When Bunnies Go Bad

by Clea Simon

  She’d gone over to the desk and opened a drawer. For a moment, I tensed. If she pulled a gun on me, I had little recourse. When she pulled out a pack of cigarettes, I was nearly as stunned.

  “Do you mind?” She didn’t wait for an answer, lighting one by inhaling with rapid puffs.

  “You smoke?” It was an idiotic comment. “I thought you were an athlete,” I explained.

  “I was,” she said. The nicotine seemed to be calming her, her shoulders lowering as she exhaled. “I was also an ex-smoker until…” She gestured with the glowing butt. “All this.”

  “I don’t want to make things worse,” I said. It was true. “But I’ve been dragged into this. Or, I should say, people I know have been—are involved.” I never thought I’d come to Ronnie’s defense, but I had to admit, I was worried about the big guy. “So I need some answers.”

  Twin plumes of smoke from her nostrils and she took another drag. “I know,” was all she said. “I mean, I’m trying to get to the bottom of this, too. I told him, I’m doing the best I can.”

  That might have been true in part. It wasn’t the whole truth, though. It was time to put some pressure on.

  “I’ve figured some of this out, Cheryl,” I said. “I know what you’re hiding.”

  She took another drag. The smoke wasn’t only calming, it was cover. Holding the cigarette, inhaling—it gave her something to do with her hands, a reason to modulate her breathing. But Stewie—he knew something was wrong. The spaniel was still seated. His training, as I’d noted before, was good. His long, soft ears were at attention, however. His sensitive nose attuned to more than the smoke.

  It was time.

  “Cheryl, I know about Teddy Rhinecrest,” I said. I’d been leaning against the wall. Now I stood and took a step toward her. “And I know you’re working with the Feds.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She spit the words out as she marched by me, over to the dresser, where an ashtray already held several butts. “That’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard. If you know anything about this, then you know, that’s not—” She stopped. I waited, but she’d clammed up, her pretty mouth set in a tight line.

  “Cheryl?” She was so close to giving me something, but she only shook her head. “You can talk to me. I…” I paused, unsure of how much I wanted to give her. “I hear things. I know things I shouldn’t, and I know about keeping secrets.”

  “So I gather.” Her voice was cold. “You’ve been vouched for.”

  “Cheryl.” This was getting nowhere. “Look, I just want out, okay? And I want my friends to not be part of this anymore.”

  A humorless laugh as she stubbed out the cigarette, not even half smoked.

  “Cheryl, I gave him the collar.”

  She turned, eyes wide. “You what?”

  “You heard me. He recognized it right away. Thanked me, too. What is it?”

  She might have been a better actor than I’d thought, but I didn’t think she was faking the way she stumbled back and sat down on the bed.

  “I said—I told you…” She was shaking her head. “Don’t you see what you’ve done? You’ve killed me. You’ve killed us both.”

  “What are you talking about? He recognized it. You got it from him, didn’t you?”

  “From Benazi? No.” She had gone so pale, the dark shadows beneath her eyes stood out like bruises. “Even you…”

  “Wait, I didn’t give it to Benazi.” She blinked up at me, and I realized we’d been talking at odds. “I gave it to your friend. I said that. The dark-haired man. The one you’re working with.”

  “You think I’m…?” Her voice was unnaturally high. She was faking it, or trying to. Doing a decent job, considering the shock she’d had, but I wasn’t buying it. It helped that Stewie was whining softly—not out of concern for his mistress, it came to me, but because I had pictured the man from the woods in my mind.

  “Look, I know you’re working with him. I know he’s a Fed.” I was watching her as I spoke, and so I saw when she started slightly. “I think you were passing messages to him about Teddy Rhinecrest,” I said, my theory confirmed. “I think they’re looking for whatever got him killed.”

  The pieces were falling into place. “And, yeah, I get it. Benazi’s looking for the same thing.” Now was the time to ask her something I didn’t know. “It wouldn’t have anything to do with that art heist, would it?”

