To Die Fur (A Whiskey Tango Foxtrot Mystery) (29 page)

[Those dotted lines on the sketch. They’re an extrapolation.]

“Yeah. Possible sizes and shapes of the other half of the crystal.”

[It would seem Mr. Gunturu counts himself among those who believe it’s been found.]

“Not just found.” I clicked through a few more files, finding more sketches and notes. “Cut, too. Into one big honking stone—according to this, he’s estimating its size at around seven hundred carats. Making it the biggest, most valuable rock in the world.”

[And definitely worth killing for. But why kill a liger?]

“I don’t know.” I thought about it, drumming my fingers on my desk. Connections, connections … a casino in India, a diamond from Africa. Tigers are Indian, lions are African. Gunturu is Indian, Abazu is African. Abazu tried to steal Augustus’s corpse. Were they working together, or at cross-purposes? Were they agents of the cat gods, trying to take ownership of the liger’s body while their masters battled for his soul?

Well, when in doubt, there was always the sorcery of the search engine. I typed in
India, Africa, diamond,
pondered for a moment, then added
cat
and hit return. That gave me a bunch of sites selling cat food, so I eliminated the last word and tried again.

That produced more satisfactory results. The fifth hit told me that 90 percent of the world’s diamonds wound up in India for cutting and polishing. I did a little more reading and hit something seven paragraphs down that sounded familiar. “Whiskey, what was that dish you said you smelled on Gunturu’s clothing?”

[Undhiyu.]

“Right. Which is a popular local dish in which part of India, again?”

[The province of Gujarat.]

“Gujarat. Which just happens to be the center of the Indian diamond trade.”

[Suggesting Mr. Gunturu isn’t from Goa, as he claims.]

“Or at least that there’s a strong possibility he was in Gujarat recently. And he once played tennis with an American drug kingpin. None of which is exactly criminal.”

[No,] admitted Whiskey.

I shook my head. “Things are getting murkier and murkier. We still don’t know who killed Augustus, or why.”

[And there are still two feline deities on the brink of turning the Great Crossroads into a supernatural battlefield.]

Not only that, my tea had gone cold. I drank some anyway, and tried to figure out what to do next.

As it turned out, the next thing I needed to do was have sex.

C
HAPTER
E
IGHTEEN

Okay, maybe
needed
to have sex was a little strong.

Wanted
wasn’t quite right, either, because it wasn’t like I went in there with a plan. I mean, it definitely wasn’t
un
wanted, but neither was I on the top of my to-be-done list.
It,
I mean.
It
wasn’t on top, not
I
wasn’t on top.

Well, not at first.

Um. Maybe I should start over.

So, after the agreed-upon hour was up, I went to see Ben. He was downstairs in his office, which was a little hole-in-the-wall with a desk and two chairs. Ben sat behind the desk, his square chin resting on one fist like he was posing as a statue. “Hey,” he said when I rapped on the door frame. “C’mon in.”

I pulled up the other chair and sat down. “Any brilliant insights?”

“Not so much. You?”

“I found out a few things.” I told him about Rajiv and what was on the thumb drive. “Whiskey’s putting it back now. I made a copy.”

“Great. Just when I think things can’t get any more complicated, now there’s some kind of international jewel conspiracy. Which, of course, makes perfect sense.”

“Oh, sure. It all fits together neatly.”

“Like a puzzle.”

“Or a clock.”

“Or a clockwork puzzle. Made of string cheese and marbles.”

I cocked an eyebrow. “Wow, you’re good. It took me the better part of half an hour to figure out the string cheese angle. What tipped you off?”

“I’m a chef. I blame string cheese for everything.”

We lapsed into a gloomy silence.

“Wait!” I said. “I know! Let’s have sex!”

“Okay!” And then we both tore off all our clothes and …

No. That’s not the way it happened.

But the way it did happen was, well, almost that dumb. And not terribly romantic. We went for a walk (I’m a big fan of oxygen-induced inspiration; I find that often a little exercise is exactly what you need to bring a problem into sharp focus) and wandered through the gardens, and then the zoo, and found ourselves in this corner of the estate where hardly anybody ever goes and there was this toolshed and I laughingly wondered if my master key would open it and it did and then we were alone and feeling frustrated and I don’t really remember who said what or how things started.

