Chasing a Blond Moon(77)

“Limpy’s trying to stab you in the back,” Service said. “He showed up here at lunchtime and told me you’re gay.”

Aldo shook his head and smiled. “Would that matter?”

“Only to your grandfather,” Service said.

“The captain thinks he can get me on as summer help—with one of the biologists,” Aldo said.

“Say hi to Daysi,” Service said. He watched Aldo walk away. The vision of Aldo with a badge confronting his rogue grandfather made him smile.

Simon del Olmo called on the cell phone later that afternoon. Service was in the parking lot, smoking. “Kitella’s hired Sandy Tavolacci,” Simon said.

“I’m not surprised,” Service said. “Sandy only cares about how much cash a client has. Guilt’s not a factor.” Tavolacci often played the dunce, but it was all an act. He had put a lot of people back in the woods who didn’t belong there. But Sandy was cagey and because he had to deal frequently with woods cops, there were times when he would signal something he didn’t think was quite right according to his twisted interpretation of Hoyle.

Service thought, maybe Limpy had delivered several messages today.





19

Until a year ago Grady Service had been petrified of dogs, any breed, any size, any temperament. The mere sight of one gave him the sweats. Proximity or a growl sent ice water racing down his spine. Since the arrival of Newf, a gift from his former girlfriend, the fears had begun to recede, but returned suddenly as he pulled into the driveway.

He saw a large red and gray dog come loping from the side of the house. It had a hyena-like snout, its neck hair hackled with spikes—a bowlegged, strutting, wide-bodied beast that looked like it could chew through a fire hydrant. Service had just cracked his door when he saw the dog. He immediately slammed it and felt something he had not experienced in a year. His friends and colleagues saw irony in his being a conservation officer and being afraid of dogs, but he found no humor in it. Fear was irrational and meant the loss of control. He hated not having control, or at least the illusion of it.

He saw Newf in the window of the house, barking and carrying on at the intruder, who showed no interest in leaving.

The cell phone buzzed while he was contemplating his predicament.

“Hey, it’s me,” Nantz said. “I called the house, but no answer. Where are you?”

“Almost home,” he said.

“How close?”

“Not far.”

“When you get home, open a beer and call me back.”

“We can talk now.”

“I don’t hear any sounds,” she said. “Are you moving?”

“I have the windows up.”

“I talked to Lori about the fund-raiser. I told her about Siquin Soong.”

The red and gray beast looked up at him and glared. “You what?”

“Don’t get yanked. Lori’s no fool. I told you that. She asked a lot of questions and I told her you want to talk to Soong. I told you I wouldn’t lie to her.”

He wondered if Nantz would change her tune after she had her badge. “What did she say?” The dog outside was still and seemed to be shaking. He wondered if it was rabid, but there was no drool, no foam.

“She thanked me for telling her the truth and said she’s confident you’ll use discretion and impressive diplomatic skills. Siquin Soong is one of her major supporters.”

“Maybe she should rethink that.”

“Grady, you don’t have anything on the woman. You just want to ask about her son. What’s for dinner tonight?”

“I haven’t thought that far ahead.”

“Get real. You always have dinner planned. What’s going on? Your voice sounds strained.”

“Nothing,” he said. Which was true up to a point; he and the dog were at a standoff.

“Where are you now?”

“Almost in the house.”

“Where exactly?”

“Close,” he said.

She paused before speaking. “Jesus, you’re in the driveway!”

“There’s a goddamned dog,” he confessed meekly.

She laughed. “And you’re afraid to get out.”

“Basically.”

“It’s a dog, Service.”

“I know it’s a dog, but there are dogs and there are dogs,” he said.

“This one might as well be a man-eating croc.”

“Where is it?”

“Next to my door.”

“It probably wants to play.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Are his ears up or back?”

“Flat,” he said.

“Is he looking at you?”

“No, he’s looking off at about forty-five degrees.”