Chihuahua of the Baskervilles (18 page)

Charlotte laughed. “A woman after my own heart. Lila’s clothes are in the bottom two drawers of this dresser, and her leash should be hanging on the coat tree by the front door.”

“Is there any secret to dressing a dog?” Suki asked.

“Head first, but she won’t give you any trouble. If you get back after we’ve left, you can just shut her in my room. She won’t need to be crated after a walk.”

In another twenty minutes, Suki was outside with Lila, and Charlotte and the Baskerville entourage were walking toward Miramont Castle, where Emma Crawford’s wake was to be held. Cheri toted two garment bags, while Ellen and Ivan carried shopping bags.

Angus and Michael watched them through the window of the downstairs parlor.

“Time to do a more thorough search for those files,” Angus said, letting the curtain fall. “You stay here and keep watch.”

“Aren’t you worried they’ll realize the place has been searched?” Michael asked.

“Not really, but if anyone asks, you and I took a drive to Garden of the Gods right after they left.”

“And if they come back for some reason and find us here?”

“The longer we talk about this, the less time I have to look around,” Angus said.

“Fine.” Michael moved one of the chairs so it faced out the window. “You know, if Ellen took those files, she’d put them in her workshop, and that’s locked.”

“I know.” Angus sighed. “I don’t really expect to find anything, but it’s always worth trying.”

Sixteen

Suki walked down Ruxton Avenue with Lila on her leash. She had dressed the dog in a pink silk skirt embroidered with black spirals, a black tutu, and a tiny vest in faux black leather.

Several people asked if they could pet Lila, and one small girl asked her mother for “a puppy like that,” then burst into tears when one wasn’t instantly produced.

“I’m sorry,” the mother said, pulling the tot away. “She hasn’t had her nap.”

Suki watched them go, then looked at Lila, whom she had picked up when the child showed signs of being grabby. “It’s hard being beautiful. Everyone wants a piece of you.” She put Lila down and they continued up Ruxton.

As they came around a bend in the road, someone approached from the opposite direction, walking a white Chihuahua. As they neared each other, Suki saw it was Cheri’s ex-boyfriend Jay, almost unrecognizable in jeans and a sweatshirt.

“Hi, Jay,” she greeted him.

“Hi.” He didn’t smile. “Sorry, what’s your name again?”

“Suki. Photographer for
Tripping
magazine. Is that your dog?”

“He belongs to my mom.”

“What’s his name?”

“Ludwig. He likes classical music.”

Lila and the other dog sniffed each other eagerly, winding their leashes together.

Suki bent and untangled Lila, then scratched Ludwig’s neck under his collar. “He feels a little damp. Did he jump in a creek?”

“No, Chihuahuas aren’t that into water. I gave him a bath earlier.” Jay stared across the street and sighed heavily.

“Are you going to the Emma Crawford wake?” Suki asked.

“Is Cheri going to be there?”

“She’s playing Emma. The person who was supposed to do it got sick.”

Jay’s lips tightened. “I won’t be there.” He pulled Ludwig away from Lila and scooped up the dog. “I have to go now.”

Suki watched as he strode back the way he’d come.

*   *   *

Angus decided to search Ivan’s room first. The door was unlocked, and he slipped into the reek of stale cigarette smoke.

Ivan had his own closet and bathroom. Angus gave the bathroom a cursory look, noting that Ivan was a fan of Instinct body spray by Axe.

The closet held a modest selection of high-quality, rather slick clothes, with a few silk shirts still in their dry-cleaning bags. He pulled a cardboard box down from the upper shelf. It was full of unsorted papers, some of them with Cyrillic writing and red stamps. He looked through them briefly, but didn’t see a file folder or anything that looked like the missing papers.

Another box held a few things that must have had sentimental value: paperback books, a lacquered box with a lock of hair and what looked like baby teeth, an etched glass in a tarnished silver holder, an enameled cross, and some photos.

Angus looked through the pictures. Two black-and-white prints with worn edges were probably ancestral wedding photos, the mustachioed men in suits with stiff-collared shirts, the women in white blouses tucked into slim, long skirts, their hair piled on top of their heads.

A stack of color Polaroids documented Ivan’s time in the circus. Colorfully painted trucks sat on a snowy roadside, while bundled-up people sat by fires and steaming camp stoves. Three wolves slept in a straw-lined cage, the muzzle of one resting on another’s back. A man knelt in the snow, holding a hoop overhead as a wolf leapt toward it. The camera had caught the wolf as it left the ground—haunches bunched with muscle, forepaws tucked, muzzle pointed like an arrow.

