by Tim Downs
She kept staring across the restaurant at the man, waiting for him to feel the weight of her gaze and glance up at her, and each time he did she gave him a long, lingering smile—but she also made sure that each time she was the one to break eye contact. She didn’t want to encourage the man too much—not here.
The man eventually finished his meal and went to pay his check. At the cashier’s stand he took one last glance back at her, and when he did she gave him her warmest smile yet.
When he left the restaurant Alena hurried to the lobby and signaled to her waiting dogs to follow her back to the restaurant. She led them over to the man’s table and retrieved his wadded white napkin. She knelt down and held the napkin up to Ruckus’s snout and allowed the dog’s nose to quiver over it, imprinting on its little brain the man’s unique scent combination of saliva, facial oil, and aftershave lotion.
She snapped her fingers once, then pointed to the exit. Ruckus trotted silently out of the restaurant with Alena, Trygg, and Dante following close behind.
There was no breeze in the hotel to disturb the scent pool and it stretched out like an invisible snake in the hotel corridors; Ruckus had no more difficulty following it than if it had been a trail of breadcrumbs. Within minutes the dog had traced the scent to a hotel room. Alena patted the dog’s head, then snapped her fingers and pointed to the threshold of the door; Ruckus tested the air flowing out from the room and quietly lay down.
Alena waved Ruckus and Trygg aside and positioned Dante so close to the door that his snout was almost touching the wood. Alena herself stood close enough to the peephole to prevent the man from catching any glimpse of the enormous animal crouching by her side. She knocked on the door, then watched the pinpoint of light in the center of the peephole; when she saw it darken, she flashed her most seductive smile and made a little wave.
There was a pause—and then she heard the clack of the dead bolt retracting. When Alena snapped her fingers she felt the big dog’s sinewy flank tense against her thigh.
As the door began to open she could hear the man say, “Look, lady, I’m not interested in any—”
But before he could finish the sentence Alena threw her shoulder against the door and at the same moment signaled for Dante to strike. Alena kept driving forward and Dante threw his two-hundred-plus pounds into the fray as well, sending the door crashing open and the man sprawling backward into his room. The man was lean and athletic and he quickly attempted to regain his feet—but before he could even reach a crouching position Dante was on top of him, pinning him to the carpet near the foot of the bed with jaws so massive that they completely enveloped his neck.
Alena stepped out into the hallway and waved Trygg and Ruckus into the room, then quietly closed the door. When she turned around she saw the man groping for a duffel bag resting on the foot of the bed just a few inches from his hand. She walked over and kicked his hand away.
“There better be dog biscuits in there,” she said, upending the bag and dumping its contents onto the bedspread. There were rolled socks and boxer briefs and a Dopp kit made of brown leather—and there was a handgun.
Alena took the gun from the bed and held it up. “Were you planning to shoot my dog?” she asked.
He didn’t answer.
“ ’Cause that would have made me very, very angry.”
The man grabbed at Dante’s snout with his left hand.
“Don’t,” Alena said. “Everybody tries it, but it never works. You try to pry him off and he’ll close your windpipe just like stepping on a hose. And if I make a little twisting motion with my fist—well, we don’t want to leave housekeeping with a mess like that. So why don’t you just relax while I have a look around?”
Alena glanced around the hotel room; it looked largely undisturbed, barely lived in. “Looks like you’re not planning to stay long,” she said. She opened the closet and spotted a canvas drag bag lying on the top shelf. “This your rifle?” She took it down, unzipped it, and slid it out onto the bed. It was a boltaction rifle with a walnut stock and a long black telescopic scope that widened at the fore end like a flashlight.
“Careful with that,” the man said.
“Good idea,” Alena said. “We wouldn’t want to shoot anybody, now would we?”
She took a quick look in the bathroom and saw nothing on the counter but a toothbrush and a rumpled towel—and across from the counter, a heart-shaped bathtub. She just stood there, staring at it for a minute—then she charged out into the bedroom. “You’ve got a heart-shaped bathtub,” she said to the man.
“So?”
“Do all the rooms have those?”
“How would I know?”
“I thought nobody had those anymore. I thought they were old-fashioned.”
“Lady, would you like to take a bath in my tub?”
“No, wise guy, I wouldn’t.” Alena was furious. Not only did Nick leave just before the wedding, not only did he drive to the Poconos without her, but he had a heart-shaped bathtub! It was exactly like the one she had always imagined, only she wasn’t sitting in it. She imagined Nick soaking in his own tub right now . . . What am I forgetting? Soap? Bubble bath? Wife?
I’m gonna strangle that guy.
On the nightstand beside the bed she spotted a wallet. She opened it, pulled out all the plastic cards, and tossed the wallet aside. She sat down on the end of the bed where she could see the man’s face and looked at the first of his credit cards—a Capital One Visa. She read the name from the card: “Blake Brenton.”
“All you had to do was ask,” the man said.
“Aren’t you the helpful one.” She continued to shuffle through the stack. She found an American Express business card, a Wachovia ATM card, and a driver’s license from the state of Virginia. She looked down at him. “Virginia—what part?”
