To Die Fur (A Whiskey Tango Foxtrot Mystery) (16 page)

“By considering the alternative,” Eli said. “If things get out of hand, both gods may attempt to take Augustus by force.”

There are all kinds of phrases I don’t like to see together, and this conversation was adding more: for instance, “by force” and “both gods” really needed a decent buffer zone between them. Like not being said by the same person, ever. “Okay. So what would that look like, to those of us on the sidelines?”

“Apocalyptic,” said Eli. It was a word didn’t need any others to sound scary; it was a whole badass gang all by itself. It probably beat up other words and stole their punctuation. “Armies of lion and tiger spirits pouring forth from graves to meet in battle. A war of unparalleled bloodlust and fury that could lead to the destruction of the Great Crossroads itself.”

“Wait—they’re going to fight
here
? But we’re neutral, aren’t we? Aren’t we like the Switzerland of the afterlife?”

Eli squinted at me with one crow eye. “Only in the sense that we won’t take sides. But strategically, we’re right in the middle of things.”

Which put me right in the middle of the middle of things. Along with Ben, whose current chief worry was how much garlic to put in tonight’s appetizer.

“Okay,” I said. “I can do this. If I can talk an A-list actor having an anxiety attack out of her trailer to do a nude scene, I can convince a cook he can negotiate a peace treaty between warring feline deities.” I stopped, then shook my head. “I can’t believe I said that out loud. Did you hear what just came out of my mouth?”

[It
was
rather heavy on the alliteration.]

“And who did I say it to?” I asked rhetorically. “A ghost dog, a reincarnated cat, and a talking crow. When did my life turn into a schizophrenic cartoon?”

“This is deadly serious,” said Eli. “As the first white liger in existence, Augustus is an important symbol. There is nothing the gods value more than how they’re perceived; it’s where their power comes from.”

“Yeah, I get that. What I don’t understand is why he was killed in the first place—a dead liger might be worth a lot in the afterlife market, but his value in the physical world would be way higher if he were still breathing.”

“You’re right. Which is why I want you to keep investigating—there might be some connection.”

I frowned. “What, you think Augustus was killed because he’s literally worth more dead than alive? But who would know that?”

“That’s what I want you to find out,” said Eli. “Crows, dogs, and cats aren’t the only animals that can communicate from beyond the grave.”

That was something I hadn’t considered. “But—you really think Apedemek or Waghai Devi hired an assassin to kill Augustus? Isn’t that … I don’t know, against the rules?”

“Yes,” said Eli. “But gods have an irritating tendency to think rules don’t apply to them…”

*   *   *

I had a lot to think about as Whiskey, Tango, and I left the graveyard. Eli had assured me he would keep an eye on Waghai Devi; he didn’t think she would attempt anything underhanded so early in the proceedings.

“What if she does?” I asked.

“Then there will be consequences,” Eli said grimly.

“What kind of consequences?”

“I can’t discuss that. But she is well aware of them, and unlikely to take the risk.”

I hoped he was right—but if he wasn’t, I doubted if there was anything I could do about it. If there was one skill you learned as a professional assistant, it was when to back off and let the one you were assisting do their thing. It was my job to make sure he, she, or they were as well prepared as possible, but it was their job to make that preparation count. I loaded the guns, but they pulled the triggers. And I was okay with that.

I just hoped Eli wasn’t about to get a tiger fired in his face.

[Your metaphors need work,] Whiskey said. [Overall, I think I preferred the alliteration.]

At least they weren’t talking about me “adjusting” Ben.

I went straight to the kitchen when I got back to the house. Ben was busy chopping vegetables, but stopped when I walked in. “Hey, Trot. Glad you dropped by. Something I want you to try.” He went over to the stove, where he had some kind of sauce simmering away. He scooped a little up with a spoon and held it out. “Give this a taste.”

I blew on it, then tried a sip. “Mmm. Really good. What is it?”

“Mango pepper gravy. I’ve been trying to get the ratio of spicy to sweet just right. Thought of you.”