Angus squinted at the man, trying to see if it was Ivan, but a scarf and fur hat made identification impossible.

He gave up and looked at the last picture. A laughing woman in slacks and a puffy coat stood in front of a house, holding a tightly swaddled baby. The baby’s eyes were mere slits in the chubby face, and the rosebud mouth looked faintly reproachful.

Angus studied the woman’s high cheekbones and large, expressive eyes. Fair, wavy hair fell over her shoulders. “Quite a looker,” he murmured, then put the photos back in the box and arranged things roughly as he’d found them. The only other thing on the shelf was a half-f carton of Chesterfield cigarettes.

He went over to the bureau. The surface was clear except for some copies of
Entertainment Weekly
and
Variety,
a hairbrush, and a small framed photo. He picked up the photo. He hadn’t noticed it when they’d come in earlier to see the posters.

The picture showed a middle-aged couple with dark hair and Slavic faces, seated at a picnic table with a boy of about six. The lad’s high cheekbones and smiling mouth reminded Angus of the woman in the photo from the box, but the boy’s eyes were all Ivan—dark and intense, beneath straight black brows.

Angus opened one of the bureau’s small top drawers. In addition to ties, it contained a tray with collar stays, cuff links, and rings, plus a small key. He picked up the key, but there was no imprint or other information that gave a clue to its use.

He slid open the next drawer and found a checkbook. “Ah, you beauty.” Paging through the carbons, he noticed a torn edge at the top, where one of them had been ripped out. Checking the numbers, he saw that two more were gone.

Angus rifled through the rest of the drawers, but there were no other checkbooks. The rest of the contents revealed only that Ivan favored Kimono condoms and black boxer briefs. He felt the undersides of the bureau drawers and checked down the back. Nothing.

Turning, he noticed a trunk at the foot of the bed. “Aha.” When the lid didn’t budge, he got the small key from the bureau. It opened the lock easily.

The faint odor of mothballs wafted up as he raised the lid. A half-f bottle of vodka lay on top of some clothing. Angus set it on the floor, then pulled out a pair of black wool pants, an embroidered shirt, and some battered boots. Beneath those lay a folded quilt. He lifted one side and found two shallow boxes, one in black plastic, the other in gray.

He took the black box out and opened it. Inside, a foam tray held five black knives, each blade continuing up to form a metal handle with a small crossbar. Angus took one out and gingerly tested the tip. A drop of blood rose on his fingertip. He returned the knife to its place.

He opened the second box, expecting more knives, and froze with the lid open. The molded interior held a black handgun. It lay there, stark and threatening.

He closed the lid carefully, then got a pair of boxer briefs from Ivan’s bureau and wiped the gun case clean of any fingerprints he might have left.

Beneath the other side of the quilt were a gun-cleaning kit, a box of ammunition, and a plastic tub of much-used theatrical makeup.

Angus put everything back and went to the bed to run his hand under the mattress, where he found a couple of fairly standard porn magazines. The bottom of the box spring yielded nothing.

He went down the stairs and into the downstairs parlor.

Michael turned from the window. “Did you find the files?”

“No, but I found Ivan’s current checkbook, and a couple of the carbon copies are missing. Do you think Ivan was the one paying Thomas’s bills?”

“It’s suggestive.” Michael thought for a moment. “Maybe Thomas promised to help Ivan with his TV show if he got hold of Charlotte’s money.”

“If that’s the case, no wonder Ivan doesn’t have the cash to get his teeth fixed,” Angus said. “Thomas was bleeding him dry.”

“Could that be a motive for murder?” Michael asked. “Ivan makes a ghost dog and uses it to lure Thomas into the street?”

Angus considered it. “Seems a bit extreme. Ivan could have just stopped paying.”

“Maybe Thomas threatened to tell Charlotte about Ivan’s involvement.”

“Thomas would look bad as well,” Angus said, “and remember, he’d just started to behave himself. But I do think Ivan is capable of violence. In addition to the checks in Ivan’s room, I found a set of what I think are throwing knives, and also a gun.”

“What kind of gun?” Michael asked.

“I don’t know. A scary-looking pistol. Not being a gun person, I couldn’t tell you more, except that it takes nine-millimeter bullets.”

