When Bunnies Go Bad

by Clea Simon

  “Ah,” I nodded and waited for her to realize her mistake. She did, pretty quickly. Whatever else the redhead was, she wasn’t dumb. Instead, she blushed and waved one hand in the air, as if swatting lies. “I mean, from a few months ago. Before I met Teddy, of course.” She looked down at the dog as if for confirmation before raising those striking eyes to mine. “I’ve just been turned upside down by all of this. I left for the day to go skiing and I never thought….” She swallowed and nodded. It was good. So good, I was confident she’d rehearsed.

  “I still can’t believe he’s gone.” Tight smile, more blinking. “And I was off, having fun.”

  That’s right. Her alibi was that she was skiing. “When did you find out?”

  She shook her head. “He took off. He did that sometimes. He had a temper.” A sigh that could have shaken the pines. “When I came in for a break, one of the lodge attendants found me. Teddy had been playing poker, so I thought he’d be happy. But I guess it didn’t work out, and he’d left me a note.”

  I waited.

  “‘Enough’s enough,’ it said.” Her voice had sunk to a near whisper. She’d gone pale, too. “Enough’s enough.”

  As we stood there, the woods around us fell silent as well. So silent, the distant hum of traffic came through.

  Pudgy, however, seemed to hear more. He went on the alert, his face—no, his entire body—directed back toward the woods.

  “What is it, boy?” I bent to the dog again, placing my hand on his back. He was trembling with eagerness. Spaniels were gun dogs originally and have been bred to accompany hunters as far back as the eleventh century. Their original work function shows in their lines, those broad muzzles housing sensitive noses, and their muscles compact and strong, no matter their size. Even the toy breeds, like Pudgy here, have it in them still, the urge to be steady and attentive during the hunt. Now, watching him point toward the trees from where he had recently emerged, I could have sworn he was waiting—for a call, for a shot to be fired, his keen face alert to where game might be.

  “Waiting…” I didn’t need my special sensitivity to pick that up. The slight tremble as he held his pose would have told me that. “Waiting for…him.”

  And with that, he shut me out. His training had him so focused on one person—his hunter—that anyone or anything else would be viewed as a distraction. This was what he was born for. However, it didn’t bode well for his future with the recently bereaved redhead.

  “You know, you should try some obedience classes.” I looked at her sidewise as I crouched by the dog’s side. After what I’d seen in the restaurant, I wondered if she’d wince at the word “obedience.” She didn’t disappoint. “These dogs bond tightly, and if you’re going to keep him…”

  I left the question open. This was her cue to mention the “other friend” again. Enough’s enough, indeed. No wonder she had gone white.

  “I would take Ms. Marlowe at her word.” I stood with a start. That low voice, as soft as gravel, had come from not ten feet behind me.

  At my side, the spaniel whimpered softly, his focus disrupted. I, too, had been staring off into the woods. I had heard a car—cars?—but I hadn’t seen the red sportster that I associated with that voice.

  “She’s not only the best animal behaviorist in Beauville, she may well be the finest I’ve ever met.”

  The words were courtly. Smooth. But even before I turned, I knew I would be looking into the slate-colored eyes of a stone-cold gangster.

  “Gregor Benazi, as I live and breathe,” I said, those two functions suddenly very dear to me. “How kind of you,” I added. “Do you know Ms. Cheryl Ginger?”

  I wasn’t sure what the play was. The dog whined in frustration.

  “I’m not sure I’ve had the honor.” He reached out and, mesmerized, she gave him her hand. “I have, however, heard so much about you. The pleasure is all mine.”

  Chapter Nine

  It must have been the smile. As a pretty young woman, Cheryl Ginger must be used to avuncular types. Older men who are drawn to her youth and beauty—or who use their age as an excuse to get close, whatever their darker purpose. And Gregor Benazi did not come across as sleazy in any way. The suit he wore, the dull sheen of silk showing beneath his cashmere overcoat, was well cut and classy, a steel gray that played well against his still-thick hair. The way he took her hand, too, was gentlemanly—his fingertips gripping hers lightly for only a moment before release. No, it had to be the smile.

