by Clea Simon
With a smile and a nod, I marched right past him, Stewie neatly keeping pace. Into the elevator and up—as I mulled over what to tell Cheryl. We’d hadn’t been out more than fifteen minutes, but I didn’t think her nerves would be improved by the wait.
What I didn’t expect was to find her packed and dressed when she answered the door. All business as she thanked me and took Stewie’s lead. Nor did I anticipate the envelope she handed to me, my name written on the front.
“This is for you,” she said, and giving me the kind of smile I knew men paid for she began to close the door.
“Hang on a minute.” I blocked it with my foot as I tore open the envelope. Another reason to wear boots.
“Isn’t that enough?” I looked up from the crisp twenties to see that the smile had given way to a wide-eyed confusion. “You said, twenty a day.”
“And you’re paying me in advance?” I was offering her an out.
“No.” She didn’t take it. “I’m leaving. I think it best if I just take off. But you’ve been so…helpful.”
“You were going to leave this for me.” I held up the envelope, so neatly addressed. “You were hoping to get out of here before I came back—before we came back. That’s why the extra money.”
Her silence was my answer. I looked past her to the spaniel, who stared back with those big soulful eyes. “I’m sorry,” I said silently, hoping he would understand. “I can’t take you…Wallis wouldn’t accept you.”
Turning back to Cheryl, I was more blunt. “You don’t deserve a dog.”
Chapter Forty-five
I hated leaving him there with her, but I didn’t see any options. At worst, she’d abandon him in the hotel, where he’d be found by housekeeping. But I didn’t think Cheryl Ginger would risk it. Leaving the dog behind would provoke at least a cursory search for her, and she might be acting tough, but she was going on the run. No way the Feds would have approved her taking off like that, and if she was being taken into protective custody—or witness protection—she’d have had some company. Besides, from all I’d gathered, it wasn’t her testimony they wanted. No, the Feds—and whoever else was behind them—wanted what Teddy Rhinecrest had. A treasure that didn’t wear heels.
As I drove, I thought about the envelope in my pocket. I’d taken it, sure. She had it, I needed it, and I wasn’t going to start splitting hairs about how much she actually owed. But if the pretty redhead thought she’d bought my silence, she was wrong. If Stewie showed up in the county shelter, I’d use some of that dosh to re-home him. If not, Wallis and I would eat shrimp.
I kept that happy thought in mind as I headed back toward The Pines. I didn’t know what I would do if Ronnie was there. Warn him, maybe. Make him let me back into Teddy’s condo. I doubted I could find a missing masterpiece that nobody else had, but I figured I had to try. I was sorry, then, that I hadn’t taken Stewie with me. The spaniel might have mixed allegiances, but he certainly had a better nose than anyone else on this hunt.
I could have used the company, too. I was pretty sure nobody had followed me as I turned off the highway and onto the winding drive up to the development. The roads are empty enough this time of year that I’d have noticed anyone, or so I told myself as I slowed to take the curves. What I couldn’t explain was the creeping sensation I had as I made my way up to the condos, a feeling that something more than the forest creatures were watching me. Were waiting for me to make a wrong move.
Wallis would have had a field day with that, seeing me act more like a prey animal than an alpha predator. But she’d have to respect my instincts, as dull as they were. As it was, I didn’t even park once I got up to the cedar-shingled buildings. Just drove slowly around, navigating the circumference road like some kind of security watch. Nothing was stirring, nothing seemed out of place. More to the point, nobody was parked there. I didn’t know what had happened to Ronnie. All I knew was he wasn’t here.
I didn’t want to be either. It was time to give this all up—or at least dump it in the lap of someone who was paid to handle this kind of thing.
I began breathing easier the moment I was back on the highway. I was headed for Creighton’s office, hightailing it just like one of those rabbits I’d watched all winter long.
