Fear on Four Paws

by Clea Simon

  I focused in on the photo. Yes, it was the same man, his mane of white hair set off against the black tux. But more than that mane—or the bright white of his shirt or even the dazzling fall of blond hair draping the significantly younger woman on his arm—what stood out were his eyes. While his date was caught in profile, laughing or speaking with someone off to her right, Jack Walz was staring straight into the lens with a ferocity that I associated more with a lion than the eager puppy I’d just spent an hour with. That didn’t necessarily signify anything: the man in the picture was in his element, surrounded by the trappings of his success. In Beauville, he was an unknown—and I was the person with mastery of the situation. But it did say something about the relativity of dominance, a lesson I would do well to remember.

  Out here, all Jack Walz’s money just marked him as a newcomer. An outsider, albeit a valuable one to people like me. No, what mattered more here—and here I found my thoughts traveling to Jim Creighton and the way he could size up a situation—was knowledge. Of the land, of the community. Of the people.

  Which someone was rapidly accruing. On a whim, I typed in Susan Felicidad’s name, curious to see what high-powered life she had left behind. Chair of a board, or at least a big bucks organizer, probably for a major foundation. I was betting on a buyout. She seemed young to have retired out here, and I wondered about her late husband and whether she’d been a trophy wife. Somehow, I doubted it. With her schmoozing skills, she would have been a star as a fundraiser—the kind who gets the rich to donate more than I’d see in five years.

  At first, I thought it was a mistake. The wealthy widow was no Larry Greeley, to live below the radar. She must spell her name oddly—Susan with a “z,” or something—and so I tried again. When that didn’t work, I cut her down to an initial: Felicidad, and then Felizidad, and a few other options that came to mind. Finally, I typed in her Beauville address, expecting at the very least a public deed or tax bill to come up.

  It didn’t matter. No matter how I spelled her name or what part of it I used, I couldn’t find her. The woman I had now met several times was a ghost.

  Chapter Thirty-six

  I’m not the sort to jump to conclusions. I like my privacy, too, and I certainly understood wanting to hide one’s past. That didn’t mean I wasn’t intrigued—and even somewhat gratified. I’d sensed that something was off about Beauville’s new socialite, and the fact that she had given me—given all her neighbors, presumably—a fake name was probably the least of it.

  That didn’t mean I couldn’t find out more. If the address she’d given me wasn’t an outright purchase—and I could find no deed on record—that didn’t mean she wasn’t paying for utilities. No, I’m not supposed to have access to those records. But anyone with half a brain can figure out how to get at least some information.

  “Hi, I’ve got a question about a service call that’s scheduled for tomorrow?” I’d gotten through to the phone company’s customer service line. “I forgot what time it is.”

  “Are you calling from the affected line?”

  “No.” I faked a laugh. Maybe these people were getting better. “That’s why I need the service call!”

  “Would you give me the last four digits on the account, then, Miss?”

  “Hang on.” I put the phone down, preparing to return with some random digits when I was, literally, saved by the bell. “Sorry.” I grabbed the phone back up. “Someone’s at the door. Bye!”

  “You don’t return calls anymore?” Creighton, and he wasn’t happy.

  “You wouldn’t believe the day I’ve had.” I waited. No kiss, no smile. Either this was a business visit, or this relationship had reached a new low. “Nonstop craziness. Why?”

  “Clients?” His voice was cold. “Appointments?”

  “Nothing but.” I closed my eyes, remembering. “Those new people in Pine Hills are what you’d call high maintenance.” I started telling him about the whole situation with Coco when my supposed beau walked past me, heading for my kitchen. I followed and watched as he fetched himself a beer, popped it open, and drained half of it in one pull.

  “That bad?” I found myself softening. The man was human, after all.

  “I’m just glad you’re okay.” He used his free hand to wipe his face, and I realized that what I’d interpreted as temper was more likely fatigue or worry. “Yeah. That bad.”

