by Gale Borger
He smiled slowly and knowingly. I thought my goose was cooked. He put his hands on his hips. I held my breath and he let out with, "Where're all da women at?" That broke the spell. I exhaled and we laughed. I shoved a beer in his hand. He grabbed up the box of pizza and headed for the living room. He put the pizza down on the coffee table and flopped on the couch.
I picked up the remote, turned on cable T.V. An NBA game was on.
"You ok with sports?"
"Unless you got Debbie Does Dallas on tape."
"What is with you tonight?"
He looked thoughtful and then confused. "I don't know, but I'll stop it now."
I turned off the television and turned on the DVD player. "How about a movie instead?"
"Great idea," he said. "What do you want to watch?"
I thought about it. "That depends. Are you in a Lethal Weapon mood or a Rush Hour mood?"
He laughed and shouted, "Do You Understand The Words That Are Coming Out Of My Mouth?"
"All-righty then. Rush Hour it is."
"Buzz, you are the perfect woman!"
I batted my eyes. "Yeah, yeah, move over and quit hogging all the pizza."
We polished off the pizza and laughed all over again at the outrageous comedy of Jackie Chan and Chris Tucker. At the end, he went to grab the remote. I dove after it.
"Wait! The outtakes are the best part!"
He settled back and said, "Aww, man! I almost forgot." We laughed some more.
I wiped the tears from my eyes. "Wow. I needed that."
"I agree. I think I'm a whole new man. Thanks, Buzz."
"I couldn't have done it without you, J.J. It's not quite the same watching it with Wesley. Besides, he eats most of the pizza."
He yawned and popped the top of another beer. He settled back. I turned light classical on the stereo. I took the pizza box and the paper plates to the kitchen.
I dumped them in the trash and thought, "Now that's how I like to do the dishes." I wiped down the counters and turned off the lights.
"Wes, Hill, do you guys need to go out one more time?" There was no scuffling, and no vying for position to be first out the door. Odder than that, there was no noise at all coming from the other room. I walked quietly to the door and peeked around the corner. I smiled and sighed. This was a Kodak moment if I ever saw one. J.J. was sound asleep, slouched sideways on the couch. His untouched beer was perched precariously on the table. Wesley was on the other half of the couch, grinning proudly and waving his tail. Hill was in J.J.'s lap, daring me to chase her off.
I went to the fridge and grabbed a hot dog. I stood in the doorway and broke it in half. Wes was my slave in about two seconds. Hilary quietly got off J.J.'s lap and waddled over to get her half. I pulled a quilt from the linen closet, threw it over J.J., and turned out the lights.
The dogs both looked at me questioningly. "Come on, kids, go to bed." They trotted down the hall to my bedroom. Wes jumped up on the king-sized bed and I lifted Hilary. By the time I got out of the shower they were both snoring softly. Wes was sprawled across one side, with Hill curled up next to his big warm belly. I crawled in next to them and turned off the light. I lay listening to their familiar snorts and snores and drifted off to sleep.
* * *
I was dreaming about great smelling guys, and one in particular. I came slowly awake still dreaming of burying my face into a hairy chest smelling of Irish Spring and man. My subconscious mind told me I would probably wake up with a face full of dog butt.
My semi-conscious mind, however, registered a couple of indisputable facts. One, Wes was on the floor, licking my hand. Two, I was now fully awake and I still smelled Irish Spring and man, but I also felt very warm skin under my chin and nose. I opened my eyes and registered a third indisputable fact. I was face first in J.J.'s chest, and there was a pool of drool next to my mouth. I made an unladylike slurp and J.J. moved the hair out of my eyes. I looked into those startling blue eyes and melted.
"Good morning, beautiful." Hilary preened and I let her have the spotlight. I had to–she looked much better than I did this morning.
I lifted my head and said, "It is a good thing we're friends, or I might have had to kill you. Where did you come from anyway?"
He picked that moment to stretch and wipe the wet spot from his chest. "The dogs woke me up, so I took them for a walk. The coffee was already made so I poured a cup. I took a phone call from one of my deputies, and I came in here to wake you up." He pointed to the cup on the night stand. "I leaned over to wake you up and you rolled me over the top of you." He clutched his heart. "I was rendered helpless when you burrowed in and flopped face first on my chest. That was about, oh…" he consulted his watch, "Fifteen minutes ago."
