Chihuahua of the Baskervilles (20 page)

Ellen shook her head in wry disbelief. “It’s not important, Charlotte.”

“Of course it is. The castle can’t afford to refund those people’s money. Will someone call Peggy and see if she can play my part? She did it last year.”

Shermont Lester started toward the door. “If it’ll make you feel better, I’ll call her.”

“Thank you,” Charlotte whispered, closing her eyes.

“Maggie,” Shermont called over his shoulder to another actress, “you tell the next group there’s going to be a delay.”

Maggie trotted after him, passing Bob as he returned to the room.

Cheri hugged herself and shivered. “What about my part? I’m not getting back in that coffin.”

“No one’s getting in that coffin until the police look at it,” Angus said firmly. “This is vandalism, if nothing else.”

“We can roll the coffin into the next room,” one of the actors suggested. “Cheri, you can lie on a table.”

“How will I hide my script when I’m lying there in plain sight?” Cheri protested.

“We’ll stick it in a bunch of roses.”

As the actors discussed the best way to salvage the show, Bob sat down on the floor. “I hope the police don’t take too long. The buffet’s going to get cold.”

Eighteen

The paramedics came, followed closely by Officer Deloit and her partner, Officer Boyd.

While a second, modified performance of Emma Crawford’s wake took place, the police took the nonperforming witnesses into the room with the coffin and questioned them.

Angus went first, then jerked his head at Michael, who volunteered to be next.

When Michael finished, he rejoined Angus. “What’s up?”

“I want to go back to the Baskerville house while everyone else is here.”

Michael looked over to where Suki was showing Officer Deloit the photographs she had taken. “What about Suki?”

“It can’t wait. C’mon.”

They strolled out of the room and found a stairway leading downstairs. As soon as they were out of the castle, Angus broke into a jog.

“What do you want to do at the house?” Michael asked, trotting beside him.

“I think Cheri is trying to claim her inheritance a bit early. I want to search her room.”

“But Cheri was at most risk from the spider,” Michael protested.

Angus made a rude noise. “A tarantula bite isn’t any worse than a bee sting. Not only do they have weak venom, but they’re not aggressive toward humans. No, I think it was there to frighten Charlotte.”

“It did a good job,” Michael said. “Where would you get a tarantula, at a pet store?”

“Yes, but they’re also native to Colorado. You can find them crossing the road in late summer. I don’t know if they’re still about in October.”

“Why do you know so much about tarantulas?” Michael asked.

“
Tripping
had a story on giant spiders of the Congo. I did some general research.”

They reached the street, looked both ways, and jogged across.

“Cheri isn’t the only one who benefits from Charlotte’s will,” Michael said. “Is she top of your list because her inheritance is biggest?”

“That, and she had the best chance of putting the spider in the coffin,” Angus said. “She was also angry that Ivan killed it, and finally, she hangs out with that goth boy, Jay. He looks like someone who keeps spiders.”

“I’m not sure he’s strictly goth,” Michael hazarded. “He looks more industrial to me.”

“Do those people keep spiders?”

“Now that I think of it, industrial is an accepted goth subset. You see—”

“He’s a young man with sideburns and a long black coat,” Angus said loudly. “Don’t you think he’s the most likely to keep a tarantula?”

“I really can’t commit to that sort of gross generalization.”

They had reached the house. Angus took Thomas’s keys from his pocket and unlocked the door. Once inside, he waved toward the downstairs parlor. “Keep an eye out through that window.”

“Got it,” Michael said.

Cheri’s room was the last door on the right. Angus breathed a sigh of relief when the knob turned. Lock picking wasn’t one of his skills.

He opened the door and recoiled slightly as fake strawberry scent hit him in the face like a damp, pink sponge.

Cheri’s furnishings consisted of a four-poster bed with eggplant-colored hangings, a bright red recliner that faced a flat-panel TV mounted on the wall, and a walnut bureau that took up half of one wall, its top cluttered with makeup and jewelry. Two open doors on the side wall revealed a closet and a bathroom.

A few neoclassical prints hung on the walls, their subjects’ flowing robes in imminent danger of revealing nipples and crotches. Magazines, cast-off clothes, and other detritus littered the floor.

Angus made his way over to the unmade bed, being careful not to step on anything.