“How do you know that?”

“It said so on the box of ammunition.”

“Did you find a permit?” Michael asked.

“No, but Ivan’s filing system is a huge box of unsorted paper. I didn’t take the time to go through all of it.”

The front door opened, and they both jumped.

“Boy, that Garden of the Gods is spectacular,” Michael said, a little loudly.

“It certainly is,” Angus replied. “I particularly liked the rock shaped like a haggis.”

Suki came into the room, Lila dancing at the end of her leash. “You went to Garden of the Gods without me?”

Angus slumped into a chair. “No. We thought you might be Charlotte or the others coming back for something, and I’ve been searching Ivan’s room.”

“Find anything good?” She bent and unclipped Lila’s leash, then unfastened the Velcro at the bottom of Lila’s vest.

“Knives, guns, photos, and a checkbook.” Angus filled in the details of his findings.

When he had finished, Suki said, “Based on that photo, it looks like the story about Ivan’s son is true.” She put Lila’s clothing in a tidy stack on a nearby table and sat down.

“Probably true,” Michael said. “The woman with the baby could be Ivan’s sister. Or maybe the kid
is
his son, but Ivan and the mom parted on perfectly cordial terms.” He looked at their faces. “Hey, I take nothing on faith, okay?”

Suki patted Lila, who had jumped on her lap. “I have some news, too. Guess who we ran into on the street.”

“Who?” Angus asked.

“Recent dumpee Jay, looking all depressed and walking his mom’s pooch—a white Chihuahua.”

“How do you know Jay was the dumpee?” Michael asked. “Maybe he broke up with Cheri.”

“You’re missing the point. Wouldn’t a white Chihuahua make a great ghost dog?”

“It would at that,” Angus mused.

Suki grinned. “
And,
Jay had recently given it a bath.”

Michael’s brow furrowed. “Cheri and Jay were each other’s alibis on the night Thomas died. They could have been lying.”

Angus frowned. “I hate to think of such a thing. Anyway, it sounded to me as though Charlotte would leave something to Cheri regardless of whether Thomas was still in the picture.”

“Maybe they just hated him,” Suki said.

Angus looked at his watch. “I was hoping to look at Ellen’s and Cheri’s rooms, but we need to get to the wake.”

They headed upstairs to get their things.

In the parlor, Suki tried the connecting door that led to Charlotte’s room. It was locked. “I hope the other door is open. I’m supposed to put Lila in there.”

“I’ll do it,” Angus said, taking Lila from her. “Bring a camera to the wake, just in case. I don’t imagine we’ll be allowed to photograph the performance, but we might interview some of the audience afterward—see if we can get some good ghost stories.”

“All right.” Suki handed him Lila’s clothing, which she had brought with her. “You might as well put these in there, too.”

Angus went down the hall to Charlotte’s room, the clothes in one hand and Lila under his arm. He opened the door and set her down. On the bed, Chum raised his head and gave a rusty yap.

“Just me,” Angus said, putting Lila’s clothes on the foot of the bed. He noticed a drop-front desk against one wall. “Pay no attention. Nothing to worry about.” Both dogs’ gaze followed him as he went over and carefully lowered the front of the desk. “Just harmless old Angus.”

*   *   *

In the parlor, Michael checked his pocket for his notebook and recorder. “Did Angus go downstairs without us?” He went into the hallway, followed by Suki. “Angus? Where are you?”

Behind them, Angus appeared in the doorway of Charlotte’s room. “Come here. I want to show you something.”

“Lila didn’t puke, did she?” Suki asked. “Because I swear she didn’t get more than a lick of that dead squirrel.”

“She’s fine.” Angus led them to the desk and pointed to a paper on it. “Look what I found.”

“Oh, man. You searched
Charlotte’s
room?” Michael asked. “Isn’t there some sort of Old World code where you don’t mess with your host’s stuff?”

“I must have skipped school that day,” Angus said. “Anyway, I only had a wee look around in case Charlotte had the lawyer and detective files herself. Then we could have saved ourselves worrying about them. Instead, I found her will.” He held out a notarized piece of paper. “And if I could find it, anyone could.”

Seventeen

“What’s the will say?” Suki took it from him. “Whoa. Thirty thousand to Ellen, plus all rights to the Petey’s Closet name and images. Ten thousand to Ivan, along with the dogs and money for their upkeep. The residual, including the house and all investments, to be split between Thomas and Cheri.”