Escape Route (Murder Off-Screen Book 1) (11 page)

“Yes. Yes. I get it. Yes. I missed you, too.”

Doofus and I were having a terrific reunion. Trouble was, ninety-pounds of love and affection trying to get situated in my lap while driving wasn’t happening.

I pulled José’s jar safe against my hip, and pushed Doofus’s butt down in Ed’s vacant seat.

At the next intersection, I knew Joe, who was hugging my rear bumper, would make the right to the hospital. I’d take the left. Whichever turn the green sedan took would determine whose goose was cooked.

Had we pulled off the switcheroo?

I stopped at the intersection, flipped on the left turn signal, gave a quick wave in the rearview mirror and pulled out slowly so I could watch the drama unfold behind me.

As planned, Joe’s right blinker came on. He looked in both directions, slid carefully through the intersection and obeyed the posted speed limit, as far as I could tell.

Now came the eeny-meeny-miny-moe segment of our plot. Who would Avery and Costello pursue? Who did they believe had the Cuthbart’s dog?

The dark-green sedan went straight south. They weren’t tailing either one of us.

“What?”

Doofus gave me a smile and licked José’s jar.

“Don’t start the party yet.” I slowed to a crawl and watched them dwindle to a dot. Sure enough, they were leaving, headed south. “Why would they do that?”

I hit reverse and jockeyed us into a U-turn. “We’d better get to the marina. Okay, with you two?”

They said yes.

~~^~~

Uncle Frank was beside himself. I couldn’t blame him for that, but I did hand over the six cans of WD-40 as a peace offering.

“How many hours ago did I need that, young lady? And my truck? Ten? Twelve?”

“Young lady” was my
you’re in trouble deep
name. I set José on top of the counter along with his plastic cup of dinner.

“But this is King. He’s safe.” I held up the poster next to Doofus’s face. “King.” I pointed at the poster. “King.” I pointed to the dog.

“And what in thunderation do you call
that
?”

José bapped his tongue around the inside of the jar.

“He’s my bug catcher. He’ll be a live-aboard on
Ovation
. Keep those tropical bugs under control.”

Uncle Frank shook his head and lined up the cans of spray oil on the counter next to José’s condo. “Do I want to know how
you
happen to be in possession of a dead dog?”

“I’m babysitting him. Or so I told the guy named Joe. Joe stole the dog from the men who stole the dog in the first place. They stayed at Miss Gertie’s last night.”

“Joe?” said Uncle Frank. “Who is this Joe that you have to babysit a stolen dog?”

I went behind the counter and sat on Dell’s stool, while Dell leaned his elbows on the glass top and studied my dead dog. “Good question. Who’s Joe?”

Doofus sat perfectly still, turning his head as each one of us spoke. You could tell he was loving being the center of attention.

I sat on my hands, hiding my bruised knuckles. “Joe took Ed to the ER. A good Samaritan gesture.”

“His wife went into labor? The idiot said she was due any second.”

“Not really. Ed has a broken nose, so I traded Ed for the dog so there’d be room in Joe’s truck.”

Dell walked around to the dog and scruffled his ears. “Good trade, in my opinion. But you can’t give someone else’s dog to this Joe fellow, even if he did help Ed. You’ll have to return him.” He looked at my uncle for backup. “Frank, am I right?”

My uncle lifted his hat, ran his fingers through his hair, re-situated the hat and shook his head. “Not sure. For whatever reason, the Cuthbarts wanted rid of this dog. This ash ceremony is too public. Too fishy for me. Politicians.” He paced around the dog, mulling over the situation. “For sure, he’ll have to stay hid ‘til we figure this out.”

“That’s what I was thinking.” I jumped off the stool. “I’m leaving for Puerto Rico, so he can come with José and me. He’ll be safe, and I could use the company.”

Dell inventoried his marina’s main building. “The dog could stay here while we get
Ovation
seaworthy. I have a lot of customers in and out, so we’ll have to do something about that ear marking.”

Doofus went to the counter, nose hard at work sniffing at José’s jar, decorating the front of the glass display case with Labrador slobber.

“That is Doofus’s new best friend. Joe’s son was going to use it for fish bait, but I think it was playing possum.”

“There’s more kids involved?” Uncle Frank said.

“A dog named Doofus. Fish bait named José.” Dell threw his head back and laughed. “Come on, Frank. That’s funny stuff.” He unscrewed the lid and José skittered down to Doofus’s snout and they went exploring.

“You noticed that
Ovation
is in the water?”

I kissed him on the cheek. “I know, Uncle Frank. I’m sorry, but Ed and I got wrapped up in this, and, well, I’m just plain sorry.”

He rubbed his cheek. Public displays of affection made him uncomfortable. “Here’s the deal—and there’ll be no argument. You and this circus you’ve got going on are going to stay at the marina. Sleep on my boat. You and the dog are sure to be spotted going in and out of the house when he does his business.

