Invisible (32 page)

I held up the lost-dog sign, my justification for being here. “Have you seen this dog?”

“Lady, if that mutt ever came in here, ol’ Duke would eat ’im alive.”

Ol’ Duke, apparently answering to his name, came out from behind the metal desk he was chained to. Muscular, short-haired, brindle-colored, snub-nosed, his leather collar punctuated with spiky metal studs—obviously the dog Tiffany had described as ugly as a stomped-on Halloween mask. And I couldn’t help noticing a distinct resemblance between dog and man. Don’t they say people and their pets grow to look alike? Or is that husbands and wives? In any case, jowls of both dog and man drooped, and they both looked as if they might like to gnaw on raw bones. But it wasn’t jowls or resemblance that riveted my attention. It was the voice.

The voice.

The squeaky, high-pitched voice from the cemetery. I’d swear it.

And yet . . . how could that be? No, no way was that possible. I didn’t have Tiffany’s sensitive ear for voices, and this was just some peculiar similarity or coincidence or error on my part.

“You sell used auto parts here?” Dumb question, but I was stalling for time, taking in everything I could. Metal file cabinet, just like Ray’s letter had said. Key to the wall safe in one of the drawers? Wall safe . . . where? Behind that calendar? Oh, dear. I squelched an urge to rush over and hang my lost dog poster to cover the calendar picture of an extremely under-clothed young woman.

“Yeah. We sell used parts. You need somethin’?” He made it sound as if I’d be imposing on him if I did. “We’re gonna close in about five minutes.”

I took in as much as I could in the next thirty seconds. Scents of cigarette smoke and some sharp but not quite identifiable blend of grease and oil and other vehicle-type fluids. Big fire extinguisher on the wall. Closed door from office out to shop. Restroom door open, exposing the corner of a dirty sink and cigarette butts on the floor. The air conditioner wasn’t working, and a small window in the bathroom was open. Computer on the desk. Mr. Squeaky-Voice didn’t look as if he could tell a computer from a hat rack, but apparently he could.

But what I took in mostly was vibes. Unpleasant vibes. Ominous vibes. Also a smell of garlic from Squeaky-Voice himself.

“Well . . . uh . . . I guess I don’t need anything today, thank you.” I ventured one more question. “Do you sell used vehicles?”

“Nah. If we get something repairable in, we sell it through a car lot over on Sylvester.” He picked up an unopened envelope and slashed it with a plastic letter opener.

“Well, uh, thank you, Mr. . . . ?”

“Benny. Have a nice day.” He frowned as he yanked something out of the envelope, leaving me to ponder a phrase that had become so overused and meaningless it even came out of the mouth of a grumpy Benny in a junkyard.

I went back outside. Okay, I’d come. I’d seen. Curiosity satisfied, right? Though it was odd about the voice . . .

No, I wouldn’t concern myself with that irrelevant detail. Time to get on home and microwave something for supper. Maybe tackle quilting again.

Then, halfway to the gate, I spotted a car. Part of a car, actually, standing some hundred feet back in the metal jungle beyond the shop. The rear half seemed to have vanished, but the remaining front end was small and red. Exactly like Kendra/Debbie’s car.

Forget it. You’ve already been wrong about one red car. A red car is a red car is a red car.
But the front end appeared intact, and if it held the key Kendra said she’d hidden . . .

I looked around. The industrial noises of the area roared on, but clangs and welding flashes in the shop had ceased. The only sign of life I saw was a big bird perched on the board fence. No one was paying any attention to me.

I bent low and zigzagged around vehicles in various stages of dismemberment. I’d gotten only halfway when voices made me duck behind the remnants of a station wagon so old it still had wood panels on the sides. I turned and watched three men come out of the shop. They were in workmen’s clothing, all carrying lunchboxes. Two walked to parked vehicles. The third opened the big truck gate. One pickup and the car drove through the opening. The gate swung shut, the gate operator apparently a passenger in one of the vehicles.

No one had noticed me. Invisibility in full operation.

