by Sam Cheever
We drove back to my place in silence and Eddie pulled up to the curb in front of my building. My hand on the door handle, I turned to him. “You’ll let me know?”
He shook his head and, for a minute I thought he was saying he wouldn’t let me know. But then he opened his door. “I’m not letting you walk upstairs by yourself. Not after everything that’s happened.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but he was already walking around the truck. And if I was honest with myself, I’d have to admit I was glad for the company.
I’d been too busy to think about it much, but when I did, the near drowning and being chased through the cemetery had me a little spooked.
Which probably accounted for the warm flush of pleasure that swept through me when Eddie’s hand found the small of my back, as he guided me safely to my door.
13
Shakes met me at the door, and I realized I’d forgotten to put him into the Pom Hilton before I left. I picked up the bouncing bundle of fur and let him cover my face with kisses. “You weren’t a bad boy while I was gone, were you?”
Eddie reached out and scratched my furry little man behind one, pert ear. “Bad? Like what, killing dust bunnies?”
I gave him slitty eyes. “I don’t have dust bunnies.”
“My point was, what possible trouble could he have gotten into while you were gone? He’s four inches tall and probably weighs three pounds. I have dust bunnies in my apartment that could take him out without even breathing hard.”
My lips twitched in a repressed grin. “Your dust bunnies breathe? Terrifying. You might need an exorcism or something.”
“Har. You didn’t answer my question.”
I sighed. “Let me see. He could…poop or pee on the floor, chew the woodwork, eat the carpet, burrow into the space between the stove and the wall and get stuck, scratch at the door, eat the toilet brush…”
“Ew.”
“Play with the television remote, de-stuff the couch cushions…”
Eddie’s eyes went wide. “He’s done that?”
“Turn his water bowl over and lay down in the water, bark at squirrels through the window and annoy Doug…”
“Dude.”
“Lick a giant wet spot on my pillow, scoot his butt over my comforter, ‘hide’ all his toys in the laundry basket…”
Eddie threw up his hands. “I give. Stop the torture. I’ll tell you everything I know.”
I grinned. “Too bad, I was just getting warmed up.”
“Who knew something so small could get into so much trouble.”
“I did.”
Shakes barked happily, his fringe of a tail whipping the air behind him. “You need to go outside to potty? Okay, little man. Let me grab your leash.” I settled him onto the floor, and he bounced happily toward the door and plopped onto his bottom to stare impatiently at me.
“He told you that, did he?”
“He did.” I grabbed the leash off the hook on the wall behind the door and clipped it on Shakes’ Superman collar. I gave Eddie wide eyes. “Wait, are you telling me you don’t speak Pomeranian?”
“It’s not one of my current skills. But rest assured I’m going to sign up for a class on it tomorrow.”
I grinned. “If you can find that class, let me know. It would be worth the price of admission to watch you take it.”
He snorted, pulling the door open. “Where do we walk the little guy?”
Shakes and I preceded him into the hallway. “Oh, you don’t need to come. I’m sure you have better things to do.”
He started to close the door and stopped. “You have your key?”
I pointed to the key dangling from the end of Shakes’ leash.
“Genius,” he told me.
“I try.”
“As I believe I stated before, I’m not letting you walk around alone while we have a probable murderer out there.”
I pretended annoyance but was secretly glad for the company. Shakes relished his potty walks. And I mean relished. He chose his targets more carefully than the CIA chooses its operatives. I’d never seen him select a spot to potty in shorter than twenty minutes. “This could take a while,” I warned Eddie.
“I’m in it for the long haul.”
“Really a while.”
He pushed the exterior door open. “Should I grab my tent out of the truck?”
“It might be wise… wait, does it have inflatable beds? Shakes might need to rest during the search.”
He laughed. We settled into a leisurely walk down the sidewalk, enjoying the sound of crickets that filled the air and the smell of onions cooking somewhere nearby. My stomach growled at the scent.
“Dude!”
I flushed. “It must be ice cream o’clock.”
