The Case of the Invisible Dog (28 page)

There was a clear partition between this woman and the driver, but all I could see was the back of his head. He did not move or express any interest in what was happening in the backseat.

“I believe you are laboring under the mistaken belief that I
care
whether or not that very large woman kills Chuck, or whether that odd little man kills Nancy,” the woman said. Her voice was soft and educated, and as scary as the sound of bats' wings brushing against the top of a cold cave. “I do not. That is why I did not interfere with that amusing little show you just put on. They are employees. Employees can always be replaced.”

“Oh,” I said, crushed. I had no plan B.

“So it would seem that you are without any real leverage,” the woman said as if it didn't really matter to her one way or the other. “And I still have a gun pointed at the head of Shirley Homes.”

“Oh,” I said again, now completely defeated.

“Tammy is normally much more articulate,” Shirley said. “I can't imagine what's gotten into her today.”

“Gee, I don't know. Maybe having a gun pointed at me and then trying to save your life has left me at a loss for words.”

“But my life is not in danger.”

“There's a gun pointed at your head.”

“Oh, that. I am not worried in the slightest.”

The woman in the limousine cocked her head, puzzled. I looked at Shirley, wondering what in the world she was talking about. “This is all for show,” Shirley said with a smile. And then she winked.

The woman in the limousine looked startled for a moment, and then she threw her head back and laughed deep from her belly. Shirley smiled knowingly, and I felt completely at a loss.

“You mean we were never in any danger?” I asked.

“Oh, the rest of you might possibly have been in some danger,” Shirley said with an annoying air of nonchalance. “But not me. It wouldn't be any fun if the game ended in the first round, would it?” she added, turning to look directly into the barrel of the gun and the eyes of the woman holding it.

“No. That would not have been any fun. Tammy, is it?” the woman asked, with a glance in my direction. “I find you more entertaining than I would have expected. I believe that we will meet again. If you will kindly step aside, Shirley is now free to leave, as are the rest of you. On your way out, please have your two associates drop their guns to the ground. I will keep this gun pointed at you until you are all out of sight. If I see anyone's arm reaching anywhere, or a cell phone placed at anyone's ear, then someone will pay the price. It won't be Shirley, just one of you, who I will pick at random. So be very careful. Oh, and feel free to toss Nancy out of the cart. Leave Chuck where he is. I will take care of them myself.”

“I'm very confused,” I said, sitting inside the dining room of the Sturdy Oaks Country Club forty-five minutes later, waiting for my wine to arrive.

“I am also confused,” Myra said, waiting for her chocolate martini.

“I would give my right nut to be confused,” Lawrence said, waiting for his draft beer (“The best stuff you got!”) to arrive. “Oops. Sorry, Shirley. But confused doesn't even begin to describe the problems that my brain is experiencing right now. Of course, the major concussion that I probably have,” he added with a nod toward Myra, “definitely doesn't help.”

As a member of the Sturdy Oaks Country Club, Myra had the privilege to bring guests into their dining room. I'm sure that under normal circumstances she would never have agreed to be seen with us. But these were not normal circumstances. After we got into our carts and drove away, I waited until we had made it down the dirt driveway, crossed the street, and were safely back on the golf course sidewalk, out of view from the limousine, before stopping and pulling out my cell phone.

“What are you doing?” Shirley asked as she and Myra rolled up next to us.

“Calling the police,” I said.

“There is no point,” Shirley said.

“But—”

“By the time you convinced the police of our story—
if
you were able to convince them
—
and they put us through to Detective Owen, you would then have to explain the story all over again to him. And
e
ven if he believed you, by that time she would be long gone, without a trace. She is obviously a woman with deep resources who can adapt quickly to changing circumstances. And we would, no doubt, lose whatever goodwill we have managed to build with the police department. We need to think and we need to plan before taking our next step.”

“You're just going to let her get away without at least trying to stop her?” I asked, dumbfounded.

“Yes,” Shirley said with a sad smile. “I have met the enemy and I know what she is made of. There are times when one must admit temporary defeat in order to savor success on another day. This, my dear Tammy, is one of those times. It is a bitter pill to swallow, but swallow it we must.”

“Okay,” I said, puzzled, as I put my phone away. This did not seem like the Shirley Homes I knew, who until now had never let anything, not even reality, stand in her way.

“Well, I need a drink,” Myra said. “And Shirley, I need to know what in the world is going on. Once we have retrieved our clubs, will you join me at the club for a good, stiff drink, some food, and some explanations? I will spring for a taxi so that Tammy and that other
helpful colleague
of yours can make their way home.”

“Myra, I would be delighted to join you, but my colleagues are part of the story and deserve to join us. We come as a unit. Take it or leave it.”

