Clawed: A Gin & Tonic Mystery (11 page)

“Unhappy,” Georgie replied. “She’s worried, and unhappy.” The shar-pei whined in frustration. “And the girls we met
were unhappy, too. Really unhappy. Even when they were petting me, they were unhappy.”

Penny considered that, her tail twitching thoughtfully.

The humans were still talking, about police reports and theft, and a friend of Theo’s who might be able to help.

“Unhappy sad, or unhappy scared?” she asked Georgie, who cocked her head and whined a little in thought, causing Ginny to rub her head and distract her for a moment.

“Unhappy sad. Unhappy scared. And unhappy . . .” Georgie whined again, not being able to describe it.

“And it came out when Herself asked about the body?”

“It was there to start, but it got stronger then, yeah.”

Penny couldn’t make out details through the tiny screen, but she could see how mournful Georgie’s eyes would be, looking at her as though to ask her to make it all better. “They were so sad, and then they were scared, and I couldn’t make them feel better, Penny.”

“We will,”
she promised the dog. “We just need to figure out how.”

Penny had an idea, though. Ginny had to sniff some more around those girls. Unhappy-waiting-to-be-yelled-at meant they did something wrong. Humans were like dogs: if you looked at them long enough, they’d admit to every bad thing they’d ever done.

She stretched her front paws up, until they reached the keyboard, and waited.

“I keep thinking about those girls, though,” Ginny said, and Penny hit as many keys as she could, trying to make the right thing happen, the keys that made the smiley face appear. She’d seen Theo do it before, when he wanted to encourage the person on the other screen to keep talking. . . .

“What? Sorry, Ginny,”
Theo said, and erased the gibberish that had appeared on the text screen below her image. “You were saying?”

“How many kids in that neighborhood, in the city maybe, were in and out of that house? If they were actually doing business directly from there, I doubt teenagers were wearing gloves, or thought to wipe their handprints away, and I’m pretty sure they didn’t have a cleaner in on a regular basis. So there must be a dozen or more fingerprints in that house.”

Penny pressed more keys, and twitched her whiskers in irritation when Theo simply pushed her off, then lifted her and put her on the desk rather than his lap. If she could hit the right key, pictures came up. If she could find a picture of a girl . . .

“Well, if nothing else, a lot of kids are going to lose their fake IDs and be grounded for the rest of their adolescence,” Theo said.

“Yeah, I had that same thought. I just . . .”

“What?
Spit it out, Gin. Your instincts are pretty good, most of the time.”

“Most?”

“Gin . . .”

“I just keep thinking that the girls knew something. Something about why the guy was killed. Why did
Georgie go to that particular house, those girls, out of all the scent trails there must have been—there were cops all over the place, and the paramedics? Why was their scent particularly strong?”

“Gin. Finding the killer’s not our case, remember? If it doesn
’t have to do with why you were hired . . .”

“But what if it does? What if it was all tangled together?”

“Okay, how? And why?”

She sighed. “
I don’t know. He had my contact details on him, in his pocket. So either he
was
the one who contacted me, or the killer planted the information there, which implies that the
killer
contacted me.” She licked her lips, and looked off-screen. “I think I’m
gonna be sick.”

“Penny,” Georgie whined. “Do something!”

She pushed up into Theo’s lap so that the dog could see her, for reassurance. “Shh
, Georgie. We’ve got them on the right track, now I need to figure out what to do next. Just trust me.”

Theo sighed, then picked her up off the desk and put her on the floor, not allowing her to get back into his lap. “Down, Penny. The adults are talking.”

Disgusted, Penny lifted her tail and flicked it once to indicate her displeasure, and stalked out of the office. She’d find high space somewhere, and think. This would be so much easier if they weren’t
separate
!

*    *    *

“Sorry about that. I’m not sure what’s gotten into that cat recently.”

“They’ve both been acting weird. Georgie’s never pulled out of my leash before, not even when there was a squirrel to chase.” Ginny shook her head. “They miss each other, I guess.”

“Yeah, maybe.” He thought about Stacy’s suggestion, that the animals were lonely, and shook his head. “But specific to Georgie, her behavior might have a reason. I mean, more than her just following a scent and wanting friendly pettings.”

“Like what?”

“Guilt.”

Ginny widened her eyes at him, placing a hand to her chest in mock shock. “Now you think those girls are the killers? Seriously?”

“Weren’t you the one just telling me never to underestimate teenage girls? But no . . . I’m pretty sure not. Or if they are, then let the cops go after them because teenage girl catfights look way better on-screen than in person.”

“I’m just going to pretend you didn’t say that. So what
are
you thinking?”

Teddy bit his lip and ran a hand over the top of his head, thinking that it was almost time for another buzz before summer hit, for whatever variation of the season Seattle gave them this year. “I don’t know. I just keep thinking that if Georgie did that, there’s got to be some reason. And if the girls reacted the way you said . . .”