  “Oh!” Her response was little more than the exhalation of air, but Benazi’s smile broadened as if she had greeted him in French.

  “Mr. Benazi.” I turned toward the dapper intruder, noticing once again how short he was. Strangely, he never seemed small when I thought of him. As I spoke, Cheryl Ginger withdrew her hand and stepped back. “What brings you here?”

  “Ms. Marlowe.” The tip of his head was a courtly acknowledgment that I had broken his spell. I had a fleeting thought that this must be what it feels like to step between the cobra and its small, furry prey.

  “Don’t tell me you were simply in the neighborhood,” I said, keeping my voice level. Benazi scares me, don’t get me wrong. I didn’t know anything for sure—it would be dangerous to know too much about this man—but I had reason to believe he had killed at least one woman. Not that she didn’t deserve it. Still, I had a strange kind of détente with him. Part of that was mutual respect: he saw me as someone like himself, I believe. Someone slightly outside the lines of civil society. Also, I’d helped him adopt a cat once. It’s a long story. At any rate, I felt I could talk to him. I could certainly do more than the woman standing mute beside me.

  “I would never dissimulate with you, Ms. Marlowe.” My eyebrows went up at the ten-dollar word, and his smile grew a fraction wider. “No, I am here on business, as you doubtless imagined. I’m an old acquaintance of the late Mr. Rhinecrest.” At this he turned toward Cheryl and nodded once. “And I was hoping to pay my respects.”

  “The funeral is going to be in the city.” Cheryl’s voice was little more than a whisper, a quavering whisper at that. Still, it took nerve for her to respond. “I’m not—It won’t be here.”

  “Of course.” Another nod of the head confirmed that he knew about the wife, now a widow. “Only, Mr. Rhinecrest and I had had some dealings recently, you see, and I was hoping to tidy up some outstanding business.”

  I looked from him to her. She had gone whiter than before, if that were possible, her pretty lips pursed tight. “I stayed out of Teddy’s business,” she said. “We came here to ski. For me to ski,” she corrected herself, stumbling over the words. “He liked to play cards and watch me on the slopes.”

  “And I’m sure you both liked to be alone together.” Benazi looked around, as if he were seeing the trees for the first time. “In such a bucolic setting.”

  “Yes, well.” A blush crept up her cheeks, turning them an itchy red. “That, too.”

  For a moment there was silence, and another image hit me. Benazi wasn’t a snake, he was a hawk, about to swoop down. He even leaned in slightly as if gauging the distance between some lofty height and his prey on the ground. But before I could interrupt—this wasn’t nature; this was humanity at its worst—I was beaten to the punch. Pudgy, or whatever the little dog’s name was, had begun to growl. Smart dog, I thought, as I looked down. No matter how inexpert Cheryl Ginger’s care of him might be, he knew a threat when he smelled one.

  Only the spotted spaniel wasn’t at her feet, when I looked for him. Nor was he facing Benazi, for all his menace. Instead, the dog was at the end of his lead, facing the woods. And the soft whine he emitted was accompanied by a slow, sad wag of his tail.

  “Cheryl?” I put my hand on her arm, both to turn her toward the dog and away from Benazi’s mesmerizing stare. “You might want to see to your dog.”

  “Oh! Pudgy!” She ran the few steps to
him as if he had been lost for ages, scooping him up once more into her arms. “No, Pudgy.” She stroked his silky ears, cooing. “You’re staying with me from now on.”

  “Good idea,” I said. Not that he was much of a watchdog. “I heard him in the condo yesterday, but I gather the police must have let him out.”

  She nodded, murmuring into the back of his head. “Poor baby. Out here all alone.” With her free hand, she worked the skeleton of a leaf out from his curls, smoothing his fur as she did so. The dog hadn’t had too hard a time, I thought. Not only had he survived, his coat didn’t look too matted down with mud or burrs. “My poor, poor Pudge. My little love.” His tail beat against her side.