He paused, realizing what he’d just said, and our eyes met for a second. Then we both looked away. “Uh, I mean I wondered what you’d think of us—
it
. Of it.”

“It’s terrific. Listen, there’s something else we need to talk about. You might not be ready, but—”

“Wait. Is this more graveyard craziness? Because you’re right, I’m really not.” He tossed the spoon down on the counter, then went back to chopping vegetables. Loudly.

“Well, ready or not, here it comes…”

He stopped chopping and looked around nervously. “Where? Is that damn turtle back?”

I suppressed a grin. “No, just me. But you may feel like crawling into your shell after I finish talking.”

“The only shells I have time for are the ones wrapped around eggs. You were right.”

“I was? Not that I don’t love hearing that, but right about what?”

He waved a handful of asparagus in the air. “Everything. All the stuff you said I was better off not knowing that now I know. I should have just taken you at your word and backed off. I’m sorry.”

That wasn’t exactly how I’d put things, but he was frustrated and needed to vent, so I let him. “A you’re-right
and
an apology? Wow, is it my birthday?”

He waggled the asparagus at me and scowled. “Don’t make this about you.
I’m
the one paddling this boat down the river of denial, and don’t you forget it. You don’t even get an oar.”

I held up my hands and took a step backward. “How about an
and
? Or a
but
?”

He glared at me suspiciously. “I hear one word that sounds even vaguely supernatural, I’m going to stick these in my ears and start singing LA LA LA I CAN’T HEAR YOU. Got it?”

“More or less.”

“Okay, then.” He put asparagus down on a cutting board and raised his knife.

“Two animal gods are about to go to war and you’re going to have to stop them.”

He froze with the knife in midair and slowly turned his head to glare at me. “
What?
That’s not funny.”

“No, it’s not. Terrifying? Yes. Ludicrous? Maybe. Actually-for-real happening? Yes again.”

“Is it too late to stick these in my ears?”

“Pretty much. But go ahead if it makes you feel better.”

He groaned and put the knife down. “Animal gods. Well, I guess I should have seen that coming. Is it too much to hope these are like goldfish and gecko gods?”

Tango said. She’d been over at her food bowl in the corner, and now that she was done eating, she came over, sat down at my feet, and started grooming.

“Lions and tigers,” I admitted. “Both are claiming custodianship of Augustus’s soul.”

Ben shook his head. “Of course they are. And I come into this how?”

“You’re a Thunderbird. Thunderbirds, apparently, are the traditional messengers of the gods.”

His scowl lifted a little. “Oh. Right. I remember reading something about that. I thought it was just … a metaphor, I guess. Not literally true.”

“Metaphors are taking a real beating today. I’d stick to alliteration, if I were you—you’re off to a good start.”

“Great. I’m the go-to guy for gods getting…”

[Garrulous?] Whiskey offered.

“More like grabby,” I said. “Here’s what went down after you left.” I gave him a quick synopsis of the face-off between Apedemek and Waghai Devi, downplaying the cosmic aspect as much as I could. I told him what Eli thought would happen next, and what Ben was expected to do.

When I was done, Ben looked at me blankly. “That’s all, huh?”

“Look at the bright side. If Augustus chooses one side or the other, you don’t have to do a thing.”

“You can’t be serious. The
worst
thing that could happen would be Augustus picking a side. The loser will immediately accuse the winner of cheating and use it as an excuse to attack.”

“You really think so?”

“I do. This is all about ego, and ego is all about
not losing
. I’ve seen it happen with chefs—they get so wrapped up in not being second-best they completely lose sight of whatever it is they’re competing for. And as stubborn and proud as chefs are, I’m guessing that’s nothing compared with two cat gods going at it.”

[It’s a shame they weren’t canine deities. My kind would handle this in a much more civilized manner.]

Ben was following this conversation by studying each of them in turn, his eyebrows raised. “Are they always like this?”

“Oh, no. Sometimes they get snarky.”

[Canines are inherently diplomatic. We seek solutions, not conflict.]

