fine. The dog went nuts and whoever it was went away, but he left a message behind that I think you should see.”
“He left a note?”
“In a way. It said stick to your goats’.”
“It said what?”
“And the piece of paper it was written on was shoved into the mouth of a dismembered squirrel nailed to my front door.”
“Jeez. We’ll be over. Don’t go anywhere.”
I said I wasn’t planning to, and Becker hung up.
I accepted a cup of strong, black coffee from George, who had looked hard at my face as I was dialling, concluded that I was stoned and turned on the coffee-maker. George knew I smoked, disapproved, but considered it my business. He didn’t lecture me, just asked me to acknowledge that this was no time to be on a different planet.
While we were waiting for the cops, Francy called.
“I’m back at home now,” she said. “The place is—Polly, they left it all like it was. The cop who brought me back last night just took down the tape and said it was okay to go inside. The kitchen is—oh, God. I went to sleep on the couch, just curled up in a little ball.”
I remembered the state of things when I’d been in to get the dog food. Not a pleasant welcome. “That sucks, Francy. They should have warned you. Could you use a hand cleaning up?”
“Oh, yeah. Would you? I know it’s a lot to ask, but I can’t stay here without some sort of, you know, exorcism. Maybe we could burn some sage or something. If I don’t stay here, I’ll have to go stay with my in-laws in North Bay, and we kinda don’t get along. I’d rather stay at home, but right now it’s like I’m living in a haunted house, you know?”
I told her I would try to get over there in a couple of hours, that I had an appointment first, though I didn’t explain what it was about. I figured she had a big enough case of the creeps as it was, and there was no reason to add to it. The cops had told her that Lug-nut was with me and she thanked me for taking him.
“That dog’s never liked me, and the feeling is mutual,” she said. “And now I’m scared he’d hurt Beth. You can keep him if you want.” I told her that I’d be glad to, and that I would see her soon.
I went out to the porch with my coffee, where George was sitting on the steps with Lug-nut. The dog was sort of leaning against him while George scratched him behind the ears. Lugnut turned his head as I came out and looked at me. Somehow, he knew he was mine, now. Or I was his. Whatever.
“How come Francy hated you so much?” I said.
“Huh?” George spun around.
“Lug-nut, not you.”
“Oh. Well, he was John’s dog,” George said.
When Becker and Morrison arrived, I told the whole story again, and then the three of us hiked up to the cabin to collect the evidence. I was surprised that Morrison wanted to go—maybe he was curious about where I lived, or maybe he was aware of something starting up between me and Becker, and just wanted to be in the way, like a little brother. Anyway, the hike cost him and he was wheezing by the time we got to my front door.
I was sure that there was still the faint smell of grass in the air, but the cops didn’t seem to notice it, or, if they did, they didn’t comment. I opened the icebox and brought out the baggie with its grisly contents. Becker peered at it for a moment, then handed it to Morrison, who took it delicately between thumb and forefinger.
“Ugly,” Becker said. I passed him the bag with the note and he shot me an approving glance. “You didn’t handle it, then?”
“Only by the edges. Maybe you can get some prints from it.”
“Maybe, maybe not, but it was good thinking, Polly.”
Morrison sneered at Becker’s tone and looked away. Then he laughed, a short, sharp bark. I followed his gaze and found he was looking directly at the puppet-head I had finished the night before, after Becker had left. It was a pretty accurate portrait, if I do say so myself. I had been proud of it up until then, but now I would have done anything to have it disappear off the face of the earth.
“What’s your problem, Morrison?” Becker said. He hadn’t noticed the head yet. When he did see it, I knew he would be uncomfortable—maybe flattered, but more likely just embarrassed. It would be like seeing your name scrawled in someone’s math notebook in high school. Your name ringed with hearts and flowers and mottoes. I cringed.
“No problem, Becker. None at all,” Morrison said, surprising me no end. He moved his bulky body between Becker and the work table, blocking his partner’s view. I could have kissed him. I owed him one and he knew it, too.
Becker brought his gaze back to the baggie with the note inside, and Morrison caught my eye. He winked.
On the way back down to George’s, Becker again tried to convince me to shack up with George for a while. I answered him the same way I had George. Both cops seemed to think I was just being stubborn for the sake of it.
“It’s not like you have to prove anything, Polly,” Becker said with some exasperation. “We all know what an independent, self-sufficient woman you are. But this…” he shook the squirrel-baggie, “is proof that someone wants to hurt you. Being up there in that place with no phone means you’re a sitting duck.”
“Maybe she’s holding out for some twenty-four-hour-a-day police protection,” Morrison said, an innocent smile on his face. I shot him a look, but he let it slide right over him.
“I don’t need protection,” I said. “I have the dog, okay? Just drop it, would you please?” Becker dropped it, but, while Morrison was stowing the baggies in the trunk of the cruiser he tried again, very quietly.
“Be extra careful, please. I don’t want to pick you up in a body bag tonight.”
“Charming image.”
“Charm is my strong suit, eh?” He smiled in a way that left my knees feeling funny. “I’ll see you at seven-thirty, with another statement for you to sign. You’re creating too much paperwork. Cut it out.”
“Okay. I’ll wait until you catch up,” I said. “See you later.”
I watched the cruiser bounce and swerve its way down the potholed sideroad and then went to ask George for the truck. Francy was waiting for me, and after visiting her, I planned to look in on Freddy at the dump. Not to do any detecting, mind you. Just to pass the time of day, that’s all.
Eighteen
I should have known
the shufflings of strangers
would unhinge me.
—Shepherd’s Pie
Blood sure stains, eh?” Francy said. She was on her knees scrubbing the kitchen floor. We had argued over who would actually do the dirty work. I thought it would be too much
