Brothers in Blood, page 12
Then, because I was tired and didn’t want to dwell on Elaine at the moment, I felt entitled to a short glass of Knockando, a liquor I’d come across in my search for the perfect unblended Scotch. When I turned on the TV and stretched out on the couch, I saw that Yul Brenner had just recruited Steve McQueen. The Magnificent Seven was too fine a movie to pass up. The bottle’s level went down a couple inches as I watched the seven of them defend the lazy little Mexican town from the banditos. By the time their number had been reduced to three, I had decided that maybe I wouldn’t look so bad on a horse if I shaved my head and wore black. When the credits rolled, I set my empty glass on the coffee table and switched off the light. The bed was just too damned far.
11
IWAS DREAMING that I had fallen off a dinghy and was drowning in warm water and woke up just as the water was closing in over me. Peanuts was licking my ear. I pushed his muzzle away and sat up. There I was, fully dressed. Nothing like starting the day prepared. My body felt stiff from the contours of the couch, and I smacked at the sour taste in my mouth. I’ve heard people say that really good Scotch won’t give you a hangover. That’s just not true. Really good Scotch consumed in reasonable amounts probably doesn’t. I guess I’d gotten carried away with the romance of the West. Cowboys never worried about hangovers, did they? And at two bits a shot, the stuff they were drinking couldn’t have been all that good.
I dumped water and four large scoops of Stewarts into the coffee maker and clicked it on. What I really wanted was a shower, but Peanuts was insistent, and it was after nine. I opened the door for him, and he stood on the small wooden porch, gazing at me over his shoulder, waiting. “Sorry, sport. Not now. I’d really appreciate it if you’d just take care of your business, sniff out a couple ducks if you really have to, then get back here.” He hesitated one more second, then turned and trotted down the steps. I felt like a jerk. All this animal ever asked of me was to throw the Frisbee for him a few times a day. And for that he rewarded me with treasures such as an earful of dog spit. I moved back into the kitchen, rubbing my sore neck and telling myself it was a damned good thing I didn’t have kids.
I decided to put off a shave and shower until Peanuts was finished. He hates to be kept waiting at the door. I popped a John Prine tape into the cassette player, punched the replay button, and cleaned up the last couple days of dishes, noting that there were a lot more glasses than plates. When I finished drying the last of them, I opened the door and whistled for Peanuts. The day was overcast, with fat, gray clouds hanging low. When my whistle failed to yield a response, I called his name. Odd. Knowing he got to eat as soon as he finished his business, he usually didn’t linger. What was he into now? Maybe some hapless duck had challenged him. But nothing, not even a duck, was more important to my dog than eating.
“Peanuts!” When that didn’t bring him, I slammed the door behind me and trotted down the steps. I could feel a knot growing in my gut as I zigzagged across the forty feet of yard down to the river. Maybe he’d gotten into something. Something poisonous. I checked Louise’s property first, looking under the porch and around trees, although Peanuts was more an out-in-the-open dog. At the river’s edge I scoured the water for anything out of the ordinary. But it was running smooth and slow. I wasn’t worried about him following a duck into the river, because his interest in the creatures ended at the water’s edge. As I spread my search out from Louise’s property, I stood at the river’s edge again and looked up and down the river. When Peanuts and I went for walks, it was usually south. I jogged that way, calling his name and scattering ducks along the way. I don’t make a habit of running except when I have to, and pretty soon I was sweating and panting. I slowed some, figuring I’d have better luck spotting him if I took more time. I ran into an elderly couple out for a morning walk. She was small and wrinkled and walked slowly as he guided her by the elbow. As I trotted up to them, he looked as though he was ready to shove her out of my path and take me on, but when I asked if they’d seen a short, black-and-white dog, he gave me a sympathetic smile and shook his head. I was almost a mile down the river before I doubled back. This time I went north of my place for about a quarter of a mile, up to Prairie Street, where one of Foxport’s two bridges was located. My stomach knotted up tighter. Call me an overprotective parent, but I never let Peanuts anywhere near the street.
