Roll Over and Play Dead (12 page)

I shooed her out of the room before she demanded the services of a press agent, refilled my coffee cup, and wondered why I hadn’t had a tubal ligation sixteen years ago and become a sports model. After she’d gone to school to tell everyone when to watch Caron on Carson, I drove to Willow Street and trudged through the house to the backyard.

The dogs were not there. As I stood on the sunny porch, Colonel Culworthy came out of his house and whistled rather plaintively.

I approached the honeysuckle fence. “No sign of Patton?”

He walked across the yard, moving slowly and without any of his usual militant rigidity. “I called the animal shelter this morning. The woman tried to sound sympathetic, but she was annoyed by my call. Guess I’ll put up posters. Run an ad in the paper and offer a reward.”

“Maybe we could all chip in and run a big ad,” I said, noticing his bristly gray hair needed a trim and his trousers a crease. “Why don’t you find out the rates and call everyone?”

“I’ll do it today. Patton’s like a child to me,” he said gruffly. He looked over his shoulder at the doghouse, but not before I’d spotted a tear in the corner of his eye. “Hate to think of him lost or hungry.”

“Did Vidalia tell you where we went yesterday?”

“Talked to her this morning about it. Damn fool thing to do, the two of you. Likely to get yourselves hurt—or worse. Told her she was too old for that sort of thing.”

I suspected he was more concerned with Vidalia’s health than mine. She had a naïveté that probably appealed to him, and she was attractive in her own strange way. He was also hurt that we hadn’t included him in the madcap mission, I realized.

“I didn’t intend for Vidalia to come with me,” I said. “I was going to ask Daryl, but he wasn’t available. Have you seen him since Saturday afternoon?”

He thought for a moment. “No, can’t say I have.”

I glanced at the second-story window, which was covered with a curtain. “I’d like to ask him something. He’s probably in class by now, but I guess I’ll find out.”

“Meet you at the bottom of the stairs.” Colonel Culworthy marched back into his house, slamming the door.

I wasn’t irritated enough to crawl under the forsythia in order to outrace him, so I went back through the house and met him as ordered. I was slightly annoyed when he preceded me up the stairs, however, and increasingly so when he pounded on the door.

“Defoe!” he barked. “Open up in there!”

There was no response. I shouldered Culworthy aside and knocked on the door, shouting, “It’s Claire Malloy, Daryl!”

Again, nothing. I tried the knob and discovered it was unlocked. I considered offering a lame excuse to Culworthy, decided it wasn’t worth the effort, added (breaking and) entering to my list, and opened the door.

“Daryl?” I called as I stepped inside. The room was sparsely furnished with the minimum: sofa, chair, coffee table. There had been no attempt to personalize it with pictures or posters, and not so much as a magazine indicated someone lived there. Its starkness was disturbing, especially to those of us who waded through chaos on a daily basis. “He’s not much of an interior decorator,” I murmured to Culworthy, who was snorting under his breath.

The kitchen was minute and equally bereft of clutter. I opened a cabinet and found one coffee mug, two chipped glasses, and a few plastic plates and bowls. The refrigerator held a carton of milk, a jar of mustard, and half a loaf of bluish bread.

“Not much of a gourmet cook, either,” Culworthy said with a curt laugh.

I went into the third room, which proved to be a bedroom and a study. An elaborate computer system covered a desktop. Stacks of printer paper were aligned on a shelf, along with text books and computer magazines. The battered briefcase was in the corner. The bed was neatly made, and the surface of the dresser pristine except for a small photograph in a silver frame.

“Vidalia mentioned that Daryl has a girlfriend,” I said as I picked up the frame. “What she didn’t mention,” I added slowly, “was that the girlfriend is Jan Gallager. This must have been taken ten years ago, but she hasn’t changed all that much.”

“Haven’t ever met her,” Culworthy said. “Talked to her on the telephone several times. She sounded pleasant, concerned about the stolen animals. Seemed to know her stuff.”

I sat down on the corner of the bed, still holding the frame, and shook my head. “She’s competent. What’s bothering me is that she didn’t mention Daryl when I was reporting the stolen animals. She may not know the house number, but she didn’t even flinch when I said Willow Street.”

“She’s sticking to business. Her personal life shouldn’t interfere with what happens at the animal shelter.”