Bending, he lifted the edge of the mattress and slid his hand almost to the back edge. Nothing. He looked under the pillow, just to make sure, then saw the edge of a laptop computer peeping out from beneath the sheet.

He lifted the lid and the machine hummed to life, but it was password-protected. Angus closed the lid with a slight feeling of relief. Unless Cheri had named a document something obvious, like “Care and feeding of spiders” or “How to kill Grandma,” it would have taken too long to search through everything.

He made his way to the closet, where he switched on the interior light and shoved a laundry basket aside with his foot so he’d have a place to stand.

Cheri’s clothes were packed on the rod so tightly, it was a miracle they hadn’t turned to shale. Something pink caught Angus’s eye, and he shoved at the clothes on either side until he could make it out—a quilted nylon jacket with a hood.

“That’s something,” he muttered.
Cheri might be the person who had gotten out of Bob Hume’s truck and gone all the way around the block before coming home. Why would she do that?

He shoved the jacket back and felt under sweaters and jeans piled haphazardly on the top shelf, then inside several pairs of boots on the floor, half expecting to feel a bottle. There was nothing but one knee-high nylon, wadded and dusty.

The bureau was next, and he went through all of the drawers, pushing aside thong underwear and shaking paperbacks of vampire erotica to make sure nothing hid between the pages.

He checked beneath the drawers, behind the bureau and prints, and under the chair and box springs. There was certainly no file folder, although he couldn’t imagine how Cheri would fund Thomas’s investigations.

Wondering if Cheri did drugs in addition to alcohol, he went inside the bathroom and checked the toilet tank, but found nothing. Cheri’s signature scent was more concentrated in the small room. Pink bottles and tubes held strawberry-scented shampoo, body wash, lotion, and something called Pink Glimmer.

He left the bathroom and took a final look around to make sure things looked relatively the same as when he’d come in.

Angus shut the door behind him and went down the hall to Ellen’s room. Its door was still locked. He continued downstairs to the parlor.

Michael turned from staring out the window. “Find any bags of spider chow?”

“No. I did find a pink coat with a hood.”

“Then it was probably Cheri I saw from the Miramont Castle window.”

“You’d have known for sure if you’d been close enough to smell her. Her room reeks of strawberry perfume.” Angus held up his arm and sniffed it. “Might have to take a shower if I don’t want to incriminate myself.”

“Let me smell.” Michael sniffed Angus’s proffered hands and shook his head. “It’s probably in your nose. What’s next?”

“I don’t know.” Angus looked at the floor and rubbed his forehead. “Cheri, Ellen, and Ivan all have something to gain if Charlotte dies from a heart attack. They were all there today, so that’s no help.” He smiled faintly. “I wonder if Ivan’s talents extend to teaching dogs to walk in the shape of letters.”

“I’d use a fake paw from a stuffed animal or something.”

Angus and Michael looked at each other.

“Like the stuffed Chihuahuas Bob Hume used to decorate his coffin for the race,” Angus said.

“But Bob’s not in Charlotte’s will, and his buddy Thomas is dead. What could he hope to gain?”

Angus turned toward the door. “I don’t know, but let’s take a look at that coffin, shall we?”

Darkness had fallen. Next door, a television screen flickered through a downstairs window, but no lights showed in Bob’s upstairs apartment.

Angus pushed open the gate and they walked quietly around to the back of the house. No coffin sat on the concrete patio.

“Maybe it’s in the garage,” Michael whispered. “Do you have a flashlight?”

“No.” Angus walked to the side of the garage and tried the handle of the door there. “Locked.” He walked along the wall to a window and peered inside. “I can’t see a damn thing. Let’s try the front.”

They went back through the yard and out the gate. Michael bent and tried to lift the garage door. It moved a few inches and stopped. “Automatic door opener,” he said, straightening. “I don’t think we can get in.”

Angus put his hands on his hips and thought for a moment. “It’s time for the direct approach.” He walked toward the front of the house.

Michael shoved the garage door to its original position, then trotted after Angus. “What are you going to do?”

“I have always depended on the kindness of strangers.” Angus reached the front door and pushed the bell.

After a few moments, a tall man opened the front door. He was skinny except for a slight beer belly, and wore jeans and a grubby T-shirt. “Yeah?”

