Dog Dish of Doom, page 24
I plugged on. “How did Tre—Moshe—stop you, Les?” I asked. “It was right after that I heard about the Landfill deal falling through.” If I’d only known that was the title of the play, this could have happened much sooner. Would that have been better?
Les got a really unpleasant smile on his face. “That’s right. Turns out old Moshe was an investor. In Landfill. His company was one of the biggest producers of the show. And once he decided I wasn’t good enough for his dog, he poison-pilled me with his partners. I was perfect for that job, and he got me booted out of spite.”
My brain was processing this, but not quickly enough. Trent was Moshe. Moshe owned Swing Productions. Swing Productions was a big investor in Landfill. Because I’d brought Trent to Bruno’s audition for Les, and Trent, being Trent, had decided Les was a hack, he torpedoed Les for Landfill. So Les went to Trent’s apartment that night and …
Now that all the cards were on the table, I could give up the pretense that I didn’t know Les had killed Trent (I’d sort of given that up when I blurted it out, but I’m not sure whether that had penetrated Les’s gin-soaked brain yet). “How did you get into Moshe’s apartment that night?” I asked. They so rarely kill you when they’re talking. So keep them talking.
Les waved a hand. We were two old drinking buddies and he was going to tell me this great story about how he’d put one over on his archnemesis. “It was easy,” he said. “Akra had a key.”
Well, that explained it. Wait, whoa! “Akra had a what?”
“A key. She watered their plants once when they were out of town and they gave her a key.” Les clearly had been drinking a lot. He giggled. Really. “He gave her a key. And she gave it to me.” He mimed opening a lock with a key, like that was the really clever part. “And I went in to have it out with old Moshe.”
So he stabbed the guy with a kitchen knife? “You didn’t bring anything with you,” I said. Where were Akra and Bruno? Was she going to try to ship him to the Far East again? “You weren’t going to kill him when you got there, were you?”
It might not have been the best idea to remind Les that he’d killed Trent. He took a step toward me and his face darkened. “I never intended to do anything like that. I am not a violent man.” Which was good news for me, I guessed, except that he looked like he wanted to tear me limb from limb. “I figured sneaking into his bedroom to talk some sense into him would be enough. Maybe mention that I could tell his wife some things he didn’t want her to know. Like that he was paying Taylor Cassidy to have sex with him.”
That solved one puzzle: Taylor and Louise had been given house seats to Annie the night I was there with Bruno because Les knew them both and wanted, perhaps, to curry favor again with Louise if she’d inherited Trent’s share of Landfill.
I backed up one step because Les was invading my personal space. I would have run for the door, but I was in heels and Les was in running shoes. Men give themselves all the advantages.
I heard my voice getting louder, but it didn’t seem intentional. “So what went wrong?” I asked Les. Clearly if it wasn’t his intention to kill Trent, something had gone wrong.
“He wouldn’t listen to reason!” Les’s jaw clenched and his eyes looked like they were pickled in something stronger than Dr Pepper. His breath was not exactly fabulous either, and I was close enough to notice. “He kept saying if I couldn’t direct a dog, then I couldn’t direct that play! Like he knew anything about the theater!”
I needed to calm him down, and reliving the night in Trent’s apartment wasn’t going to do it. “Tell me about the play, Les,” I said. “Tell me what makes Landfill so unique.” You can lecture me later on how “unique” is an absolute and there are no degrees of it to discuss. I was busy saving my ass, thank you.
Except it didn’t work. Les wasn’t listening. He reached over, out of nowhere, with both hands, and got them around my throat. And he started squeezing.
The effect was astonishing. I had been exhaling when he grabbed me, so I couldn’t even rely on the air I’d just taken in for a few seconds to think. Right away my vision started to blur. I think my tear ducts were already reacting to the movement and the sudden deprivation of oxygen.
I couldn’t exactly talk, but I could manage to croak, “Why?” I wondered if I’d ever see my parents again. I thought about Sam, of all people, and puzzled very, very briefly on why I hadn’t given him a chance when he wanted to ask me out. For a nanosecond I considered why the rule is “i before e except after c” when there were words like “neither.”
