Chihuahua of the Baskervilles (26 page)

She frowned and looked away. “I don’t like this one.”

He nudged her hip with his shoe. “They make boo-boos.”

She laughed, slumping against his leg.

*   *   *

Jay joined them about ten minutes later, wearing his long black coat and with his face painted like a skull. He squatted and hauled Cheri to her feet. “C’mon. Let’s go.”

Michael blew out a breath. “Finally. I was about to start on the knock-knock jokes.”

Angus watched Jay get a firm grip on the limp girl. “Charlotte wants you to take her home and stay with her.”

“Yeah, she said.”

Cheri pouted and tried to pull out of Jay’s hold. “I don’t wanna go with you.”

“Well, you don’t have much choice,” he said. “That’s what you get for being stupid.”

“Bob!” she called. “Where’s Bobby? He’s fun!”

Jay got Cheri’s arm around his shoulder. “You don’t need any more fun.”

“I don’t envy you trying to get her through that crowd,” Michael said.

Jay pulled Cheri upright as she lurched to one side. “Don’t worry. I can handle her.”

*   *   *

“You’ve been gone awhile,” Suki said, when Angus and Michael rejoined her. “Did you get a good interview?”

Angus shook his head. “No interview. Things got a bit complex.”

“Cheri,” Michael said, and mimed drinking.

“Bummer.” Suki turned back to the racecourse. “It’s good you made it back. Bob is racing in this heat, and he’s up against the Dirty Grannies.”

They looked down the hill, to the start of the race. The Dirty Grannies had curly white hair and wore housedresses, but looked improbably burly. At the starter’s flag, the two teams charged up Manitou Avenue, legs pumping.

“Man, those Grannies are fast,” Angus said.

As the teams came closer, the Dirty Grannies were revealed to be a group of tough-looking men in their thirties, wearing wigs.

About halfway up the course, one of Bob’s pushers let go of the coffin and stumbled to a halt.

“It’s the guy with the knee brace,” Suki said, as someone from the crowd helped him off the street.

The announcer chimed in. “Oh, that’s a shame. Petey’s Pride won’t be disqualified, but the team’s time will definitely suffer from having only three pushers.”

As the Dirty Grannies pounded across the finish line and whooped as loud as their heaving sides would allow, Bob and his remaining two pushers labored the rest of the way up the street.

With the two athletes at the back and only Bob in front, the coffin veered sideways as they made their final approach.

“He’s going to push it into the crowd if he’s not careful,” Angus muttered, as people on either side of the track yelled warnings.

Bob, apparently trying to correct course, hauled sideways on his side of the coffin. The rear pivoted, the wheels juddering along the asphalt, and then the whole thing slowly tipped over as the pushers grabbed at the sides, trying to keep it upright.

Their helmeted Emma spilled onto the street in a flurry of arms and legs, then bounced to her feet and did a rubber-legged dance as the audience hooted in appreciation.

Bob’s two remaining pushers sat on the ground and panted, while Bob ran around the coffin, checking for damage.

Suki shook her head in admiration. “Now that’s entertainment. Shall we go interview the Grannies?”

Michael raised his brows. “Just for winning their heat?”

“Odds are, they’re going to win the whole thing, and we’ll have trouble getting near them if they do,” Suki said, pushing her tripod legs closed. “Just don’t ask questions about this heat and no one will know we didn’t interview them after the race.”

“And if they don’t win?” Michael asked.

“Then we’ll interview the winner.”

“I bow to Suki’s experience,” Angus said. “Let’s go.”

Suki led, the tripod giving her an official air, not to mention making people duck aside to avoid the panning handle.

The Dirty Grannies were holding court at the race-end staging area. Suki pushed her way to the front of their fans and set up her tripod with a few deft movements.

The Grannies had pronounced five o’clock shadows, hairy bare legs, and were sweating profusely. Two of the coffin pushers wore high-top athletic shoes, one wore work boots, and the fourth had on enormous bedroom slippers.

Inside their race coffin was a slight but hirsute man dressed as a baby, with a girlish blonde wig. He got out and tugged on the rear of his onesie, then noticed Suki and her camera. Jerking his head by way of greeting, he said, “Yo, sexy mama. How ’bout a diaper change?”

Michael held his recorder in front of the largest Granny. “Hi, I’m from
Tripping
magazine. Is there a secret to your impressive speed?”

