The Case of the Invisible Dog (26 page)

We didn't respond as Myra went storming off. We watched, instead, as Detective Owen looked over at Detective Addams, who shook her head. Detective Addams stepped back from the window and then turned and walked quickly around to the back. Detective Owen pounded on the door a few more times until Detective Addams and the two police officers came around from the back, Detective Addams shaking her head when Detective Owen looked over at her. He stood there until the other three reached the front porch and stopped on the edge. He gestured for them to stay put, and then Detective Owen kicked in the door to the Brown house while the other three watched.

I was vaguely aware of some noise and voices behind me, but I ignored them as the door came off its hinges, falling backward, and the four of them stepped inside the Browns' house. There was more noise behind us, but none of us paid the slightest attention. And then the garage door began to open and Detectives Owen and Addams came running out. They ran over to their car and as they did I saw that the garage was visibly empty and spotlessly clean from floor to ceiling.

“What's going on?” Lawrence asked as Detectives Owen and Addams reached into the Valiant from each side and both pulled out a cell phone. “What do you think, Shirley? You're good at figuring things out.”

“I must admit,” Shirley stated, as I watched both of the detectives talk into their phones while each of them gestured frantically with their free arm, “that I am as much in the dark as you are, Mr. Dunbar.”

“Um, Shirley?” Myra called out in a funny voice from behind us.

“Not now!” Shirley snapped without turning around.

“I think I know,” I said, remembering what always seemed to happen every single time we tried to get evidence of the invisible dog.

“Shirley?” Myra asked again.

“That garage isn't just empty,” I said, not paying any attention to Myra, either. Golf etiquette just didn't seem that important compared to what I was seeing across the street. All the evidence we'd worked so hard to figure out—vanished without a trace. “It's been cleaned out. My guess is that the Browns and all their stuff are long gone. There's nothing to search.”

“What do
you
think, Shirley?” Lawrence asked. “You think that's it?”

“Yes, Mr. Dunbar. That part was, of course, so obvious I thought it went without saying.”

“It's as if they're always one step ahead of us,” I said, completely disheartened. “So what do we do now?”

“I would suggest that what you do now is listen.” It only took me a second to recognize that oily voice: Chuck Brown. Here. Standing behind us, with an artificial friendliness in his voice far creepier than if he'd tried to sound deliberately intimidating. “We would like it very much if you would all turn around quietly without drawing any attention to yourselves.”

“We?” Shirley asked after a moment of stunned silence. “So far I hear just you.” Only Shirley Homes would worry about proper pronoun usage at a moment like this.

“And now you hear
me
,” Nancy Brown said. “Chuck and I are two of the lucky ones. We enjoy doing everything together. And I mean
everything,
” she added. She giggled, Chuck made a little guffaw, and Shirley, Lawrence, and I turned around to find Chuck and Nancy standing a few feet in front of us, with Myra wedged in between them. Chuck had his arm around Myra's generous waist, a gun pointed at her side. There was a third cart parked behind the two that the four of us had been using.

The Browns were dressed in identical golf outfits—blue-and-yellow plaid pants, yellow polo shirts, blue visors, and white golf shoes. Their matching clothes with the overly bright colors made them seem even creepier than usual, reminding me of Angie's word for them: creepzillas.

“And so we meet again. I was certain we would. That little trick of
yours—pretending
to appreciate the beauty and craftsmanship of my cane—did not fool me for a moment. I assume that you have some sort of villainous plan?” Shirley asked disdainfully, without a trace of fear in her voice. I didn't know whether to chalk that up to bravery or denial, but either way, I sincerely hoped she came to realize the seriousness of our situation before bullets started flying.

“That we do,” Chuck replied cheerfully. “There's no one coming behind us, but just to be on the safe side, everyone smile and nod as if we're old friends. Come on, now. Big smiles. You there, shorty, let's see a little more enthusiasm. You too,” he said, jabbing the gun in Myra's side.

Myra gave a weak little smile and the rest of us followed Chuck and Nancy's lead, smiling and nodding and pretending to greet one another like old friends. All except Shirley, who stood still as a statue.

