Murder Takes to the Hills (4 page)

“Actually, I’m looking for Sonny.”

She shook her head. “You won’t find him this afternoon unless it’s truly a matter of life and death. He and Mitch are checking auto repair garages all the way down Cape, trying to come up with the car that played hit-and-run with old Mr.
Alves
yesterday.
 
It cost him a leg, you know, and all sorts of lesser injuries.”

I shook my head. “I hadn’t even heard about it. And I was just at the Wharf Rat. What’s happening to our jungle drums? Is he going to be okay…I mean as much okay as possible?”

“I don’t know. Last night he was critical, but stable, whatever that means. Come on in, I could use a coffee break, not to mention some dry clothes.”

We went inside. While Mom changed clothes, I wiped Fargo down with a clean, dry rag which rapidly became no longer clean or dry. He then sat down and stared up at the canister where Mom kept his treats. I fished one out. “You don’t deserve this, but it’s easier than watching you melt away from starvation.” He accepted it graciously.

I remembered to say thank you for the coffee, after Mom returned and we sat at the kitchen table. And I accepted the chocolate chip cookie graciously. After a sip or two of coffee and a bite or two of the cookie, I told my mother essentially what Harmon had told me.

She held her cup in front of her and frowned at it as if it were withholding valuable information.

“You know,” she said, “the problem is that it’s Harmon who overheard the conversation. If it had been anyone else, we’d be sitting at the hangar door holding shotguns until the police force could arrive. But with Harmon, you tend to think their ‘cargo’ will end up being a bunch of fishing nets, lobster pots and buckets of sand to decorate the town swimming pool.”

“I know,” I agreed. “But then I remember how he has accidentally been right about some things. I mean, think of that State contractor. Harmon thought he was into drugs…and it was graft…but it was still a crime, and the guy is in jail for it.”

Mom sighed. “Yes, I recall. And if I live to be a hundred, I’ll never forget that alligator. No one ever proved that Harmon was actually
wrong.
”

Last summer a sizeable alligator appeared on the loose in
Ptown
. The first anyone knew of his presence was the night he chased a naked lady up a mimosa tree.
 
His other antics were considerably less humorous. Harmon was convinced a drug distributor had brought the thing to town to teach an errant dealer to toe the line, and something had gone awry with his plan.

Most of us thought that was pretty far out—but, then, every explanation we could come up with was pretty far out, too.

I had to laugh. “Well, Mom, maybe these guys are just
saying
they want Cassie to fly them to Pittsburgh. Once they’re airborne, they’ll tell her to fly to Florida, pick up an alligator and bring it back to finish the job.”

Mom gave me a wide smile. “I would not wish to be the person who told Cassie Deane she had to put a swampy gator in that spotless plane of hers. But, seriously, I don’t particularly like the sound of this. Of course, it may turn out to be perfectly harmless, but I think we should let Sonny decide that.” She pushed the kitchen phone down the table toward me, and I made the call to headquarters. Nacho assured me she’d have him call or stop by as soon as he surfaced.

I was in no mood to go home and listen to the Orrick version of
The Anvil Chorus
, so my mother got two unscheduled helpers with her furniture cleaning. One of us was paid off in cookies; the other received a chicken gizzard saved from dinner the night before. We both found the remuneration quite satisfactory.

My timing was good. Just as I pulled in my own driveway, Orrick’s crew was packing up for the day. I checked the yard for loose tools and wires within Fargo’s reach and found none, so I let him go. He grinned at his freedom and inspected every inch of yard to check where those Huns had been,
whuffling
with disapproval from time to time. I know the vet says that cheek-puffing noise I call
whuffling
is simply the animal’s way of processing a strange smell, but to me, it always sounds censorious.

I confirmed Orrick’s progress for the day and thought there just might be the palest of lights at the end of the tunnel. I figured Orrick would eventually finish. My question was: would Cindy and I survive until he did.

My musings must have been out loud, for a voice answered, “You’ll survive better if you just go away and let him have at it.
 
Contractors, workmen and owners don’t mix well.”

It was Sonny. “I hear you are looking for me? I hope it isn’t to move furniture, I’m beat. And all for no results. And I hate to tell that to Mrs.
Alves
.”

“That’s too bad. I hope you get the guy—I assume it was a guy. Weren’t there any witnesses?”

“Oh, yes, plenty. And three-to-two of them make it a man driving. Four say there were two people in the front seat, one holds out for just one person, and one insists there was a child in the backseat. The color of the car was dark green, navy or gray, and the make may have been anything from Kia to Acura. Actually, we’re just looking for anything with front-end damage, and there
will
be some damage. They really walloped the old guy.”

“How is he?”

“Conscious but
looney
tunes, possibly for good.”

“Oh, dear,” I sighed. “Well, fortunately the sun is over the yardarm. Come on in.”

Sonny folded into a chair at the kitchen table.

“Do you have a beer? I’m afraid anything stronger will have me asleep before you tell me
your
tale of mortal danger for good old Cassie. Mom made it sound like we should ask for the National Guard.”

