Marked Fur Murder (10 page)

I saw him trying. Just as I'd hoped, it was a baffling enough statement to send his brandy-soaked brain into a self-defeating whirl. He found his way back to his chair and sat down without prompting, muttering, “Hmmm. Yes, that could be … huh.”

I doubted he'd come to any coherent conclusions, but after all his talk about male disempowerment I very much doubted he'd admit that—not to me, anyway. At the moment I was the living embodiment of his resentment: a hypercompetent woman in charge of just about everything.

“Look,” I said. “Until we have a little more information, let's just keep this to ourselves, all right? And if anyone's going to tell Ben, it's going to be me.”

He studied me for a moment before replying. When he did, he sounded much more sober—and sadder. “I wanted to spare you that. He'll hate you for it.”

“No, he won't,” I said.

But I wasn't so sure.

*   *   *

When Hayden had promised me he wouldn't confess what he knew to Ben or ZZ, I went to have a little chat with my boss.

[Foxtrot?]

“Yes?”

[You're walking in a very peculiar way.]

[You forgot to mention the steely gaze.]

[A train?]

[Oh, you mean a
runaway
train. Yes, I see it now.]

“I am not a runaway,” I said grimly. “I am in perfect control. When I reach my destination, I will come to a complete and graceful stop. And
then
I will cause massive damage.”

[Ah. So more like a train loaded with high explosives, then.]

[Do you really think so?]

“I am not going to get drawn into a discussion of the poetic qualities of badgers, rabid or otherwise. I am going to talk to ZZ. About.
Things
.”

“What state would that be, Tango? You're good with words. Am I in a state of displeasure? Anger? Incandescent white-hot fury?”

[Offitive?]

I strode up the stairs. “I'm not going to get fired. I'm just going to ask her a few questions.”

[And once she answers them, you'll resign. Your sense of honor and fair play will demand it.]

“That's not going to happen.” I reached the top of the stairs and headed down the hall toward ZZ's office.

“A few,” I admitted.

[And how often was it over a matter of principle?]

I hesitated. “Maybe once or twice.”

“Okay, every time. But I always had a very good reason.”

[And perhaps you do this time, as well. But you
can't
quit, Foxtrot. Not this time. You have a greater responsibility to keep in mind: the safekeeping of the Great Crossroads.]

That stopped me. Which was a good thing, because I was honestly a little overwrought. Which in turn was weird, because overwrought is an emotion I don't generally do. I'm good at keeping my head in a crisis; even when I've had people loudly threatening to remove it with a rusty knife—true story—it's stayed firmly in place and kept functioning.

But this wasn't about me. It was about Ben.

He was my first serious relationship in a long time. And during that long time, I'd apparently been storing up all sorts of feelings just in case I needed them later, which is exactly the sort of delayed emotional response I'm also terrifically good at.

I leaned up against the wall of the corridor and got my breathing under control. “Ooookay,” I said quietly. “This is ridiculous. I'm acting like a high school bully just beat up my boyfriend.”

[Perhaps a better analogy would be a teacher who betrayed a fellow student's trust, but with the best intentions.]

I thought about that. “You're right. You're right. ZZ's a good person. All she did was give a complete stranger a good job and then consistently compliment him on how well he's doing. What could be wrong with that?”

“What could be wrong with that?” I repeated, yanking the door to ZZ's office open. “I don't know. Let's go ask her.”

ZZ looked up from her desk. “Ask me what, dear?”

[Foxtrot, I beg of you to reconsider—]

Relax, both of you. I'm all right.
“You know that thing you couldn't tell me? Somebody else did.”

She met my eyes calmly and didn't seem at all bothered by their steeliness. “Are you bluffing, Foxtrot?”

“What? No. I know about Ben, and the real reason you hired him.”

Her gaze dropped. “I'm sorry, but I had to check. You're an excellent bluffer.”

“Yeah, my poker face is legendary. But apparently, some people can pull that sort of thing off for
years
.”

She nodded but didn't wince. “I suppose I deserved that. Would you like an explanation, or would you prefer to keep using me for target practice?”

I shook my head. “No, that's all I got. But I'm not exactly happy.”

“I know. Please, come in and close the door. I'll explain as best I can.”

I walked into the room, Whiskey at my heels. Tango stayed out of sight, back in the hall.

I pulled up a chair and sat down. Whiskey sprawled casually at my feet, panting, but I knew he was alertly listening to every word. “All right, I'm listening.”

ZZ leaned back in her chair. “Growing up, you had a cat—Tango. You loved her so much you named the stray Ben adopted after her. Right?”

[If only she knew…]

“Right,” I said.

“Well, I didn't have any pets. My father didn't believe in them. No matter how much I begged and pleaded, he wouldn't let me have anything—no cat, no dog, not even a hamster. I guess maybe that's why I went a little overboard with the concept when I got older.”

“No, no, not at all. Lots of people have their own zoo.”

She chuckled. “At the time, I thought my father was being heartless. But that wasn't it; in fact, it was my heart he was worried about. The death of a pet is often the first real experience with loss a child has, and it's always traumatic. Having the graveyard right next door emphasized the harshness of that reality. My father wanted to protect me from that; a misguided notion, but ultimately a caring one. He did, however, allow me to have riding lessons. I don't think he really understand just how deeply a little girl can fall in love with a horse.”

I did, though. “What was her name?”

