Dead Floating Lovers (23 page)

Tired from not sleeping the night before, I was relieved to get back home, even if the dog bones were still intact and the quiet house felt like a morgue.

In the car I had decided there wasn’t going to be any giving Sorrow away to anyone. Not to Dolly and not to anyone else. He was my dog and when I got him back I would keep him forever. If Jackson and I worked out and he didn’t like it … well … too bad. He’d just have to get used to it. If he wanted me with him, he had to take my dog. We were a team, me and Sorrow. Love me, love my dog.

First thing I did at home, after kicking off my sandals and putting the tea kettle on to boil, was check the answering machine. There might be people calling who’d seen Sorrow, or picked him up.

The first call was from Jackson Rinaldi.

“Miss you, Emily. I’m calling to see if you’re ready for the next batch. Thought maybe this weekend we could catch a film. You up for it? Maybe not dinner … I’ve got a lot of work to do. Well, whatever you want, give me a call.” His voice dropped a few notches. “I mean it, Emily. I miss you. Maybe this week … if you’d like, I could get over there …”

I would call him right back. But first the water was boiling. I made myself a cup of Constant Comment and, with warm mug in hand, sat at the desk to check the three other calls.

The second call was from Anna Scovil. I’d just seen her in town and she hadn’t mentioned calling me. Maybe this was another part of her subversive librarying.

“Emily.” Her voice was high and authoritarian. “Don’t forget about Tuesday night. Everybody’s going to be at the library to hear you speak at six thirty. I hate to ask, but could you bring some cookies? I’ll have coffee and tea, but cookies aren’t in our budget. Hope this is all right. If you can’t afford it, give me a call and I’ll find somebody who can.” Here she hesitated. “You’ll have about ten minutes to read from your work. Mr. Williams said he needs twenty minutes, at least, for the family history. Winnie Lorbach’s got a lot of lady’s slipper slides to show. I figured ten minutes would be about right for your fiction. Then there’d be time for questions afterward.”

Another hesitation. “I’ll see you Tuesday night. Try to get there a little early so we can get the cookies set out. I’ll get nervous, thinking you’re not coming, if I don’t see you by at least six o’clock. This will be a very nice affair, Emily. I’m looking forward to hearing you read. Oh, oh, I heard the funeral for Chet Wakowski is on Monday. Guess I’ll see you there first.”

That was that. I was pleased I was ready for her, and for the audience coming to hear me. All I had to do was buy a couple packages of chocolate chip cookies.

The next call was a hang-up.

I thought the last was a hang-up, too, but after a few minutes of heavy breathing a deep, male, familiar voice said, “I got your dog. Wouldn’t a done it if you’d listened. You gotta stop this looking into things having nothing to do with you, Emily Kincaid. I’ll know when you give it up.”

Lewis George hung up. I played it again, then again, getting madder and madder each time.

I could hardly breathe. That SOB had taken Sorrow on purpose. My beloved Sorrow—a hostage. I knew that deep voice and all those hesitations. Sorrow had been cowed by him. Oh my God! Was he cowering now? Was that awful man feeding him or being cruel?

I pictured Sorrow’s sad face. Maybe he was in a cage. Maybe he was locked in a dark room. I hoped he peed and pooped all over that man’s house. If he was in a shed, I prayed he barked until he drove everybody crazy. I prayed Sorrow bit him and made a break for it, thundering through the woods, down the roads, heading home with his long ears pinned back, tongue hanging out of the side of his mouth, paws tearing up the earth.

So … no dog was going to come bounding down the drive. No dog was about to leap at the side door, demanding to be let in. I couldn’t think what there was to do. Call Dolly. No. Yes. No. Lewis George wanted Mary Naquma’s bones back to bury and didn’t believe I wouldn’t help them. Or it was something deeper, something he was covering up for his friend, Alfred Naquma.

Where did that leave me? More and more I was sure Alfred Naquma had something to do with his sister’s murder. And how many more? Where was the father, Orly? Where was the sister, Christine? Sorrow and I could be up against a multiple murderer with a friend protecting him; men with no consciences.

I didn’t care about my safety anymore. They had Sorrow and that was all that mattered. I had to find a way to get him back.

I wrapped my arms around my body to stop the shaking. I needed to think, and think hard. Both Alfred and Lewis George had something to do with the casino. I had no addresses, but I’d seen Alfred Naquma there.

I looked at the clock over the sink in the kitchen. Eight-twenty. It would be dark in about an hour—or close to dark. Should I ask Dolly to go? Did I go myself? Where did I begin?

The casino was all I had. I was going alone, I decided. I didn’t want a little woman in a cop suit, with cop rules, along. I would blend in with the Friday night crowd. There was no question that I would find one or both of the men, and when I did I wouldn’t leave without Sorrow.

___

The casino parking lot was filled with cars. Couples made their way toward the big front doors with their arms around each other. Groups laughed and teased and hurried along. I was the only lone woman. I slipped into step with the group ahead of me and went through the doors, into the giant room lined with clinking, clunking, and buzzing slot machines. Lights flashed everywhere. There were shouts of joy and groans of misery. The smoke was dense enough to shut my lungs down for a month or two. I walked close behind people sitting over their machines, backs bent, eyes transfixed on grapes and apples and happy faces circling on reels in front of them.

