Getting Sassy

by D. C. Brod

  “You sound quite certain that there is some money.” She paused. “Perhaps it’s just a letter.”

  “Then why did your brother steal it?”

  “I think,” she said, “if your mother’s memory were clearer, she would recall that she let him take it.”

  “That’s bullshit and you know it.” I kept pushing. “My guess is that the letter doesn’t spell it out. And neither you nor your brother are good at reading between the lines.”

  “I’ve never seen a letter.”

  “You still need something. Otherwise there’d have been a ‘For Rent’ sign on your shop window when my mother and I showed up this morning.”

  “My brother is not an unreasonable man. He would be willing to talk to you.”

  “If?”

  “Well, if he thought you’d be reasonable.”

  “Why should I be reasonable?”

  She breathed a couple of times, all the while staring at me.

  Finally, I said, “At least tell me where he is.”

  “You would be foolish to cross my brother.”

  “Are you threatening me?”

  “I’m warning you.” She waited a beat. “You don’t know my brother.”

  “You don’t know me.”

  When she didn’t respond, I said, “Did you know a Mary Waltner?”

  She hesitated. “Why is that name familiar?”

  “She was a lawyer. Robert Savage was a client.”

  I waited until she caught up with me. “You said ‘was.’”

  “She was found dead in the Warren Forest Preserves two days ago. Strangled.” Erika’s eyes widened, but she said nothing. “I believe she was here to deliver that letter to my mother. The one your brother stole from her.”

  She didn’t respond for several moments and when she did, her words were measured. “I heard about this woman on the news. I also heard they have a suspect they’re questioning.”

  “But they haven’t charged him yet.”

  “Perhaps it’s just a matter of time.”

  “You won’t listen to anything you don’t want to hear, will you?” I decided there was nothing more to be done here. She wasn’t inclined to help me, although she also didn’t sound like a big sister fighting tooth and nail for her little brother. I reached into my purse for my car keys. “If you can’t see that there’s something really rotten going on here, then either you’re blind or you’re a part of it.”

  As I pulled out my keys, they caught on my purse strap and I lost my grip on them. They fell to the carpet, landing at Erika’s feet. She bent to pick them up, and as she held them in her hand, her eyes widened as though she’d just seen something odious.

  “What?”

  She held onto them as she said, “I had an image. It was of an animal. It’s throat is...,” she squinted, “it’s either cut or torn. There’s blood.”

  “What kind of animal?”

  “It’s black with... I see a moon.” She looked at me. “It’s some kind of animal.” She nodded. “About the size of a large dog.”

  Then she handed my keys back to me with a stiff little smile. “But you don’t believe in this sort of thing, do you? So I’m sure it won’t trouble you.”

  She left me standing there, trying to keep my mouth from flopping open.

  As she opened the door to the back of her shop, she turned to me and said, “If I talk to my brother I’ll ask him about the letter.”

  CHAPTER 17

  As I turned the panel truck into Bull Severn’s long and winding driveway, I was humming the third movement of Beethoven’s Seventh. Time slowed. And in the few seconds the turn required, I did a flashback to the afternoon’s preparations—Mick delivering the catering truck along with a large-dog-sized crate, me getting dressed in my catering outfit. I’d saved the wig until I got out to the van, which Mick had parked on a side street near my apartment. The catering signs adhered to either side looked authentic enough. I’d peeked under one and learned that the van belonged to the Riverside Players. What Mick’s connection was to an acting troupe, I didn’t want to know. I had both my phones—each set to vibrate—tucked into the pockets of my pants, which helped to add another half size to my frame. The last thing I did before leaving the house was call my mother just to check in on her. She complained about dinner; I promised I would get the letter back for her and said I didn’t know if I could stop by tomorrow, but would call her. The very last thing I did was pick up Bix and give him a big hug. He’s not a cuddly dog—a bit too dignified for that— but he gave me a lick on the cheek as though he understood I was hugging him out of some personal need.

