Escape Route (Murder Off-Screen Book 1) (10 page)

“This gecko ain’t dead,” Ed said. “Watch.” He put a mealworm on the end of his finger and held it out. The pink tongue snapped in and out like a whip, grabbing a bite of lunch. “Just hungry. And the little guy likes heavy betal.” He turned the volume knob.

“Great.” The gecko had perked up considerably. Now that it knew it wasn’t fish food, his beady, black eyes glistened with possibilities. “What did they do with the dog?”

“Named him José.” The gecko straddled Ed’s index finger, and Ed zoomed him from the visor to the radio and back. “Likes to fly.”

I jabbed my thumb toward Jimmy’s truck. “The dog, Ed. Where is it?” I turned the radio off, and lifted the tiny lizard off Ed’s finger and eased him back into his jar.

“The guy put it inside the truck. Super fast. Tossed the kid out, pointed him toward the bathroom and put the dog into the backseat. “There. You can see its head.”

“That’s Doofus. I’ve got to get that dog, Ed.”

“Why do you think that kid’s dog is Doofus? Yellow Labs kind of look alike. Jaqs, you should take a step back. Chill out for a while.”

“That dog is King. Jimmy—the blond boy—told me himself. I showed him this poster,” I pulled it out from my shirt, “and he said, ‘that’s Rex.’” I put my thumb over the black patch. “Doofus. I’m positive. Did you see his ear? Was it pink? Was it black?”

Ed shook his head. “Did dot dotice a pink or black ear. Hey, you were standing right there. Didn’t you look?”

I bit my lip and shook my head. “No. I couldn’t look. So I didn’t look.”

“I thought those two tough guys had him.” Ed held out his hand. “Are those for be?”

“What?” The paper towels dripped down my leg. “Yes. You can clean up in here.”

“Sub Florida Nightingale you are.”

“Florence.” I scootched down behind the steering wheel. “Florence.” I could watch the dad’s truck over the top of the dashboard. “Somehow,
this
guy got Doofus away from
those
guys. Now,
those
guys are following
this
guy.

“There must be a way for me to get a look at the dog without anyone getting suspicious.”

“Listen, Jaqie. I hate to see you get torn up again, but that’s
not
Cuthbart’s dog.”

“Why would you say that when Jimmy
told
me. His dad even said don’t get attached. It’s King.”

Ed turned the rearview in his direction and wiped at the blood crusted around his nostrils.“Then why did the news lady say on the radio just now that King was hit by a car, and the Cuthbarts called off the search? Thanked the good folks of the town, etcetera. They’re throwing its ashes off the fishing pier by the Choptank River Bridge Saturday night. Everybody’s invited.”

I saw Jimmy flash by in my side mirror, running to his dad’s truck. He jerked open the passenger door and the dog’s snout was there to greet him. Rex caught a glimpse of me and grinned.

“That’s him! That’s Doofus.” I sat up and started the truck. “I’ll prove it.”

“Jaqs, you’re not listening.”

“If I ram their truck, they’ll have to stop, and I’ll get to see the dog.”

“And you’ll get to go to jail. Besides, Cuthbart himself says King is dead. Why would he do that?”

“Not a clue. But I intend to find out.”

~~^~~

We left the gas station before anybody else, turned south and sped down the two-lane. Speeding in Uncle Frank’s truck is open to interpretation, but I put two miles under our belts before I pulled over.

Dad would show up first—there were no turn offs between the gas station and here. Avery and Costello would follow, and I was pretty sure they wouldn’t risk a confrontation in front of Ed and me.

I turned to Ed. “Out you go.”

“They won’t stop. Why would you think they’d stop?” Ed. Always with the questions. He screwed two corners of the blood-stained hanky into his nostrils, stepped off the running board, and made his way to the front of the truck.

“We’ll pop the hood—like we’re having engine trouble—and they’ll stop—”

He lifted his hands to the sky. “The guy making off with the Cuthbart’s dog is going to stop to help a couple of strangers.” He shielded his eyes and looked back in the direction of the gas station. “I don’t think so.”

“Making off? However it happened, that man and his kids
saved
Doofus. Jimmy loves that dog. Doofus will have a good home, and not have to worry about the Cuthbarts anymore.”

Ed leaned back against the hood of the truck. The engine ticked as it cooled. “Jaq, the guy took the poster. He and his kids are from Pennsylvania. They don’t know about the dog hunt and the reward. He only knows whose dog it is. He’s going to contact the good councilman and say one of two things.”

I stood in front of Ed so I could keep an eye down the road. “Two things?”

“Thing number uno. ‘Hey, councilman, I found your dog. Yay. Gimme money.’ Result, Doofus goes back to the Cuthbarts—who didn’t want him anymore in the first place. They probably hired Nederlander and Maloney.”

“Abbott and Costello.”

