Dogs Don't Lie (20 page)

I didn’t know how much he understood, but with one final head butt, he walked back into the room. I heard a brief hiss—Wallis, no doubt—and then silence. I walked gingerly toward the stairs.

My house is old, built sometime in the late 1800s. But I’d grown up here, and I’d known its quirks since girlhood. It had been a while since I needed to descend silently; there was little need to sneak out at night when you lived alone. And I trusted Wallis’ senses, I really did. Still, I hugged the wall as I made my way down, lowering my weight ever so gently on each wooden step.

“Hello?” There was no answer, of course. Still, I found myself breathing easier as I stepped around the broken glass. Wallis had said that the intruder had gone into my office, but through the open door I could see my laptop, closed and silent. Maybe I’d interrupted him before he could decide what to grab. I looked around the back room. Some files, more bookshelves. A folded blanket that Wallis favored for naps.

From here, I could see through the back porch, enclosed since my father’s day. It struck me as funny. Twice in one week, someone had broken my front windows. This back room would have been easier to enter. I looked at the old wicker furniture stored there, a settee that had seen better days. A rocker with a shredded pillow. Perhaps my intruder wasn’t that smart. Or perhaps he hadn’t thoroughly cased the house.

Well, no harm done. Relief came in the form of exhaustion, and I collapsed into my desk chair. On a whim, I opened my laptop. Yes, it woke up, and the screen staring back at me was once again the column of numbers I’d been analyzing earlier.

Then it hit me. The keychain drive. I had everything on it, copied onto my laptop. But the little plastic drive that I had left here, protruding from its side, was gone.

***

I so wanted to sleep. The damage was done, and I and the cats were okay. But some perverse sense of justice—or maybe simple annoyance—made me call Officer Creighton.

“Yes, I am home late. I thought you should know that someone broke into my house tonight. No,” I made a snap decision. “Nothing is missing. Not that I can see.” That would give me a little wiggle room in case I changed my mind. “But you wanted to talk to me in the morning, and well, it’s nearly three now.”

I heard a grunt on the line and wondered if he’d gone back to sleep. I didn’t hear any other voices, female or male, and a moment later he came back on the line.

“Don’t do anything. I’m coming over.”

Unsure about what exactly his proscription covered and too tired to be bothered with cleanup, I sacked out on the sofa, waking with a start when headlights cut through the dark.

“You know, you could have called 911.” Out of uniform, his dirty blond hair standing up where he’d run his hands through it—all in all, not an unattractive visitor to have pre-dawn.

“Could I? I didn’t know if anyone would respond.” I let my hair fall in my face and tugged my shirt down to remove some of the wrinkles.

“Very funny.” I’d flipped on all the lights as he’d walked up to the door, but he had his flashlight out anyway, peeking under the sofa and out the broken window to the ground below. “Run me through this again?”

So I did, from arriving home to being thrown onto the glass. “Then he ran.”

“And he didn’t take anything.” Something told me Officer Creighton didn’t believe me.

“I didn’t see anything in his hands.” That much was true. “And I’ve looked around.”

He rubbed one broad palm over his face again. “Okay, well, I’d like you to check in again later, when you’re awake. And you can file a report when you come in, too.”

“Aren’t you going to dust for fingerprints? Take samples or anything?” I gestured at the glittering glass, which by now had been spread further into the living room.

“You been watching too many cop shows, Pru.” He looked at me, hard. “This sounds like amateur hour. Maybe some of the local kids. You’re getting a reputation, you know?”

“Oh?” Faced with a statement like that, I find it best to stonewall.

“Yeah, first that dog. Now people are talking about you taking cats home.” To do him credit, he tried to smile. “You’ve got to be careful, Pru. They say you’re turning into one of those crazy cat ladies.”

“They don’t know the half of it,” I said. As I walked him out, I snuck a glance up the stairs. Wallis and the black Persian sat side by side on the landing, making sure I’d seen the cop out.

***

“Okay, what’s up?” I trudged up the steps, after once again deciding I could leave cleanup till the morning. “Spill, or I’m going to sleep.”

“It’s Floyd here.” Wallis sounded ever so slightly sheepish.

“Floyd?” I looked down at the Persian, who hugged my right. He looked up and blinked. “Okay, hi, Floyd.”

The black cat blinked again. I was too tired for this. “Wallis? I think you’re going to have to translate.

Wallis sighed. “I told him you were cool.” The two cats stared at each other. If there was something going on here, I wasn’t getting any of it. “Something about the intruder.”

“I know, he’s been here before.” Right now, I’d have given good money for uncommunicative cats.

