Crouching Buzzard, Leaping Loon

by Donna Andrews

  “Check,“ he said. “Hey, this one's new – 'unique rambler in woodland setting' – sounds promising.“

  “Yeah, belongs to a friend of Michael's,“ I said with a sigh. “We got a chance to see it before it went on the market. Could have made an offer if we wanted to. Beautiful lot. Beautiful house. Just one problem.“

  “Price too big?“

  “House too small.“

  “I don't care how small it is, it has to be bigger than the motel room I'm sharing. See – three bedrooms.“

  “Trust me, it's too small. The owner's only three and a half feet tall. He had it built to scale. Five-and-a-half-foot ceilings.“

  “You're kidding, right?“

  I shook my head.

  “So why's he selling?“

  “He got married. His wife's almost my height; she's tired of crouching.“

  “Now I know you're kidding,“ he said. “Trying to keep everyone else from jumping on the place, right?“

  “Go see for yourself.“

  “I will. Mind if I borrow this to make a copy?“

  “Keep it. Nothing I can use,“ I said. “Listen, what do you know about Ted's house?“

  “I know he found someplace to rent outside town,“ Jack said.

  “You never saw it?“

  “No – have you?“

  “Yes,“ I said. “I went over to see if I could find any work papers or files that the police hadn't taken.“

  “Was it a dive?“ he asked. “I figure, as quickly as he found it, it must have been a real dive.“

  “Not really,“ I said. “Was there any talk about his finding a place to live? Resentment, jealousy?“

  “Not that I remember,“ he said. “Of course, I bet a lot of people probably thought what 1 did – that there must be something really wrong with it if he found it so quickly. He was only at the Pines maybe a month. Even when he was there, he didn't really socialize much with the rest of us, so it's not as if he invited people over for a housewarming party or anything. I don't think most people even knew where he'd moved.“

  “A couple of people did,“ I said. “A couple of staffers showed up there while I was doing my search. I think they wanted to see if they could snag the place before someone else did.“

  “You're not really thinking that one of them killed Ted so they could get his house, are you?“

  “Why not?“ I asked. “I know at least three quarters of our staff are still living at the Pines or bunking with friends or maybe driving an hour or more to get to work. And here Ted snags a place in the country after a few weeks?“

  “I still think it's going a little far, killing someone over a house.“

  “Oh, and there are acceptable reasons for killing someone?“

  “You know what I mean,“ he said with a laugh. “It seems a little weak for a motive.“

  “Wait till you've been doing that a few more months,“ I said, pointing my thumb at the real estate section.

  “Maybe you have a point,“ he said as his eyes scanned the same sparse pickings I'd already rejected. “What's wrong?“ he said, glancing up to find me frowning as I looked at him.

  “Nothing,“ I said. “Or rather… could you do something for me?“

  “Just name it,“ he said. He folded the paper, shoved it under his arm, and leaned over the reception desk.

  I fished out my notebook again and gave him the same information I'd given Luis, with the same instructions – including, of course, orders not to tell anyone, even Luis.

  “What's this all about, anyway?“ he asked. “Where did you get these addresses?“

  “Tell me what you can find out first,“ I said. “Then I'll tell you the whole story.“

  He looked at me for a moment, then nodded and left.

  Back to the house hunt. I looked up the telephone number of the lawyer who was handling Mrs. Sprocket's estate. I got the man on the line before I realized I hadn't figured out what to say, and something about the lawyer's precise yet oratorical tones made me suspect he'd enjoy playing cat and mouse with me before refusing to give me any useful information.

  “I'm calling… I assume you've heard about Ted Corrigan's death?“

  “Yes, and I'm afraid we will not be looking to engage another caretaker for the house,“ the lawyer said. Sounding rather bored, as if he bothered to talk to me only for the fun of practicing his elocution.

  “Caretaker?“

  “Isn't that why you called?“ the lawyer said. “To apply for the caretaker's job?“

  “Actually, no,“ I said. “But you've already answered the question I was going to ask.“

  “And what, pray tell, was your question?“ he asked. Oh, dear. Now he sounded suspicious.

