Murder Takes to the Hills (22 page)

“We all were,” he answered stoutly. “Terrible thing to do to a sweet, beautiful animal! Now there, I have to say I truly doubt Mickey had anything to do with it. After all, he knows Sara and Clay and I are family.”

“You think that would stop him? After all, Clay is the one who hired Peter Minot and told him what he wanted done.” I sipped my drink gratefully.

“Yes. But family is family.” I thought he was trying to convince himself. He was gulping his drink. His hand had a slight tremor.

“Say, how’s that big ole dog of yours?” He was trying hard to sound casual.

“Oh, he’s at the cabin sulking.” Actually he was in the boathouse sixty feet away, being carefully watched by the squad of car valets, who took shelter from the rain there. At least one of them would be with him at all times. They were to bring Fargo directly to me at once—dogs allowed or not—if Mickey showed up anywhere on the premises.

I continued the fairytale. “He always sulks when he’s alone, but he gets over it. By the way, I hear you and Mickey are leaving Monday. So are we. We’ll be sorry to leave, but I’ll bet you won’t.”

My hope was that if he repeated that our departure was planned for Monday to Mickey, Mickey would hold off any attack on Fargo—or us—until Sunday night, when we would be far, far out of range.

“No, I won…won’t be sorry to leave this sorry town.” He was beginning to slur. “They never have appreciated me and I don’t ’
preciate
them. Now, Mickey,
thass
another ball of wax. Joe! Another round here.”

I handed my first glass back to Joe with some liquid still in the bottom and took a very small sip from my second.

“Mickey doesn’t want to leave?” I prompted.

“I don’t know what the…heck he wants. He stays mad at the world. He takes any disagreement as grounds for a fight. He’s nearly always half in
th
’ bag, but he gets so violent, I
wunner
if he isn’t adding something to the booze.”

“You mean like steroids?”

“Yeah, or
somethin
’ like that. Makes him think he’s God and nobody can’t stop him. If I were Clay I’d leave town for a day or so, but he won’t leave his precious horses. Even though he’s got a bunch of men guarding the stables. I tell you one thing, Ms. Alex, Mickey can be one scary critter.”

“I can’t argue with that,” I agreed. “I was surprised to see Sara and Tommy here tonight.”

“They’ll be okay. Clay has two men guarding the stables and them, too. Night n’ day.”

Did he realize what he had said? That Clay had men guarding
them
—Sara and Tommy—not just the stable? What did he think Mickey was going to do?
 
Frankly, a mass murder with an Uzi was not beyond imagination, and I didn’t want to be on the six o’clock news.

“Can’t you have the sheriff do something to cool him down and get him out of here. I think most people would be happy to cut their losses if he were just locked up until somebody from Advantage—other than you—came and got him. There’s always public drunkenness or DWI, or even ‘insulting’ the women who hang out at the Dew Drop Inn.”

He looked at me with a sad smile, and the put-on southern colloquialisms disappeared. “Ms. Alex, don’t you understand? I’ve tried all that—and more. But
Jeffie
Johnson is scared to death of him. And after Peter’s letter to the Advantage brass,
they
are scared of him. He’s a loose cannon and nobody but poor Branch is left trying to hang on to the rope.
 
I wish I knew some Marines.”

 
“How about Deputy Spitz. He seems levelheaded, and he’s big.”

“He wouldn’t interrupt his breakfast to tell me my clothes were on fire. Two of the people in that old-folks home are his grandparents—and you know who he blames.”

I was about to ask him another question, when I heard the faint trill of a cell phone.
 
I knew it wasn’t mine. Mine was on the kitchen table in Provincetown, where I had put it so I wouldn’t forget it. After searching several pockets, Branch came up with his. I listened shamelessly to his end of the conversation.

“Hello…oh, hi, Mildred… What’s up?... Where are you?…The Dew Drop?… I thought you would be at the No-Tel by now… What do you mean you were scared to go with him?...Oh, I don’t think he would have hurt you…Why would he be planning to teach you some manners?… Well, calling him a foul-mouthed bully is hardly being nice to him—which is what I paid you for… He slapped you right at the bar and Jake threw him out?… Oh, God, well. No wonder you didn’t go with him… He’s going to take care of what? Who?… Oh, I see… No, keep the money…Where is he now? The No-Tel, you think… Okay, I’ll try to calm him down. You go stay with your sister for a while, honey…you hear?
 
Thanks for calling.”

He folded the phone and stuffed it back in his pocket. As he spoke, the color had slowly drained from his face as if someone had pulled a plug. Ashen now, and apparently sober, he somehow treated me to his professional smile.

“Well, Ms. Alex, Saint George is off to find the dragon. Wish me luck.” He squared his shoulders and walked away.

I did wish him luck. He would need it. He made an almost comical figure of a knight, but seemingly he was the only one this Camelot town had on its roster.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Returning to the table, I found Cindy sipping a Cosmo. “Hello, darling, I was beginning to think you had eloped with Branch.”

“No. I was giving him a bourbon transfusion after our trip around the dance floor.” I decided to try to keep it light; there was no point in ruining our last evening here. I just hoped it wasn’t our last evening
anywhere.
“I see the regular musicians are back. Shall we risk it?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

We danced well together, and both enjoyed it. We stayed on the floor for the next tune, and had only taken a step or two, when Clay tapped my shoulder.

“May I borrow your lady for a few minutes?”