“Yeah, but he knows him. It wasn’t his person, but it was someone who’d been around. And I heard what that copper said.”

A new voice chimed in.

“It wasn’t a boy.” The Persian’s voice was as soft as his fur, hesitant. “It was a man, a big man.”

I started to say something. I knew that. I’m the one who had been thrown to the floor. But something about the Persian’s tone stopped me. “And there was something else. He was, how would you put it? He was polite.”

I shook my head to clear it. My wires were getting crossed. “What did you say?”

“Polite.” The big cat blinked up at me. “You know, nice.”

“Nice?” Someone had broken my window. Had broken into my house, and had attacked me. My knee throbbed, as did my hand. “Nice?”

I looked at the two cats, but they only blinked and turned away. Great. Now I had two animals in my house who thought I was as dense as a dog.

Chapter Twenty-one

I still hadn’t figured that one out when the phone woke me early the next morning. It was Creighton. Revenge I guess.

“Just making sure you’re still planning on coming in.” He sounded a little too chipper for the amount of sleep we’d both had.

“And here I was, thinking that you cared.” I sat up to keep from falling back asleep and looked over at my clock. I’d have been up within a half hour anyway.

“Oh, I do, I do.”

That was a joke, it had to be. But there was still a slight awkward silence while my brain caught up. I remembered what he’d looked like last night, all tousled and buff, and I shook my head to clear it.

“Feeling’s mutual, Officer.” I reached for my jeans. “But I’ve got some animals to take care of first. I’ll be in by 10.”

“Looking forward to it.” That wasn’t his usual signoff, and I found myself staring at the phone as the line went dead.

***

I was making coffee when Wallis found me. Something about the curl in her tail told me she was thinking, and I turned toward her, waiting to hear what she had to say.

“You know, I’m not so sure I like this.” She sat and fixed me with a look.

“Coffee?” I was playing dumb.

She didn’t buy it. “Don’t be more stupid than you can help, Pru.” Her tail lashed once. “I mean, the translation gig. It’s not me, and I’m not comfortable with it.”

“Translation?” I stopped measuring beans. There was something I was missing.

She half closed her green eyes. “You don’t think that Floyd actually communicated with you, do you?” I shrugged. “He’s way too shy. A real scaredy cat. No, I had to, well,
boost
his thoughts.”

“Huh.” I nodded and continued to measure out spoonfuls. This was news to me, and it made me wonder how often Wallis had been putting herself into my conversations.

“Not often.”

“Wallis!” I spun around. She was stretched on the floor.

“Sorry.” She reached out to knead the air. “You asked. But usually I just, well, I just give other cats a lift. Help them focus. After all, we phrase things differently than you do. We have a different emphasis.”

I was beginning to suspect where this was going. “And you think you misinterpreted something Floyd wanted to tell me.”

She turned away from me. “Not misinterpret. Just…a slight difference in emphasis.”

“That’s understandable, Wallis.” I tried to keep my voice calm. “Would you tell me what it was?”

“It was the idea of courtesy. We, as cats, don’t really have a concept of manners. We don’t need to. But some things are unpleasant to us. Loud noises. Water. Sharp smells that irritate our eyes or noses. Direct eye contact or constant, what do you call it? Petting. I mean, when we don’t desire it.”

“So ‘not annoying’ might have been a better translation than ‘polite’?” I paused. I really didn’t need to set her off this morning. “Perhaps a little more accurate?”

“Something like.” She stood up to leave the room. “And don’t patronize me, Pru. It doesn’t become you.”

After that I wasn’t going to search for the black Persian. I needed time with my own thoughts. I poured my coffee into a travel mug and hit the road. It was early enough that I stood the risk of waking Tracy Horlick, but I had a busy day ahead of me, and I didn’t really care. As I drove over, I started to map out my day. First, the bichon. Then, Creighton. A waste of time, but maybe not quite the waste I’d have thought a few days earlier. Besides, I wanted to find out what the latest was on Charles’ case, and I knew I’d have a better chance of finding out in person. At least, I should be able to suss out whether I was still in the hot seat. Then I should try Eleanor Shrift again. It wasn’t just that I was pissed at her, or that the black Persian—Floyd—deserved a home. Technically, I had no right to her cat, and she could raise hell for me for taking the animal from the shelter without her authorization. Finally, if I had a chance to breathe in there, I wanted to swing by Nora Harris’ again. I’d left her with a dog she didn’t necessarily want. A dog that took a fair amount of care, too. And while it wasn’t Delia Cochrane’s job to take care of Lily, I wanted to hear why she’d been badmouthing me to the cops.