Myra looked at me and grimaced. Then she looked at Lawrence and scowled. “I'm too tired and overdone to argue the point,” she said with a sniff. “Very well. But everyone will behave in a civilized manner.”

“Good. It's settled, then. Since you are in the dark regarding much of this story, I will fill you in as we ride along.”

When we arrived at the clubhouse dining room, the hostess led us over to the most remote table in the back—Myra's specific request. Clubhouse rules did not allow hats to be worn in the dining room, so mercifully Shirley had left her newest one behind at the cloakroom, along with our visors. I returned my silver clips back to each side of my head to help tame the combination of frizz and hat-hair that appeared the instant I took off my yellow visor.

As we made our way across the dining room—with its plush, elegant carpet; crisp, white linen tablecloths topped with fresh tulips and burgundy candles; and a pine-scented fire crackling in the huge stone fireplace, I saw the two tan golfers whose game we had interrupted. They were dining with two other couples. Three bottles of wine littered the table, along with the remains of six lobster dinners that were being cleared away. A gleaming, silver champagne bucket holding two empty bottles sat next to the table. When we walked past, one of the men gave Myra a cheery “Hello!” She nodded and smiled tightly, sighing loudly once we were out of earshot from them. When we arrived at our own table Myra quickly plopped down on the chair facing away from the rest of the room.

“So, you are all confused?” Shirley asked with a self-satisfied voice once we'd ordered our drinks.

“Yes,” I said, still very perplexed by the strange conclusion the day had taken. “Who was that woman? And why did she make you get in the limousine by yourself? What did you talk about?”

“That is…Ah, here are our refreshments. My good man, may I examine that water, please, before you make your exit?”

“Of course,” the waiter said, maintaining his professional demeanor as Lawrence gaped at his tuxedo shirt and bow tie in awe.

Shirley lifted the lid on the silver teapot after he set it down and dipped her pinkie finger in at the side. “Excellent,” she pronounced. “Myra, I may think about joining this club after all. They serve Earl Grey, and understand that hot tea is a term rendered meaningless without the essential ingredient of hot water. Give my compliments to the kitchen, my good man.”

“Thank you, ma'am,” he said as he finished setting down the rest of our drinks.

“I'll have another,” Myra said wearily before she'd even taken a first sip of her martini. I'm pretty sure that she was already rethinking her rash decision to bring us here.

We placed our dinner order—steak and fries for Lawrence, Denver sole and asparagus for Shirley, shrimp scampi for me, Chateaubriand with Hollandaise sauce for Myra—and as soon as we had handed the waiter our menus, we all stared expectantly at Shirley.

“I am not sure who that woman was,” Shirley said, dipping her tea bag into the pot of water. “She asked me the very same thing. When I answered in the negative, that I had no idea who she was, she smiled. It was a rather pensive sort of smile, with just a hint of bitterness. And then she said that our mutual destinies had been decided four generations ago. And that the game had just begun.

“Based on those statements, it was clear that she is the great-great-granddaughter of one of my great-great-grandfather's enemies, a fact she immediately confirmed, but she refused to reveal her identity. Unfortunately, that list is long and varied, just as the list of the world's evils is long and varied. Although I have my suspicions.”

“Shirley,” Myra said, shaking her head.

“That is why she did not want to kill me,” Shirley continued, paying no attention to Myra. “She thinks that I am the mouse to her cat, and she isn't done toying with me yet. She means to have revenge, but she also means to take her time. Apparently she has been watching me for years, tracking all my movements, waiting for the right moment, waiting to see if I was aware of my true identity. When I opened my office and began placing ads, she knew the time had come.”

“The time for what?” I asked.

“To toy with me. To test my abilities. To see what I am made of. To create a mystery that she knew I could not resist. And thus was born the Case of the Invisible Dog. She learned of my daily forays into the establishment of Mrs. Hobson and then researched many of the woman's regulars in order to pick a suitable candidate for her sordid game. She chose Matt Peterman.”

“She set this whole thing up?” I asked, dumbfounded. “Wait a minute. That elderly woman who was talking so loudly the morning you first met Matt Peterman. The one who pushed him to let you help him. She was part of this?”

“That was the woman in the limousine herself, which she took great delight in revealing. Like me, she is a master of disguise. Pity. I was rather fond of Edna. And she wore the loveliest lilac scent that seemed to linger in the breeze after she was gone.”

“Lilac?” I asked. “I think I saw her once. I was downtown talking to…someone. I remember smelling lilac perfume as she walked past.”

