Sleeping Dogs Lie

by Sharon Henegar

  “Bob training Jack to go to me.”

  “Well, you’d never trained a dog before Emily Ann either,” she pointed out as we passed the next intersection.

  “That’s true. You should have seen Emily Ann at the park yesterday. She was playing with the other dogs and I told her to go to Bob, and she tore off to find him. He hid behind some trees when she wasn’t looking and she had to search for him. She was so excited when she found him that she jumped straight up in the air.”

  Kay grinned as she turned onto Prairie. “That must have been a sight. Hey, maybe we could turn Jack and Emily Ann loose and tell them to go to Bob. They could do a Lassie and find him.”

  “Good plan. I wish I'd thought of that last night. I could have taken Jack back to the Food Right and followed him as he unerringly sought out his master. Too bad I didn’t think of it in time.”

  “Yeah, I don’t know why you didn’t,” she said. A pickup changed lanes in front of us and she touched the brakes to keep from hitting it. After exhaling loudly, she went on, “It seems like you’ve seen Bob every day since you met.”

  I thought back. “That was two weeks ago yesterday. A couple of days after that I took him to the dog park for the first time, and since then we have seen each other at least once a day, except for Sunday. He had something else to do that day, he didn’t say what. We’ve been to the dog park, and we went out to dinner Thursday before last. And we had breakfast with you at the Bluebird last Friday morning before we opened the store.”

  “He’s getting to be a regular. Cleta likes him. What else?”

  “We rented videos a couple of times and watched them at my house with the dogs. He went garaging with me last Saturday. He bought one of those hand-cranked juicers from the fifties because he said he had grown up with one just like it.”

  “Good, now you can have your orange juice freshly squeezed when you spend the night at his house.”

  “Kay, leave it,” I commanded as though she were an errant puppy with a stolen sock in her mouth. She grinned at me, unrepentant.

  “So in all this time you’ve spent together, he’s never tried to kiss you?”

  “It is possible to know a man for two weeks without kissing,” I informed her.

  “But you’ve been dating. People often kiss someone they date.”

  “Well, we haven’t. I—I didn’t want to kiss him if he was going to turn out to be a reporter. And he hasn’t made any moves on me, so maybe he really is a reporter and is being professional. Or he just doesn’t want to kiss me.”

  “Ambrose says he’s not gay, so it can't be that. Has he told you any more about his past? Or talked about anything he’s written?”

  “No. He hasn’t.”

  We were almost out of town now. At the crossroads ahead a blinking red light glowed on and off. When we stopped, I saw that the place we were looking for was in a strip center on the left. The bar was the corner establishment, and its neighbors were a beauty parlor with a glittery handwritten sign in the window advertising Sprakle Nails. I gritted my teeth; misspelled signs make me itch. Next came an empty store front, then a double-wide shop where one could trade in used paperbacks for other used paperbacks. The business on the far end had no sign but appeared to be a lawnmower repair shop, currently not open. Maybe they were busy getting their nails sprakled. Kay turned into the parking lot and pulled up next to a dirty gray pickup that was the only vehicle in front of The Last Resort.

  “Come on,” she said.

  “Can't I wait here for you?” Perhaps I could duck into the beauty parlor and give them a quick spelling lesson.

  “No,” she said firmly. “Look what happened the last time you waited in the car. Get your butt out of that seat.”

  I've never had any desire to frequent bars. Beyond the occasional glass of wine, I don’t drink. I detest the smell of beer, and cigarette smoke makes me feel instantly emphysemic. But when Kay speaks in that tone I obey. I followed her through the front door, which was painted a dispirited dark red, into a dim and quiet cave. The jukebox in the corner was silent. A television mounted over the bar had the sound turned down to a mosquito-like buzz.

  Two people watched the set. On our side of the counter a young man, probably in his late twenties, sat with his elbows on either side of an empty beer mug. His t-shirt was sleeveless and revealed a colorful dragon tattoo snaking down the length of his right arm. An elderly woman leaned on the other side of the bar, her arms folded across the bib-style apron she wore over a white t-shirt and much-washed jeans. They both looked around with mildly curious expressions when we walked in.

