Escape Route (Murder Off-Screen Book 1) (4 page)

King’s ears snapped in the wind. The rear window was rolled down far enough for his whole head and part of his neck to hang out. Such wonderful smells. His nose couldn’t keep up. He wasn’t sure what most of them were but that was okay. They were delicious and way better than the nasty place with the other dogs where he used to live. In that place, fear-smell covered everything.

When the Man showed up and took him out of there, it happened so fast he only had enough time to say good-bye to his pal in the cage next to his. He tried to forget about them, but it didn’t really work out.

Now, two different Men sat in front of him. At times, they used words he understood, but he was more interested in the scenery and the smells.

“You shoot. I’ll dig.”

Avery shook his head. “Don’t try and put that on me. I’m not shooting any dog. That’s bad karma, man. You’re the hit man. It’s your job, not mine.” He checked in the rearview. The stupid dog was slobbering all over the windows. “My job is digging.” He took in a deep breath and sighed. “Why are we even doing this mess?”

Timmy banged open the glove compartment and pulled out a thick envelope. “Because we want the other half of this is why. The election is over. Don’t need the dog no more, so ...” He made a slashing motion across his neck with the envelope. “... off with his head.” He slapped Avery’s arm with the envelope. “You worry too much.” He threw the money back and slammed the compartment shut. “Lighten up. It’s a dog. He had a good run. Ate good. Got to travel. Play with kids.”

Kids.

King heard them from the basement back at the house, and most days they remembered to bring his food down. He made games out of chasing mice to pass the time, but they were small and if he got too close, he’d smell that fear again. They didn’t understand that he didn’t want to hurt them, so it wasn’t fun after a while.

“You don’t know where we are, do you? You’ve been driving in circles for an hour. I thought that GPS thing was ready to go. We gotta return this car back tonight to get the rate.” Timmy jabbed a finger toward Avery. “That comes out of
your
share.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, the Eastern Shore of Maryland is flat. Get a map. Get an iron. Flat. This GPS is garbage. Conked out as soon as we left the gun shop.”

He’d been searching for a place close to the tidewater of the Chesapeake that wasn’t privately owned—which wasn’t much. It would be easier to dig in marshy ground, too. Once dead, this dog must absolutely not surface. Avery had plans for his cut of the money, and didn’t want to have to pay it back if the mutt came popping out of the ground like some vampire dog.

Avery rolled down his window, stuck an arm out, and brought the car to a stop. “How about there?” Totally deserted, no houses, far enough from the shoreline that day-trippers wouldn’t anchor and get their Dockers slopped up with marshy water if they dinghyed ashore. “Over by that tree.”

“Let’s go.”

Let’s Go. King pulled his head back into the car and panted. Let’s Go meant chasing a ball or a big stick. This was like it used to be. He missed the Kids, though. Wished his other friends from the fear place could be here.

“Come on, fella. Go for a run.” Avery held the door open and watched the yellow Lab run flat out to the water. “Look at him. He’s throwing another stick for himself to fetch. Crazy dog.”

Timmy opened the trunk and pulled out a blue, plastic tarp. “Why don’t you just take him home with you? You can pretend he’s Old Yeller.”

“Shut up. He can play a while, if he wants.” Avery had tried to think of a way to keep the dog, but his ideas circled back to bite him. He’d texted his sister back in Pennsylvania while Timmy was in the bathroom at the gas station, but she wasn’t having any of it.
Got 3 already! No!
So that was out. He didn’t have any friends to speak of. His wife didn’t want kids—or dogs—tracking through the house. Bad luck all the way around.

“Snap out of it and toss me the rope. We’ll tie him up to that tree so I can get a clean shot. One and done.”

“Where’s the shovel?” There weren’t a lot of places for a shovel to hide in the trunk of a rental car, but he lifted the rug and looked under it, anyway.

Timmy emptied the gun cartridge in his hand and dropped the bullets into his jacket pocket. “Looks like I’m not the only one who forgets things around here.”

Avery squatted the rest of the way down and banged his head against the bumper. “It’s in the trunk of my car.”

“In Pittsburgh.”

“In Pittsburgh.”

King stood off to the side of the car, dripping tidewater into the belly-high marsh grass, waiting for the next thing. It was past dinner time, so he hoped the next thing involved food.

Avery stood and checked his watch. “We’ll have to stay the night. I don’t want to go back to that Bub’s Bullets store so soon. A town this size, those old guys sitting around in there will remember us. Sign said he opens at ten.” He sighed, dreading the call to the wife. “Tie him to the tree, and spread out the tarp. It might get cold.”

“Suppose somebody takes him?” Where he stood was identical to every other place he’d seen today. Flat, trees, an occasional shot of sunlight bouncing off the Chesapeake. Where everybody lived was a mystery. Not a house or waterfront mansion in sight. “Who knows when those crazy crab fishermen go out? Let’s just shoot him and wrap him up good in the tarp. We can toss him in the trunk until morning, then buy a shovel when that store opens up. That place had everything in there.”

