Блейз Клемент - Duplicity Dogged Тhe Dachshund

“But how—”

“Money talks, Dixie. It speaks in a very loud voice. The bank sued Leo Brossi. It also sued the Ferrelli and Black real estate company. But because of some political maneuvering, the FDIC stepped in and arranged a highly unusual settlement whereby Ferrelli and Black only had to repay half a million and Brossi didn’t have to pay anything. To sweeten the settlement, Ferrelli and Black got to keep the building.”

My brain cells were groaning from the strain of trying to follow slippery financial deals involving millions and billions. My brain was more acquainted with numbers in the hundreds.

Ethan leaned over the table. “Dixie, you shouldn’t be going around asking questions about Denton Ferrelli or Leo Brossi. Those guys play dirty, and they play for keeps. You’re nothing but an annoying insect at their picnic, and they’ll smash you without a second thought.”

“They’ve already tried to smash me.”

“Me too. Now that Stevie Ferrelli won’t be taking Conrad’s place, Denton is putting pressure on the other board members. He wants to kill the plans for the circus retirement home, and I’m fighting him. That means I might as well have a bull’s-eye painted on my back. I’m not a big name in the legal world, but Denton can make it so I won’t even get work doing simple wills.”

I was sure what he said was true, and there wasn’t a thing I could say to make it less depressing. We tossed our empties in an open trash can and ambled back to the vet’s parking lot.

As I got into the steamy Bronco, I said, “Thanks for the coffee, Ethan, and for the shoulder.”

“Anytime.”

“Next time I hope I won’t need the shoulder.”

Surprise registered in his eyes. “Me too. See you, Dixie.”

I had my engine running before he was in his car, and my heart was doing a tango. What the hell was wrong with me? Last night I’d realized I was attracted to Guidry, and now I’d just given a not-so-subtle notice to Ethan Crane that I’d like to get better acquainted.

As I pulled out of the lot, I muttered, “Get a grip, girl. Next thing you’ll start having fantasies about cucumbers and zucchini.”

Back at Mame’s house, I examined the urine-stained rug in the study and decided it had to be cleaned by professionals. I called a company and made arrangements to meet them Monday morning. I washed Mame’s food and water bowls and stacked them on a pantry shelf. I put her collar and leash on the top shelf of the hall closet. I vacuumed up russet dog hairs. I took the opened bag of organic senior kibble and a box of Jubilee Wafers to pass along to another elderly dog client. When—or if—the Powells returned, it would be to a house that showed no visible signs that Mame had ever lived there.

I locked the door behind me and headed south on Midnight Pass Road, retracing the zigzag route I’d taken earlier but this time visiting cats and birds. It was after eleven when I finished with the last cat and drove down the tree-lined drive to my apartment. Exhilarated after last night’s storm, the treetops were filled with songbirds and parakeets chirping their heads off, and every seabird in the area was drawing exuberant circles and loops in the sky.

When I came around the last bend, I saw Guidry’s car parked beside the carport. I pulled the Bronco into its slot and started toward my stairs, then detoured to the wooden deck when I saw Michael and Paco and Guidry sitting at the table. I expected them to be celebrating Paco’s success, but all three men wore strained faces. Actually, only Guidry and Paco looked strained. Michael’s face was thunderous. Something was up. The air was crackling with it, and whatever it was had made Michael mad as a stuck bull.

I gave Paco a big smile. “Good job this morning.”

He took the praise like a dog. A nod, a smile. No preening, no aw-shucks-it-was-nothing silliness.

I said, “Too bad Brossi wasn’t there when you made the bust.”

“He was supposed to be, but somebody slugged him yesterday and broke his nose. He was home with an ice bag.”

I met Guidry’s gaze and felt my face grow hot with remorse. My little escapade yesterday had allowed Leo Brossi to escape arrest this morning.

Guidry said, “He’ll be taken in, don’t worry.”

Paco gestured toward their coffee mugs. “Want some coffee?”

“No, I want food.”

Like a gladiator hearing the call to battle, Michael was instantly on his feet and headed toward the kitchen.

Paco looked at Guidry and tilted his head toward the back door. “Let’s go inside.”

I went ahead of them to the kitchen. I was a good hour beyond my limit of going without breakfast. Whatever Paco and Guidry had to tell me would have to wait until I’d had something to eat.

Michael was already slamming food from the refrigerator to the cooktop, laying paper-thin slices of ham on the grill and topping them with Gruyère cheese, grilling a split croissant beside them, and somehow with a few moves putting it all together and flipping it on a plate next to a slice of honeydew melon.

Paco and Guidry cast covetous looks at my plate, so he did the same for them and then for himself. Paco poured a round of coffee for everybody, and we all sat around the butcher-block island and ate like hogs. I was surprised that Guidry knew the trick to eating a sandwich that oozed melted cheese, but then I remembered he was from New Orleans. Probably had a French nanny who made him croque-monsieurs when he was still in diapers. Probably wore pure linen diapers too.

Once my stomach was reassured, I said, “You guys have something to tell me?”

Michael’s face darkened, and he got up and started putting food away with a vengeance.

Guidry said, “We picked Gabe Marks up for questioning. He said he does odd jobs sometimes for Leo Brossi, but he denied knowing Denton Ferrelli. Also denied trying to run you down with his truck. He said you’re a crazy woman who shot at him when he went to his girlfriend’s apartment. He didn’t deny using Scoline to capture alligators, but he has a valid Florida Alligator Harvest Permit, and, like he said, most everybody who handles alligators has some drugged darts. We couldn’t hold him.”

Three pairs of eyes were watching me, Michael like a statue by the sink. Nobody asked if it was true that I’d shot at Gabe Marks, just as nobody had asked if I was the person who had caused Leo Brossi to be home with ice on his face last night. I was stuck with being the only one who knew for sure I’d done both those things.

I said, “I can’t prove it was Gabe Marks who tried to run me down in the parking lot. I can’t prove he put snakes in my apartment. I can’t prove he was the one driving Conrad’s car or that he shot drugged darts into Conrad and Stevie. But I know Denton hired Gabe to kill them, and I know he wants me dead. Denton is a respected man with important political connections. He has powerful mob connections. If Gabe doesn’t kill me, Denton will have somebody else do it.”

Nobody spoke. Nobody argued with me.

I said, “It’s hopeless, isn’t it?”

Guidry said, “Nothing’s ever hopeless, Dixie.”

That wasn’t true, and we all knew it. Some things are flat-out hopeless, and there’s nothing anybody can do about it. The kitchen seemed very still and quiet. The clock on the wall made faint clicking noises as the second hand moved. Sunshine streamed through the bay window facing the shore, and dust motes shimmered in the golden light. In that peaceful moment, it seemed incongruous that death could lurk nearby. But death is always lurking. The question isn’t if death will ultimately win but how we will face it when it does. I thought about how gracefully Mame had dealt with the hopelessness of her situation, how fearlessly she had gone to her last moment. Perhaps that’s why pets exist—to teach humans how to die.