Words With Fiends (10 page)

Shouldering the bag of pet gear, Darla hurried after him. At the moment, all of the police seemed to be elsewhere—with luck, she could convince Robert to pay his respects with the flowers and move on before that changed. But as they drew closer, the dojo's front door opened and Officer Wing, accompanied by Reese, wandered out.

Darla muttered a few bad words under her breath but managed to regain her composure by the time the men spied the teen bearing down on them.

“What are you two doing here?” Reese bluntly greeted them, his tone belying the fact that he'd played the part of confidante to Darla's weepy role of witness the evening before.

So much for good old Father Fiorelli,
she told herself, more than a little stung.

Officer Wing's reaction was more formal. “Ms. Pettistone, Mr. Gilmore, I'm afraid this is a crime scene. We may need some further witness statements from you later, but for now we have to ask you to leave.”

“Good to see you again, too, Officer Wing,” Darla coolly replied. She pointed to the modest mound of cards and flowers that had accumulated beside one of the fu dogs. “We just stopped by to pay our respects. I'm sure you understand.”

Robert, meanwhile, had ignored the officer's warning and slid past the yellow tape to squat beside the small memorial that the sensei's students had raised. Watching him, Darla felt an answering tug on her emotions. While not as impressive as other displays she'd seen, this tribute to the departed martial artist was more personal . . . more poignant. Among the random stems and cards, Darla spied a tiny stuffed bear wearing a gi, and a pair of white china fu dogs, miniature siblings to those who guarded the dojo door. One of the younger students had even left his small yellow rank belt—doubtless one of his prized possessions—curled among the bouquets.

Soberly, Robert added his flowers to the lot. Darla saw Reese and Wing exchange glances, but neither man made a move to roust him. Apparently, they agreed that the teen's presence on the other side of the tape, so long as he didn't actually go inside the building, wouldn't be enough to taint the investigation.

Darla, however, wasn't getting off that lightly. Taking her by the arm, Reese walked her several feet down the sidewalk and then muttered, “All right, Red, what gives? I talked to Jake, and she said she already gave you the heads-up on what happened. So you'd better not have come here looking for clues on your own. This is an official investigation.”

“I'm well aware of that,” Darla clipped out and yanked her arm from his grasp, giving him a slanted look that she was sure Hamlet would have approved. “Not that it's any of your business, but Robert and I were out shopping at the pet boutique a few blocks away.”

She reached into the bag and pulled out Hamlet's cat wand by way of demonstration, letting the feathers dangle perilously close to Reese's nose for a moment before shoving it back into the bag again. “And on the way back, Robert said he wanted to leave a little tribute at the dojo, and I said okay. That's all that ‘gives.'”

Reese suppressed a sneeze—apparently, he was sensitive to feathers, Darla noted in satisfaction—and then grudgingly nodded.

“Fine, sorry for jumping on you like that. But we don't need anyone else tromping around on our crime scene.”

Before Darla could question just what this halfhearted apology meant, the dojo door opened. A second uniformed officer ushered out a trio of civilians. From their mutually outraged expressions, Darla guessed that they weren't leaving the premises voluntarily. That impression was deepened when the female member of the group angrily shook off the cop's hand and stopped to reach into her handbag for a cigarette. The officer, meanwhile, sourly confirmed that the three had apparently gone afoul of police procedure with a quick, “The scene's secure again, and everyone's out now,” to Reese and Wing.

It took her a few seconds to recognize two of the crime scene crashers as brothers Hank and Hal, used to as she was seeing them with their bulging biceps bared. Today, however, they were both wearing heavy down jackets, and Hal's bald head was covered with a knit cap. They seemed to have had no trouble recognizing her, however, for they gave her similar perturbed looks, as if resenting her presence. Not that she necessarily blamed them. Had it been a relative of hers that was murdered, she'd probably not appreciate any gawkers.

But Darla's attention was for the impeccably dressed bottle blonde who had taken a couple of puffs on her cigarette before tossing it down and grinding it out beneath a designer heel. The woman appeared to be no older than her mid-forties, though Darla assumed that she had to be a decade older than that. For surely from the solicitous way Hank and Hal were escorting her, this was Dr. Jan Tomlinson, the Steroid Twins' mother . . . and, more to the point, the late sensei's wife.