“
All My Children
is on in half an hour. I don’t want to miss anything.” He took a chewed cigar from the pocket of his housedress and stuck it between his teeth.

Angus addressed the Granny in boots. “I love your hair. Where do you get it done?”

The man dragged the curly blonde wig off his head and used it to wipe sweat from his neck. “At my neighbor’s. She breeds poodles.” He held up the bedraggled wig and wiggled it. “Arf, arf.”

“What makes a Granny dirty, exactly?” Michael asked.

The one in the slippers answered. “Gardening. But really, it’s a state of mind.”

Suki picked up the camera, and they moved back toward the middle of the racecourse.

“Oh, jeez,” Michael said, “here comes Bob.”

Bob Hume waved as he made his way through the crowd toward them. “Can you help me push my coffin back home? I can’t find my team, and one of the wheels isn’t working very well.”

“We’re covering the race for our magazine, Bob,” Angus said, his voice chilly. “We can’t leave.”

“Where’s your truck?” Michael asked. “Didn’t you bring the coffin in that?”

“Parking is so hard, and it was just a couple of blocks.” Bob looked around distractedly. “Maybe Jay or Ivan could help. Have you seen either of them around?”

“I haven’t seen Ivan.” Angus folded his arms. “As for Jay, Charlotte asked him to take Cheri home after she turned up completely drunk.”

Bob’s attention snapped back to Angus. “Cheri was drunk?”

Angus scowled at him. “The poor girl will have to find other living arrangements now.”

“Oh, yeah, I guess they had an agreement.” Bob glanced past Angus. “Oh, there’s James. Excuse me.” He struck out through the crowd, waving and yelling. “Hey, James!”

Angus shook his head. “Not a bit of remorse for what he’s done. What a complete bastard.”

Michael looked thoughtful. “Is it possible he doesn’t know about the liquor?”

Angus raised his brows. “It’s in his garage. How could he not know?”

“I saw him take a box out of his truck, and it looked like the schnapps box, but what if it wasn’t? Cheri could have hid the liquor in Bob’s garage without him knowing. It’s all circumstantial.”

“How would she get into Bob’s garage?” Angus asked.

“The same way we did, or maybe the roommate is responsible.”

“I still think it’s Bob.” Angus shook his head sadly. “Cheri’s problem is not our business, but it makes me sad to see someone so young bugger up her life.”

“You’d rather she was older,” Michael said, “with more family to be affected and a real job to lose?”

Angus rolled his eyes. “Come on, master debater. Let’s get back to the racecourse.”

They pushed their way through the crowd, the announcers’ voices booming above them. Suddenly Angus stopped.

Michael walked into his back. “What? If it’s a Porta-John, I need one, too.”

“Look over there.” Angus pointed surreptitiously toward the sidewalk, a little ahead.

Michael and Suki craned their necks to see over the crowd.

Ivan and Ellen stood beneath the awning of a store, their heads close together.

“They look surprisingly cozy,” Michael said.

They watched as Ivan spoke rapidly, punctuating his speech with urgent hand gestures. Ellen nodded, looking intent. Then she said something and touched his arm, smiling.

“Proposal,” Suki said quietly. “I saw him say the word
proposal
right before she nodded.”

“Business proposal?” Angus wondered.

“I doubt it’s a marriage proposal.” Michael turned toward the racecourse. “Did you hear the announcer? The two Elvis teams are going to race each other next. Let’s get going!”

“All right, keep your shirt on.” Angus moved through the crowd again. “It’s not as though Elvis was ever a sprinter.”

They made it to the course’s side in time for Suki to catch the tail end of the heat on video, as eight Elvii thundered across the finish, white capes flapping behind them.

*   *   *

The crowd went wild when the Dirty Grannies pounded across the finish line to win the Emma Crawford Coffin Race.

“They didn’t look that much faster than the other teams,” Michael said. “I mean, they don’t look like they’re marathon runners or anything.”

Angus scanned the crowd for the thinnest spot. “Perhaps they just wanted it more.”

“I’m betting it’s weight.” Suki collapsed the tripod’s legs. “Baby Emma can’t weigh more than a hundred and twenty pounds, and the coffin could be fiberglass. Most of the others look like they’re made of half-inch plywood, and that stuff’s heavy.”

“Bob’s was certainly plywood,” Michael agreed, as they waited for a mother with a stroller to cross in front of them. “And it was almost full size, whereas the Grannies’ was at the minimum. He had his legs tucked into that thing like it was an Indy race car.”