"Oh geez, J.J. I'm sorry."
"Don't be. It was my pleasure. Believe me, it was all my pleasure."
I yawned. "What the heck time is it, anyway?" He started to answer me when my phone rang. I heard my mom's voice and let the machine pick it up.
24
Alejandro and Moe picked up the horse trailer from Mitchell Field Airport. They arrived back at the Miller Farm by 10:50 a.m. Bill waved them to a stop and gave them instructions for the placement of the trailer behind his barn. Alejandro thanked him and drove around the barn. Moe got out to direct and Alejandro started to back the trailer perpendicular to the northwest corner of the barn. Moe moved, so Alejandro could see him in the mirrors, and tripped and fell forward over something sticking out of the ground. Alejandro slammed on the brakes and jumped out to check on Moe. He found Moe staring at the ground, brushing at the dirt. Moe sat up and shoved some more dirt aside with his heels, and looked down again.
Lifting his ball cap and scratching his head, Moe looked at Alejandro with a bewildered expression on his face. "Well, I'll be dipped. Montoya, would you look at that?"
Alejandro moved closer and looked at where Moe pointed. A patch of brown hide and a piece of halter could be seen where Moe had scraped away the topsoil. Alejandro squatted and brushed more soil away. He inhaled sharply and made a small noise when he uncovered a horse's head. Moe just stood there looking baffled. Alejandro realized he was looking at the mare from which the bad guys had removed the bricks of cocaine two days ago.
"Oh my God!" He fell backward, scrambled to put distance between himself and the dead horse. He choked back bile and fought to control his breathing. He didn't realize he was praying aloud until Moe put a hand on his shoulder, startling him. Alejandro jerked his head around. Moe backed away from him, wary of the desolate look on his face.
"¡Margarita, mi caballito!" Alejandro looked down at the little mare, speaking softly, stroking the horse's face. Not turning from the horse, he said quietly to Moe, "Call Sheriff Green right away. This is my mare they murdered at Graff's."
Moe fumbled with his cell phone and finally hit speed dial. J.J. answered right away. Moe moved away from the truck. Alejandro listened as Moe spoke in low tones.
"J.J., it's Darryl. Uh no, Sheriff, I'm the other Darryl. Darryl Swanson." He enunciated into the phone. "I'm your deputy you sent to Milwaukee with Montoya." He sighed again. "Yeah, that's me. Moe or Tom or whatever you want to call me. Anyway, we're over at Bill Miller's place, parking the horse trailer. No, we didn't run into the barn. Listen…I uh, stumbled across a dead horse." He glanced at Alejandro and winced. "Yeah. Montoya says it looks like the one he claims died over at Graff's the other night… Okay, we won't touch it. Huh? Montoya? No, boss, he looks like he saw a ghost. Yeah–good idea, she'll know what to do… Okay. Will do, Sheriff. Yep, you too. Bye."
He flipped the phone shut and walked back to Alejandro. "Come on, Montoya. Gerry Miller will have coffee on. We can't touch the scene until J.J. gets here anyway."
Alejandro drew in a shaky breath and wiped his brow with a bandana. "Whew. Yeah. Okay. Where do you want me to go?" Alejandro took Moe's arm and he helped him up. He was still trembling as they slowly walked to the back door of Miller's house. Moe knocked twice. They heard
a cheery, "Come on in; the coffee's on!"
Moe held open the screen door and Alejandro took a tentative step inside the kitchen. Gerry was just turning from the stove when she caught sight of Alejandro. "Oh, young man, what is wrong? Are you hurt?"
Alejandro shook his head, giving her a small smile. "No, ma'am. I'm okay, but I think we have some disturbing news." He turned to Moe.
Moe took over. "Ger, we found what we think is a horse buried out back of your barn. Sheriff Green is on his way. Montoya here is a little shook up over the whole thing, so we thought we'd beg a cup of coffee off you and wait until the sheriff gets here."
Gerry clasped her hands in front of her. "I should think so! Sit, sit, I have just the thing!" She turned and bustled back to the stove, snatching up the pan she just took out of the oven. She muttered to herself, "Dead horse, oof dah! Wait until I tell the girls, wait until I tell Buzz!"