Some grieving widow,
was Darla's first reflexive if admittedly unworthy thought, noting that the woman appeared more outraged at the police than distraught over losing her husband. Despite herself, Darla couldn't help a stir of indignation on the sensei's part. Why, she and Robert had known the man only a few months, and as best she could tell, the two of them were more distressed over the situation than Tomlinson's own family!

But even while that thought crossed Darla's mind, the woman leveled an assessing look in Robert's direction. She wore fashionable dark glasses on her perfect nose, but they had slipped enough to reveal the pale eyes—what shade, exactly, Darla wasn't close enough to distinguish—that unblinkingly took in his every detail.

The sound of the dojo door opening had roused the teen from his reverie. Now, he scrambled to his feet, Roma clutched to his chest as he tried to shrink backward into the flowers and look inconspicuous. Dr. Tomlinson raised one perfectly penciled brow . . . an impressive feat, Darla thought, given her obvious level of Botox. And with a sudden sense of resignation, Darla knew what would happen next.

She wasn't wrong.

Pursing lips made larger by artfully applied red lipstick, Dr. Tomlinson turned to the cop beside her.

“Officer, arrest that boy. He's stolen my late husband's dog.”

“I DIDN'T STEAL HER!”

Eyes wide, Robert gripped Roma more tightly and backed away from the second cop, bumping into the raised paw of the concrete fu dog beside him. That officer, meanwhile, exchanged quick looks with Reese and Wing. The latter gave a quick shake of his shaved head. Darla saw the second officer relax just a bit, though she could sense Reese beside her snapping to full alert.

For his part, Robert seemed on the verge of panic. With a frantic glance at Officer Wing, he insisted, “I was, you know, just fostering her so she didn't have to go to the pound.”

“Nonsense,” was the doctor's clipped reply. “None of us gave you permission to take the dog. Why, we've been worried sick about little, uh, little . . .”

“Roma,” Hal supplied while giving Robert a sharp look.

His reaction made Darla frown. No doubt the man had seen Robert playing with the hound at the dojo in the past. Would that cause him to doubt the teen's claim?

His tone suspicious now, Hal added, “We figured the little rat ran off. How'd you get hold of her?”

“Sorry, sir, I forgot to mention it,” Officer Wing smoothly broke in. “Mr. Gilmore and Ms. Pettistone were the witnesses we told you about, the ones who found Mr. Tomlinson and called 9-1-1. The dog was here when we found the . . . that is, when we came on scene . . . and she was acting pretty crazy. I was worried what might happen if I sent her off to Animal Control, and I didn't know how long it would take to locate the family to come get her.”

When the family in question merely stared at him, Wing explained, “You know how it is, a little dog yapping like crazy.” He paused and used one hand to pantomime barking. “It goes from barking to biting, and then Animal Control has no choice but to put the dog down. And I didn't want that to happen on top of everything else. So I asked Mr. Gilmore if he could help out and keep Mr. Tomlinson's dog until a relative was ready to reclaim her. I've got that in my report, if you'd like to see.”

Reese gave the faintest approving nod, and Darla relaxed just a little. At least the detective seemingly was on their side and wasn't going to allow anyone to slap cuffs on anyone yet.

Robert had bristled a little at Wing's exaggerated characterization of Roma as frenzied; still, he prudently kept quiet until the cop finished his fictionalized version of events. Then he nodded vigorously.

“I was just trying to help,” he spoke up. “She's, like, way too small to get put in a cage with a pit bull or something, so I figured she'd be safer with me.”

“Really, Officer, that was quite presumptuous of you, removing our property from the studio,” Dr. Tomlinson replied, her tone unconvinced. To Robert, she added, “You may return the dog now.”

“Are you sure? I can, you know, keep her at my place awhile longer if you want.”

“That won't be necessary.” With a cool look at Hank, she added, “Take it.”

“Hell, Ma, why don't you let the kid keep the little rat?” Hank replied with a shrug. “It was Tom's dog. None of us want it, and I'm sure not going to feed it or take it on walks.”

“Me either,” Hal agreed, folding burly arms over his chest. “I want a rat, I'll get one outta the basement.”

The two brothers exchanged grins at their little joke while Roma, apparently getting the gist of their comments, responded with a small growl. Their mother, however, did not appear amused.

“You may not want the dog, but it hardly qualifies as a rat,” was her frosty reply. “It's a registered show animal and worth money. You can't just give away a dog like that.”

“I'll buy her from you,” Robert offered in an eager tone.

The woman pursed her red lips again and then shrugged. “That might be a solution. Very well, I believe that three thousand dollars would be a fair price for her.”

