Fear on Four Paws

by Clea Simon

  Yes, ma’am? Whatever I’d expected, it hadn’t been that. But taking my cue from millennia of hunters before me, I’d stood as still as a rock. Not until he began murmuring again, his sloppy drawl a little tighter, a little more anxious than usual, did I move slowly over to the nearest tree—a copper beech that Growler would have loved to mark as his own.

  What I heard was clearly the tail end of an argument. Larry was protesting, still. “Honest, I didn’t,” he got out before he was interrupted. “That wasn’t my idea at all.” I didn’t need any more than that. I’d known he was crooked, and it sounded like someone else had caught him out, too. What I hadn’t expected was what happened next.

  “Good morning!” A perky voice as loud as a goldfinch made me start, as—from the other side of that hedge—Susan Felicidad stepped away from the greenery, decked out in another crisp poplin shirt. She was facing my way, of course. But I had the distinct impression that her bird-bright dark eyes would have spotted me anyway, and the smile she spread across her face was in direct opposition to the blanched and guilty stare on Larry’s as he whirled around and saw me standing, not ten feet away.

  “Good morning, Susan.” I strolled up to her as if I hadn’t been hiding. “What brings you out so early?” It was an inane question. This was her neighborhood, after all. But I wanted to start this conversation by putting her on the defensive. The right questions would come after.

  “Why not be out on such a day?” The ease with which her grin broadened made me wonder what she knew. She was a deep one, all right. “Right, Larry?”

  “Right.” The would-be landscaper rubbed his mouth as he answered, as if he could hide behind his hand. Susan’s eyes darted over to him, and I wondered if she saw this too. At any rate, she spoke again quickly, as if to cover.

  “I’ve been chatting with this nice young man,” she said, raising an arm as if to embrace him—or perhaps to shield him from me. “He’s been so kind and helpful, and he knows the area so well.”

  “I’m sure he does.” I was growling, and Larry’s eyes widened in response. Whatever these two had been discussing, I didn’t think they were talking about the neighborhood. He was clearly the more scared of the two, and so I turned to question him. “So, you’re doing lawn care this morning?”

  Granted, the heavy emphasis I put on “lawn care” might have signaled my disbelief.

  “Yeah, I—I am.” I’d never heard him stutter before. “My—my tools are in the truck.”

  He pointed, as if toward salvation, and so I let him pass, determined to follow and find out more. “Good to see you again.” I nodded at the neat newcomer, who still stood there, smiling like a Cheshire cat.

  “Always,” she replied.

  Larry caved pretty easily after that, at least to his own considerable sins. As he pretended to fuss with a mower in the truck bed, I laid out what I suspected. Granted, I may have made it sound more definitive that it was. And, perhaps, I implied that proof existed of what I had merely postulated from the clues. I was careful about not pushing too far.

  But the longer I spoke, the more sure I was that my suspicions were correct. Wallis would say I’m lousy at body language. As a smaller predator, she’s got a strong sense of which way an animal—prey or foe—is going to jump. As a woman, I’ve learned to read men pretty well, too, for much the same reasons. And, yeah, all those animal behavior classes hadn’t hurt either.

  At one point, I got concerned. As I spelled out my conjecture, he turned from the mower—a vintage model roughly the same age as my car and not as well cared for—and reached for a rake. I stepped closer to him then, not so much to intimidate him as to limit his ability to swing it. But there was no fight left in him by then. He really did appear ready to pull the rusty old thing out of the truck bed and carry it door to door. Only I had other ideas for how he could make amends.

  “You could even earn an honest living, Larry,” I told him. “And if you behave, I won’t turn you in.”

  “You won’t tell anyone?” Even his voice had collapsed to something small.

  “Not a soul.” I wasn’t completely committed to that. It made a good bargaining chip, though. And at this point, I cared more about expediency than honesty.

  “I want to know everything.” I fixed him with my best dead-eyed stare.