“But why wouldn’t she say something about Nick and Nora? She must have seen them from the window or noticed them when she visited.” I chewed on my lower lip for a minute, then looked up at him. “Have you ever seen a slender, dark-haired woman on the stairs?”

“No, but my living quarters are on the far side of my house. Never saw any woman drive up or come in the yard.”

“Vidalia has, though.” I replaced the frame on the dresser, and began opening desk drawers. They contained the minimum paraphernalia needed for computer work and college classes, all arranged for maximum accessibility. The briefcase contained computer printouts, a legal pad with pages of figures that resembled bird tracks, a used textbook, and the remains of a sandwich in a plastic bag.

I turned my attention to the dresser, where I determined he was neat and ill-equipped for more than three or four days without a jaunt to a launderette. The closet confirmed it. “This is strange,” I said as I closed the closet door and walked into the living room.

“Strange?” Culworthy snorted. “Shows he’s organized.”

“Oh, he’s organized,” I said. “But I failed to find a checkbook, a bill, a letter, a date book, a class schedule, or anything with his name on it. Everyone leaves a trail of paper. His life appears to be—well, generic. Anyone could move in and take over the impersonal living room, unused kitchen, and organized desk.”

Culworthy pulled on the tip of his mustache as his eyes darted around the room. “You’re right, Malloy. Poverty’s a factor, but there should be something. Vidalia told me you saw him at that animal sale. Hard to explain.”

“I know someone who can explain some things,” I said, frowning through the doorway at the photograph on the dresser.

Culworthy stayed on my heels all the way to my car, and climbed in the passenger’s side without comment. I toyed with a few arguments, discarded them with a shrug, and took my keys from my purse. Before I could get in the car, Vidalia came out of her door and called to me.

I waited as she hurried across the street. “Did you and the colonel hear good news?” she demanded. “Have you an inkling as to the whereabouts of poor Astra and the others?”

“No,” I said. “Colonel Culworthy’s going to look into running a large ad in the newspaper, though, and putting up posters.”

“Wherever are you going?” she asked, waving sweetly at Culworthy in the passenger’s seat.

Inevitability settled in, and shortly thereafter she was settled in the backseat and we were heading for the animal shelter. I asked her to describe Daryl’s girlfriend, and her description was close enough to what I’d expected to hear.

“When did you see this woman?” I asked.

“One night last week, and it was really rather late for a lady to be seen entering a gentleman’s apartment,” she said, winking coyly at me in the rearview mirror. “It must have been nearly midnight. There was a full moon, so naturally Astra insisted we take a nice walk. She becomes quite kittenish in the moonlight, attacking shadows and pouncing about playfully.”

“You saw the woman one time?” I inserted.

“I thought you asked about the last time,” she said. “I saw her one other time. It must have been—oh, let me think…why, several weeks ago, I believe. You might ask George Maranoni for a more precise date.”

“Maranoni?” Culworthy said. “What was he doing there?”

Having opened my mouth to ask the same thing (although without the overtone of jealousy), I merely glanced quizzically at her in the mirror.

“Walking his dog,” Vidalia said, sounding flustered.

The line across Culworthy’s forehead deepened, as did his voice. “You and Maranoni at midnight? Arranged it, huh?”

“Of course not, Colonel Culworthy. I would hardly arrange to meet a gentleman on the street at midnight, much less a married gentleman! I must add that no true gentleman would accuse a lady of that kind of behavior.”

“Asking, not accusing,” he said brusquely.

It was not the time for a spat. I turned the corner hard enough to cause them to gasp, then said, “So you’ve seen her twice?”

“Oh, yes,” Vidalia said. “And she acted curiously both times, I might say. She was being furtive, distinctly furtive. It was obvious; even George remarked on it at the time.”

Culworthy snorted under his breath but kept his comments to himself, and we arrived at the animal shelter without further accusations. The shelter truck was in the parking lot; the hatchback was not.

A large woman in a uniform greeted us from behind the counter, as did wuffles and barks from behind the door that led to the pens. The door to the office was closed, and when I asked if Jan was there, the woman shook her head and said, “No, she came in an hour ago and said she was going out to NewCo to look for the USDA files for the animals we brought in from there.”

“Why does she need the files?” Culworthy asked.

