To Die Fur (A Whiskey Tango Foxtrot Mystery) (17 page)

Today attendance was sparse. Besides ZZ and myself, only Luis Navarro and Zhen Yao showed up; Zhen picked at a salad for a few minutes, then abruptly stood up and left, shooting a hostile glance at Navarro on her way out. Navarro smiled back at her pleasantly.

“I’m surprised nobody else is here,” Navarro said. “Maybe they’re waiting for the buffet spread at the wake.”

“That’s in poor taste,” ZZ said evenly. “Even for you.”

“My apologies. I find levity a healthy antidote for grief.”

“I wasn’t aware you were grieving,” I said.

Navarro took a sip of soup before replying. “I’m not. Just trying to help those who are.”

“Your assistance,” said ZZ, staring at him, “has been noted.”

He ignored the ice in her tone. “I’ve talked to my employer, and he’s prepared to offer you half what he originally proposed. It’s more than generous.”

ZZ shook her head. “I can’t make that decision yet.”

“Why not? Who else wants a dead liger?”

I shot her a warning look, but she missed it. “You don’t have the playing field all to yourself, Mr. Navarro,” said ZZ.

“Oh? And exactly who am I still competing with?”

I saw ZZ realize her mistake. “That’s confidential.”

“If you won’t tell me, I’ll be forced to speculate. Let’s see … Zhen’s still here, so she must be in the running. Karst would probably love to mount a stuffed liger in his jungle lodge, and too opportunistic not to try. Rajiv answers to moneymen, and they’ll be looking to cut their losses with the same thing.” He smiled. “Which leaves Abazu. I’m guessing he’s still around for some kind of spiritual reason, even though he can’t scrape two dimes together. Am I wrong?”

ZZ glowered at him but said nothing.

“So really, we’re right back where we started,” he said. “Except for one thing.”

“Which is?” I asked.

He spread his hands out, indicating the whole table. “I’m the only one who stuck around for lunch…”

I couldn’t argue with that. The question was, were people staying away out of respect, fear … or guilt?

*   *   *

After lunch I went looking for Zhen Yao. I was hoping to find out where she’d gone when she’d left last night; having struck out on finding a smoking gun in Abazu’s room, maybe I could at least eliminate one of the other suspects.

I found her in the exercise room, furiously pedaling away on a stationary bike. ZZ had a big screen set up in front of it, with a program linked to Google’s Street View so that you could pedal your way down just about any road in the world. It looked like Zhen was currently pumping up a hill somewhere in China.

“Hi,” I said. “Hate to interrupt your workout, but I thought I owed you another apology. It didn’t look like you enjoyed your lunch very much.”

She kept her eyes focused on the road. “The food was fine.”

“But not the company?”

Her eyes flickered ever so briefly to me. “I would prefer not to eat with a criminal.”

“Understandable. The offer to put you up in a hotel is still good.”

She shook her head. “That is not necessary. I am fine here.”

“I see you’re enjoying our workout facilities. You know, if you’d prefer the real thing, we have bikes available, too.”

She stopped pedaling and coasted to a virtual stop, the imagery on screen stopping its relentless-yet-motionless flow. I’ve used the biking program a few times, but I find it kind of eerie; it feels like I’m moving so fast that everyone else is frozen in place, or maybe that I’m traveling through some kind of landscape full of life-like wax dummies.

“That would be preferable, thank you,” she said. She was a little out of breath, but not much; I could see that she was in pretty good shape. “I tried to rent a bicycle in town last night, but was unsuccessful.”

Ah, so that’s where she’d gone. “Yeah, businesses don’t stay open too late on weekdays. I’m sorry you were disappointed.”

“It’s all right. I went for a walk instead. Not as strenuous, but still good.” She got off the bike, grabbed a water bottle, and took a long drink. “I found a nice park. There were ducks.”

“Bikes are in the garage. Victor keeps them tuned up and ready; just let me know when you’d like to go for a ride and I’ll have one brought around.”

“Thank you.”

After I left, I thought about what she’d said. Maybe she’d just gone for a walk like she’d said—or maybe she’d done a little shopping, too. There was no way to tell. So much for eliminating her as a suspect.

Then I went back to the graveyard. Part of me was wondering if it would still be there.

As soon as Whiskey and I stepped through the gate, I heard Tango’s voice in my head.

Uh-oh. What happened?

<
I think the technical term is
bribery.>

Which is when I saw the Chihuahuas.

There were about twenty of them, and they looked terrified. They came tearing over a hill, yapping at the top of their little ectoplasmic lungs, and right behind them came a liger.

He wasn’t behind them for long, though. Two quick bounds and he was in front of them, causing them all to come to an abrupt, skidding, yelping halt. One of them couldn’t quite stop in time; he slid right up to Augustus, who promptly swatted him with a paw the size of a handball racket. The Chihuhua found himself flying back over the hill around three feet off the ground, giving off a high-pitched
yipe
the entire way.

Tango trotted up as the pack of Chihuahuas tore off in another direction. Augustus sat down and licked his paw as if it had gotten some dog stuck to it, then suddenly tore off after them.