At one end of the cavernous room was the restaurant. At the other were a gift shop and a bar. Beyond was a corridor opening into yet more rooms. In the middle were the poker tables and craps tables and pit bosses and girls carrying drink trays and small crowds milling around a winner and rows and rows of machines. It wasn’t the people at the tables or machines I looked at as I did a slow stroll from one end of the room to the other. I watched the faces of men who stood at corners; men in suits, standing with their hands crossed over their genitals as if fearing a head butt. These men worked for the casino. They didn’t smile, only kept their eyes on the crowd. It would be among these men in charge that I would find Lewis George or Alfred Naquma. It would be here or maybe in the restaurant.

As I walked and smiled at happy people passing, I watched every Native American face in the casino. None were the two I searched for. I went down to the restaurant and told the elderly hostess with the bent back that I was there looking for a friend. She nodded me on.

The booths were full, but neither man was there. I had to do something more aggressive or I’d be leaving without Sorrow.

I found a machine where a woman was just getting up and grabbed it before a man on a walker could beat me to it. It was a triple payoff machine with a repeat spin on the third reel. I put in the ten dollars I felt I could spare. I hit the button and watched the wheels go around while still, from the corners of my eyes, watching who walked behind me; who might be watching me. I even glanced upward, to make sure the overhead cameras got a good look. I was here and I wanted it known.

The ten dollars was gone in twenty minutes. I had to come up with another idea. I had been so sure I would be tapped on the shoulder, led to some back room, and finally brought face to face with both men. I was certain I would get a chance to demand my dog back.

Though I’d lost my money and wasn’t playing any longer, I stayed in the chair in front of the machine, swinging my legs back and forth, turning down proffered drinks, and thinking. I made myself conspicuous but there were no bites.

At a tap on my shoulder, I turned slowly, expecting the confrontation I wanted, or at least an invitation to follow someone. An elderly woman with puffed white hair stood there, pouting smile on her face asking me not to get mad at her.

“If you’re not using this machine, can I have it?” she asked. “It’s one of my favorites, you see.”

She blinked a few times as if expecting me to body slam her for the machine. I nodded. Smiled back. Muttered “Sorry,” and got up.

Frustration grew. The crowd got bigger. I had to elbow my way up and down the middle of the room. Almost all of the machines were occupied. People walked slowly past, hoping to be the first to jump on a seat, should anybody get up. It looked like a big, slow game of musical chairs. There wasn’t any way to find the men in this throng.

I began asking for them.

The lines at the cashiers were long. What better way to make myself noticed than to jump ahead of the others? I pushed to the front of the line, in front of a man with four quarter cups hugged to his chest.

“Hey,” he yelled, “wait your turn.”

I stuck a finger in the air asking for a minute, and leaned in toward the cashier. “I’m looking for Lewis George or Alfred Naquma. You know where I can find them?”

The heavyset woman scowled at me. “Get in line,” she ordered.

“I don’t have any winnings. I just need to speak to the men.”

“Ask at Hospitality,” she said, and motioned me aside.

The hospitality desk was down on the other side of the building. There was a long line there too, all waiting for their badges and whatever else they needed. I pulled the same thing, stepped to the head of the line over howls of protest, and asked for the two men.

“Ma’am,” the polite little girl behind the desk said, smiling and keeping her hospitably bright voice in place.

“I’m looking for Lewis George and Alfred Naquma,” I repeated.

“Ma’am, there are others ahead of you. I’m sorry …”

“They are men who work here or run this place. You have to know them. They’ve kidnapped my dog …”

She leaned back, narrowed her eyes, and waved her hand in the air.

Immediately, two very large guards were beside me, easing me from the line with slight shoulder pushes. I looked up into each face. No smiles on these dark faces. No anything. They were removing me from center stage, getting me to walk between them back down the crowded center aisle.

Good, I thought. Now I was getting someplace. I pushed back at the wide shoulders holding me in place.

They kept me between them without laying a hand on me. Somehow I was being hustled forward. Suddenly it dawned on me that maybe I should have told someone I was coming out here. As it was, nobody knew. If I came up missing—who would think to come to a casino?

I moved with the tall, stiff men in guard uniforms. As if joined at the hip, we made our way through the crowd. When we got close to the restaurant, they turned me toward the front door. I was being escorted out. That wasn’t my plan.

I stopped dead. “I’m not going anywhere until I see Lewis George or Alfred Naquma. I know they’re your bosses. If I don’t see them I’m going to the police. Do you two hear me?”

They didn’t look down. Their bodies came in closer. I was a sandwich filling, and a not too pleased one.

I tried to pull back, out of lockstep with the wide shoulders leaning into me. “Look you ignorant bastards, I’m not leaving until …”

I was out the door, standing in the dusky parking lot alone. I could see the two huge mutes on the other side of the glass, watching me.

If I weren’t such a delicate lady I would have flipped them the universal signal of distaste. I didn’t. I only sniffed, turned on my heel, and went to my car. I was enraged and trying to think what there was left to do. Something. I had to come up with a way to find those two men everyone protected. I drove out of the parking lot, and was almost rear ended by a driver too eager to grab my parking place. My biggest regrets were that I hadn’t found the men, didn’t know where to look next, that I wasn’t bringing Sorrow home with me after all, and that I’d lost that damn ten dollars I could have used to put gas in my tank