To Die Fur (A Whiskey Tango Foxtrot Mystery) (27 page)

“So what was the real plan? Stick him in a cage and charge admission?”

“Oh, no. I meant what I said about putting him in a natural environment. It’s just that he wouldn’t have
been
there all that long. Just long enough for the rich sportsman with the highest bid to put a bullet in his heart.”

He saw the look on my face and shook his head. “Don’t be so naive, Foxtrot. This is about as close as you can come to killing a real-life saber-toothed tiger, and there will always be people willing to pay to fulfill a fantasy like that. You know why? Because it’s unique. And when somebody does something unique—even if it’s killing something else—they think that makes them special. It doesn’t, in my opinion, but my opinion hardly counts. What does count is the size of my bank account—and that would have swollen considerably if I’d pulled this off.”

“So why are you still here?”

“Well, let’s see—the food’s terrific, the booze is free, and my flight doesn’t leave until tomorrow. Why
shouldn’t
I stay?” His eyes met mine in a challenge, and I realized he’d probably enjoy it if I tried to throw him out.

He was sadly mistaken, though. It wouldn’t be me doing the throwing, it’d be Shondra—and even the worst masochist wouldn’t enjoy that.

But I had no intention of asking him to leave, at least not yet. The last act of this drama was going to be played out tonight, and I wanted all the actors onstage. Though it seemed unlikely Karst was the killer, the same could be said for any of the guests.

But one of them was guilty, and I was going to prove it.

“Guess I’ll see you at dinner, then.” And I left him there, sweating out his free booze under the hot sun, with no partner to play against.

*   *   *

I looked around at the dozens of balls dotting the rolling green surface of the graveyard. Seems as if Mr. Karst slash Shreck was feeling even more frustrated than I thought; the realization gave me a certain amount of grim pleasure.

In the middle of this green-and-yellow-polka-dot landscape sat Augustus. He was stalking one of the balls, his head down and his haunches up, his tail twitching. After making absolutely sure his prey suspected nothing, he pounced. He couldn’t actually touch the ball, of course, but his paws were big enough to completely cover it. He did the cat thing of cautiously lifting one paw to make sure his victim was still there, then quickly slapping the paw back down on it again. The tennis ball didn’t seem to mind.

“Well, as long as he’s having fun.” I parked myself against a nearby headstone. “Where’s Whiskey?”

“You know he doesn’t do that. I don’t think he even can.”

Tango lay on top of another headstone, stretched out long. The sun shone on her glossy black coat, and her eyes were half closed. Anyone else would just think she was relaxed, but I know my cat; that look on her face was familiar. It was full of affection, maybe even adoration.

But she wasn’t looking at me.

I glanced over at Augustus, then back at Tango. “Still got it bad, huh?” I asked softly. I wasn’t sure how acute a dead liger’s hearing was, but I didn’t want to embarrass her.

Her telepathic voice was quieter than usual, the mental equivalent of a whisper.

It took me a second to realize that must be the feline equivalent of
that ship has sailed.
Cats aren’t known for their nautical references.

“It wouldn’t have worked out, anyway, sweetie. You know that.”

“Duly noted.”

“Absolutely. That fur with those whiskers? Stunning.”

“Oh? Do tell.”

She gave a plaintive little meow that I took as a sigh.

“I know what you mean. A guy that’s strong but doesn’t take himself too seriously? That’s
my
idea of catnip.” It was my turn to sigh. “But sometimes they need
you
to take them seriously. And if you don’t, playtime’s over.”

“That obvious, huh? Yeah, Ben and I had an argument, due to me kind of taking over the whole Afterlife Ambassador thing. He’s pissed.”

“Oh? How would a cat handle it?”

“I wish it were that simple. We had the fight, but I don’t think either of us won. It took me a while to even figure out what the fight was about.”

he
know what it was about?>

“I’m pretty sure he does.”

I opened my mouth, then closed it again. “Okay, I will. As soon as Whiskey gets back.”

It’s funny how simple things can be if you let them. It was a trait I envied in both Whiskey and Tango; even though they demonstrated as much intelligence as me—if not more—at heart they were still animals, with an animal’s instincts. They had a keen sense of the basic nature of things, one that ran deeper than just eating, mating, or hunting. All the information in the world isn’t worth much if you don’t
do
something with it, and both my partners were always ready to leap into action.

And speaking of leaping, here came Whiskey, bounding toward me with something in his jaws—which didn’t prevent him from speaking to me, of course.

[Foxtrot! I may have a break in the case!]

He trotted up to me and dropped the object at my feet. It was an item of clothing—a man’s tie. I picked it up and examined it, but didn’t recognize it. “What’s this?”

[I’ll tell you where I got it in a minute. The reason I brought it is because one of our guests is not who he appears to be.]

“I know. Jaro Karst’s real name is Helmut Shreck.”

Whiskey cocked his head at me in puzzlement. [Really? Because that’s not where I was going with this.]

“Oh. So where
are
you going?”

[Well, I was talking with Augustus—]

“Wait.
You
were talking with Augustus?”

[Yes. Now that he’s a spirit, he speaks the same universal language we all do.
You
can understand him, can’t you?]

“Well, sure. I just didn’t think … you know what? Never mind. You were talking to Augustus. About what?”

[The tennis balls falling from the sky.]

Of course. If there was ever an icebreaker between a dog and an enormous cat, that had to be it.