  I cleared my throat to interrupt the reunion. “It’s probably been a long twenty-four hours for him. You might want to take him indoors. Give him some food and water. Check him for ticks.” I was watching Benazi as I spoke. He kept his eyes trained on her face. “It’s early in the season, but you can’t be too safe.” I didn’t dare offer more of a warning, but I wanted her out of there.

  “I’ll leave you to it then.” Benazi took my cue, even if she was still standing there, stroking the dog’s head as if she had just discovered him. “Since you are both so busy. I do hope you take Ms. Marlowe’s advice, Ms. Ginger. As I’ve said, she is the best in the business.”

  I nodded at him. I knew I ought to thank him, but I wasn’t sure I could.

  “I’d like to come around later, however.” He kept talking. “I believe you are staying at the Chateau now?”

  She blinked in acknowledgment. The Chateau was the nicest hotel around, and I seriously doubted Cheryl Ginger would want to stay in the condo where her boyfriend had been murdered, even if Creighton and his crew would let her. So it wasn’t a bad guess. Only, I didn’t think Benazi ever said anything he wasn’t already sure of, whether phrased as a question or not.

  “I bet any business you had with the late Mr. Rhinecrest could be taken up with his family”—I stopped myself from saying wife—“or with the cops. You know Officer Creighton, I believe.” I didn’t know why I was interceding. Cheryl Ginger was as false as they come, and Benazi and I had our truce. Maybe it was the image of a hawk and a bunny that had sprung into my mind. Wallis would say I was weak that way. Wallis would, as usual, be right.

  “A simple matter of clearing up some paperwork,” he said. The way he accented the last word made it sound arbitrary, although I thought it made Cheryl shiver. “Perhaps the bella donna will find my services useful.” With that he reached out once more to take her hand. She shifted the dog, who was still staring into the woods, to extend it as an offering. And then with a nod and another smile for me, one that seemed to have a trace of warmth in it, he walked off down the path that led between the condos. This time, I heard the deep growl of his car starting and the rustle of gravel as he made his way down toward the main road.

  Paperwork: that was the word he had emphasized, and it had had an effect on Cheryl Ginger. What had struck me was another phrase, however. He had called the redhead bella donna. It meant “beautiful woman,” of course. But Benazi had never used Italian around me before. He knew my interests. He knew I was well versed in the many dangers of the natural world. Like the plant belladonna—better known as deadly nightshade and the source of atropine. Poison.

  Chapter Ten

  As soon as the sound of his car faded, I grabbed her so hard she squealed. “I don’t know what you’re playing at,” I hissed at her. “But you do not want to get on the wrong side of that man.” I was holding her so close I could see the blood vessels in her eyes, even as the daylight faded. Benazi had taken his leave and—strange as it might sound—I didn’t think he was the type to double back in order to eavesdrop, but I wasn’t going to take any chances. Besides, this little bunny needed to know I was serious. “He’s a predator.”

  “But…but…” She stammered, holding the dog closer. The spaniel whined in response. But if I expected him to squirm free, I was wrong.

  “He’s gone.” Distracted, I looked down. The little beast turned to meet my gaze with his large brown eyes. “He was here. My person.”

  That broke me. Here I was, bullying the woman while the dog was mourning. Then again, I was hoping to save her from a similar fate.

  “How do you know Benazi?” I didn’t believe that little pantomime, but even as I focused on her I backed up slightly, trying not to let the dog’s low whine distract me.

  “He’s gone.” It wasn’t working. Even the dumbstruck redhead heard that soft, high-pitched cry.

  “Are you okay, Pudgy? My little love?” His vocalization gave her an excuse to ignore my question and she took it, tilting her face toward his and getting licked in return. To do her credit, she laughed.

  “I think he’s sad.” I interpreted. I confess, I liked her better for that laugh. A lot of women—hell, a lot of people—would have spit and sputtered after such a kiss. That didn’t mean I was going to let her off the hook. If anything, I had more reason to want her safe. “Upset, I should say, over your friend’s death.”

  I couldn’t see her eyes anymore, but I thought she shook her head, as if in denial. An odd response when someone mentions your recently murdered lover.

  “You don’t think so?” There was something going on with this woman.

