Play Dead (31 page)

“How could I have been so stupid?” she
asked, shaking her head in shock. “I never put two and two together. Why didn’t
I stop to realize that there was a reason somebody chose now to pull a prank
and flood the basement?”

“Maybe he won’t...” I couldn’t bring
myself to say the word kill. “...hurt Sage. Maybe he’ll drive him a long way
away and let him go, assuming he’ll never get back.”

“But why? Why take the dog?”

“Sage was the link to the crime. To both
murders. The guy felt like he couldn’t take the risk of running into the dog
sometime in the future and getting cornered.” I started pacing. The hell with
the cavalry! I wanted every person in Boulder to help me look for Sage!

A thought hit me. It was a long shot and
probably wouldn’t work. At least it was something I could do toward getting
Sage back unharmed.

I snatched Pavlov’s leash from Mom’s loose
grip. “Mom, I’m taking Pavlov back to Boulder with me while I talk to somebody
who might be able to help us. Stay here and see if Sheriff Millay can do
anything on this end. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

With Pavlov in the backseat, I drove,
mulling my plan. If I could get radio stations to put out a broadcast for
listeners to be on the lookout for a muzzled collie transported in a white
sedan, I might at least make things harder on the killer. Halfway to Boulder, I
realized that my idea had at least one serious flaw: I needed to enlist Tracy
Truett’s help, and I didn’t even know where she lived. I pulled off at a gas
station just outside of Boulder and asked to use their phone book. There were
no listings under the name “Truett.”

I headed straight to Joel Meyer’s house,
hoping he’d be home and could get me in touch with Tracy. To my surprise, her
little sports car was in the driveway. I sent up a quick prayer as I rang the
doorbell. No one answered at first, so I rang a second time. Joel opened the
door, wearing nothing but jeans. Though it was late afternoon, his hair was
mussed as if he’d just gotten out of bed. He looked surprised to see me.

“Joel, is Tracy here?” I asked before he
could even say hello.

He looked over his shoulder, and Tracy
emerged from behind him, wearing nothing but a man’s shirt. Her spiked hair was
flat in telltale places, and her makeup was smeared. “Holy crow, is this
embarrassing.”

“Never mind that,” I said, letting myself
in and closing the door behind me. “You’ve got to help me. Do you have any
friends in Boulder radio stations? Deejays who’ll broadcast a lost dog ad?”

“Oh, honey, have you ever come to the
right place. I know everybody, and they’d do that for me in a heartbeat. What’s
the matter? Lost your cocker?”

“No. Sage. The collie. He’s been stolen. I’m
afraid that’s just the beginning.” I looked up at Joel and wished I could
discuss this out of his presence. I still
hadn’t ruled him off my list of suspects. Unless he had an alibi. “Um, Tracy?
Have you been here all afternoon?”

She chuckled slowly and clung on Joel’s
bare arm. “Yep. All afternoon.” She cast moon eyes Joel’s way, who also gave me
a meaningful grin. As if I cared about his sexual prowess! All I cared about
was the fact that this meant he couldn’t have grabbed Sage two hours ago!

“Your former radio station. KBXD. Is there
any chance we could air one last show? Tonight?”

“You want to get the entire station up and
running after it’s been closed down for half a week? To broadcast a show to get
your dog back?”

I nodded.

She put her hands on her ample hips and
eyed me at length. “Holy crow, kid. When you ask for favors, you don’t mess
around, do you?”

“I’m afraid I’ll never see Sage alive
again unless we can force his kidnapper to give him back. If returning Sage is
the only way he can prevent having his crime and a description of his car
broadcast all across the Denver-metro area, including to the police, he might
give in.”

Tracy shook her head. “No can do, kiddo.
Sorry. The FCC would have a hissy fit. I’d lose my license. We have no way
to—”

Joel interrupted, “All you’d need would be
me to switch on the generators and get the broadcast antenna operational again,
Greg to work the control boards, and you to do the interview. I’ve still got a
set of keys to the place.”

