The Silence of the Chihuahuas (7 page)

I headed back to Forest Glen after packing a few items in a suitcase—some clothes for me, some treats and his iPad for Pepe. I thought we might not be returning home for a while.

We arrived at Forest Glen a few minutes before my scheduled appointment. I was pretty nervous. Pepe, on the other hand, seemed calm. But he immediately lifted his leg and peed on my Toyota's right rear tire. I couldn't tell whether he was just marking his “mobile territory” (as he called it when I first got him) or demonstrating his displeasure over our current circumstances.

“Ms. Sullivan!” said Justin as we walked in. He frowned when he saw Pepe trotting beside me. “Dr. Lieberman will be doing your assessment, but he's running a bit late. That should give you plenty of time to fill out the necessary paperwork.”

He handed me a clipboard with four or five forms attached to it. As I took it, I said, “I hope it's OK that I brought my dog.”

Justin tried to smile. “As long as he behaves,” he said.

I figured I should start playing it up now that I was here, and told him, “Pepe says he will be
muy bueno.
”

“Your dog speaks to you?” he asked, his eyebrows shooting up.

“Of course.”

“Of course,” he said, his bright smile returning like an expression he could paste on and off his face at will.

“Are there any questions on these forms that my dog should answer?” I asked.

“Uh . . . I don't think so,” he said, his smile staying in place this time. “But if there are any questions for your dog, I'm sure Dr. Lieberman will ask him. He's very thorough.”

“Good.”

“Well, have a seat.” He gestured toward a grouping of black leather chairs across the way. “I'll call the doctor and let him know you're here.”

“Thanks,” I said.

I chose to sit in one of the Stress-less Recliners since I was feeling somewhat stressed. I wasn't used to pretending that my dog spoke. I was used to pretending that my dog
didn't
speak. But it had gone pretty well so far; I just had to calm down and get through the paperwork. Pepe, on the other hand, seemed surprisingly calm; just lay quietly on my lap, soaking up the sunshine that came through the tall arched window behind us.

The paperwork was pretty standard—much the same as I'd filled out for Suzanna when I first started seeing her: personal history, medical history, etc. When I came to the blank for insurance information, I balked. I didn't really want my provider thinking I was nuts. So I wrote in “private pay.” I had enough in the bank to cover a short time at Forest Glen (I hoped) and it would be more than worth it to find and protect my sister.

“Ms. Sullivan!” It was Justin heading my way. “The doctor will see you now.”

“Thanks.” I stood and handed him the clipboard. Justin didn't even look at it, just said, “Follow me. I'll take you up to Dr. Lieberman's office.”

Pepe and I followed him up the stairs to the second floor where he knocked on a door marked “Intake.” The door opened, and a tall, grey-haired man, with tortoise-shell glasses, wearing a crisp white shirt and yellow tie, beckoned me inside. Once through the door, he offered me his hand, introduced himself as Dr. Lieberman, and motioned me to a green leather chair opposite his desk.

“A pleasure to meet you, Ms. Sullivan,” he told me, looking through the paperwork Justin had handed him. “How are you today?”

“I'm fine,” I told him. “My dog hopes you're doing well, too.”

“Ah, yes.” He glanced at Pepe, who had jumped up onto the other chair, then at the paperwork, then back at Pepe. “This must be Pepe, yes? It's a pleasure to meet you, as well, little pup.”

“He says
gracias
.”

“
Da nada
,” said the doctor, evidently understanding Spanish. “So what would you say is the reason you are here, Miss Sullivan?”

“Well, I hear my dog talking to me.”

He looked thoughtful. “And this disturbs you?”

“Well, no, actually Pepe is very helpful.” I looked at Pepe. I knew what he would say. He would say that he was more than helpful. In fact, if I was to be honest: “I think he actually sees me as his assistant.”

The doctor was silent.

I dug around in my purse and pulled out one of our business cards and handed it to Dr Lieberman. “In fact I'm pretty sure he thinks he's the first Sullivan in Sullivan and Sullivan.”

Dr. Lieberman set it down carefully. “And how does that affect you?”

Finally someone was going to get to the root of the Pepe business.

“Well, you know all my life I've been the second fiddle. My older sister was the responsible one and my youngest sister was the wild one so I sort of faded into the background. I'm loyal.”

Pepe nodded.

“And I'm quiet. I like to help other people. When my husband—ex-husband—wanted to get an MBA, I quit school and got a job as a secretary so we could pay our bills. Then when he graduated and got a good job at an insurance company and was supposed to put me through art school, he dumped me instead. For his secretary!”

“That must have been upsetting,” said Dr. Lieberman.

