by Wick Downing
“Oh.”
He didn’t look much like Paul Drake, Perry Mason’s investigator on television. Paul Drake didn’t wear short pants. But Mike’s hair had a nice wave, and he didn’t have braces on his teeth.
Two-Fingers had given me a short course on how to interview a witness, and I repeated it to Mike before we rode out to the Pearsans’ house. Don’t call Ursula first and ask if we can come over, Two-Fingers had said. Go knock on the door. Loosen her up a few minutes before asking her anything serious, he’d added. Girl talk. She’d need time to get used to whoever was with me, taking notes.
“Me?” Mike asked.
“You,” I said, giving him a legal pad and a ballpoint pen.
After the interview, Mike should go over the notes with Ursula, make a few corrections, and have her initial the changes. Then when Ursula testified, if she tried to change her story, her initials would be on Mike’s notes proving what she’d really said.
“Easy,” Mike said, putting the pad in his backpack. But he looked worried as we rode toward their house, and I hoped I wouldn’t have to prop him up when the time came.
We pedaled up a private cul-de-sac to a big stone palace and leaned our bikes against a tree, in a yard as big as a mountain meadow. “Remember, I do the talking,” I told him as we walked up the pathway. “You break in only if you don’t understand what she says.”
“Okay.”
A girl a few inches taller than me opened the massive oaken door. She had cover-girl looks, with short, reddish hair and blue eyes, and a complexion and figure to die for. “Miss Jespersen?” I asked.
“Yess?” She stretched the s with a nice little accent.
“Hi, I’m Kate Hope and this is Mike Doyle. Can we talk to you a few minutes?”
“I am very sorry, my missus not here. Not here also her husband.” She started to shut the door.
“That’s okay,” I said. “We’d like to talk with you.”
“Why with me you wish to talk?” she asked. Then a large shadow loomed behind her.
“Hey,” Mike said in a high, squeaky voice. “Ron Benson.”
Everyone in Denver knew who Ron Benson was, especially all the girls at Hill. He was a big college football star. “Hi, kids,” he said. He was wearing shorts and didn’t have a shirt on, showing off his muscles. He needed a shave. “Who’re you?” he asked Mike.
“I’m, ah, Mike Doyle, a friend of Kenny’s? You know, your younger brother?”
“Yeah, I know Kenny.” He smiled at me. “Who’s the chick?” he asked Mike.
“She’s . . .”
“I can speak for myself, Ron,” I said to God’s Gift. He’d gone to Hill Middle and East High, and had one more year at Penn State. Then no doubt he would become a professional football player and make a hundred thousand dollars a year. His younger brother Kenny—already more than six feet tall—was in the same class Mike and I were in. “I’m Kate Hope.” I stuck out my hand.
He grinned at me as his hand swallowed mine like a shark inhaling a guppy. “The kid who’s a lawyer, right?”
His hand warmed up, like it was personal. I have to admit that mine felt good in his . . . until it started feeling trapped. I slid it out. “Right,” I said, and dazzled him with Mom’s smile. “Ursula? Miss Jespersen? She’s a witness in a case I’m working on, and I brought my investigator with me so we could interview her.”
“Kenny has a crush on you, Kate. What’re you doin’, hangin’ with this bozo?”
“Not hanging with him,” I said. “He’s my investigator.”
“What’d she do?” He turned to Ursula. “Are you in trouble, baby?”
“I do nothing wrong. What for me you wish?”
“Just to talk, Miss Jespersen,” Mike said, forgetting that he wasn’t supposed to say anything. “A few questions?”
“Hey, the bozo has a mouth.” Ron smiled at Mike, whose ears brightened up a bit. “Come on in, guys,” Ron said, opening the screen door. “So you’re practicing law. How come lawyers only practice? Don’t they ever get serious?”
“That’s just an expression.” What a killer house, I thought, looking around. It had marble floors in the foyer and a staircase that spiraled up and up—into the clouds, it seemed. Where did they keep the servants? “Doctors say the same thing.”
“Good answer,” Ron said. “But you’re a lawyer. I’ll bet you’re full of good answers.” He led us to another room, a library, with bookcases on the walls and a polished wooden table with leather chairs. “Sit down. How long will this take?” he asked, looking at his watch.