“He killed my career!” Les was in full rant now and his hands were doing the full strangle. “You’re going to tell them!”
I tried to shake my head to tell him I wouldn’t (I totally would have), but I couldn’t muster much lateral motion. I was rapidly losing what air was stored in my lungs and my head was cloudy.
So when I saw Akra come back onto the stage without Bruno’s leash but with two uniformed policemen, one holding each of her arms, and then heard a loud noise, I wasn’t really processing the data all that well.
I was monumentally grateful, though, when after the loud report Les’s hands fell from my throat and air flooded back into my lungs. I didn’t even fall to the floor; I held my ground and stood.
Les, on the other hand, was lying on the stage and clutching his left leg, which was bleeding from the thigh. He pointed toward the balcony and moaned.
There was a man up there with a rifle, raising the barrel up toward the ceiling and standing down from what must have been his station. He looked down toward us on the stage.
Detective Rodriguez emerged from the orchestra pit and surveyed the scene: I was gulping in air as hard as I could, my head woozy. Les was bleeding all over Annie’s living room and groaning in pain. Bruno walked over from the wings and licked my hand.
“See?” Rodriguez said. “I told you. The snipers always come through when they have a good reason.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
“Okay, let’s see if I’ve got this straight.” Consuelo crossed her legs and took another sip of her beer. She sat in a lawn chair next to the picnic table in my backyard, which had been carefully scoured for any … souvenirs the dogs might have left there. The place was clean as a whistle, assuming a whistle is pretty clean but not perfect.
“Les McMaster killed Trent because Trent was Moshe and Moshe was blackballing him with the producers of Landfill,” Consuelo went on. Diego was on the other side of the yard, throwing a tennis ball for the dogs to chase. Steve and Bruno were all over it, while Eydie lay in the sun, watching her men in their adolescent pursuit of sports. She sighed, but you could tell she was really looking to see who would win.
“But that’s just part of the plan,” I told Consuelo. “The way it seems, based on everybody’s confession, is that Mike Goldberg, who was a school pal of Moshe’s, had worked out this plot where he’d steal this dog nobody knew was worth all kinds of money except Mike.”
Dad, standing at the charcoal grill wearing an apron with a picture of Shakespeare on the front and the caption, “’Tis an ill cook that cannot lick his own fingers—Romeo and Juliet, Act 4, Scene 2,” said, “How did Mike know about Mr. Mountbatten’s dog?”
“Mike was Mr. Mountbatten’s neighbor from around the corner,” I said. “Detective Rodriguez was mad at me for not remembering Mike was from New Rochelle, but once she looked it up, it was clear Mike could see Bruno—or Spunky, as Mr. Mountbatten called him—from his kitchen window. He got to wondering what kind of weird dog that was, did some Googling, and discovered more than he expected. He masterminded the plot to steal Bruno from Mountbatten and set him up with Louise and Trent in the city because nobody would look for the dog there. It took him a few months to locate a buyer on the black market for Tibetan mastiffs and negotiate a deal. But he never told Trent how valuable Bruno was, and only told Louise after Trent was dead to get her to cooperate. He was going to split the money with her.”
Mom opened the glass doors in the back of my house and walked out onto the deck. She surveyed the scene. “Does anybody need a cold drink?” she asked. “It’s getting warm out here.”
Consuelo waved her beer bottle. “I’m good, Mrs. P,” she said. “Thanks.” Mom didn’t get a response from anyone else, so she walked down the steps and went to the grill to check on Dad. She carried a glass of lemonade, which she gave to him when she got there. She doesn’t need to ask Dad; she can just sense when he needs a drink and makes it appear in his hand.
“But none of this had anything to do with Les,” Consuelo pointed out.
