Sue Grafton - U Is For Undertow

He lowered his head and then pinched the bridge of his nose and let the air out of his lungs. “Shit. I know I did the right thing. Own an animal and you’re responsible for his comfort and safety. You do what you have to do, even if it breaks your heart. But I should have been with him. Losing that dog was like losing Liam all over again. I couldn’t handle it. I should have driven back up there, even if he was already sedated and wasn’t aware of what was going on. Instead, I told the vet to get on with it. I told him to just take care of it and when I hung up the phone, I stood here and wept. It was cowardly. He was a noble animal. I should have held him while he died. I owed him that and Liam, too.”

I was busy thinking about six other things, breathing through my mouth in hopes I could keep my shit together. Meanwhile, Woofer, the yellow mongrel, had roused himself and crossed to Flannagan’s side. He stood there with his chin on Flannagan’s thigh, looking up at him through the mop of hair that hung over his eyes. Flannagan smiled and rubbed behind his ears.

I cleared my throat. “I’ve never owned a dog.”

“Yeah, well, I swore I’d never own another one and here I am. This fellow’s fifteen years old and so far, so good. Maybe I’ll get lucky and go before he does. At any rate, that’s the story of Ulf. You caught me off guard. I never thought I’d hear another word about the dog.”

“I appreciate the information.”

“What about you? You haven’t explained how you ended up with his tag.”

I gave him an abbreviated version of my meeting with Michael Sutton, his encounter with the two guys digging the hole, and his suspicions about Mary Claire Fitzhugh. Flannagan remembered the child’s disappearance. None of the other names I mentioned meant anything to him. He hadn’t known the Kirkendalls, the Suttons, or anyone on Alita Lane.

With a shrug I said, “Maybe there’s no connection. Maybe Ulf being buried there was pure coincidence. It just seems odd. I don’t know anything about the protocol when a dog is put down. The vet might have buried him.”

“I don’t know why he would. He only saw the dog once so it’s not like there was an emotional connection between the two. I know I didn’t bury him so how he ended up in Horton Ravine is anybody’s guess. What else do you want to know?”

“I guess that’s about it. Do you remember the vet’s name?”

“Not offhand. I can sort through my canceled checks. It might take me a while, but I’ll be happy to try.”

“That was a long time ago. I can’t believe you’d have records going back that far.”

“Give me a number where I can reach you and I’ll see what I can find.”

“I’d appreciate it.”

He watched while I jotted down my home number on the back of a business card and when I handed it to him, he said, “You might want to be careful referring to this town as Peephole. People around here can be stiff-necked. We call it Puerto.”

“Thanks for the warning. I’ll watch myself.”

When I got back to my office there was a message on my answering machine. “Hey, Kinsey. Tasha here. I was hoping to catch you before you left for the day. We wanted to make sure you received the invitation to the dedication. Could you give me a call and let me know if you can make it? That’s Saturday, May 28, in case the invitation hasn’t arrived. We’d really love to see you. Hope all goes well.”

She recited her number twice like I was standing by with a pencil writing everything down. As part of my brand-new attitude of openmindedness, I did, in fact, make a note. Having done so, I tore the sheet from my scratch pad, crumpled it, and threw it in the trash. I wasn’t even tempted to take it out again, in part because I knew this was Monday and the garbage wouldn’t be picked up for another two days. Plenty of time for ambivalence.

I checked my watch. It was 5:15, time for me to pack it in for the day. I’d just locked the front door and I was heading down the walk when the turquoise MG came around the corner with Sutton at the wheel. He had the top down and his dark hair was ruffled. I waited while he parked, wondering why he was back. Even at that short distance, he looked closer to eighteen years old than twenty-six. I’ve noticed that once in a while, someone gets caught at a stage in life from which they never advance. Ten years from now, I suspected he’d look much the same, despite the close-up contradiction of crow’s-feet and sagging jawline.

He got out of the car and approached with his head down, his hands in his pockets. When he spotted me, he stopped. “Oh! Are you leaving for the day?”

“That was my intention. What’s up?”

“Can you spare me a few minutes?”

“Sure.”

He stood there, apparently thinking I’d turn around and unlock the door. He said, “I’d prefer to talk in private.”

I debated the point. When a client comes in, I offer a cup of coffee as a matter of course, usually hoping they won’t take me up on it. Often, the coffee ritual is more of a commitment than I really care to make. Set up the machine, wait until the coffee’s done, inquire about preferences (black, milk, sugar, no sugar), check the relevant supplies. I keep packets of sweetener on hand, but the milk is inevitably over the hill, and then what? We talk about the downside of powdered whitener and who gives a shit? I’d rather whiz past the chitchat and get to the point. Same with Sutton’s coming into the office and taking a seat. If I let him in, how the heck was I going to get him out? “Is this urgent?”

“Pretty much. I mean, I think so.”

“Can’t we talk just as easily out here?”

“I guess.”

We stared at each other for a moment.

“I’m ready anytime,” I said.

“I was trying to think how to say this. Remember when we were standing around by the road while the officers were digging?”

“Thursday of last week. I remember it well.”

“A bunch of people parked their cars and got out, curious about what was happening.”

I said, “Right.” Mentally, I leaped past the foreplay, guessing at his intent. I anticipated his mentioning his sister, Dee, as in Diana Alvarez, trying to offset any damage she might have done by regaling me with his tall tales of sexual abuse. I nearly brought her name up myself in hopes of heading him off. I was so close to interrupting, I nearly missed what he said.

“I caught sight of a guy I thought I knew and later I realized he reminded me of one of the pirates. I only saw him for a second and I really didn’t make the connection until yesterday. You know how it is when you see someone out of context? This guy looked familiar, but I couldn’t think why. Then it came to me.”

“One of the two pirates,” I said.

“Exactly.”

I allowed myself time to absorb what he’d said, trying to block the impact of his sister’s revelations. In that split second, I understood how completely my perception of Sutton had been tainted by what she’d told me. Even as I resisted the pull, my response to him was skewed by the notion of his tentative hold on the truth. She’d sworn he’d come around again and, sure enough, he had, offering me a new twist, the next installment in a drama that would otherwise be dead.

“You’re overthinking this,” I said. “The guys were burying a dog.”

“I know, but I went over the incident and I wondered if they might have switched the dog’s body for Mary Claire’s after I interrupted them.”

“Switched bodies? And then what? I don’t understand where you’re going with this.”

“Well, if I’m right and the guy saw me at the same time I saw him, wouldn’t he realize I was onto them? Why else would the cops suddenly be digging up the hill? He’d know the police were getting close and who else could have tipped ’em off but me?”