What I do remember is that he was a great kisser. And I never thought of using a wheelbarrow like that. Or a weed whacker.

Nope. It didn’t happen like that, either.

Scenario number three: “I need to get out of here,” Ben said.

“You want to go for a walk?”

“Yeah. But not here.”

So we went somewhere else.

I was a little surprised when he took me back to the graveyard, but he avoided the area where we’d left Augustus and headed in a different direction entirely. We wound up down by Davy’s Grave, a quiet little spot surrounded by trees. But that wasn’t our destination, either; he raised his hands and did the whirlwind thing, taking us …

To Bunny Heaven.

There was no mistaking where we were. The air was warm and smelled of clover. The ground was all gently rolling hills of lush green grass interspersed with dense thickets. Rabbits of all shades hopped from thicket to thicket or nibbled on the greenery. It was very peaceful and bucolic.

“Um,” I said. “Interesting choice. But is this okay? I thought human beings weren’t allowed in the animal afterlives unless they were specifically invited.”

“It’s okay. Being messenger of the gods has a few perks; me and the rabbit god have an understanding.”

“You and the rabbit god? When did this happen?”

“Well … I sort of dropped in unannounced.” He looked a little embarrassed. “I was exploring my abilities. Thought that the rabbit afterlife would be relatively safe.”

I could sense there was more to it than that. “So why didn’t you pick something even safer, like mice?”

Now he was definitely uncomfortable. “I … kind of wanted to look someone up, too.”

(BEN!)

A big black rabbit came bounding out of a thicket. He charged straight at Ben and started nudging his legs, while Ben tried to suppress the huge smile on his face and failed. “Hey, Cap. Yeah, I’m back. Miss me?”

(I did! It’s so nice to see you again! Who’s your friend? Is she a Thunderbird, too, or is she dead?)

I laughed. “No, I’m just visiting. I’m Foxtrot, a friend of Ben’s.”

(Nice to meet you. I’m Captain Fuzz.)

I gave Ben a look. “Hi. It’s nice to meet you, too.”

“Cap,” said Ben, “it’s great to see you again, too. Think it would be okay if me and Foxtrot just hung out here for a while? We both need a little peace and quiet.”

(Sure! Isn’t it great here? I’m so happy!)

“Um,” I said.

(Um! That means there’s something you’d like to say but feel awkward! I bet you two want to be alone! Nice to meet you! Bye!)

And he hopped right back into the thicket he’d appeared out of. Not only that, but within a minute all the other rabbits had done the same. We were all alone.

I looked around in amazement. “Huh. They’re very … agreeable, I guess.”

Ben chuckled. “Not to mention perceptive. Turns out rabbits are really, really good at reading subtle social cues. And they seem to like me—or they like the Captain and he likes me, which apparently amounts to the same thing.”

“Ah. Captain Fuzz, huh? How old were you?”

“When I got him? Six. When he died? Twelve. Six years. I sure did love him.”

“Do,” I corrected gently. “You sure
do
love him. And how did the rabbit god react when you decided to pop in for a visit to see your childhood pal?”

Ben shrugged. “He wasn’t all that pleased, at first. But once he found out I was a Thunderbird, he softened up. And then the Captain arrived and vouched for me, and I was golden. They said I was welcome to come back anytime.”

“With company?”

“Actually, yeah. Rabbits are very social animals. They understand the need for … companionship.” Now he looked more bashful than anything else.

“Mm-hm,” I said. “Why do I get the feeling I’m a girl on a first date and you just slipped the maître d’ an extra hundred?”

“Even gods like to be owed favors. I just promised I’d remember his hospitality, and that seemed to satisfy him. Or her; I couldn’t really tell, and I wasn’t about to ask.”

I was about to make a joke about the Easter Bunny, then remembered exactly where I was. Instead I said, “All right then, I’ll stop worrying. We’re here and we’re welcome. I have to admit, it certainly seems relaxing.”

We went for a stroll. There were paths—rabbit-sized ones—that wound through one meadow after another. Some of the fields were full of sweetgrass, others alive with wildflowers. We found a crystal-clear stream no more than two feet across, burbling along quietly to itself, and sat down next to each other on a flat, mossy rock.

