Whiskey and tonic, p.17
Whiskey and Tonic, page 17
“Maybe she’s one of those folks who’s always on her phone,” I suggested.
“You mean, like a realtor?”
I pulled a face. “Vito’s old. He probably thinks public use of cell phones is rude."
“Vito got the impression Emma was checking in with someone. Telling them what was happening where she was. Maybe giving the ‘go’ sign.”
“She probably called a friend to say the pageant was a joke and where was everybody getting together tonight."
Jenx cleared her throat. “Vito also saw what happened to Miss Blossom’s prize check.”
That caught my interest. “What happened to it?”
“When the steps collapsed and she went down, the check flew out of Faye’s hand. Guess who stepped in to retrieve it?”
I would have guessed Abra, except I knew she’d gone for the crown instead.
“Who?"
“Vito’s estranged great-grand-nephew, Dock Paladino."
Chapter thirty-two
“That was the big revelation Vito struggled to remember?” I asked Jenx. “One of his relatives picking off the prize check?"
“I think he had a crisis of conscience,” the chief explained. “Even though the Botafogos haven’t spoken to the Paladinos for two generations, Vito wasn’t ready to rat out one of his own."
“What changed his mind?”
“He heard that Tammi LePadanni put a curse on Faye. Those old Italians respect the evil eye. Scares the shit out of ’em. Vito already knew Dock was banging Tammi. When he found out Tammi had cursed Faye, he didn’t want Dock getting away with taking Faye’s check. Looked to him like the locals were ganging up on her. And it’s not like she’s an outsider. Faye’s half-Italian, you know.”
I didn’t know.
“Vito thought the poor kid was getting a raw deal,” Jenx said. “So he decided to point a finger."
“Vito knew Dock was banging Tammi?” I repeated.
“Whiskey, you’re the only person in town who didn’t know that."
“Did everybody know he was banging Brandi?”
Jenx nodded.
“And Crystal?”
She nodded again.
“But not Noonan, right?” I said. “Nobody knew about Noonan and Dock until Noonan told us at the Goh Cup.”
“Noonan and Dock?" Jenx looked as stunned as I must have when I heard the revelation. “Are you sure you were supposed to repeat that?”
I stared at Jenx. “I finally know something everybody in town doesn’t already know, and you expect me to keep it to myself?”
“I thought you respected Noonan.”
“Of course, I respect Noonan! That doesn’t mean I can’t talk about her behind her back! Anyway, it’s not like it’s a secret. Peg and Odette know about Noonan and Dock, too.”
“But they can keep their mouths shut,” Jenx said.
Changing the subject ever so slightly, I said, “I didn’t even know Dock was at the Miss Blossom event. I’ve never met him."
“That’s because you’re not into boating. If you hung around the marina or the bars down there, you’d know Dock.”
“He must be a major hunk to attract all those women. . . . ”
Jenx frowned as if trying to imagine herself in someone else’s steel-toe boots. Or someone else’s stilettos.
“Do you like Brad Pitt?” she asked.
“Dock Paladino looks like Brad Pitt?"
“Nope. Pretty much the opposite. Dock’s big, dark and beefy. And he sweats a lot. Don’t get me wrong, I like that look—just not in a man."
“Do you think Dock attacked Kevin Sweeney?” I said.
“If we’re talking ‘could he?’—no problem. Dock’s strong enough to overpower our little lawyer, stab him, and toss him down a well. But why would Dock do it?"
“Maybe Sweeney was putting the moves on one of Dock’s girls,” I theorized.
Jenx shot me a look. “I’m no expert on hetero-relations, but something tells me those two wouldn’t have the same taste in women.”
She peered inside the locked Hummer, moving from tinted window to tinted window.
“Can’t see much of anything in there,” Jenx mumbled.
“Where did the deputy go?” I asked. Not that I liked the guy, but when you’ve just found two unconscious people on a cursed estate, and your canine bodyguard is off on a mission, there’s comfort in numbers.
“Who knows?” Jenx said, turning in a complete circle to look for her uniformed peer. She bellowed, “Hey! Clifton! Where the hell are you?"