He skimmed me a long look. “You don’t strike me as a snacker.”
“Shows what you know, Mr. Deitz. I live to snack. Snacking was my first and last name before I had to change it because it was too confusing for the post office.”
His perfect lips curved upward. “Thank goodness you aren’t one of those serial killers with three names then. The cops would be totally discombobulated.”
“On the bright side, it would be easy to spell my name.”
“Truth.”
Shakes halted in a grassy spot beneath a large tree. Eddie and I stilled, watching expectantly.
But after a minute he moved on. Apparently, the spot wasn’t perfect enough to accept his biological anointment.
Headlights skimmed over the tree behind us as Shakes bounced along the sidewalk, his tiny nose shifting constantly from side to side in search of a prime potty spot.
“I’ve always wanted a dog,” Eddie told me.
I skimmed him a glance. “Really? Why don’t you get one?”
He shrugged. “I’m gone a lot, stakeouts and stuff.”
“Just take the dog with you.”
He looked surprised. “I guess I could.”
“Sure. Dogs love to go places with their humans. Plus, it would be good company. But you’d have to share your stake-out snacks.”
Eddie shook his head. “And we’re back to the snacks again.”
Shakes plodded over to a bare spot of earth that held a single, tall blade of grass near its center. He sniffed loudly, his tail drooping slightly at whatever he smelled there.
We waited with bated breath, watching him peruse the spot. He circled the blade of grass three times and started to lift his leg.
Eddie and I did a fist bump.
Headlights lit up the night, catching the Pom in a wash of illumination that stopped his little leg in mid-lift.
“Dangit!” Eddie exclaimed in a truly heartfelt way.
Shakes whipped around and started barking at the car that eased slowly up to the curb behind us.
Eddie stiffened beside me. He took a half step to the side, moving between me and the vehicle as the lights snapped off and the car door opened.
I stepped around him and watched a man slide out of the driver’s seat. He appeared to be about five nine or ten, not a big guy, but he had broad shoulders and his arms were thicker than my legs. He looked strong.
I ventured a look toward the windshield and didn’t see anybody else inside the low-slung, two-door car. The sports car was silver with wide, black racing stripes on the hood.
I jerked my chin toward the man as he strode toward us. “Nice car. 1973?”
He looked surprised. “Yeah. You know your Camaros.”
“Some of them. My brother has one like it. Except his is bright orange.”
The man and I shared a smile. “That’s a little too conspicuous in my line of work.”
“And what would that line of work be?” Eddie asked.
The man glanced at Shakes. “Hey, buddy.”
Shakes growled low in his throat, his little body vibrating as he moved up next to me, his tail drooping. “He doesn’t like strangers,” I told the man. Though that was only a partial truth. He’d liked Eddie just fine when
they’d met.
The man kept his gaze on Shakes and nodded. “Good dog. If they aren’t willing to protect you, they’re no better than house slippers.”
I frowned at the house slipper reference. My dog might be small and furry, but he was a lion at heart. And he knew it too.
“You were about to tell us what line of work you’re in…” Eddie reminded the guy.
“Ah. Sorry.” He reached into the pocket of his jeans and Eddie flinched, his hands fisting. The guy noticed and stopped. “Just going for my badge.”
“You’re on the job?” I asked.
He nodded, holding the shield up to show us. “Detective Robard, APD.”
“I assume you’re here about the Tomlinson case?” Eddie said.
“You assume right.”
“Why? And how did you find us?” I asked, picking Shakes up so he could quiver in my arms instead of on the ground.
“I understand you’ve been looking into the murder. I thought it made sense for us to share information.”
A sudden sense of caution pattered across my chest on tiny paws. Or maybe that was Shakes shoving his feet into me. “Sharing is nice. As long as it goes both ways. You have something that might help us figure out why Josh Mitner was killed?”
“I might. But I wanted to ask you what you know about Allie Landon’s death first.”