“His. His name was Zephyr. He was a four-year-old pinto Saddlebred, and for a while he was my best friend. I only rode twice a week, but I looked forward to those times like nothing else. I was eleven years old.

“But then we had the accident.

“I was out riding him one day, and I took him off-trail. Not very far, but far enough. I don't even remember why; there was something I wanted to look at, a flower or a tree or something. Anyway, the footing wasn't good, and he stumbled. He limped back to the stable, but I wasn't worried. It didn't seem that bad.”

“But you were wrong?”

“Yes and no. It was an incomplete fracture, which in a human being isn't serious at all. But a horse's physiology is very different from someone with two legs; they weigh a lot more and the limbs that support them are highly specialized, complex tools. When one of them breaks down, the consequences are far reaching.

“The fracture was in the lower leg, which made it worse. A horse has fewer blood vessels there, which means an injury will heal slower.”

“I'm not going to like where this is going, am I?”

“Bear with me, Foxtrot. You're right, the news wasn't good. The owner of the stable said Zephyr would have to go away for a while. Then my father, as much as he dreaded telling me, confirmed my worst fears. Zephyr would have to be euthanized.”

She paused, then smiled. “I wanted him buried here, of course. Father refused. He wanted the whole thing over with, didn't want a constant reminder of his daughter's hearbreak that close. I carried on for days, completely inconsolable. Eventually they took me to a therapist, who helped me get over it. It took almost a year.”

“I'm not seeing how this is relevant.”

“You will. You see, the man who owned the stable was a friend of my mother, not my father. He was rich, too. But unlike my father, he was a romantic—he believed in miracles, I suppose. And a year to the day after Zephyr's accident, he gave me one.”

“A new horse? Zephyr's offspring, maybe?”

ZZ's smile widened. “No, Foxtrot. Zephyr himself.”

“But I thought—”

“So did I. But when Mr. Montain told me Zephyr had to go away for a while, that's exactly what he meant. My father was sure the horse would be put down, and he didn't want to get my hopes up; better to have them euthanized, too, and get it over with.” Her smile faded. “It's just the sort of man he was. Not really surprising we didn't get along.”

“Montain? So the owner of the stable—”

“Was Ben's grandfather. A sweet man, who decided to spend an inordinate amount of money on healing a little girl's heart. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to get a horse's leg to heal properly? Even today, it rarely succeeds. There's some hope for prosthetics, but nobody's managed it yet. It's the weight of the animal itself they can't solve. You can't put that kind of pressure on the injury, and if you try to redistribute it to the other legs it causes a condition known as laminitis. Even slings under the body don't work properly—you get bedsores and problems with breathing. It takes a great deal of persistence, expertise, and luck to do what he did. That, and the willingness to spend lots of money. I don't know exactly how much Phillip Montain spent rehabilitating that horse, but it was several times what the animal was worth. In terms of money, anyway.”

I wasn't feeling quite as outraged anymore. “That must have been quite the reunion.”

ZZ's eyes gleamed with tears, but it was her smile that really shone. “Oh, Foxtrot. Even now, that memory can make my day. How many people get to have someone they loved given back after death has taken them away?”

[I know at least one. Though the story isn't nearly as touching when the one returning is a cat.]

Oh, crap
. My anger was getting harder and harder to hold on to. “I think I might know what that feels like.”

“Then you'll understand how much I owe Phillip Montain. He was the one who asked me to take Ben in, not Ben's father. And I couldn't say no.”

I sat there, not saying anything. ZZ waited.

[Foxtrot? What are you going to do?]

I don't know. Let me think.

I wanted to be angry. I wanted to be
righteously
angry, playing the role of avenging heroine in this little drama. But I couldn't, because there was no villain to point an accusing finger at. There was just a worried grandfather who wanted to fix things for someone he loved, and a grateful woman trying to repay a miracle. How could you be angry at any of that?

“Okay, I get it,” I said at last. “But it's still a lie. One that's going to hurt Ben a whole lot when he finds out.”

“Then maybe he shouldn't find out.” She looked at me steadily, not tiptoeing around the issue.

“So you want me lie to my boyfriend?”

ZZ sighed. “No. If he asks you, you should tell him the truth. But if he doesn't ask, then you shouldn't tell him.”

“How is that any different?”

Now her smile was sad. “It's all about who's willing to carry the pain, Foxtrot. Telling him will get rid of your guilt, but it'll hurt him. Keeping quiet means you hurt instead. And you'll hurt a whole lot more if he ever finds out you knew and didn't tell him.”

“But what about the
truth
? Don't you think he has a
right
to know?”

“Yes, he probably does. But protecting the people you love isn't always about doing the right thing. Sometimes it's about doing what you have to.”

“Yeah. I guess it is.”

ZZ opened her mouth, then closed it again. When she spoke, her voice was firm. “Whatever you decide is up to you. I'm not going to tell you what to do, and I'm not going to hold your decision against you—
whatever
it is. You understand?”

“I do.” I got to my feet. “I have to think about this. Whatever I decide, I'll let you know first. That's only fair.”

“Thank you, Foxtrot. You know that I trust your judgment, dear; sometimes even more than my own.”

That made me grin. “Yeah, but then you go ahead and do whatever you want anyway.”

“True. But at least you slow me down.”

I nodded good-bye silently, and left. There didn't seem to be anything else to say.

Not to her, anyway.

*   *   *