No response.
“Oh jeez. Now I’m gonna have to call for back-up,” she sighed.
“I thought the state boys were on their way,” I said.
“A couple state police detectives and a forensics team,” Jenx sneered. “I need somebody who’s not afraid of ghosts."
“Ghosts?! Who said anything about ghosts?”
“Forget that,” Jenx snapped. “Let’s just say I need back-up that can think nonlinearly.”
“Brady and Roscoe?” I suggested.
“Bingo."
Jenx roused her part-time officer and his canine crony. Brady said he was deep into the first book about Winimar, but he and Roscoe were on their way. They would reach us within thirty minutes.
When my cell phone rang, I gasped. Part of my brain was still stuck on the word ghosts.
“Whiskey, it’s Wells. Are you all right?"
I tried to sound a lot less rattled than I was. “Peachy. Just standing here in the middle of nowhere trying to figure out how Sweeney got his car this far into the forest and what happened to Deputy Clifton. He was here, but now he isn’t."
I was thinking, but didn’t add, Like that woman I thought I saw.
“Trust me,” the judge said, “no matter what’s going on, Mooney will protect you.”
“I believe that . . . except Dr. David gave Mooney an assignment, and—being the good dog he is—he accepted it. Mooney’s long gone.”
Briefly I recapped our discovery of Sweeney and Flagg. When Wells asked no questions, I assumed he’d already heard the latest news from Winimar. Probably on his police scanner.
“I can assure you, Whiskey, that Mooney will return, and he will keep you safe. That is one highly trained Rott Hound.”
“Okay. But who’s protecting Mooney while he’s out there following orders? Even in daylight, this place is too creepy for words. So far today two dogs have vanished, and two people have required emergency medical care!”
“Abra and Norman haven’t ‘vanished,’” Wells said. “That’s one of the reasons I’m calling. My clerk lives on County Road H near Downhill Road—one mile east of Uphill. Her husband just phoned to say there are two dogs matching Abra and Norman’s description out by their barn. He’s going to try to contain them until Fleggers or Jenx can get there."
“With all due respect, Wells, this is Abra we’re talking about. Nobody can contain her."
“I think this man can.”
“Why? Is he a professional dog wrangler?”
“Close enough. He used to be a rodeo clown, back in the day."
I visualized Abra bucking like a wild-eyed eighteen-hundred-pound bull. If this guy was trained to deflect lethal moves, he just might be able to corral my dog.
“What are Abra and Norman doing by the barn?” I asked suspiciously.
Wells said, “They’re grooming each other."
Foreplay, I thought. But all I said was, “Sweet.”
Chapter thirty-three
On a whim, I asked Wells if he was friends with Dr. LePadanni. One high-level local professional with another, don’t you know.
“Stanley and I have played golf together a few times and had drinks afterwards. That’s about it."
“Stanley LePadanni?” I asked.
“That’s his name,” Wells said.
I had forgotten that the surgeon’s first name almost rhymed with his last. Just as Tammi’s and Brandi’s did. A too-weird family tradition.
“How can Dr. LePadanni play golf? He’s morbidly obese. I can hardly even imagine him walking. . . .”
“He uses a cart,” Wells conceded. “But the man has a killer swing. Why are you asking about Stan?”
I relayed Faye’s news that the surgeon was a no-show. Then I took a deep breath and told Wells what I’d seen Saturday at Providence, omitting the little matter of my trespassing. I made it sound as though my intention had been to stop in and offer my part-time agent congratulations on her daughter’s second-place win.
“When nobody came to the door, I walked around the back and peered in,” I said. Never mind that I hadn’t actually rung the bell.
Wells was silent for so long I thought my cellular service had died again.
“Hello?” I said.
“Whiskey, something about this story doesn’t add up.”
I hoped he was referring to Brandi’s tantrum, the pit bulls, the mysterious visitor, or the abrupt lights-out—and not my lie about why I was there.
“What, Wells?” I asked innocently. “What doesn’t add up?”
