To Die Fur (A Whiskey Tango Foxtrot Mystery) (7 page)

It took all my self-control not to do a facepalm.

My cat had fallen in love with a liger.

[I think,] said Whiskey, [that our cat has fallen in love with a liger.]

Thank you, Captain Obvious.

We’ll talk about this later,
I told Tango.
A lot.

Abazu was wrapping up his presentation. ZZ thanked him, then said, “Mr. Navarro? Are you ready now?”

Navarro nodded, then pushed back his chair and got to his feet. “Well. This has been fascinating evening.” He took a step away from the table and put his hands behind his back. “A lot to digest—including an excellent dinner, I have to say. Kudos to your chef. But there’s been so much, I’m a little bit overwhelmed. Maybe we should do a brief review, just to keep the details fresh in everybody’s mind.”

He strolled up one side of the table, stopping behind Rajiv’s chair. “First, we have a casino. Plush surroundings, lots of pampering, all kinds of assurances he won’t be overworked. Personally, I’m always a little suspicious when someone goes out of their way to tell me all the bad things they
won’t
do, aren’t you?”

“That is an unfair accusation—” Rajiv sputtered. He tried to twist around in his chair to confront Navarro, but the man had already moved on.

He stopped behind Zhen. “Then we have the earnest-but-slightly-klutzy zookeeper. I found her endearing, didn’t you? But she doesn’t exactly radiate competence, and that speaks volumes about her employers, too.”

The look on Zhen’s face could have set paper on fire. She didn’t turn to look at Navarro.

“Then there’s Mr. Karst. Made the best case so far by not really making a case at all. You don’t sell the car, you sell the
idea
of the car, right, Mr. Karst?”

Karst glared at him from across the table. “It’s easy to criticize, Mr. Navarro. Haven’t heard
you
offer anything better.”

“Then you should keep listening, Mr. Karst.” He turned and walked back to his chair at the end of the table, though he didn’t sit down. “And then there’s Mr. Chukwukadibia—a true believer, I can tell. Keep an eye on this one, ZZ; a fanatic doesn’t let little things like someone else’s wishes stand in their way.”

Abazu said nothing. The smile, however, had returned to his face.

“Are you quite finished?” ZZ said coldly. “Despite your sarcasm, all these people have put a lot of hard work into their plans. Will yours show the same dedication?”

Navarro chuckled. “I’ll let you decide that. Now, while I wouldn’t dare challenge Mr. Karst’s skill as a raconteur, I have my own little story to tell. You’ll indulge me, I hope?”

“Get on with it, Mr. Navarro.”

“Thank you. The story I’m going to tell you might not seem immediately relevant, but stick with me; you won’t be disappointed.

“There’s this man. Let’s call him Mister M. Mister M. is a collector of certain artifacts, and he has what’s known as collector’s mania. Once he begins to collect something, it becomes something of an obsession. When he gets close to completing a particular collection, the remaining objects aren’t just
things
to him; they’re accomplishments. Benchmarks, milestones. It’s not so much that he has to have them as
not
having them feels like some sort of failure. And Mr. M. is not someone who deals well with failure—not in himself, and not in those he employs.

“So it comes to pass that Mr. M.’s current obsession was—”

“Large hybrid felines?” sneered Rajiv.

Navarro smiled at him, not at all annoyed. “No, Mr. Gunturu. Rugs. Not animal-skin rugs, either—Persian rugs, by a particular long-dead weaver known for his skill and the intricacy of his patterns. Mr. M. had acquired virtually every such rug known, and was closing in on the last few. And then he made a very unfortunate discovery.

“Mr. M. was a successful businessman in a very competitive field. He had many employees, and they all worked very hard for him. He demanded loyalty, rewarded excellence, and got both. But one of his top men, as it turned out, also had an eye for rugs. He didn’t own as many as Mr. M., but he did possess one of the finest rugs Mr. M.’s favorite weaver had ever created.

“This created something of a dilemma for Mr. M. He wanted that rug, but he couldn’t just out-and-out say so. It would cause problems.

