The Dog Who Knew Too Much (13 page)

“A little,” Bernie said.

“Like what?”

Bernie shrugged. He was a pretty good shrugger, although a much better nodder. “He was the trail guide for the kids’ wilderness hikes.”

“That it?”

“Should there be more?” Bernie said.

“Naw,” said the sheriff. “But word of caution—Moondog and his ilk are piss poor sources of information around here.”

Piss poor? That was a new one. I kind of liked it. I myself was piss rich, no doubt about that. I wandered out of the circle of light and lifted my leg against the tunnel wall. Chet the Jet!

Standing there in the darkness, one leg lifted, listening to the nice faint splashing sounds, I looked back toward the circle of light. The lantern sat on the ground, casting an unsteady light upward and making their faces strange, all the shadows leaning in the wrong direction. Not Bernie’s face of course: how could there ever be anything strange about Bernie’s face? But Sheriff Laidlaw looked like a Halloween version of himself, if that makes any sense. I love all the holidays, but not Halloween. If
there’s a party, I don’t go: that was how we solved the problem, me and Bernie.

The sky was reddening when we got back outside, and Moondog and Rummy were gone. The sheriff and a uniformed guy stayed behind; Bernie and I piled into the chopper with the pilot—no big deal, I’d flown in a chopper before—and got taken back to the camp. At least that was where Bernie said we were going. Something about the motion made my eyelids get heavy right away. If you’ve logged any chopper time you probably know what I’m talking about.

I dreamed about gold nuggets, piles and piles of them. A lovely dream, on account of the state of our finances, until just before the end, when the piles of nuggets turned into piles of Hawaiian pants. Those Hawaiian pants were real, in case I haven’t made that clear. I opened my eyes. We were on the ground and Bernie was looking at me closely.

“You all right, big guy?”

All right? Way better than that. I was rested, refreshed, rarin’ to go.

“Maybe just a bad dream,” he said, patting my head. “You were whimpering there for a bit.”

Oh, no. How embarrassing. Up in the cockpit, the pilot was busy with the switches, maybe hadn’t heard me. Bernie popped open the door. We hopped out, Bernie not exactly hopping, and stayed low, those blades still
whap-whap-whapping
. Solid ground felt good under my paws. Had I just been worrying about something? I tried, not hard, to remember, and couldn’t.

The pilot opened a side window and shouted over the noise of blades, “Good-looking dog.”

What a nice pilot!

“Does he like Slim Jims? Got half of one left.”

In fact, the greatest pilot in the world. And quite good-looking himself, with a bald shiny head and a jowly round face, a little bit greasy. I got hit by this crazy notion of licking off that grease. Maybe later.

We moved away from the chopper. It took off, veered in a big curve and soared up the mountain. I looked around, got my bearings. We were in the parking lot at Big Bear Wilderness Camp. The sun, all fat and red, was perched right on a big round mountaintop, but no time to take in the way it was about to wobble and sink from view—a sight I’d seen before, although it never got old—because Anya was running toward us along the path that led down from the main cabin, running so fast and out of control I thought she might fall at any moment. And also—what was this? A yellow Beetle was driving up the canyon road? Car identification wasn’t my best thing, but Beetles were easy and this yellow one easiest of all, on account of the fact that it belonged to Suzie and I’d ridden in it many times.

Anya tore up to us, grabbed both of Bernie’s hands. “Oh my God—you didn’t find him?”

“No,” Bernie said. “But there’s still hope.”

Her big blue eyes opened wider; they had a wild look. “There’s still hope? What do you mean, still? Still? Still? Oh my God.”

“Well,” said Bernie, “the facts are—”

Anya started beating on Bernie’s chest with her fists. “Make me hear it,” she said, her voice rising and rising. “Make me hear hope.”

