frank had seemed so panicked before. Afraid of the man who would trap Albert. Who would put him a cage. But he hadn’t reacted to Creighton at all. He was afraid of someone else.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  I couldn’t bring Frank home. That was not even an option. Part of being able to communicate with Wallis was respecting her preferences and her boundaries. As much as I would have liked to pretend otherwise, she and I both knew that I could hear her loud and clear—and that she would have very strong feelings about my bringing another animal into the house we both shared.

  “A ferret?” I could imagine her rearing up, baring her teeth as she took in Frank’s faint, but distinctive scent. “You expect me to share my home with a stinking weasel?”

  No, I tried to wipe the image from my mind. Frank had curled up to nap on the bucket seat beside me, but I didn’t want him to take offense. I did need to find a place for him to stay, however. He’d had an exhausting day, and he deserved some peace and quiet.

  As I drove, I thought about Creighton’s suggestion. It was true, I could lodge Frank at County. A crate—I prefer that term to “cage”—wouldn’t be the prison that it might seem to us. Some animals enjoy being in a confined space. It’s comforting, after all, to know you have a secure place to call your own.

  What I didn’t like was the idea of bringing him in, even on an unofficial basis. I’d had friends, back in the day, who were in and out of trouble with the law constantly. The ones from my teens, up here in Beauville, soon became known to the local chief of police. Creighton’s predecessor was pretty much the law here then; before we all became wired together, the state police were only called in when it suited him. But he knew whom to pick up, whether or not they were responsible for whatever the complaint. During my days in the city, the crimes I heard about tended to be bigger—less joyriding and more drugs, not to mention the occasional trade in ill-gotten goods. But the same idea held: once someone was in the system, he—or she—had a target painted on his back. You became known, you were more likely to be picked up. And once picked up, you were more likely to stay in that cage forever.

  No, I wasn’t going to put Frank in the system. On the very real chance that Albert did some time, I didn’t want his pet relegated to the shelter system—or worse.

  I looked over at the sleeping ferret, now a sleek and peaceful disk of fur. Damn, Wallis. I mean, I’m as territorial as the next creature but…no, there was no way around it. I turned toward the animal control office. Frank was going to have to bunk down in the office once more overnight.

  “It’s not my fault, you know.” Wallis didn’t sound repentant. The fact that she was explaining herself, however, suggested a modicum of regret. “You act like we’re all alike, but we’re not. I mean, how would you feel if I asked you to room with a mountain gorilla?”

  “Frank is hardly a mountain gorilla.” I was making us both dinner: meatloaf for me, and, well, meatloaf without any of the additives for her. “You sure you don’t want some catsup?”

  “Huh!” She reared back in disgust. Onions, I understood. They’re poisonous to cats. But I’d thought everybody liked catsup. Especially...

  “Oh, please.” Wallis didn’t appreciate my humor. “And those ...things...”

  She meant the onions, and it hit me that she wasn’t talking only about herself. It didn’t matter. I knew that it was only going to be the two of us that night. Wallis and I and some old blues discs I’d taken with me when I’d left the city. Those and the bourbon almost kept me from listening for the sound of a car coming up my drive.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  I woke with a head like the clouds that had gathered outside. Not even Wallis, leaning her soft fur against my legs, could make me feel much better.

  “It’s just that I’ve gotten used to him,” I said. She knew better than to reply. She did, however, leap up on the counter as I poured my coffee and I realized she was staring at my phone.

  “Well, that’s interesting,” she spoke, as if talking to herself. “Aren’t you going to answer?”

  “Am I—?” The phone rang before I could finish the question, and Wallis jumped to the floor, her tail set at a smart angle as she sauntered over to the doorway. “Good morning?”

  “Jack Walz.” The caller announced himself as if he were claiming a prize. I looked over at Wallis. She’d meet her match in attitude with this one. “I’m following up on our conversation.”

  “Yes, Mr. Walz, I remember.” I had been waiting for a more gracious greeting. I don’t believe any dog is too old to learn new tricks, but I also wa
nted this man’s business. I straightened up, the better to convey my own stature as we spoke, and pulled my diction up accordingly. “How may I help you?”

  “I would like to hire you to work with my husky.” I remained silent. I wanted his custom, but I wasn’t going to beg. After a moment, I heard a very restrained huff of acknowledgement. Of course, he could simply have been clearing his throat. When your nose is up in the air, it tends to collect dust. “I have an opening on my schedule this morning,” he said at last. “I’ll be home until eleven. Would you be available at that time?”

  He was asking for an appointment, only he made it sound like he was doing me a favor. Clearly a dominance play, but that was probably the behavior that had made him the money for Pine Hills. I’ve worked for worse—I did work for worse, I corrected myself: Tracy Horlick.

  “I’ve got one appointment this morning, but I can swing by afterward.” Besides, it didn’t hurt to let him know that I was in demand. “I should be there by ten.”

  “Grand.” He didn’t repeat his address. Men like that know that you’ve noticed them. He was right. I had. Wallis, meanwhile, seemed to take note of my raised eyebrows. Sometimes I think she resents how mobile my face—like any human’s—is. Right now, she simply looked smug. Before I could question why, the phone rang again.

  “Hey, Pru. It’s Greg.” Wallis had wrapped her tail primly around her forepaws. Was this the call she had anticipated? Does everyone’s cat play matchmaker?

  “Hey, Greg.” I heard the trepidation in my own voice. I missed Creighton more than I had thought. But there was no denying that relationship would always have its challenges, and I had to admire Greg’s timing. “What’s up?” Of course, he might simply have called about the job. Not that I’d made up my mind about that, either.