The Pomeranian Always Barks Twice

by Alex Erickson

  Looking at the state of his living room, it was no wonder he was cranky earlier this morning. I would be too if I had to live like that.

  I checked for some sign that Stewie might be inside, but other than a chew toy resting against the far wall, I saw nothing. No crate, no wag of a tail, no water dish.

  I considered knocking on the glass to see if I could cause the dog to bark, but decided against it. No sense agitating the little guy if he was inside, not after what he just went through. I’d have to check with Junior later and see where Stewie had gone so I could get him and take him somewhere safe.

  Putting my back to the window, I scanned the street. I had no idea who the witness who fingered Ben as the killer might be. It could have been a passerby, a friend of the family.

  Or it could have been someone living in one of the nearby houses.

  I was counting on the latter.

  The houses in Timothy’s neighborhood were spaced apart, so that I could only see three houses clearly from my vantage point near the front door. The house to my right was where Ben had gone when I’d left for my powwow with Courtney. Another across the street appeared empty. There were no curtains in the windows, and a For Sale sign sat out front.

  That left the battered house beside the empty, which was occupied by an older man who was currently sitting in a rocking chair on his porch, watching me. All the other houses were shielded from view by trees, or were too far away for someone to have been able to read Ben’s name on his shirt.

  I decided the old man was the best place to start.

  He tracked my progress across the yard without giving anything away. He held a mug in one hand, and wore a sagging straw hat over dark eyes and skin. As I approached, he raised a gnarled hand toward me in greeting.

  “Hi,” I said, stepping up to the front porch, but didn’t ascend the stairs. “I’m Liz. Do you have a minute to talk?”

  “Sure do,” the man said, voice slightly accented, as if he’d lived much of his life in the South. “You can call me Clarence, if you please. Would you like some coffee?” He raised his mug. “There’s plenty.”

  “No, thank you.” At his gesture, I joined him on the porch and took a seat in a neighboring rocking chair. From there, I had a clear view of Timothy Fuller’s front door. “I hope I’m not intruding.”

  “Don’t worry yourself,” Clarence said. “It’s been a long time since someone joined me on my watch. Wife’s been gone nearly fifteen years now, bless her heart. It’s about time a pretty woman sat beside me again. I promise, she won’t mind.”

  “I’m sorry to hear about your wife,” I said, and meant it. The old man seemed friendly enough, and I hoped he could tell me something that would save Ben.

  “Me too, darling. Me too.”

  It felt wrong to go from his dead wife to my son’s predicament, so, instead of jumping in right away, I took a moment to gather my thoughts, eyes drifting back to the Fuller house. I tried to remember if I’d seen Clarence outside at any point earlier, but I’d never once looked his way.

  “Shame, isn’t it?” Clarence said, nodding toward Timothy’s house. “These sorts of things happen in all neighborhoods these days, I suppose. Still, hard to wrap your mind around it when it happens right across the street.”

  “Did you see what happened?”

  “I did, I did.” He took a drink from his coffee. “Saw the boy that did it too.”

  “You saw him? And you told the police?”

  “I did.” He looked me up and down. “Wore a shirt just like you. I might be old, but my eyes are as good as they ever were. Or at least, near as can be.” He chuckled. “Saw him go in myself, name splashed across his back as if he was afraid someone might forget who he was. Was only inside for a few minutes before he came running from around back, looking as if the devil himself was after him.”

  “Did you get a look at his face?” Good eyes or not, there was a decent amount of distance from the porch, to Timothy Fuller’s front door. I wasn’t sure even I could make out a face, and I had pretty good vision.

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “Was he wearing a mask?”

  “No, ma’am. Just happened so quick. Since people were going in and out all day, I just assumed it was another one. Didn’t pay him no real mind until he bolted.”

  A glimmer of hope formed in my chest. He hadn’t actually seen the murder, which meant all he had was Ben going in, which could mean anything. “Are you sure he was the one who killed Mr. Fuller?” I asked. “He might have come across the body and panicked.”