  “Hi,” Kay said. “I wonder if you could help us with something.”

  We made our way around a couple of tables. I noticed that the TV was tuned to a soap opera; two young and beautiful women in evening gowns were having a serious argument.

  “You got car trouble?” the gray haired woman asked.

  “No, no, nothing like that,” Kay said, smiling. “We’re trying to find someone, and we found a matchbook at his house from this place. And it had a name and phone number written inside, but the phone seems to be busy all the time.”

  They both stared at her. Their unsmiling expressions were so identical that I wondered if they were related.

  Kay soldiered on. “Since we were driving by here, we thought we’d stop and see if you know anything about this person. The name written on the matchbook cover was Trixie. Does that ring any bells?”

  The woman blinked through a too-long pause. At last she said, “Nope.” Her lips closed in a thin line.

  Kay tried another smile. “Are you sure?”

  “It was written with purple ink,” I added helpfully.

  “Nope.” This time she also shook her head. “Never heard of her.” She turned away and focused on the television again, where a Chihuahua in a tutu now danced with an animated scrub brush.

  “Oh. Well, okay. Here, let me give you my card. Just in case this Trixie should show up here again.” She opened her purse, fished out one of her business cards, and laid it on the bar. Neither of them made a move to take it. The woman kept watching the screen and the man just looked at us. Finally Kay said, “Okay. Well, thanks. Guess we’ll go now.”

  We turned and headed for the door. Just before we reached it the young man spoke.

  “Weren’t you at the Food Right last night?”

  I halted and turned back. “Yes. I was looking for my friend who’s disappeared.”

  He nodded. “I heard you ask the clerk if she’d seen him.”

  I realized why the tattoo looked familiar. “You were buying lettuce.”

  He nodded. “Hope you find the guy soon.”

  “Uh, thanks.”

  He turned back to the TV, and Kay and I escaped. Jack was in the passenger seat. I pointed to the back and he hopped over. Neither of us spoke until we were back in the car. Kay turned the key, and as the engine fired up she looked over at me and started laughing.

  “Good lord, Louisa, was that weird or what?” She looked over her shoulder and backed out of the parking space.

  “Any event that includes a Chihuahua in a tutu is weird.”

  “You saw that guy at the grocery store?”

  “Yeah. I recognized the tattoo but I couldn’t think where I'd seen it.”

  “Did he act suspicious at the store? Could he be involved in Bob’s disappearance, do you think?” She pulled onto the street, heading back towards Bob’s house.

  “I only saw him for a few seconds in the produce aisle. Unless he’d been picking out that lettuce for at least half an hour, I don’t see how he could even have been in the store when Bob was there.”

  “It just seems like a huge coincidence,” she insisted.

  I nodded. “I know, but on the other hand the Food Right is the only big grocery store on this end of town.”

  “True. Did you believe them, about not knowing who Trixie is?”

  “I have no idea.” I thought about it. “The place is
small enough that you’d think they would know their clientele, but Trixie may not be a regular. For all we know she was only in the place once. Or maybe she’s never been there. Maybe Bob stopped in and picked up the matches and met Trixie somewhere else.”

  “Has Bob ever suggested taking you to a bar?”

  I shook my head. “No. And I've only seen him drink a glass of wine with dinner. I don’t think he’s the bar type.”

  “Trixie might not even be her name. I mean, who’s named Trixie?”

  “We just don’t have any information to go on, other than the name, false or not, and phone number,” I complained.

  She nodded. “True.” She drove in silence for a block, then sighed. “I suppose it would have been too easy to find Trixie at the bar and have her tell us what’s going on.”

  “I know, but it would have been nice.”

  “Hey, get my phone out of my purse and call her number again.”

  I fished around in her bag and found the tiny instrument. It flipped open easily enough, but required some surreptitious poking at its buttons to get a dial tone. I was embarrassed to let her see how little I had used one of these devices. I finally punched in the number that by now I had memorized.

  “Still busy,” I reported.

