When Bunnies Go Bad

by Clea Simon

“I know.” This was going to take time, and I wanted to spend as little of that here, with Ronnie, as possible. “Because her boyfriend was killed.” I decided to fill in the blanks. “The one she was cheating on. Cheating that you knew about. And I know you said that you didn’t really witness anything, but between you and me and that bear over there…” The white plush toy, incongruous in this setting, didn’t comment. “I know you were watching her.”

  “I didn’t…” Ronnie was blushing. Not a good look for him. “I mean…”

  “Yes, I know.” I cut him off before he could start with the excuses. “You weren’t stalking her or acting like some kind of creepy peeping Tom. You just happened to see her or overhear her when she went off to meet her other male friend.”

  He looked up, blinking.

  “And I won’t let anyone know how you abuse the perks of your job, like the manager’s office. Or your access keys.” That was an inspired improvisation, but from the way his color changed—red to white and back again to an unhealthy flush—I knew I’d hit pay dirt.

  “Okay, Ronnie.” I lowered my voice to the command tone, and continued, speaking clearly and slowly. “Now if you want me to keep your secrets, you have to tell me what you saw.”

  “It wasn’t like that.” The room was stuffy, but that wasn’t why he was starting to sweat. His face was as red as the cheap valentine I spied on the sofa beside him. Following my glance, he shoved under one meaty thigh. “I only meant to—I liked looking at her.”

  I nodded. I figured as much, and he was probably too timid to do more, though that valentine made me wonder. “Go on.”

  “I didn’t actually see, you know. Them.” His voice dropped. “Going at it.”

  My raised eyebrows expressed my skepticism. I didn’t need to be aggressive to establish myself as the alpha. Simply firm.

  “No, really.” He was eager to convince me now. To win me over. “In fact, I don’t even know if he was…I mean, yeah, she was sneaking out to see him. I’d hear her say she was going to walk the dog. She said it to the dead guy. Before he was dead.”

  “I get it.” I didn’t need Ronnie tripping over his own syntax.

  “Anyway, she’d say something like, ‘I want to take Fatty for a long walk.’”

  “Pudgy,” I corrected him automatically and immediately regretted interrupting his chain of thought. “So she’d pretend she was only going for a walk,” I prompted.

  “Uh huh.” He nodded vigorously. “And I couldn’t follow. I mean, I have a job.” Translation: Cheryl was either too quick or too slick for him to follow. “But twice I did see a guy. And once I heard them talking. Only, I couldn’t really hear.”

  “It’s a bit late to get cold feet.” I pointed out the obvious.

  “I think she called him her brother.” His face kind of squished up on that last word. Even Ronnie had some limits.

  “I’m sure she was talking metaphorically.” He blinked, confused. “She didn’t mean it,” I translated. “Or maybe they were cooking up their alibi. Anyway, what did this guy look like?”

  “I don’t know.” He shrugged. I waited. “He was a guy.”

  I waited, looking around the room from the crusty towel in the corner back to Ronnie. “Young, fancy haircut,” he said finally.

  Not Benazi, then. I hadn’t thought this was likely, but it was good to know. “So not an older guy, with gray hair?”

  “No,” he shook his head. “Just kind of normal brown. I mean, he wasn’t even that buff. Kind of skinny, if you know what I mean.”

  Coming from Ronnie that could have meant anything. He weighed in at well over two-fifty. But it did tend to rule out the beefy blond from the restaurant, even if I had seen him poking about before. “Did you ever see him come to the condo, like when Teddy Rhinecrest was out?” I was thinking of those phone lines, though why Cheryl’s boy toy would do anything so obvious was beyond me.

  “Nuh uh.” Ronnie was shaking his head. “Never. Mr. Rhinecrest didn’t even have any of his friends over.”

  I thought of Benazi then. “He had friends?”

  “I guess.” A shrug. “I mean a rich guy like that? It’s not like there’s a lot to do around here, except…uh…” He was blushing again. “Be alone with his girlfriend.”