[It was quite the sight. In fact, it attracted a crowd of both dog and cat spirits for a while. Most of them just watched, but a few chased the balls and tried to grab them. They wandered off when they found out they couldn’t.]

“Aw. That’s both touching and a little sad. I kind of wish I’d seen it.”

[Sad?] Whiskey and Tango exchanged a look, and I swear both of them snickered.

“What?” I demanded. “Why is that funny?”

[In Heaven,] intoned Whiskey solemnly, [there is no shortage of balls.]

[Great will be the chewing, and eating the pieces will not make you sick.]

“Okay,” I said. “Moving on to less theological matters … what’s the significance of the tie?”

[Augustus’s previous owner also had a tennis court, and it was within sight of his pen. He used to watch matches between his owner and other people. Sometimes, they would come by afterward to see him.]

“So?”

[So a tiger’s nose is quite sensitive. He remembers what many of those people smelled like. And recently,
he smelled one of them again
.]

I stared down at the tie. “And this belongs to that person?”

[Yes. It took some doing to get into his room, but I managed. I brought this here to verify Augustus’s claim.]

“Then let’s do it.”

I walked toward Augustus, who watched me with interest but no fear. Whiskey and Tango came with me. “Augustus?” I said. I held out the tie. “Is the person who wore this tie the same one you met at your old home?”

The big cat leaned forward and sniffed at the tie delicately. Then he sat back and regarded me quizzically.

{Yes.}

C
HAPTER
S
EVENTEEN

I knew the tie couldn’t be Luis Navarro’s—he was already gone, and he hadn’t left anything behind. “It’s Abazu’s, isn’t it?” I said.

[No. It belongs to Rajiv Gunturu.]

I blinked. “It does? You mean Rajiv is—what, another front man for some crime syndicate, like Navarro?”

[I do not know what he is. What I do know is that he was acquainted with Augustus’s previous owner.]

{He played that game with him,}
Augustus interjected.
{The one with the little yellow ball.}

“Thank you, Augustus. Can you tell us anything else about him?”

The liger licked his paw as he thought about this.
{He liked my teeth,}
he said at last.
{That’s all I really remember.}

“Okay. If you remember anything else about him, tell one of us, all right?”

{All right.}
He turned and wandered away, his tail twitching. Tango followed him.

“How did you get into Gunturu’s room, anyway?” I asked Whiskey.

[You know I can take on the form of any breed of dog. Well, that form can also be any age. Have you ever seen a Yorkshire terrier puppy?]

“Not firsthand, no.”

[Some of them are incredibly tiny. I changed into one that weighed just under three ounces. Eyes hadn’t even opened yet.]

“That doesn’t sound like a very useful form. What could you do?”

[Crawl under a door.]

“Ah. Okay, that is useful. Think you could do it again?”

[Certainly. Or you could just use your master key.]

“Spoilsport.”

I was torn. On one hand, I really wanted to know what Rajiv Gunturu was up to. On the other, I should make up with Ben,
and
stay on top of the whole diplomatic-negotiation-with-gods thing.

Maybe I could do all of them at the same time.

What? I’m great at multitasking—you should see me juggle three phone conversations while surfing multiple websites. Some people do well under pressure, and I’m at least four of them. Five, when I have to be.

“Here’s what we’re going to do,” I told Whiskey.

*   *   *

“I’m sorry,” I told Ben.

I’d found him in the kitchen, of course. He was busy chopping things, which I think had less to do with food preparation than venting some of his frustration. He was really chopping up a storm, too; I hoped it wouldn’t start raining indoors.

[I’m outside Gunturu’s room,] Whiskey said in my head. [I can’t hear or smell him inside.]

Good. Go puppy and get in there.

“Sorry for what?” Ben said. “You were just doing your job, right?” He was going to make me work for it.

“No, I was doing
your
job. Which you could do just fine, if I’d let you. And I didn’t, because I’m so used to taking charge I can be deaf, dumb, and blind to stepping on other people’s toes. Especially dumb.”

His chopping slowed down. “You’re not dumb. You’re just a little—obsessive, I guess. But I do appreciate the apology.”

[I’m in. De-puppifying now.]

“Let’s try this again,” I said. “You’re the envoy, I’m strictly the assistant. I’ll offer advice—I’m good at that—but you’re the negotiator. That’s how we were supposed to play it, and I got carried away. All right?”

The chopping stopped. He turned to face me. “Are you sure? Because, honestly? Even though part of me was mad that you took over, another part was relieved. I’m still not sure I’m up to this.”

“I am,” I said. “It’s in your blood. Just … trust your instincts.”

[Sniffing around now. Suitcase is open on the bed. Hmmmm…]

Ben nodded. “Instincts. Right. Well, my instincts are telling me that what we need to do next is talk to Augustus. Get a feel for what appeals to him, answer any questions he might have. If we can.”

“I think that’s a terrific idea. We can head over to the graveyard right now, if you want.”

[I think I’ve found something interesting. Seems to be a hidden pocket in the suitcase. I think I can use my teeth to get it open.]

While Ben washed his hands and took off his apron, I called out telepathically as loud as I could,
Tango! You there?

So you’re just inside the boundary?

Good. Go find Augustus. We’ll join you in a few minutes.

I hadn’t been sure I could still communicate with Tango while she was in the graveyard and I was in the house, but apparently the Crossroads’ telepathy-boosting properties still worked if only one of us was within its boundaries.

[I’ve opened the pocket. It contains a small plastic object with a squared-off metal prong on one end, and a short, black metal tube with glass inside it.]