  Two pink spots appeared in her cheeks as she blinked up at me.

  “Wow, you’re in the middle of this, aren’t you?” I sat back on the chaise, shaking my head. “Come on, Cheryl. I think it’s time for you to tell me everything.”

  “There’s nothing to tell.” She slumped back. The fatigue was catching up with her.

  “Come on.” I wasn’t buying it. I was, however, looking at Stewie. The spaniel had jumped up on the bed beside her and was wagging his tail. “She’s good,” he was saying to himself and to me. “We’re both good. We do our job.” I was beginning to wonder about the little dog’s intelligence. Then again, it was also possible that the spaniel didn’t understand the extent of Cheryl’s subterfuge. “Were you and Theresa working this together?”

  “What? No.” Cheryl shook her head. “I was supposed to find out what I could about Teddy’s…activities. But I couldn’t, and then he was killed. That’s all.”

  “So Teddy was involved with the museum heist?”

  She shrugged. “So they say. I never saw any proof.”

  “Then why…?” A memory was tickling my brain. Something about the one person who had been convicted—and the fact that I’d not been able to find any trace of Cheryl Ginger online. Something overheard—and misunderstood—by Ronnie. Something about family. “Ginger’s not your real last name, is it?”

  She shrugged again.

  “It’s—what?—Gittelson? Paul Gittelson is your brother. He was the driver, right?”

  Stewie began to whimper, and I realized Cheryl was crying.

  “He was just a kid,” she said, swiping at the tears. It did no good; they were coming fast. “Just a stupid kid. I’ve taken care of him ever since our parents died. I knew he was hanging out with a bad crowd, but I didn’t think he’d be so…” She sniffed and reached for a tissue. “So stupid.”

  “You made a deal to get him off.”

  She shook her head. “He’s not getting off, but if I can provide some info, he might get parole. Might have,” she corrected herself. “I don’t have an in anymore, now that Teddy’s dead.”

  “So you had no reason to kill him.” One theory shot.

  Another demurral. “Maybe it’s just as well,” she said, once she’d wiped her face. “I couldn’t—I wanted out. Teddy never trusted me. He never trusted anybody. Maybe he didn’t know anything.”

  I doubted that. “So what was his wife after?”

  She shrugged again. “Teddy didn’t like to talk about her. But they’d been married forever. I don’t think she’d work with the Feds.”

  “No, of course not.” I leaned back on the chaise, remembering how she’d responded. How she’d thought Parvis had abandoned her. “I think the PI was working on his own. He must have heard something, or suspected something, and thought he could cash in.”

  “He was a pig.” She spit the word out, and I turned to her.

  “He talked to you?” We’d both sat up straight.

  “Threatened me, more like.” She glanced up at me, anger sparking in her eyes.

  “Did he know?”

  “No,” she said. “Not about me. But he’d put two and two together about Teddy, and he thought, ’cause he was working for his wife, it gave him leverage.”

  “With you?” Something wasn’t adding up.

  “No, with Teddy and then—with his friends.” She shook her head in disbelief. “He was telling everyone that it was u
p to him what the wife got—what her lawyers knew about. He was threatening everybody.”

  “That was stupid,” I said. What I didn’t say was that it had probably gotten him killed. She nodded. She’d reached the same conclusion. “So what are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “Brian—he’s the guy who gave me the collar—he thinks I’m missing something.”

  “But surely…?” I looked around. The suite was luxurious. It wasn’t that big, though. “They’ve been through the condo, right? And all your stuff.”

  “Brian and Teddy’s friends, too. Each side thinks I’m holding out, and if Teddy’s friends find out I was working with the Feds…” She didn’t have to finish.

  “I wonder if Parvis found anything?” I saw the answer on her face. “No, they’d have gotten it—the ‘friends’ who killed him—and they’d be leaving you alone now.” I also saw how miserable she was. “Look, let me talk to Creighton—”

  “No, you can’t. Not now.” She jumped up. “Please. I know I said that about your boyfriend. I was upset, and I thought he was working with Brian…” She paused. “It’s all just gotten too complicated.”