  She scowled. “Dammit, how can anyone talk that long? She must be the original motormouth.”

  We passed the parking lot where last night I'd watched a woman in red take Bob to a gray Mercedes and drive away.

  “This is where it all started,” I commented, and Kay glanced over at the store.

  “Right. Hey, that’s the store with the weird music. Maybe they were just fleeing from that.”

  Remembering what I'd heard when I went inside to look for Bob last night, I said, “That’s the most plausible thing we’ve come up with yet.”

  She reached over and patted my leg. “Look, maybe we’ll get lucky and he’ll be home by now, and we can find out what’s going on,” she said.

  “Are you sure it's okay just to drive up to his house? What if that guy is still ransacking my car?”

  “Louisa, he was through with the ransacking when he headed for the house. And why would he hang around after you got away? It’ll be fine. We’ll just go see if Bob’s come back, and pick up your car and—”

  Since passing the Food Right we’d been following the route I'd taken earlier that morning. As we neared the turnoff to Bob’s house I saw something by the other side of the road. “Oh my god!” I grabbed Kay’s arm. “Don’t stop, keep going. Do not turn into Bob’s driveway!”

  The car rocked as she pulled out of my grasp. Kay looked around wildly but kept driving. “What? What?”

  “The Mercedes! The gray Mercedes! It’s parked off the road back there!”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Kay looked over her shoulder, making the car swerve. “What! Where?”

  “Watch the road.” I poked her in the ribs. She slapped at my hand but returned to driving mode.

  “I can turn around up here,” she said. No other cars were in sight. She did a three point turn, and drove slowly back. “Where’s this car?”

  “It’s pulled off the road by those bushes.”

  “How do you know it's the same one?” she asked. “Must be a zillion gray Mercedes around.” She pulled off the road onto the shoulder a few yards beyond the Mercedes.

  “Of this vintage? Don’t you think that’s pushing coincidence a little far?” I retorted. “Last night one carries Bob off to god knows where, and today one just like it is hidden near his house. You figure the odds.”

  “It’s not really hidden, it's just inconspicuously parked,” she hedged.

  I snorted. “Pretty inconspicuous. You didn’t notice it.”

  “Let’s go check it out.” Jack slithered into her abandoned seat when she got out. “You stay in the car, Jack, honey,” she said. “We’ll be right back.”

  A graveled shoulder and a drainage ditch bordered the road, and a few feet away barbed wire fencing kept whatever might be lurking off the road. A pickup truck traveling about eighty miles an hour thundered past us, flinging a piece of rock that hit me in the knee. I yelped, but Kay didn’t notice. She looked in the passenger-side window of the Mercedes and tried the door.

  “Locked,” she muttered. “Try the driver’s door.”

  “It's locked too,” I reported.

  “Damn. I should have learned something practical like how to pick a car lock instead of all that art history. Look, there’s a map on the passenger seat.”

  Nothing else of interest could be seen in the car. It had nice leather upholstery that precisely matched the gray exterior, and the steering wheel was wrapped in what looked like red suede. I walked around and peered in at the map. “It looks like a local map,” I said, and Kay nodded.

  “Which could mean that your woman in red has never been to Bob’s house before, assuming that this is indeed her car,” she said.

  “Look out, Nancy Drew,” I commented. My knee hurt where the rock had hit it. I leaned over to rub the sore spot.

  She walked all the way around the Mercedes and paused to inspect the license plate. “Hmmm, I wonder if this is a rental plate.”

  “Right, probably, I know I always rent a car when I'm planning to kidnap someone.” She raised her chin at me but I went on. “Anyway, aren’t rental cars always compact Fords? And aren’t they always white? Where would you rent a car this old?”

  “It is perfectly possible to rent a Mercedes,” she said haughtily.

  “It's awfully clean,” I said. “Cleaner than yours. Maybe it spent the night in a garage somewhere.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Sherlock.” Abruptly she turned away from the Mercedes and headed back toward her own car. As she did, a battered old Volkswagen bug slowed down.

