Dogs Don't Lie (13 page)

“I’m fine.” I straightened up. “Thanks.” I made my way back to the bar. The place was empty, but Albert sat right beside me. Ah well, I wanted to talk.

“So, Al, how’s the ferret?”

“Hey, Haps, she’s asking about my ferret!” This occasioned much laughter from Albert and a humorless grin from the bartender, who brought over a Pabst without asking.

“He’s not the real Happy, you know.” I sipped my Jameson’s, then made myself put the heavy glass down.

“But I bet he’s real happy you’re here.” Albert leaned close, and I tensed to keep myself from recoiling. I wanted information. “So, you celebrating?” My face must have answered his question. “I mean, getting your drive back?” He emphasized the word “drive” just a little too much for my comfort, and I shot him a look. “A girl could say ‘thanks,’ you know.”

“I did, Albert. Even though it was your ferret that stole it.”

He accepted the truth of that, and we drank companionably for a while, him finishing one beer and gesturing for another. Me sipping as slowly as I could. At some point, he noticed and nodded toward my half-empty lowball glass. “You waiting for someone?”

I must have appeared confused, because he answered his own question. “Mack, maybe?”

I started to wave him off and then reconsidered, remembering our earlier conversation. “I wasn’t, but that’s not a bad idea. I mean, maybe he’s going to take over the business.” I was fishing—Charles owed me, not his company—but the bait was a core of truth. “Of course, my bill is probably small potatoes for the proprietor of a software company.”

“We’ll see if any of those bills get paid.” Albert leaned back on the bar and took a long swig of his beer. He was playing me, I could tell. But we weren’t in the office now, and I had all the time in the world.

I tried not to sound too curious. “Really?”

He took another swallow and wiped his sleeve across his mouth. “From what I hear, the business was going belly up before it could take off. I also hear the cops are asking questions about the finances.”

His imagery was making my head hurt, but he’d raised a good point. “I was wondering about the cops.” I spoke slowly, as if I didn’t care. “Like, why are they now saying it was murder?”

He shrugged. “Maybe they think Mack killed him for the start-up money. I’ve seen him here after hours, you know.” Albert leaned back on the bar, and I had the distinct impression that he was striking a pose. “And that cop was poking around asking questions about Mack. About you, too, Pru.” I didn’t respond to that either, and after a few minutes, he gave up and finished his drink. Pulling a five from his wallet, he waited while the bartender brought him change. With a half smile, he counted through it, leaving fifty cents and a few pennies. “I mean, they’re saying it’s murder now, but I didn’t hear anything about a weapon. Maybe they think you sicced the dog on him,” he said, without meeting my eyes. “You know, when he couldn’t pay up.”

Chapter Fourteen

I tossed and turned for much of the night, trying to reconcile what Albert had told me with my own confusing discoveries. I scared him, I knew that. But I couldn’t disregard his threats. They meshed too well with my own worries, and, besides, there seemed to be other connections at work that I should be paying attention to. Still, whether it was my drinking or some gap in my knowledge or understanding, I just couldn’t make a comprehensible whole out of it.

What I didn’t know was tantalizing, made worse by my own slivers of knowledge. Not just about Lily—or why Charles’ death was now being called a murder, but the smaller things. The things within my grasp. For instance, I didn’t know enough about spreadsheets or finances to make out if Charles had really been in trouble. I hadn’t even examined the other files on the drive. I did recognize my own invoice in that list, and I knew it was by far the smallest amount there. Mack’s role in all of this was another question mark. Clearly, Albert was jealous of Charles’ partner, maybe because of some unrelated interaction with him in the after-hours world of Happy’s or beyond. But I couldn’t completely discount what the fat, flannelled animal control officer had said about him, either. I knew myself well enough to know that when I felt sparks, they often came from a loose wire. Mack might be shady. He might just be a ladies’ man. The verdict was still out on the handsome financier—or whatever he was.

Thoughts of Mack, those knowing eyes and that generous mouth, were a welcome break from fears of the cops, but they only increased my restlessness. The whiskey didn’t help, nor did the absence of Wallis. The kitten came and went throughout the night. But each time I woke, feeling for Wallis on top of the comforter I was reminded again of our squabble. She’d become such a friend to me, a companion instead of a pet, and the only true confidante I had. Had I expected too much? I found it hard to lower my estimation of the tabby. Clearly, I’d pushed too hard.

Tangled dreams finally dragged me down, and I woke at dawn as tired as when I’d retired. My dreams had been full of animals, mostly cats. All of them talking, but in phrases and tones I couldn’t understand. I shook my head to clear it of the incipient hangover and looked down at the foot of the bed. I had a headache, and the fog didn’t clear. And Wallis was nowhere to be seen.

Sometimes routine can be a good thing. The necessity of showering occasionally, dressing, and feeding myself—along with Wallis’ coaching—had gotten me out of bed not that many months ago, and it worked again this morning. Before I tackled the bigger issues, I needed to work out what had actually happened with Wallis. I probably owed her an apology. But in order to keep food on both our plates, I also had a bichon frise to walk and something like a business to get in order.

***

“So now they’re saying it’s murder, did you hear?”