“Ten minutes,” Mike said, kind of staring at Ron. Then he swallowed. “Fifteen, max. But we’d like to talk to Miss Jespersen, you know, without you? It’s just quicker.”
Those were Two-Fingers’ instructions, which I’d told Mike about and then forgotten. Maybe two heads really were better than one, even when one of them belonged to Mike.
“No, you don’t,” Ron said, sitting down with us. “She’s from Denmark and gets mixed up, you know, with the language. I’ll stick around and translate.”
I smiled at Mike to let him know it was okay. “Ready?” I asked him, nodding at his legal pad. He quickly put it on the table and bent over it with his pen. “You’re an au pair, aren’t you, Miss Jespersen?”
“How did you know that?” Ron asked.
It wasn’t supposed to happen this way, I thought. But we had to go with the flow. “She’s called a live-in baby-sitter in the police report,” I said to Ron. “But if she’s from Denmark—”
“Police report! I thought you said she wasn’t in any trouble.”
“She isn’t,” I said quickly, putting my hand on Mike’s arm to keep him quiet. He looked ready to butt in. What had gotten into him? “We’re here about Herman, the dog who allegedly—”
“‘Allegedly’!” Ron jumped up, and in one instant, he grew two feet. “I thought they took that dog out and shot it!”
“Kate,” Mike said, staring at Ron. “The unidentified man.”
Ron leaned toward Mike and poked him in the chest with a finger. “Unidentified man? What are you talking about?”
“Don’t,” Mike said, pushing Ron’s hand away. “Okay?”
Ron put his hand on Mike’s shoulder, near his neck, and squeezed. “Answer my question, bozo. What do you mean, ‘unidentified man’?”
Mike did his best not to show any expression, but it had to hurt. “Just that you rescued the baby from the dog.”
Ron smiled like a hero and let go. He nodded. “So?”
“So you were there too is all.”
“I don’t know where this is headed,” Ron said, “but I don’t like it. You kids know where the door is.”
“Look, we’d just like to ask you a few questions about what happened,” I said to Ron. “My client is Wilma Willow, and Herman is her dog, and he’s all she has in the world. She doesn’t have any family except him. And now, you know, the City wants to kill him. Can’t—”
“That dog should be killed,” Ron said. “Ursula, let’s show her Monica. She can see for herself.”
Ursula nodded. “Come.”
She led us up the stairs as Ron kind of blocked Mike out of the way and then put a controlling hand on my shoulder. Gently, Ursula pushed open the door into a large bedroom. “Shh,” she whispered. “My little girl sleeps.”
A baby crib was in the middle of the room, and an adorable little baby with soft blond hair lay on her stomach with her face to one side. She wriggled, then relaxed into the mattress. Ron pointed at the bruise on her chubby little thigh. “Do you know what you can still see if you look close?” he asked me.
“No.”
“Teeth marks.”
“What did you think you were doing back there?” I asked Mike angrily as we rode down Clarkson Street. “I told you I’d ask the questions. You almost got in a fight with him!”
“Well, how would you like it if someone called you ‘bozo’ and punched you in the chest with his fi
nger and then choked you to death?” he asked me. “I didn’t like him calling you ‘chick,’ either.”
Was I angry at Mike? Or at myself, because I let the interview get out of control? At least Mike had stood up to the conceited jerk. “Would you have fought him?”
“I don’t know.” He wiped off his nose. “At least we found out who the unidentified man is.”
“That was all we found out, though.”
“So where are we going now?”
“Miss Willow’s house.” Mike had done that for me, I thought in wonderment, then got back on track. “I don’t get him.”
“I get him. He’s—”
“I mean Herman. Does he have a split personality or something, like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde? A nice face for Miss Willow but a monster hiding in him that comes out at night?”
The big clock on top of the City and County Building bonged twice as we jumped the curb in front of Miss Willow’s house on West Cedar Street. A little red brick bungalow, it was easily the cutest house on the block, with a grassy yard, flowers in tight little gardens, and bushes nicely shaped and pruned by someone with a flair for it. A light blue picket fence surrounded the yard. We stopped in front of the gate.