I have a thing about secrets. I know that. Some of it is because of my parents. Not just my father sneaking out. His endless lies and evasions, but my mother’s masquerade of normalcy—covering up for his drinking and womanizing until the day he finally disappeared with some barfly he’d met at Happy’s. She never gave it up, entirely, insisting on me acting like the prim little lady she wanted me to be. It wasn’t until recently that I’ve found myself wondering what other masks she’d donned. If her perpetual scorn hid something else, a debilitating grief that only her tightly wound propriety kept in check.
Of course, these days I have a real secret. One that would do more damage to my relationships than any amount of Maker’s Mark could. Granted, the only time I’d actually spent in a locked ward had been voluntary—those first few days of my sensitivity, when nothing made sense and I couldn’t shut out even the most inane pigeon warbling. But I’m a pragmatist—I get that from my mother—and I knew how it would look, if I ever let on why I was so good with animals.
It wasn’t a chance I would take. But maybe I didn’t have to. Although Creighton had warned me away from Cheryl, he couldn’t stop me from working—and I thought I could tell him about her deal without involving the spaniel as anything more than a dumb animal, whatever he might truly be. I’d give him Brian, Cheryl’s dark-haired man too, if need be, though not Benazi. I’m not a dumb animal, either.
But when I pulled into the lot besides our town cop shop and didn’t see Jim’s car, I realized I needed to re-think my strategy. I hadn’t called because this was something I wanted to talk about in person, on my terms. Even leaving a message at the precinct house would have limited my options.
No, I decided, I’d wait him out. And in the meantime, I’d check in with Beauville’s other reliably intelligent male.
“Hey, Albert.” The beard bounced up at my greeting. Formal business hours are tough when you drink every night. “How’s Frank?”
“Hi, Pru.” He sat up and looked around, a little lost until he located his coffee mug and a grease-marked bag. “You okay? I mean, last night…”
“Did Ronnie come back?” I had to talk to the fat man. From what I’d learned this morning, the situation was more dangerous than I’d thought. “Have you seen him today?”
“Not yet.” Albert dug into the bag, the twin of last night’s, only this time he pulled out a broken cruller. “Want some?”
“No, thanks.” I sank into the chair opposite to think. “Here you go.” I looked up, but Albert wasn’t talking to me. Frank had poked his head out of Albert’s down vest and was reaching for the donut with two agile paws.
“Whoa, not all of it.” Albert pulled back, breaking the frosted fragment and startling the ferret, who dived down into an open desk drawer. “Look at him.” Albert chuckled as he put the rest of the treat into his own mouth. “Isn’t that what they call ‘ferreting’ something away?”
“Not quite, Albert.” I answered automatically, my mind on the nimble little creature who was, as we spoke, nibbling the glaze off the doughnut. “That’s finding something out.”
“Finding out where the treats are hidden?” The thought reached me from the desk drawer, along with the taste of sugar. “We’re good at hiding things,” he said, as he worked his way into the yeast dough. “Better than you.”
“But Albert, I need to get in touch with Ronnie. I told you he let me use his office computer.” I kept talking. Frank’s words sounded like a warning in my head. Was I exposing myself? Had my focus on animals endangered my secret? “I should thank him.”
“Creighton won’t like that.” I snapped to attention.
“Why not?�
�� My mind raced. Did Jim already know about my search—or about my visit?
“It’s obvious.” Albert popped the rest of the doughnut in his mouth, washing it down with a swig of milky coffee. Most of it made it into his mouth. “He’s that kind of guy. A cop.” He wiped his beard, blending the mess in. “And it’s pretty clear that he’s getting serious about you.”
“Great,” I muttered. From inside the desk, I heard Frank talking to himself. “Hiding things,” it went. “Better than you.”
“Thanks, Albert.” I made myself look at the man before me. “But you really don’t have to worry about my personal life.” I tried to keep the growl out of my voice. “So where would I find Ronnie?”
“He—ah—spends a lot of time at his job.”
So I was right. The man didn’t have an apartment.
“I know he usually sleeps there, Albert.” I wasn’t going to let on that I’d already swung by The Pines. Twice. “But does he have anyplace else?”