That was when the new idea surfaced. I didn’t leap on it like Wonder Woman swooping down on a bad guy. I mean, this struck even me as questionable. Dix would not approve. Detective Harmon would not approve. I didn’t know him well, but I was reasonably certain Jordan Kaine would not approve. Even Mac, who’d shown tolerance for both my cemetery sitting and my foray into murder investigation in Clancy, probably wouldn’t approve.

How about you, Lord?

I listened, but sometimes the Lord is silent. Or maybe he just gives us a chance to use our own good sense.

Benny came out of the office and tossed something in the bed of the pickup still parked by the office. I scrunched lower into my hiding place. Benny returned to the office. The next time he came out he’d probably get in his pickup and leave, locking the gates behind him.

Decision time.

Make a run for the gate before Benny locked it or hunker down in this scrapyard for the night? Once he left, I’d be in here alone. With all night to locate the key to that wall safe and get inside.

Was that doable?

It wouldn’t be a comfortable night. I still felt those bad vibes. It would also be a hungry night, because I’d eaten only a carton of yogurt at lunch, and I couldn’t exactly call out for pizza from here. This cemetery of vehicle skeletons and dismantled parts also struck me as considerably more scary than the cemetery of tombstones had ever been. And that motionless bird on the fence was beginning to look a lot like a hungry vulture.

But wasn’t the chance to get something on Thrif-Tee, which would provide a motive for Kendra/Debbie’s murder, worth a night’s discomfort?

Yes.

I’d lost track of the red car, but I crept farther back into the metal cemetery of old vehicles until I found a gray sedan with an intact backseat. The car, without wheels, sat low to the ground. It had long ago lost the glass in its windows, but that wouldn’t matter on this warm night. The door worked. I crawled inside.

The scent immediately hit me. My first thought, given a general jitteriness, was,
Is this how dead bodies smell?
But after a moment’s consideration I decided it was merely the smell of musty mice nests. Not an appealing situation, but I’d never been one to squeal at the sight of a mouse. There was even some reading material spread on the rotting floorboards. A magazine cover showed a bodybuilder with enough muscles to hoist this old car with his little finger. Maybe I could learn how to improve my pecs.

I worried about the Thunderbird for a few minutes. It had looked a bit noticeable when I left it in the parking lot of the tavern, but I hadn’t seen any of those ominous signs about towing noncustomer cars, so hopefully it would be safe until morning.

I checked my purse and was pleased to find some mints dispensed by the drive-through window at the bank and four packets of crackers left over from chili I’d had somewhere. Again I blessed my habit of stuffing everything in my purse and seldom taking anything out. I was also relieved to see my keychain flashlight was still in there. I’d need that once I got into the office. But how was I going to get in the office? Maybe through that bathroom window, if I could find something to climb up on to reach it. Or maybe I’d have to break the front window.

Okay, I was in good shape for a night of investigation. All I had to do now was wait. Thunderclouds that looked heavy with rain were gathering off to the southwest, and I doubted my shelter would keep out much rain, but maybe I wouldn’t have to stay all night. Once I had incriminating information to give to Dix or Detective Harmon so they could come back with a search warrant, maybe I could climb on those blue barrels, crawl over the fence, and drop safely to the other side.

I scrunched low in the mouse-scented seat and started reading about a man who’d added fourteen inches to his chest.

Industrial activity boomed on, and the area was only fractionally quieter than it had been during the day. I ate a packet of crackers and a mint and wished I had some water.

By 7:45, the fact that Benny was still in the office was beginning to make me edgy. A distant rumble of thunder joined the noise of a passing freight. Was it possible Benny lived here, that he stayed on the premises all night? Or could this be one of the nights Ray had mentioned, when the “boss” came to do an after-hours checkup on receipts or records?

Even with the clouds moving in, it didn’t get really dark until quite late on these long summer evenings, but by the time big overhead yard lights came on Benny still hadn’t left. I’d almost resigned myself to the fact that he wasn’t leaving and this was one dumb idea. Then two sharp blasts sounded over the general rumble of traffic and industrial noise. A horn outside the gate.

