“I want a deal,” the sheriff said.
“You’re not alone,” said Bernie.
“He’s my cousin. Our mothers were sisters, very close. They died in a wreck.”
“I’m listening.”
Glad someone was; way too complicated for me, all this talk, plus I had no idea where it was headed.
“You could put in a word,” the sheriff said.
“Depending on how it all plays out.”
“Fair enough,” said the sheriff. “The fucked-up part was behind why Les went in the service in the first place.”
“Judge gave him an ultimatum?” Bernie said.
The sheriff shot Bernie a quick glance. “Cedric tell you that?”
“Not exactly.”
“Then how’d you know?”
No answer from Bernie.
“Yeah, that’s what happened. First offense—first real offense— and he was only twenty-three.”
“Not a kid.”
“No.”
“And the offense?”
“Some girl,” the sheriff said. “But he didn’t do anything to her, not really.”
“Oh?” said Bernie. I’d heard that kind of oh from him before, an oh that sounded not very interested, but after all the cases we’d worked I now knew better.
“Didn’t hurt her is what I mean,” said Earl Ford. “Barely touched her.”
“But?”
“A very pretty girl—met her in Vegas, I think it was. Didn’t have any interest in Les, but he thought all she needed was time to get to know him.”
“Is that a euphemism for locking her up in his basement?”
“Wouldn’t call it locking up, but he kept her for a weekend.
Unharmed—hope Cedric mentioned that part.”
“Cedric didn’t have much in the way of details,” Bernie said.
I saw a low light up ahead, twinkling through the trees. “How did you hook up with the count?” Bernie said.
“That was Les, too. He met the trainer—”
“Nance?”
“—yeah, Nance—at the Rio Loco Gun Club. She was the instructor.”
Then came a long silence. I could feel Bernie thinking, a heavy pressure in the air, pushing and pushing. The low light grew brighter, and I made out a house, a garage, and maybe a barn in back.
“Nance killed Adelina?” Bernie said.
The sheriff nodded. “Wasn’t supposed to be that way, not from what she told us. The idea was just to stir up some publicity about the dog show.”
“You believed that?” Bernie said.
No answer.
The sheriff slowed down, turned up a long dirt driveway. “Crazy thing was the dog ended up running away. We looked everywhere. The count was bullshit.”
“Cut the lights,” Bernie said.
The sheriff cut the lights. I looked around, could see just fine with the moonlight: big trees; a tipped-over tractor and some other machinery; a small house with a glow in one window.
“Les has a front-end loader?” Bernie said.
“Had a little construction business at one time.”
“Handy,” Bernie said.
The driveway went over a rise that led to the garage. Bernie pointed. “Pull in.” The sheriff parked on the far side of the garage, away from the house. Bernie took the keys from the ignition, grabbed the flashlight. “You’re staying here,” he said.
“Like I have a choice?” said the sheriff, clanking the handcuffs softly against the wheel.
Bernie and I got out of the SUV. The first thing Bernie did was pop the hood. Uh-ho. Did that ever lead to anything good? Bernie reached in and yanked out a wire. “In case he thinks of honking the horn.” Bernie held the wire up, shone the flash so the sheriff could see. Wow. That was Bernie, smartest guy in the room.
We walked around the garage, stopped at the corner, and gazed across the yard at the house. The glow came from the front. We headed for the back, the moonlight glinting on the .38 Special in Bernie’s belt, and my ears up, high and stiff.
THIRTY-ONE
We’d done this kind of thing before, me and Bernie, sneaking up on a perp’s house in the night. Bernie always liked to do a little recon first, so I did, too. That meant crossing this crummy yard, all weeds and stone, getting out of the open real quick, then standing in the shadows at the back of the house, just listening.
Didn’t know what Bernie heard, but I heard TV voices, very faint, coming through the wall. I could even make out a few words, like “red zone blitz,” which meant football. We watched a lot of football at home. Bernie preferred college football to pro football, had once gotten into this big argument about it with a perp we had tied up in the back of a beer truck. Kind of strange, and maybe a story for some other time.