“I’ll be watching the clock.” I smiled and started to walk back to our table, when I noticed the sheriff pushing Sara around the floor with great concentration if little grace. Well, why the hell not? The little imp inside me asked. Why not indeed? I answered. I cut in smoothly.

He relinquished her gruffly, and we stepped away. “Thank you,” she whispered gratefully.

“My pleasure.” She felt supple and sensuous and somehow compliant in my arms, and I would always remember her differently than I would have a day ago. The music was too soon ended, and I walked her back to her table where Tommy and
Cissy
sat.

Sara and I looked at each other and smiled knowingly. One of us was committed to another, and one of us was a widow and businesswoman in a small southern town. I took both her hands briefly, and she leaned forward to give me a cheek kiss. And the band began to play.

Cindy, Gale and Lou were all at our table, and conversation was general for awhile. Then Cindy said, “By the way, Clay said to tell you goodbye, he’s going to Kingsport for the rest of the weekend. He asks us to come back next year. He thanks us for being so nice to Sara and Tommy.”

I felt my face turn red, but managed to answer casually. “They’re nice people. I’m glad he thinks the Mickey situation is cool enough to take a weekend away. Cindy, it’s getting late,
m’dear
, and we have an early morning. What say you?”

“I say that band is actually playing a waltz, which I don’t think I’ve done since eighth grade dancing school. Waltz me to the coat check and we will make our reluctant departure.”

We said a hopefully temporary goodbye to Gale and Lou, and waltzed our way to pick up our raincoats. At the door we were delighted to see we did not really need them. The rain had stopped although trees and gutters were still dripping. The fog was doing its best to climb every mountain. Tomorrow should be clear.

Our car was returned to us, our dog in the front seat, sporting a carnation in his collar, and, after giving Jerry a giant tip to share with his buddies, we headed back to the cabin.

The closer we got to it, the more nervous I got. What had Mildred told Branch when he questioned whom she was talking about? Could it be us Mickey planned to take care of? Clay? Sara and Tommy? All five of us? Was that why Clay left town after posting a bunch of armed guards for all the horses plus his sister and nephew? We had no guard. Any second could catapult us into disaster.

I entered in the parking area, turned out the headlights and let Fargo out.
 
He ran around, sniffing and barking a couple of times, but he did not seem unduly excited. He was merely announcing that he was in residence. I turned off the little overhead light and told Cindy to climb over into the driver’s seat when I got out and to make sure the car doors were all locked, and motor idling.

“The lights are on in the bedroom and front deck,” I told her. “If I don’t start turning on lights all over the house in a couple of minutes, flick the headlights, turn the radio to blast, blow the horn. Wake up the whole neighborhood and call 911. And
get down to the sheriff’s office and stay there!
”

I gave her a glancing kiss and got out before she could tell I was shaking. I called softly to Fargo and took him by the collar. The only thing he had ever attacked in his life was a squeaky toy, but he could—and would—growl and bark.

We went silently up the back steps and onto the porch. I tried to unlock the door soundlessly, but with the big old key, it sounded like I was opening the Tower of London. We crept into the laundry room…the mudroom…whatever the hell it was, it was pitch dark. The kitchen door was closed. Had we left it that way? Was he waiting in the kitchen? I could almost feel his big hands around my neck. I could definitely feel the sweat running down my back.

I groped around in the tackle box where I had earlier hidden the loaded pistol. I finally felt it and pulled the gun out, taking off the safety. I let go of Fargo’s collar, opened the kitchen door and flicked on the light.

 
Nobody. I took what felt like my first breath in a week.

Fargo ran room-to-room, sniffing. But he always did that when we came home—frankly, I think he was checking to make sure no strange dogs or cats had moved in during his absence. His hackles were not up, and there were no barks. I checked the pantry and moved on to the hall light and our bedroom and bathroom. Then I walked into the living/dining room and hit those lights. Nothing.

I went out on the deck and waved Cindy to come in. At this point I figured she was safer inside the house. She scampered up the steps and across the deck and gave me a fast, hard hug.

“Oh, God, Alex. I thought you never would come out. And you are soaking wet. You were sure he was here, weren’t you? How could you walk into that laundry room? I would have fainted, I think.”

But she was made of sterner stuff than she thought. When I told her I had yet to check the upstairs rooms, she grabbed her trusty fireplace tongs and followed me every inch of the way.

Finally satisfied no one was lurking in the house, we collapsed at the kitchen table and let the shakes take over. Fargo was the only calm one of us. Cindy finally poured us a stiff tot of Ken’s expensive brandy, and while it may have stiffened our backbones, tonight it unsurprisingly did nothing for our libidos.

We knew there would be no bed sport and little bed sleep this night. Cindy made coffee, and after the machine finished its gurgle, she got up to pour us a mug. Fargo picked that moment to whine to go out. Startled, Cindy whirled around and caught me with a sharp blow to the cheekbone with an empty mug. I yelped and bent over, hand to face. The damn thing
really
hurt!

“Oh, Lord, you go through an eight-room house where a lunatic might have hidden and you are fine until I almost kill you with a coffee mug!” She began to laugh in a pitch I didn’t like.

“Shut up,” I muttered—was my cheek broken?—“And get some ice!”

“Yes, yes, of course. Oh, darling, I am so sorry. “She kept apologizing as she wrapped ice in a clean dish towel and held it gently against my cheek.