“She said you were a stubborn one,” Chuck said, giving Shirley a knowing grin.

“Who is this ‘she' to whom you are referring?” Shirley asked.

“All in good time. Nancy, if you please?”

“You know these people?” Myra asked, staring at Shirley furiously.

“In a manner of speaking,” Shirley replied cavalierly with a touch of contempt. Apparently the seriousness of the situation we now found ourselves in was still not clear.

Nancy pulled a small handgun out of her pants pocket, released the safety, and came over to the fence to place it in Shirley's side before turning and pretending to chat with the rest of us.

“Now we will all walk toward our golf carts,” Chuck instructed. “That's it. Keep walking like good little girls and boys. Shirley Homes, you and your partner will come with me into the yellow cart. And the other two will ride with Nancy in the blue one,” he added.

“Listen,” Myra said as we all walked toward the carts. “I don't know what sort of mess Shirley has gotten herself into this time, but it has nothing to do with me. I suggest that you resolve whatever issues you have with her at some other place and time. This kind of behavior simply isn't tolerated at the club.” Unfortunately, her pompous declaration made absolutely no visible impression on the two people holding the guns. And they're usually the ones you want to worry about.

“Lady,” Chuck said, his tone still pleasant but with new icy undercurrents that sent chills down my spine, “until now I was having a really nice day. Don't ruin it for me. You won't like the result.”

When we reached the parked carts I noticed that Shirley and Myra's clubs had both been placed in the back of the cart that Chuck and Nancy must have driven up in. That didn't seem like a very good sign for our immediate future. I gave one last desperate look across the street, but we were too far away. The lone police officer standing in the doorway of the Browns' house, with his arms folded across his chest, was staring straight ahead, so we weren't anywhere in his sight. For once there actually was a cop around when I needed one, but it still didn't do me any good.

“Shirley, you go in this cart here,” Chuck said as he pointed to the one that she and Myra had used. He gave her a small nudge as Nancy stepped away from her and leaned toward me. I now had her gun pointed at my back. Shirley glared at Chuck but then reluctantly began to scramble into the cart. Once she got in, Nancy walked over and stood beside Myra, keeping her gun behind Myra's back. Chuck ordered me in next.

“Scoot yourself right up there,” he said. “Next to Shirley. Nice and cozy.” I got in and then Chuck squeezed beside me, pointing his gun at my back as soon as he sat down.

Once we were all situated, Nancy leaned in and gave Chuck a quick kiss, still keeping her gun firmly in Myra's back.

“We're almost there,” I heard Nancy whisper. Chuck gave Nancy's butt a little pat as she turned around and started nudging Lawrence and Myra toward the other cart. I wanted to throw up.

“Look, I'm nobody,” Lawrence whined. “I don't know nothing. I'm just here to watch a friendly game of golf.”

“You were at our house the other night,” Nancy pointed out. “You were going through our garage. My husband took a shot at you.”

“Oh, yeah. But I think that was just a coincidence.”

“Please stop whining and get into the cart,” Nancy barked as Lawrence tugged his pants up for what seemed like the five hundredth time that day. “I cannot stand whiners, and you're giving me a headache.” Lawrence reluctantly got inside the other cart and scooted over to the edge. “Now you. Right next to him,” Nancy said, waving her gun toward Myra.”

“There isn't enough room.”

“Sure there is. We just need to use a little creative thinking. I know, the little guy can sit on your lap.”

“That is out of the question,” Myra exclaimed, looking nauseous.

“Is it?” Nancy asked with a shrug. “I've got the gun. You there, little guy, you need to get back out so she can get in. Come out this way and stand next to me.”

“Ah, come on. I can't sit on her lap,” Lawrence whined. Nancy cocked her head, gave him a perfectly cold smile, and pointed her gun at him. With a deep sigh Lawrence got out of the cart.

Myra glared over at Shirley and then lumbered into the cart with a series of deep and heartfelt sighs. She appeared to find the thought of Lawrence sitting on her lap more distressing than a gun pointed at her.

