by Susan Slater
“Do you have a name?”
“Not important. I have information, the kind of stuff you’re looking for.”
“On the scam to defraud United L & C with the death of a few select Charolais?”
“I don’t give a flying fuck about a handful of cows. You and I both know the feds aren’t talking beefsteak. But, yes, that among other things.”
“So, why don’t you tell me what they are interested in.” Dan hated the guy’s attitude but informants were rarely the cream of humanity.
“Drugs. Money. Anything illegal.”
“How do I figure in?”
“You’re going to get the proof.”
“And if I say no?”
“You won’t.”
“How do you know?”
“Trust me. You’re already in up to your dick.”
Dan thought of Billy Roland, then Phillip and the feds. Maybe he already had a vested interest. The asshole was probably right.
“What happens next?”
“I get back in touch. When do you go back to the ranch?”
“Monday.”
“You’ll hear from me.”
Then the phone went dead. He walked back across the street and unlocked the door to another ringing phone. Wasn’t his night to get any rest, it seemed. He could barely recognize Elaine’s voice through the sobs, something about Buddy being dead and someone breaking into her house. He said he’d be there in ten minutes, told her to call the cops and stay put.
The first thing he saw when he pulled in her drive was the car door open on the Benz and a purse lying on the ground about two feet away, open, with its contents spilled across the driveway. He hit the back door, burst into the kitchen and heard the sound of crying coming from the study. Elaine was sitting cross-legged cradling the body of Buddy in the middle of the floor, surrounded by an unbelievable mess of papers and books and overturned furniture. Her head was buried in the fur of his neck and her shoulders shook convulsively. The dog’s eyes stared unseeing at the ceiling and his legs were beginning to stiffen.
He called her name. She looked up startled, then wiped at her eyes.
“Are you hurt?” Dan dropped to his knees. She shook her head. “Have you called the police?”
“Nothing’s missing.”
“Are you sure?”
“TV’s here, CD player, computer….”
“Jewelry?”
“Nothing’s gone. They said to fill out a report at the station.”
“And Buddy? I think we ought to have a vet check him. Find out cause of death.” When she agreed, he called a twenty-four-hour emergency animal clinic and said they’d be there in twenty minutes. He was glad he’d rented a Jeep; Buddy was a good seventy-five pounds or more and even wrapped in a blanket, difficult to maneuver into the vehicle.
While they waited for the results of the examination, Elaine told him how she’d come home to find the back door open and heard Buddy howl, just one long painful cry. Like he’d been waiting on her. He’d died in her arms. There were fresh tears, but she was regaining composure. The vet assured them that he’d died of overexertion. Something excited him, frightened him, but he’d probably not been touched. Just one of those old age and shock things.
Elaine spent a few minutes saying her good-byes and then chose to let the vet cremate him. Dan heard himself offer to dig a grave in the yard; he knew it was past midnight, but Elaine just thanked him and said that this was all right. They drove home in silence.
He helped her put the house back in order. Book cases were replaced, repaired in one instance, and papers sorted. Elaine was right. Nothing had been taken but the next question was—what was someone looking for?
“I don’t know what I could have and not even know it.”
“Something of Eric’s?” There it was again. His name. The ghost between them. He couldn’t forget he was here partly because the feds wanted him to be. Wanted him to look for anything that would give them Billy Roland.
“Were there any papers, I don’t know, something Eric had kept here at the house?”
“No. I bought this house after he was gone. He never lived here. Never saw the place. I stored his personal things. I wanted this place to be mine, no memories.”
“Were there any personal effects? Something they would have sent you from Texas?”
She was shaking her head, then looked up, “The bank called last week and said I should come get the contents of a safe deposit box, one I didn’t even know he had. It was in his name only. I had to provide a death certificate to take the stuff with me.”
“What was in it?”
“Nothing unusual. A passport. A picture of his parents. A ring of keys.”
“Keys?”
“I recognized the ignition key to his Jaguar. A car he sold twelve years ago. Kept it for sentimental reasons, I guess.”