“Stanley LePadanni offering no comfort to his daughter while she was in distress. He would move heaven and earth to soothe Brandolina. I’ve heard Stan say he’d kill anyone who made her unhappy."
“Nice talk from a man who took the Hippocratic oath,” I murmured.
That was the second time in as many minutes that Wells had linked a form of the word kill to the surgeon: Killer golf swing. Would kill anyone who made his daughter unhappy. A figure of speech? Or did the judge know something I didn’t, namely that Dr. LePadanni had a murderous streak? Although I’d gone to Providence for the express purpose of checking Tammi’s black Lincoln Navigator for blue paint, I hadn’t gotten that far. When I peered into their four-car garage, two vehicles were missing and two more—black, of course—were inaccessible.
Since direct questions are often the shortest route to straight answers, I asked Wells the Big One: “Is Dr. LePadanni capable of murder?”
I heard the judge inhale sharply. “Stanley’s a healer.”
“Sure, sure. But—if provoked—could he fly into a fatal rage?"
“Couldn’t most of us?” Wells said calmly. “Confronted with the need to defend home or family?"
“True, but there’s self-defense . . . and then there’s defense of ego. I mean, there’s thinking your life’s on the line, and then there’s being too vain or proud or greedy to let someone take something away from you. If you know what I mean.”
“I know what you mean. I’m a judge, remember?"
“Sorry.”
“No need to apologize. Frankly, I’m concerned about Stan. Has Jenx talked to Tammi or Brandi this morning?"
“Not yet. Jenx is still here with me—I hope.”
I glanced around and was profoundly relieved that the chief, unlike Deputy Clifton, hadn’t vanished. Even better, Dr. David was now at her side. They appeared to be conferring.
Still sounding placid, Wells said, “Stay close to Jenx. At least until Mooney returns. And keep your phone on.”
I started to explain that my phone was always on but only sporadically working when the line went dead. Several attempts to reconnect with Wells—or anyone in the outside world—proved fruitless. So I hot-footed it over to where Jenx and Dr. David stood talking behind the Hummer.
“Any sign of Mooney? Or the deputy?” I interrupted.
“Not yet. We’re still waiting." Dr. David used his smooth voice, the one he generally saved for distressed animals.
“What’s going on?” I demanded, my eyes darting back and forth between the vet and the chief. “Do you two know something I should know?”
“Settle down!” Jenx said. “You’re acting like a caged animal.”
I felt like one.
“We’re trying to figure out where Sweeney entered the property,” Jenx explained, “assuming it was Sweeney who drove the Hummer this far. Deputy Clifton has the internet diagram that Brady faxed. We can’t remember if it showed another driveway besides the one we hiked in on from County Road H. Can you?”
I couldn’t. But I was able to share Wells’s news about the Abra-and-Norman sighting over on Downhill Road. Dr. David looked especially relieved.
He said, “I’ll head over there in the Animal Ambulance as soon as Brady and Roscoe get here.”
“You should wait for Mooney and take him along,” Jenx said. “With Abra, you’ll need all the help you can get.”
I reported that the farmer who’d spotted the dogs was a retired rodeo clown, skilled at corralling bucking bulls and broncos.
“So he can probably handle Abra,” I concluded. Brady and Jenx just laughed.
Everybody had faith in Mooney. My fear, though I didn’t voice it, was that both he and Deputy Clifton had fallen under some kind of evil spell. While waiting for Brady and Roscoe to come rescue us, I studied the ground leading up to the Hummer. There had probably been a lane here, once upon a time. Not quite wide enough for a super-sized SUV, however. I noticed that the sides of the vehicle bore a number of long, nasty scratches, probably from forcing its way through dense, jagged overgrowth. Who would do that damage, willingly, to a ride as new and expensive as this one?