“First,” Avery held up a finger, “it’s too early for crab season. Second, if
anybody
stumbles across the
famous
King’s body, you and I won’t have to worry about collecting the second half of the money. If you get my drift. Third, I am
not
returning a rental car with blood splashed in the trunk. The FBI would be all over that.” He pulled a plastic bag out of the pocket in the driver’s door. “I have some water and jerky. That’ll hold him overnight, so he won’t be howling or anything.”

“Where we stayin’? I ain’t sleeping in the car with my bad back.”

“What do you suggest? The park? There were benches.”

“I saw a purple-and-pink house with a sign. Get a good night’s sleep, eat breakfast, buy a shovel, dig a hole, go home.”

Avery knew he’d never be overworked or underfed, keeping company with Timmy, and since this part of a very bad day was his fault—purple house, here we come. “Let’s get going before it gets dark.”

~~^~~

King watched the car get smaller. He scratched at the rope around his neck with his hind foot. It wasn’t too tight but he knew it was there. The Man who didn’t shout all the time put water in a kind of bowl, and piled up a short stack of skinny lengths of meat. He’d eaten those right off. They had a different taste and made his tongue sting. Delicious. Maybe when the Men came back to get him, there would be more.

He stood on his hind feet for a better view but they were gone. The bright ball of light in the sky had gone, too, but the softer one glowed far over his head, so he figured he would sleep. Swimming had been fun.

All in all, a pretty good day.

“You have not touched
Ovation
in two years, now you’re off to Puerto Rico.” Uncle Frank was in fine form. The waiter left. He guessed we’d be a while. “I thought you meant a day or two on the bay, not sailing half-way around the world.”

“She’s taking the Intracoastal most of the way,” Aunt B said for the third or fourth time. “You two made that trip twice after she graduated high school. I’m sure Jaqie’ll be fine. And the boat is yar.”

“You’ve been at those old movies again, woman. Nobody says
yar
. More to the point, the operative word—I was with her.” His pitcher of beer was an inch from the bottom. If we didn’t get a tub of shrimp and sea scallops and pots of butter in front of him soon, I’d have to bungee him to the roof rack for the ride home. “Is this because your friend, Buick—”

“Jeep. His name was—is Jeep McBain.”

“This Jeep McBain fella up and leaves and you fall apart just like with that fool of a husband. Jeep a boyfriend, not just a roommate?”

“A roommate.” Uncle Frank meant well, but his Irish was a wire brush at times. “Jeep was a roommate who also became my best friend.”

Aunt B cut into Uncle Frank’s spiel. “Of course he meant the world to you, sweet girl. His disappearance must still be so upsetting to you.”

“Jeep gave my script to a friend of his at the studio. That’s how
Manderley
got picked up.”

“A big hit it was, too,” she said. “You wait.
Murder at Manderley
will be nominated for an Oscar, and Ms. Keiser has you to thank.”

“How can she thank her if Jaqie’s hiding in Oakley Beach?” Uncle Frank flapped his plastic bib at the waiter.

“That’s why I’m going to Puerto Rico. Maddie bought an island. We’re going to work through a couple of ideas for another movie. She wants me to write it. She’ll direct, produce and star.”

“An island, Frank. Ever hear of such a thing?”

“How about an airplane? Ever hear of such a thing?”

“How about those two guys at Bub’s today?” Time to change the subject. “Jack Sprat and his over-large friend—wonder where they were from.”

“Pennsylvania. Fools bought ammo for a .38. Said they were hunters.” He snorted and emptied the pitcher of beer into his mug. “Nobody hunts with a .38. Odd ducks, if you’re asking my opinion. These out-of-staters comin’ here—”

Aunt B dug a pen out of her purse and ripped off a square of our paper table cloth. She clicked the pen open. “Back to business. Jaqie will need ... what? Bottled water, canned goods—”

“Give me that.” He took the pen and paper and Aunt B gave me a wink. “Those will be the last things going onboard. We’ve got a ton of work to do to get
Ovation
out of dry dock and seaworthy. When are you wanting to leave?”

“Two weeks.”

“Two weeks!”

The rest of the evening was pretty much spent dodging shrimp shrapnel, chasing slippery scallops and writing a long To Do list. I was beginning to doubt I could arrive in Puerto Rico by mid-April.

“We’ll meet you at the car.” Aunt B handed me the keys. “Who knows how long your uncle will be in there.” Uncle Frank felt at home in any bathroom. If it had a TV, there were no odds I’d be willing to take that we’d see him before the weekend.