“See, Mr. M. had a very specific relationship with his employees. He required their respect, but the nature of his business meant that respect only came if he behaved in a certain way. Asking a favor of a subordinate would imply an imbalance of power, and Mr. M. couldn’t have that. He could have just demanded the rug, but that would cause resentment. Resentment breeds disloyalty, and he couldn’t have
that
.

“So. It was a problem.

“But Mr. M. was also an opportunist. And it so happened that an opportunity presented itself not too long after that, when the employee’s daughter was kidnapped.”

“Kidnapped?” Oscar said skeptically.

“Yes. Now, loyalty cuts both ways, and Mr. M. knew this. He swore he would do whatever it took to get the man’s daughter back. He brought to bear his considerable resources on finding the kidnappers, and when that proved unsuccessful he paid the ransom in full. The daughter was returned, unhurt, and a few days later Mr. M. went to the employee’s house in person.

“The employee, of course, was immensely grateful. He couldn’t stop thanking Mr. M. He thanked him, he thanked Mr. M.’s bodyguards, he thanked the whole organization that had gone to bat for him in his hour of need.

“‘I’ll pay you back,’ the employee said. ‘Every penny. With interest.’

“‘It’s nothing,’ Mr. M. told him. ‘These things happen.’

“‘Let me show my gratitude,’ the employee said. ‘A gift. I have something I know you’d appreciate—’

“‘That’s not necessary,’ Mr. M. said. ‘These men that did this—I will find them, and they will pay the price. Not for revenge. For
necessity
. You understand?’

“The employee said he did.

“‘Having one of your own family taken makes you look weak,’ Mr. M. said. ‘When you look weak, I look weak. I cannot have that. You understand?’

“The employee said he did.

“And then—in the employee’s own study—Mr. M. told his men to do what needed to be done. They did it quickly, and they made very little noise. They were professionals, after all.”

Navarro paused. No one had anything to say.

“Afterward, they asked Mr. M. what they should do about … well, what was left. Leave it there? Or take it with?

“‘No need to upset his family,’ Mr. M. said. He looked down at his feet, and shrugged. ‘Roll it up in this rug and we’ll stick it in the trunk.’”

Navarro stopped. Looked around the table and seemed satisfied at what he saw. He reached into his breast pocket, pulled out a cream-colored envelope, and placed it flat on the table. Gave it a hard shove that sent it past everyone and all the way to the end of the table where ZZ sat.

“There’s a piece of paper in there with a number written on it, and a whole lot of zeros after that. Above that number is the masthead of a reputable bank, and underneath it is my boss’s signature. Cash it, burn it, sign it over to any charity you like; my employer doesn’t care. But he wants Augustus—and what he wants, he gets.”

He looked around the table again. “Oh, and the rest of you? Go home. Negotiations are over.”

And then he turned around and walked out of the room.

C
HAPTER
F
IVE

The first person to speak after Navarro left was Oscar.

“That chap,” he said, “doesn’t play well with others. I do believe I need another drink.”

And then
everyone
was talking.

“Outrageous!” Rajiv exclaimed.

“Inexcusable!” Zhen blurted.

“What a load of blather!” said Karst. “You can’t seriously believe any of that!”

Abazu said nothing, but the look on his face was grim. He clearly believed every word.

ZZ looked troubled, but not afraid. “Foxtrot?” she said. “Get Shondra on the phone, will you? I think we need to have a conversation.”

“On it,” I said. I got up from the table, pulled out my phone, and left the dining room. Whiskey came with me.

What do you think?
I thought at him.

[I can’t tell for sure when someone’s lying, but my professional opinion? He was telling the truth.]

What makes you say that?

[Instinct. I’ve got the genes of a predator, and so does he. And I could smell a slight jump in his adrenal secretions when he got to the part of the story about the murder.]

You mean it excited him
?

[Perhaps. Or perhaps he was actually present at the event, and the memory excited him.]

Terrific.

Shondra was on speed dial; I hit the number and she picked up on the first ring. “What’s up?” she asked. She sounded like she’d been expecting trouble—but then, she usually sounded like that.

I told her what had happened and repeated the anecdote Navarro had told as best I could. She asked me for exact phrasing a few times, no doubt to figure out if what Navarro had said could legally be construed as a threat. When I was done she said, “I’ll be right there. How long ago did he leave?”