  “I heard he liked to play cards.” It was time for me to disengage. “But speaking of —you ever actually talk to Cheryl Ginger?”

  “No, never.” He looked disconsolate as he stared at the desk.

  “But she called you.” Something wasn’t making sense. “Looking for me?”

  “No.” He shook his head, adamant. I was about to call him out. To break through this final lie, when he explained. “She wasn’t the lady who was looking for you, Pru. This one came up from the city. I think she was the dead guy’s wife.”

  Chapter Twenty

  “So, can you do something about the rabbits?”

  Ronnie’s words made no sense. I blinked up at him. “What?”

  “The rabbits,” he repeated. “They’re like everywhere. I’m supposed to get the grounds all nice for the open house next month but they’re just going to eat everything.”

  I waited, not understanding.

  “I thought, maybe…” He leaned in, his voice dropping. “…you had some traps?”

  “No, Ronnie. I’m not going to kill rabbits for you.” I put my hand up to keep him from moving in any closer. “And back up. You said Teddy Rhinecrest’s wife—his widow—called for me?”

  “Yeah, yesterday.” He shrugged. “She said she wanted to talk to you. To the lady who found her husband. I’ve got her number here.”

  He crossed over to a desk that looked like it did double-duty as a dinner table, if the crumbs and greasy paper bag were any indication. Pushing aside a dirty plastic fork, he pulled out a pile of stained paper napkins. On one of them, I could make out a number.

  “These?” I tried to read the name on top.

  “Theresa,” he said. “And that’s a 212 number.” City, then, rather than the suburbs.

  “Of course.” I folded it with the grease—and the number—on the inside and tucked it into my pocket. “Wait, did she ask for the lady who found her husband, or did she ask for me by name?”

  “She knew your name.” He blinked, but he must have seen something on my face because he followed up. “I think the cops must have told her,” he said.

  I wasn’t about to reveal what Creighton had told me, so I nodded as I turned to go. This was a lot to digest.

  “Hey, Pru?”

  I didn’t even bother turning around. “Forget the rabbits, Ronnie,” I said. “I’m not going to do it, and neither are you. Try planting some rabbit-resistant plants, like irises. Or, hey, cat mint.” Wallis would appreciate that, I thought.

  “No, I mean—what you know?” I turned. He was blushing again, the flush highlighting the broken veins around his nose. “You won’t tell your guy, right? I mean, he’s a cop.”

  “That you spy on the pretty female guests?” He squirmed, and I thought of Wallis again. Wallis with a small rodent, pinned. I knew that Creighton was off the case, officially at least. Ronnie clearly didn’t. “I won’t if you stop doing it, Ronnie. Even pretty ladies are entitled to some privacy.”

  ***

  I hadn’t gotten much from Ronnie, and I doubted he’d change his behavior. His life was too dull without his illicit thrills, and his mental capacity was such that he wasn’t likely to hold onto to a threat for very long. Still, I made a mental note to check the blinds and curtains in my own house as I got back into my car and drove back toward town. I had a few other appointments that day, but by now my curiosity was piqued. It seemed obvious that Teddy Rhinecrest’s girl on the side had some extracurricular activity of her own. But now that the widow was in the picture, the motives for his demise were adding up.

  On a whim, I calle
d Creighton.

  “Hey, Jim.” I got his voice mail. “You around? I know you said you’re off the case, but can you think of any reason why Teddy Rhinecrest’s widow would want to talk to me?” I mulled over the possibilities before the line cut off. If Benazi hadn’t surfaced, I’d have bet she’d be a prime suspect. If Creighton wasn’t looking into her, I wanted to know why. And why she’d called me. “She can’t think I’m the girlfriend, can she?”

  I considered this as I drove. Cops are notorious for not sharing information. From all I knew, the Feds were worse. And yet somebody had told the widow that I had been the one to find her husband’s body. Either somebody had slipped up, or Teddy Rhinecrest’s widow had a lot of clout. Unless, I thought, my eyes searching the sky for that hawk again, someone wanted to set me up. Wanted me in the hot seat, answering questions.