I grunted something noncommittal as I bent to clip on the bichon’s lead. I was in no mood for gossip, but I’d take information from wherever I could get it. Tracy Horlick took a deep drag on her cigarette and kept on talking.

“Can you imagine using a dog as a deadly weapon?” The little dog wagged his tail at the concept, and his owner recoiled in mock horror, dropping ash on the floor. “And we let them sleep with us!”

“Is that what they’re saying now?” I shouldn’t have said anything. I’d been nearly out the door. But ignoring her own pet’s obvious desire to run, if not relieve himself, the old gossip dragged me back indoors, surveying the empty street outside dramatically before closing the door.

“I don’t know the details.” She leaned in and I smelled alcohol, though, come to think of it, that could have been my own breath. “Just that it’s murder. And they’re having the coroner do an
autopsy
.”

She said the word as if it were an obscenity, softly and with glee. I pulled away and tried to hide my own pleasure in disabusing her. “That’s standard, Mrs. H. Whenever someone dies unexpectedly, even when they’re just hit by a truck.” I couldn’t help it. I smiled.

It didn’t help. She leaned in closer. “I knew you’d know about these things.” The booze might not be hers, but the stale cigarette smoke was. “Seeing as how you’ve lived in the city and all.”

“It’s not that different out here.” I pulled away. “Only, my clients in the city never got killed.” That set her back a bit, and before she could recoup, I lifted the leash and reached for the door. “And now I think Bitsy has to go.” A little bark emphasized someone’s impatience, and I made a mental note to give the miniature dog an extra good run as thanks.

“You’ll let me know if you hear anything, won’t you?” Tracy Horlick leaned on the doorframe, the bright sunlight showing how faded her housedress was. “I mean, if you learn anything from that dashing young man of yours.”

I nodded and waved. There was no point in arguing, and besides, the bichon really did have to go.

“Come on, Bitsy.” Poor dog. With any other animal, I’d have made an effort to learn its private name, what it called itself. But this little creature was such a tiny thing, and, I had to admit, I associated it so strongly with its owner. “Go, puppy, go!”

Once we were down by the river, I unhooked the bichon’s lease. He took off like a superball, and I followed behind, letting the crisp morning air wipe out last night’s fogs. I pretty much kept him in sight, but still, when I heard a small yelp, I jumped.

“Bitsy?” A rustle and a small white face looked up. Good. I owed the dog for extracting me, but if he were taken by a coyote or, hell, even a fox, I’d probably have to leave town. But another yelp followed, and when I crouched down to his level, I saw the problem. Burrs the size of my thumb had gotten into his pretty little curls. One of them must have worked its way under his fur, and I had a hell of a time keeping him calm while I teased them out. Patience wasn’t either of our stronger suits, and I finally pulled my knife, slicing through his silky undercoat to remove the last two. First time I’d used my knife since leaving the city.

I had to confess, I had mixed feelings about being in Beauville. On one hand, I’d gotten used to the space. My mother’s house, as rundown as it was, felt like the right amount of room, these days. Especially when Wallis and I were at odds. On the other, if I simply took off, went back to New York, maybe I could leave this whole mess behind me. The idea of returning to my former haunts was no longer quite as scary as it had been. I didn’t know if I was feeling better, really, or if Beauville had just become too complicated for me. Not just Charles’ murder—or Creighton’s possible interest in me. This town was all gossip, all the time—and even the wide open hill country seemed too close for anyone to keep secrets for long.

As if on cue, Delia Cochrane came into view, jogging down the path. I flipped the knife closed and slipped it into my jeans.

“Hey!” I raised a hand in greeting. I had a ton of questions for her, none that I’d figured out how to ask. But when she slowed down and circled back, I realized that this might be my best shot.

She slipped off her headset. “Pru. I’ve been meaning to call you. Thought I’d get you at the funeral, but…” She raised her hand in the universal symbol of frustration.

“It seemed like you had your hands full.” What it hadn’t seemed like was that the supposed girlfriend was mourning. “How is Charles’ mother?”

Her pretty face tightened up in thought. “Not great. I guess it’s the shock. The funeral—and what that cop told her—really knocked her for a loop. I took her car keys, and I don’t think she even noticed. Except for her garden, she seems really out of it.”

I nodded. That, to me, made more sense than Delia’s apparent nonchalance. I saw my opening. “It must be really hard on both of you.”

Delia looked off down the trail, and I wondered who she was expecting. Chris Moore, perhaps? “Yeah, well, nobody deserves to go that way. Charles was a good guy.”

“Yes, he was.” We could agree on that. “I guess I didn’t know how serious you two were.” I was fishing, but it seemed better to approach her this way than to say her kitten had told me they’d been arguing. “That you were engaged.”

“It wasn’t official. Not really.” She shrugged. “We’d talked about it. So, yeah, sure, I’d have married him. Chuck had a good heart, you know?” She must have seen the question in my eyes, cause she went on. “I met him when I was temping, helping out his mother after her fall. He took in strays, you know that.”

Did she count herself among those strays? I couldn’t think of a way to phrase the question, but her lack of grief seemed to be out there, like the autumn sun.