With surprising alacrity, Benny ran out and opened the gate. A pickup towing an enclosed, windowless trailer pulled in. Benny closed the gate, then opened the big sliding door to the shop. The pickup driver backed the trailer inside. Then I couldn’t see what was happening, but a few minutes later pickup and trailer came out. Benny again opened the gate in the board fence, and the pickup and trailer disappeared into the night.

If I’d blinked twice I’d have missed the whole thing, leaving me wondering what had just happened here. Had the quick, and what certainly seemed to me to be clandestine, night visit been to bring something in or haul something away? A legitimate bit of after-hours business or something on the nefarious side?

Was this what Benny had been waiting for? Would he leave now? Only my eyes rose above the level of the sedan’s window frame to watch as he got in his pickup and drove out through the gate. He closed the gate from the outside, his arm reaching through to fasten the chain and padlock. Yes! He was gone!

No. Not yet. He came back in through the people gate and went to the office again. The lights went off, and this time he came out with a handhold on Duke’s collar, the metal studs gleaming under the yard lights. The dog lunged against the restraint, big body twisting with eagerness.

I felt a jolt of nerves. Eagerness to do what?

Two seconds and I found out. Benny turned the dog loose, and ol’ Duke immediately dashed back and forth along the board fence, nose to the ground. Now the stomach-knotting fact got through to me: Duke wasn’t just an ugly pet keeping Benny company. He was the junkyard’s night guard.

Cancel one expedition into Thrif-Tee’s wall safe. With the Hound of the Baskervilles out there, I wouldn’t dare stick so much as a finger out of my hiding place. I scrunched lower on the seat.

The dog started barking. Deep, I’m-gonna-eat-you-alive barks. The barks got closer and louder. I didn’t have to peek out the window to know Duke’s nose to the ground was now following my zigzag trail. A minute later he was at the car door, heavy claws scratching, snarls mixing with the ground-shaking barks.

The Hound of the Baskervilles had found his prey.

Me.

30

Now I wished this old wreck had glass in the windows. Slobber flew over the frame. One paw caught on the edge, and the head, like a canine gargoyle out of a nightmare, loomed in the glassless window.

“Go away! I’m not hurting your precious wreck.” I whacked at the dog with the magazine. He caught it in his overtoothed jaws and yanked it away.

How to distract him? Food? I hadn’t any raw hamburger on me. I dug frantically in my purse. I tried to tear the cellophane wrapper off the crackers, but with Duke’s big jaws lunging at me I just tossed whole packets at him. He downed it cellophane and all, one gulp for each packet.

What else? Mints. I tossed them too.

Then I realized something as I pawed through the purse. The tough private eyes and sleuths I read about, even the female ones, always came prepared for perilous situations such as this. They packed pepper spray or a hidden derringer. Or even more formidable weaponry. A Glock. Or a Sig, maybe. What was I packing? A purse full of checkbook and keys, paper clips and coupons.

I tossed out a lipstick and a bottle of Tums. Then the bolt I’d picked up along the road. Maybe Duke would find them edible. Or break a tooth.

Oh, Lord, did you tell me not to do this . . . and I closed my ears? Help me, please . . . what do I do now?

The dog’s head came through the window again. My offerings of food had not warmed his attitude. I wasn’t sure if the rumble I heard came from him or the thunderclouds overhead. I whacked him with the purse. It felt like hitting a wall with teeth. The purse went the same route as the magazine. But just when I thought Duke was coming through the window and I was going to be dog chow, a hand grabbed his collar and yanked him back. Now something else appeared in the window, something darkly metallic gleaming under the yard lights.

The double barrels of a shotgun. Was this an improvement over Duke’s teeth? Not necessarily.

“Okay, c’mon outta there,” Benny growled.

“I’m coming,” I said, and I was the one whose voice was high-pitched and squeaky now.

“What?” he said, and I realized then that he couldn’t see me in the shadowy interior of the car and hadn’t known that I wasn’t some six-foot male packing a baseball bat.

“Is the dog still loose?” I asked.

“You just come out. I’ll worry about the dog.”