  “Could be, I suppose,” Clarence said. “Can’t say I’m all that surprised someone finally did in old man Fuller, either way.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Tim wasn’t a good man to be around.” Clarence clucked his tongue, took a drink before going on. “He treated everyone as if they were beneath him. Was a mean old man, grown from a mean young boy. You should have seen the way he treated that nice nurse of his. Couldn’t help but hear it, the way he carried on, yelling at her. Blamed everything on her, even if he done did it himself. Shame to treat a good woman that way.”

  I wish I could say I was surprised, but I’d seen a hint of his unsavory behavior when I’d met him. And sadly, it appeared Junior was a chip right off the old block.

  “Who do you think would have a reason to kill him?” I asked. “If it wasn’t the man you saw, I mean.”

  Clarence laughed as if I’d just told one of the funniest jokes he’d heard in a long time. “Who didn’t?” he said. “When you’re that mean, just about everyone you come across will want you dead eventually. Now, I ain’t saying it’s right or nothing. No one should be put down before their time. I reckon Tim pushed somebody a little too hard and they finally snapped.”

  I wondered if that included his nurse, Meredith. From the sound of things, she’d put up with a lot of abuse. And with the way Detective Cavanaugh talked, it sounded like she was in the house at the time of the murder. It wasn’t hard to imagine her following him out to the barn and killing Timothy in a fit of blind rage. Then, while she’s cleaning up, Ben shows up for Stewie, sees the body, and panics.

  But why run? And who called the police?

  “Did you see where the guy in the shirt ran to?” I asked. “After he left, and before the police picked him up.”

  Clarence raised the hand with his coffee and pointed. “That way. Came from there as far as I could tell, and ran right back after the deed was done.”

  I followed his gesture, some of my hope dwindling. It was the house where the bikini-clad woman lived.

  “You know, didn’t I see you that day?” Clarence asked, turning in his rocking chair to get a better look at me. “I did, didn’t I? You came with the boy.”

  “I was there earlier, yes,” I said. “Ben is my son.” And he was twenty-two, but I supposed anyone under the age of thirty-five might be considered a boy to a man like Clarence.

  “I should have suspected,” he said. “Why else come talk to an old man like me if you didn’t have cards in the game.”

  “It’s not like that,” I said. “Well, I guess it is, but it’s hard, you know? I’m sure Ben didn’t kill Mr. Fuller. He doesn’t have it in him. I just don’t know what else to do with myself. I thought if I talked to some people, I’d be able to figure out who might have done it.”

  Clarence nodded, eyes meeting mine. He seemed to search for something there, expression going grim. “I reckon you’ll do just that,” he said, nodding as if he’d found whatever he’d been looking for. “You look the determined type.”

  “I am.” I pointed toward Bikini-girl’s house. “Who lives there?” I asked.

  “That’d be Selena Shriver.” A wry smile crossed his lips. “Vixen she is. She sometimes lays out in her yard wearing one of those teeny little bikinis that can’t help but draw the eye. Does yard work in it sometimes too. Think she enjoys the attention, and well, with a . . .” He trailed off, chuckled. “Well, now, you don
’t need to hear what I think about that, do you?”

  No, I didn’t. “Thank you,” I said, rising. “It was nice talking to you, Clarence. You’ve been a big help.”

  “You too, Liz. Come see an old man again sometime, would you? It can get awfully lonely out here all by myself.”

  “I will.” And I think I actually meant it. He might have accused Ben of killing Timothy Fuller, but there was no malice in it. He’d simply told the police what he’d seen, and they’d made their deductions from there. I couldn’t hold that against him.

  I descended the stairs and crossed back over to Timothy’s driveway. I stopped by my car and considered what to do next. No one was home, and I didn’t know where or how to contact Meredith, Junior, or Alexis about Stewie. I was pretty sure they wouldn’t help me prove Ben’s innocence, even if they knew who’d actually done the deed.

  I couldn’t shake the feeling that one of them might be the true killer. Did I really want to associate with a murderer, even for the sake of a dog?

  Yes, I realized, I did. Especially if it helped Ben.