“Did you recognize any others?”
“No. I thought one was to the back door of our old house.”
“Where are the keys now?”
“I tossed them in a drawer at the office.”
“In the morning you’re going to the office, get the keys, and put them in your safe deposit box. Okay?”
She nodded. “Do you think they’re important?”
“Who knows?” He didn’t have to say with Eric’s background, anything might be important. They finished cleaning up. He insisted on staying the night. She didn’t protest. There wasn’t even a question of sleeping in the same bed. The sadness over losing Buddy put a real damper on the evening. He gathered up a comforter and sheets and slept on the daybed in the spare bedroom. It was three before he turned out the lights.
Elaine was up before he was. He found her in the kitchen, perched on a stool by a breakfast bar that separated kitchen from dining room. She didn’t look like she’d slept very well.
“Promise me those keys go into a safe deposit box first thing this morning?”
“I promise.” She tried to smile but wasn’t exactly successful. The temptation was there to kiss her. But this kind of hurt was beyond kissing and making it well.
“I have to run by the office. I promised Carolyn I’d have dinner with them tonight. But, I’ll call later.”
He couldn’t say she’d been invited too, but that he wanted to question Phillip about Eric and it wouldn’t exactly do to have her there. Then before he got to the door, he turned back and made an offer he’d been thinking about. One that would make him feel a whole lot better if she’d take him up on it.
“Want to do something for me?” He waited till she nodded. “I’m going to be out here a month. Would you mind doing a little dog-sitting?”
“Maybe I’m not ready for another dog yet.”
“I’d feel a lot better if I knew you had some protection. Whoever did this to the house last night might come back.” Dirty tactics to play on her fear, but he could see it had worked.
“I suppose you’re right.”
“I’ll get back later.”
***
Dan stopped at the office and called good old Roger and gave him a piece of his mind about scaring everyone half to death, about the dog, about the house being in a mess. Yes, the dog was old but that was no excuse for leaving him dying. Roger had Tom get on the other line. Both vehemently denied breaking and entering. But had Dan expected them to stand up and come forward? No. Not the feds. Not when they were desperate for evidence, grasping at straws.
These were just a couple guys probably getting pushed by their superiors. But that was no excuse. He finally slammed down the phone. But he knew they couldn’t be threatened. They hadn’t found whatever it was they were looking for, which was probably anything that would implicate Elaine. or friends. And they just might be back. That’s why Simon was important.
His next call was to Jonita, the long suffering, longtime employee who kept his socks in order and everything dusted and even looked after Simon during his short trips. Yes, she’d get him out of the kennel and have him ship
ped out. She’d leave a message as to when to meet the plane if she missed him later. She’d try to have him on his way tomorrow morning. He thanked her and told her to put it on the household plastic and was glad he’d left a card with her for emergencies.
He felt good about bringing Simon out. Being away a month or two was hard on him. Both of them. The kennel, a real doggy Club Med on Chicago’s north side, encouraged leaving a video of you and your dog especially if separation was over two weeks. There was even a resident viewing room. He’d never left Simon with home movies, and he’d seemed to do okay. But then, maybe, he just took the teasing from the other dogs, took the ribbing from the snooty Afghans he’d seen there once or twice before. Whatever, it would be good to have him close by.
He called Elaine, but she was out. He hoped putting the stuff of Eric’s into a safe deposit box. He left a message inviting her to go into Albuquerque tomorrow to pick up Simon; he planned to leave late morning. Then he confirmed with Carolyn that dinner was at seven.
***
Dan struggled with the wire. The tape irritated his skin and kept popping off. He told himself that he was only testing it tonight, it was unlikely that Phillip would say anything that would interest anybody. Or was he hoping that Phillip wouldn’t?