“This is nice,” I admitted, leaning back and putting my weight on my hands. The moss felt soft and springy under my palms, and smelled wonderful, too. “It’s very different from the others we visited.”

“That it is. Difference between a carnivore and an herbivore, I think. Lions and tigers still want to hunt down their dinner; rabbits just want to eat it.”

“Is that all they do?” I took off my shoes and socks, and wiggled my toes in the moss. It felt—well, heavenly.

“Honestly, I haven’t done a lot of research into the pastimes of the post-living cottontail. But if the Feline Paradises are any indication, rabbits probably do much the same things here as they do in the mundane world—only more so.”

“Really?” I lay back on the moss and closed my eyes. It was like lying on the world’s best-smelling plush carpet. “Now I understand why you brought me here. You’re trying to seduce me by luring me to a dimension steeped in supernatural rabbit sex pheromones.”

“You got me,” he said. “How’s it working?”

I opened my eyes, studied him for a second, and smiled. “I’ll let you know,” I said, “after you kiss me.”

Which he did.

And then
we
did.

And that—
maybe
—is what actually happened. When I figure out whether or not getting physically intimate on a mossy, sunlit rock while surrounded by an unknown number of dead bunnies is sexy, creepy, or romantic, I’ll let you know for sure.

Maybe.

*   *   *

The whirlwind dissipated, the lightning fizzed out, the dust cleared; we were back in the graveyard again. But we weren’t alone.

Abazu Chukwukadibia stood with his back to us, considering a headstone. I don’t know all the details of traveling by mystic vortex, but it seems as if ordinary people don’t really notice it coming and going. Just like the ghosts of the graveyard—even though they’re all around, only certain individuals can see them.

But sometimes, an invisible ally is exactly what you need.

Tango,
I thought.
Can you bring Augustus to Davy’s Grave?

Tell him there’s someone who’s really interested in meeting him
.

“Ben,” I whispered. “Can you slip away? I want to talk to Abazu, but I think we need to be alone.”

“You sure?” he whispered back.

“I am.” I kissed him, long and hard, and then reluctantly tore myself away. He grinned at me, and walked off down the path. Well, maybe strutted is a better word. He was part bird, after all.

“Hello, Abazu,” I said.

He whirled in surprise. “Ms. Foxtrot? I did not hear you approach.”

“I can be stealthy when I want to. As can you.” I met his eyes, let him see the challenge there.

“I’m not sure what you mean.” He sounded mildly puzzled, but I wasn’t buying it.

“What I mean is that I know you were the one who broke into the zoo’s clinic,” I said. “And I know why, too.”

His eyes changed. The serene benevolence drained away, leaving a sharp wariness. It was like watching a domesticated animal turn feral right in front of me. He didn’t say anything, just waited to hear what would come out of my mouth next.

“The Star of Africa,” I said. I put just the slightest trace of amusement in my voice, making it not a question but a joke shared between friends. “You know what surprises me? That you really thought no one would find out.”

It was a pretty standard technique, one I came across a lot in the mystery novels I read (or used to read, when I still had free time): refer to a single piece of vital information with such nonchalance that the other person assumes you also possess all the other pieces of the puzzle connected to it. Bluffing with one card showing and a knowing smile on your face.

“I knew I would be discovered eventually,” Abazu admitted. “But it was a chance I had to take. I have been chasing the Sacred Stone for a very long time, and when I learned that it had come to this country, I was compelled to follow.”

Careful, Foxtrot, careful. Choose your words like they’re marking a path between land mines.
“But you weren’t the only one.”

Abazu’s eyes hardened. “No. But the others have no idea of the real worth of what they pursue. They see only the coin of the material realm, not the vast spiritual riches that are the Stone’s true bounty.”

That was the second time he’d referred to the Stone, and I doubted he meant Mick Jagger (though Sir Mick had stayed here in the past. Up at six every morning to go jogging). Which meant that, like Rajiv, he was after the fabled other half of the Cullinan diamond.

For religious reasons.

Okay, Abazu was South African, meaning he probably came down on the lion-based side of the theological debate, which gave me a way to play this. I nodded and said, “Apedemek.”