“They did.”

“I wasn’t doubting you, woman, just thinking out loud. If the girls knew something about the guy who died, that might tie back into why someone tried to connect you to him. And no, I don’t know how or why but they’re the only possible clue we’ve got. And it would explain why Georgie picked up the scent—the difference between people going about doing their jobs, and someone who . . . well, strong emotions affect body chemistry, even I know that. And it’s not like Georgie hasn’t been right about these things before.”

He hated to admit it, but the dog’s sense about people was almost as good as his. Maybe even better, in some ways. “I think you’re going to have to try to talk to them again.” He laughed, although it really wasn’t funny. “Good thing you were down there, not me. If I tried to approach them a second time, I’d probably get maced.”

“Yeah well.” Ginny exhaled and shook her head, making her shoulder-length curls—nowhere near as tidy as usual—bounce around her face. It looked amusingly similar to the way Georgie’s ears flopped when she shook her head. Teddy wasn’t anywhere near punchy enough to say that, though. “I’d rather you were here,” she said. “I’m still not good at this, female to female or not.”

“Just ask yourself, What Would Teddy Do?”

She snorted at that, but smiled. “Yeah, I’ll try, but no promises. Those girls really didn’t want to talk to me.” She reached down to pet Georgie’s ears, her lips pursed in thought. “I think, before I try to corner them, I’m going to check in with the local cops and make sure that I’m cleared to go, and then maybe do one last pass through the neighborhood, see if there’s anything else anyone can tell me.”

“And then you’ll talk to the girls.” She was going into avoidance mode, because she didn’t think she was capable of handling it. “Assuming the cops don’t arrest you beforehand.”

“Oh gee, thanks for the support, Tonica.” She glared at him, her self-doubt forgotten, and he mentally chalked up a point to himself.

“If the girls won’t talk, short of tossing the house for clues, which I’d really rather not do, I think we’re beat on this one, Teddy. I’m never going to know why I got dragged into this, or by whom. And now I’m going to be paranoid as hell for
months
.”

Years, he thought. He might be able to let go of an unknown, but for Ginny, it would always be this itch she couldn’t reach, the question she didn’t ask, and it was going to drive her crazy.

And she was going to take him along with her.

10

N
ormally Ben and Dave would
get together once a week, do whatever was needed to keep the surface business running—one client at a time, carefully chosen, bringing in just enough money to make them legit—and then deal with whatever had to be done on their real moneymaker. They both had other jobs, with regular hours, so meeting during the workday normally didn’t happen. But this wasn’t a normal week—even without scrambling to hire someone to replace Jamie. Ben wasn’t happy about changing his schedule, but they’d both known taking the next step would require some changes.

It would be worth it, in the end. And he could smooth things over with his bosses later.

They’d reserved the small conference room again. Ben stared at the clock on the wall, and wished that the glass wall to the main room had drapes, or was one-way glass, something to help with the itchy sensation of being watched. Nobody was paying any attention to them. That was why they met here, because everyone was too self-involved with their own projects to wonder about anyone else, especially if they weren’t working on the same sort of projects. He was pretty sure that nobody at the coworking center was in their line of work. Although, you never knew. . . .

“This is inconvenient,” he said, bringing his attention back to the pile of folders in front of him.

“This is why we set things up this way in the first place,” Dave said, for maybe the tenth time. “And yes, I know it’s inconvenient, shifting everything, but it’s better than having to try to reclaim anything from a crime scene, don’t you agree?” Dave sighed when Ben made a face, and reached across the table to shove Ben on one arm, roughly but not without affection. “Come on. Snap out of it. We need to be on our game if we want to hit the big time. This new gig could be it, finally.”

And that was another issue entirely. “You really trust her?”

“Who, Michal?” Dave laughed. “Not even remotely. She’d drop us to the cops the minute it worked in her favor, which is why we need to keep our noses clean every way we can,” and he tapped the paperwork for emphasis. “But she’s also our ticket to the big leagues. Mega-money, bro. But mega-risks, too. We can’t have anything go wrong.”

“Is that why you had Jamie killed?”

“What?” Dave swung around in his chair and glared at the other man. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You always said he was going to be the rock around our neck. The thing that drowned us. And now he’s dead and suddenly we’ve got an invite to the dance? You don’t think that’s a little coincidental on the timing?”

“Jesus.” Dave visibly pulled his temper back under control. “Okay, look. First off, I didn’t have Jamie killed. Yes, I thought he was going to be trouble and I was right. But killing him? You really think I’m capable of that?”