  “I don’t know the details.” He kept harping on that point, even after I got him to put down the rake and look at me. “I just know it was a gig, you know?”

  “A gig.” I didn’t even try to keep the ice out of my voice. “Spill, Larry.”

  He stared up at the sky then, as if the white puffy clouds making their way across the blue could help him skate too. But he was no robin, flitting tree to tree. And I was in my ultimate hawk mode, pinning him with my best raptor glare.

  “I don’t know.” He shrugged, when I finally got him back to earth. “I wish I did, okay? Paul and I, we fought about it ...”

  Maybe he heard me catch my breath. Maybe it was the implication of his own words that stopped him, but he turned, staring at me, his eyes wide and—could it be?—watering. “Not like that,” he pleaded, willing me to believe. “I wouldn’t—only, he had his own thing going on, right?”

  “His own thing?” I didn’t like this, only there was something in Larry’s voice. A pleading and a sadness that felt honest, if not adult. I believed that he felt left out. I didn’t know if that was enough to kill for. “His own pot of gold, and he was cutting you out.”

  “It wasn’t...” Larry wasn’t big, in terms of muscle. But he was tall and I could believe him capable of violence. Only the man before me seemed suddenly shrunken, as if our confrontation had taken all the air out of him. “Look.” His voice sadder and in some way more human than I’d ever heard before. “If I’d done—that. If I’d done for Paul and taken over his gig, why would I be here, anyway?”

  One hand waved toward the truck, with its rusty mower and lawn tools. The other, toward the manicured hedge. I didn’t like it, but I couldn’t argue. The man had a point. He’d also raised another question for me.

  “So, what were you and Susan Felicidad talking about?” I nodded toward that wall of green. “I heard most of it, but I want the details.”

  “Susan?” He blinked.

  “Come on,” I prompted. “Glossy brunette. Older. Called you a good boy or something like that.”

  “Oh.” He looked down at the curb, and an alarm sounded in my head. I’d thought there was a good chance he was scamming the older woman. I’d even wondered if he was making moves on her, though the pretty newcomer would have to be fairly lonely to consider Larry Greeley. “No.” He answered to my unspoken question. “We weren’t talking about anything.”

  “I heard you, Larry.” I kept my voice level, even as I desperately thought back to what I had overheard. Damn it, I knew that woman was hinky in some way. “I think she figured out your scam, same as I did, and she wanted something.”

  That was a mistake, akin to leaving my flank exposed in a dog fight. Never offer more than you have to. But even as Larry clammed up, I saw his eyes twitch back and forth, for all the world like he was seeking an escape route.

  “Larry?” I pressed on.

  “She wanted to know about the neighborhood.” It was weak. He had to know that. “The plants and such.”

  “The plants?” I didn’t hide my skepticism. If nothing else, Susan Felicidad knew her flora.

  “And, you know, who my other clients were. Like, for recommendations?” He raised wide grey eyes at me, but there was nothing of innocence in them. I narrowed my own and watched his Adam’s apple jump as he swallowed.

  “Come on, I promise,” he said. “I’ll ask around, and I’ll call you. Just—you don’t have to tell her, do you? You don’t have to tell anyone.”

  “Not if you hold up your end.” It was time to beat a tactical retreat. “I expect to hear
from you. Soon.”

  He was nodding and agreeing as if I’d suggested we go for ice cream. I didn’t trust him for a minute. But he had given me some information. More, probably, than he was aware. Larry Greeley had agreed to ask around about who was paying to trap a bear—a scheme that had gotten one man killed and another mauled. He was going to do this because he was afraid of me. But what he’d let me know with that last bit of evasion and those slippery glances back toward the hedge and beyond was that I wasn’t the only person he was afraid of.

  I had information that could upend Larry Greeley’s livelihood. Susan Felicidad, however, had him afraid for his life.