  I waited, wondering.

  “There’s been an accident. A stupid…” He paused, his mouth clamping shut as he shook his head. His hand clenched the beer so tightly, I was afraid he’d crush the can, and he swallowed—hard—before speaking again. “Ronnie was mauled by a bear,” he said, his voice strangely flat. “I was afraid that maybe you’d—That you’d...”

  “I’m okay.” I went to him then, wrapping my arms around his waist. “Is he—?” I stopped myself. Clearly, the man wouldn’t be okay.

  “He’ll live, they say.” Creighton looked down at me, still stiff with tension. “But when I saw him—I got scared.”

  “I wouldn’t be part of anything that stupid.” I stepped back, shaking off a wave of nausea—queasiness and rage. I knew what a bear could do to a human. I didn’t need Creighton to describe the deep gouges those claws could make. The way a bear’s teeth could pierce muscle and crush bone. Bears are a part of our world out here. Most of us have enough sense not to mess with them. “What happened?”

  “He had another one trapped, only I guess there was a problem with the snare.” He paused, and I saw his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. “The main rope was cut nearly clear through. At any rate, it got away—and Ronnie almost didn’t. He’s lucky he’s alive.”

  The scene I pictured was horrific. I could imagine all too well how panicked the bear must have felt. Trapped and frantic. Ronnie was a big guy, but if he got between a young male like the one he’d caught before and freedom? It wouldn’t even be a contest, even if Ronnie had been working with—

  “Albert!” I gasped. “Was he—?”

  Creighton smiled as he shook off my fear. “Albert’s fine, Pru. He’s staying with us for a while. It looks like Ronnie was alone, but someone else had been up there. That rope? I don’t think Ronnie was cutting it. It had already been compromised—he walked into a trap as surely as that bear had.”

  “And you thought, I…” The logical follow-up hit me like a punch to the gut. The question about my day. About my appointments. “Jim, you can’t think—” I struggled to find the words.

  “I had to.” That strange, sad half smile. “Someone wanting to free a bear? Someone who always carries a knife? Maybe, if you’d started to cut the bear free, and then Ronnie had come along…”

  “No, I’d never.” I shook off the idea. “Not like that, by cutting the ropes. I mean, be real. If I found another trapped animal, I’d call Greg, like last time.”

  He sighed, and I saw his shoulders sag.

  “How’d you find him?” My professional curiosity kicked in.

  This prompted another quizzical glance, but this time I was rewarded with the hint of a smile. “Do you ever get a feeling about something?” The question was rhetorical, but I gave him a half-hearted shrug anyway. Nothing I wanted to commit myself to. “Well, maybe it was going over Albert’s interview. I had a feeling that there was more up at that camp of theirs—something I’d missed or that I needed to see. So I took a drive up there.”

  It was on the tip of my tongue to ask him about the timing of this hunch—and of the drive. He’d called me twice that day, the first time fairly early on. I didn’t think he was necessarily trying to catch me out, but I did wonder.

  “Anyway, I was able to get emergency services there in time.” He pulled me close again. This time, his body was warm and yielding. “Tackling a bear on his own. When he wakes up, he’s going to have some story to tell.”

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  I didn’t get
around to calling Greg back. But after the inevitable, and rather wonderful, physical reunion—and a better night’s sleep than I’d had for a while—I did end up telling Creighton the details of my day’s adventure, except, of course, for the part about me hearing the missing dog cry out.

  “I guess you’re making a splash over in the new part of town.” Creighton was scrambling eggs, while I—and Wallis—sat at the kitchen table watching. “Sounds like you’re the go-to pet person.”

  “I guess.” I toyed with how to bring up the mystery of Susan Felicidad without exposing my own inept ploys. “Though I’m not sure how it will play out.”

  “That Walz guy’s hired you, right?” He reached for two plates and scooped the eggs out. Beside me, I felt Wallis begin to purr in anticipation. “You like him?”