Miss Willow, garden shears in her hand, was outdoors. “Why, it’s my lawyer and her nice young man!” she exclaimed.
“Hi, Miss Willow,” I said as we dismounted and leaned the bikes against the fence. I let the “nice young man” comment slide by. She was wearing a pretty little yellow dress again, and I opened the gate . . . when a big, yellow-eyed animal appeared, stopping me in my tracks. Mike bumped into me and sucked in his breath because the creature looked ready for anything.
“It’s all right, Herman,” Miss Willow said. The hair on the back of my neck stopped quivering as the dog kind of nodded his head and moved back. We came the rest of the way into the yard, and Mike shut the gate. “He is so much better but still can’t wear a collar,” Miss Willow said.
“Why not?” I asked.
“He’s still healing,” she said. Herman ambled over to her, and with gentle hands she lifted his face up, exposing his neck. A patch had been shaved and covered with a blood-soaked gauze bandage. “When I first saw him he was an awful mess, the poor darling. Blood had matted in his coat, and one eye had been battered shut and wouldn’t open. This raw spot under his neck?” She touched it. “He’d been horribly choked, and it refuses to heal, I think because he can’t lick it.”
“What happened?” Mike asked.
“The people at the animal shelter told me he’d been beaten before they picked him up,” Miss Willow said. “They don’t know who did it.”
“The unidentified man, I’ll bet,” Mike said. “Ron Benson.”
“Did anyone take pictures of his injuries, Miss Willow?” I asked her. “Or if you have a camera, can we take some now?”
“It hasn’t been used in ages,” she said, hurrying into her house as Herman reached for Mike with his paw. There was a definite smile on both faces. A minute later there were dog germs everywhere as Herman licked Mike’s hand and then his nose. Ugh. By the time Miss Willow got back with the camera, they were good buddies.
But the camera didn’t work.
There was something else I needed to find out from Miss Willow before we left . . .“Oh. Do you have a report from the paramedics?” I asked her.
“I’m sure they’ll give me one,” she said. “Why?”
“We need to know exactly when those boys knocked you down.”
“Can I ask her a question too?” Mike asked me.
“Sure,” I said. “You’re my investigator.”
“Did you see a young couple with a stroller anywhere? A big guy and a really pretty girl? A knockout, in fact.”
It was a good question, although I didn’t think Ursula was such a knockout. Miss Willow frowned and shook her head. “I think I saw a baby carriage, if that’s what you mean. But I didn’t see anyone near it.”
I wanted to see the scene of the crime, so we rode out to the duck pond at City Park.
Miss Willow had put her picnic blanket down under a tree in front of the pond, and we thought we found the right place, but weren’t positive. An asphalt path circled the pond, which was probably where Ursula had wheeled the carriage. Had Miss Willow seen another one? Was there more than one carriage out there? We rode the path to the concession stand, trying to understand what had happened. “Do you know Willis Suggs?” I asked Mike.
“Yeah.”
I told him what Two-Fingers had said, and asked him to find Willis and talk to him. Maybe Willis knew who the kids were who’d run over Miss Willow.
“Okay.”
We sat on the grass and watched the ducks. “Were there really tooth marks on that little baby?” Mike asked.
“It looked like it to me.”
“I don’t get it at all,” he said.
“Don’t get what?”
“Why did Herman have a baby in his mouth?” We climbed on our bikes. I had to go back to the office, and Mike had to go home. “That dog likes little babies, I’ll bet. What was he doing?”
I stared at Mike, feeling . . . I don’t know . . . trust, or something. It felt good, whatever it was. “Mike?” I said when we got to Twelfth Avenue, where he’d go east and I’d go west.
“What?”
I cuffed him on the arm. “Thanks for sticking up for me today.”
Chapter Twelve
THERE WAS NO CHANCE WEDNESDAY to work on Herman’s case, and it was dark that night when I rolled into the garage, totally drained. Mom was out for the evening and hadn’t even left a light on in the kitchen. I peeled off my pack as the phone rang, and had to turn on the light to find it. “Hope residence.”
“How come you never call me back?” Mike asked, all bent out of shape. “I called you twice today.”