  “Oh, Gregor.” I tried the name out as I drove. The sky above was empty at midday, but that was as ominous a sign as any. Spring is prime time for birds. Mating, nesting, bustling about to feed themselves and their young after the long winter. A sunny day like this, I should be seeing four or five species, easily, without any effort. Unless the cardinals and catbirds had a reason for staying low and under branches.

  One way or another, I was going to have to deal with the old man. Not that I was going to give him any information. It wasn’t simply that I didn’t have any, but to pass along things I learned from my clients—or their pets—was, if not unethical, not quite kosher either, and I wasn’t going to establish the precedent. He liked me, in his way. I knew that. But I needed him to respect me—respect more than my facility with animals.

  And then it hit me. I’d been blinded by my fear, the mouse before the cobra. Benazi had caught me off guard by showing up unexpectedly, and not by accident. No, this was an old tactic, designed to counter my defenses. But I was a behaviorist. I had my own set of skills, tools I used to break down defenses and ingrained bad habits. And I had experience with killers who were cooler even than Benazi. Smaller, maybe, and covered in fur, but more blood-thirsty.

  I thought of Wallis, of what she had taught me. And I knew I could do this. I could turn this around. Stop being the prey and regain some control over my own life.

  If I was careful, if I was good, I could use my training—much like Benazi’s own tricks—against him. I could get him to respond, as any wild beast would, to my cues and prompts. It wouldn’t be easy, not like the simple routines I used on Tracy Horlick. He was smart enough to be aware of my techniques, and that meant he not only would resist, he would be on his guard.

  I didn’t see any other choice.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  I had lied to Cheryl Ginger when I’d said I was busy. Let clients think you’re available at all hours, and they’ll come to expect immediate service. Let them believe they have to make an appointment and wait, they’ll respect you more. It’s not a technique I use on animals. They can handle honesty—prefer it, actually—and I play my role straight with them whenever possible. People, though, they need manipulating. And so with everyone —everyone but Benazi, that is—I did this automatically, almost as a second nature, although Wallis would probably take credit for some of the attitude I gave off to unexpected requests.

  As I drove, I found another reason to be grateful for the routine mind game. I’d been acting on instinct and habit—reacting, mostly—and I wanted time to step back. To consider what was going on. To prepare.

  Cheryl Ginger, Benazi, and now Theresa Rhinecrest all wanted something from me, and that had put me in the middle of something I had no interest in. Yeah, a guy had been killed. But I didn’t really know him, I didn’t like him, and he wasn’t even a client when he died. I had no dog in this fight, and even less interest now that he was dead.

  But as long as the redhead was willing to pay, I couldn’t simply stop taking her calls. And Benazi, well, I’d figure that out. In the meantime, I decided to enlist a little aid. Creighton might be off the case, but that didn’t mean he would be out of the loop entirely. And if he was still pissed off at the Feds, so much the better.

  Beauville’s cop shop is in the new part of town. Built of red brick that’s supposed to evoke our New England heritage, it’s got a big glass foyer that’s too cold in winter and a sweat box in summer, proof that architects don’t pay attention beyond the basic look. It also shares an interior wall with the Beauville Shelter, a bare-bones office for animal control that also houses a few, usually empty cages in back. Albert’s too lazy to collect nuisance animals, and anyone in the know—myself included—would rather bring any poor beast to County, our animal hospital, than here.

  “Hey, Albert.” I pushed open the glass door to the right, figuring I’d use my visit here as my excuse, in case anyone asked. “How’s it hanging?”

  “Hey, Pru.” He started to rise from behind his desk, the crumbs falling off him like rain. “Been meaning to call you.”

  “Oh?” I leafed through the fliers on his desk. He probably hadn’t, and I did like to keep abreast of the latest developments. “You see this about mosquito spraying?”

  “What? No.” He looked down, blinking, as I handed him the paper. “Oh.” He nodded, and I had to wonder if he could read.

  “You should post this.” I pointed to the bulletin board. “Tell people to close their windows and keep their pets inside.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” He lumbered over to the board, hiking up his pants with one hand as he walked. I averted my eyes, turning instead toward his desk.