  “You need some allies here, and I’m not enough.” I stood, reluctantly, and looked at Stewie, who was also standing now, his ears perked.

  “She has me. I’m here.” His declaration was clear, his entire body alert. “I’m on it. And I’m good at sniffing things out.”

  Chapter Forty-three

  I promised Cheryl I wouldn’t talk to Creighton. I wasn’t sure if I was going to keep that promise, but it was the only way I could keep her calm. After that, I took Stewie for his walk. Cheryl was nervous, even about that, but the way Stewie looked at her, along with his soft, plaintive whine, prompted her to give me the okay.

  “We won’t go far,” I said, clipping the spaniel’s lead on. “And remember, I’m working for you. It would look strange if I came by and didn’t walk your dog.”

  Once we were outside, Stewie led the way through the parking lot and onto the trail we had started down the day before.

  “Hang on, Stewie,” I said out loud. “Cheryl doesn’t want us going too far.”

  “We have to meet him. My master. He’s here.” The little dog was too well trained to pull on the leash, but he took all the slack I gave him and looked back, eager for more.

  “He’s here?” I dropped my voice, unsure of who besides the spaniel was listening.

  “Up ahead! Up ahead!” The little dog barked, his tail wagging.

  I was torn. I had no desire to run into the dark-haired man—Brian—again, but I knew more now and thought I could demand some answers. Besides, the spaniel was quite excited, and the exercise would do him good. Toy dogs may look like they’re made to sit around all day, but they can get into trouble if they get bored. That was what I was getting paid for, after all.

  “Okay, boy.” I let him—and my rationalization—lead me farther into the woods. All the while, I was thinking about this man, Brian. I didn’t like him. I didn’t like how he had pressured Cheryl into helping him, into helping the Feds. It didn’t seem kosher. Then again, I didn’t know what heat he was under. Creighton might be a boy scout at heart, but I’m not so naïve as to imagine that law enforcement always plays fair.

  “No!” Somewhere nearby a thrush surprised a blue jay, chasing the interloper out of his nest. “Get away!”

  Right here, right here…yes!” A mole following his nose had found a nest of worms.

  Stewie, however, was having none of it. Instead, he was positively quivering with excitement as he hurried me along at a pace that was giving me second thoughts. The little dog would not do anything to endanger Cheryl, and by extension, he would be protective of me. One thing about animals, unlike humans, they don’t dissemble. That didn’t mean their judgment was always good.

  “Stewie, heel.” I stood still as the dog turned to look back at me.

  “Must I?” I didn’t need my special sensitivity to read the plea in his eyes.

  “Heel, Stewie,” I repeated, for myself as much as for him. “We’ve gone far enough now.”

  “Indeed you have, Ms. Marlowe.” The figure who stepped out from the shadows wasn’t dressed for a walk in the woods. Not unless you consider a grey sharkskin suit proper attire for trekking.

  “Benazi.” I felt like I’d been punched in the gut.

  “Gregor, please.” He stepped forward with a smile and bent to pet the spaniel’s head. “And how are you today, my friend?”

  “I’m a little confused.” I looked from one to the other, but all I saw was an old man petting a dog. That dog was wagging his tail.

  “You were expecting someone else?” Benazi straightened up and turned his hawklike gaze on me.

  I didn’t answer. I suspected he knew who I thought was going to be there. I also suspected I didn’t want to know what had happened to the dark-haired agent.

  “Dear Ms. Marlowe, you needn’t be concerned.” His smile broadened as he read my face. “Sometimes it is necessary to employ intermediaries, simply to keep things uncomplicated.”

  “Wait.” I looked from Benazi to the spaniel and back up again. Stewie was wagging his tail, happy as a lark. “Are you saying that Brian…?” I didn’t like the man. That didn’t mean I was going to name him as a Fed. “That he works for you?”

  “He sidelines.” Benazi dipped his head as he corrected me. “He does, in truth, work for a certain agency. But as you well know, all creatures are susceptible to both pressures and incentives. I believe you would refer to this as the basis for behavioral training. Am I correct?”