“I’m sorry to bother you,” Angus said. “I was visiting Bob earlier today and I think I left my cell phone in the garage. Is there any way you could open it so I can check?”

“Hold on.” Leaving the door open, the man disappeared into the house.

Angus and Michael stood on the front step, listening to the sound of the TV. Michael clasped his hands behind his back and rocked on his feet.

Angus chuckled quietly. “You know, I really should have turned my cell phone off before I started this lark. Hope it doesn’t ring.”

Michael waved his hand in a shushing gesture.

The man returned, holding a bunch of keys. “I don’t use the garage, but I think this has a key to the side door.” He pointed to a small, cluttered shelf, just inside the door. “Just leave ’em here when you’re done. You don’t need to knock.”

“Thank you very much,” Angus said, taking the keys.

“People are so trusting,” Michael whispered, as they walked to the side of the garage.

“There’s a lesson there.” Angus tried a key without success.

“Not to trust people?” Michael said.

“Not to leave your keys lying about so your roommate can give them to strangers. Ah, here it is.” Angus opened the door and slid his hand along the wall until he found a light switch. The overhead bulb revealed Bob’s racing coffin, with a stuffed Chihuahua at each corner. “You check the two dogs in back, I’ll check the front.”

Angus went to the front of the coffin and grabbed the foreleg of a dog. Like every other part of the toy, the fur was crunchy with black paint. He bent the leg up to catch the light, then let it flick back into place. “That settles that.”

Michael straightened. “They don’t have paw pads.”

Angus crossed his arms, patting one elbow thoughtfully. “I suppose we might as well look around while we’re here. See if we can find anything suspicious.” He pointed. “You take that half, I’ll take the other.”

Michael lifted the top of a standing toolbox. “I have to say, I’m starting to understand why people rave about Petey. I don’t think even Lassie knew her letters.”

“
Death
. Do you suppose that’s a threat, or a reference to Thomas?” Angus asked.

Michael shrugged. “Could be it just sounded spooky and fit well in the available space. It’s not easy to spell things using paw prints.” He lifted a tarp. “Just out of curiosity, have you finally given up on the idea that we’re dealing with a real ghost?”

“Of course not.” Angus poked through a box of plumbing supplies. “It’s just that ghosts aren’t known for trying to kill people.”

“Why not?” Michael asked. “If they can toss chairs around, why can’t they pull the trigger of a gun? You know, I’ve noticed this double standard before. The public is fine with ghosts as long as they’re moaning around in their jammies, but when a real crime happens, people stop looking for paranormal evidence and start looking for forensic evidence. If I were a ghost, I’d be pissed.”

Angus pulled a stack of plywood away from the wall. “Interesting.”

“Thank you.”

“Not you. I stopped listening to you awhile back. Come look at what I found.”

“What?” Michael came over to see.

Angus dragged out a box and flipped open the cut top. “Would you have taken Bob for a strawberry schnapps drinker?” He lifted one of the pink bottles inside. It was half empty.

Michael raised his eyebrows. “Not unless it’s colored with açaí berries. He mentioned beer when he asked us to come over for chips and dip.”

“Is this about the size of the box you saw him take out of his truck?”

“Pick it up,” Michael suggested. “That’ll help me judge.”

Angus did, and stood for a moment holding it against his stomach.

Michael nodded. “I’d say it’s a ringer. In fact, I think I even saw that red logo on the side.”

Angus put the box down. “Combine that with the pink coat, and it looks like Bob is secretly buying liquor for Cheri. What a nice neighbor.”

“Why would he do that?” Michael made a face. “Ew. You don’t think they’re having sex, do you?”

Angus raised his brows. “It’s not as though he’s covered with scales. And remember—she broke up with Jay. Charlotte described Jay as a decent kid. Presumably he wouldn’t give Cheri liquor.”

Michael raised a hand. “Hold on. Maybe it isn’t booze or sex. Thomas is dead and Cheri is one step closer to being an heiress. What if Bob is counting on a different Baskerville to fund his business? He could be behind the Petey hoaxes.”

Angus looked thoughtful. “Trading liquor for sex is one thing. Counting on an alcoholic girl to give you a packet of money after her grandparents die is another. I’m not sure even Bob is that much of a fool.”