Tango rolled her eyes. I’m not sure I’d ever seen a cat do that, but on her it looked perfectly natural.
pathetic
tattooed on your forehead?>

Whiskey growled, ever so slightly. [I don’t expect a feline to understand the complexities of pack relationships. All canines are descended from animals that ran in groups, but some of us are loners. My power to take on the form of any dog involves more than just appearance; I assume all the traits and abilities of that particular animal. Which means I have known both the fierce family loyalty of a wolf and the self-assured independence of a coyote. You, on the other paw, haven’t even worked out what a laser pointer is yet.]

[Yes, of course it does. Tell me, have you caught it yet?]

Tango’s eyes narrowed. Her tail twitched.
will
be caught
.
Oh, yes, it will.>

Ben gave me a despairing look. “Right. So domestic cats have a whole belief system built around a cat toy? Okay, that’s useful. I’m sure that’ll come in real handy when dealing with ancient lion and tiger gods. I’ll just run down to the pet store and grab a few windup mice and balls with little bells inside for when the negotiations break down.”

“Look, I’ll help you. And so will Eli—he can’t go there personally, but I’m sure he knows lots of useful—”

“Wait. Go where?”

“Um. To Lion Heaven and Tiger Paradise, I guess. At least initially.”

“Oh, I see. I’m not just a mediator, I’m an envoy. Tell me, is there a human embassy I can stay at in these places, or am I going to have find a Holiday Inn?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “But I’ll find out.”

“I don’t know, Foxtrot. I just don’t know.”

Well, I guessed
I don’t know
was better than just
no
. “Give it some thought, all right? Remember, all you’re being asked to do is relay messages. Mostly.”

“Uh-huh.” He looked down and picked up the knife again. “I’ve got to get back to work. It’s almost time for lunch.”

“Sure,” I said. “We’ll talk later. C’mon, guys.”

*   *   *

My phone rang as I left the kitchen. It was Shondra, telling me that Abazu had left his room and appeared to be going to the menagerie. I thanked her, hung up, and headed for his room. “Whiskey, you’re with me. Tango, go back to the Crossroads and keep an eye on the situation there.”

I used my master key to unlock the door and stepped inside, Whiskey at my heels. “Tell me if your nose detects anything odd.”

[I shall.]

I’m not crazy about snooping through other people’s belongings, but Abazu didn’t have much to snoop through. It looked like about all he’d brought with him was a change of clothing, some cheap toiletries, and a Bible.

But he’d definitely acquired some new items since he arrived: There was a crumpled grocery bag in the wastepaper basket, and an assortment of chocolate bars, soft drinks, and bags of potato chips on the writing desk, along with two large bottles of pop.

I pulled the bag from the basket and uncrumpled it. The receipt was inside; the only things on it were what I saw in front of me. “Man has a taste for American junk food,” I murmured. “You getting anything?”

[Other than the distinctive odors of monosodium glutamate, high-fructose corn syrup, and hydrogenated fats? No.]

I did a thorough search of the room anyway—antifreeze, at least in its pure form, was odorless. I didn’t find anything.

“Strike one,” I sighed, and ushered Whiskey back into the hallway, locking the door behind me. “If Abazu is our killer, he’s smart enough to cover his tracks.”

My next stop was ZZ’s study. ZZ was there, tapping away furiously at her computer; she told me she’d been online all morning, letting people know about Augustus’s death and dealing with the response. Several organizations were calling for an investigation.

“I just talked to Caroline,” said ZZ. She leaned back in her chair, looking exhausted. “She’s finished the necropsy and is documenting all her findings. She’s confirmed that Augustus died from antifreeze poisoning, but I haven’t officially announced that yet.”

I told her I hadn’t found anything conclusive about who’d planted the poison. She told me to keep looking—but right now, it was time for lunch.

Lunch at the Zoransky house was not the formal affair dinner was. Many guests ate at different times, sometimes out at the pool, and we often had Ben prepare picnic baskets for anyone who wanted to enjoy a meal on the estate’s grounds such as the gardens or the grassy lawn. Some guests liked to dine with the animals in the menagerie, while others preferred the quiet of the pet cemetery next door—the ones who couldn’t see all the ghosts, that is.