I nodded. “Yes, but then I adopted Pepe and I got a job as a PI and I was enjoying that. Because I was helping people. But then Pepe stopped talking. Just when I needed him.”

“And you feel you need his help?”

“Because I need to rescue my sister—someone is trying to kill her—and find my partner who's disappeared.”

“So tell me more about that.”

“Well my dog was talking to me and then one day he stopped. And he hasn't said a word since.”

“No, I mean about your sister and your partner.”

“Well, Teri called me and said someone was trying to kill her. And the call came from inside—”

Pepe barked.

I stopped. I couldn't tell the psychiatrist that I only wanted to get into Forest Glen to find my sister.

“From inside?” Dr. Lieberman prompted.

“From, um . . .” Darn! This is when I really needed Pepe. He was always so good with coming up with schemes. “She sounded like she was inside a boat!” I said, not being able to come up with anything better.

“A boat?”

“Well, it was all hollow and echoey.” Oh dear, maybe he really would think I was crazy. “And I thought I could hear seagulls.” I improvised wildly.

Dr. Lieberman scribbled some notes on his piece of paper. “And your partner?”

“Brad! He disappeared about the same time this old lady got murdered and we found her lying in a pool of blood in her kitchen and it was painted lemon yellow.”

“And that was significant because?”

“Because I told Brad that lemon yellow was too harsh a color.”

More scribbling on the part of Dr. Lieberman. “Well, I can see why you would be upset,” he said at last, taking off his glasses and placing them on his desk. “It sounds like you're under a lot of stress.”

I nodded vigorously.

“And I think you could definitely benefit from our services. The question is how quickly can we get you in?”

“Yes, that's the question,” I said. “I brought a suitcase with me.” I was relieved. Apparently acting crazy was beneficial in some situations and this was one of them. “And my dog.”

“And how do you think your dog feels about staying here with you?” Dr. Lieberman asked.

“Why don't you ask him?” I said.

Lieberman fixed his gaze on Pepe and asked, “Would you mind that, pup?”

Pepe gave a deep sigh that shook his little frame, then laid down and rested his head on his front paws.

Quickly, I interpreted. “He says he doesn't mind at all. In fact, he'd be happy to stay here with me and work on his issues.”

“Very well,” said Lieberman, smiling warmly at both of us. “We will admit you to our program as soon as possible.”

“As soon as possible?” I asked. “Not today?”

“I need to consult with my colleagues to come up with a treatment plan. Your case has some”—he glanced over at Pepe who had jumped down and was sniffing around the room—“unusual components. Once we determine the proper level of treatment, then we have to wait until the right space becomes available.”

“I wish I could stay here,” I said wistfully. Not only was I eager to find my sister, but I wanted a good excuse for not attending Jeff's wedding.

“Do you feel like you would be a danger to yourself or others?” he asked.

“Maybe to Amber,” I said.

“Who's Amber?”

“My ex-husband's fiancée. They're getting married this weekend.”

“And you think you might do something to hurt her?” Dr. Lieberman's brow furrowed.

“Not really,” I said. Pepe snarled. “But my dog might.”

“And what would your dog do?” he asked.

“Well, the first time he met my ex-husband, Pepe peed all over Jeff's expensive Italian loafers.”

“I see.” More scribbling on the papers. “So your dog acts out your feelings.”

That was an interesting interpretation. I thought about Pepe's brave attacks on marauders and murderers in our previous cases. If he was acting out my feelings, then maybe I was braver and more aggressive than I thought. “I suppose that's true,” I said.

Pepe gave a sharp bark. I think he was saying that I carried out his wishes rather than the other way around.

“Do you think you can control him for a few days until I can get you some help?” Dr. Lieberman asked.

I looked at Pepe. He looked at me.

“Why don't you ask him?” Dr. Lieberman suggested.

“Do you think you can be good for a few days?” I asked Pepe. Then I realized that was the last thing I wanted him to be. Dr. Lieberman had totally confused me.

Pepe growled softly.

“He says he'll try,” I said, “but he's not sure he can handle all of the stress.”

“Well, I have your number. I will try to get your case expedited and I'll give you a call as soon as space is available.”

It seemed like that was the best I was going to get from Dr. Lieberman. In fact, he seemed to be in a hurry to get rid of me. Maybe he had another intake.

As Pepe and I headed back down to the lobby, I paused at the landing of the stairs and looked out the tall arched window at the various buildings.

“My sister might be in one of those buildings,” I said, “but how will I know which one?”

Then I remembered the map Pepe had drawn on his iPad. I pulled it out of my backpack and booted it up. Sure enough the design he had drawn corresponded to the landscape in front of me.

“And you know where she is, don't you?” I asked him.