“Three thousand?”

“Dollars. Cash,” she clarified with a small smile. Then, when Robert visibly gulped, she added, “Why, that's a bargain. I'm certain I could sell her to a breeder for more than that.”

“I-I don't have that kind of money,” he admitted in a small voice, his gaze dropping to the dog he cradled.

The woman's smile broadened, and Darla felt her temper flare. She wasn't sure which was worse, the doctor's smug attitude toward Robert, or her threat to sell the small dog to a breeder. Thanks to an animal activist friend back in Dallas, Darla knew that some pet breeders were compassionate and ethical, but that a great many more were in the business simply for the money. In the hands of an uncaring businessperson, a dog's future was almost guaranteed to be bleak and short-lived, indeed.

“Let it go, Red,” Reese murmured, sensing her outrage. “It stinks, but she's one hundred percent within her rights.”

Officer Wing shifted uncomfortably where he stood, his sympathies obviously with Robert, but both his and the other cops' expressions remained impassive.

“Wait,” Darla broke in and quickly fumbled for her wallet. “Maybe we could do a payment plan. I've got some money on me, and—”

“I don't do payment plans. Cash only, up front. No takers?” The smile vanished, and the woman shot Hank a meaningful look. “Get the dog. Oh, and remove that tacky clothing from her while you're at it.”

Hank shrugged and rolled his eyes, but obediently walked over to where Robert stood.

“Sorry, kid,” he muttered and took the dog from him.

Roma did not go willingly. Delicate legs flailing, she tried and failed to evade the larger man's grasp. Tucked under one of his bulky arms, she whined and gave a small bark that was quickly muffled in the folds of Hank's jacket as he efficiently stripped the mauve sweater from her and tossed it back to Robert.

As for the teen, he clutched the empty sweater and bit his lip, gaze fixed on the sidewalk. Darla wasn't certain if he was holding back tears or anger. Probably both, she decided. She certainly was.

Reese, meanwhile, took a casual step forward. “We're finished with our questions for now,” he said to Dr. Tomlinson and the twins, “but like we told you earlier, we're still investigating the scene. We'll let you know as soon as we can release the dojo back to you.”

“Yeah, well, it better be soon,” Hal retorted. “We still got a tournament to put on this weekend, and our students need a place to practice.”

“You're not canceling the tournament?” Darla asked in surprise.

Hank gave her a sour look. “We got sponsors, we already paid for the venue across town, and people already paid their registrations. We cancel now, and we lose lots of money. Not to mention we got a lot of ticked-off students from all the major dojos in the state who were counting on a sanctioned tournament. So that would be a no.”

“Tom would want us to carry on,” Dr. Tomlinson said with a pious nod. “Nothing was more important to him than his studio and his students.”

“You can say that again,” Hal muttered, the bitterness in his tone taking Darla aback.

Reese nodded. “We'll get you running again as soon as we can. Right now, our priority is finding out what happened to Mr. Tomlinson.”

Dismissed by the police, the three headed to a sporty yellow two-door parked a short distance down the curb. Darla was mollified a bit to see that Dr. Tomlinson, at least, glanced back a final time at the impromptu tribute that the sensei's students had left. Her expression was unreadable, however, and Darla wondered if maybe the woman simply was deciding how long she was obliged to leave the memorial intact.

Hank, still holding Roma, squeezed his bulk into the backseat. Hal helped his mother into the front passenger spot and then folded his own muscular figure into the driver's seat. Obviously, their training had come in handy, Darla thought in grim amusement as she watched Hal hit the gas and speed off. Anyone else their size would have had a heck of a time contorting into that tiny vehicle.

Robert, meanwhile, had slipped back from behind the crime scene tape. Tonelessly, he asked, “So, can I go, too?”

“Actually, I think they want both of us out of here. Right, Detective Reese?” Darla answered before the man could speak up. Giving Reese a look that held just a bit of challenge, she finished, “If you need to ask me or Robert any more questions, you can stop by the shop during business hours.”

“Sure thing, Ms. Pettistone,” he replied, the formality making it equally clear to Darla that he was just as peeved with her.

Not that he had any right to be, she thought in righteous indignation as she and Robert hurried off. It wasn't her fault that the Steroid Twins and their Mommy Dearest apparently had wandered inside the dojo without the detective's consent and had to be escorted out again. All Robert had wanted to do was pay his respects to the murdered sensei, and for his trouble he'd been forced to give Roma back to a woman who didn't want her, except as a possible investment.