But it was a typical Eastern Shore postcard kind of night, so no hurry. A fisherman offloaded his catch at the dock next to the restaurant’s kitchen under a storm cloud of seagulls. I moved away from the drop zone to the parking lot where a row of three benches faced the water at the edge of the gravel. I sat in the middle of the middle bench.

March. It still got dark early. The day’s warmth had lost the upper hand, and the inlet had grown chilly. The stars and the moon reflected off the water doing double duty in the amazing department. Other than the squalling seagulls caterwauling on the opposite side of the restaurant, it was quiet enough for me to squint my eyes and imagine I was alone on my boat. I sure hoped sailing was like riding a bicycle and that I’d remember the important points like do not get flattened by the boom, never unclip your safety harness and always, always “little miss” hoist the anchor before moving on. I’d committed every one of these offenses, but never solo.

Solo on land, now, that I had down pat, although it had taken a bit to find my land legs after the divorce, but I was fine.

“Hey, Jaqs! Miss Big Shot.”

Until this exact moment.

“Gotta meet the new missus.”

Inevitable. I hadn’t seen Ed’s little boy grin or his bad boy eyes since we signed the final papers that said we were too young and foolish to have married, and had thoroughly wasted sixteen months of our lives.

I stood up and took a quick inventory of my outfit. What did one wear to meet the ex and the replacement? I brushed myself off in case stray seafood parts were buttered onto my sweater or jeans. “Hey, you two.” I pushed the corners of my mouth into a smile and turned around. “Or should I say, you three?”

Dianne, the new Mrs. Ed, was the most pregnant living thing I’d ever seen, excluding one unhappy bovine at a 4-H show.

“Four.” Ed patted his bride on her backside. “You know me, Jaqs. Go big or go home. Right, Dianne?”

Dianne smirked and cradled her bursting midsection in her arms. “Right. Ed.” I recognized the tone.

“Well, then. Congratulations, you
four
.” Dianne’s ability to stand defied the laws of gravity. Maybe if she sat down, she’d never be erect again in the foreseeable future. “Are you here for dinner? Uncle Frank and Aunt B are inside. I’m sure they’d like to say hi.” That was a big, fat lie. The list of things Uncle Frank had in mind for Ed did not include any level of pleasantries.

“Nah. Car’s belly up. Again. I’m walking Dianne to her mom’s to stay. I’m going bounty hunting.” He dug his thumbs into his narrow waistband and puffed out his chest.

“Not
actual
bounty hunting.” Dianne spoke to the moon. She’d seen enough of Ed, apparently. “He’s looking for a stupid, lost dog.”

“Hey, big mama, there’s a reward for that dog.”

“That must be some reward for you to go and leave your wife.” I head bobbed trying to make him look me in the eye. “Ed.”

“Thousand bucks. That politician’s dog. The famous one.”

Dianne rolled her eyes to me. “The dog’s famous. Not the politician. Cuthbart. Everybody voted for the dumb dog.” The temperature was dropping and her breath shot out in clipped puffs.

I couldn’t stand it anymore. “Dianne, don’t you want to sit down? Is there anything I can get you?”

“How about a Cesarean?”

“Ed, let’s move Dianne onto the bench.”

“Good idea, Jaqster. A set-down will cheer her right up.”

Jaqster. Ed’s unspoken cry for help.

It took the two of us to lower her down. Maybe the rest of my family would arrive in time to aid with the upload. “That’ll do ’er.” Ed rubbed his wife’s burgeoning mid-section.

“Dianne, do you mind if I steal Ed for a minute?”

“Go for it. Steal him
back
, if you want.”

I took Ed by the arm while he was still laughing too loud and marched him out of earshot. “What’s this about dog hunting? Have you noticed how very—extremely—
supremely
pregnant your wife happens to be?”

Ed’s eyes danced with excitement. “Story’s all over the TV, Jaqs. This Cuthbart guy’s carrying on and so are his kids. Bawling around about missing Spot.”

“King.”

“Spot. King.” He dropped his voice. “Figured to slip Cuthbart old Mr. Gill’s yellow Lab. They all look alike.”

Same old Ed. “You will not. Mr. Gill loves his dog. Plus,
she
is still nursing pups.”

“I’ll have to slap black paint on its ear.”

“Stop. Ed, just stop.” I dragged him to the car. “What about your job? Are you still working for Tony?” Anthony’s Body Shop—Dirty Dings Done Dirt Cheap. Ed’s big brother always hired him back because he knew what everyone else knew—Ed was a dreamer and a schemer. No 401K in either of those.

Ed pulled me around the car, and glanced in Dianne’s direction. “Yeah, Jaqster, but I’ve got
two
kids coming.” He combed the hair out of his eyes. “I need to pick up as much extra as I can. Been selling blood down at the hospital, but that doesn’t even pay for beer.”

I opened my bag and pulled out a pen and my checkbook.

“Aw, Jaqs, you don’t have to.”