  I pulled up to the Severn estate, stopped at the gate and turned off the CD player. I hoped I wouldn’t have to talk to anyone while I was here. I waited. Finally, after what my watch measured as fifteen seconds, during which time all I had to listen to was my pounding heart, the gates swung open. They moved ever so slowly, and I had to force myself to wait until there was plenty of room for me to drive through before proceeding. Once through, I felt my shoulders sag with relief, but I warned myself that this was only the beginning. I arrived at the place where the drive splintered off in two directions and took the south route where most of the guests had parked, partially on the lawn and partially on the large, paved area. Many of the guests had arrived already, because I didn’t see anyone around the cars. I wedged the van between a Hummer and a Ford Expedition, so I was practically invisible.

  I turned off the van and leaned back into the seat, sighing. Now, all I had to do was hunker down and wait for Mick to call. Staying calm would be the challenge. I tried to scratch my stomach through the padding and managed to only irritate the itch. It was going to be a long hour or two. I’d have to try some breathing exercises.

  Instead, my thoughts homed in on Erika and what she knew. And as the minutes ticked by, I thought about our meeting and all the questions—troubling questions—it raised. Starting with: how did she know about the goat? That black, big-dog-sized creature she’d “seen” had to be Sassy. The “moon” could have been his white crescent-shaped mark. If she wasn’t truly psychic, then she knew something about the plot I was participating in at this moment. And she wanted me to know that she knew. And if she did know, she must have heard through Mick or someone he had confided in. I preferred to think she really was psychic. Because that other option was scarier.

  I opened the window on the passenger side for some cross-ventilation, and tried, once again, to clear my mind. But then it settled on my mother and what would happen to her if this didn’t work. What would happen to her if I got caught? Imagining those scenarios would have me careening out of here and tossing the cell phone, so I let my thoughts scurry back to where they might do some good. I traced the last few days in my mind trying to figure out how Erika could have known, but nothing made sense. It must have something to do with Jack, who was a better suspect to my mind. He might not be a murderer, but I knew he was a thief. And wasn’t there something about him that made Erika uncomfortable? Sure seemed that way. But Mick and Jack?

  A latecomer pulled into the parking area, and I slumped down in the van. The car parked behind me, and I was able to watch in my sideview mirror as the couple emerged from the white Mercedes. They were young, trim and attractive, and he put his arm around her as they walked toward the festivities. I envied them—not for their youth or looks—but for their unencumbered lives. Then again, who knew? I spent a few minutes concocting sordid story lines for each of them. But when I cast the man as a bully, his image morphed into that of Jack Landis. Then I put Jack together with Erika and remembered the odd way they played off each other when I’d met him at her shop. I’d assumed it was me that made her so edgy, but wasn’t there also some odd undercurrent between the two siblings?

  I glanced at my watch and saw that I’d spent almost an hour sorting out my thoughts. I took a sip from the water bottle I’d brought, but only a sip. I had to watch my liquid intake. The sun’s last rays burst into flam
es against the hood of a silver Thunderbird. I leaned my head back against the seat and closed my eyes.

  Did Erika have a connection to Bull? It was bad enough the woman knew more about my father than I did. How did she know about the goat? Had Jack been following me? My eyes blinked open and I sat up, the sense of being watched overwhelming. Apparently the mere thought of Jack set my pulse racing. Had he followed me here? Waiting to see what I was up to? I kept coming back to Jack and the letter he’d stolen from my mother and tried to connect it all with Erika’s knowledge of the goat. And then I settled on Mick again. Did he have some connection to either of the siblings?

  And then, like an annoying song, the possibility that Erika actually was psychic kept playing in my ear. I’d switch it off, but it kept coming back.

  I pictured Jack with his frat boy looks and charm. Hedges told me they had someone who “looked good” for Mary Waltner’s murder. “Looking good” was a long way from “guilty.” The more I thought this all through, the more I believed that Hedges had the wrong man in custody. But I was hardly in a position to point that out to him.

  Maybe Jack was sitting outside Dryden right now, just waiting for an opportunity to go in so he could threaten my mother. I looked down at my faux catering outfit and wondered how closely they checked repairmen at Dryden.

