by Ron Base
The moon struggled out from behind a cloud bank, illuminating sand, glistening like diamonds. The sound of a rumbling sea came to him out of the blackness. Tree made his way along, calling out Clinton’s name. Only the whispering night answered. He came to a stop, hoping Clinton would come dashing out of the darkness—willing him to come.
But he never came.
After an hour or so, Tree, barely able to keep his eyes open, decided to turn around and start back toward Andy Rosse Lane. He tramped away from the shore and reached a low seawall. Maybe he’d sit down a moment and rest. He was so tired—and depressed, and angry with himself for leaving Clinton alone in the first place. If everyone wanted the dog, and thought Tree had him, didn’t it make sense that someone might come looking for the animal? He should have thought of that possibility—or at least taken it much more seriously—a whole lot earlier.
He slumped down on the sand, and then propped himself so that his back was against the seawall. Yes, that was much more comfortable. The wind had picked up somewhat, like a warm blanket wrapping itself around him. His eyes fluttered shut.
He dreamed.
Clinton on a sunny morning bounding along the edge of the surf, long spindly legs in awkward synchronization, ears flapping away—the joy of being a dog on a perfect day. And Tree was right there with him, a young man again, bronzed legs pumping hard to keep up. Exhilarating.
Something nuzzled against him. That familiar nuzzle. Tree kept his eyes closed and smiled inwardly. He knew Clinton would come back. All he had to do was believe, and Clinton would be there and everything would be okay.
He opened his eyes.
17
But it wasn’t Clinton.
The pallid, somber face of Royal Canadian Mounted Police Sergeant Melora Spark loomed over him.
“What are you doing here?” Tree said to her.
“What am I doing here?” She appeared taken aback by the question. “Yes, well, what am I doing here? I could ask you the same question.”
Tree raised himself off the rough stone surface of the seawall. A shard of pain shot through his back. He groaned and looked around. Hints of dawn streaked the horizon. The breeze had cooled considerably. A seagull fought against it for a moment and then gave up and darted away.
Melora straightened up as Tree rolled onto his knees. She stepped back as he braced his hand against the top of the seawall and pulled himself to his feet. She took a couple of more steps back, as if anticipating an attack.
“I would like to know what you’re doing out here,” Melora said.
“What does it look like?”
“It looks like you passed out on the beach.”
“I didn’t pass out. I dozed off.”
“Isn’t that a little strange?”
“Is it?” Tree said. “I guess I hadn’t thought much about it until you came along. Which reminds me. You still haven’t told me what you are doing here.”
“I told you before. I am investigating the murder of Vic Trinchera.”
“The killer is here on the beach?”
“Okay, if you weren’t so busy falling asleep on beaches, you would know that you are all over the news this morning.”
“Why would I be all over the news?”
“Could it have something to do with the fact that Johnny Bravo was arrested in Miami yesterday and at the same time they picked up you and your wife for questioning?”
“I see,” was all Tree could think of to say.
“Now that’s Miami. In Fort Myers, your name is on the local news as the person who discovered the body of Vic Trinchera’s attorney, a woman named Edith Goldman. Foul play is suspected, according to the police.”
“Yes, someone murdered her,” Tree said.
“Let’s put it this way, Mr. Callister, I find your actions and your movements highly suspicious for someone who is supposedly retired and professes not to be involved.”
“I’m not involved,” Tree insisted.
“Then what are you doing associating with a known gangster like André Manteau?”
“Who?”
“André Manteau. In Miami, he goes by the name Oliver Crimson.”
“He’s not a gangster. He’s an artist.”
That brought a derisive snort. “Just goes to show you what you know. Manteau is no artist. He is well known in Quebec as Le Manteau Noir—the Black Coat—the leader of a motorcycle gang, The Devil’s Headsmen.”
“Come on,” Tree said. “Don’t tell me Crimson heads a motorcycle gang.”
“He claims he’s out of it now,” Melora said. “He says he is living quietly in Miami concentrating on his art, but we suspect that he is still very much involved with The Headsmen. They have been feuding with Vic Trinchera and his mob for years.”
“What did they feud about?”
“André accused Vic Trinchera of stealing his dog.”
Tree said, “The dog you’re looking for.”
“The dog you are here on the beach trying to find,” Melora said.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Tree said.
“Yes, you do,” she said.
“Why is everyone so interested in this dog, anyway?”
“Why are you so interested?” she shot back.
Because in a short period of time he had fallen in love with the dog, and believed he was the only one who cared about his safety and well-being? Yes, that was the answer to the question, all right. Except now he had lost the dog, and how was he ever going to find him again with Melora Spark following him around?
Whatever his current confusion of feelings, he did not care to reveal them to a Canadian Mountie, so he shrugged, and said, “I’ve been dragged into something, thanks to Edith. Every time I try to extract myself, something else happens, and now I’m in deeper. The one thing everyone has in common, they want this dog. So I ask you again, Sergeant, what is it about the dog?”