“Stick to the back of the main building for tonight and tomorrow morning.
Ovation
has a ways to go yet, so you stay on
Big Brother
until we can get this dog to Tilde tomorrow. She’s a beautician, so she’ll know what to do. We’ll have to bring Bub into it—because—well, just because he and Tilde are … ”

“Really good friends,” Dell said, saving my uncle the embarrassment.

“Anyway, Tilde will hide that mark, and no one will be the wiser.”

My phone pinged. A text from Gertie.

They’re back.

Who?

Avery and Timmy.

Meet me on your back porch.

“Okay, guys. I’ve got to go over to Gertie’s for a bit. Are my boys good here ‘til I get back?”

“Sure thing.” Uncle Frank was following Doofus around bales of rope. “Take the truck.”

I glanced over at Dell. “Actually, Dell, could I borrow one of yours?” I didn’t want Avery and Timmy to recognize the truck I’d been in with Ed.

“Sure, Little Bit.” He tossed me a set of keys off the rack on the wall behind him. “Take the Jeep.”

Oh, the irony.

~~^~~

I came down Nichols—a side street—with the headlights out and parked a block away from the bed-and-breakfast. I re-wrapped my ponytail and tucked it under the ball cap I’d almost sat on getting in.
Dumford’s Marina
stitched across the front, white on black. I pulled it down low over my forehead.

The alley would be a straight shot to the back of Peep’s.

Douse the porch light. I’ll be there in a minute.

K
, she texted back.

There wasn’t a square inch of Oakley Beach I did not know. A pitch dark alley was as familiar to me as the swing on our front porch. I ducked below the long row of hedges that people used instead of fences, and scurried down the narrow brick lane toward Gertie’s back lawn which was bordered by ten-foot tall arborvitae.

When I got to the bushy trees, I stopped and caught my breath. Nerves. Why were Abbott and Costello still in Oakley Beach? When Avery’s car had continued south without following either Joe or me, I thought Doofus and I were home free.

I pushed between the trees, and wound my way through Gertie’s maze of gnomes, flock of stone sheep and a dozen flower pots. She’d set bags of soil next to each ceramic pot, ready for her flowers. Her purple flowers.

Gertie’s screen door squealed like a piglet when she opened it. I thought of the gallons of WD-40 back at Dell’s.

“Psst. Jaqie? Are you there?” She made binoculars out of her fists.

“I’m here. Ouch!”

“Careful. I added to my flock today. Deputy Beatty let me use his Depot discount.”

I hurried up the steps with my finger to my lips. “Where are they?” I whispered.

Gertie pulled me to the end of the porch. “I made a fire in the library, and they’re in there, feet up, relaxing. The strangest thing. These are not the same fellas that were here last night.” She saw the expression on my face and held up her hands. “By that I mean, that after thirty-years of working around inmates, I know when something’s up, and when it isn’t. Trust me, they’re not wound up tight like last night.

“Said they came back for my casserole and a good night’s rest, and I believe them.”

“I don’t get it.”

She untied her apron and slipped it over her head. “With Cuthbart’s dog dead, maybe—”

“I have Cuthbart’s dog. He’s with Dell and Uncle Frank at the marina.” I took her by the shoulders. “Gertie, I need Avery’s phone.” He struck me as the leader of his gang of two. Why had they let Joe make off with their assignment? “Have you seen either one of them use a phone since they’ve been here?”

“I just put towels and a lilac in each of their rooms. Avery’s phone is on his night stand. I have never seen Timmy use one. Should I go up and take another look?”

“No. Absolutely not.” I knew Timmy had a .38. I didn’t know a thing about Avery except he had a shovel. I didn’t want anything to happen to Gertie. Or Al. “Which one is Avery’s room?”

“The purple one.”

“Wanna narrow that down for me?”

“Room Six.”

“Can you keep them occupied for fifteen minutes?”

Gertie winked. “How’s my hair?”

Room Six was the turret, the highest floor in the house. The door was on the second floor and opened to a circular set of fifteen wooden steps—like lighthouse steps with one turn—to the round room. Three wide windows covered half the walls with a spectacular view. When the leaves were off the oak trees out back, you could see the sun glinting off the bay.

Opposite the windows, on the other side of the room, eight feet or so beyond the foot of the four-poster bed, was a set of sliders that opened to a widow’s walk. You could call it a balcony if you didn’t mind standing with your cup of morning coffee. Two-feet wide with original, scrolled wrought iron railings that prevented a person driven mad by lavender potpourri from falling to his—or her—death.

The lamp on the nightstand was lit, so that was one good thing. Avery’s phone was next to the base and plugged in, charging. Tiptoeing was not a necessity on the third floor so I ran to the phone, sat on the edge of the bed and looked toward the ceiling where I hoped the gods of petty larceny were smiling down on me.

Which they were not.

“Locked. Great.”

This tiniest pinch of rebellion—the locked phone—would only be permitted by the wife of a man in patches, provided she could always gain access. The code had to be easy to remember.