“What’s going on?” I said. “I thought animals weren’t supposed to behave this way in the Crossroads.”

“Why? What’s gotten into him?”

Tango gave out a sigh that sounded a little envious.

C
HAPTER
E
LEVEN

“Catnip?” I said. “Are you telling me Augustus is—”

[Well, I suppose that as far as incentives go—]

“Okay, okay, I get it.” But I didn’t, not really. I mean, I guess I’d heard the phrase
Nectar of the Gods,
but that was about wine and Greeks. This was about dead cats and tiger gods and kitty drugs.

“Oh, good,” I said wearily. “My weirdness quotient was looking sort of low today. This should bump it right up.”

[Perhaps we should intercede,] Whiskey suggested. I could still hear the frenzied yipping of small dogs being abused in the distance.

I took off in that direction, Whiskey and Tango right behind me. “Are those dogs in danger? I mean, they’re already dead, right?”

[They
can
be harmed by another, more powerful spirit. But I suspect it is only their dignity that will suffer in this case.]

Chihuahuas.
Pretty sure they traded that in for the cartoon eyes and ears.>

We sprinted over the rise. Below, Augustus had apparently lost interest in the chase and was rolling around on his back on a freshly turned grave. I stopped, unsure what to do. “Okay, Tango. Who gave him the stuff?”

“It isn’t?”

“Great. How long is it going to last?”

<
Hard to say. Couple of hours at most if it were regular nip, but this is the metaphysical version. Grown in Paradise, tended by a goddess. He could be ripped for
days.>

[You’re drooling on a headstone.]

“Where’s Waghai Devi now? Maybe we can go ask her.”

Of course she did. Leaving an extremely stoned liger ghost to frolic in the Crossroads. No doubt she was hoping he’d get into some sort of trouble, letting her step in and be all understanding and supportive—not to mention offering him some more heavenly catnip. This was starting to feel like a nasty divorce, with both parents trying to turn the kid against the other.

“Then I guess we’ll have to keep him busy,” I said. “Tango, I want you to talk to him.”

After
they’ve served the cake.>

“Then talk to him about cake. Delicious, yummy, mouse-flavored cake that scurries under the furniture when you try to eat it.”

Whiskey grunted. [If I may make a suggestion?]

[Exactly my point. Inebriation is usually a shared endeavor. And often, if two people have no other common ground to stand on, they can at least discuss the experience they’re currently sharing.]

Tango considered this.

[Or if you don’t feel up to the deception, you could simply start a conversation about previous experiences.]

“Then what are you waiting for? Go chillax with the dude, dude. Regale him with tales of your mighty-yet-absurdly-cute exploits.”

I watched nervously as Tango sauntered up to the liger. He was a ghost and she was alive, but they were both supernatural beings; I wasn’t sure what would happen if he tried to attack her.

But he didn’t. He appeared calm and a little curious as she walked up, and then put his chin down on his paws and listened to her intently as she talked.

{Mmmmmm. Yeah.}

When he started to purr I knew she was going to be all right.

{You know when your owner gives you an entire cow’s head stuffed with gourmet cat treats, fresh sheep livers, and about half a pound of hydroponically grown catnip picked that morning?}

{Better than that.}

Whiskey and I left them there. Sometimes, you just want to hang with someone who understands …

*   *   *

The rest of the day was pretty quiet. I talked to Caroline, who’d put Augustus’s body in cold storage postmortem; the menagerie had a walk-in freezer where we stored the meat for the larger carnivores.

I didn’t do more than glance at the body. It was just too unnerving to look at it when I’d seen its previous occupant frolicking like a kitten earlier in the day.

Tango returned from the Crossroads after a few hours. She and Augustus had enjoyed a fine time together, though she refused to go into detail about something she called “the hedgehog incident.” Eventually Augustus had decided it was time for a nap, and they’d lain down together in sight of Davy’s Grave, the first animal to be buried in the Crossroads. When Tango woke up, he was gone.

she told me.

“About what?”

Whiskey was lying at my feet in my office, and now he spoke without raising his head. [And to think we missed it. What tremendous intellectual heights you must have scaled together, discussing mouse soufflés, the great feline operas, and the intricate philosophy of Garfield.]

[What third thing?]

[Tell me.]

Whiskey got to his feet and stared at her with his one blue eye and one brown eye. [All right, I will. Unlike a cat, I am not ruled by curiosity.] He lay back down.

Tango started grooming herself. I waited.

[Tell me.]

[Tell me.]

[There
is
no third thing, is there?]

third
thing, and … >

[What? And what?]

Whiskey thought for a moment. [I hate you.]

I sighed. “Did you find out anything useful? Like which afterlife he’s leaning toward, or anything that might point toward his killer?”

“A previous life? Haven’t you already had six of those?”

owner.
I just can’t wrap my head around that … anyway, he actually had it pretty good. Ate like a king, comfortable quarters, plenty of toys—but I got the feeling he was lonely.>

[What gave you that impression?]

[Ah.]