“It’s for them,” I flapped my checkbook in Dianne’s direction, “not you. I mean it. You take this to the bank first thing tomorrow, but tonight, get your wife home where she belongs.” I tore the check out of the book and folded it into his hand. “Go home, Ed.”

“But that bounty, it’s a thousand bucks.”

“This is two-thousand bucks.”

“Aw, Jaqs.”

“There’s a catch, Ed. You have to earn it. Be at
Ovation
bright and early tomorrow, understood? Tony will let you off work for a day or two. We’re getting her ready for splashdown. Do a good job, and I’ll match that two-thousand at the end.”

Ed grabbed me into a bear hug. My pocketbook slid down the trunk and landed upside down in the gravel. “I’ll be there. I swear, Jaqs.”

In the old days, that phrase always triggered the song-and-dance routine—how he wouldn’t drink beer anymore or call Dianne or date Dianne. Or try to use me as a parking space for the Subaru. Ed wasn’t singing or dancing this time. I couldn’t tell for sure, but I think he might have been crying.

I gathered my cell off the gravel. “What’s your cell? I’ll add your number.”

“Don’t have one. Stocking up on diapers and other baby stuff. Have to watch every penny.” He scratched at his neck and scuffed the ground with his boot.

“Why Ed Mabry, I do believe you’re almost grown up.”

“Ed, I have to pee,” Dianne groaned from the bench.

“Again,” Ed whispered. “And she doesn’t even drink.”

Like I said,
almost
.

~~^~~

“His good luck I didn’t run into him.” Uncle Frank chewed on his toothpick and cruised the lot hoping for a glimpse of Ed the Fool. “What’s this bounty hunting crazy talk?”

Aunt B reached across the front seat and flicked the toothpick. “I told you, Frank. It was on the news while you were in the Little Boys Room. King is missing and the councilman is offering a thousand dollars for his return. Poor dog. Adopted out of a pound and went to live in their fancy mansion. Now this.” Aunt B turned in her seat. “That might make a good movie, do you think? Like
Lassie Come Home
.”

“Maybe a documentary. King was a rescue?”

Uncle Frank slipped his toothpick back in his pocket. “Yeah, Saint Cuthbart claims to have saved the mutt from the gas chamber. Got the fool elected, is what that dog did.”

“Everybody’s a fool tonight, according to you.”

“Am I wrong, Missus? Who loses a Lab? Labs don’t get lost. Stolen, but not lost. Not unless they are lost on purpose. There’ll be a bunch of morons running around tonight chasing a ghost. People better lock up their dogs.”

My writer’s mind started plotting. “Why would Cuthbart deliberately lose the dog? Why would he lie about it? Especially the dog that won him the election?”

Uncle Frank studied me in the rearview. “Really? My big time writer girl can’t put that together? Mrs. Councilman didn’t want dog poop on her fancy mansion grass, or those gardens she gave tours of on the Fourth of July. Simple as that.”

Aunt B lit up. “I think you’re right. That Frannie Cuthbart has won the blue ribbon for her geraniums two years straight.” She slapped Uncle Frank’s knee. “I married the smartest man in town.”

“Which makes you the smartest woman in town.” It was how they said I love you. “Mark my words,” he said to me with narrow eyes in the rearview. “That’s one dog who’ll never see the light of another day. Mrs. Councilman probably didn’t like that the dog had that black mark, either.”

I leaned forward, over the back of the front seat. “Wouldn’t be much of a stretch to think someone stole the dog, and is holding it for ransom. Since it was Geoff Cuthbart’s running mate, the dognappers would think they’d struck it rich.”

“Cuthbart wouldn’t go blabbing all over creation that it was missing, if that’s the case,” he said.

“Your uncle makes sense. Ransom is always top secret. Don’t call the cops—that sort of thing, at least on the TV shows.”

“Ed mentioned a black mark,” I said. “What black mark?”

Aunt B toggled her earlobe. “Like the letter C. A black letter C, on his right ear. Maybe his left. I can never remember. First yellow Lab I’ve ever seen with a mark like that.”

Just like I’d never seen a yellow Lab with pink nail polish on its right ear.

“Uncle Frank, I’ll be a tad late getting to the marina tomorrow.”

He took his eyes off the road and scowled at me over his shoulder. “Jaqie, if you’re serious about sailing to Puerto Rico, this is not playtime.”

“I’ll be there after lunch, but I hired a guy who’ll meet you at
Ovation
in the morning. He’ll help us get her in the water. Promise you’ll be nice to him when he comes.”

“I’m nice to everybody. Where will you be?”

“Helping a friend.”

If King was Doofus, then Doofus could be in deep trouble. Lost or stolen, I wasn’t up to losing anyone else in my life, even if he’d only been in it one minute. I needed a starting place, and that place was the Cuthbart mansion.