“Dumfries—it’s on the license.”
“I’ve heard of Dumfries. Where is that?”
“Virginia.”
“You’re a funny guy.”
The next card in the pile was one of the man’s business cards. Alena held it up and looked at it; in the left-hand corner was the blue-and-gold seal of the FBI. “Special Agent Blake Brenton,” she read. “Critical Incident Response Group, Quantico, Virginia.” She looked down at his face again. “You’re FBI.”
“You can read,” he said.
“What are you doing in the Poconos?”
“None of your business.”
“Do you really want to make me mad?”
“Do you really want to screw around with a federal agent? ’Cause that’s what you’re doing, lady. Now call off your dog before I get mad.”
“Keep your shirt on,” she said. “I want to ask a few questions first.”
“I don’t have to answer any questions.”
“You do if you want to get off the floor.”
“How would you like it if I had your dog impounded?”
“How would you like it if I dropped your pretty rifle in a Dumpster somewhere? I’ll bet that would go over big back at Quantico. ‘What happened to your rifle, Blake?’ ‘A girl took it from me.’ ”
Brenton let out a groan. “What do you want to know?”
“I’m looking for my fiancé—a guy named Nick Polchak.”
“What happened to him?”
“I don’t know. I can’t find him, and we’re getting married tomorrow.”
“He’s marrying you?”
“Yeah.”
“Good luck to him.”
At that, Alena dropped to her knees beside Brenton’s head and bent down until her face was just a few inches from his. “Now you listen to me,” she said. “I’m getting married tomorrow and I can’t find my fiancé. I should be back home right now making little sandwiches for the reception, but instead I’ve been on the road for two days tracking my fiancé all over eastern Pennsylvania. I know you’re an FBI agent, and I’m sure you’re a real tough guy and you’ve probably had to deal with all kinds of desperate characters
before—but trust me, mister, you don’t want to mess around with a woman who’s planning a wedding.”
“I don’t know any Nick Polchak,” he said.
“He’s staying in this hotel. He left this morning just before you did. He drove out to meet somebody, and when he did, somebody took a shot at him.”
“And you think it was me?”
“He shows up here, you show up here, somebody takes a shot at him, and you just happen to have a rifle—what a coincidence.”
“Why would I want to shoot your fiancé?”
“That’s what I’m asking you. You’re no hunter, Mr. Brenton. This place is five hours from Quantico and there are plenty of woods in Virginia. What’s the rifle for?”
“It’s part of my job.”
“What’s your job?”
“I’m with the Hostage Rescue Team, okay? You saw my business card—the Critical Incident Response Group. We rescue people, lady, we don’t take potshots at them.”
Alena sat back on her heels. “The Hostage Rescue Team?”
“Maybe you’ve heard of us—we’re the good guys.”
“You didn’t try to kill Nick?”
“Lady—I’m very good with that rifle. If I wanted to kill your fiancé, he’d be dead right now.”
Alena considered his answer, then stood up. “If I tell my dog to let you go, are you gonna be grumpy about it? ’Cause I can take your guns with me.”
“Just go,” he said.
“Nobody likes a bad sport.”
“Lady—go.”
Alena opened the door and waved Ruckus and Trygg out into the hallway. She waited until they were well down the hall, then snapped her fingers and called Dante off. The big dog released the man’s throat and bolted for the door, and Alena slammed the door behind them.
***
Blake Brenton took out his cell phone and punched in a number. “It’s Brenton,” he said, wiping at his neck with the back of his hand. “She was just here. This is getting out of hand, Ed—we’ve got to do this thing tonight.”
29
Alena charged into the sheriff’s office and stopped in front of his desk with both fists planted defiantly on her hips. Behind her, the door banged against the wall so hard that it sounded like the brittle glass might shatter; the frame rebounded from the wall and vibrated to a stop, pointing toward the center of the room. Alena’s three dogs entered the office a moment later and took sitting positions beside their master, panting as if they’d been working hard to keep up.
Alena glared at Yanuzzi. “Remember me?”
Yanuzzi looked up from his paperwork and nodded at the door. “Would you mind closing that? We get flies.”
“Flies are drawn to things that stink,” Alena said. “Nick taught me that.”
Yanuzzi got up from his desk, walked around to the door, and quietly closed it. “Is something on your mind, Ms. Savard?”
“Yeah—I want to know why you lied to me.”
“Yeah—I want “About what?”
“You told me the Paradise Motor Lodge was the best hotel in town. That’s a lie.”
“It’s the best hotel in town that takes pets—maybe I should have been more specific. You seemed attached to those mutts of yours; I figured you wouldn’t want to leave them in the car.”
“That’s the only reason you sent me there?”
“Why else?”
“I met this guy named Odell. He told me about another hotel in town, one that you forgot to mention—the Mountain View Lodge.”
“Yeah, I heard about you and Odell. Charlie Dorfman stopped by—he was all smiles. He told me about the warehouse—about what your dog did. I’m impressed.”