The tension eased a little when I saw no sign that he’d wandered this way. I wasn’t as concerned about him tearing out into traffic as I was worried that he might try to run herd on a Volvo. As I made my way back to my apartment, I was debating whether to take the car out and look for him or check the neighbors’ yards again. It was after ten. I stood in the middle of the yard raking a hand through my hair trying to figure out what happened. He never ran away. It wasn’t like him. I shook my head and was digging the keys out of my jeans pocket when I thought maybe he’d come back while I was out. As I climbed the steps, I wondered if I even had a picture of him to use on a lost-dog poster. I also wondered what I’d done to make him run away.
The stoop was empty, but taped to the screen door was a white envelope. Inside was a single sheet of paper with block letters printed in pencil. Just like a ransom letter, which I guess is what it was. KEEP OUT OF TANNER BUSINESS AND YOUR DOG WILL BE OK.
I dropped my fist holding the letter to my side and swept the area with my gaze. I kicked the door. Damn. I kicked it again. Of course Peanuts would be an easy dog to swipe. He was so damned trusting, trotting through life thinking everyone was a decent person. Damn!
I called Louise. If she was home, maybe she’d seen something. I slammed the phone down on her answering machine.
Pacing the room wasn’t clearing my head. I sat down and tried to think. Who wanted me off the case? Whoever did the killing. But I didn’t have a clue, so what did that buy me? Nothing. Who would want me out of the picture? I’d been hired to keep Jubal Tanner out of jail. Who wanted to see his brother in jail more than he wanted world peace or the Cubs to win a pennant? I grabbed my jacket from the green lawn chair where I’d dropped it the night before.
As I drove toward Windemere, I tried to collect my thoughts, but they were too jagged. Behind every reason there was a dry voice in the back of my head telling me to be logical about this. Whoever took Peanuts figured I might drop the case. Did Brig know about Peanuts? And if he did snatch him, would he stash him at his own house? Not too likely, but it was a place to start. Did Brig Tanner know I was working for his brother? He had to; he knew everything else.
By the time I’d arrived at Windemere, I’d convinced myself that although I didn’t know whether he’d taken my dog, he was my best guess, and I was prepared to follow through on that hunch. I had to squelch any doubts and come across with some righteous conviction. Brig answered the door himself, looking more distracted than suspicious. He led me into his study and gestured toward a chair facing a large desk.
I ignored his offer, and before he had the chance to get comfortable in his own chair, I braced both palms on Brig’s desk and leaned toward him. “Where’s my dog?”
He blinked once. Twice. “What are you talking about? What dog?”
“You took my dog.”
“I didn’t know you had a dog. And if I did, why would I take him?”
The dry little voice in the back of my head was starting to assert itself. I tried to ignore it. “You wanted me off this case so bad, you swiped my dog.”
“What case are you on?”
Sure, I thought, but then Brig smiled like he’d just got the punch line. “You’re working for Jubal, then?” He pushed back his chair and stood, forcing me to relinquish my aggressive position. Although he was several inches shorter than me, he was stocky and solid and didn’t impress me as the kind that intimidated easily. I was a little surprised that he seemed more amused than angry. Then I remembered that he was running for mayor. “I don’t know what happened to your dog, but I swear, I had nothing to do with it.” “I didn’t think you’d admit it.”
“How can I convince you?” He started to tell me how his dog died last year at the age of fourteen and how he understood my concern. I didn’t want to hear any of it. I felt like a fool. I just wanted to leave. This was stupid. Did I expect him to trot Peanuts out of some cage and hand him over?
After a minute, I realized he’d stopped talking and was watching me, curious. He lowered himself into his chair. “Have a seat. Let’s talk. How do you know your dog didn’t run away?”
“I doubt he’d leave his own ransom note.” I lowered myself into a chair, not ready to admit an error, but conceding that I might learn something and, what the hell, I was here.
He raised his eyebrows, which were more tame than Jubal’s. I figured he probably had them trimmed. “Why me?”
“You want to see Jubal in jail so bad you’re willing to replace the chief of police to make sure it happens.”