“Thing number two—ouch.” He accidentally poked his nose with one of his two fingers. “Number two. If Dad heard the chick on the radio, he might say, ‘Hey, councilman, you made everybody believe your dog was dead. Whose ashes will be blowin’ in the wind down the Choptank, when your dog is right here beside me? What’ll you give me to make him disappear so nobody will know what you’ve done?’”

In high school, Ed excelled in lunch and lettered in fire drills. This unaccountable higher level of thought was astounding, although I didn’t like where it led.

If Jimmy’s dad was solely after the money, too, Doofus was no better off. Jimmy was worse off. Orders or not, he was attached to King. To Rex.

“Since when did you get so smart?”

Ed gazed at me with his bad boy eyes, now set off by slices of sunset purple half-moons underneath. “Jaqs, the dumbest thing I ever did was let you get away. In the smarts department, I had nowhere else to go but up.”

I put my hand on his cheek. “Aw, Ed. You are so full of hot air, you could be a ride at the county fair.”

“Yeah. But I’m right about the two things.”

“So we wait.” Square one.

“This clinches it. Jimmy was right. That billboard he spotted with the yellow Lab is the same as this poster I found. What we have here, boys, is one valuable dog.” He held the poster up so his three sons could see that Rex’s ear marking exactly matched the dog’s ear on the poster. “This here dog belongs to this here guy, Cuthbart.”

He tossed the poster in the backseat. “And those men, the ones in that car, they
stole
this dog from that guy. Bet my last dollar. Probably holding it for ransom, or some such.”

“That’s why they’re still following us. They want the dog back, Dad.”

“Right, Jimmy, and since they got no legal right to him, they’re keeping it on the down-low. Here’s the hard part, boys.” He stopped talking and gave his sons a minute to think about what he might mean by that.

The boys slumped together, shoulder-to-shoulder. “We have to give Rex back to the guy on the poster,” Jimmy and Ryan grumbled at the same time.

“Stupid dog, anyway.” Billy hit the door with his elbow.

“I’ll have to call the Cuthbarts first, so’s to break it to them easy. It’ll be a shocker.”

He snapped his fingers. “King?”

The dog smiled and beat his tail against the window.

“Those two in the car can’t know that we know. Could have seen me getting the poster, but a girl was talking to the driver, so we might be all right. We’re going to drive down this road and think things through. Keep an eye on those fellas. We can’t let them get this dog.”

A politician in a county full of mansions behind gates, with fancy boats, probably, tied up at private docks, might be willing to share some of that with an out-of-stater, to get his dog back.

Dad had to pick just the right amount to ask for. No, not ask. Demand. He also needed to get those two morons off his tail. And a place to stash the dog. Made sense if the dog was on posters and billboards all over the place, it might be recognized.

He pulled out of his parking space, turned right, and headed south at the legal speed. Cops in the sticks would stop an out-of-stater for a smudged tail light.

Maybe a down-on-his-luck local would dog-sit for a day, and keep his mouth shut for a fifty-dollar bill. He’d keep an eye out for the first bar. Lots of locals drowning their sorrows there. He nodded, smiling to himself. Ransom the dog. Or sell the dog.

Or both.

~~^~~

Timmy chewed while Avery pressed the phone to his ear, nodding and issuing clipped sentences. “But— We could— No, we didn’t— I realize that, b—” And so the conversation went, while Timmy consumed two feet of processed meat. Finally, Avery stopped talking, stopped nodding and pressed End.

“Wuh?”

Avery averted his eyes. Timmy eating and talking wasn’t doing his stomach any favors. Neither had the phone call.

He slouched in the driver’s seat and flipped the visor up and down. “We’re off the case.”

Timmy swallowed a chunk of hotdog that would have felled a draught horse. “Why? We almost have it. It’s right over there. I don’t get it.” He pressed his hand against the glove box. “Do we have to give the money back?”

Avery shook his head. “No. Wants us gone, and the money is to make sure we keep our mouths shut.”

“They’re leaving,” Timmy said. “Should we follow them, just in case?”

Avery jotted down the dad’s license plate. “Cuthbart’s already sent for somebody else. A thug out of Baltimore. A
real
hit man. I’ve heard he is one nasty dude.” He texted the license number to Cuthbart. “That’s that. We’re done. Let’s go home.”

He pulled out and stayed behind the dad’s truck, and would until the man and his brood turned east or west. This road headed south to Route 50. Avery decided not to put themselves within range of that rifle. Silly to take chances at this stage.

The guy’s truck slowed, pulled to the right. Stopped.

Avery did the same.

“Hey, let’s go back to the purple house for dinner. I think that lady liked me. Said she’d make her famous baked corn casserole for us.”

“Timmy, shut up.”

“Here they come.” I poked Ed. “Lift the hood.”

“That won’t work. A con followed by another con ain’t stopping for a roadside repair.”