Pepe yelped again. I put the iPad on the ground and he stepped on the farthest square to the right, which represented the building closest to the woods, the one called Serenity, which Lacey had said contained the craziest people.

I realized that the mass of scribbles that surrounded the one cottage were meant to depict the woods.

“We could sneak through the woods and get close to Serenity!” I said.

I could practically hear Pepe saying: “Finally!”

“Let's go check it out!” I said. Pepe's tail was wagging furiously. “I'm getting pretty good at speaking dog, aren't I?” I asked him as I slid the iPad back into my bag and followed him down the stairs.

I could almost hear him saying: “Not as good as I am at speaking human,” but then again, he didn't really talk.

“Let's see if I can park closer to that area,” I said, starting my old green Toyota, the most beat-up car in the parking lot, and pulling over to a row of parking spaces along the river and in the shade of the poplars. The sign said they were reserved for the staff.

I turned off the car and studied Pepe's map some more. “If we go behind the poplars,” I murmured, “we should be able to approach the cottage without being seen.”

Pepe's tail wagged energetically. I imagined him saying: “Right on, partner! I will lead the way.” And as soon as I opened the car door, he scrambled across my lap, jumped down, and disappeared into the undergrowth.

I looked around, saw no one stirring in the parking lot, and followed him. A small dirt path led between the trunks of the poplars to an even smaller trail in the grass, which ran alongside the river. When the river took a bend toward the right, the path went with it, but Pepe veered to the left, and led me through a glade of giant ferns and under the wide-spreading branches of a magnificent old red cedar. From this sheltered shade, we could see out across a short stretch of lawn to a cottage with grated windows and barred doors.

We could also see a golf cart drawn up behind the back door. Two men wearing grey uniforms and heavy tool belts sat in the cart. Maybe they were supposed to be working on the yellow hydrant that popped up out of the ground like an unsightly mushroom a few yards outside the door. If so, they weren't very effective. One guy was smoking a cigarette while the other guy kept his eyes on the cottage. They both wore radio transmitters. I could hear them squawking with static.

Before I could figure out what to do next, Pepe had taken action. He's like that: impulsive. He went running toward the cart, barking furiously. I was furious myself. In the past, we would have planned our attack together. What was I supposed to do?

One of the men jumped out of the cart and tried to grab Pepe.

“What the hell?” said the other guy, getting out as well. He threw away his cigarette.

Pepe danced around their heels. This is a good strategy for a Chihuahua. I didn't have a good strategy myself.

“Oh, look, it's that Chihuahua,” said someone inside the cottage and the back door opened. A heavy-set woman in a white nurse's uniform came out onto the concrete pad that served as a stoop. She looked just like Nurse Ratchet, but she wasn't holding a giant syringe, just a pair of handcuffs.

She didn't seem startled to see the men in the maintenance uniforms.

“It's that dog again!” she said. “Where did he come from?”

“I don't know,” one guy said. As he bent over to grab at Pepe, I saw that he had a gun in his belt. Pepe danced out of his reach and dashed through the open door.

“Darn it! Now I've got to chase him down. Do you suppose he's a security risk?” The nurse laughed, but it was a sinister laugh.

“I don't know,” said one of the men. “Seems unlikely he's carrying a bomb.”

“You never know,” she said. “Last time a dog came in here—and I swear it was the same dog—one of the patients insisted she knew the dog and the dog was talking to her.”

Oh, joy! I could hardly believe it. Pepe wasn't talking to me, but he seemed to be talking to someone else. I just had to get into Serenity so I could find this person.

“Maybe he has a walkie talkie attached to his collar,” said the other guy. “Go find him and we'll check him out!”

The nurse went back inside and a few minutes later came back out with Pepe in her hands, wriggling and trying to get loose.

“He didn't get far!” she said.

“Did you check him out?” one of the guys in uniform asked.

“Yes, he's clean!” said the nurse. “But the tag on his collar says he belongs to G Sullivan.”

The two men looked at each other. “That's not good,” said one of them.

“Seems like a security breach,” said the other. “I'm going to contact headquarters.”

I shivered in the bushes. It seems like these guys recognized my name. Could they possibly be the men who were trying to kill Teri?

The nurse turned her head. “Phone's ringing. I've got to get that,” she said. She set Pepe down on the ground and he made a beeline for the bushes.

 

 

I swear I heard him say, “This way,” in a whisper. And then he trotted off to the left, leading me down a maze of rabbit trails that took us through stands of salal and giant horsetails until we finally emerged by the main building. Looking out over the campus, I could see several blue-clad employees all rushing toward the cottage closest to the woods.

“What have we done?” I wondered aloud.