  “You ladies need any help?” called the driver, who appeared to be about nineteen, with blazing red hair standing up in a ring around his extravagantly freckled face.

  Kay gave him a wave and a big grin. “No, thanks. We’re just fine, but you are so sweet to ask.” He waved back and gunned his engine, grinding gears. By the time I limped back to Kay’s car the Volkswagen was out of sight. Jack was still on the driver’s seat. “You planning on taking over the driving?” Kay asked him. His tail whipped. “You’re not old enough for a license. Hop in back, that’s a good boy.” He obeyed, and we got in. Kay checked for traffic and put the gear shift into first.

  “Wait a minute,” I said. “You’re not going back to Bob’s driveway, are you?”

  “Well, yeah.” Her tone was impatient.

  “No! We have no idea if that woman came here alone or with Bob, or if she has someone else with her. I mean, she’s probably in cahoots with that guy—”

  “Cahoots?” She raised an eyebrow at me.

  “—and she may have used a weapon to make Bob go with her. And I still think the guy searching my car had a gun. We could get shot. Or they might shoot Bob. Maybe now is when we should call the police.”

  “Not till we see if anyone is at Bob’s house. Okay, we’ll go through the woods.”

  I couldn’t suppress a groan. She gave me a look. “Okay, okay, you’re right,” I said, holding up my hands in surrender. “I'm the one who doesn’t want to drive up to the house. Go about a mile and make a right.”

  Kay pulled onto the road and sped back the way we’d come. In a couple of minutes we entered the housing tract. Jack’s feet were planted on the console again, and his long ear brushed my arm as he leaned into the turn.

  “I have no idea how to get to the old road that leads to that barn,” I told her.

  “At least we’re not on foot this time,” she said, and turned right. “And it's not raining.” She turned right again, followed the curve of the street around to the left, then took the next right. The road to the barn was just ahead, leading into a stand of trees.

  “I can't believe it was that simple,” I said.

  “I figured it had to be on the western ed
ge of the tract. Maybe we can drive it. How muddy was it earlier?” Kay asked.

  I peered at the track, trying to remember how squishy it had been. “I don’t know,” I said. “I was too busy being wet myself to pay attention to the ground.”

  “Let’s try. If it's too soft for the car we’ll walk.”

  She shifted into low gear and turned onto the old road. We’d gone about three hundred yards when the back wheels whined in a spin and the car fishtailed.

  “Oops. Let me back up and we’ll walk from here.” She eased the car back to firmer ground. “Okay, let’s go.”

  “Will your car be okay? What if someone needs to drive through?”

  Kay paused in the act of opening the car door to turn and look at me. “Lou, look at this road, if you want to call it that. I'm not real concerned about traffic here.”

  She was right, of course. I swung open the car door and levered myself out onto the still wet ground. “Okay, it's this way. I have no idea how far.”

  She pressed the button on her car remote to lock the doors, slung her purse over her shoulder, and struck off at a good pace, paying no attention to the wet grass that slapped at her legs. I've never understood how someone who is three inches shorter than me can walk so fast.

  Jack and I followed. After a few steps I paused to free him from the leash. I stuffed it into my fanny pack as I hurried to catch up with Kay.

  Just as finding the track to the barn had been a matter of two or three turns, it seemed to take no time at all to come into view of the barn itself. As we approached, the clouds parted and a ray of sunlight turned the building to gleaming silver. Kay paused to look at it. “It’s certainly picturesque,” she commented. “I wonder who owns it. Too bad it's so out of the way, you could really do something with a building like that.”

  I remembered how scary that barn had been while I was hiding behind some hay bales from a big man with a gun. Or a shiny belt. “I could really do something with my car, too,” I said firmly, and kept going past her. She sped up and passed me. Jack bounced between us.

  Kay approached the lower level of the barn and reached for the door. Suddenly Jack threw his head back and sniffed the air. He gave one loud bay and charged around the right side of the building. “Jack!” I hissed. “Come back!” I hurried after him, scrambling to climb the hill the barn was built into. When I rounded the corner to the back of the barn, Jack was at the door, sniffing and digging at the ground in front of it.