I retraced about forty feet of the Hummer’s curved route, glancing back every few yards to make sure Jenx and Dr. David were still in sight. They were once again deep in discussion, my presence or absence apparently irrelevant. I could detect the Hummer’s wide tire tracks although to my untrained eye they weren’t obvious. It had been a dry spring in Lanagan County; thus the trail, such as it was, consisted of squashed vegetation rather than ruts. I knew from the sucking mud I’d traversed earlier that there were wet spots on this property. But the driver, whoever he or she was, must have known—or at least gambled—that the Hummer could get through anything. I supposed that was why people drove Hummers. In addition to proclaiming that size really does matter, owning a Hummer means never having to say you’re stuck.
A series of sonorous barks and woodsy crashes announced the welcome approach of Officers Roscoe and Swancott. Jenx, Dr. David and I hooted a variety of greetings, ranging from “Hello!” to “Over here!"
I wanted to cry out, “Please save us!" But I was cool.
No sooner had Brady and Roscoe arrived than Mooney gamboled in from the opposite direction, his thick club of a tail happily beating the air. Something soggy flapped from his quivering jowls. Jenx donned a pair of surgical gloves before removing the item. I knew that was protocol for handling evidence, but I also figured it was the only way to keep one’s hands dry in the vicinity of Mooney’s mouth.
“What is it?” I asked Jenx.
She addressed her reply to Brady: “It’s the diagram you faxed Deputy Clifton before he met us here.”
“What are you talking about?” Brady said. Jenx handed him a severely wilted piece of paper, rendered almost translucent by Mooney’s drool.
“I didn’t send this,” Brady said.
“Yes you did,” I told him. “We all saw the top sheet. It had a note from you.”
“Saying what?"
“Something about how you weren’t sure it was reliable, but you’d downloaded this map of you-know-where from the Internet. You thought it was part of the ‘book-in-progress.’”
Jenx added, “‘Proceed with caution,’ you said.”
Brady peered closely at the bottom edge of the page, which was mostly gone. When he glanced up, his usually laconic features wore a tense expression.
“Chief, look at what’s left of the originating phone number. It’s not ours.”
Jenx read it and groaned. “Somebody pretending to be you sent this to the sheriff’s office!”
“Or,” Brady said, “somebody’s pretending to be from the sheriff’s office. How well do you know the missing deputy?”
Chapter thirty-four
Jenx admitted that she didn’t know the missing deputy, having met him last night when he’d answered the call to Vestige. That was following Deely’s discovery of the crown sans jewels and Faye’s plunge over the banister.
“You didn’t know the guy, so you just assumed he was a deputy?” I asked.
“He had the right car, badge, nametag, and uniform,” Jenx snapped. “Did you think he looked like a phony?"
“No, but then I’m trained to evaluate foundations and floor plans."
At that instant we all heard a cry for help. Mooney and Officer Roscoe were the first to spring into action. Good thing, too, because I for one no longer trusted my sense of direction. And my confidence in our local two-legged police force was flagging.
Everyone jogged along behind the two canines, who had unofficially paired up. I thought it was cool that Officer Roscoe accepted without question the aid of a trained volunteer—of mixed breed, no less. There was a job to be done, and they didn’t need to discuss it. We humans could probably take a page from that playbook: working smoothly together despite race, creed, or income-tax bracket.
Uh-oh. I’d just gone temporarily Fleggers in my head. There was no time to contemplate my philosophical lapse. We accelerated, sailing—or stumbling—over, around and between various forms of jagged vegetation.
The cry for help came again, distinctly the voice of the missing deputy.
“He could be trying to lure us into a trap,” Brady warned.
“Should we . . . divide to conquer? Break into two teams?” Dr. David panted.
In the worst physical condition of the group, he was falling behind fast.
“That’s an idea,” Brady said, glancing back. “How about it, Chief? You and I go ahead, and Dr. David and Whiskey stay behind?”
“Oh no!” I cried. “Our team needs an officer who’s armed to the teeth!"
“You want Roscoe?” Jenx asked.
“Only if he can use a gun."
The chief slowed to a brisk walk. “Brady—you go ahead with Roscoe and Mooney. I’ll stay behind with the unarmed humans. Call for back-up if you need it. Don’t be a hero, and don’t let the dog-boys try that trick, either!”
“Right on,” Brady said, resuming his pace.
