Don't Sweat the Small Stuff (14 page)

“They did an admirable job,” I said.

Em smirked. “Of course they did.”

I countered. “Could they be the bad guys? The ones who messed with the rides? It would make more sense that Bo and Charlie were the ones who tampered with the rides than to blame Winston. I mean—”

“No reason, Skip.” James kept walking, his head bent low.

“We haven’t figured out a reason yet, but there may very well be a good reason. They know the mechanics of the rides. As dumb as they appear, I have a feeling they know a lot more than they let on.”

“Those two?”

“Yeah. Those two.” I kicked a loose stone, sending it two feet in front of me. Like a soccer ball, I kicked it again. “I think they might have an axe to grind with the Moe Show.”

“Winston Pugh is trying to protect his job, his business,”
James said. “He’s the obvious villain in this scenario. You can make up all the scenarios you want to, Skip, but Pugh is the culprit.”

We ended at the petting zoo railing. Linda was gently prodding the goat to move away from a small boy. Maybe he’d just butted the kid, or maybe she was afraid that he was about to butt the kid.

“Linda.” I called out and she raised her head.

“I want you to meet some friends of mine.”

That frown again. “I’m a little busy right now.”

I heard a low growl and saw the sheepdog staring in my direction. I wasn’t sure that he couldn’t leap the fence so I backed off just a bit.

“Is Winston around?”

Linda put her foot on the goat’s flank and pushed. The animal stumbled, then slowly walked away from the small child. Linda walked over to the fence and leaned across the upper rail, staring at the three of us.

“So what do you want?”

“This is my good friend, James. He’s the new marketing director for the Show, and this is—”

“That’s not what I heard.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I heard he’s a P.I., trying to find out if someone is sabotaging the rides.”

“Well, that rumor has been traveling around like a—”

“It’s what I heard.” I could smell tequila on her breath. She could probably smell dishwater coffee on mine.

“I’m the marketing director and I just wanted to meet you and Winston.” James stepped forward and offered his hand over the railing. She just stared at it as the dog walked up by her side. There was that low, throaty growl again accompanied by a snarl as he looked at James.

“Oh, what a good-looking dog.” Em was all bright eyed and bushy tailed.

Linda gave her a cautious glance.

“What’s his name?”

“Garcia.”

I kept thinking it should be Monster.

“Garcia, come here.” Em knelt and put her hand inside the fence. The evil dog stopped his growl and walked to Em’s hand.

“Em, you could lose that hand. I’m serious, that dog—”

He extended his long pink tongue and licked her palm. Then with a gentle yip, he licked her arm and started panting.

Em glanced up at me and smiled. “I have that effect on a lot of males.”

I bit my lip. She was being truthful.

“Winston is inside sleeping. You know he was up rather late last night with the police and everything.” A snide, almost sinister look on her face.

“You know I was with him when he found the body?”

“Oh, I know.”

The trailer door squeaked open and Winston Pugh Charlemagne stepped out onto the small step. He wore his trademark blue overalls without any shirt underneath. His exposed chest spouted tufts of white hair and he scratched his almost bald head. I noticed he was barefoot as well and I wondered if he dared walk into the compound. Several fresh piles of manure were scattered around the fenced-in area and the five or six families inside were taking great care to avoid them.

“Hey, young man.” He pointed in my direction as Linda turned to him.

I didn’t think she appeared too happy.

The little man smiled at her, waved at a mother and father with their infant son, and stretched, raising his stubby arms in the air. He had a huge brush of hair under each armpit.

“Winston. I wanted to introduce you to two friends.” I shouted to him as he walked down the steps and over to the fence, skillfully maneuvering his way through the minefield of animal waste.

“Linda, why don’t you clean up the shit, hon?” He reached up and laid a hand on her arm.

Linda’s head flew back and she glared down at him. “Clean up the shit yourself,
hon
. Seems like it’s time you took a turn out here. I can guarantee you that you don’t have a clue how much I do for you. Not a clue.” Linda stormed off, up the steps and into the trailer.

“She’s got a snootful of Jose Cuervo, that one does.”

“This is the new marketing director for the show. James, this is Winston. And this is—” I never knew how to introduce her, “this is my good friend—”

She frowned.