He was ambivalent about his brother-in-law. They didn’t have a lot in common. Mostly, he had just ignored Phillip over the years. They had spent the usual stilted holiday dinners together. Everyone being courteous to one another. Carolyn and Phillip were both nice to each of his two wives; they always exchanged inane gifts that usually had to be taken back, but that was Carolyn’s doing. Her taste and his never had been the same.
But, their lives were so different. Phillip started his own electronics firm, manufactured some gizmo that made him rich. Filthy rich probably captured it. Then he’d inherited the family ranch. Put it all together, and you came up with a net worth of a few million. But the money wasn’t a problem, not between them anyway, even though Dan had chosen a four-year degree in criminal law from a local college, and Sis was Smith all the way.
No, when Dan got right down to it, it was Phillip’s back-slapping—“never met a man I didn’t like”—that forever campaigning stance that drove him nuts. He always thought it covered up a slightly superior attitude. Out West breeding but Back East education.
The fakey, but expensive, English Tudor commanded a full unfenced acre of the Country Club Estates, Roswell’s grouping of upper-class homes around a golf course. Carolyn met him at the door and gave him a sisterly peck on the cheek. Their mother must be doing fine this week. Dan followed her into the living room. The house’s forty-five hundred square feet held priceless art work, some Hurd oils he wished he had. The rugs, bright colored kilims, were perfectly placed, blending with the richly polished wood floors.
“It’s nice enough tonight to eat out back. Mosquitoes aren’t too bad.”
They were passing through the kitchen and Carolyn had handed him a covered casserole and gestured toward the French doors leading to the patio. “Phillip’s grilling his fabulous salmon. You’ve had it before.”
“Don’t think so.”
But, then, would he have remembered? Dan stepped out and placed the dish on the table and almost bumped into Dona Mari, who gave him a sour look.
“Hey, old man, can I fix you up with one of these?”
Phillip was waving a bottle of Samuel Adams but it was the fake British thing. That was also on the list of Dan’s dislikes, part of that hale and hearty glad-handing approach.
“Sure.” Dan stretched out on a lounger and tipped up the ice cold beer. “Good.” He nodded Phillip’s way but the man had already turned back to the grill. He studied his brother-in-law and marveled at how little he’d changed over the years. Maybe the teeniest hint of a beer gut belied youth, but it was the same tapered western shirts, calf-roping buckle from a junior rodeo in ’59, five-hundred-dollar Tony Lamas fresh out of the box, and styled hair. Maybe that was it, styled hair and manicured fingernails.
This was a man who prided himself on being an operator. A sweet-talker who got his way. Always. Dan watched as Phillip did a fancy two-step and hummed some country-western tune all the while brushing the salmon with a brown liquid. Carolyn had said that they had been promised the party’s top position on the ticket in two years. Dan wondered how much of the campaign would be funded by Phillip, a sort of under the table, not-to-be-reported million or so.
Dona Mari was setting the table, large gold hoops weighing down her earlobes, a tiered multi-colored skirt making swishing sounds when she passed him. She acknowledged him but seemed grumpy and withdrawn.
The salmon actually was fabulous, but so was the saffron rice and green salad with cilantro dressing. Cooking was obviously an interest that Carolyn shared with Phillip. Funny. He’d never thought about what they did together before, besides promote one another. In that, they were perfect. But what hobbies did they share? He realized he didn’t have a clue. He remembered Carolyn’s fear of small aircraft. That must have caused a problem over the years given Phillip’s preoccupation with flying. He could never imagine them in bed.
Dessert was a crème de-something-or-other. Totally satiated, they sat by the pool and enjoyed the sounds of a desert night. Dona Mari hovered about clearing the table, folded the table cloth, then went back to the kitchen.
Phillip was just offering him a cigar when Dan said, “Tell me about Eric Linden.” There it was. Straightforward. The same request had worked before. Only this time it backfired.
“I would think Elaine would tell you anything she wanted you to know.” This from sister dear. Letting hubby off the hook or just naively stepping in?
“I’d rather get Phillip’s impression.”
“Why?”
Even in the half-light Phillip seemed nervous, or was he imagining things? The tip of the cigar glowed bright red.