“She may be right.” I fished a bottle of beer out of the fridge and set it in front of him with a glass, which he ignored. He did not, however, ignore the pack of cigarettes and lighter I had tossed onto the table earlier. “
Dammit
, Sonny, don’t you ever buy your own?”

I made myself a light bourbon and water and sat down.
 

He shook his head. “Not when someone is about to tell me a Harmon story. I deserve all the perks I can get.”

I told him the Harmon story, and his reaction was much like Mom’s.

“If only it hadn’t come from Harmon. It just doesn’t make sense that three men planning some sort of crime, possibly ending in murder, would casually discuss it on a park bench with a guy painting a fence right behind them.”

He had brought forth one of my own early thoughts. “I know, but maybe they didn’t know he was there. If he was down toward the corner of the fence, I think there are a couple of shrubs that would pretty well conceal him, and he wouldn’t be making much noise…especially if there was any traffic to override it. And doubly so if Harmon was concentrating on them, not the paintbrush.”

“I guess it could be,” he agreed. “But it seems a god-awful complicated way to bring dope to a Pittsburgh suburb! You’d at least have to have some merchant vessel meeting a smaller fishing boat or pleasure craft at sea and bringing the dope into
Ptown
. Then a private charter plane from here to a non-airport where it would cause all sorts of interest, landing in the middle of the night. And, finally, as they said: what do they do with an uncooperative pilot?”

He tapped his cigarette thoughtfully into the ashtray. “I think I’d just pick up the ‘cargo’ somewhere in Texas or Florida, toss it in a pickup with a camper modification and
toodle
up the highway. Two men could be in the front and one catching some sleep in the camper part. They could drive straight through, and if they obey the speed limit and don’t have an accident, there’s no reason to stop them.
 
Harmon has them doing this the hard way, and those guys are rarely fools. Hell, Alex, they probably want to charter her plane to ferry—you should pardon the pun—four or five of our sweet boys for rent, to entertain at the church supper.”

“That’s not nice.”

“It makes more sense than bringing in drugs via every place but the Oval Office.”

“You could send Harmon down to Washington to investigate. That should make the six o’clock news.”

Sonny laughed and reached for another cigarette.
 
Was he this heavy a smoker when they were his?

“Well,” he placed the lighter back on the table. “What we can do is this: I’ll talk to Cassie. If she doesn’t have a whole different tale to tell, we’ll put Hatcher into some greasy coveralls and send him out to play Cassie’s mechanic for a day or so and see what we come up with. She can kind of play along with them and see if they furnish anything factual. If they even show up again.”

“Sounds good to me,” I agreed.

 
“I’m beginning to feel human,” Sonny said and got up to get another beer. “Freshen your drink?”

“No thanks, I’m okay for now.”

Just as he turned back to the table, Cindy came in the door.

She was wearing a navy blue linen suit and white blouse with a deep V-neck. She had on navy and white shoes with her signature three-inch heels. And she had had her hair done at some point during the day.
 
She looked lovely but somehow stressed.

Sonny put his free hand on her shoulder and leaned down for a peck on her cheek. “I’ll be damned, honey, you look good enough to have for dinner!”

Cindy looked up at him, said, “…Let’s say… Oh, God!!” And burst into tears.

Sonny dropped his hand like he’d been shot and took a giant step backward into the refrigerator door. “Cindy! I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean anything wrong! It’s just…you looked so pretty…I must have just said it wrong…please don’t cry.”

I knew he hadn’t meant anything out of line—and, more to the point, so did Cindy. There was considerable affection between the two, and she would never have taken offense at what he just did and said. And if she
had
thought he was out of line, a swift verbal one-two punch would have been a much more likely reaction than tears. What on earth was wrong with her?

Before I could phrase the question, Cindy abruptly sat down at the table and fished a tissue from her jacket pocket. Dabbing at her eyes, she looked up at Sonny.

“It’s not you. I’m the one who’s sorry. You didn’t do anything.” She blinked back a fresh round of tears and got control of her voice.

“I think I’m being stalked.”

CHAPTER FOUR

Nobody said another word.
 
Sonny and I just stared at her as if she’d placed a smoking bomb on the kitchen table.

Fargo was the first to get his act together, scrambling to his feet and going to her and putting his head in her lap. That seemed to unlock Sonny and me. And we were full of questions.

“Darling, how awful for you!
 
When did this start?”

Before she could answer, Sonny asked, “Is it a male or a female?”

“Is it someone you know or recognize?” I queried.

“Have you been harmed or threatened in any way?” Sonny was looking fierce.

Waving her hands as if she were shooing away flies, Cindy spoke jerkily between short breaths. “Wait! Just
wait!
 
You’re both picking on me. I can’t answer you both at once. I just can’t!”

It finally dawned on me that she was understandably near hysteria, and firing questions at her would not help the situation. Count on Fargo—he’d handled it correctly right from the get- go. I lowered my voice—both in pitch and volume.

“Absolutely right, angel. Take your time. Sonny, would you make Cindy a drink and freshen mine, as you so kindly offered earlier.” He headed for the dining room, where the liquor lived.

“Sure. And just remember, Cindy, you’re perfectly safe now…and we’ll make certain you stay that way. Try to tell us about it as you feel up to it.”