“My favorite—”

She squinted her eyes.

“This is my girlfriend, most of the time. This is Emily. Emily, Winston.”

“A looker,” he said.

“Thank you.” I swear she blushed. “We were hoping to come in and talk. Skip told us you’ve got some really good tequila, and I’d especially like to talk to you about the sheepdog, Garcia.”

“Oh?” He smiled. Just a little. Talk to a man about his girlfriend and it’s trouble for everyone. Talk to a man about his dog and there are smiles all around. “Let me have a quick word with Linda. Need to get her back out here with the customers. Then we’ll go inside and have a conversation.” His gaze lingered on Em, and I saw his eyes travel up and down and back up her body. I didn’t blame him. He turned and trudged back up to the tiny trailer.

A father put his quarter in the pellet machine and pressed a handful of the tiny food nuggets into his eight-year-old daughter’s
hand. She tried to feed the black pig, but porky wasn’t buying it. Apparently the man-made nutrition didn’t have much appeal.

“When we get inside, I’m going to ask him some questions about the dog. I’ll write down the answers, and when I’m finished, I accidentally leave the pen. Tomorrow I’ll realize that I left it at their trailer and I simply go back and retrieve it.”

I shook my head. “Why do you two think that Pugh and Linda are going to sit around and spill all their secrets about the rides and the shooting last night?”

“Because,” Em smiled, “you told us that they drink.”

“To excess,” James said.

“Well, I can’t be certain that it happens every night, and so what if they do?”

“Skip, when you’ve had too much to drink—”

“Like that ever happens.”

“—I can get you to tell me anything.” Em had a smug grin on her face as she glanced up at the trailer. Linda was just walking out, giving us a cold shoulder.

It was true. But I’d tell Em anything all the time, drunk or sober.

“So there’s a good chance they’ll talk over cocktails,” James said.

“Cocktails?”

“Shots. Whatever.”

The angry woman stomped to the railing and lifted a shovel, stepping back to the piles of manure.

Winston walked out on the tiny porch and waved us in. We made sure we were a safe distance from the woman with the spade.

“Pretty nasty stuff last night, wouldn’t you say so, son?”

I agreed. The same words I’d used. We were all seated at the
table, a paper cup of tequila in front of each of us as Pugh swung his short legs back and forth, never touching the ground. He had a half grin on his face, and I figured he had a snootful of the amber-colored liquid as well.

“Cops talk much to you, boy?”

“Just some general questions.”

“What did they say? They wonder about me, finding the body and all?”

“If they did, they didn’t tell me.”

Pugh shot Em a hard look. “Lady, I don’t know exactly what your involvement with these boys is, but I’m just gonna say what I think.”

“And what do you think?” Em raised her eyebrows.

The short man cleared his throat. “What I think is that these two boys are investigating the rides here.”

“Oh?”

“I pretty much figure it’s the reason they didn’t get many questions last night. They’re in cahoots with the police. You see, they got a couple of questions and that was it. Now me, I spent an hour with those policemen. I thought I was goin’ to jail.”

“What are you trying to say?” I asked.

“You boys, you are part of the investigating team. They left you alone, didn’t they?”

I had to admit that I didn’t spend an hour with any detective. Still—

“They are,” he pointed his finger at Em, “private investigators. Hired by Moe to pin blame on somebody.”

“What if they were?”

“What if they are? What if they are? Well—”

He paused and pounded down a shot, pouring another immediately.

“Well, it would mean that somebody didn’t want Kevin Cross to tell his story to the private investigators here. Somebody
knew that I was bringing this young man to Kevin’s camper. That’s why the man was shot. It could mean—” he had nothing left to contribute.

It was pointless to argue with Pugh, especially since he was correct. We were private investigators. We had a license. Almost anyone, with a minimum amount of investigation could prove that we were in fact private investigators. Private investigators sounded very strange to me.

A synthesized version of “La Cucaracha” blared from somewhere on the kitchen counter.

“Is that your—”

The tinny song repeated itself.

I glanced up and saw the phone, complete with the Bluetooth earpiece, lying by the sink.

“It’s the phone.”