“I suppose because I wouldn’t be certain she was telling the truth.”
“You really like her, don’t you?” Dear Carolyn, always the romantic but maybe it wasn’t such a bad cover to let them think he was just trying to be careful about his love life.
“I’m reluctant to get involved if there are any skeletons in the closet.”
“Nothing that would involve Elaine.” Finally, something from Philip.
“How well did you know Eric?”
Phillip pulled on the cigar and exhaled slowly before he answered. “He was a childhood friend, and business acquaintance. Later on, he did some legal work for the company. We flew together, founded a club for single-engine enthusiasts, that sort of thing. Our sons were the same age.” His cigar smoke drifted over Dan.
Dan could see Phillip enjoying the company of another man. Someone with the same hobby. Maybe that was it. He could see Phillip as the consummate good old boy. A cigar, good Scotch, a few loops over the barn in a Piper Cub. It was a lot clearer picture than Phillip the father, the family man, the husband in bed.
“Was he in love with his wife?” God, where had that come from? That wasn’t exactly what he had planned on asking, but Dan found himself very interested in the answer.
“He was a womanizer. Screwed everything in skirts. Took advantage of women. Played on their defenselessness.” This from his usually prissy-mouthed sister. “It was terrible for Elaine.”
“Why’d she stick around?” Now, he was honestly curious.
“Elaine is one of those women who sign up for the duration. Until death do us part. Seriously, she’s a great one for honor and commitment. Thought divorce was admitting defeat, wouldn’t be good for Matthew. Can you imagine?”
Dona Mari had brought coffee and a tray of liqueurs. He chose a crème de cacao cut with half and half, a maraschino cherry floating on the bottom.
“Beso de Angeles. You weesh.” Dona Mari muttered then passed him the drink and laughed that low cackle.
“Elaine deserves the best. She’s been through so much,” Carolyn said.
It crossed
his mind to ask if he qualified, but he didn’t; maybe he was afraid of the answer. He just asked the question that he’d come to ask: “So, was Eric framed? Doing a little work for his employer that he didn’t know about? Or, were the drugs his? Just a way to line his pockets without anyone knowing?”
“His.” Phillip didn’t waste time in answering.
“How do you know?”
“I don’t really. He didn’t confide in me, if that’s what you’re thinking. I just know how much he wanted money. Not needed, really. Elaine had a good salary. His aunt took care of him through the trust set up by his parents. No, I believed him at the trial. Temptation became too much, he helped himself. And, if you had known Eric, that fuck-the-world attitude—he never thought he’d get caught, let alone do time.”
“Seven years seems pretty stiff for a first timer.”
“You don’t know Charley Aspen. Judge Aspen. Wouldn’t have been so bad if Eric hadn’t been a lawyer. Aspen’s a stickler for cleaning up the profession. Tell a lawyer joke within fifty feet of him and you’re dead.”
“You seem to know him pretty well.”
“Old deer hunting buddy. Known him for years.”
“Didn’t you try to talk to Charley, on Eric’s behalf?” Carolyn asked.
“Nothing illegal. I just thought the sentencing was a little severe.”
“What would Eric have done once he got out?” Dan saw Phillip hesitate like he started to say one thing, then reconsidered.
“Elaine had finally served him with papers, so I don’t think he would have come back here,” Carolyn said.
“What do you think, Phillip?”
“He had something set aside from when his aunt died a few years ago. Should have been enough to start over somewhere.”
What had Dan expected? Some admission about the two million? Wouldn’t Eric have confided that? He got the feeling that Phillip knew more than he was saying.
Dona Mari stepped onto the patio carrying a bucket of ice, then stopped, gasped, dropped the bucket and began to shriek in garbled Spanish. She was pointing toward the edge of the lawn where the desert reclaimed its territory and sand met lushness in stark contrast. And there was the figure of a man, some seventy feet away, only partly concealed by a piñon as he gazed toward the house.