I paused and sat back. Maybe I was overreacting on that one. Maybe that was Creighton, being protective of the young widowette. I sighed. No hiding from your own motives. But, hey, at the very least, I should go by and see how they were all settling in. Offer the grieving mother some obedience training lessons or something.

If I had hopes of waking Tracy Horlick, they were dashed as I walked up to her door.

“Come in! Come in!” My client had on her customary housecoat and slippers, but her face was already heavily made up and underneath some clumpy mascara her eyes shone with anticipation. “Would you like some coffee?”

That was a first, but I raised my travel mug in response. “No thanks, Mrs. Horlick.” I didn’t trust her brew anyway.

I reached for the bichon’s lead, but she grabbed my arm. “I hear you had some excitement last night.”

For a brief moment, I thought of Mack. Had she heard about our dinner date already? But the tight-faced little woman kept talking. “First, there’s a murder, then a break in. Makes you wonder what’s happening to Beauville, doesn’t it?” The pure glee in her face undercut any concern in her voice and set my back right up.

“Crime happens everywhere, Mrs. Horlick.” I poked around for the dog.

“And once again you’re in the center of it.” She glared at me, waiting for a response. “It’s almost like you’re involved.”

“Bitsy?” I’d avoided using the cutesy name ever since the little dog had corrected me. But if I were to call for “Growler,” old Horlick would have the news about my mental instability all over the county by noon. “Bitsy?”

“I wonder if it’s any coincidence.” She batted her eyelashes at me, and I had the impression of two spiders fighting. “Seeing as how you were out with that Mack Danton last night.”

Okay, my reputation was already shot. “Where’s your dog, Mrs. Horlick?”

“What, Bitsy? He must still be asleep.”

She turned to glance behind her, and I used the moment to slide past. Once inside, it was easy to hear the scrabble and scrape of small claws on the inside of a locked door. “Growler?” I whispered.

“Oh, there he is!” Horlick had come up behind me and so, without waiting for answer, I reached to open the door. The bichon shot out, then stopped short while I snapped his lead on.

“Guess we’re out of here!” I let the small dog propel me down the front steps and toward the street.

“But I didn’t get to hear what happened!” Her whine carried down the walk.

“Sounds like you already have,” I called, and followed the bichon toward the nearest tree.

“Growler, may I ask you something?” Six trees and as many sniff stops later, and we were well clear of the Horlick house. But even when I repeated my question, the bichon ignored me.

“Thomas, Marco, Wolf.”
He stopped to sniff at a hydrant.
“Tiger. Hmm…. a new fellow.”

“Growler?” I thought of what Wallis had said about mediators. Maybe he didn’t hear me. Or maybe he simply didn’t feel like talking. The more I got to know Tracy Horlick, the more I understood the small dog’s reticence around people. I resisted the urge to pull up on the leash and forced myself to remember my training. “Growler?”

Nothing, and so I sat on the curb. I wouldn’t pull on the leash, but I wouldn’t go forward either. To get what he wanted, the little dog would have to pay attention to what I wanted. Within two minutes, he was staring up at me.

“What is it now?”
He seemed pissed.

“Growler, I want to talk to you.”

With a sigh, he sat on grass. Some things translate across all species lines.

“You told me Delia was pregnant.”

“Anyone with a nose would know that.
” He shifted, and I realized he considered that question answered.

“Yeah, well, you were also telling me about Charles.” Silence. “You know Charles rescued Lily, right? Well, I want to find out who hurt him. Who killed him. And to do that, I need to know more about him.”

I’d lost him. The bichon was on his feet again, sniffing at the air. I got fragments—something about a bird, a whiff of a skunk. Somewhere, a female had gone into heat. I was getting desperate.

“Do you want us to go find her?” I’d have to answer to the female’s person, but at this point I had nothing else to bargain with.

“Do I? What?
” The little dog whipped around and nailed me with a fierce glare.
“No, I don’t. I want to keep walking.
”

“Okay.” I struggled to my feet. The night had left me stiff, and my knee ached. “If we can keep talking.”

“Scout, Tumbler.”
His wet nose was quivering. I wasn’t going to get anywhere near his full attention. “
Johann.
”

“Tell you what, Growler.” I let myself be pulled forward. “Just tell me a little about Charles. Just what comes to the top of your head.” I didn’t know if the idiom translated, but I hoped the intent would. “And I’ll take you down to the river again—
and
let you roll in the mud.”