She grabbed a plate and pried whatever was in the pan onto the plate. "Here, young man, have some of my rhubarb crunch. It will make you feel better." She distractedly plopped the plate and a fork in front of him, picked up the coffee pot and filled two cups. "Darryl, Mr. Montoya, would you excuse me a moment?" Without waiting for an answer, she scurried into the next room.
Wiping her hands on the towel tucked at her waist, Gerry picked up the phone and hit the speed dial. "Buzz? Mom. I think you'd better come over as soon as you get this message. Something about a dead horse some guy named Montoya found buried behind our barn."
* * *
I lay in my bed listening to the answering machine as my mom prattled on. I opened my eyes a crack and saw J.J. smiling down at me. I could not yet put together a coherent thought, let alone decipher what Mom was talking about. I pushed the hair out of my eyes and looked blearily at J.J. He was still grinning at me. Mom said something about coming over for lunch.
I sat up suddenly, grabbed J.J. by the arm, and tried to focus on the dial on his watch. "Lunch? What time did you say it was, J.J.?"
"I didn't, but it's going on 11:25."
"Oh, crap!" I scrambled from the bed and sprinted for the bathroom.
As I closed the door, I heard, "Nice outfit, Miller."
I looked down and had to laugh. I was wearing an old comfortable tee shirt Fred gave me a million years ago. It had a piano and a piano bench on it. On the bench was a pile of poop. The caption below read, Beethoven's Last Movement. This was paired with my favorite Green Bay Packers satin boxers. I must admit, I was quite the fashion statement. "You should see me when I really dress up," I yelled through the door.
I wet my hair down, yanked on a bra, brushed my teeth, and grabbed a sweatshirt with a picture of a Holstein cow and the sign for pi below it.
J.J. gave me a quizzical look when I came out of the bathroom. I elbowed him and said, "Get it? Cow pi?"
He moaned and threw an arm around my neck. He whistled through his teeth. "Hey Hill, Wes, let's go to Grandma's house!" We had to jump out of the way or get stampeded on our way out the door.
We made it to Mom's house a couple of minutes before noon. I groaned and clasped a hand over my eyes when I saw the black Bonneville, and red Crown Victoria in the driveway. "Oh no! It's the geriatric Mod Squad. I'm going to kill my mother–but at least we don't have to deal with Dead Butts,"
J.J. flicked my earlobe. "You spoke too soon, my sweet."
"My sweet patootie, pal. What are you talking about–oh crap, I spoke too soon–"
Zoom! My car rocked as the township squad blew past us. Putz slid sideways, spraying gravel in all directions, pelleting my car. He bumped over the ridge along the driveway, fishtailed in and out of the first few rows of corn, tearing stalks out by the roots fighting to control the squad.
"Oh, boy, is your dad going to be pissed when he sees this," J.J. said.
I blew out a big breath. "Wow. You got that right, flatfoot." We pulled past the line of cars parked by the house.
We let the dogs out and they bounded straight for the back door. A hand was seen opening the screen door and the two dogs disappeared inside. I smiled and looked at J.J. He smiled down at me and said, "Ah, the joys of Grandma's house."
"You are right again, James J. Green–oh my God, look over there!" J.J. turned in time to see Ted's mother, Mary, whack him in the back of the head with a dripping Tupperware lid.
"Now look what you did, you self impotent little chest beater!"
J.J. and I exchanged glances. J.J. whispered out of the side of his mouth, "Impotent? This gets better and better!"
"Self important, Ma. I don't think you mean impotent. I'm arrogant, not limp." Ted hitched his pants, nervously looking around. He caught J.J. and me looking and turned a sick shade of grayish-pink. He opened his mouth and Mary whacked him again with the Tupperware lid.
"You made me spill my Chinese noodle salad and you wrecked my car! Look at my beautiful car!" She leaned over and examined the dings. "At least it's not as bad as Bill Miller's truck. He's going to sue, you know. What are you doing here anyway? This is for the real police, not for members of Donut Eaters Anonymous."
J.J. and I couldn't stand it any more. He barked out a laugh, and I almost wet myself howling. I clasped J.J.'s arm and hobbled to the house, laughing the entire way.