The irritating melody played again and I was ready to answer it myself just to stop the music.

“Are you going to answer it?”

Pugh glanced at the door. “No. No. Linda does that. I don’t—” he didn’t finish the sentence.

Mercifully the tune did not play again.

“Mr. Pugh, I came because I’m considering buying a dog.” She gave him a sexy smile and his eyes lit up.

“What kind of dog?”

“Possibly an Old English sheepdog, like yours.”

He forgot about the P.I. question immediately. “Any special qualities you want in your dog?”

“I don’t want a dog that sheds too much.”

He slapped his hand down on the table. “Well then, this here is your perfect dog. They have hair like humans, not fur. They don’t shed more than you do.” He paused and scratched his chest. “Not that I am saying you shed, miss.”

“Oh, great. Very little shedding.” Em reached in her clutch
purse and pulled out the pen. The gray pen that offered three hours of video and three hours of audio. She jotted something down on a sheet of white paper.

“And make sure you get a puppy who’s been vaccinated and wormed.”

Em scribbled another note.

“Oh, and I don’t know what you do for a living, missy, but these dogs eat you out of house and home. You’d better plan on a pretty big budget for food. Course, we buy all of our food wholesale. I could probably get you a pretty good deal.” He strained his neck to see what she was scribbling.

Em kept writing.

James had downed his shot and cautiously poured himself another. Pugh was busy talking to Em and never seemed to notice, or care.

“Come here, missy.” Pugh stood up and walked to the door, pulling it open and yelling, “Garcia. Garcia!”

The shaggy dog loped over to the trailer.

“Well, come in here you big ol’ sweetie.” Pugh, barely taller than the dog, kneeled and placed both hands behind the ears of the creature. He scratched the hairy dog until the animal was whining. It beat the heck out of a low growl.

“You see? You can’t find a friendlier dog.” Pugh motioned to Em to scratch the dog behind his ears as well.

“Hey, Garcia.” She knelt as well, the big hairy dog pushing his fuzzy head into her stomach.

She wasn’t a dog person. I don’t care that the dog fell under her spell, I knew she wasn’t a big dog lover. Didn’t hate them, but would probably never own one. This was all for show.

“Hey there, Garcia. How are you, huh? You big old guy.” The dog scrunched his face and buried his head in her lap.

I noticed the pen was still in her hand as she reached to scratch the furry mutt.

Taking a step back, Garcia looked her in the eyes, his tongue hanging from his mouth. Em’s spell seemed to overwhelm him. Then, in a split second I saw the eyes spark, the tongue gone from his face and his jaws open wide. He snapped down on the pen in Em’s hand and with a jerk, he yanked it from her grasp.

“No.” Em shrieked.

The dog leaped from the step, kicking up a cloud of dust as he hit the ground. His legs pumping as he ran for the railing, he stopped on a dime as he plastered himself flat on the ground. Then one, two, three, four maneuvers, scooting as he went and he squeezed under the lower railing, surfacing on the other side. A prison break had never been done so convincingly.

“I never.” Pugh stood there with a stunned look on his face. We all stood there with stunned looks on our faces.

Garcia turned and gave us a head over shoulder gaze, as if to say “try and get me now, suckers.”

“Well, I guess that plan is pretty much out the window.” James stared accusingly at Em.

“James—” I was ready to deck the son of a bitch.

“What? This was the big idea?”

Pugh was out on the step yelling for the dog to come home. “Garcia. Garcia. You get back here.” And the three families in the ring were glancing back and forth to the dog as he disappeared from sight and to the trailer where the short guy was begging his dog to return to the compound.

“Garcia. Come back, boy. You get back here, do you hear me?”

Linda ran to the fence, screaming at the top of her lungs. “Garcia. You damned dog, you turn around right now.”

“If you think I’m paying for half that pen, you have another think coming, amigo.” James crossed his arms and watched the carnival turned circus outside Winston Pugh’s door.

“I’ve changed my mind.” Em sat on the sofa/bed with a cold Yeungling in her hand. Cool and calm.

“Regarding what?” James spoke from a dining room table chair. He was leafing through the instruction manual for the Cell Sleuth.