Dead Dogs and Englishmen (27 page)

There was plenty of
day left. I drove to the one gas station on 131 that had a pay phone where I called Dolly and told her what I was going to do.

“I'm jumping in my car. I'll beat you out there …” she exploded, yelling, her little voice reaching registers only a dog should hear.

“Fine,” I said. “Just give me ten or fifteen minutes. I've got to get inside. I know a little about the place. And Cecil will talk to me, Dolly. If he thinks I'm alone …”

She made a disgusted noise, then thought a minute. “Okay, but I'm bringin' everybody. You wait until you see our cars before you go in. You hear?”

This was Dolly angry and ready to turn all guns loose on me.

“I'll park out by the road until I see you pulling into the trees. Give me ten, at most fifteen, minutes. You'll have your excuse to come in—that I said he was going to kill me. Got it? Jeffrey's somewhere in that house or in the barns. And that Diaz family—they're still missing. Don't forget them. I just wouldn't put anything past this guy, Dolly. We can't take the chance he might get away.”

“Honest to God, I wish you wouldn't do this, Emily. We'll figure it out. Probably get a warrant for his arrest no later than morning …”

“Too late. He's had Jeffrey three days. Who knows …?”

There was quiet from the other end of the line. When she spoke her voice was different, more concerned than businesslike. “I'm scared crapless for you right now. You're takin' on something … well … I could tell you were really bothered and I don't mean about all Hawke's stuff. Not even Agent Lo. It's personal. Isn't it? Something you got yourself into …”

“Yeah,” was all I was going to give her. “It's personal. So, just get out there. Call every big cop you know and get them to Cecil's. Swear to God, I'll wait 'til I see you guys coming down the road. Then I'm going in.”

I hung up. It was settled. There was nothing else to do. No gun—but that was probably a good thing since I had no idea how to use one. Only me. And Cecil. If he got out of hand I'd tell him the cops were on their way. That was all I had. It had to be enough.

I made one more phone call.

“I have to see you,” I said when Cecil answered, no phony maid as go-between.

“Of course you do, Emily.” He laughed a knowing and condescending laugh that came from deep inside his body. “I'll be here. But, Emily, I really think our relationship is at an end. Don't you? There'll be no more money. Please return my manuscript. All of it. I'll be leaving soon.”

I hung up. The sound of his voice had turned my skin cold. I was afraid. Dolly'd gotten all the bravery I had left in me. Alone, I was stuck with the other me—the shaking woman who had no choice.

Getting back in my car took a huge effort. Turning the key—deliberately going slow, taking a deep breath, listening as the engine came on—took all I had inside me. I put my right hand at the top of the wheel and drove—out of the gas station, across the highway, up Plum Valley Road, then other roads, turning and signaling and turning—all against my will. I felt like a little kid facing everything her mother and father and church and school told her to run from. And then something even colder ran through me. I was someone very old, facing something even older.

I turned down Cecil Hawke's gravel road and stopped before I got to his fence and gate house. I was scared, sitting there in my car waiting for something to happen. There was no sign of Dolly or any blue state police cars. But they were coming. I'd never been more certain of anything in my life. Dolly would never let me down.

I couldn't wait any longer or my nerve would be gone. I drove on through the gate, waving at the guard, then up the drive to the long, low house built into the hill. I parked under the portico, grabbed the manuscript I'd brought, and walked up those wide front steps. The door opened before I had the chance to knock.

Cecil Hawke waited in one of his gaudier smoking jackets, a fringed belt around his ample waist, his blond toupee neatly centered and brushed back around his ears. He held a tea cup in his hand.

“Ah, Emily. So good to see you, and so very, very soon. Come in. Come in.” He stood back. I brushed against him as I entered the long hall, getting a whiff of that awful cologne he wore. Or more than a whiff. It was thick enough to stick in my throat. I forced myself to breathe around it, then stood as far from him as I could get.

I tried to think of something to say. I was afraid my voice would give away my nerves. I looked around for Freddy, who I now thought of as my only ally here, but he was no where in sight.

“So,” Cecil closed the door, then leaned back on the heels of his shiny black shoes. “What can I do for you? I see you've brought my manuscript. Finished, I hope.” He nodded at the manila envelope.

“And that last check.” I handed both to him.

“But you've earned it. The money's yours.”

“I … I would have brought all the money, but I've spent it.”

He frowned. “You sound so angry.” He worked deep hurt into the words.

I shuffled through ideas for something that would derail him long enough for the others to arrive. What I wanted was to ask him about Toomey, and Jeffrey Lo.

“I should have been honest with you from the beginning,” I said. “The book is just … well … not good enough to find a publisher.”

He rocked back on his heels, set his tea cup down on a small table, and fixed me with an open-mouthed glare. “And that from a failed writer. Is there jealousy at play here?”

He threw back his head and sighed again. “Ah, Noel Coward knew this well. ‘
Criticism and Bolshevism have one thing in common,
' the great man said. ‘
They both seek to pull down that which they could never build.
'”

“You're an evil man, Cecil.” I said before thinking, then was pleased with myself. It was what I'd come to say. I'd come to let him know I wasn't a fool, that he hadn't put anything over on me. “I've shown the manuscript to Courtney James. She recognizes her own house, and that you were in Cannes when her mother
was put into that coma—probably by your friend, Nelson Toomey?”

His eyes went wide, chin dropped. His whole body shook with indignation. “You showed my work to that terrible girl?”

He sniffed and walked away from me, turning further down the hall, his face red, his hands knotted into fists at his side. “I'll sue you. That's the first thing I'll do.” He paced back and forth then turned to hurry over to where I stood. “Or, maybe, there are other ways …”

“Your friend is dead. Toomey. His body was found in a ditch. But you knew that.”