“Maybe one of their team is an engineer,” Suki said. “My money’s on the one in boots.”

They moved slowly down the street, surrounded by people. Suki had switched to still photographs and took pictures as she went.

Angus looked around admiringly. “Wonderful town, Manitou Springs. Has a real sense of community.”

Michael gave him a look. “The kind of community that lures old men into traffic and puts tarantulas in coffins with young women?”

Suki snapped a photo. “Oh, that’s just the Baskervilles and their crappy luck.”

Angus looked thoughtful. “We should write a mini article on families who have had bad luck, like the Kennedys.”

“And a sidebar on ghost dogs through the ages,” Michael said, as they turned left onto Ruxton Avenue. The crowd had thinned, and now only twenty people or so walked on either side of the street.

Angus’s phone rang. “It’s Pendergast,” he said, flipping it over and pushing a button. “What’s up? You’re on speaker.”

“Are you done with that dog thing yet?”

“We just finished the coffin race. I wish we could stay longer. I’m worried about your cousin’s safety.”

“Yeah? Don’t tell me the ghost dog has rabies.”

Angus filled him in, finishing with, “I should have called earlier, but it’s been a little fraught.”

“Angus, I’ve missed the way you talk. Too bad about the old man dying, but does this story get better and better or what? Listen, don’t worry about Charlotte. I’ll tell my wife she needs to go to Manitou for a week and kick some ass.”

“Tell your wife to be careful.”

“Don’t worry about her. She once got mad and broke a mechanical bull. Hey, get this—I’ve already got a lead on a new story.”

“What is it?”

“Twin sisters and a creepy painting. I gotta go. Some kid’s got my assistant’s finger between his teeth. Ciao.”

Angus closed the phone.

“He sure doesn’t sound like someone named Pendergast,” Michael said.

“He’s one of the Trenton Pendergasts,” Angus said absently. “I wish we could stay longer and keep an eye on Charlotte, but I have to be at work on Monday.”

“Me, too,” Michael said. “I’m doing the graphics for a tech manual. High-tech compost bin. Where do you work?”

“At the moment, file clerk in a law office,” Angus said.

He and Michael looked at Suki.

“Trust fund.” She shrugged. “Sorry, kids.”

As they reached the Baskerville house, the rest of the pedestrian traffic continued up the hill, to less historic homes. They went up the walk and into the house.

Suki pointed to a stack of boxes just inside the door, filled with sewing supplies. “Looks like Ellen’s getting the last of her things.”

“It’s awfully quiet,” Angus said. “I wonder where Cheri and Jay are.”

“Cheri’s probably passed out in her room,” Michael said.

They went upstairs. Ellen’s door stood open, but she wasn’t inside.

“Must be in the workshop,” Michael said. “Do you think Charlotte knows about all this coming and going? If there’s going to be a lawsuit, she might want to change the locks.”

The tinny sound of a television came from behind Ivan’s closed door. Farther down the hall, Charlotte’s and Cheri’s doors were also shut.

They went to the parlor that adjoined Charlotte’s room, where Suki’s equipment bags lay, mostly packed.

“Make sure to check the outlets for chargers.” Michael pulled one free and handed it to her.

Suki opened one of the other bags and stuck it inside, then unclipped her camera from the tripod.

From downstairs came the sound of someone knocking on the front door. Suki looked up. “Should we get that?”

“Let Ivan answer it,” Michael said.

The knock came again. Angus looked into the hallway, but Ivan’s door remained closed. “He probably can’t hear it. I’ll go.”

Downstairs, Angus opened the front door to find Bob Hume holding Lila’s leash, the little dog jumping and yapping at the end of it.

“Is Charlotte home?” Bob asked. “I found Lila running around loose on the street. She could have gotten hit by a car.”

Angus took the leash from him. “That’s strange. Thank you for bringing her back.”

“No problem. Tell Charlotte she needs to be more careful. I have to get back.”

“Thanks again.” Angus shut the door and bent to stroke Lila’s head. She dodged and barked sharply into his face.

Angus winced at the noise. “Hush.” He took her upstairs, where he knocked on Charlotte’s door. “Charlotte?” When no one answered, he pushed it open.

Chum turned cloudy eyes toward Angus from his place in the center of Charlotte’s bed.

Angus let go of Lila’s leash. She ran up the little bedside stairs, barked at Chum, then jumped down and ran out of the room.