“I’m not sure he did, actually. I think he just went upstairs and went to bed.”

“Did he? Well, he’s not going to be there for long.”

“Hold on, Rambo. ZZ wants to talk to you first. And remember, so far this is just talk. People say all sorts of things in a contest; Karst made fun of the competition, while Navarro tried to intimidate them. I don’t think anything he said was an out-and-out threat.”

“No, it sounds like he was very careful about that. But that doesn’t mean you have to tolerate him staying under the same roof.”

“We sort of do, unless ZZ says otherwise. She’s trying to calm everyone down right now.”

I could tell from the voices in the other room she was having limited success. A moment later the other four guests filed past me, presumably on their way to their own rooms; Zhen marched angrily with her head high, Rajiv strode with a stony look on his face, Karst’s pace was deliberately casual and unhurried, and Abazu had his hands clasped behind his back and a frown on his face.

I told Shondra I’d see her soon and ended the call. I returned to the dining room to find only Oscar and ZZ left.

“Well,” said Oscar, getting to his feet, “this
has
been fun. I do believe I’ll turn in early, myself; if I’m going to be murdered while I sleep, I’d like to be well rested. Terribly difficult to hide bags under your eyes when you’re dead.”

“Nobody’s getting murdered,” said ZZ. “Foxtrot, tell my son that was all hyperbole, will you?”

“That was all hyperbole, Oscar.”

“Thank you, Foxtrot. I feel ever so reassured. I believe I’ll sleep with my door unlocked, and a large rug beside my bed.”

He put down his glass and tottered off. Oscar does a masterful totter.

ZZ sighed. “Shondra’s on her way?”

“Like I could stop her. I managed to convince her not to shoot Navarro on sight. I think.”

ZZ had the envelope in one hand, and the flap was open; she’d looked at Navarro’s offer. “Mind if see for myself?” I asked.

She handed it over without a word. I pulled the check out, glanced at the number, and successfully resisted the urge to whistle. “Yeah, that’s a lot of zeros. What do you think?”

“I think,” said ZZ, “that I don’t want to wake up with a horse’s head next to me in the morning. Or find myself wrapped in a rug.”

I studied the check. “You know Shondra won’t let that happen. And besides … now we have some valuable information.” I returned the check to the envelope and handed it back. “The name of Luis Navarro’s boss.”

“True. I’m hoping Shondra can do something with that.”

“With her contacts? We’ll have the guy’s arrest record by morning.” I pulled out my phone and called her back. “Shondra? Got the name of Navarro’s boss. It’s Alvero Peralta.”

She thanked me, told me she’d get right to work on it, and hung up.

I decided to get a little fresh air with Whiskey while we waited for Shondra, and went up to the deck on the roof of the east wing; it had a lovely view, including the menagerie. The light was fading to dusk, and the air was warm. Tango joined us, leaping from the branch of a nearby tree to the top of the wooden railing that fenced off the deck.

I stared in the direction of the liger enclosure, and relayed what Eli had told Whiskey and me. “So apparently Augustus may be in danger. And now we have a professional thug who’s probably armed sleeping under our roof.”

“Please don’t. The mess will upset the maids.”

[Eli wants us to observe him, not stalk him.]

“It’s a fine line to walk, Tango. We need to be observant without being intrusive. For instance, spending all your time gazing soulfully at Augustus from the other side of his enclosure might be a bit much. He’s new here; he deserves some privacy.”

“Anyway, I’m not convinced any of the guests would try to kill Augustus—they all want him, sure, but they want him alive.”

Just then I saw a cab come up the driveway and park in front of the house. The cabdriver got out and rang the bell.

[Someone’s decided to leave? It seems Mr. Navarro’s tactics may be working.]

Someone answered the door, and Rajiv Gunturu stormed outside a second later. He followed the driver out to the car and got in the back.

“I don’t think so,” I said. “He doesn’t have his bags with him. Must be going into town for something.” The cab drove off.

“So, Tango, here’s what I want you to do. Drop by Augustus’s enclosure now and then—no more than once an hour—and see how he’s doing. If he wants to be alone, respect that. By which I mean still check on him every hour, but stay out of sight and don’t talk to him. All right?”