Tracy’s jaw dropped, and she stared at
him. “But the station owners will have us arrested for trespassing! I’ll never
be allowed to broadcast again!”

“You said you wished you could have gone
out with a big splash,” Joel said. “Now’s your chance.”

She sighed but nodded. “Let me see what I
can do. If I pull every string I can and call in every card, I might be able to
get something going by sometime tonight.” She sat down Indian style and pulled
the phone over to her. “I’m assuming, if we can get a broadcast going, you want
me to get other stations to advertise to be on the lookout for him, right?”

“That and to listen to the show tonight.”

“Wait. You expect me to get a deejay to do
a spiel for you advertising someone else’s radio station?”

“Yes, but it’d just be this one, emergency
broadcast.”

“And from this, you hope to gain what?
Hasn’t it occurred to you that he might come to the station to stop you?”

“Of course. That’s why I’ll be alerting
the police first, so they can catch the guy.”

Tracy stared at me for a long moment, her
large jaw agape. Then she picked up the phone. Glancing over her shoulder at
Joel, she said, “I’m calling Greg and having him head over to the station. I
think he’s still on KBXD’s payroll through the end of the week. He’ll get in
the least amount of trouble for unlocking the building.” She punched the
numbers, and in a moment, was barking into the phone, “Greg, Tracy. Get down to
the station now. We’re airing the show one last time.” She cut off Greg’s
response with “Trust me. We’ll see you there as soon as I get everything
arranged. And don’t say a word about this to anyone. Got that?”

Greg’s protests, audible even to me from
halfway across the room, were cut off as Tracy hung up on him.

“Think of the drama,” Tracy said
wistfully. “‘Allida Babcock to reveal the killer’s identity. Tonight at nine
p.m.
KBXD. The
Tracy Truett Show.’”
She grinned and shivered slightly. “God. I like the sound of that.”

I might like it too, if only I knew who
the killer was. But pointing this out to Tracy would only dim her enthusiasm,
which I desperately needed.

She turned her gaze toward me. “The catch
will be, though, we can’t notify the police too far in advance, or they’ll stop
us. Let’s not forget that we are going to be trespassing at the station. That
means the other broadcasts can’t advertise this too far ahead, either.” She
snapped her fingers. “I’ll bet they’d be willing to pick up our feed! We might
be able to get on every radio show in the city! Maybe even in the country!”

Joel had left the room and came back a
minute later fully dressed. “I’d better head down to the station early and
start re-familiarizing myself.” He bent over and kissed Tracy passionately. “See
you later.”

We managed to pull the whole thing
together for a broadcast at eight
p.m.
A
somewhat irritable Greg—wearing the same Boyz II Men T-shirt he’d worn
last Friday—let Tracy, Pavlov, and me in at seven-thirty. Tracy, too, had
changed into the same light blue pants suit she’d worn the first time we met. “Joel
here?” she asked, needing to shout to be heard over music that was blaring from
the loud speakers.

Greg nodded. His forehead was damp with
perspiration, and he stared through the lobby window as if expecting us to be
followed by storm troopers. “He got here almost the same time I did. Trace,
this has got to be the stupidest—”

Tracy held up her palms and brushed past
him. “Never mind all that. You owe me a favor.”

“I sure as hell do not! If anything, you
owe me one!”

“If that’s true, after tonight, I’ll owe
you two. ‘Sides, it’s not as though life’s fair, my dear.” She beckoned to me
to follow as she marched into the hallway.

I paused long enough to thank Greg and
apologize for
railroading
him. To my annoyance, Tracy and Joel were embracing in the sound booth by the
time I arrived. This was hardly the appropriate time. Neither of them could be
expected to harbor my same gut-wrenching concern for Sage—but still!

Pavlov was jumpy and didn’t want to follow
me into the room, but obeyed my commands with obvious reluctance. I had brought
her with me as a last line of defense for Tracy and me in the broadcast booth,
itself. To my surprise, she growled and barked at Tracy and Joel.

Joel took a step back, watching Pavlov
warily. She was clearly picking up on my tension. “Break a leg, girls,” he
said, then left the room. Tracy grinned as she watched him leave. I picked up
the phone to dial 911. The line was dead.