  But that would all have to come later. For now, I needed to clear my son’s name, and there was one person who could provide him an alibi.

  I turned toward Selena’s house. It was small, but tidy, with a flower bed running along the side I was facing, looping around to the front. The house was tucked back a little farther from the road than Timothy’s house, so I couldn’t see the back from where I stood. A single car sat under the carport out front, telling me someone was likely home.

  “Might as well,” I mumbled. If nothing else, I could get a good look at the girl Ben had been so taken with.

  I crossed the short distance to her yard. I glanced back and saw Clarence was still watching me. I waved, and he returned the gesture before rising and heading inside.

  Now, in front of Selena’s house, I noted how good the flowers looked, each vibrant and lively. A pair of cute garden gnomes were hidden amongst them, seemingly watching me from the cover of petals and leaves. The morning paper was lying halfway down the driveway, and I walked over and picked it up. It would give me a good excuse for knocking.

  I approached the front door, mentally prepped myself for what was to come, and then knocked.

  It took only a few seconds before the door opened and Selena Shriver peered out at me, a quizzical expression on her face. “Yes?”

  Up close, she wasn’t just pretty, but drop-dead gorgeous. No wonder Ben had abandoned me for her. She had sparkling blue eyes, and blond hair that held the faintest red hue. It appeared entirely natural. She wasn’t wearing a bikini now, but the sundress revealed nearly as much leg.

  I handed over the paper, feeling frumpy in my hair-coated shirt. “Hi, my name’s Liz Denton. Ben’s mother.”

  She blinked at me. “Ben?”

  “The guy who came over here earlier. To talk.”

  Selena set the paper on a stand just inside the door. “Oh, that’s right. I completely forgot all about it after what happened.”

  “Was he with you when Mr. Fuller was . . .” I cleared my throat. “Killed?” I finished lamely, hating how the word sounded.

  There was a thump inside. I tried to look past her, but Selena moved to block my view. “It’s my cat,” she said. “Always likes to knock things off the table to see who’s at the door.”

  Which was one of the things my Wheels couldn’t do. “Was Ben with you when you found out about Mr. Fuller?” I asked again.

  She glanced behind her, then back to me. “He was here when the police arrived, if that’s what you’re asking,” she said.

  “And before?”

  She refused to meet my eye. “We talked some, that’s all.”

  “Was Ben here the entire time?” I pressed. Why was she being so evasive? “The police think he killed Mr. Fuller. Please, if he was here, you’ve got to let me know.”

  Another thump, this one a little louder. It sure didn’t sound like something falling over. “I’m sorry, I have to go,” she said.

  “Wait!”

  But it was already too late. The door closed and I heard the definitive sound of the door being locked.

  I stood there a long moment, debating on whether or not to knock again. Selena seemed nervous, but then again, I was the mother of an accused killer. She might think I was trying to implicate her in something, or worse, coming after her.

  But hounding her wouldn’t make her cooperative. If anything, it might make her turn against Ben, if she hadn’t already. She could very well be the only person in the world who could vouch for him that wasn’t related to him.

  I turned away and returned to my van. Something wasn’t right, but I couldn’t figure out what it was. Ben had gone over to meet Selena; I’d seen it myself. Clarence saw him go into Timothy’s house later, and leave at a run, right back to Selena. She claims he was with her when the police arrived, so it tracked. But why not tell me if he was here the entire time? What was she afraid of?

  And had Ben called the cops? Was that why he ran back over, wanting to get to his phone? Meredith had called the murder in, sure, but that didn’t mean Ben hadn’t as well.

  Or had Ben fled for another reason entirely? Maybe Timothy Fuller had been alive and kicking when he’d arrived, and he’d taken out his anger on Ben, which caused him to leave in a rush. Then, someone else killed the old man, meaning Ben would have had no idea that he’d been murdered, not until the police had arrived.

  But there was blood on his shirt.

