A Whisky, Tango & Foxtrot Mystery 04 - A Deadly Tail

by Dixie Lyle

  But I thought he looked worried.

  * * *

  I’d been experimenting with different ringtones, and when “The Lion Sleeps Tonight” started playing the next morning while I was putting marmalade on my toast, I knew it was Caroline. She didn’t usually call me so early unless there was a serious problem, so I picked up right away. “Hey, vet lady. What’s up?”

  “I, uh, need you to come see me as soon as you can.”

  “Sure. What about?”

  “Honey badger scat.”

  It took me a moment to process that she was talking about Owduttf droppings and not some new musical group; I was still working on my first cup of English Breakfast. “Oh. And this is urgent because?”

  “Because of what I found in it. A watch.”

  “I see. Have you told anyone else?”

  “Not yet. It’s weird though, right? Why would someone throw that in his cage?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe Keene did it—he was on a real bender the other night.”

  Caroline didn’t say anything for a moment. “Foxtrot, you don’t think this is connected to…”

  “What, the murder? No, of course not.”

  “It’s just that I heard something about the body missing some parts. And the badger did get out that night…”

  I sighed. “Okay, it’s a possibility, but an unlikely one. He’s more of an opportunistic predator than a hunter, right?”

  “Technically, I guess. But that doesn’t mean he isn’t capable of attacking and killing something much larger than he is.”

  “Look, don’t do anything until I get there, okay? We’ll figure this out together.”

  She said she’d wait, and we hung up. I crammed the toast in my mouth, grabbed my thermos mug and filled it, collected Whiskey, and was out the door a minute later.

  When we got to the estate, we went straight to the vet clinic. Caroline was waiting inside. She let us in and took us straight to her desk, where she pulled a small plastic bag out of a drawer. “I didn’t touch it with anything but a metal scoop,” she said, handing it to me.

  I took the bag and held it up. The object inside was a little mangled, but clearly recognizable as a watch. The strap was missing, but Owduttf had probably chewed that part a little more thoroughly. The metal looked like he’d given it a good chomp, then just decided to swallow it whole.

  Wait a minute …

  I peered closely at it. Owduttf hadn’t just given it a chomp, he’d bitten it right at the minute hand, punching the hand into the face of the watch hard enough to embed it. And, of course, stop it.

  Right at eight twenty-two.

  “Thanks for showing me this,” I said. “You’re right, we’ll need to notify the police. I’ll call Forrester and have him come down and get it. How’s the honey badger doing?”

  “Better than I am, I’m sure. Foxtrot, this is terrible. Did one of my animals kill someone?”

  “I don’t think so, Caroline. It seems much more likely he just found the corpse and … well, had a little snack.” I didn’t mention what else Owduttf had consumed; she’d know soon enough. Teeth are notoriously hard to digest.

  I left Caroline and called Forrester as I walked back to the house. He said he’d be out to take a look right away.

  I pocketed my phone after the call and said to Whiskey, “Interesting development. Doesn’t give us time of death, but now we know Rolvink was alive at seven thirty and dead by eight twenty-two. That means we can eliminate Lucky Trentini as a suspect; Max Tervo was with him until just before eight, and Trentini was doing his unlucky-clover thing from then until eight thirty.”

  [Unless he was interrupted by Rolvink. And perhaps killed for it.]

  “That’s a disturbing thought. But even if Trentini was crazy enough to commit murder over such a trivial thing, there wasn’t any clover in the area Rolvink was killed—our gardener is too thorough for that. Lucky said he was talking to Tervo in the graveyard after dinner. I guess Rolvink could have found him out there … but then they’d have to cross the yard where Keene and Oscar were playing croquet, and they would have been seen.”

  [True. As long as Trentini is telling the truth about his clover-leaf obsession, it would seem he’s in the clear. For the murder, in any case.]

  We went into the house and found Ben in the kitchen preparing breakfast for the guests while Tango enjoyed hers at her bowl.

  “How goes the investigation?” Ben asked, cracking eggs into a large steel bowl.

  I poured myself a cup of tea from my thermos as I talked. “Not so good. I’ve eliminated a few suspects, but that’s about it.”

  He grabbed a large whisk and started beating the eggs. “Well, as long as you’re making progress. Anything I can do to help?”

  I sighed, then went over and kissed him. “Just keep everybody fed and me caffeinated. Oh, and if you could talk to a few clouds and ask them about seeing anyone on the roof the night of the murder? That’d be super.”

  Tango looked up from her bowl.

  Whiskey yawned. [That’s because he can’t do that.]

 

  I froze, my mug of tea halfway to my lips. “Hold on. Tango, do you spend a lot of time up on the roof?”

 

  “No, of course not. Were you up there the night of the murder?”

 

  “The chimney,” I said. “Okay, Tango, this is important. Did you see anyone up on the roof with you? Someone who put something in the chimney?”