A shrug. “Sometimes he just crashes in his truck.” I did my best to keep a poker face, but even Albert heard how that sounded. “I mean, he sleeps in it sometimes. Like, if he has too many at Happy’s.”
“He drink anyplace else?” I would have recognized his truck if it had been parked behind the bar.
“Only if someone is buying.” Albert made it sound like a pipe dream. I wasn’t so sure. Both Benazi and his puppet Brian wanted access. Neither of them would blink at taking advantage of the fat man, whether or not he had anything to share.
“If you see him, tell him to call me.” I got up, too anxious to wait any longer. I paused at the doorway, though, unsure of what to do. But the entrance to both offices is glass, and I knew my hesitation would be as much grist for the gossip mill as any message I could leave. Besides, it occurred to me as I pushed open the door to the cop shop, I had a legitimate concern.
“Hi, Pru.” Sal, Creighton’s deputy, looked up and nodded. “He’s not in.”
“I figured,” I said. What was the point in pretending? “But I’d like to leave a message.”
Sal’s eyebrows went up at that, but Creighton runs a tight ship. No way was she going to ask why she had to be the intermediary. Instead, she typed a few keystrokes and, with a blank face, looked up at me. “Shoot.”
“Tell him I’m looking for Ronnie, the manager at The Pines.” I kept my voice as straight as her face. “Tell him he should be, too.”
Chapter Forty-six
I like driving. Driving can be its own purpose, a meditative take on space and time. What I don’t like is driving restlessly, without pleasure or hope of resolution, but there I was. Once Sal had shot the message off—“he’ll get it as soon as he checks in”—I had no reason to hang around. What I didn’t have was a place to go.
Being a semi-pro behaviorist isn’t what you’d call a full-time job. Even if I had my certification, I’d probably be reaching to fill my schedule out here in the sticks. As it was, old Doc Sharpe, the County vet, threw me as much work as he could. He called it “training,” when he was pitching me to clients, and that made my lack of credentials irrelevant. Sometimes I thought he saw something else in me—suspected something about the connection that made me such a hit with the perplexed pet owners who came in to see him. But he was an old Yankee, way too reserved to ever say anything, and I counted on that to keep me safe even as he directed every odd job he could my way.
A lot of it was simple dog-walking, the kind of gig I had with Growler and Tracy Horlick and, ever so briefly, with Cheryl Ginger and Stewie. Between that and the odd wildlife jobs Albert didn’t want to handle himself, which is to say all of them, I got by. In a month or two, things would even pick up. Now, though, I was looking at a day of waiting with a little worry mixed in. It wasn’t my favorite cocktail.
Without thinking, I found myself turning toward Marnie Lundquist’s house. Wallis might say it was because I’d been thinking like a prey animal that I caught myself pondering the missing brown bunny. I thought it was something more. For all of her worries, Marnie Lundquist was a calming presence, with the kind of down-to-earth kindness that would calm my nerves, as it did Henry’s. I told myself as I drove that it only made sense for me to follow up. Marnie was a steady client, and would be until her granddaughter reclaimed her pet. And while she had relaxed on seeing the evidence that Henry was not only alive, he was still somewhere nearby, I didn’t like to leave her hanging. If I couldn’t use my sensitivity to find one house rabbit, then I wasn’t only not much good as a behaviorist, I was useless as any so-called animal psychic. I had this gift, I told myself as I pulled up in front of her house; I might as well put it to use.
“Why, Ms. Marlowe.” The woman who greeted me at the door was as pleasant and tranquil as I could have hoped. “What a lovely surprise.”
“Good morning, Ms. Lundquist.” I hesitated. I had lost track of time. “I’m sorry to disturb you, but I just couldn’t help thinking about Henry.”
“What a sweetheart,” she said, holding the door open. “Please, come in.”
“Has he surfaced?” I asked as I followed her into the warm kitchen. The smell of baking made the room even cozier than I remembered.
“No, not yet.” She bent to check the oven. “A few more minutes.”