His jaw shifted and he said, “Ed Carver wasn’t doing his job. That’s the only reason he was replaced.”
I shook my head. “No way. I’m not Carver’s biggest fan, but there’s no way that Moore is a better cop.”
“There’s also no reason to believe that Moore is a permanent replacement.”
I wrapped my hand around the smooth wood of the chair’s arm. “I’ll bet if he finds enough to put your brother away, he’ll be around for a while.”
Brig frowned, as though he hadn’t considered that possibility.
“You know,” I said, “there are witnesses that place Jubal elsewhere at the time of the murder.” He shrugged it off. “Easy enough for him to hire someone.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.”
“How well do you know my brother?”
“Better than I know you.”
I was sitting across from Brig, who occupied a large leather swivel chair. Between us was a dark wood desk—mahogany maybe—that was bare except for a blotter, a desk set, and some photos. In spite of the mild weather, a small fire crackled in a fireplace with slate trim. I figured that between this office and the one out in the barn, Brig preferred the amenities this one offered. I noticed that soft classical music filled the room without overpowering, offering a pleasant alternative to stark silence.
He pushed himself away from the desk. “I don’t know about you, but I can’t talk about my brother without something to fortify me.” The study was long and narrow and filled with sunlight from large windows that covered one long wall. Spanning one of the short walls was a wet bar, which Brig stepped up to. Instead of pulling out a liquor bottle, he lifted a thermos from one end of the bar. He held it up. “Coffee?”
“Thanks.”
He handed me a Windemere mug identical to the one I’d used during my brief encounter with Gayle.
The coffee was rich with a distinctive flavor I couldn’t place.
Brig sat back in his chair, placed the thermos on his desk, and breathed in the steam from his mug. “My doctor told me to cut out the caffeine. I compromised. This is half and half.”
“It’s good.”
He chuckled. “It’s some Indian blend, I think. Cindy gave it to me for my birthday. Trying to break me of the instant habit. It worked.”
He didn’t seem in a hurry to get on with the subject of Jubal, and we sat for a minute in a comfortable silence as we drank our Indian blend. I took the opportunity to study the photos that occupied a corner of his desk. Gayle’s was among them. A horse appeared to either be biting her ear or telling her a secret. She was laughing. Another photo was of a woman, maybe in her mid-forties, with blond hair that curved under at her shoulders. With her sculpted features and clear, blue eyes, she was a striking woman. I could see reflections of her in Cindy. I touched the picture frame. “Was she your wife?”
“Yes. That’s Barbara.” There was a trace of reverence in his voice and more than a little regret, as though losing her suddenly had left many things unsaid. When he pulled his gaze from the photo, I saw that his eyes glistened. “I don’t seem to have much luck holding on to a good woman, do I?”
“Sometimes things happen,” I said, feeling it was inadequate and at the same time wondering why I wanted to say something comforting to this man who had mounted a campaign to get my client sent to jail.
He gave a half shrug and shook his head, then turned toward the windows, squinting.
“Were you and Gayle planning to marry?”
“We’d just started talking about it. Nothing specific. Just feeling each other out.”
“How come you’re so sure about Jubal?”
“I’ve known him a long time, McCauley. Give me that.” He was leaning across the desk now, the moisture in his eyes replaced with sparks.
“Seems to me you two hate each other so much, you don’t see much else.”