Despite himself, the bichon let his tail wag. I had him.
“Good guy. Lots of treats
.” Growler had given up on the suburban trees and was pulling me straight toward the river footpath.
“I liked him.
”

“And?” Once we got into the wet leaves and wild animal scents, I’d lose him for good.

“Isn’t it obvious?
” He had me trotting now, in his eagerness to get to the river.

“Isn’t
what
obvious?” I could have laughed. At least Wallis couldn’t see me
.

“He was like me.
” And then a blue jay swooped down low, and all conversation ended.

***

“I was beginning to worry.” Tracy Horlick’s drawn-on eyebrows bunched together in disapproval. I didn’t want to hear it.

“Well, he’d waited for so long, I wanted to give him a nice romp.” And butter wouldn’t melt in my mouth.

Her mouth bunched up as well, the morning’s lipstick already cracking. For a moment, I thought she might cry.

“I’m off. Got to talk to Officer Creighton.” I waved and walked off. Might as well throw the old bag a bone. Who knows what I’d hear if I started to shake things up?

***

I had to admit Creighton didn’t look any worse for wear when he walked up to meet me at the Beauville police station. Even with his hair smoothed down and the drab khaki uniform, I couldn’t help seeing him as a good-looking man. Which meant trouble, for me. I’d have to be on alert, I reminded myself as I followed him back to his office.

“Thanks for coming in, Pru.” At least we’d moved onto first-name basis.

“My pleasure, Jim.” I enjoyed the momentary fluster as I took a seat. “So, what’s up? Let’s start with what the coroner’s report said.”

He straightened in his seat, like a little boy at school. “If you don’t mind, I’ll ask the questions. For example, I’d like to know more about that break in last night—and the attempt the other day.”

“Attempt?” The broken window.

“This
is
a small town, Pru. When I heard that Ricky was going over to your place to fix a window, I put two and two together.”

“And came up with five. How do you know that I didn’t do that myself?”

“Throw a rock in? Be real, Pru.” He leaned back in his chair. “It’s not like you’ve got money to throw around on home improvements.”

I opened my mouth,, but the snappy comeback didn’t come. “Is that what this is about? Me and my money? For all you know, my mother left me a fortune.”

“I knew your mother, too, Pru. And I’ve seen some of your billing.”

I could feel the color rise to my face. I was steaming. “Look, Creighton—”

“Relax.” He raised his hands, and the animal part of me wanted to lash out. The human part remembered that for all our new camaraderie, he was a police officer. I bit my lip. “I’m just telling you I know how things stand. For what it’s worth, your penury is in your favor.”

“Big word for a cop.” I wouldn’t storm out, but I didn’t have to like it.

“Pru, someone killed Charles. Someone killed Charles in a particularly bloody fashion and tried to make it look like his dog had done it. You were there. You found him, and you’d trained that dog. But it doesn’t seem like he owed you that much money.”

He paused, and I looked up at him. This was all good, sure, but there was something he wasn’t saying. Then he let the other shoe drop. “Unless, of course, there was something not on the books. Like you’d invested in his company. Or had some private arrangement.”

The way he said it made me feel greasy. “Maybe you should be looking at Delia Cochrane. Or doesn’t anyone want to say anything bad about Beauville’s golden girl.”

“Hey, you’re the one who got away.” He chuckled a little, and I could have sworn there was a slight flush on his cheeks. “But, tell me more. Why Delia?”

I wasn’t sure how much to say. “Well, she’s spending a lot of time with Chris Moore now.”

He shrugged. “They were together for years, then they weren’t. There were no signs that she was seeing him while she was with Charles.”

I wondered how he knew that, and if it could be trusted. “Well, maybe there was someone else, then.” I thought of Mack—and what Wallis had told me about her scent. Then, as Creighton shrugged, I found myself considering him, too. The young cop was the right age, and handsome enough to appeal. Especially if one needed an alibi.

“Now, why are you going on about Delia, Pru?” Yes, he definitely was sweet on her. “I mean, she works for his mother, for Christ’s sake. She fixed them up.”

“Yeah, and she’s got Alzheimer’s or something, right? That’s a hell of a recommendation.” I didn’t like the way this conversation was going. With a jolt, I realized I was a little jealous. Probably just the attention. “But there’s more.” Almost before I could stop myself, I blurted it out. “I think Delia’s pregnant, and who knows who the father is.”

“Now that’s going too far.” He stood up, and for just a moment, I expected him to hit me. “I don’t know where you’ve heard this, or even if it’s true. But the young lady lost her fiancé
less than two weeks ago, and here you are accusing her of— of I don’t know what.”