“Stop changing the subject. The Mountain View Lodge is on the opposite end of town from that dump you sent me to.” the opposite “So?”
“Guess who just happens to be staying at the Mountain View Lodge? My fiancé—Nick.”
“Then you found him—good for you.”
“No, I didn’t—but I would have found him if you had told me about the Mountain View Lodge in the first place. Why didn’t you?”
“I told you—pets.”
“Or maybe you didn’t want me to find Nick. Maybe you sent me to the other side of town so we wouldn’t cross paths.”
“Now, why wouldn’t I want you to find your fiancé?”
“That’s what I’d like to know. You told me you never met Nick before—that was a lie too.”
“Now look—”
“I heard the story, Sheriff—about the weird guy who walked into the diner and started making accusations. I asked if anybody caught his name, and you know what they told me? ‘He didn’t say—he just started making accusations.’ A total stranger doesn’t do that—not without telling you who he is first. Did you ever ask, ‘Who are you?’ You didn’t, did you? That’s because you knew who he was.”
“That was the first time we ever met.”
“You’re lying—I can see it in your eyes. Why don’t you want me to find Nick?”
Yanuzzi slowly walked around to his desk and sat down again. “Okay, I lied. I met your fiancé once before—he stopped by here when he came to town two days ago.”
“Why didn’t you tell me that?”
“Because it’s none of my business. Look, put yourself in my place: A man tells me he’s getting married in a few days, but here he is on some wild-goose chase in the Poconos. So I figure, maybe the guy needs time to think. That’s his business, not mine.”
“What ‘wild-goose chase’?”
“What?”
“Nick didn’t come all the way up here just to have time to think—he can think anywhere. Why did he stop to see you?”
Yanuzzi hesitated.
Alena stepped closer to the desk. “You think I should go home, don’t you? You think I should just drop the whole thing, and whenever my fiancé has had enough ‘time to think,’ he’ll come home to me and everything will be fine.”
“I told you that—you wouldn’t listen.”
“Okay,” she said, “I’ll go home—but not without some kind of explanation. I’ve gone to a lot of trouble, Sheriff—I’ve invested time and money. I think I deserve to know what’s going on before I leave.”
Yanuzzi looked at her for a moment. “Your fiancé told me that a friend of his was murdered in Philadelphia.”
“I know about that.”
“I used to have a deputy—he was killed in a hunting accident last December. My deputy was working on a cold case; he couldn’t solve it, so he took it down to the Vidocq Society in Philadelphia. Your fiancé’s friend was consulting on that case before he died.”
“And Nick thought there might be a connection.”
“I told him it was probably just coincidence. He doesn’t listen any better than you do.”
“Yeah, we have a lot in common. What’s this cold case about?”
“It doesn’t matter. It’s ancient history.”
“It’s the reason Nick’s here—it matters. Just give me the basics, then I’ll be on my way.”
“It happened about three years ago. There was an old man who lived over on Lake Wallenpaupack. He was an invalid; he had a home-care nurse who was supposed to look in on him, but one day the old man dropped dead. Some people thought the home-care nurse was negligent, but nobody could ever prove it.”
Alena waited, but there was nothing more. “That’s it?”
“That’s it—end of story.”
“Why is that case such a big deal?”
“It’s not—that’s what I tried to tell your fiancé.”
“Nick thinks it is.”
“What do you mean?”
“He went to that lake house—he looked at the bedroom where that old man died. He ripped up the carpet and tore up part of the wall.”
“Why would he do that?”
“He was looking for something.”
“How do you know this?”
“Because I went to that lake house too.”
“You what?”
“Thanks for filling me in on that cold case, Sheriff—I was missing some pieces. There’s just one thing I still don’t understand . . . If that case is no big deal, then why are you still lying to me?”
“Look, I’ve told you everything I—”
Alena took a business card from her pocket and tossed it onto the desk in front of him.
Yanuzzi stared at the card but said nothing.
“He’s staying at the Mountain View Lodge too,” Alena said. “Seems like everybody is—except me. Somebody took a shot at Nick this morning—but you already knew that, didn’t you? Then I heard about a guy who’s staying at the Mountain View Lodge—a new guy in town—a guy with a rifle. But why would anybody be dragging around a rifle this time of year?
So I stopped by his room to ask him, and guess what I found out? The guy works for the FBI—he said he’s with the Hostage Rescue Team down in Quantico. He’s one of the good guys, he says—he rescues people. Only I can’t figure out who would need to be rescued in a Podunk town like this. Any ideas?”
Yanuzzi didn’t respond.
“Do you know this guy, Sheriff?”
“No.”
“That’s funny, ’cause he seems to know you.” She reached across the desk and turned the card over; on the back side the name “Ed Yanuzzi” and a phone number were scribbled in pencil.
“This guy took a shot at my fiancé,” Alena said, “and I think you know why. You want me to pack my bags and go home, Sheriff? Glad to—just as soon as you tell me what’s going on.”
Yanuzzi looked at her. “Brenton’s here on assignment— that’s all I can tell you.”