  “I'm with Mutant Wizards, the firm he worked for,“ I said, improvising. “We were going to see if there was something we could do – to help out the family, you know. Make a month's rent or mortgage payment, if we could find out where to send it.“

  “Not needed,“ the lawyer said. “But you could help me out. Do you have any information on his next of kin? I need to know where to send his final paycheck. Not that the miserable beggar really earned it, that I can see, but still, one doesn't like to speak ill of the dead, does one?“

  “I can have our Personnel department call you with that information,“ I said. “If we don't have it, I assume we'll find a way to get it ourselves, for much the same reason.“

  “I'd appreciate it,“ he said, sounding genuinely grateful, so I decided to push my luck.

  “Just out of curiosity,“ I said. “Why aren't you hiring a new caretaker? The house could certainly use it. Is someone moving in?“

  “No, but it's going on the market,“ he said. “The Realtor will be getting it ready to show and handling maintenance till it's sold.“

  “Big job,“ I said. “Getting it ready, that is; in this market, the maintenance probably won't be needed for long.“

  “It could be needed indefinitely if the heirs don't scale down their expectations,“ he said.

  “Why, what are they asking?“

  My jaw dropped when he named the price. I think I gasped.

  “Breathtaking, isn't it,“ he said. “Totally unrealistic, even in this market.“

  “Is it on a large piece of land?“ I asked.

  “Not enough for that price,“ he said. “Couple of acres.“

  “With a working diamond mine in the backyard, perhaps?“

  He chuckled.

  So much for buying the house, as I'd tell Michael the next time we talked. I thanked the lawyer for his time, signed off, and then called to ask Darlene in Personnel to send him the information he needed. Offhand, I couldn't think of anything else I might need from him, but you never knew; so it seemed useful to keep on his good side.

  So few people passed through the reception area for the next hour that I began to wonder if they'd all fled down the fire escape. I finally grew so curious that I put the switchboard in night mode and went back to see what was going on.

  I'd hoped to find them all busily doing evil things to the Affirmation Bears. I was disappointed. Yes, nearly every cube sported a bear, one or two of them partially disassembled. But most of the staff were in the computer lab, apparently receiving a pep talk from Jack.

  I found out what Dad had been up to all morning when I walked into the lunchroom.

  As I stepped over the threshold, I felt something catch at my ankle. I was glancing down to see what it was when I saw something falling from the ceiling onto my head. I threw my good hand up to protect my face and intercepted a flying mouse cord.

  “Damn,“ I heard someone say. “That almost worked.“ . I glanced over and saw Dad and Rico crouched behind one of the tables.

  “Not really,“ Dad said.

  “If she hadn't put her hand up, it would have worked.“

  “What are you two trying to do?“ I asked.

  “Testing a theory of mine,“ Dad said.

  I glanced around. The tables
and the floor around the doorway were littered with nails, hammers, screwdrivers, bolts, and assorted bits of string, not to mention a dozen or so mouse cords. Only one or two had intact mice still attached.

  “Let me rig it up again,“ Rico said, grabbing another mouse from the clutter He dragged a chair over to the doorway and began attaching the mouse to a complicated device made of levers, pulleys, and rubber bands, which dangled over the doorway from a set of hooks and eyes. When he'd finished attaching the mouse, he ran a string down the wall and then across the doorway.

  “There,“ he said. “Meg, could you go out and walk in again?

  And this time, don't try to protect yourself; just walk in and – “

  “Nothing doing,“ I said. “I'm not sure how you think you can launch that thing with enough force to strangle someone, but just in case this is not as stupid as it seems, I'm not going to play guinea pig. Why don't you walk in yourself?“

  “But I know how it works and – “

  “Damn!“

  The chief financial officer had walked in. Apparently he'd been walking faster than I had – when he hit the trip wire, instead of the mouse cord, the whole contraption came down and tangled itself around his head.