  “You bring Frank in today?” The little mustelid liked to lurk in Albert’s desk drawers. Sometimes, I knew, that was because he’d find his person’s forgotten edibles in there. Sometimes, I suspected, it was because he was embarrassed.

  “No, not today.” Albert lumbered back. He’d managed to tack the paper up—over a notice of the county’s mandatory vaccinations. “He’s still kind of frisky. Spring fever, I guess.” He chortled and put his hand up over his mouth, though whether embarrassed by the sexual allusion or his poor dentition, I had no idea.

  “You might think about taking him over to Doc Sharpe,” I said. “Get him neutered.” I don’t begrudge anyone their sexuality. Pets, however, get along better when they’re not hormone-crazed. Come to think of it, Albert would do a lot better with a few snips himself.

  From the look of shock and horror that came over the animal control officer’s face, I wondered momentarily if I had spoken my thoughts out loud. Then I realized that, no, Albert simply identified a bit too strongly with the ferret. That he did so, simply in terms of sexuality and gender and not intellectual curiosity, was not something I could explain.

  “Never mind.” I shook my head in apology. This wasn’t a battle I wanted to fight. Not now, when I needed Albert’s goodwill. “Hey, Albert, I wanted to ask you about Ronnie.”

  He had sat behind his desk again and looked up, blinking. I took that for assent.

  “Is he…?” I debated how to phrase this. “Can his perception be trusted?”

  Albert’s mouth opened a bit more as he parsed my question.

  “I mean, when he says something, do you believe him?” It wasn’t completely what I meant. I thought it likely Albert would believe almost anything anyone said to him, but it was a start.

  “Do you —ah—like him, Pru?” Albert’s eyes were wide with astonishment.

  “It’s just that I asked him about something.” I paused, trying to find the simplest words. “And I’m not sure if I can believe his answer.”

  He shrugged. “He told you about the lady, right?”

  “What about the lady?” If Albert asked me about the voyeurism, I was going to set him straight.

  “The one who called for you. The wife?”

  “The widow?” That woman was thorough.

  He was nodding. “She called me, too. She really wants to talk to you. Said there’d be money in it.�
��

  I didn’t have a good feeling about this, but I couldn’t blame Albert for that. He knew I was usually looking for work. Hell, most of Beauville was usually on the lookout for a few quick bucks. Somehow, though, I didn’t think this would be easy money.

  “I gave her your number, Pru.” I closed my eyes. There was no sense in taking this out on Albert. “So, maybe, you know, you might introduce me, too?”

  My best intentions only go so far, and I left before my claws came out, letting the glass door slam behind me.

  My phone rang while I was walking to my car. I’d meant to swing over to Creighton’s office, but Albert had gotten me riled up, and I didn’t want to be seen as running to my boyfriend all ruffled. Better I should pick up something for lunch, and then come back and interrupt his paperwork. Maybe I could satisfy another appetite with my beau.

  “Hello?” The number wasn’t one I recognized. From the area code, I had a good idea what to expect. “Mrs. Rhinecrest?”

  “Why, no,” said a male voice. “Were you expecting her?”

  “I—” I hate being at a loss for words. “I’m sorry, I thought I recognized her number.”

  “Don’t get too many calls from the city, do you?” The man chuckled, a deep rumble.

  “May I help you?” I turned to look back at the cop shop. Two of Creighton’s deputies walked back, deep in conversation. “I’m rather busy.”

  “Did I step on the country mouse’s tail?” Another chuckle. I was ready to hang up. “Well, I’m sorry. But I am an associate of Theresa Rhinecrest’s, and it’s in that capacity that I’m reaching out to you.”

  “Yes?” He’d bought himself a minute more of my time with the use of her full name. No more.

  “I’d like to talk to you about your acquaintance with the late Mr. Rhinecrest.” He must have sensed my impatience, because he started talking more quickly. “About his time in Beauville.”

  “I’m sorry.” I wasn’t, and my tone made that clear. “I didn’t know the man, and I’m busy.”