  Chapter Forty

  It was a little hard to care about Tracy Horlick after that, but I did my best. If the house-coated harridan couldn’t get a rise out of me, she’d take it out on her dog. And Growler didn’t deserve to pay for my preoccupation. So I did my best to simper and apologize when I pulled up, late, to the old lady’s house.

  “I hope this isn’t getting to be a habit.” She reared back, so she could look down at me from her lofty perch on the top of the stoop. “Because that would be unacceptable.”

  “I understand.” I dipped my head, the human equivalent of a submissive posture. I’d roll over if I had to, though the idea of those smoke-stained teeth on my throat made my own jaw clench up. “And I’m sorry.”

  She snorted, sending twin plumes of smoke into the morning air, and made me wait a few moments more. I didn’t mind, really. I had a lot to think about—like how I could best use the leverage I had over Larry if he started to get squirrelly. And what Susan Felicidad could be up to.

  I had pretty much decided, when I heard a grunt. Not Growler, not yet, but his person had turned back into the house. And so I stored away my thoughts on interrogating one of my newer, more affluent clients to take charge of one of my most loyal.

  “Finally.” I couldn’t tell if the bichon was more annoyed with his person or with me. It didn’t matter. I knew I was responsible.

  “I’m sorry, Growler.” I kept my voice low, aware that his person was watching us from the stoop.

  “Not you.” He chuffed, as he paused to sniff a curbside tree and then water it. “You do what you’ve got to.”

  I thanked him silently, hoping my appreciation translated down the leash. After that, I tried to stay silent. Bad enough I made him wait. Put the woman who held his life in her hands in a bad mood. The least I could do was shut up and let the fluffy white dog enjoy his social outing.

  “Leo, watch out.” He’d moved onto the next tree now, and from the way his tail was vibrating I knew it had caught his interest. “You keep eating like that, you’ll get gout.”

  I stifled a laugh. Clearly, I was distracted, and my unconscious translation of the little dog’s concern for his friend had taken on language that he would never have intended. My smile faded, though, as I turned to the white dog.

  “Great.” A low growl rose in his throat. “You can’t listen, and you find me funny.”

  “Sorry, Growler.” The dog had a point.

  “Samuel...” Mollified, he returned to his rounds. “So sorry to hear that. And with a hound, too.”

  To give my charge his privacy, I let my mind slip back to my own preoccupation. Had Larry been involved with what happened—the bear, and the murder of Paul Lanouette? It wasn’t impossible that he’d pursue more than one scam at a time. But the man I’d known for half his lifetime was not what I’d call industrious. No, I let that one go. As much as he’d like more money, laziness would probably win out—making the case that he’d laid out, rather eloquently, back at his truck.

  That didn’t mean I trusted him. The deal I’d made with Larry was that he’d call me as soon as he heard anything. He had to know that I wasn’t going to sit waiting for my phone to ring, however. Just as he had to know that I didn’t believe him about his conversation with the widow. What I wasn’t sure of was how I should proceed. A follow-up call and visit to Susan Felicidad were surely in order, under the guise of good customer service. But she’d already deflected my questions about Larry, and she’d probably seen me talking to him, after she took off. If she was as involved as I was beginning to think, she’d be on her guard. Without any leverage on her, she’d be a tough nut to crack.

  “You can get more out of that weasel, you know.” The comment caught me off guard. I stopped myself before I fired back with a question. Again, I had to remind myself that animals don’t use metaphor. The world they live in is colorful enough. I’d been distracted, and the unconscious translation of thought and impulse into language was, in my case, imperfect at best.

  “Oh?” I held myself to a simple interrogative syllable. The better to leave the question open.

  “Yes.” The bichon at my feet grunted, to accentuate his response. “I can smell him on you, you know. I can smell where he’s been. And walker lady, that little weasel knows more than he’s letting on. He’s scared, and he’s got reason. From what my nose says, he saw it all.”