Cecil waved a hand, swatting the image from his mind. “Nothing to do with me. The man really was a pest. Troublemaker, you could say. Everything was going so well here and he had to hire those migrants. Too much work for the men he'd brought from Australia, he said. But for heaven's sakes—that was their job: the sheep, the barns.” He shrugged and sighed. He put his hands deep into his jacket pockets, brought his shoulders up, and grinned a childish grin at me. “That's what started it all. The trouble. Those heavy-handed threats of his—dead dogs, for God's sakes. All I did was point out that the migrants would tell others about our … well, about my little business venture. Profitable, let me assure you. Friends from everywhere fly in. Just a sport. A man's sport. Unfortunately he carried his threats too far. Then that woman came—the agent. I just wouldn't have it. When I leave here—and I'm forced to now—I didn't want him trailing after me this time. There's been too much mishandling of my … well, but it's none of your business, is it? Never has been.”

“And Jeffrey Lo? What did you do to him?”

He gave a disgusted grunt. “Do you really think I'm to blame for everything that goes wrong in this Godforsaken place? Well, hardly …”

I edged back toward the front door. I'd only been there five minutes. Maybe less. The cavalry was coming.

“Are you expecting someone?” He shook his head and frowned as I put my hand on the doorknob. “Not your friend, Dolly, I hope. I called her. I told her I had an appointment with you but had to cancel and that I would be in at noon to tell her anything she wants to know. I don't think …”

He smiled sadly and shook his head. “People only hear what they want to hear, Emily. I'm sure she's trying to contact you even as we speak. She won't be coming.”

“I wasn't expecting …” I began but choked on the words.

“Fine. Then let's part as friends, shall we?” He clapped his hands together. “Let me show you what I've been doing recently. It's very interesting. You'll be fascinated.”

“I think I'll leave now. You've got your manuscript. And your check. Everything else—well, maybe I jumped to conclusions. But that's all I wanted to say to you—about the book.”

“Bad judgment there, girl. You'll be sorry. You won't be thanked
in the acknowledgments, as you might have been. Still,” he reached forward and grabbed my arm, his fingers closing down hard just above my wrist. “There are things you really should see, so you don't think so badly of me …”

He pulled me across the hall. I pulled back, until he turned and reprimanded me. “Emily, don't be a child. I really would like to share the game with someone—before I leave this place.”

Nothing was sinking into my head.

“The game, Emily.” His voice shook. “It's about the game. You knew, didn't you? You were playing 777 too.”

“Look, Cecil. I don't know what your problems are, or how your mind works. But I'm getting out of here. And yes, Dolly is coming. I doubt your phone call would stop her. You've underestimated all of us, all along. And overestimated yourself. You're not an intelligent man. You're just a sad, evil human being.” The words were true and it felt good to say them to his face. All of it was so simple—just a human being who wasn't smart enough to put his past behind him. And I'd been so afraid …

“In that case, we'll have to hurry, won't we?” Cecil smiled, put his hand back into the pocket of his jacket, and brought out a small but lethal-looking gun he pointed straight at me as he went on smiling.

I caught my breath. I hadn't expected this. Somehow a gun didn't seem to be his style. It didn't make me any more afraid.

“Here is where our tour begins.” He pushed the gun into the small of my back. I felt it at kidney height, pressure and pain at once.

“You will so love this place I've created. Perfect.”

He pushed harder against me, forcing me to move, one foot after the other. We crossed the length of the hall, into the empty kitchen. Then we were out the back door, and down the lawn toward the barns. Walking wasn't hard, though I stumbled often. There hadn't been any rain lately so I wasn't mired in mud; but with someone pushing, and my own fear, it wasn't an easy trek.

Sheep grazed in the barnyard, behind the fence, and out in the pastures. No one was around. There didn't seem to be a single farmhand anywhere.

“Don't be afraid, Emily. Nothing's going to happen to you … here. I'm doing you a favor. Giving you an experience. As a writer, you know how important experience is, don't you?” He was too close. I could smell that awful cologne.

I wondered if I could elbow him in the gut, then kick him, all in one turn. I pictured a high, karate kick to his chin. But I'd never studied karate. And if I missed, he'd just shoot me. It was funny how the gun was what kept me in place but wasn't what really scared me. It was the man behind me, able to touch my skin, having power over me. That was the worst of it. My brain kept clicking. I figured he'd lock me up somewhere. But that was okay since Dolly and every cop in the area would be there soon. I'd be all right. Just had to keep my head and lead him on.

Around me the rolling, green hills had become a backdrop to evil. The white dots of rounded sheep's bodies, way off in other pastures, weren't real. More like dots on a canvas.

We walked by the big barns and the fenced-in sheep. They gave low baas as we passed. I searched for a worker, someone among the sheep. We were out in the open. There had to be a shepherd somewhere.

Behind me, Cecil said, “There's no one, Emily. I've fired the help. A farmer down near Grand Rapids is coming this afternoon to make arrangements for the sheep. The rest … well … I'll leave it all behind. Maybe a fire. Hmm. What a fine idea. I'll leave Courtney a pile of ashes. I'm bored here anyway. As Coward said, ‘
I will accept anything, provided it amuses or moves me. But if it does neither, I want to go home.'
So, time to move on. The world is truly my oyster, Emily. A slimy thing that sticks in my throat.”

He laughed heartily as he forced me toward a building I'd only glimpsed before. Bunker-like, the structure sat low to the ground. There were no windows in the gray walls. It had only a single, low wooden door built into the front wall.