We moved along the back of the house, rounded the corner to the far side. Bernie put his ear to the wall. Did he hear anything? Maybe not. I still heard the TV voices, but fainter now. Bernie took another step or two, peered into a dark window. It was too high up for me, so I peered into another dark window, down on ground level.
At first I saw nothing, just a lot of darkness behind dusty glass. But then I got the feeling—does this ever happen to you?—that someone was watching me. An uncomfortable kind of feeling: I twisted my head to make it go away, but it wouldn’t so I kept staring through the ground-level window and pretty soon the darkness on the other side wasn’t quite as dark. I realized I was gazing down into a basement. Moonlight shone faintly on this and that: the handle of a paint can; the teeth of a rake; and what was this? A pair of eyes? Yes, a pair of eyes, silvery in the moonlight, and round the way human eyes are round. The hair on the back of my neck went up.
“Chet?” Bernie spoke very low, so low I almost couldn’t hear him. He crouched down, looked at me. I have this kind of muffled bark I can do, soft and quick, a sound that doesn’t even leave my throat. I did it now. “Shh,” said Bernie. He aimed the flashlight at the low window, flicked it on and off real quick.
But what I saw in that basement, frozen like a photo in the sudden light and then gone: oh, boy. Suzie. Yes, Suzie, her eyes dark and shiny like the countertops in the kitchen—no one had eyes like Suzie—and maybe blinded now by the sudden light. Suzie, beyond doubt, sitting with her back to a wall. And one other thing: she was chained there, the metal links easy to see. Oh, and one more: she had a strip of duct tape over her mouth.
Bernie made a hissing sound; had I ever heard him do that before? And maybe I made a sound of my own—an angry growl— because Bernie again said, “Shh.”
He got down on his knees, pressed on the window, not hard. Nothing happened. There were all sorts of windows out there; I’d never opened any of them—never even tried. Screens: a different story, although you couldn’t exactly say I’d opened any of the ones I’d gotten through.
Bernie pressed harder on the window, then gave the frame a tap with the palm of his hand. The window remained closed. He took off his shirt, folded it up small, laid it against the glass. Then he raised the flashlight, and swung it like a hammer, butt end first. Behind the shirt, glass shattered, but not loudly, and after a silent pause, tinkled down on the hard floor below. We stayed still, listening. A TV voice said, “Fourth and goal from the Aggie three.” Bernie reached through the hole in the glass—it was mostly hole now, with a few jagged shards still stuck in the frame—fiddled with something out of sight inside, a look of concentration on his face. Then he pushed again on the frame. This time the window swung open.
“No, Chet,” Bernie said, not loud but kind of urgent. And also too late: I’d already jumped through.
Always been a pretty good lander, in case you haven’t guessed. Maybe a bit more light would have helped, but I hit the floor the way I like—front paws first, then bunching up my body real quick before my back paws touched—coming down with hardly any bump at all. And the truth is all that stuff—front paws, back paws—I don’t think about; it just happens.
Behind me I heard Bernie cla
mbering through the hole. I went right to Suzie, nuzzled against her. She made a sound, not crying, kind of complicated and hard to describe, but I knew she knew who I was: Chet! Chet the Jet! And Suzie was alive! Were we expecting that? Didn’t think so, but maybe I’d gotten it wrong.
Bernie’s light flashed on. He hurried over and knelt by Suzie, including her in the circle of light without shining it in her eyes. No bruises, no blood, but she didn’t look good. That was easy to see, and so were those chains, hanging from a ceiling pipe and fastened to clamps on both wrists. Bernie knelt in front of her—actually more to the side since I was in front of her, sort of partly on her lap—and very gently, slowly working his thumb and first finger under one corner—peeled the duct tape off Suzie’s mouth. Their gazes met and even though Bernie wasn’t a crier and I was pretty sure the same went for Suzie, I expected crying to come next.
But it didn’t. Instead Suzie licked her lips—all dry and cracked—and in a rough, scratchy voice said, “What took you so long?”
“I’m an idiot,” Bernie said.