  Chapter Forty-one

  Wallis was no help. By the time I got home, I was regretting my deal with Larry. I was ready to track down the sleazy landscaper and turn his life inside out. But cats are nothing if not consummate strategists, and as she circled my ankles, she pointed out the flaws in this plan of action, as simply as she would teach a kitten to hunt.

  “Hmmm...” Her purr served to underline her own confidence in her words. “Let’s see, right now you control him, right?”

  “More or less.” I was grumbling, even as I shredded the half a chicken we’d both share for dinner. “As much as he’s controllable.”

  “And if you pull him apart like you’re doing that bird, this helps you.... how?”

  “It would feel good.” I snuck a sliver of the juicy thigh.

  “You’re hungry...”

  Again, that translation problem. “I want answers. I’m overdue for the truth.”

  “Well, then, hmmm...” I felt her hunker down by my foot. “We should figure out how best to get that, yes?” And with that, she leaped to the counter top and, quick as a wink, grabbed a chunk of the dark meat for herself.

  “I was going to … nevermind.” I pushed the plate toward her and reached instead for my laptop. I had no better luck finding anything on Susan Felicidad than I had the day before. I was standing there, tapping on the keyboard, when I felt the tickle of whiskers against my wrist.

  “Trying to lure something out?” Wallis bent over the keyboard, staring at the screen.

  “Right.” I caught myself before the snark could go too far. Wallis might have been jesting. Then again, she can’t read, and at times I think she’s a bit sensitive about this. “I was looking for something.”

  Too late. She turned her back to me and sat heavily, leaning on the keys and making it impossible for me to type. “Doesn’t have the sense of a kitten.” She began to wash, and her rebuke was accompanied by the taste of fur.

  “What?” I tried to modulate my tone. I’d offended her unintentionally, but that didn’t matter. Forget what I said about other beasts, cats can hold grudges. At least, Wallis can.

  “You think this is about … that box?” Her rhythmic licking lent a rhythm to her words. She also was much better at hearing my thoughts than I’d like.

  “It isn’t?” Sometimes honesty is the best policy.

  “Silly person.” Lick, lick. “Petting a machine when there’s a witness you could interrogate instead.”

  She was right, of course. And if Creighton had come by, I’d have worked on him to give me access to Albert. The portly animal control officer hadn’t been willing to tell me anything about the bear, but if I could get him talking about what he’d seen, maybe I’d be able to piece together what had happened. After all, I had access to information that Creighton never would—from sources that he’d never credit, either. Both Growler and Wallis
had been pushing me in that direction. And although animals might not understand the challenges of questioning a witness, something in the scents that I was carrying had prompted them both to speak to me of witnesses and revelations.

  Creighton didn’t come by, however. And while I liked to think that my tossing and turning had more to do with a dead body and a bear at risk than my own personal romantic dilemma, I’d be lying if I didn’t give that at least some of the blame. The man and I were growing closer—but there were parts of my life that I could never reveal to him. To anyone, really. Even if Creighton didn’t try to have me committed, I doubted he’d ever truly understand. He’d be sympathetic, at best. Condescending, at some point, as he humored what he’d have to consider a delusion. To me, that might even prove worse. It would certainly kill any passion between us. Which left me wondering, would I ever be able to really share my life with someone—someone other than Wallis, that is?

  Such thoughts darted through my brain whenever I began to drift off. When I did sleep, I found myself caged, like that bear, and just as scared and alone.

  I would have sworn I wasn’t asleep when my phone rang. The muttered curse as Wallis jumped to the floor put the lie to that, but I certainly didn’t feel very rested as I grabbed up my cell. A number I didn’t recognize, and I prepared to let loose.

  “Pru? It’s Larry.” I swallowed my protest. “You said to call.”

  “What’s happening?” I poked around for paper and pen. A pale light was only beginning to leak through the trees. If Larry was awake at this hour and sober, too, then he had news. “What did you find out?”

  “Nothing much.” I was about to slam the phone back down. Good thing he couldn’t read me like Wallis did. “But I was at Hap’s last night.”