“Excuse me for saying so, but you don’t sound like you were keen on the idea.”

Another shrug, which made her honey-toned ponytail bounce. “Maybe I’m in shock, too.” She turned back to me and, I swear, she batted her eyelashes. “We made a good couple, though. Don’t you think?”

I nodded, but thoughts of the homely programmer’s warm heart kept me from saying any more. There was something wrong with this scenario, and I needed to find out what. “So, if you two had an arrangement, do you know what’s going to happen to his business?” It was crass, but it was the best I could come up with on the spur of the moment.

“Jesus.” Delia wrinkled up her nose. “You sound just like the cops.” She pushed the headset back on her head and adjusted the volume. “He left everything to his mother. The lawyer came by after the funeral with all this paperwork. He wanted to take care of her, you know. Chuck, I mean. He was much cooler than any of you could imagine,” she said, and took off down the path.

“I didn’t get to tell her about the kitten.” I was talking to myself, but as I did, I realized the glossy black eyes of the bichon were on me. “Did you get all of that, Bitsy?” I didn’t expect an answer, not from such a frivolous little thing. But Wallis’ words came back to me. Maybe it was time for me to start talking with a wider range of animals. If Bitsy was half as gossipy as his person, maybe she’d have seen something I could use.

“So what do you think?” I crouched on the path and reached out to the fluff ball.

In response, he sniffed my hand, his nose cool and damp. As he did, I got flashes. Wallis, her thick fur rubbing against these fingers. The dark, rich smell of coffee. Last night’s pizza. This was hopeless. I’d have to find out more about Delia and then talk to her again. I pushed myself to my feet.

“Find out who the father is.”
I spun around so fast, my head spun. The little dog was looking up at me and panting, as if eager for more play.
“The father,”
the tiny voice rang in my head.
“Anyone with half a nose can tell she’s pregnant.”

***

I was dying to ask the bichon more, but after that bombshell, he shut down. Could have been the surroundings; we’d reached an oak tree that had been marked by every dog within ten miles. Could have been the dog. I still didn’t think bichons had much concentration. But for the first time, I found myself wondering if it was me. My special sensitivity was so new, I’d never questioned it. How it worked, what impression I was making on the animals with whom I could now communicate. None of that had ever come up. Maybe it should have.

I tried to be a little more responsive on the walk home, letting the little dog take me on several detours that seemed important to him, though by the time we got back to town, I was wondering if I’d been naive. I know that Tracy. Horlick was ready to spit when we finally returned.

“Well, there you are. I was beginning to wonder if you’d run off with my Bitsy.”

“Not likely.” As soon as the words were out, I plastered a fake grin on my face. “I mean, he’d be more likely to run off with me. He just seemed extra curious about everything today, so I wanted to give him a chance to sniff around.”

“Hmm.” The dog’s owner sniffed as well. “Curiosity must be in the air.”

I didn’t want to ask, I really didn’t. But it did occur to me that Tracy Horlick might be able to expand on Bitsy’s bombshell. Kicking myself just the tiniest bit, I gave her what she wanted. “Oh, really?” I asked.

She smiled, a horrible sight. “Really.” She paused for another drag on her cigarette and held it for effect, but I just couldn’t bring myself to beg. “Someone has been asking about
you.”

That was my cue. I knew it. But when push came to shove, I looked at that face and thought of the dog. No wonder Bitsy didn’t like people. “I’m listed.” I tried for breezy as I hung Bitsy’s leash on its hook, and headed for the door.

I’d gone too far. “You think it’s that dashing Mack Danton, don’t you?” Her voice had gone from syrupy to harpy sharp in seconds. “Everyone knows you’ve set your cap for him, but you don’t know the half of it.”

“Bye, Mrs. Horlick. See you tomorrow.” I refused to rise to the bait.

She barely paused in her tirade. “He’s the one you should be keeping on a leash. Sneaking around.”

I smiled and started to close the door. Just in time to hear her parting shot. “But it’s not him! It’s the police.”

“What?” The question was out of my mouth before I could catch it. Damage done, I turned back toward the door, only to be rewarded by that thin smile. “The cops were asking about me?”

She had Bitsy in her arms now. The dog’s black button eyes fixed on mine, but I didn’t have the time to focus. “They wanted to know what your habits are. How
stable
you seem.” That grin would’ve fit a crocodile. “Seems they’ve been looking into your past.”

“Great,” I muttered to myself. To her, I tried for a brave front. “I guess they’ve got to worry about anyone who comes back to this town.”

The old harridan sputtered for a moment, during which I remembered that she was now one of my only regular paying clients. With a deep sigh, I set about to backtrack. “But if I hadn’t come back, I’d never have met you and Bitsy.”

I reached over to pet Bitsy’s fluffy head, and as soon as I touched him, I got it. “
Watch out for the old ones, walker lady. They bite.”

***

I confess I was a little shaken as I drove back home. Tracy Horlick’s venomous sputter hadn’t told me anything I hadn’t expected, but hearing that the cops were asking questions about me so soon still made me uneasy. Maybe they didn’t have much else to focus on in this godforsaken town, but this was going fast. Too fast.