Bernie an idiot? No way. He touched her hair, smoothed it out. Then he glanced around. Not much to see: a mostly empty basement with rough stairs, no railing, leading up to a closed door at the top. Bernie rose and gazed at where the chains were attached to the ceiling pipes. Copper pipes: copper had a special smell I knew from a case we’d worked once in copper-mining country. Bernie raised his hands, got a good grip on a copper pipe, and started to pull. At that moment, a car horn went off outside. Honk honk—honk honk honk— honk honk.
“Christ,” Bernie said. “Did I pull the wrong wire?” The smartest guy in the room, except maybe when it came to what’s under the hood. But no time to think about that, even if I knew where to start, because right away heavy footsteps pounded up above. A door slammed. Honk honk—honk honk honk—honk honk. Bernie tugged at the pipe. It bent but didn’t give. The pounding footsteps returned. Bernie gave the pipe a huge yank, tearing it out of the wall. Water sprayed down. The door at the top of the stairs burst open. Lights flashed on. And there, gazing down, stood the deputy sheriff, Lester Ford, his crooked nose throwing a strange shadow across his face. He had a baseball bat in his hand and a gun on his hip. His eyes got real narrow and he reached for the gun.
Meanwhile, I was already on my way up those stairs, charging full speed. Lester didn’t have time to clear the gun from the holster so he swung the bat at my head. He connected, got me a good one, but on the shoulder, not the head. Knocked me sideways, but I kept my footing, claws scratching deep into the stairs, and then I sprang and did some connecting of my own. We rolled down the stairs, Lester yelling, me growling my fiercest, and landed hard on the floor, me on top. Bernie stepped up, put the muzzle of the .38 Special right against the tip of Lester’s nose.
“Don’t shoot,” Lester said.
“Did you touch her?” Bernie said, his trigger finger bone-white. “I’m going to kill you.”
“No, I swear.”
“Suzie?” Bernie said, not turning to look at her, his face real close to Lester’s.
“Nothing like that happened,” Suzie said, in this new weak, scratchy voice of hers. “Not yet.”
The .38 Special stayed where it was, pressed to Lester’s nose but no longer quite steady; and now Bernie’s face was as bone-white as his trigger finger. Something real bad was about to happen. I heard a little high-pitched sound. Hey! That was me. Bernie glanced my way. Then he took a deep deep breath and lowered the gun.
We left Les chained up nice and tight down in his basement and went outside, Bernie’s arm around Suzie the whole way. The moon was gone, who knows where.
“You limping, Chet?” Bernie said.
Maybe I was a little. I took a few more limping steps, felt pain in my shoulder. Then all of a sudden, on the very next step, the pain vanished and I was fine. I ran around a bit for no reason.
“He looks okay,” Suzie said.
We found Earl Ford still cuffed to the wheel of his SUV. Bernie threw open the door, pretty angry.
“Glad to see the lady’s alive,” Earl said.
“Don’t want to hear it,” Bernie said. He unlocked the cuff from the wheel, pulled Earl out of the SUV.
“My arm,” said Earl.
“Least of your worries.”
“I could bleed out.”
“Not from that wound.”
“How do you know?”
Bernie didn’t answer, just led Earl into the barn. I stayed by the SUV with Suzie, pretty sure that was what Bernie wanted me to do. Suzie gave me a pat, looked me in the eye. “Good to see you, Chet,” she said. “Can’t begin to tell you.”
Good to see Suzie, too. I got the feeling this case was going well. We’d found Princess, and now Suzie. Then I remembered Adelina and the ants, and wasn’t so sure. I tried to think back over the details, but everything got hazy. I pressed my head against Suzie’s leg. “You’re the best,” she said. She leaned down so our faces were on the same level. Oh, no. Suzie didn’t look good, not good at all, especially her eyes. And there was a strong strange smell—kind of like milk gone bad—a smell of being so afraid. Poor Suzie. I gave her face a nice big lick.