Melora looked at him a long beat before she said, “I’m afraid nothing has changed, Mr. Callister. I’m still not at liberty to say anything to you about an ongoing investigation. I’m particularly reluctant to say anything to an individual I know is lying.”
“I didn’t know Crimson was a notorious Canadian biker.”
“But you have the dog in your possession. At least you did until you apparently lost him. Now you’ve been out most of the night looking for him.”
When Tree didn’t say anything, she added, “If you find the dog, you had better let me know. Whether you want to believe it or not, I can help. Otherwise, you are dealing with dangerous people, Mr. Callister, and you are in a great deal of trouble.”
18
The kitchen phone was ringing as Tree entered the house. The readout said it was Freddie calling from work.
“I’ve got the dog,” she said as soon as he picked up.
“You’re kidding. Where was he?”
“One of the neighbors found him in her back yard. I was frantic, not knowing what to do. There were all sorts of emergencies at the office. You weren’t here, and who knew what had happened to you. I was in a panic. I came out onto the street to look for you when our neighbor appeared dragging along a rather sheepish-looking Clinton.”
“I can’t tell you how relieved I am,” Tree said.
“I know, darling. I’ve been trying to call you. I didn’t want to leave Clinton alone, so I brought him to work with me.”
“He’s must have gotten out when the house was broken into,” Tree said. “He’s a smart boy, our Clinton.”
“Also very, very lucky,” Freddie said. “I’ll keep him here today and then bring him home tonight.”
“Okay.”
“Sorry I couldn’t stick around, but Clinton was back and things are crazy here.”
“I understand,” Tree said. “I love you.”
“I love you, and the dog loves you,” Freddie said before she hung up.
Feeling much better, Tree stripped off his clothes, shook the sand out, and stepped into t
he shower. He thought of turning on a television set to hear what CNN was saying about events of the previous night, decided he couldn’t face it, and got dressed instead.
He was in the kitchen making coffee when there was a knock at the front door. He groaned inwardly. Was TV news outside with a camera truck and some kid armed with a nice haircut and a microphone?
But it wasn’t a newsperson at the door. At least not a local newsperson. It was Kelly Fleming, the ex-wife and former Chicago television newswoman, chic and radiant as usual. No matter what happened to Kelly, no matter what indignities befell her, she would always look the way she looked now, as though someone polished her to perfection a moment before she stepped out in public.
“Are you going to stand there with your mouth hanging open, or are you going to invite me in?” Kelly said.
“I was just making coffee.”
“I don’t drink coffee,” Kelly said as Tree stepped back to allow her inside. “I don’t do anything that might speed up my body’s state of deterioration.”
“So far you seem to be holding up pretty well,” Tree said.
“You always were a good liar,”
“Was I?”
“I’ll take a glass of water if you have it,” Kelly said.
She followed him into the kitchen, saying, “You have a lovely home, Tree.”
“It’s not me, it’s Freddie.”
“She seems wonderful,” Kelly said. “You are a lucky man.”
“Yes, I am.” He ran cold water, filled a glass, and handed it to her. “Sure I can’t get you anything else?”
“No, this is fine.” She leaned against the counter, sipping the water. She wore white shorts and a halter top, her skin smooth and lightly tanned.
“How do you like Sanibel?” Tree asked.
She put the glass on the counter. “Rex keeps at me to go out in his boat.”
“Yes,” Tree said. “Rex and that boat.”
“I don’t think he’s all that comfortable with it, particularly when it comes to parking.”
“Here they call it docking.”
“What’s he doing with a boat, anyway? There always seems to be something wrong with it.”
“It’s South Florida. He thinks anyone who lives here must have a boat. And if you do have a boat, you have to deal with the fact that there is always something wrong with it.”
“I’m a city girl. I like pavement under my feet.”
Tree grinned and said, “After Chicago and the newspaper business, it took me some time to get used to this.”
“Except you don’t have a boat.”
“Rex has one. That’s close enough.”
“Rex seems very happy here.”
“The boat aside, he’s in his element,” Tree said. “Everyone loves him; everyone wants to hear his old Hollywood stories.”
“Yes, those stories,” Kelly said. “It seems to me I’ve heard them before.”
“Many times,” Tree agreed. “They haven’t changed over the years, but the great thing about this island, there’s always a new audience.”
She gave him one of those sideways looks that always got to men—except Tree, of course. He would never fall for a look like that. Not anymore, anyway.
“Now you, Tree, you don’t seem to be bored here; just the opposite, in fact.”
“Hey, I’m just a quiet retired guy,” Tree said.
“Who happens to be all over the news this morning.”
“So I hear.”
“You haven’t turned on a television or read a newspaper?”
“I haven’t had time,” Tree said.
“Kidnapped by gangsters in Miami. Discovering dead bodies in Fort Myers—no getting bored for intrepid Tree Callister.”
“That’s me,” Tree said, forcing a grin, not certain where this was going.
Kelly picked up her water glass, took it to the sink, and refilled it under the tap. “You know I was downsized last year.”
“I didn’t, not until you told me at the Lighthouse.”