“I don’t have any idea,” the woman said, aggrieved. “All those pathetic animals will have to be put down. We don’t have any use for the numbers in the file, and we sure as hell have enough papers and folders crammed in the cabinets to keep us busy. Jan said she wanted them, though, and that’s where she is. Me, I’m going crazy. Arnie’s gone, and one of the officers is sick. With Jan out of pocket, I might as well crawl into a cage and nibble the kibble.”

Vidalia, Culworthy, and I returned to the car. “That’s odd,” I commented. “It’s a long drive out there for a file she doesn’t need.”

“Damn suspicious,” Culworthy said with a decisive nod. “Sounds like she’s avoiding us.”

Vidalia leaned over the top of the seat. “She didn’t know we were coming, Colonel Culworthy, unless, of course, she had some sort of premonition. I was trying very hard to remember exactly what Daryl’s visitor looked like, and she might have been seized by a psychic sensation. It does happen, you know.”

“Not in the military,” he said sharply.

“Ah, but the military was very closemouthed about the UFO investigation in the fifties, wasn’t it?”

“I think,” I interrupted, “that we’d better run out there. I’m having a premonition of my own.”

Vidalia clapped her hands. “How very thrilling! I simply adore to be in the presence of inexplicable psychic phenomena. Don’t you, Colonel Culworthy?”

He didn’t, and they argued all the way out to the highway east of Farberville and were still at it as we passed Deputy Amos’s house. I stopped in the middle of the road, and said, “I wonder if I ought to see if he’s home and able to accompany us?”

“Scene of a crime,” said Culworthy. “May find tape on the gate or an order not to trespass.”

Which reminded me of Sheriff Dorfer’s threats, should I continue to investigate the purported murder or any other aspect of the crime. Visiting NewCo qualified. “His truck’s not there,” I said grimly, then drove away.

The gate was open and the blue hatchback was parked in front of Churls’s porch. I pulled in next to it, cut off the engine, and got out of the car. This time there were no wuffly barks from imprisoned dogs. It was as quiet as it had been after Deputy Amos had fired his gun three nights ago.

Colonel Culworthy helped Vidalia out of the backseat, then slammed the car door closed. The noise startled me, but I bit my lip and went up the porch steps to the door. It, like the gate, was open, and it seemed the sheriff’s department had no funds for official seals and orange tape.

The boards creaked behind me as Vidalia and Culworthy came to the door. Vidalia’s eyes were round and her hands clasped together tightly. The colonel looked as leery as I presumed I did, and his voice was muted as he said, “Suppose we ought to have a look inside, Malloy.”

“Go right ahead,” I said graciously. He was firmly rooted to the porch, however, so I cautiously opened the door a few more inches and went into the front room. “Jan?” I called softly, frowning at the couch cushions now on the floor.

Vidalia and Culworthy were clinging to each other as we crept across the shabby room to the kitchen doorway. The metal cash box was gone from the table, and a chair lay on its side. The cabinet doors were open; cereal boxes and soup cans littered the countertop and floor. The refrigerator was open, too, and that which had been on shelves was swept out. Even the freezer had been emptied.

I continued into the bedroom, which was the antithesis of Daryl’s. The unmade bed had dingy sheets and a decaying quilt, and dirty clothes were scattered on the floor. A mailorder landscape hung askew on the wall; I resisted the urge to straighten it as I went farther into the room. All the drawers in the dresser had been yanked out and their contents dumped on the floor—unless Newton Churls had been a remarkably untidy housekeeper. The mattress was misaligned on the frame.

“Been searched,” Culworthy said.

“It certainly looks that way,” I said as I headed for the kitchen. As I stepped into the room, the back door crashed open and Jan Gallager stumbled through the doorway. When she saw me, she froze, her mouth agape and her face contorted with surprise. Her forehead was beaded with sweat.

“Claire?” she croaked.

I nodded, keenly aware of the gun in her hand. Behind me, Culworthy sputtered wordlessly and Vidalia let out a gasp that heated my neck.

Jan rubbed her face with her free hand (thank goodness), and took a deep breath. “You scared me,” she said shakily. “I didn’t expect to find someone in—in here like this. Does the telephone work?”

“I have no idea,” I said. The gun was pointed at the floor, but I was still keeping an eye on it. “Why do you ask?”