Uh-oh. A bad situation, and it got worse in a hurry. First, the yellow Beetle drove up and parked. Then Anya, her back to the Beetle, collapsed sobbing into Bernie’s arms. Bernie, looking real uncomfortable, gazed up at the sky, like he wanted help to come
down and bail him out. Right about then was when Suzie got out of the car. She had a big smile on her face. It faded fast. Bernie patted Anya on her back, maybe even rubbed it a little. Anya calmed down but still clung to Bernie, kind of wrapped all over him, her hands now clasping the back of his head. Suzie got in her car. At that moment, Bernie’s gaze came down and he noticed the Beetle for the first time.

“Suzie!” he said, trying to free himself from Anya. “Suzie!”

Through the windshield, Suzie’s face looked hard. She fish-tailed around in a tight turn and sped off down the canyon road.

THIRTEEN

B
ernie ran a few steps after Suzie’s car and then stopped. Me, too. Do I have to mention I’d been running with him? If Bernie starts running, then so do I—it just happens.

I’d caught up with the odd car in my time, but this was a long shot, and with Bernie not a shot at all, which is maybe what he’d just realized. Bernie can surprise you by running quite long distances; still, you’d never call him fast, not even for a human. That’s on account of his war wound; I’m sure he ran like the wind before it happened.

The yellow Beetle disappeared, leaving nothing but a dusty sort of tail, reddened by the sinking sun. A pretty sight, but all this reddishness in the light was making me a little uneasy. Did I remember that ever happening before? No. Then I thought of Turk back in the mine, and that round red hole, and kind of understood. The next moment, I realized my tail was drooping. That was a shocker. I got it back up, high and stiff, and pretty damn quick.

We walked back into the parking lot. Anya was wiping away her tears. “Who was that?” she said.

Bernie gave her an annoyed look. There was annoyance in his voice, too. “Nothing to do with the case,” he said. Was he annoyed with Anya? I couldn’t think why.

“Sorry,” Anya said. “I’m just so … I’m going crazy. My whole life is—” Her voice broke. She started crying again and turned away.

Bernie gazed at her shaking back. “It’s all right. You didn’t do …”

We all just stood there. The sun dropped behind the mountaintop and the air cooled down right away. Anya turned to us, tear tracks on her face but no longer crying. “What am I going to do?” she said.

“What we’re going to do,” Bernie said, “is start approaching things from a different angle.”

“What do you mean?” Anya said, and I was with her on that.

Bernie glanced at the mountain. We’d been up there, but none of what we’d seen, like the mine or the place where the kids had camped, was visible from here. “The story won’t hold up,” he said.

“What story?” said Anya.

“Devin wandering off in the night and getting lost,” Bernie said. “The facts we’ve been developing just don’t support it.”

Anya rubbed the side of her head. “What facts? I don’t understand anything you’re saying.”

“Do you know Turk Rendell in any other context?”

“Who’s he?”

Bernie’s voice, which had been getting a bit impatient, at least for him, meaning still pretty nice, softened. “The guide.”

“Oh, God, of course,” Anya said. “I can’t think straight. But no, he was a complete stranger.”

“What about your ex-husband? Any relationship with Turk?”

“Guy never mentioned him, not that I heard.”

“You said this camp was Guy’s idea,” Bernie said. “How did he know about it?”

“He’s from up this way originally,” Anya said.

“Yeah?” said Bernie. He ran his gaze over the cars in the parking lot. “I’d like to talk to him.”

Anya bit her lip, almost chewing on it. That’s something I can’t take my eyes off. “He’s not here yet.”

“How come?” Bernie said. “Haven’t you told him what’s going on?”

Anya shook her head. “I haven’t been able to reach him. I drove down to where the service is better and left messages at all his numbers, but he hasn’t called back.”

“Wasn’t he supposed to be here Saturday morning?” Bernie said.

Anya nodded, bit her lip again.

“Anya?” Bernie said. “What’s the story?”

“Story?” she said.

“With Guy,” said Bernie. “Why isn’t he here?”

“I have no idea. Even when we were married, I didn’t get much information about his comings and goings.”

“You told us he runs an investment firm,” Bernie said.

“That’s right.”