  She looked at me and licked a few crumbs of food off her whiskers.

  “I’ll take that as a no. Okay, now here’s the really important part—when, exactly were you up there? When did you get there and when did you leave?”

 

  Ben shook his head and poured the eggs into a pan. “You know, you’d think cat sarcasm would never get old. And yet, it does.”

  “Come on, kitty, work with me. What was going on when you climbed up there?”

 

  Keene was up until at least five, when he was spotted by the film crew as they got ready for the day. The zombies were there by seven, when I arrived. “Tango, when did you leave?”

 

  “I got in around six, if that helps,” said Ben. “Didn’t see Keene or any zombies.”

  “The zombies were still in makeup at that point. But this doesn’t make any sense.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because if the bomb was placed in the chimney from the top, it had to have been done between two AM and sunrise; anytime after that, they would have been seen. But Tango says she saw no one approach the chimney in all that time.”

  [Perhaps she fell asleep.]

 

  She had a point. But if the bomb hadn’t been planted via the roof, then how?
r />   20.

  “Our theory,” Lieutenant Forrester said, “is that Maurice Rolvink and Natalia Cardoso each tried to kill the other, over a romance gone wrong.”

  We were seated in the study, having a cup of tea. When Forrester and I first met, he was cautious around me; since then, he’s come to appreciate that I’m a valuable resource in my own right. This doesn’t mean he’ll tell me everything he knows, but he’ll give up a few details just to keep me happy. He’s realized that what happens on the Zoransky estate is worth keeping an eye on, and for that he needs me.

  “Interesting,” I said, taking a sip of tea, “but how? The blast originated in the chimney, so the bomb had to have been put there when the fireplace wasn’t being used. Rolvink died some time between seven thirty and eight twenty-two, and there was a roaring blaze until around two AM.”

  Forrester shook his head. “We … haven’t ironed all the details out yet. It’s a working theory.”

  At my feet, Whiskey snorted. [Working? I believe a better adjective for that theory would be unemployable.]

  “Thank you for the watch,” said Forrester, getting to his feet. “If we can confirm it’s Rolvink’s, we’ll at least know what happened to the head and hands. Animals have been used to dispose of body parts before, but the animal is usually something a lot more common—like a pig or dog.” He glanced down at Whiskey. “No offense.”

  [None taken. I am a carnivore, after all—though I would never eat human flesh. Too much potential for awkward conversations in the afterlife.]

  Forrester couldn’t hear him, of course. And while I suspected the honey badger had done more than just consume some extremities, I wasn’t going to tell Forrester that—not until I knew exactly what Owduttf was responsible for. “I’ll let you know if anything else turns up,” I said, getting to my feet. “Or, you know—is deposited.”

  I walked him to the door. “How’s Natalia Cardoso doing, by the way?” I asked.

  “Much better, actually. We took a statement this morning. She was a little shaken up by the news of Rolvink’s death, but recovered quickly. She admitted to the relationship, but insisted there was no animosity between them.”

  I paused before opening the door for him. “Does she have an alibi?”

  Forrester smiled. “Not as such. Which is why she’s currently the prime suspect.”

  I waited all of ten minutes after he was gone. Then I got in my car and drove to the hospital.

  Visiting hours weren’t until later in the day, but hospitals are like any other large, busy business: They’re run by people like me, used to juggling a dozen chain saws while tap-dancing and reciting epic poems from memory. Sweet-talking a nurse into letting me pop in for a quick visit was really just a matter of convincing them I wasn’t going to require any of their time or attention, after which I became invisible.

  “Hi,” I said, sticking my head in the room at the same time I knocked on the door. “Remember me?”

  Natalia Cardoso was sitting up in bed, surrounded by flowers. She wore an elegant white nightgown that revealed a fair bit of cleavage, her makeup was carefully done, and her hair was immaculate. The look on her face when she saw me was the friendly smile of someone expecting to see a cherished loved one—which quickly crashed into a hard-eyed resignation when she recognized me. I was pretty sure I’d have gotten a much warmer reception if I’d had a professional-looking camera in my hands.

  “Hello, Fandango,” she said. “Did ZZ send you? I really shouldn’t say anything without my lawyer present.”

  “It’s Foxtrot,” I said. “And no, ZZ didn’t send me. Any legal wrangling will no doubt be done in air-conditioned offices with big boardroom tables and scary people armed with law books. I’m here strictly to make sure you’re comfortable and if there’s anything I can do for you. I see you got the flowers.”

  Yes, that was me. Sending flowers is second nature for a personal assistant; I have the numbers of every florist in a ten-mile range memorized and can recite most of their prices. I’d fired off a dozen bouquets to Natalia before she’d left the ambulance.

  “They’re very nice, thank you. But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to sue.”

  I shrugged. “Okay. Like I said, not why I’m here. Actually, from what I understand, ZZ’s not the one who should be worried about legal action.”