Eddie shook his head. “We don’t know you. We have no reason to trust you, Detective Robard.”
Robard gave us a tight smile. Lifting his hands to the sides, palms up, he said, “I’m an open book, ask me anything.”
Eddie jerked his head toward the car. “Okay, for starters, how did you find us here?”
“I saw you leave Ms. Ferth’s apartment building and decided to follow at a discreet distance.”
Well, that wasn’t too creepy. “Why?” I asked.
“I just wanted to make sure I didn’t lose you. I really wanted to have a chat.”
“Why not approach us right away?” Eddie pressed.
“I didn’t want to startle you. But it was taking so long I got impatient.”
Eddie and I shared a smile. “You can’t hurry a Pom,” I told the cop.
“Apparently not.” Robard’s eyes narrowed as Shakes gave him another growl and curled his lip, showing tiny but sufficiently sharp teeth.
“Tell us about the Tomlinson case,” Eddie demanded. “Do you have enough to try him for the murder?”
Robard frowned. “It’s all circumstantial. If we could find the weapon, we’d have him.”
“Where do you think it is?” I asked.
“Heck if I know. I was hoping you or the brother could shed some light on that.”
“You spoke to Collen Landon?” Eddie asked. “Is he the one who told you about us?”
“Not yet, no. He’s next on my list. But he’s been very open about his belief that his sister was killed with an antique scalpel he bought her.”
“Yeah, he told us the same thing,” I offered. “It still hasn’t been found?”
“Unfortunately, no.” His gaze narrowed on Eddie. “What can you tell me about Mitner’s company, Crime Clean?”
It was all I could do not to glance at Eddie. It seemed the Asheville PD had made the same connection we had.
“Not much. Josh has told me stories.”
“What kind of stories?”
“Nothing that would help you with the Tomlinson case. Just interesting scenes they’ve worked.”
Robard nodded. He looked at the ground for a moment, his jaw flexing as if he were literally chewing something over. Finally, he looked up. “Has he mentioned a guy named Sugar Morellis?”
Eddie frowned. “The cartel leader? What are you…?” Eddie’s eyes went wide. “You think Alex Mitner has a deal with the cartel to scrub evidence?”
Robard just stared at him.
I opened my mouth to tell him my ‘dirty cop’ theory and Eddie’s arm lifted slightly, bumping me. I realized it hadn’t been an accident and slammed my mouth closed.
“How well do you know Mitner?”
“Not that well. He asked me to do a job for him recently.”
Robard didn’t look surprised. I realized that was the real reason he’d come looking for us. He thought Eddie might be working for Alex Mitner.
“What kind of job?”
Eddie stared at the cop for a long moment and then relaxed, shoving his hands in his jeans pockets. He actually smiled. “I think you already know the answer to that.”
Robard expelled air. “You spent some time checking up on Mr. Tomlinson. Why would Mitner want you to check up on him?”
“Honestly? I have no idea.”
I chewed on the inside of my lip, hoping my expression was neutral. Robard turned to me, his brown gaze narrowing. Clearly, he knew who the weak link was in the partnership. It took everything I had, but I managed not to say anything.
“What did you find out?” I thought Robard was talking to Eddie, though his gaze stayed glued to my face.
My palms were starting to sweat and Shakes was growling again, his tiny chest vibrating against my hand.
He really didn’t like Robard.
“Are you aware that Crime Clean was the company that cleaned up after Allie Landon was killed?”
“I wasn’t. That seems like a huge coincidence,” Eddie said in a neutral tone of voice.
“It does, doesn’t it?” Robard responded. “What kinds of things did Mr. Mitner ask you to find out about Tomlinson?”
Eddie shrugged. I marveled at his seeming indifference. Shakes and I were a jumble of nerves and we weren’t even being grilled. “Usual stuff. Financials, activities, police record, known associates.”
“I find it interesting that you didn’t think to ask him why he wanted you to investigate a man he was doing business with.”
If Eddie caught Robard’s insinuation, he didn’t react.