“Excuse me?” The scent was intoxicating, but that feeling of contentment…
“Hot cross buns.” She stood, pushing herself up carefully. “They’ll be ready to take out of the oven in maybe two more minutes.”
“Oh, I couldn’t.” My mouth was watering. I felt…bliss. I needed to focus. “But, Ms. Lundquist, you’re not concerned?”
She shook her head, smiling, as she fetched a cooling rack from the cabinet. “Henry is definitely around here somewhere,” she said. “The level of the hay was way down, and, well, I’m not sure I can explain it…”
I waited. The mix of cinnamon and sugar as heady as any bourbon. As warm…
“All I can say is I feel sure that all is well,” she said at last. Behind her, a timer pinged, and she pulled a tray of the sweet rolls from the oven. “Now, we’ll have to let these cool a bit.”
“I can wait,” I said. This was a home, warmer than anyplace I had ever lived. The key, I thought, my mind wandering, was that there were no secrets here. Only warmth. Hot buns fresh from the oven.
Something was nagging at me. “Maybe I can do another search?” I roused myself. “Earn that bun, so to speak.”
“Of course, dear.” Marnie Lundquist was taking plates out of another cabinet. “If you would like.”
With a smile, I went past her into the pantry. She had refilled the hay rack, but I knelt and put my hand on it, pretending to examine it for visual clues. As I did, I tried to empty my mind. That wonderful scent helped, propelling me into a dreamlike state as if it were I, and not the kitchen, that was filled with warmth.
“Come on, Henry,” I closed my eyes to concentrate better. “You don’t want Marnie to worry.”
Images filed through me. Henry, timid and aware, shying away from my touch and yet meeting my gaze with his large, liquid eyes. Henry shielding himself from me, claiming family. Claiming safety here with this kind, white-haired woman.
I remembered what Frank had said about secrets, about family. What Wallis had said, too.
“They’re ready.” Marnie Lundquist broke into my reverie. “They’ll be hot, but maybe we could break one open and see if they’re any good.”
“I’m sure they are.” I smile up at her, as something close to peace flooded through my veins.
Chapter Forty-seven
“Jim, you’ve got to come over tonight.” I was still feeling mellow when my phone rang, an hour later, my suspicions nearly forgotten. “I’ve got such a treat for you.”
His chuckle broke through my happy haze.
“I mean, baked goods,” I explained, emphasized the last wo
rds. “One of my clients makes the best buns.”
“Your clients can cook now?” I waited while his laughter subsided. “Somehow, I can’t see Wallis wearing an apron.”
“Forget it, Jim.” I hadn’t joined in. I don’t do domestic. “What’s up?”
“Hey, you messaged me.” He was calling from his car. I could hear the squawk of his radio and hoped that the access didn’t go both ways. “You wanted to know about Ronnie?”
“You’ve seen him?” The last of the lingering languor fell from me as I sat up straight. With a worried look, Marnie Lundquist offered succor in the form of a refill. I held out my cup, but all my attention was on the phone. “What happened?”
“The usual.” Creighton sounded casual. Too casual.
“What?” I snapped. My hostess started, splashing the tea onto the saucer. “I’m sorry.” I looked up at her worried face. “Bad news.”
She nodded and retreated to give me privacy, and I missed what Creighton was saying.
“Hang on, Jim.” I stood and walked over to the front door. I didn’t want to bring any sadness into this house.
“I just said, you don’t have to wig out on me.” His voice faded out as he drove. “But since you’re so keen on seeing him, I’m on my way over to The Pines now. I gather he’s been staying there, as well as working there.”
“He’s not there.” I could have pulled my hair out. Creighton wasn’t listening to a thing I said. “I went by last night. This morning, too, and he wasn’t there.”
“I know that, Pru.” He was speaking slowly now, as if explaining himself to a child or to an idiot. “I know he wasn’t there last night. He was at the precinct last night. One of my guys picked him up outside Happy’s. He was all over the road. Not the first time, I might add. We cut him loose this morning. Joe gave him a lift over to the impound about an hour ago. I’ve been in meetings, or I’d have let you know.”