  “I think we'd have noticed if someone had rigged a booby trap like that anywhere on the premises,“ I said as I helped them disentangle their captive.

  “I thought if we could figure out how to propel the mouse cord with the right trajectory and sufficient force to strangle someone, then we'd worry about reproducing the effect with less hardware,“ Dad said. “But so far, we haven't achieved anywhere near enough momentum or accuracy. I'm beginning to think maybe this is a dead end.“

  “Why complicate things?“ I said. “I know it would be more fun if someone had built an elaborate machine to kill Ted by remote control, but I really don't think whoever did this went to that much trouble. I think they just got mad and strangled him on the spot.“

  “It's just that it's hard to imagine anyone having the nerve to do that, here in such a crowded office,“ Dad said.

  “Someone did,“ I said. “And they probably knew the office well enough to know just when and where it was uncrowded. like maybe during a meeting; look how empty the place is now, with everyone in the computer lab.“

  “Hmmm,“ Dad said, but I could see he wasn't convinced.

  He and Rico began rigging up their mouse-cord launcher again.

  “If you wait a few minutes, we can try to trap you again,“ he said.

  “Maybe later,“ I said, strolling out.

  The meeting in the computer lab was still going on, and most of the rest of the staff were there.

  The few exceptions were all clustered around Frankie's monitor, reading something.

  “What's up?“ I said.

  “Hi, Meg,“ Frankie said. “You know anything about this?“

  The others stepped aside so I could get close enough to read the monitor. I could see that they'd been reading a Web site that published gossip about the computer gaming industry. I followed Frankie's pointing finger.

  The latest inside scoop from Mutant Wizards is that the much-awaited new release will be a companion game, Veterinarians from Hell.

  Oh, dear, I thought.

  “Vets from Hell,“ Frankie said. “Must be a new idea Rob's been working on. Man, what an incredible brain that guy has! One idea after another!“

  I was a little startled at this picture of Rob as a gaming mastermind. To me, Rob seemed to have only one idea, on which he was determined to ring in as many variations as possible. Lawyers from Hell, Doctors from Hell, Cops from Hell, and now, if public reaction to the rumor I'd inadvertently started was favorable, Vets from Hell.

  “Hey, we could use Doc as a consultant,“ Frankie said.

  Doc? Did they mean Dad? Considering that all of Mother's farmer cousins habitually asked him for free medical advice for their livestock, I supposed he could contribute usefully to Vets from Hell.

  “Just think of it!“ one of the developers suggested. “We don't just have cats and dogs… We have anacondas, Vietnamese potbellied pigs, zebras…. It's a teaching tool.“

  “Unicorns, wyverns, manticores,“ suggested another.

  “Mutant Vets from Hell!“ they shrieked in chorus.

  “Mutant“ was a code word; it meant they were about to stray even further than usual from reality. In about five minutes, they'd be arguing over how to implement a coherent system of magic. I'd heard this all before. Maybe it was time to nip this particular brainstorming session in the bud.

  “Actually, I think I was the one to blame for that article,“ I said. “It wasn't something Rob was planning at all.“

  They stared at me.

  “Wow, I bet it's, like, genetic,“ one of them murmured in awestruck tones.

  “So have you got a development team yet?“ another asked.

  “I'll get back to you,“ I said, and left, hastily. I knew Rob was already giving serious thought to Mutant Lawyers from Hell, in which the competing lawyers could win trials not only with evidence and witnesses, but also by casting spells to confuse the jury and turning the opposing lawyers into swine. With my luck, Rob would actually like the Mutant Vets idea.

  I was relieved to get back to the switchboard. At least I was until I heard the door open and looked up to see the biker entering. Okay, he made me a little less nervous than he did before I saw him with the cat, but that didn't mean I wanted him clinking into the Mutant Wizards reception room. And what was he carrying in the battered black leather satchel? Not to mention the crumpled brown paper bag?

  “I've come to see Cathleen Ni Houlihan,“ he said.