“I wasn’t aware he was currently doing any business with Mr. Tomlinson. I assumed he was looking at him for a future venture of some kind. Mr. Mitner has several partners. You don’t sustain a successful business in multiple states across the country without business partners.”
“Why would an educational book publisher want to partner with a crime scene cleaning company?”
“Diversification?” Eddie offered in the form of a question. Then he smiled, and Robard’s jaw tightened.
“I know where you’ve been sticking your nose, Deitz. I know you sniffed around some pretty low places filled with questionable people. I know there’s more than you’re telling me.”
“Then I guess you don’t need me, do you? You seem to already know it all.”
Shakes barked, his tail whipping happily as if to say, touché!
Robard’s lip curled. “I think I’ll just stop by the local precinct and talk to the supervising Lieutenant of the Hazardous Devices Team. The cop glanced my way. “I believe you know him?”
I’m pretty sure my neutral expression wavered a bit on that one. But I was proud of my voice when I responded. It didn’t quiver at all. “Say hey for me. And tell him I might be late for dinner tomorrow night. I’m going to have another busy day.”
I was pretty sure Robard’s teeth were grinding together when he turned away. Eddie and I watched him drive his sexy Camaro past and away before Eddie spoke. “Well, that was interesting.”
“What is a Detective from the mean streets of Asheville doing here in the ’burbs, harassing private citizens?” I asked rhetorically.
“I don’t know, but I’m going to find out. I made some connections when I was there. I need to know what Robard’s looking for and if we can trust him.
“Or if we just met our dirty cop,” I finished for him.
14
The next morning I had to go to Exit Stage Left for a Mitner job debrief with Ruthie. It wasn’t standard practice on an assignment, but since so much had happened I thought it would be a good idea to fill my boss in on my part in all of it.
Kind
of a cover-my-butt thing.
I kissed Shakes on the tip of his tiny, wet nose and placed him inside the Pom Hilton, giving him a dog cookie before closing the door. “Be good, handsome.”
He barely spared me a glance as I left, his full attention on the cookie he’d already crushed into crumbs.
I climbed into Betty, patting her well-worn dash and greeting her fondly before starting her up. Her oft-rebuilt engine rumbled throatily and I smiled. My girl was a bit dinged and age-spotted with rust, but she had a heart of gold and the engine of a studly young race car.
I hit the playlist on my phone and cranked the volume up as I hit the highway into town. The sun had barely been up an hour and already the beautiful North Carolina morning was succumbing to its steamy influence. I could have put the air conditioning on, but I preferred to enjoy the warm sweetness of the flower-drenched air on my drive.
Exit Stage Left was located in a shopping mall with the Smoky Mountains rising majestically in the background. The agency was nestled between a boutique and a florist, and there was also a gourmet bakery and a large office store down the way.
I parked and locked Betty, heading toward the gray brick building that housed Exit Stage Left. My nostrils flared under the decadent scents of the gourmet bakery. I forced myself to keep walking, determined not to succumb to the siren song of buttery pastries and rich, dark coffee.
At least until after my business was done.
The bell on the door jingled softly as I opened it and Ruthie looked up as I entered. She sat behind her white receptionist’s desk, peering down at a client folder, the contents of which were spread across the messy desk.
Ruthie peered at me over sixties style glasses, which had been missing a few rhinestones since the first day I met her. I was pretty sure she’d been wearing those glasses since the sixties, and I was also pretty certain they’d still be on her face a dozen years from now.
“Hey, Ruthie.”
Her faded blonde hair had been stretched into its usual topknot, the strands pulled so tight I doubted she’d ever have need of a facelift. She was dressed in a cardigan that was a slightly yellowed white, and it hung a bit crookedly over a flowered cotton dress that looked like it might have gone to parties with Ruthie’s glasses in the sixties. “May,” she growled out in her whiskey and tobacco voice. “I’m a little worried you wanted to talk. Should I be expecting a call from an irate or otherwise unhappy client?”