“No. Les had nothing to do with the whole Bruno side of this crazy plot,” I said. “Les didn’t know Bruno was worth all kinds of money; even Akra hadn’t figured that out. When I first brought Trent and Louise to Bruno’s audition, she didn’t know how to figure her old school chum coming in, but Trent managed to signal to her not to let on. Louise said Trent wanted to see how Les would audition the dog—that they still didn’t know was going to be Mike’s fortune—without the connection to Les’s assistant.”
“And he didn’t like what he saw,” Dad said, flipping a burger.
“That’s right,” I told him. “Trent thought Les didn’t know how to direct Bruno. I’m not sure why, but that’s what he thought.”
“He thought that because Trent was a jerk.” Taylor Cassidy stood up from the chaise longue, where she’d been drinking an iced tea and sunning herself, much to Diego’s interest. Consuelo had actually poured some cold water on her son as he undid two buttons on his shirt, claiming he was in need of some cooling down because playing with the dogs was taxing him. “Trent didn’t think anybody could do anything right except him.” Taylor, who had surfaced after Les, Louise, and Mike and been arrested (she’d texted me from another disposable phone), walked toward Consuelo and me, ignoring Dee’s eyes, which never left her.
“Watch yourself,” Dad said casually. “You sound like someone with motive.” There was a light chuckle all around.
I’d invited Taylor to the barbecue because she’d apologized for her behavior (like helping to get me blown up), explaining that Mike Goldberg had discovered what she called her “day job,” although I doubted she worked the afternoon hours much, through a client and had threatened to expose her to the police, Les, Akra, and me (I thought I was the least of the threats) if she didn’t cooperate with his plan to get Bruno out of the country. Taylor’s “day job” was of an upscale nature, which didn’t so much excuse it as made it harder to argue against.
“Not me. Not Trent,” she said. “I just knew him because we lived in the same building. They had to be out during the day and knew I would be in my apartment, so Trent asked me to walk the dog. Said he’d pay cash. I just liked Bruno and I didn’t have anything better to do.” Bruno noticed the mention of his name and trotted over to be petted because that was what he lived for. He was indulged rather excessively by everyone in the vicinity. “Who’s a good boy, Bruno?” Taylor asked. “Who’s a good boy?”
Bruno didn’t answer.
Dad’s cell phone rang, so he handed the burger flipper over to Mom, who handed it to me. I took my place at the grill and watched as Dad took his call. His face showed some interest. It was probably a gig.
Sam Gibson had sent a gallon of iced coffee and one of iced tea from Cool Beans, and I’d gone through most of the coffee myself, so I was wide-awake and ready to grill. Sam had to keep the store open but promised to try to drop by after hours if we were still back here, which I expected we would be.
I’d been thinking about Sam and come to no conclusion whatsoever. But it was certainly in his favor that he had never once been a suspect in a murder as far as I knew. The number of men with whom I was acquainted who could make that claim had diminished seriously of late.
“So wait a minute,” I said as I turned a couple of hot dogs. People weren’t eating nearly enough of the food, making my station here seem extra superfluous. Dad walked into the house so he could hear his call better. Maybe I’d shut down the grill for a little while until people got hungry. “None of the Bruno stuff had anything to do with Trent getting killed. Instead, Les shows up using Akra’s key to the apartment. You didn’t have one, Taylor?”
“No. When I was walking the dog, they’d leave one under the welcome mat, which is a cliché but nobody ever looks there.” She put a shirt on loosely over her shoulders, which didn’t much diminish Diego’s interest. Consuelo gave him a look you’d think would discourage a young man, coming from his mother. And it probably would have if he’d even glanced in his mother’s direction.
I nodded. The dogs, happy but tired, had congregated on the far side, where there was some shade, and were just lying there panting despite the presence of a huge communal water bowl only a few feet from where they lay. “So Les has this key and he tries to threaten Trent with knowledge of … business Trent was doing with you?”
Taylor shook her head. “Never once. Mike was lying about that. I don’t even think Trent knew what I do for a living.”
Dad walked out of the house and directly to Mom, who had sat on a lawn chair where she could watch me and the dogs at the same time. He leaned down and talked quietly to her. Whatever he said made her smile slightly. She nodded.