  “I'm afraid, we don't have anyone working here by that name,“ I said while shifting so I could more easily reach the panic button.

  “Nonsense, she doesn't work here,“ he said. “She – Katy!“

  Katy, the Irish wolfhound, bounded into the room and launched herself at the biker, ending up licking his face with her front feet on his shoulders, while he said unintelligible things to her. Unintelligible because they were, apparently, in Gaelic. I didn't speak Gaelic, but I remembered what it sounded like from the summer Dad was preparing for a trip to Ireland.

  Rhode Island Rico trailed in after her and shook the biker's hand, looking smaller than usual beside him. And beside Katy – why would someone ever want to own a dog that clearly outweighed him? Then again Keisha, who barely topped five feet, owned both of the Saint Bernards.

  “Thanks for coming over, Doc,“ he said.

  Doc?

  The biker reached into the brown paper bag and pulled out an object. I recognized the logo on the bag now – it was from Caerphilly's most militant vegetarian restaurant, which meant that the light brown patties he was feeding to Katy had to be some kind of soy-based hamburger substitute.

  “What happened?“ Doc asked – I supposed I ought to begin thinking of him as Doc.

  “Another dog bit her ear,“ Rico explained. “I was worried that it might get infected.“

  “Did you catch the other dog?“

  Rico looked nervously at me. I looked down at the crate beneath my desk.

  “I suspect he's here,“ I said with a sigh. “How did he get out, anyway?“

  “Rob had him in his office,“ Rico said. “We thought he'd calmed down. He was behaving like a lamb until Katy came in.“

  “Never trust Spike when he's behaving himself,“ I advised. “He does it only to lull you into a false sense of complacency.“

  “I'm sorry,“ the biker said. “I don't think we've actually been introduced. Clarence Rutledge. I've just moved to Caerphilly to set up my veterinary practice.“

  He extending one large, colorfully tattooed hand to me. I tried not to stare at the cartoon ferrets frolicking around his wrist. The other hand was still occupied with Katy – or Cathleen Ni Houlihan. Apparently she and I had never been introduced, either.

  “If you don't already have a vet for your dog – ,“
he continued.

  “He's not mine,“ I said. “I'm just taking care of him for a few weeks while his owner decides if she's allergic to him.“

  “If he needs some medical care while he's with you, then,“ he said.

  Business must be slow, I thought.

  “I emphasize wellness and natural remedies. Of course,“ he added, glancing down at Spike, “what I really plan to specialize in is behavior therapy.“

  “Wonderful,“ I said.

  “Often, aggressive behavior in canines is a result of underlying psychological problems.“

  “If you're suggesting that you could cure Spike of biting people, it's been tried,“ I said. “Frequently. His owner has probably spent more money on his education than my parents spent on mine.“

  “Really?“ Doc said, looking even more interested. “I'm getting together a study to try some new approaches on dogs that have proved resistant to previous attempts at aggression reduction. I don't suppose you'd be interested in enrolling Spike?…“

  “Maybe,“ I said. “Especially if it requires a period of residence at wherever you're conducting your study.“

  I took Doc's card, which proclaimed that he provided “holistic care for your animal companion.“ He and Rico strolled off to repair the damage Spike had done to Katy's ear.

  So he wasn't a thug. Did that make him more or less likely to have killed Ted?

  If Doc were in the habit of making house calls on his patients, it was all the more likely that he'd known Ted. And witnessed any instances of cruelty to animals Ted might have committed. And also all the more likely that Ted had tried to blackmail him. When I'd thought him merely a biker, I hadn't considered Doc a very likely blackmail target – unless, I suppose, Ted could prove that he'd never done anything wild or wicked, which could probably ruin someone's reputation as a hellion. But Doc, the reformed biker turned vegetarian holistic animal doctor? If I were an aspiring young blackmailer looking to expand my clientele, Doc would be exactly the sort of person I'd want to meet. I bet at some time in his unenlightened past Doc had worn leather boots instead of canvas ones. And probably kicked a dog or two with them.