  These thoughts were still rioting in my head when my phone vibrated against my hip. “Showtime,” I breathed. Problem was, it was the wrong phone. I thought I recognized the number as Detective Hedges. Just as I decided not to answer it, my other hip buzzed. I swapped phones. This time it was Mick.

  “You ready?”

  “I am.”

  “Severn’s talking now. I’ll be on my way down to the stable to get Blood in a minute or two. I’ll meet the groom down there. We’ll both come back with the horse. Ten minutes. Tops.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  “Good luck,” he said, and disconnected.

  I tried to quiet my mind as I put on my black T-shirt and collected the leash and the bag of goat treats. I also opened the dog crate and pulled the plank into position, so I would just need to open the back of the truck, pull the plank down, lead Sassy into the truck and then into the cage. So simple. After stuffing my pockets with goat treats, I headed toward the stable.

  I made good time, seeing as I was trying to be invisible but still moving at a fast clip. I half expected to find a few people leaving early and figured I’d have to be extra careful. But no one ever left Bull’s parties while he was talking.

  When I reached the stable, I stood outside the door for a moment, just listening. I heard some shuffling around in there, and assumed— hoped—it was Sassy.

  I ventured in and saw that the aisle between the two rows of stalls was empty. I checked the diagram Mick had given me that indicated what areas were under surveillance. If I stayed on the side I’d entered, I figured I could go in about ten more feet before risking entering the camera’s line of sight. That would put me just this side of Blood’s stall, and I should be able to see if Sassy was in there.

  When I’d entered just about as far as I dared, I squatted with my back against one of the stall dividers and peered through the goat door and into Blood’s stall. I didn’t see anything.

  “Sassy?” I used a stage whisper. Nothing. “Sassy?” A little louder. Still nothing. Finally, in my normal voice, I tried one more time and was rewarded with a high-pitched bleat and then Sassy’s head poked out of the stall just past Blood’s.

  “Sassy!”

  With another bleat, he emerged from the stall, slowly at first. Once he saw me, he let out another, more upbeat bleat, and began trotting toward me, his little hooves making clicking sounds as he crossed the pavement.

  I dug into my pocket and produced a couple of treats, shoved one into his mouth and ran my hand along his back.

  Then I clipped the leash onto Sassy’s collar and gave him another treat. “You’re going on a little vacation, fella.” I stood and began walking toward the door. Sassy gave me a gentle butt that I barely felt and followed along with me, sidling up to me and acting genuinely pleased to see me. When we got to the door, I stopped to listen. I could hear voices in the distance, in the direction of the exercise track, but I was pretty sure that Sassy and I had this area to ourselves.

  I’d been prepared to bribe Sassy all the way to the van, but he followed me like Mary’s little lamb. I probably didn’t even need the leash. I took the long way to the parking area, leading him through a grove of trees to the south of the stable and then past several garages and into the parking area, threading our way through the vehicles until we came to the white van. All was quiet as we approached. I pulled open the rear door and opened the dog crate. With a layer of straw on the bottom and a bag of hay for Sassy to munch on, I figured he ought to be fairly comfortable. He climbed the ramp like a goat who is used to going places and marched right into the crate. He seemed pretty calm, but just to be safe, I took one of Bix’s “doggie downers” and stuffed it into one of Sassy’s treats. He gobbled it up like a good goat.

  I stopped at the gates and it was only a few seconds before they swung open. I was nearly light-headed with my accomplishment. I wanted to call Mick, but he had instructed me to wait until I had Sassy settled into his new quarters before I did that.

  As I pulled onto the main road I saw no headlights in either direction, and as I drove toward the farm, no headlights appeared behind me. Maybe I’d been paranoid in thinking that Jack would be lurking about.

  I tried to push him to the back of my mind as I concentrated on finding my way to the farm. And, yes, there was a goat bleating in my ear.