  “They weren’t that close.” She finally looked up at me. “Teddy didn’t like animals much, and I think Pudgy knew it. Didn’t you, my little darling?”

  “Huh.” I nodded. It could have been that the dead man didn’t like his mistress hanging onto presents from former boyfriends, but this didn’t seem like the time to point this out. Instead, I tried to pivot back. “Maybe he was upset by Benazi, then.” The dapper gangster loved animals. I was betting Cheryl Ginger didn’t know that side of his personality. “And you know him how?”

  “I don’t.” She was staring off in the direction he had gone and shaking her head slightly. Her eyes, I noticed, were clear and free of tears. “Or, only slightly. Teddy met with his friends sometimes, while I was skiing.”

  “Friends?” I remembered what Creighton had said about the dead man. How he tended to hang out in the lodge while she hit the slopes. I wondered how much more he could have told me. “Did you meet these friends?”

  “Some of them, in passing.” She shrugged before turning back to me. “Teddy tended to compartmentalize his life. And he could be prickly.”

  Now it was my turn to be struck dumb. This redhead was smarter than I’d given her credit for. At least, in terms of her late lover.

  “So you must know what they say about Teddy.” I still hesitated before saying too much. “About what he did—his friends.”

  She nodded. “I know he was maybe not all on the up and up.” If she saw my eyebrows rise, she didn’t acknowledge it. “So, yeah, I’m guessing some of his friends weren’t either. But you didn’t know him, Miss—”

  “Marlowe. Pru Marlowe.”

  “You didn’t know Teddy Rhinecrest the way I did,” the pretty redhead said. “He could be very generous.”

  I couldn’t help it. I rolled my eyes. To do her credit, she colored slightly, although this time the blush formed a becoming tint, filling out the apples of her cheeks.

  “No, I mean, in little ways.” I imagined small checks. Discreet diamonds. She must have read my thoughts, because she kept talking. “He gave me fun things, too, like a monogrammed ice cream scoop. And he could be sentimental. A few weeks ago, I thought I’d lost a stuffed animal he’d given me, and he got very upset.”

  “I bet.” I’d seen that side of the man. “And Benazi?” I waited. Nothing. “You do know he’s a dangerous guy, right?”

  Another shrug. “I can’t help who Teddy’s friends are—were. I didn’t know anything.”

  We were going in circles. “Look, I’m sick of mincing words. Somebody killed your boyfriend, and Gregor Benazi is a
dangerous man. If he’s taken an interest in you, you should be worried.” She opened her mouth, but I raised a hand to stop her. “You have to be. He may seem courtly, but I would not want to cross him.”

  She shut her mouth and nodded. As I’d thought, she was smarter than she looked.

  “Do you have someplace you can go? People you can be with?” I didn’t know why I felt protective of her. Maybe it was the dog.

  “I can’t leave,” she said. “Not yet, anyway. The detective…”

  Of course, even with the best alibi in the world, she would have to be questioned.

  “But I have Pudgy!” She hoisted the little spaniel, who looked from her to me and back again, the question clear on his face. “Are we going? Will we see him soon?”

  “He’s not exactly a guard dog.” And this woman was not exactly grounded if she thought any dog—even a pitbull—could defend her against Benazi. “But I’m glad we found him,” I added.

  “Me, too.” Still cradling the dog, she turned to walk toward her car.

  “Wait,” I called, hit by a sudden thought.

  She turned, but I could have sworn I saw a flash of annoyance pass over her face. “Yes?” Her voice was as sweet as ever.

  “You’re staying at the Chateau?” I knew that hotel. Not that I’d ever had occasion to stay there. It was supposedly popular with honeymooners and the kind of leaf peepers who prefer their bucolic escapes to come with a well-stocked bar.

  “For now.” She looked past me at the condo. The condos at The Pines weren’t cheap, but they weren’t the Chateau, either, and I remembered that when I’d first seen her in the restaurant, her lover had accused her of complaining. Had she found the time-share tacky? Had she found a new friend—or reunited with an old one—who would spring for room service? “I would—most of my stuff is still in there.” She spoke as if she were reading my mind. “Only the police…”