  Or so Detective Cavanaugh had said. Perhaps there was another reason for why it was there. Nothing said the blood belonged to Timothy Fuller. As far as I knew, Ben had tried to pet Selena’s cat, earning him a sharp slash across the hand. Or perhaps he had found the body, checked for a pulse, and gotten blood on him in the process. It didn’t mean he killed anyone.

  I started up the engine and backed out of the driveway. I might have been told to come back tomorrow, but I couldn’t wait any longer; I needed to talk to Ben.

  6

  It was much to my relief that when I pulled into the Grey Falls Police Station lot, Junior’s car was gone. I didn’t have it in me to deal with his groundless accusations, not after the day I’d had. I found an empty space, parked, and then headed inside.

  I went straight to the front desk, where the young cop I’d seen outside Timothy’s house was currently sitting, furiously scribbling away at a piece of paper. He glanced up when I came in, looking as if he didn’t know which way was up.

  It wasn’t a good sign.

  “I’m here to speak with my son, Ben Denton,” I said, approaching the desk and putting as much command in my voice as I could manage.

  “Um.” The officer glanced around, seemingly unsure how to handle me. His name tag read Mohr.

  “He was arrested earlier,” I said. “Wrongfully accused of murdering Timothy Fuller.”

  “Oh. Yeah.” Officer Mohr cleared his throat, red climbing up his neck. “That was pretty rough.” He gave me a sheepish smile. “Let me see if I can find someone who can help you.”

  “I dealt with Officer Perry earlier,” I said. I figured he’d be more likely to let me in to see Ben, rather than Detective Cavanaugh. I’m sure there was someone else higher up who I could talk to, but it was likely the higher up the chain I climbed, the more resistance I would meet.

  “Perry . . . Perry . . .” Officer Mohr tapped his chin with his pen. He appeared genuinely flummoxed by the name.

  “Older man. Gray hair. Dark skin. He was at the house too.”

  “Oh! Reg!” The lightbulb must have finally clicked on. “He’s been pretty good to me so far. Nice guy. I hear he might retire in a year or two. It’ll be a shame if he does.”

  “It will be,” I said, growing impatient. “Can I speak to him?”

  “Sorry, he’s gone for the day. I’m not sure when he’ll be back. I’m guessing tomorrow.”

  Well, crap. “What about Detective Cavanaugh?” I asked, my stomach c
hurning at the thought of dealing with the burly detective again. He hadn’t been all that hostile, yet he hadn’t come off as very friendly either. Right then, however, he was the closest thing I had to an ally.

  Officer Mohr paled. Apparently, Detective Cavanaugh’s name meant something to him, unlike everyone else’s.

  “Detective Cavanaugh?” he asked. “I . . .”

  Thankfully, the man in question entered the room before Mohr could say something he might regret. It was obvious the young cop wasn’t a big fan of the detective. At this point, I wasn’t so sure I disagreed.

  “Mrs. Denton,” Cavanaugh said, making a beeline over to me. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m here to see Ben,” I said, raising my chin. I refused to show weakness now, especially if that weakness sent me home.

  He sighed. “I thought I told you to come back tomorrow.”

  “I know, you did, but I need to see him.” My voice trembled slightly. “Please,” I said. “Just for a few minutes. I want to make sure he’s okay.”

  Cavanaugh stared at me for a long couple of seconds without blinking. His face gave nothing away, no hint of compassion or anger. I wasn’t sure what to make of this man, whether he was on my side or thought I’d given birth to a cold-blooded killer.

  His unreadable face was probably why he’d become a detective. I hoped that it also made him a good one.

  Cavanaugh’s face finally broke into a frown before he turned away from me. He took two steps, and then glanced back, eyebrows raised. “You coming?”

  “Oh! Yeah, of course.” I hurried after him.

  Cavanaugh’s stride was long, practically forcing me to run to keep up with him. “He tried to call you,” he said as he led me down the hall. “Tried at least three times, but never got an answer.”

  “I don’t have my cell on me.” It was still sitting in the cup holder of the van. I mentally kicked myself for not remembering it. “He could have called his dad.” Manny would have answered a call from Ben, even if he was in the middle of an exam.