  Bouncing along on a dark road in the late evening in a vehicle as large as my bedroom and with a mouthy goat as a passenger, I reflected on the absurd turn my life had taken. But only briefly. I was too uncomfortable—my wig itched like crazy and I was sweltering in the pantyhose and stuffing. I couldn’t dwell on my discomfort for long either, because in less than fifteen minutes I had arrived at Meyer’s farm. I pulled off the road about twenty feet from the gravel drive leading to the house and, beyond it, the barn, and turned off the engine. Lights beamed through the small house’s windows, but I’d known to expect that. Although Meyer’s brother drank, I assumed he didn’t do it in the dark. I didn’t like the idea of having to walk Sassy by the house in order to get to the gate that opened onto a small pasture and the barn where the herd was kept. But there was no other way to go, unless I wanted to scale a fence while juggling a goat. I expected that Meyer’s goats would be in the barn. I’d read that pygmies didn’t like sleeping outside. Just as well. I’d also read that they could fall prey to dogs and coyotes.

  When I got out of the van I could hear music—Eric Clapton if I wasn’t mistaken. I pulled the catering signs off the sides of the van and stuffed them behind the driver’s seat. Then I opened the back of the van and the crate, and Sassy hopped out before I could put the ramp down. He nuzzled me and I gave him another treat.

  And then I stood there, watching him chew, and thought about what I was doing and why it felt so wrong. I hadn’t had a living being put so much trust in me since—well, since Bix. And, of course, my mother. Now I was going to leave Sassy here with this drunken bum. Possibly at the mercy of coyotes and wild dogs. And then, I will admit, my practical side also weighed in. This little goat was all I had. If I let him loose on this farm and walked away, I relinquished my only bargaining chip. Maybe Mick would be there to convince Bull to pay the ransom, and maybe he wouldn’t leave the whole pick-up-the-money part to me. And he was right—I couldn’t launder money, and if this were to succeed, I needed him to do that for me. The way we’d laid everything out made sense. But what if he had something else in mind? Something that I hadn’t even dreamed of yet because I was basically, prior to the last few days, an honest person. Right now I had Sassy. If I let him go, I had nothing. And really, how well did I know Mick? Fine time for this thought to hit. The thing was, I had though
t of it. I’d thought of all of this. I had gone through with the plan because I was really that desperate. But I was still allowed to think for myself. And one thing was clear, even to a novice crook like me: I had precious little control over this situation, but without Sassy I had absolutely none. I watched the little goat nibbling the sparse grass on the side of the road.

  Throughout this inner dialogue, I refused to acknowledge Erika’s goat “vision,” and I made a point of telling myself that my decision to keep Sassy had nothing to do with the fact that a coyote could do a lot of damage to a goat. That’s what I told myself.

  Of course, now I had to consider what I was going to do with Sassy. I might be able to keep him with me for now, but I couldn’t let him tag along when I went to pick up the money. I glanced back at the farmhouse just as a light in one of the front rooms flicked on. Meyer’s brother would not be there during the day tomorrow. Mick had been certain of that. I was convinced that the less time Sassy spent on this farm, the better off he’d be. Why couldn’t I just drop Sassy off at the farm before I went to pick up the money? I looked at that idea from all directions and couldn’t find anything wrong with it.

  With a sigh, I yanked the wig from my head and tossed it into the back. The cool air hitting my damp scalp made me shiver.

  “C’mon, Sassy.” I lowered the ramp and patted the floor of the van. He trotted back up and right into the dog crate.

  I climbed into the van and slowly pulled back onto the road. Now what?

  I needed to think. I drove west, farther into the country. I felt safest where civilization was thin. I’d never had reason to go out this way, and I knew of only a few small towns, strung together by farmland, that existed this far west.

  I’d have to call Mick eventually, but decided to wait until I’d decided what I was doing. That was when I remembered the call from Detective Hedges. I pulled over again and retrieved his message. “Yeah, this is Detective Hedges. Just wanted to let you know that we had to release our suspect. His alibi checked out. So we’re going to look at Landis. I’m not convinced he’s a threat, but steer clear of him. And let me know if you do see him.” I wondered if he knew how much sense that made. He finished with: “Give me a call as soon as you can.”