I hopped up and down, like that would help anything. “They’ve got to stop, Ed. I mean it.”

Of course, I knew part of my hysteria about Doofus was based on the build-up of a year’s worth of worry about Jeep, which had greatly diminished my capacity for cognitive thought. In the old days, if this were a movie, I’d have the next scene on paper, already. Jeep would come home. Doofus would be safe. Roll credits.

Ed grabbed my shoulders and gave me a shake. “Punch me.”

“What? I don’t want to punch you.”

“Already did, so we know you can.” He glanced up the road. “They’re coming. Do it!”

“No! Pop the hood.”

“Jaqs, when you kissed me back there, I get it. It’s hard to punch somebody you’re still obviously in love with. But just because I don’t feel that way any—”

I punched Ed square in the nose.

He jigged around for a bit, then fell down on his back, spread-eagled, across the pavement. Being tall, he took up most of the two narrow lanes. Dad was either going to stop, or use my ex as a speed bump. Something I’d wanted to do myself, a few years back, but this nose-punching business was really helping me work through a lot of post traumatic divorce issues.

Dad’s truck’s lights flashed, slowed and pulled up next to us at an angle, like a V, our back bumpers barely an inch apart. A hundred yards behind us, the dark-green sedan pulled to a stop at the side of the road.

“Ab I bweeding?”

I knelt beside him, and whispered, “You’re doing a splendid job.” I gave him back his hankie. “Don’t use this ‘til
after
he sees all the blood loss. Keep still and let me do the talking.”

“Fibe by be.” He groaned and rolled from side-to-side. “Ow, by the bay.”

Dad opened the truck door and stepped out. He took a deliberate look down the road before shutting the door.

“Trouble here, miss?” he said, ambling around toward us with one more backward glance.

“Thanks for stopping. My friend’s nose will not stop bleeding, and I’m getting worried.”

He squatted down and studied the patient. “Looks broke. Should see a doc, probably.” His three boys had their noses pressed flat against the windows of the cab. Doofus sat behind the wheel. “Who gave him that broken nose? You? You two a couple?”

“Dot ady bo’,” Ed garbled.

“Your girlfriend’s got a temper, seems like.” Dad winked. “Wicked right hook. A romantic dinner out should set things right between a nice young couple such as yourselves.”

What?
I rubbed my aching knuckles, but kept my mouth shut. I learned in journalism class—want somebody to keep talking, you stop talking. I waited to see where his ridiculous line of reasoning was tracking.

“Listen, miss.” He glanced over his shoulder again but the truck blocked his line of sight. “I’m a big fan of romance. I know, you wouldn’t think it to look at me, but right there is a fine example of where romance can lead.” He tipped his head to the right.

“A truck?”

Dad laughed, not a care in the world. “No. Up there.”

Up There were three boys punching each other, drawing faces on the windshield before their breath evaporated off the glass. Jimmy waved at me enthusiastically. “Oh, children,” I said.

“Twibs,” Ed said, dabbing at his nose.

“Ed wants twins,” I translated.

Dad glanced at Ed’s ring finger, then mine. A tiny smirk lifted one corner of his mouth. He duck-walked a foot closer. “I’ll take your fine buck here—Ed, is it—to the ER. You probably don’t want to run into the missus—if you catch my meaning.” He winked at Jaqie the Home Wrecker. “So maybe you’ll help me out, and watch my dog for a couple of hours while I do that? You live near here?”

I shook my head. “Visiting from LA. Staying in town with my aunt.”

“Well, there you go. My dog takes up a lot of space in the truck, so I’ll trade my dog for your fella.”

“You want to give me your dog?”

He held up a hand. “Whoa, Missy. Just for a while. What’s your name, by the way?”

“I’m Jaqie.”

“Glad to meet ya both. Joe, here. Here’s the plan. I’ll drop Ed off at the ER, make a few phone calls, then I’ll meet up with you to fetch Rex. Sound good? Oh, and there’s a fifty in it for you—for that romantic dinner. Though you might have to wait a few days for your fella to enjoy it.”

“Got dat wight,” said the peanut gallery.

Joe and I exchanged cell numbers. He gave me money for dog food.

“Now, I’m being followed by some people—no worries for you—and they don’t need to know what I’m doing. None of their business. Am I right?” He poked Ed in the middle of his forehead. “Am I right?”

“Wight.”

That explained the way he’d parked, and why we were hunched down like Girl Scouts around a campfire. We were out of sight of the dark-green sedan, which meant they couldn’t see the switch.

I said, “I’ll open my door first, you bring the dog out, and they won’t know a thing.”

“Pretty
and
smart. Ed, don’t let this cutie pie get away.” He knocked on Ed’s forehead. “Am I right?”

“Wong.”

~~^~~

Just like that, Doofus was mine.