“One. Two, Three, Four.”

Nope.

“Four. Three. Two. One.”

Zilch.

“Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven.”

And we’re in.

I hit the message icon. No incoming. One outgoing. A Pennsylvania license plate number, probably Joe’s.

I took a picture of the picture on his phone with my phone. I ran through recent calls. One outgoing at 3:12 this afternoon. Right before Ed’s second bloody nose. To the same Maryland number that received the pic of the license plate. It was a number I did not recognize, but it was a 410 area code. Took a picture of that, too.

I shut down the phone, placed it in its exact spot and headed for the stairs, when my phone pinged.

Avery on way up!

~~^~~

I darted across the room to the sliders. Maybe the gods of sliders had let the doors unlocked.

They had.

I stepped through and eased the door closed behind me. It was the only door at Peep’s that didn’t make animal sounds when in use. No need to peer through the glass, I knew who was coming so I headed straight to the end of the ledge.

Each end of the widow’s walk held interesting features. The end I did not choose, had the roll down fire escape ladders. Obviously, the wiser of the two choices.

Where I stood, specially designed rungs were bolted to the turret’s roof in a gently looping upward spiral so Gertie’s nephew, Shawn, could haul Santa to the flat circle at the tip-top of the pencil-point roof on Thanksgiving night for the official lighting.

He usually made the trip after dinner so he could ‘plummet to his death’ on a full stomach.

Inside, Avery called down the stairs, presumably to Timmy, “Not now. I’ve got to call the wife.”

I allotted three minutes for the call. The dialing, the talking, the listening, the saying of good-byes, which would be the shortest part. Except what I heard was—nothing. So I peeked. Avery was on top of the mattress, prancing across the hand-stitched quilt, stretching his arm overhead like the Statue of Liberty in the universal pose for
There’s no cell reception.

Common sense would soon send Avery out to the skinny balcony. I grabbed the lowest rung and began the trek to Santa’s spot.
I think I can. I think I can.

I scurried the rungs like a fleeing spider. When Avery stepped outside, I needed to be on the far side of the roof. There would be no letting go. It would be a short slide down the scalloped shingles, followed by the three-story drop onto a lawn covered with garden gnomes and grazing, concrete sheep, not like the fluffy ones painted on the oval sign out front.

The door slid open, but I didn’t slow down to look back. Either he saw me, or he didn’t. I’d know soon enough.

“It’s me,” I heard him say.

I kept moving, farther from his line of sight.

“Yes, dear. I’ll be home tomorrow. By noon. Milk. Yes, dear. Goodnight.”

My fingers ached. Only the very tips of my slip-on sneakers made contact with the metal rungs. I clung to the turret roof like one of those
Garfield
cutouts suctioned to a car window. Had Avery gone back in his room? It was so quiet, but my thudding heart and burning lungs might have blocked the sound of the sliding glass door.

The only option I had was up. I’d climb to the makeshift crow’s nest and look down on the widow’s walk from there.

Unless you’re a chimney sweep or a cat burglar, you really cannot comprehend how high a turret rooftop is until you get there. I pulled myself over the lip of Santa’s circle and curled up in a fetal position, waiting for the shaking to subside.

After about a minute, with no shots fired or shovels hurtled in my direction, I inched on my side to the edge of the circle and looked down. Light shone through the doors and fell across the narrow platform, enough to see that Avery was not there. Had he fallen prey to the potpourri and thrown himself over the edge?

Not likely. I’d have heard the sound of sheep breaking.

I texted Gertie.

Where’s Avery

DK

Get him back to the den

K Where r u

Outside Let me know

K

I had some time to kill, plus I wasn’t anywhere close to going back down, so I called Detective Driver in LA.

“Jaqie?”

“That’s why you’re the one with the gold shield.”

“What’s up?”

“Just wondering how long the long arm of the law is.”

“As long as you need it to be. You in trouble?”

I looked down the steep pitch of the roof to Gertie’s yard, then up to the clear, night sky, deciding which was farther away. “Not really. I was hoping you could check some people out for me. If you’ve got the time.”

There was a puzzled silence. “Where are you?”

“Star gazing,” I said. I’d rolled over on my back. It was a beautiful night, and it was preferable to look up than down.

“Who are the people?”

“Francine Cuthbart and her husband, Geoff. G E O F F.”

“Don’t trust ‘em already.” He laughed at his joke, then said, “When do you need this by?”

I watched a falling star and my breath floating up to meet it. “What can you do in twenty minutes?”

“Practically nothing. They live in Oakley Beach?”

“Now they do. Maybe Baltimore or Philly at one time or another.”

“I’ll call you back.”

“You’re the best.”

“Tell my boss.”

I texted Gertie. S
afe?

Yes. In den.

Taking the fire escape.

Be careful!

The climb down wasn’t nearly as exciting as my pop-in at the Cuthbart mansion.