  He paused, as if waiting for me to respond. All I could think of then was my plan to use my training on him. My farcical, suicidal plan.

  I don’t know what he saw in my face. I don’t know if I wanted him to, but he began to speak again. “For various reasons, this one creature has become open to, shall we say, sharing certain forms of information?”

  “Sharing information with…” I stopped myself in time. Gregor Benazi had an old-school charm about him, an air that made me think that calling him out as a gangster would be unwise. At the very least, he might consider it rude.

  “He believes me to be working with a certain insurance agency.” The silver-haired man answered my unspoken question. “He knows of my interest in retrieving various objects, and he doesn’t believe that passing along information is against his interest.”

  “Then why did you threaten Cheryl Ginger?”

  “Did I?” The smile grew broader. “Or did I simply warn her to be careful? As you may have overheard, Ms. Marlowe, I am more concerned about certain of my colleagues than I am about any government agency. Some of my associates are less forgiving of lapses in judgment.”

  Lapses in judgment. “You’ve got that girl coming and going.” I was getting angry.

  “Not I.” He arched one white brow, a look that accentuated the hawkishness of his features. “Brian Dalehy’s people roped her into this preposterous masquerade. My involvement has given certain of my colleagues cause to restrain themselves. Only they are not patient people, Ms. Marlowe. Not at all.”

  “Martin Parvis?”

  He shook his head. “That was regrettable, but he was not a patient man, either. His search was becoming too public and too loud.”

  “And Teddy Rhinecrest?”

  “Also regrettable.” Another sad, slow shake.

  “So much for honor among thieves.” I was missing a piece. “Was he holding out? Was he making his own deal?”

  “Are these questions you want to be asking, Ms. Marlowe?” That eyebrow again. “I met you here today simply to reassure you that Cheryl Ginger is in no immediate danger. I know you have come to feel responsible for her, and in my own way, so have I.”

  “Thanks.” I couldn’t put any warmth into the word, but he no
dded anyway. And with another quick pet of Stewie’s head, he turned to walk off. “But wait,” I called. He paused and turned back. “You didn’t arrange this—I mean, the dog…?”

  He smiled and turned away again. I watched as he disappeared into the woods.

  Chapter Forty-four

  I stood there, staring, long after his suit—silver-gray like his hair—had disappeared into the shadows. Only when I heard the roar of an engine—a defiant growl, a statement—did the spell break, and I turned and tore back toward the hotel, Stewie running alongside me.

  I didn’t care what I’d told Cheryl. Just then, I didn’t care what shortcuts my beau might have taken—or what stories he’d told me in the process. I needed to talk to Creighton. More important, I needed to warn Ronnie. The fat man had poked his way into a hornets’ nest with this one, and no matter how distasteful I found him, I didn’t want him to be hurt.

  First, of course, I had to maneuver Cheryl. And that thought caught me up short right by the Chateau’s front door.

  “Stewie.” I looked down at the little dog. He sat and stared up at me, good dog that he was, waiting for a command. “I need you to tell me everything you know.” A quizzical tilt made one ear flop. “Come on, now, boy. You know you can.”

  “Tell?” I sighed at his simple question. That translation problem.

  “Benazi, Brian…” I did my best to picture them in my mind. “Tell me about them.”

  “Trust the master.” That tail started thumping on the ground again. To the spaniel, this was a no-brainer.

  The master? Okay, I’d deal with that later. But, no, Stewie wasn’t done. With one paw in the air, in a begging motion, he got my attention, and I crouched beside him, the better to hear.

  “Trust the master.” Those dark eyes were full of soul, willing me to believe. “He trusts you.”

  I didn’t have much to say to that, and besides, I needed to get going. Although the hotel clerk averted his eyes as we walked in, it was clear he’d been watching us through the glass door. He’d broken the rules for Cheryl Ginger, but I thought he might be regretting that now—at least as far as I was concerned.