“Perhaps that was her,” Shirley said doubtfully. “Or simply another elderly woman who enjoys the scent of lilacs. But to continue. I had been watched, my daily habits scrutinized. She knew how easy it would be to arrange for Matt Peterman and me to meet, with a little assistance on her end. Tammy, you asked Chuck Brown why they tormented Matt Peterman instead of simply killing him. I asked her the same thing. It was done to draw me in—the mystery that no one else would take seriously. She knows my family's history; she knows the passion I have inherited. She also said that it was great fun. That is the nature of the person we are dealing with.”

“So it wasn't just about making money?” I asked.

“Oh, money will be made. Money will most definitely be made. Money is to her what oxygen is to other people.”

“Then can't we go to the police with that? Try and get them to open an investigation into Merryweather Properties? I already mentioned them the last time we were there, so maybe they'd listen to us. And did you see that sign?”

“I do not put much stock in
signs
,” Shirley said dismissively. “Or omens.”

“The sign on that undeveloped land across from the golf course, where she was waiting for us. Merryweather Properties now owns it.”

“Ah. I misunderstood the sort of sign to which you were referring. And naturally I noticed the sign. Nothing escapes my observation. But in answer to your previous question, before you sidetracked me with all that distracting business of signs, I brought up Merryweather Properties. And when I did, she dared me to follow that line of inquiry,” Shirley said with a half smile. “I believe she has covered her tracks nicely. Merryweather is a shield, one arm of the octopus, so to speak, with so many arms its origin cannot be traced. She does nothing in her own name, and the discovery of that name will be a rigorous undertaking in and of itself…”

“What about Angie Berger?”

Shirley shook her head. “I asked her about that, too. The woman insisted that she had nothing to do with Angie's disappearance. She said the Browns had only threatened her for dramatic effect, to further my interest and curiosity. Since she fully admitted to everything else, I don't see why she would lie about Angie. That part of the puzzle remains unsolved.”

“So they didn't shoot Matt because of us?” I asked hesitantly. It was something I hadn't even let myself think about until now. “It was always their plan?”

“It was always her plan for Matt to die,” Shirley said after a moment. “She knew that a simple mystery—a man shot in a parking lot—would not interest me. But doing so after creating the invisible dog? That was bound to keep my attention. If—and this was her other motivation—
if
I was a worthy opponent who carried the passion of my great-great-grandfather inside of me. She said she was happy to discover that I was and did. Otherwise the game would be no fun.

“The single bark we heard the first night we went into his house? That was on purpose and for the same reason. To keep me involved. To make sure I knew that Matt was not imagining things. The money she'll make is just a side item. That was all arranged after Matt Peterman had been chosen. I believe she is a person who will always find a way to make money out of any situation. Her real agenda was drawing me out to begin the chase.”

“What chase?” Lawrence asked. “No offense, but you're not making any sense to me. If anything, I'm more confused than before.”

“Shirley,” Myra said. “This time you really have gone too far.”

“Whatever are you talking about, Myra?”

“This whole charade. Invisible dogs and barking doorbells were bad enough. But to stage that scene back there with the limousine and the mysterious woman from some evil corporation who only wants to talk to you. And
then—surprise!—she
turns out to be the great-great-granddaughter of one of Sherlock Holmes' enemies. It's all too much.”

“And did I arrange for Matt Peterman to be shot?”

“No. I think that was an unfortunate coincidence, the kind that tends to happen around you all too often. Let me tell you what else I think. I think you hired Matt Peterman to show up at your office with this ridiculous story. I think he let you put all that doggie doorbell stuff in his house. I think you hired the Browns to impersonate the evil neighbors, and I'm sure that those guns they kept waving around today had no bullets. I think Angie Berger is probably lying in the sun someplace, spending the money that you paid her to disappear for a while. I think you arranged for the limousine and the mystery woman and the existence of this Merryweather Properties. I think the police are right and his ex-wife shot him, or paid someone to shoot him, and it had nothing to do with you at all.”

Myra slugged down the rest of her martini as Shirley gazed back at her
dispassionately
and took a sip of tea.

“I think this has all been an elaborate hoax,” she said wearily after wiping the chocolate residue off her top lip. “You are incapable of living a normal life. That is unfortunate, but no longer my problem. I am done. Please, everyone, eat, drink, and be merry. It's on me. I'm sure that we will not meet again. Shirley, you are on your own. If you want to run around acting like Sherlock Holmes, that is your business. You can believe you are Queen Elizabeth or the Pope, for all I care. I intend to enjoy the rest of my life without always having to worry about you!”

“Myra,” Shirley said softly, the softest that I had ever heard her speak. “What you're saying is ridiculous.”

“I'm being ridiculous?” Myra said, shaking her head. “If you are that far removed from reality, I can't see any point in discussing this further.”

Myra picked up her purse. “Oh, and I will be sending you the bill for that feast our friends from the green are enjoying on my tab thanks to you.” With that she stood up and stormed out of the dining room without looking back.