  I took my plate and scraped some of the eggs into Wallis’ dish. At first, she drew back in disdain—“too hot!”—but then she fell to as if she were starving. “You’ve looked into him.” It was an observation, not a question.

  “Part of the job.” Creighton knew better than to comment about Wallis, but I did see the corners of his mouth twitch as he forked up his eggs. “Protect and serve.”

  “You really think a master of the universe type like Walz needs protecting?” I took a bite, curious. The newcomer had seemed so different from what I’d expected once we were alone. “And didn’t you hire a deputy to cover Pine Hills?”

  “I’m still responsible for Beauville,” he said, mouth full.

  “And Walz has got more money than God,” I filled in the rest. “More than the rest of the town, anyway.”

  “And everyone knows it.” The grin died away, and I thought of Larry Greeley and his crew. At least they were offering a real service—not unlike me.

  “I charge them the same as I do anybody else.” Call me defensive, but the smile came back.

  “I never would have thought otherwise,” my beau said as he shoveled up the last of his eggs. Before I could ask if he wanted more—of anything—his phone buzzed, and after one quick peek at it, he stepped into the other room.

  “You worried?” Wallis loves to tease.

  “Are you?” I looked down at her, only to hear a quiet cough. “Just talking to the cat,” I said with a smile.

  Creighton wasn’t amused any longer. “That was my team,” he said. “I’m going to need your knife.”

  “What?” This wasn’t the way I saw breakfast ending. “Why?”

  “I’ll need to take it into the lab.” I shook my head, confused. “The trap, Pru. Word has gotten out how angry you were about the bear being trapped, and well, someone was trying to cut those ropes.”

  “Shit.” I closed my eyes, remembering. “Jim, I don’t have it. I lost it.” I opened them to meet his cold stare. “You can search me. Search the house, if you want.”

  He paused. He was considering it, and I felt my core grow cold. “Jim?”

  “I need to speak to some people.” The staties. I was in for it. “Don’t do anything stupid.” And with that, he was gone.

  “Wasn’t that interesting?” Wallis jumped to the sill to watch as Creighton drove away. “After all that talk about the hunt?”

  “Shut up, Wallis.” I put the dishes in the sink. I wasn’t in the mood.

  Before I did anything, I had to check on Frank. I hadn’t wanted to bring the ferret into the shelter, but leaving him locked in the office alone wasn’t kind either. Not that I was overly worried about him. He’d have water from our leaky tap, and I suspected that the beetles and moths that found their inevitable way into our space would offer a healthier diet than whatever Albert probably offered him. Though with that in mind, I made a mental note to clean out Albert’s desk—just because bugs were a part of nature, didn’t mean he had to actively promote colonization in a workplace I might soon have to take over.

  The office had been closed since I’d left it, so I wasn’t surprised by the slightly musty smell as I unlocked the front door. In fact, it was somewhat fresher than it had been of late, and I felt a spark of anxiety as I looked around.

  “Frank?” I knew his hearing was better than mine, but it only seemed polite to announce myself. “Are you here?”

  “Here!” The masked head popped up from behind the desk. “Treats?”

  “Sorry.” I kicked myself, as he scurried over and began to nuzzle my pocket. Not only was the poor ferret deprived of company, he was missing his snacks, too.

  “Silly!” Small claws grabbed at my hand. “Treats!”

  Frank had never clawed or bitten. We didn’t have that kind of relationship, and so I paused, staring down into his eyes. “What?”

  “Treats!” The tiny nails dug in as his paw tightened on mine. “Treats. Box!”

  I shook my head. I had no treats. Unless… a glimmer of an idea, as bright as a diamond chip, had begun to take shape in my mind.

  “I’m sorry, Frank.” I was already turning to leave. Sometimes I could be incredibly stupid. “And thank you.”