  Her cold stare grew icicles—sharp, pointy ones, aimed right at me. “That’s ludicrous. I’m clearly the victim here.”

  “Oh, absolutely. But that’s not how Forrester is looking at it. Don’t let that small-town friendliness fool you; if he sees a way to close a case, he’ll take it.” I gave her the eyebrows-raised, know-what-I-mean-girlfriend look, which is surprisingly effective when used on people who don’t have many friends. Natalia Cardoso didn’t strike me as the warm and cuddly type.

  “How could anyone think I’m responsible? I was the one who was almost blown up!”

  “Almost is the key word there. As in, it almost makes you look like you got injured on purpose.”

  She looked stricken. It was an absurd claim to make, but that’s the thing about human nature: Deep down inside, people believe that everyone else is just like them. Suspicious people think everyone doubts their motives, angry people think everyone’s mad at them, greedy people think everyone’s after their money.

  But—personal opinions aside—Natalia had demonstrated what sort of immature, selfish behavior she was capable of. Which gave me a much more objective take on who she was, and by extension how she viewed the world.

  In short: Natalia was conniving and selfish. Therefore, the idea that other people would falsely accuse her for their own selfish and conniving reasons was—to her—entirely believable.

  “I suppose they’ll try to pin Maurice’s murder on me as well?” she said. Her voice was angry, but I saw a hint of fear in her eyes.

  “I don’t know. You were the last one to see him alive, right?” That was an educated guess on my part, but it made sense.

  “How should I know? We were in my room briefly after dinner. He told me he had some things to take care of in town, and that I shouldn’t expect to see him that night. Then he left.”

  I nodded. “Leaving you alone. Without an alibi.”

  “I was tired. I just wanted to get a good night’s rest before having to get up at five AM.” She glared at me. “Anyway, I don’t need an alibi. There were plenty of people who wanted him dead, but I wasn’t one of them. He got me this role.”

  True enough. “And I’m sure Lieutenant Forrester will figure that out eventually. In the meantime—how about I have some chocolate sent up? I know an excellent shop in Hartsville.”

  She frowned, a little puzzled by my abrupt turnaround. “I don’t—”

  “Look at it this way. An apology implies guilt, right? So any act of attrition by ZZ strengthens your case against her in a civil suit. Chocolate is very apologetic.”

  She thought about it, saw my point, and nodded ever so slightly. “Dark, please.”

  “Is there any other kind?”

  * * *

  I wasn’t worried about Natalia suing ZZ. First of all, I’m a lot more knowledgeable about personal damages lawsuits than I let on, and she didn’t have a case. Second, ZZ’s legal team was so far out of Natalia’s league that they weren’t even playing the same sport. Natalia might try to claim some sort of negligence on the part of her host, but she wouldn’t succeed; ZZ wasn’t responsible for some maniac cramming a bomb in her chimney.

  So who was? And how did it get there?

  I thought about it on the drive back to the house, but it just didn’t make sense. I was still thinking about it when I got out of the car and almost stepped on Tango. “Oh! Sorry, kitty—I didn’t see you there.”

 

  “That’s terrific. I’m glad they’re being reasonable.”


 

  “Sure. You are fierce.”

 

  “Always. Now, don’t you have a show to prepare?”

  And with that she sauntered away, her tail in the air.

  Whiskey was sprawled out on my office sofa, his usual spot. “Okay, mastermind, how’d you do it?”

  He stared at me, innocent as a puppy. [Whatever do you mean?]

  “You not only got all the actors to come back, you got them to apologize. How?”

  [With Jim’s help. He really is a very intelligent dog.]

  “So are you. But it takes more than intelligence to soothe wounded feelings.”

  [True. One needs both empathy and a certain talent for manipulation. Jim has demonstrated both.]

  “Ah. So you used a con man to alleviate the damage caused by an agent provocateur? Nice.”

  [Thank you. My strategy, since no one took Jim’s pronouncements seriously, was to use that to our advantage. We went around and explained to everyone that both Jim and Unsinkable Sam were part of the production itself. Sam was supposed to instruct certain actors to react in specific ways to Jim’s appearances; depending on how they did, they would be awarded with larger roles in the production.]

  “I think I see. You told everybody that Sam went off-script.”

  [Indeed. Our explanation was that Sam misinterpreted his instructions; that he thought prepping the actors for doom meant trying to cause as much trouble as possible.]

  I nodded. “And placing the blame squarely where it belongs. I’m guessing Sam is no longer in a position to refute any of this?”

  [Not as such, no. And everyone else, once the situation was explained, was most gracious.]

  “Even the squirrels?”

  [Even the squirrels. The goats, though…] He gave a theatrical shudder. [Let’s not talk about the goats. Ever.]

  “Fine by me. How about we talk about the bombing, instead. I just can’t figure it out.”