She turned to him, holding the glass. “It was quite a blow.”
“I can imagine,” Tree said.
“I’d been part of Chicago television for twenty-five years. Six local Emmy Awards for my work.”
“Yes, I remember,” Tree said.
“I turned down opportunities in New York because I wanted to stay in Chicago. I love the town, love the news scene there, love being part of it—the craziness, the corruption, the crime, all of it.”
“And don’t forget all the attention you receive,” Tree said. “You love walking into a room and being Kelly Fleming.”
“Hey, it comes with the territory,” she said with a smile. “I decided a long time ago that I might as well relax and enjoy it.”
She drank some more water and then once again put the glass to one side. “The point is, it’s over, and I don’t like it. I don’t like it one bit. I’m about as good at being retired as you are.”
“I don’t mind being retired,” Tree said. “I just don’t seem to be able to do it.”
“I’ll be honest with you. I’m looking for a way back in, something I can take to them that would put me back in the game.”
“That sounds like you’re planning to leave the island.”
She lifted her shoulders up and down and abruptly looked tired. “I don’t know. Rex wants me to stay, of course.”
“I care about Rex,” Tree said. “I don’t want to see him hurt.”
“Don’t worry,” Kelly said. “I’m not going to hurt him.”
“Then stick around for a while.”
The tension went out of her body, and she turned on that smile that previously had charmed the world. “Is that what you would like?”
He didn’t say anything. She looked back at him. “I’d better get out of here,” she said.
He said, “Without telling me why you came.”
“Maybe I’m not all that sure. A little advice about Rex, maybe.”
“I’m not quite sure what to say other than it’s awkward talking to my former wife about her relationship with my best friend.”
“Which is why I should get out of here.”
“Do you have a car?”
“Rex is supposed to pick me up at the beach in a few minutes.”
“I can drive you back to the Chamber.”
“Do you mind?”
They went outside to his car. Tree opened the passenger- side door for her. She went to get in and then stopped. “You know something?”
“What?”
“I can’t remember why our marriage broke up.”
“I believe you were bored,” Tree said.
She gave him another smile. “I think there must have been more to it than that.”
“I’m not so sure,” Tree said.
And then she kissed him on the mouth.
Just as Rex Baxter drove up in his red Dodge Challenger Hellcat.
19
Rex got out, glanced at Kelly, and then said to Tree, “I heard about Edith Goldman.”
“Yes,” Tree said.
“I thought I’d drop around and see how you’re doing.”
“I’m doing okay,” Tree said.
“You shouldn’t have stopped being a detective,” Rex said. “You’re in more trouble than ever.”
Kelly went over and slipped her arm around Rex’s waist. “I was worried about Tree,” she said.
“I thought you were going for a run on the beach,” Rex said.
“I did. I ran on the beach. Then I came over here.”
“Where’s the dog?” Rex said to Tree.
Kelly’s eyes narrowed. She looked at Tree. “Dog? What dog?”
“Tree has a hound dog,” Rex said.
“He’s not here,” Tree said quickly. “Freddie took him to work this morning.”
Rex said, “I’d better be getting to the Chamber. Everybody’s yelling and screaming about the website. I don’t know. It looks pretty good to me.”
“Try to remember, darling, it is the twenty-first century,” Kelly said.
“Yeah, I’ll keep that in mind. What are your plans?”
“I’ll go back to your place, get cleaned up, check my e-mail, maybe get some sun.”
“Why don’t I pick you up for lunch around one?”
“You don’t need to, honey. I’m okay on my own.”
Tree found it strange to hear his former wife calling his best friend “honey.” But then maybe his best friend found it equally strange to drive up and find his new girlfriend kissing his best friend.
When they had both driven off, Tree went back into the house. The phone started ringing. He sat on the sofa staring into space and let it ring. He couldn’t bring himself to talk to anyone right now.
________
Freddie got home that evening, dragged along by an excited Clinton. He leapt up on Tree.
He hugged Clinton and congratulated him on being such a smart boy, knowing enough to get away from whoever broke into the house. “Yes, you are,” Tree said, holding Clinton. “You are such a good boy, and I missed you.”
Clinton nuzzled him in happy agreement.
Tree got him water and then fed him a bowl of kibble. Freddie poured herself a glass of chardonnay.
“The question now is, what do we do with him?” Freddie said.
“I’m not turning him over to anyone.”
“Obviously I don’t want anything bad to happen to Clinton, but at some point we are going to have to tell the FBI or the police about what’s going on. There are simply too many people looking for this dog, and we are not really equipped to protect him.”
Tree watched Clinton gobbling his kibble and didn’t say anything.
“Tree?” Freddie said. “Are you listening to me?”
“Kelly came to see me,” Tree said.
“Is that an attempt to change the subject?”
“This is to tell you my ex-wife showed up at the door in the midst of everything this morning.”
“What did she want?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Should I be worried?”
“No, of course not.”
Tree then told her about what had happened, including the part where Kelly kissed him just as Rex drove up.