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  “I’ve got something going on.” The words rang through my head. Larry Greeley might have started off as a small-time grifter, but if he was trafficking in stolen jewelry—and had somehow involved Albert in his scheme—he’d graduated to something a little bigger. Whether that something included murder, I didn’t know. This time, however, I was determined to find out.

  On a hunch, I swung through the new development, thinking I’d circle back to Tracy Horlick’s house and Growler once I’d made a pass by the new houses and their big, manicured lawns. The old bag would give me grief, but I could deal with her. It was the bichon I felt bad about, making him wait.

  Still, I didn’t think I’d find anything. Larry Greeley might be a worm, but he wasn’t the early kind. This was more me being too riled up to settle into my own work day. Creighton and I are both early risers. For him, I suspected it was part of his work ethic. For me, it was a holdover from the crisis that drove me here. Once you’ve been drugged and locked up—even when you do it to yourself—you don’t sleep that well.

  Besides, my visit with Frank had sparked another idea—a slight niggling suspicion that was growing as I rode the curve around the granite outcropping to where the dew still glistening on those perfect lawns. I didn’t expect to find Larry here, soliciting work at this hour, honest or not. But he had been here yesterday. On this very street, I remembered as I turned onto the tree-lined block. I’d seen him before my appointment with Jack Walz. Drafted him into action, when the inscrutable Susan Felicidad had told me about her neighbor’s missing pet. That he hadn’t brought Bunbury as I’d asked hadn’t really mattered, as that minor crisis had seemingly resolved itself.

  But that resolution raised its own questions, I realized, as I turned up Susan’s street. I was driving by rote at this point. By memory, as I worked through the timing. No, it wasn’t likely that Larry would have been able to get from here to the clearing, where Ronnie and Albert had their camp. While I didn’t know how long Ronnie had been up there, bleeding and wounded, before Creighton found him, I couldn’t see even a grifter like Greeley booby-trapping a friend and then racing off to shill his services at lawn care. I mean, he must have been going door to door...

  I could almost picture him, bad tooth and all. The morning sun would make his greasy blond hair appear lighter than it did at night, almost like it did when we were in high school. Almost like the man I now saw, hunched over by that hedge.

  “What the—?” I hit the brake so hard it startled me out of my reverie. Yes, I’d come cruising through the development, searching for Larry. But I hadn’t really expected to find him. Not now. Not this early, and especially not since I started to realize the impossibility of him being behind the bloody crimes out on the state land.

  While it was impossible to make a vintage GTO with a custom paint job disappear, I swung into r
everse and retreated slowly down the road, grateful that I’d resisted the muscle car stereotype of mistaking volume for power as I eased back up the block.

  There was no reason for him not to be here, I told myself as I brought my car to a halt by the curb. Especially if I was wrong about what I suspected, it made sense for Larry to be out and about first thing in the morning. This would be the time to get yard work done, wouldn’t it?

  Only, if Larry were engaged in honest labor, why wasn’t I hearing a lawn mower? Was he leaning into that hedge with shears or a rake?

  There was nothing for it. I parked and got out. I didn’t know exactly what I wanted to ask Larry, as I pocketed my keys and began to walk up to where he was standing, leaning into that hedge. All I knew was that I had questions.

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  It all proved less difficult than I’d feared. As is usually the case with animals, if you act as if you know what you’re doing, they’ll respond to that confidence—and your ignorance may go unnoticed. Of course, an unweaned pug would probably be faster on the uptake than Larry Greeley.

  I’d been smart to be quiet, though. By approaching more or less silently—though I’m sure Wallis would disagree—I got to hear a bit of a conversation that confirmed my suspicion that not everything with the hulking lawn boy was on the up and up.

  I hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. Not really. I mean, I’d been walking quite openly up the street to where he stood, to all intents and purposes, leaning into the tall, thick boxwood. It wasn’t until I’d gotten within hearing distance that I’d noticed him nodding his head. And when I’d heard him respond—“uh huh,” he’d said. “Yes, ma’am”—I’d frozen.