“You also said some of his associates aren’t the kind of people you want around Devin—I believe those were your exact words.”

I loved when Bernie did the exact words thing, hadn’t heard it in way too long. Had we ever blown a case when the exact words thing happened? Not that I remembered.

“… but I also said I didn’t really know them,” Anya was saying, “so it wasn’t really fair.”

“What are the names of these investors?” Bernie said.

“I don’t know any names,” Anya said.

“What’s the company called?”

I knew from the looks on their faces that this was an important conversation, but that was it as far as I was concerned.

“Wenders Associates, but you’re way off base,” Anya was saying. I knew that one, of course: it meant you were about to get picked off. “None of them could ever be involved in hurting Devin in any way. Guy would kill them, for one thing.”

“How much killing has he done?”

“I didn’t mean literally.”

“Think carefully about that,” Bernie said. “Because real killing is happening.”

“What are you talking about? Is Devin—” Anya covered her mouth. Women sometimes did that, men never, just one of the differences between them. There were lots, something we can get into maybe later.

“I told you there’s still hope for Devin,” Bernie said. “Not so for Turk—someone put a bullet in his head.”

Anya, mouth still covered, shook her head from side to side, kind of wildly. I saw fear in her eyes, smelled it, of course, and even thought I heard her heart pounding, but that last part might have been my imagination. Bernie says the imagination can play tricks on you. Leave it to Bernie to figure out something as big as that.

“Any idea who might have done that?” Bernie said.

Anya kept shaking her head. Bernie surprised me a bit just then: he took her chin in his hand—not rough, but not namby-pamby either—and held her face still. I went still myself.

“Got to step up now, Anya,” Bernie said. “Ever comes a time you have to look back at this, you’ll want to know you did your best.”

Tears welled up in her eyes but didn’t overflow. She uncovered her mouth. “Tell me what to do,” she said.

“Point us in the right direction.”

Whoa. Pointing was my job. I was sitting at the moment, and I stayed sitting, but I moved kind of between them the littlest bit, dragging my butt along the ground.

“I have no idea what that is,” Anya said. “I dropped Devin off in this godforsaken place and now he’s gone. That’s all I know.”

Bernie stared at her. There was something in his eyes that I’d never want aimed at me, and of course it never would be.

“You don’t believe me,” Anya said.

Bernie was silent.

“You think Guy not being here has something to do with this?” Anya said.

“You said you had custody?”

“Guy didn’t even contest it—whatever else he may be, he’s a good father and knows what’s best for Devin, meaning living in my house.”

“But you said he wanted to rekindle things with you,” Bernie said. “The ostensible reason for my being here in the first place.”

“Ostensible?” Anya said.

I was right with her on that one, too. Anya and I were turning out to think along the same lines. A good sign? I had no idea.

“It didn’t sound kosher from the get-go,” Bernie said, and then he added something I missed, on account of: kosher! That took me back in a flash to the Teitelbaum divorce and the chicken at the celebration dinner, best I’ve ever tasted, although the celebration might have been a little premature, coming just before Mrs. Teitelbaum drove the earthmover into the garage where Mr. Teitelbaum kept his antique car collection. He had a bunch of Porsches, all of them way nicer than ours, and then not.

“… ulterior motive,” Anya was saying, “none whatsoever. I told you the truth.”

“Some of it, maybe,” Bernie said. “What was Guy’s motive for wanting to get back with you?”

“Is it so hard to imagine he might still be interested?” Anya said.

Bernie got this expression I hadn’t seen on his face since the Leda days. “Don’t know him, so I can’t answer that,” Bernie said. “What I’m searching for is something that will lead us to Devin. Maybe Guy decided he wasn’t happy with the custody arrangement, for example.”

“He never said a word about it, and he’s not the kind to stew in silence.”

A distant look appeared in Bernie’s eyes. I felt his thoughts, zooming back and forth at amazing speed.

“Oh, no,” Anya said. “You’re going to drop the case, aren’t you? I can feel it. Please don’t. Please. I’ll pay anything.”