“Let me tell you a few things about Jubal.” He was pointing his finger at me, both angry and defensive. “Maybe you’ll understand why he likes hating me so much. Why he’d like nothing better than to see me dead.” As he uncapped the thermos and poured himself another cup, he seemed to be using the time to compose himself. And when he spoke again, his tone was restrained but adamant. “I worked hard for what I’ve got. Damned hard. Nobody gave me anything.” He waved his hand at the room’s contents. “You think I inherited all this, don’t you? Well, I didn’t. Sure I started with some money, but Jubal, he started with land. And you know what he did with that land? He pissed it all away, that’s what he did.” He sat back in his chair, his hand resting on the desk, clutching the mug. “In my family you had to work for what you got. You had to prove you were the best. Jubal could ride better, hunt better, drink better than me and Cody. He was the oldest. So when our folks died, the land went to him. I got some money. Not a lot, but enough to get me started. I opened my first store with it, bought a little land. Pretty soon I had another store, more land. And I went from there.” He looked at me with a bitter smile. “So you want to know why Jubal hates my guts. In the end what I had was what counted. Nobody gives a shit if you can plug a twelve-point buck between the eyes at a hundred feet. Money is what counts. I learned how to make it and how to save it and how to invest it. All Jubal knew was how to spend it and lose it. And now he’s supposed to be the one everybody feels sorry for.” He brushed him off with a wave of his hand. “Well, I’m sorry. I’m just about all out of sympathy for that sorry shit.” He seemed finished for the time being.
“Your parents left Jubal all their property?”
“Yeah, but so what?” He raked his hand through his hair with a savage thrust. “They didn’t leave me out of the will. Like I said, I got some money. But it was the land that meant everything to my old man, and he left it to Jubal, who managed to lose all but that little piece of dirt he’s on now. That land should have been Tanner land for generations. It’s what we are. In ten years it’ll probably be crawling with yahoos who want to get away from the city but not too far away.”
“What about Cody?”
He looked up as though he’d just wakened. “What about him?”
“Where did Cody fit in?”
After a minute, he said quietly, “He didn’t. That’s why he’s dead.”
I set my empty mug down on his desk. “Brig, how’s Jubal going to keep hating you if you’re dead?” I kept coming back to that argument because it made more sense than anything else.
Brig had been staring into the fireplace, and now he turned to me slowly. “That hasn’t stopped him from trying to kill me before.”
“When?”
“Couple years ago. I don’t even remember what his beef was. Anyway, he comes storming in here.” He jabbed his forefinger on his desk. “Right here I tell you. And he points a gun right in my face. That old lever action of his, I think it was. Said he was going to do me in right then and there.” He paused long enough for a smile to pull at the corner of his mouth. “You know what I did?”
I shook my head, figuring he didn’t even need much prompting.
“I grabbed the barrel out of his hands and threw it, butt first, in the fireplace.” He chuckled. “You should of seen Jubal beating the barrel with his bare hands, trying to put the fire out. What a sight.”
“There’s a big difference between what you describe and what you believe Jubal did.”
His laughter tapered off, and he gave me an odd look. “What’s that?”
“You admit that he must have hired someone to pull this off. Am I right?”
He nodded, waiting.
“Do you really believe he’d deprive himself of the pleasure of watching you die?” Brig Tanner turned toward the fire and didn’t answer me.
12
SOMETIMES I ENVY people who see everything in black and white. It’s nice to have things simple. I had descended on Windemere convinced that Brig Tanner had taken my dog and was some hate-driven maniac who wouldn’t rest until he destroyed his brother. I thought I understood him a little better now. At least I knew where the hate was coming from. Maybe he’d taken Peanuts and maybe he hadn’t. Either way, I wasn’t ready to vote for him.
As I drove into town from Windemere, I thought about how Peanuts had made a space for himself in my life. He likes to ride in the car, and more than once he’s kept me company on a stakeout. He’s come in handy too. It’s amazing how you can distance yourself from suspicion if you’re in the company of a dog. A closer look at someone’s house can appear to be the innocent act of going after your pet when he strays from the sidewalk. Peanuts is real savvy about pulling off that sort of thing. It’s almost like he knows exactly what he’s doing. I didn’t want to get used to doing this alone.
I still didn’t have a clue as to who swiped my dog. Brig Tanner had been, at best, the proverbial straw to grasp. Once again I considered dropping the investigation, then realized that my doing nothing was not an option.
I figured I might as well hit all the Tanners, so I headed toward the accounting offices of McRainey, DeFlorio, and Tanner. Will Tanner’s secretary, Sandy Charles, was a small, blond woman with short, feathery hair. Were it not for a wicked little smile, she could have played Peter Pan.