His partner stared at him. “Of having him killed? Yeah, yeah, I do. Because if you weren’t a cold bastard we wouldn’t be here in the first place.” He didn’t mean the conference room, or the small apartment they’d just leased under a fake identity, to replace the workspace they’d lost with the other man’s death, or even the paperwork they were having to deal with, setting up new contacts to replace ones that might have been tainted by association with the dead man, but the entire thing, the whole business that had gotten them to all those places. And it had all started with Dave.

Making fake driver’s licenses, no problem. Falsifying entire people? It made his stomach hurt a little, thinking about the risks. But Dave was right, this was the mega-money. This was every dream he’d ever had, on a platter.

“Well, I didn’t do it, all right?” his partner said. “I’m not going to mourn the guy, but I didn’t kill him
or
arrange to have him offed. Jesus. Did you?”

Ben felt his eyes go wide, staring at Dave. “No.” He’d been tempted once or twice to deck the guy, but kill him?

“Great. We’re both in the clear. Now can we focus on the details, and not what’s in the past? All right?”

Dave was pushing, he knew he was pushing, but they didn’t have time for Ben to have a crisis of whatever. Michal had been blunt: everything they’d done for her until now had been a test run, a trial. They would get this one chance to prove that they could handle a larger project, and once chance only. Positive results would take them to the next level, the big leagues. A failure would drop them back into the minors, back to peddling fake identification cards to underage teenagers. That was fine when they were still in college, but not now.

“Come on, Ben. Are you in or not?” Dave shoved his hands into his pockets and stared at the other man. Ten years they’d been working this angle, making sure their product was better than anyone else’s, keeping their noses clean—and then Jamie had to be an ass, and if he hadn’t been so damn good a salesman, Dave would have kicked the bastard’s ass out the door the day after he walked in. But he had been that good, bringing in customers and keeping them happy, and so they’d overlooked his bad habits. And they were being rewarded now. Ben couldn’t get cold feet: their skills complemented each other, design and implementation. They
needed
each other.

And with the better revenue stream, they could afford to hire the best photographers out there, and pay them enough to not ask any questions.

“Ben.” He stood up and stepped forward, reaching out to grab the other man by the lapel of his jacket, hauling him out of his own chair. “Come on, man, where’s your head, huh? Because I need it to be here.”

“Hey, come on.” Ben tried to back away, loosen from Dave’s grip, but ended up backing himself up against one of the bare walls, Dave following up in his face. “Dave, quit it, okay? I’m here, all right? I’m in the game.”

Dave uncurled his fingers from the fabric, smoothing it down and stepping back. “Good. That’s good. Because we need you here. In the game.” He took a deep breath, then smiled crookedly. “When we go big we’re going to go big together, right, brother?”

“That was always the plan, brother.” Ben’s smile wasn’t quite as cheerful as his partner’s, but it passed muster. And if his doubts about Jamie’s death weren’t entirely erased, he now knew better than to voice them.

Whoever had killed Jamie, it was over and done. They had new business to consider.

*    *    *

Ginny liked to think that she was the face-forward, deal-with-things-immediately kind of person. Avoidance never made a problem go away, procrastination never got things done, et cetera et cetera. So when she’d said good-bye to Tonica, she’d walked Georgie long enough to tire the dog out, then set her up in the room, double-checked the information the cop who’d taken her statement had given her, and gone to the police station. Her experience dealing with bureaucracies had taught her that showing up on their doorstep would be more effective than getting handed around a phone-tree line.

The building itself was an almost-bland, brick-face structure that could have been a library, except for the lettering over the main doors and the extreme number of squad cars parked around it.

Effective
was a relative term, thought. She had to wait nearly an hour, but she was able to get decent signal inside the building, allowing her to respond to email, including several potential new clients, on her tablet. But the vending machine was broken, the coffee tasted like watered-down ashes, and the plastic seat was starting to make her backside hurt.

After a moment’s thought, she added a request for references—not optional—to those potential client emails and sent them off, before tackling the harder-to-answer mail from her mother, who wanted to know why she was canceling out on dinner that weekend.

Somehow she didn’t think “Hey, Mom, I’m writing this from the waiting room of the Portland PD and I’m not sure when they’ll let me go home” would go over well. They already thought her actual freelance job was sketchy enough; add in the cops and they’d stage an intervention to get her back to a nice, safe, stable desk job working for someone else.

Ginny looked around at the waiting room, considered the bad coffee and the plastic seats, and shook her head. She’d still take this, boring paint and cinder-block walls, over more time served in a cubicle.

“Ms. Mallard?”

“That’s me.” She looked up to see a young, dark-skinned man in a uniform eyeing her dubiously. She smiled as harmlessly as she could and stood up. “So what’s the verdict?” All right, maybe not the best word choice ever, but the guy smiled back at her, showing reassuringly crooked teeth.

“Sorry for the delay in sorting things out, but I’m afraid you’re rather low priority.”