I could have called Mike, but the truth is, I didn’t think of it. Sometimes, he’s easy not to think about. “I’m sorry,” I said, “but it got really busy at the office. The Judge was there, but he wasn’t feeling well, so I had to deal with a zillion problems all day, and I just now got home and was all set to call you, but you called first.”
“Yeah, yeah. Sure you were.”
“I just this minute came in the door! Cool it.” I didn’t need any guff from him. “Did you find any witnesses?”
“No, but I talked to Willis Suggs.”
“You did?” Amazing, I thought. He actually got off his duff and did something positive. “What’d he say?”
“Said he’d meet me at City Park tomorrow by the pavilion, after he’s talked to Uncle Two-Fingers. He said the old guy’s cool, even though he gives Willis a hard time about his lifestyle.”
“Mike, that’s so nice of you.”
“Yeah. Then I hung out at City Park for a while, but didn’t turn up anything. Even saw Sally Lipscombe, who was feeding the ducks.”
Sally was this big flirt at school who had a crush on Mike, of all people. I couldn’t stand her, but not because of that. I just didn’t like her. “Is she following you?”
“Why would she do that? We just talked. She told me about this big case you have against Ron Benson that all the kids know about now.”
“How did they find out?”
“Kenny Benson, Ron’s brother? So I played dumb,” Mike said, “like I didn’t know anything about it, and let her talk.”
“What did she say about me?” I asked him.
“She thinks what you’re doing is stupid. How could you take the case, is what she doesn’t get. The way she made it sound, the Hound of the Baskervilles mangled a baby, and Ron fought the monster off. Why are you defending a dog who’d do something like that to a baby?”
“Did you tell her it’s my job?” I asked him angrily. “That I want to save the dog’s life?”
“No, I let her talk.”
“Well, thanks for standing up for me!” I felt betrayed. It was just like Mike to let a harebrain like Sally say bad things abo
ut me! “Of all the people who shouldn’t call someone else stupid, it’s Sally, who has the brains of a toadstool.” I started snuffling. “Damn it,” I said. “It makes me mad to have all the kids talking about me, and you doing nothing.”
“Hey, I thought I was your investigator,” he said. “Did you want me to blow my cover?”
“I don’t know. It’s just . . .”
“That isn’t even what I wanted to talk about,” Mike said. “Mom’s having a party Saturday, at the lake, and wanted to know if I’d like to have some of my friends up there too. Will you come?”
The Doyles had this great place in the mountains, near Evergreen Lake. I loved it up there. “Who are you asking?”
“Well, you know, the gang. The usual suspects.”
“Is Sally going?”
“Yeah. I asked her, anyway.”
“Why ask me, then? Look, I’m really tired. I need to get in bed.” I started to hang up on him.
“I don’t get you,” he said, in a tone I didn’t recognize. “I’m not taking Sally. She’s going with Kenny Benson. The last time I stood up for you, you wanted me to back off. So around Sally I backed off, hoping she’d tell me stuff that Kenny heard from Ron. Like a good investigator, I thought. Only now you’re blaming me for something!” Silence. “Sometimes I don’t know how to act around you, Kate.”
Real, I thought. Try acting real. But what he said made sense, sort of, and I wondered if it was me. “Okay, I’ll go to your party.” That didn’t sound very generous of me. “I’d like to go, in fact. Thanks for asking.” My eyes started to tear up, and I followed that comment with a long snuffle. How romantic, I thought, realizing suddenly what my problem was. I was really tired. “Thanks for helping, too,” I said. Just don’t expect an apology, I added to myself. “I mean, you’ve kind of been there for me lately, and it’s nice to know I have at least one friend.” I wanted to tell him more, except I didn’t know what else I wanted to say.
“That’s okay,” he said, as though he knew I was having a problem. “Go to bed, okay? Maybe you’ll feel better in the morning.”
I was so tired that I didn’t even take a shower before crawling under the covers and wrapping myself around a pillow. Then I had this vivid dream of me waiting at school for my dad to pick me up. I looked just like Judy Garland in The Wizard of Oz. “Where are you, Zozo?” I kept asking. Or did I ask for Toto?