I hit the bathroom running. Looking out the bathroom window, I saw Ted, with his head down, stubbing his toe in the gravel. Mary was still giving him what-for and waving the Tupperware container, showering him with Chinese noodles.
I snagged Mom's digital camera and went back outside. Wesley came bounding up, wearing noodles on his head and nose. "You were eating noodle salad, weren't you, Wes? Did you get too close to Mary?"
Grin, pant, tail wave, and grin. I picked a noodle off his snout and dropped it in his mouth. He trotted off toward his driveway buffet.
I looked around and realized J.J. hadn't waited for me. I jogged through the barn and out the far end. J.J., Dad, Moe, and Alejandro were armed with shovels, brooms and a leaf blower. Bernie Smiley pulled up in his tow truck. The men discussed the strategy for removing the mare from the shallow pit.
I left them to it and fired up the camera. I noticed Mike Dudley, our local veterinarian was down in the pit, examining the mare. He leaned over and scribbled on a clipboard he had placed on solid ground on the rim of the pit. I walked over to where he was. He looked up, smiled and said, "Hey Buzz, how'r ya doing? Where's my favorite girl and her two-ton sidekick?"
"I'm good, Mike. Hilary is in the house and Wes is eating Chinese noodles in the driveway."
Mike laughed. "I won't even ask, but I can't say I'm surprised." He gestured with his head to the mare in the pit. "What's up with the dead horse, anyway? J.J. says he wants a full autopsy–concentrating on a toxin report and the reproductive organs. Care to let me in on it?"
I hesitated. "Look, Mike, this is part of an investigation, of which you are an important part. Let me talk to J.J. I think he will fill you in later, but not in front of Bernie and the others."
Mike smiled. "You got it, Kiddo–I'm almost finished here anyway, so I'll join you in a minute." He looked back at the mare in the pit. "Sure was a pretty little mare though. Whoever killed her must have collected a good chunk of insurance money. Is that what we're looking at here, insurance fraud?" He held up a hand. "No, never mind. You go talk to J.J. and I'll finish up here."
"Okay, and thanks, Mike."
I went over by the 'meeting of the mindless' and pulled J.J. aside. "Mike wants to know what he's looking for, and I think we should let him in. He's a good man and he would keep any information in a confidential file. He thinks he's looking at insurance fraud. When he finds out this mare died of a cocaine overdose, he will go through the roof if we don't give him prior warning."
"I know. I've thought about that too. Let's go tell him now. Maybe he can help us brainstorm."
We had started back toward Mike when we heard the roar of Ted's voice, "I don't care about your stupid noodles you crazy old bat! I'm here for an official Mex
ica–I mean I have Mexican papers…that is, Texas papers for a murdered Mexican…I mean Mexican murderer–oh, just get out of my way and take your damn noodles with you!"
J.J. and I looked at each other and said simultaneously, "Oh no!"
25
I caught sight of Ted strutting through the barn with papers in his hand. It is always a bad sign when I see Dead Butts gather himself up to his full five-feet-two-inches and puff out his chest. When he adds that superior smirk, I know there's going to be trouble.
I was across the pit when Butts swaggered up to J.J. and hitched his pants. I kept one eye on him while I finished up with Mike the vet. I saw Butts jawing at J.J. When J.J. pushed his hat back and shook his head I became wary. Butts gestured wildly with one hand and shook the papers at J.J. with the other. J.J. crossed his arms over his chest in a defensive stance not even Ted was stupid enough to ignore. He took a step back.
I slid close enough to hear J.J. say, "Ted, I don't care if those papers say he's the goddamn Frito Bandito, I am not arresting Montoya on Grand Larceny and Murder. Where did you get those papers, anyway?"
Ted's eyes grew large and he stammered, "I-I just dropped by your office and Edie was at the fax machine. The phone rang, she went to answer it, and I p-picked them up."
J.J. was incensed. "What did you do, Butts, steal those warrants from Edie? You have no business touching anything in my office!"
He yanked his cell phone out of his pocket and punched in some numbers. "Edie? J.J. No, I didn't listen to my voice mails yet. He what?" J.J. glared at Ted. "Yeah, that's what I thought. Well, he's here now. Who was the guy again, Martinez? Okay. No thanks, I got the number. What? No need to be sorry, Edie, it's not your fault. Ted's an ass. Yep. See you later, Bye."