“New gig?” I asked him. There was no reason to be secretive about it now that Mom had given the okay.
“Yeah. We’ll be on a cruise ship sailing the Greek islands at the end of the month.” Dad was grinning from ear to ear. He’s happy to be around me and be stationary for a while, but he’s never more engaged than when he’s working. Mom was getting a little weary of the road, but liked to see Dad so happy (and she does actually like to perform, no matter what she tells you).
I didn’t have any Champagne chilled, so we toasted their new engagement with some of Sam’s contributions to the party. But something was nagging at me about Trent’s murder and I was trying to unknot it in my head.
“What was Akra’s interest in all this?” I asked. “Mike wanted the money from Bruno. Les wanted the job on Landfill. Louise wanted … what did Louise want?”
“After she found out, the money, and Mike,” Taylor said. “That was never a question. She’d do anything the guy even considered suggesting. That’s why I thought she’d killed Trent, to get him out of the way so she’d have a clear path to Mike.”
Diego walked over with a look I’d never seen before. I realized, after a moment, that it was shyness. He was fascinated with Taylor, and she was so in another world from him that it broke my heart just to see that expression cross his face.
“Akra,” I reminded myself. “Mike wanted money, Les wanted Landfill, Louise wanted Mike, for whatever reason. What was up with Akra?”
Everyone sort of looked at one another for a moment, in one of those tableaux that suggest one person isn’t getting it and they’re deciding who should be the one to break the news. “Les!” yelled my parents, Consuelo, and Taylor. Diego was still taking in the wonder that was Taylor and did not join in the chorus.
“Akra’s in love with Les?” I said, and even as the words were escaping my lips it was evident to me that I should have known that long before. “Of course she is. And so if Les wants something, Akra wants it. But she was Trent’s school pal. How does she reconcile that with his putting the kibosh on Les’s dream job?”
“Think about it, Kay,” Mom said. “She gave Les the key to Trent’s apartment. And then she heard that Trent was stabbed in the back at the time Les was there. Even if Les didn’t tell her what happened, he had to give her back the key. She couldn’t not have put two and two together. Now she’s an accessory. So what did she do?”
“Nothing,” I said. I was being tutored in the things bizarre people do.
“That’s right,” Taylor said. “I mean, I wasn’t in on all of it, or even most of it. I was basically Mike’s project, and all he cared about was the dog. The murder was a side issue, a distraction. I know for a fact that Mike was pissed when he heard about it because he thought it would mess up the deal he was making about selling Bruno.”
Detective Rodriguez had questioned Taylor extensively, but had not yet arrested her for any crime. Taylor said she was hoping the detective would look the other way about her “day job” in exchange for all the information Taylor had on Trent’s murder and the illegal attempt to sell Bruno, which the NYPD and the Port Authority Police were calling robbery, fraud, illegal trade, and exporting a dog without a license (I made that last one up). Taylor was pretty sure she could avoid any jail time, and was considering a change of occupation, although not an immediate one. She still had to pay off the student loans she had accumulated while attending law school at Columbia University. Other people might work their way through with a job at Starbucks, but I don’t judge.
Dad looked around and saw that everyone had either food or a used paper plate near them. “I’m going to shut down the grill,” he said, and after no one objected, he did that. “We have to start thinking about the new act.”
“New act?” Mom gets nervous about learning new material. “What’s wrong with the old act? The Greek islands haven’t seen it.”
“No, but there’s no Greek material in it. I’ll get something together, El. You’ll have plenty of time before we need it.”
We sat and drank beer, iced coffee, or iced tea for some hours until it got dark and the dogs, happy though they were to be around all these adoring people, needed a proper walk. I walked by Cool Beans, and Sam walked back with us. Taylor had left by then, and Consuelo and Diego were considering doing the same. I got the distinct impression that once Taylor was gone, Diego’s interest in the gathering had deteriorated considerably.
Mom, Dad, Sam, and I sat around the wood stove I have back there for a while, until my parents lied about getting tired and left the two of us (plus three dogs) alone in the backyard.