She stole a glance over at the teen striding silently beside her. She'd warned him that keeping the little greyhound might be a temporary proposition, but she'd truly believed that none of Master Tomlinson's family would actually want her back. Still, she should have known better than to encourage him to take Roma home and buy her so much gear.

“Here,” the youth suddenly said and thrust the small mauve sweater in her direction. “She won't be needing this, not if she's going to be sold into dog slavery.” With that, he crammed his hands into his jacket pockets and began running.

Darla stuffed the sweater into the bag with the rest of the pet gear, wondering about the boutique's return policy, and rushed after him, though following at a respectable distance. No doubt he wanted to be alone, but she wanted to keep an eye on where he was going.

A moment later he made a turn at the next corner, and she saw in relief that he was headed back home. She watched as he reached the stoop at Mary Ann's brownstone, a mirror image of Darla's building, where a short stairwell led beneath the stoop to his apartment door.

To her surprise, she saw Mary Ann was standing there, holding what appeared from a distance to be a rectangular package the size and shape of a coffee table book. She and Robert exchanged a few words, though Darla couldn't hear what was said from her vantage point. And then the teen abruptly disappeared down the stairwell into his apartment, leaving Mary Ann staring after him, the object still clutched in her arms.

As the old woman turned back to the steps leading to her shop, Darla quickened her pace and waved in her direction to stop her. “Mary Ann, wait, what's wrong?”

The woman halted; then, as Darla joined her, she gave Darla a troubled look before shaking her head.

“I'm not quite sure. Remember that I told you I had something in the store that I thought Robert would enjoy? Well, I was bringing it downstairs to hang in his apartment before you two got back, and there he was. Of course, that spoiled my little surprise, so I showed it to him.”

She pulled back the brown paper, revealing the elaborate gilded wood of a small picture frame. “I thought he'd be pleased, but he told me he didn't want it, and then he ran into the apartment. I don't understand. Why, I thought it would be perfect.”

Mary Ann turned the picture so that Darla could see the hand-tinted print, likely once part of a vintage art text. The subject matter was traditional: a young Renaissance courtier walking in an elaborate garden. But what made the scene special was the fact that trailing the youth was a small, whip-thin hound in a broad embroidered collar that looked remarkably like Roma.

The image of that hound apparently reminded the old woman that something else was wrong, too. Glancing about, she asked, “Why, where is the little greyhound? I thought you two took her to the pet shop.”

“We did. And the picture is wonderful, Mary Ann . . . very thoughtful,” Darla agreed with a smile that rose and then quickly faded. “But I'm afraid Robert has a good reason not to want it.”

Darla walked the woman back to the antiques shop while explaining how Roma had been unexpectedly reclaimed by Master Tomlinson's family. When she had finished, Mary Ann tsked and replied, “My gracious, that's too bad. Though, keep in mind, the poor woman just suffered a terrible shock, losing her husband, and in such a fashion. I wonder if it's a tiny bit uncharitable to blame her for being snappish right now.”

Mary Ann was right, Darla realized, feeling guilty as charged in the face of the woman's gentle lecture. So caught up had she been in Robert's drama that it hadn't occurred to her that the doctor's anger might simply be her way of coping with what had to be a devastating loss. At any other time, Dr. Tomlinson might be a lovely person. Darla would have to remind Robert of this later . . . though she doubted even that explanation would do much to comfort him right now.

Aloud, she ruefully acknowledged, “You're entirely correct, and thanks for the reminder. I need to give her the benefit of the doubt right now. Maybe she'll change her mind about Roma later.”

“Oh, I do hope so. But if not, do you think she really will sell the poor dog to someone? Maybe Officer Reese could convince her otherwise.”

“Detective Reese,” Darla automatically corrected. Then, recalling that she still was ticked at the man, she added, “And I doubt he'll be much help. He's pretty busy investigating Master Tomlinson's murder.”

Her statement brought a gasp from the old woman and led to another explanation from Darla that left Mary Ann shaking her gray head.

“Oh, my gracious, what is this world coming to?” she asked with a sigh as she settled onto the stool behind her register. “I hate to say this, Darla, but things have gone downhill in this neighborhood ever since Dee passed away.”

Which is a polite way of saying that people are dropping like flies ever since I took over the bookstore,
Darla thought, trying as she did so to dismiss the sudden, unsettling image of herself as some red-haired, bookselling Angel of Death.