“Established that your sister is in Serenity,” I thought I heard Pepe say. But when I looked down he had trotted off toward the car. Was I really just imagining his talking all along?

There was a ticket on my windshield. Apparently I owed Forest Glen eighty dollars for parking in an unauthorized space.

“Well, that went pretty well,” I said to Pepe as I crumpled up the ticket and threw it into the back seat. He just curled up in the passenger seat, gave a deep sigh and went to sleep.

 

 

I had no one to talk to as I headed back into town. Was Teri really in danger? Or did she just think she was? She was, after all, in the most locked-down of the cottages. Maybe she was paranoid. The men with the guns had not tried to kidnap her or shoot her. Instead they seemed to be in cahoots with the nurse, who seemed to have some sort of connection to Forest Glen. Unless she was an imposter who was going to smuggle Teri out in a body bag. Or in those handcuffs. Whatever it was, I needed to get back into Forest Glen and I needed to get in soon as possible.

But first I thought I would stop by and talk to Samuel Morris, Brad's landlord. His office was in Bellevue—I had looked it up online—and I could find out what was happening with the rent. Maybe I could even bring us up-to-date with a payment.

Samuel Morris operated out of a small storefront, sandwiched between a car rental office and a pho restaurant, in a small strip mall on the edge of Bellevue. Bellevue thinks of itself as Seattle's more modern, more glamorous little sister but this part of Bellevue was more like the white trash cousin's trailer.

Blinds covered the front window admitting only a few strips of light into the dim interior. A grey metal desk heaped with papers stood against a wall. A folding screen blocked the view of the back of the narrow room. In its messiness and shabbiness it reminded me a bit of Jimmy G's office. For a moment, I actually missed my old boss. Then I reminded myself of his treachery.

“Hello? Is anyone here?” I called out. I heard mumbling in the back and then a man walked out from behind the screen. He was a short man with a shiny pink pate and a fringe of white hair around his ears. He wore a pair of dark-rimmed glasses and a shabby grey suit that was too big for him.

“What do you want?” he asked in a mumble.

“I'm here to see Samuel Morris,” I said.

“Who are you?” He looked me over with suspicion in his eyes.

“I'm Geri Sullivan,” I said. “I'm a friend of one of your tenants.”

“Which one?”

“Bradley Best,” I said.

He didn't seem to recognize the name. So I rattled off the address instead: “3121 Eastlake Boulevard in Seattle. You just posted a three day, pay or vacate notice.”

“Oh, that building!” he said. “That one's a pain in the tuchus. I'm about ready to tear it down.”

“Hey! You can't do that,” I said. “We run a business there.”

He looked me over with a frown on his face. “You're not on the lease.”

“No, I'm not,” I said. “I work for Brad. He sent me to find out how much we owe. We want to make a payment.”

“Brad already knows what he owes,” said Mr. Morris. “He was supposedly bringing it over three days ago.”

“Really? What day was this?”

“I think it was Tuesday.”

The day Brad disappeared. “And how much was he bringing?”

“Twelve thousand dollars,” said Mr. Morris.

I almost fell over. “What?”

“He was six months behind,” said Mr. Morris. “Rent's two thousand a month.”

I was shocked. “And you think he was bringing you the whole amount?” I didn't see how Brad could come up with that much money.

“Yeah, he was supposed to be here at 2 p.m. Tuesday but he never showed up. I even stayed late. My wife, Gloria, she wasn't too happy with me because dinner was cold by the time I got home. He never showed up. He never called. And I haven't heard from him since.”

“Well, neither has anyone else,” I said. “Maybe he was mugged on his way here,” I added. “That's a lot of cash.”

“He was supposed to bring me a cashier's check,” Mr. Morris said.

“Or on his way to the bank!” I could practically see Pepe nodding. This was making sense. Although it really didn't make sense that Brad could come up with twelve thousand dollars in one day.

Mr. Morris squinted his eyes. “So are you going pay me now?”

“Well, I can't pay you the whole amount,” I said.

Mr. Morris made a sound of disgust.

“I can give you a check for three thousand,” I said, pulling out my checkbook. I would just tell Brad that he owed me free storage space for a year.

“That's not going to cut it, sweetheart,” said Mr. Morris. “My lawyer has already filed the eviction papers. Unless the rent is paid in full by the end of the month, your boss is going to be out on the street.”

He looked me over carefully.

“If you know anyone that wants to rent a nice shop on Eastlake Boulevard starting October first, send them my way.”

Pepe, who had been sleeping on the floor, jumped up. I saw the gleam in his eyes. I knew what he was thinking even though he wasn't speaking. He was thinking Sullivan and Sullivan Detective Agency.