“The phone doesn’t work!” I cried to
Tracy.

“That’s ‘cause it’s completely controlled
by the producer.” She gestured at the interior window where Greg had just
entered the control room, but his back was turned. Tracy grabbed her earphones
and said into the microphone, “Greg? Allida needs to call out.” He turned and
nodded, then flipped a switch.

I dialed 911. My mouth went dry and I felt
nauseated. I’d never done anything this risky—not to mention illegal—
before. I said to the male dispatcher, “My name is Allida Babcock. I’m at KBXD.
In twenty minutes, we’re putting on a live broadcast during which I’m going to
threaten to air the name of Beth Gleason’s and Hannah Jones’s killer. Unless
the killer calls in and agrees to release my collie.”

“Uh, ma’am, I’m not sure I understand
what—”

“I need you to notify the police and
surround the station, so that we’ll be protected, in case the killer tries to
physically stop the broadcast.”

“Just hold on, ma’am. Give me the name of
this person you’re going to broadcast and let the police handle this.”

“I don’t know the name, or I’d have done
that hours ago!”

“But—”

“Just get the SWAT team out here! Please!”
I hung up.

Tracy watched me, her square chin resting
on her hand. She rolled her eyes. “This is, like, so nutty I can’t even believe
it. The police are just going to storm in here and arrest us. You do realize
that, don’t you?”

“Maybe so, but if we don’t at least try,
Sage is dead.”
If he isn’t already,
I thought in despair. My hope was
that the killer didn’t have a gun and wasn’t going to be able to easily kill a
frightened, fighting collie with a knife.

Joel leaned in the door of the booth with
five minutes to airtime. “Listen, babe,” he said to Tracy, “a police car just
pulled up outside. I’m going to talk to him and see if I can buy you some time.
Good luck.”

Pavlov whined and tried to shove past him.
I scolded her, but reasoned that she was only picking up on the incredible
tension in the room. I wanted to bolt out of here myself, so how could I blame
my dog for wanting to leave?

In the meantime, Tracy flashed a huge
smile Joel’s way. “Love ya,” she said just as he closed the door. She winked at
me. “Show time! I figure I owe you this, for your having lousy taste in men and
not falling for Joel yourself.”

I had a major case of cotton mouth, but
there was no backing out now. Moments later, Tracy was introducing me, and the
next thing I knew, I was blathering about how I needed anyone who’d seen a
muzzled collie in a white sedan to call the station, and that I knew the killer’s
identity and would broadcast his name at precisely nine
p.m.
to the police and everybody else if he didn’t have Sage
safe and sound at the station by that time.

Before I’d finished speaking, Tracy said, “We’ve
got our first caller. Russell? You’re on the air.”

“Allida? Why are you doing this?” It was
Russell Greene.

“I’m trying to save a beautiful collie’s
life. I want Sage back here safe and sound by nine
p.m.,
or I’m broadcasting the killer’s identity.”

There was a pause, then Russell said, “If
the person who took the dog is out there, just call my cell phone, and I’ll
come get him myself.” Worried for Russell’s safety, I shook my head wildly at
Tracy as he continued, “Let me take the risks. My number is—”

Tracy flipped a switch and said, “Sorry,
Russell, but we need to keep the lines open for anyone with information about
Sage’s current whereabouts. If we need you to act as middleman, my producer
will call you.”

I breathed a sigh of relief.

Tracy gave me a reassuring wink as she
said into the microphone, “Once again, this is Tracy Truett, and I’m with
Allida Babcock, dog psychologist here in Boulder who has just had her collie
stolen. The collie can identify the killer of...who did you say, Allida?”

“Beth Gleason. Also Hannah Jones. Her
death was made to appear like a suicide but was actually a homicide.”

“Right. Yes. This is where it’s happening
on the airwaves tonight, I’ll tell you. So whoever’s got Sage, you’d better
call in before it’s too late, or my petite friend here’s going to spread your
name like margarine.”