“And that’s good, right?”

“That’s good,” he agreed. “If you’ll just confirm your contact information, in case we have need to get in touch, you’re all set.” His smile broadened, showing off impossibly high cheekbones that she briefly envied. “It certainly didn’t hurt to have the feds vouching for you.”

“I bet,” she said, smiling back. More likely they were wondering why a federal agent knew her name at all, why was she known to the feds in the first place, and why was she in their town. All answers she had no inclination of giving them, if Asuri hadn’t already.

“I don’t suppose that you could tell me anything about the situation—do we know why the poor guy got killed?”

Whoops. She could see the pullback in his eyes, even though the smile didn’t lose an inch of professional sincerity. She was about to get hit with the standard “no, they could not tell her anything about a pending investigation, ma’am, time for you to go, now.”

And yep, there it came, textbook perfect. She supposed that they couldn’t all be as helpful—or as friendly—as the cop she’d met on Wednesday. Pity she hadn’t thought to get the woman’s name. She—grumpily—suspected Tonica would have remembered. Working alone was harder, and she wished, briefly, that he’d been able to come down the moment the shit first hit the fan.

But wishes weren’t horses. So she smiled back at the uniform, equally professionally sincere, and went to collect her car from the parking lot, surrounded by squad cars and unmarked sedans.

She stared at one of those sedans thoughtfully, something tingling in the back of her brain, but it didn’t come forward, and finally she shrugged and got into her car. The best way to coax a thought out of hiding was to ignore it for a while.

The drive back was mostly on autopilot, her eyes on the road but her brain a jumble of what-ifs and should-haves. Teddy was right, the smart thing to do would be to hit the hotel, pack up Georgie and their gear, and point the rental car north to Seattle, putting this entire thing in the box labeled “fool me once” and filing it under “learning experience.”

That would be the smart thing to do.

So when she pulled into the hotel’s parking lot, she went to the front desk and extended her stay another night. Then she went upstairs and collected her partner in not-crime. Well, her four-legged one, anyway.

“Hey, Georgie,” she said, as she opened the room door to the expected enthusiastic greeting. “Tired of these walls? Wanna go for another ride?”

Georgie was down with that.

Ginny was starting to think that by now she knew the drive from her hotel to the scene of the crime as well as she knew the walk from her apartment to Mary’s. Three days of walking Georgie on that street, and either she’d be arrested for sure this time, on suspicion of casing the neighborhood, or the locals would start to think she belonged there.

It was an early Thursday afternoon, not quite the start of the weekend, but she had taken the measure of the neighborhood now: thirty-something homeowners, and teenagers, and retirees meant that every day there was a chance of different people being out and about. Hitting the neighborhood a few hours earlier than when she’d found the body increased the odds that she’d run into someone who had been out and about at the same time on Tuesday. Right?

It was the only logic she had, so she was going for it. When they arrived in the neighborhood, she sent off a quick text to Tonica, telling him she was in the clear and on the case, and then got Georgie out of the car, snapping on her leash and shoving a few poo bags in her pocket. Just because they were visiting didn’t mean she couldn’t be polite, although she hadn’t seen any trash cans around where she could dump the bags, if it came to that. . . .

Her phone vibrated, telling her she’d gotten a return text:
b crfl.
It took her a minute to puzzle that out as “be careful.”

Always
, she sent back, and was pretty sure she could hear the snort all the way from Mary’s.

They moseyed down the street, giving Georgie plenty of time to investigate every interesting blade of grass, tree root, and rock, until they’d reached their destination. If you didn’t know what had happened there, the house looked like every other house on the block, quiet but pleasant, even welcoming, as if the owner had just gone for the day and would be back that evening. The house to the left felt more “closed up,” as though the owners had packed up and gone on a long vacation, with the porch light still on and the curtains all drawn, and the only person at the house on the right was a sour-faced old man visible in back moving the lawn with an old-fashioned push mower. She decided, even at that distance, that he looked more likely to bite than talk, but if he ended up being her only option, she’d take the chance.

Fortunately, the house across the street was more lively: there were two adults sitting on their front porch, and one leaning against the pillar, indulgently listening to a preteen read something off at a rattling rate, while a small white dog lounged at the girl’s feet. Dog people: perfect.

Then she took a closer look at the person leaning against the porch, and Ginny wondered if there was time to turn around, get back in her car, and drive back to Seattle. Then the standing figure turned and saw her.

Georgie whined, and pulled against the leash. “Yeah, okay, girl,” Ginny said, and started across the street, never taking her eyes off the people on the front porch.

“Ah, Mallard, there you are.” Agent Asuri was nearly unrecognizable in jeans and a long-sleeved pullover rather than her usual crisp suits, her black hair pulled away from her face in a short ponytail. It was almost like she was an actual person, instead of a fed.