And all at once her face got misshapen like it was coming apart and she started sobbing, wet tears streaming down. I licked and licked, trying to lick them all up, so salty. She went to her knees and held on to me. I stood strong, took her weight no problem. Suzie shook for a bit but then she stopped and the crying stopped and I could feel strength coming back to her body. She rose, wiped her face on the back of her sleeve, then leaned down again, this time kissing me, right on the nose. That tickles, but I love it.
Bernie came out of the garage, talking on his cell phone. “. . . and the other one’s in the basement,” he was saying.
He listened for a moment. Behind him I saw a faint band of milky light, low in the sky. The end of night, a real quiet time. I could hear Cedric on the other end of the phone. “You’ll be there, I assume?”
“Nope,” Bernie said, and clicked off.
“Where are you going to be?” Suzie said.
“Wrapping things up,” said Bernie. He gave Suzie a long look. “But first we’ll take you to the hospital.”
“Hell, no,” she said, wiping her face again.
“Sorry, Suzie. It could be dangerous.”
“That’s a joke, right? Under the circumstances?”
“Can’t let you.”
“I’ll sue.”
“For what?”
“Restraint of trade,” Suzie said. “This is a big story.”
Bernie was still for a moment, his face hard, the way it had been all night. Then he smiled, a big smile that brought him back to the usual old Bernie.
Which was good. The only bad part was how I ended up in the back of the SUV again, Bernie driving, Suzie now in the shotgun seat, my spot. But I was cool with it, especially after I got myself right up to the edge of the backseat, putting my head actually in the front, between Suzie and Bernie. Suzie’s hand rested on the console and his hand lay on hers. And then my paw was on top of both! How had that happened?
“Chet?”
I backed up a little.
“That was Cedric on the phone,” Bernie said.
“Figured,” said Suzie.
“You know Cedric?”
“You’re funny, Bernie.”
“Huh?”
“I worked the crime beat for two years. Go on.”
“Um,” said Bernie. “Cedric says Adelina and Borghese had a prenup. In the event of divorce—”
“—he got zip.”
“How’d you know that?”
“Research.” The milky band of light was turning orange: a brand-new day. I always liked watching that happen, and maybe missed some of the back-and-forth between Suzie and Bernie, kind of hard to understand anyway. Suzie said something like, “But her predeceasing him was a different story—he got it all. The moment I found that out I should have crossed Ganz off the
list. Instead I heard about him owning that ghost town and went there on a hunch. Which turned out to be right, except for the Ganz part.”
“What happened?”
“I heard barking, up in that cabin. Thought it was Princess, of course, and started there on foot. Then these two guys stepped out of the shadows.”
“Earl and Les?”
Suzie nodded. “I called your number, couldn’t think of anything else to do. Later, when they had me tied up, I heard him telling Earl and Les to get rid of me, and Les said he’d handle it.”
“Who’s ‘him’?” Bernie said.
“Borghese,” Suzie said. “Haven’t you figured this out yet?”
“They’re in love?”
“They even finish each other’s sentences.”
“I noticed that,” Bernie said.
“You did?” said Suzie.
Bernie shrugged his shoulders. For some reason, that made Suzie laugh. Then she leaned over and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. I didn’t know what the hell was going on.
The sun was up by the time we drove past the corral—the white horse watching us over the fence rail—and the putting green and parked in front of the big house at Rio Loco Ranch. “The deal is you stay here,” Bernie said.
Suzie didn’t answer.
“Deal?” said Bernie.
Suzie nodded, a very slight motion, almost none at all.
Bernie and I got out of the SUV. A beautiful morning, the air still, the house quiet. Sometimes, early in the morning like that, with the air so still, you can hear small sounds from far away, or at least I can. At that moment, I heard a faint clink, the kind of clink silverware makes on a plate. The sound came from somewhere behind the house and I headed in that direction. “Good boy,” Bernie said, coming with me.
We went around the house, through a big garden with lots of flowers, past some orange trees—oranges dangling from branches out of reach—and came to a huge swimming pool with a patio beside it. An umbrella stood on the patio, a table underneath. Seated close together at the table, legs touching, the count and Nance were having breakfast. Scrambled eggs, bacon, toast, orange juice, coffee: I smelled it all.
Thereby Hangs a Tail Page 25