“Now you can get back in,” Nancy said to Lawrence when Myra had finally settled herself, staring straight ahead with her hands folded across her chest. Lawrence climbed in, scooted across the seat, and plopped down on Myra's lap. The instant he did so she turned her head around as far to the right as was humanly possible without actually snapping her neck.

“Can you move your arms?” Lawrence asked, trying to find his balance. “I don't have enough room.”

Myra uncrossed her arms and then folded her hands on top of her head. Lawrence navigated his body sideways so that his feet were hanging off of the passenger side, before turning his face toward the front. He looked like an oversized dummy who had twisted his head around one too many times.

“Finally,” Nancy said with a shake of her head before getting into the cart. She turned the key with her left hand while reaching around with her right arm so that her gun was pointed at Myra's back. Chuck turned his key and the motor started up on our cart as well.

“Ready?” Chuck asked, glancing over at Nancy.

“Ready,” Nancy answered with a grin and a mock salute. Chuck gunned the gas and we were off—our cart in front and Nancy's bringing up the rear.

“Eyes straight ahead until we stop,” Chuck said as he pulled his smartphone from his pants pocket, using his knee to steer us onto the sidewalk. “Are we clear?” I nodded my head. “Are we clear?” he asked again, and Shirley mumbled, “Yes.”

Chuck put his phone next to his ear. “It's me,” he said. “Yes, I have them. As soon as I mentioned your name there was no problem getting a cart. We're fine. No one coming up behind us. The last party for the day is already on the next hole. Where do you want to meet? Perfect. I'm heading out now. Do you have me locked in to your location? Great. What's that? Yes. She's
exactly
like you said.”

Chuck disconnected his call and then pushed some buttons. A few seconds later a screen with a flashing dot on the upper right corner, linked by a thick curvy line to a flashing dot in the bottom right corner, came up. Chuck glanced at the screen and then set his phone inside the cup holder attached to the dashboard. He looked at it repeatedly every few seconds as we drove along.

“So,” Chuck said in his nauseatingly friendly voice after we had traveled down the sidewalk for a minute. “How's everyone doing today?”

“Are you kidding?” I asked in disbelief. “How do you think we're doing?”

“Whoa. Sounds like someone got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.”

“Sorry. I tend to get a little put out when people point a gun at me.”

“Understood,” he said with a nod, as if we were discussing different political points of view. “I'm actually not a big fan of guns myself. But sometimes you have to do what it takes to get the job done.”

“Spoken like a true villain,” Shirley said haughtily. “You don't
have
to do this. You are choosing to do this.”

“Business is business.”

“Poppycock!” Shirley exclaimed indignantly, slapping the side of the cart for added emphasis.

“Way of the world, lady. Way of the world. And once our business is concluded, I have a nice fat bonus check and two tickets for a Caribbean cruise waiting for me and the wife.”

“This cruise of yours,” Shirley said. “Am I correct in assuming that it is a reward from whoever put you up to this?”

“Yes indeedy. I have a very generous boss. As long as you get the job done right.”

“I suppose,” Shirley said skeptically. “Although if I was to reward an employee of mine who had taken the risks you have, I would have come up with something much more interesting. These days who
hasn't
been on a cruise to the Caribbean?”

“I haven't,” I snapped. The last thing we needed was for Shirley to piss off the guy who had a gun in my back. We went past the next green and then came around a wide curve as we passed the fairway. The two men that Myra had offered to buy cocktails and dinner for were getting into their cart. They glanced at us without any real interest as we drove past. Chuck and Nancy both smiled and waved and the rest of us kept our eyes straight ahead.

“It was very clever, this invisible dog scheme of yours,” I said after we reached the far back side of the ninth hole.

“Wish I could take the credit,” Chuck replied. “But it was all the boss. She doesn't just think outside the box, she thinks outside the box of the box.”

I heard a sharp intake of breath. “I think I've got most of it figured out,” I said quickly before Shirley had a chance to demand that Chuck clarify what he meant by “the box of the box” and then launching into a whole discussion about imprecise language and sloppy thinking. “Could I run my theory past you and see if I'm right?” At this point, solving the Case of the Invisible Dog might be the only thing I actually managed to achieve in my now apparently short life. I desperately wanted to know if I'd gotten it right.