Marked Fur Murder (4 page)

“Let them try,” Ben said grimly. “They killed my sister. I'm going to make them
pay
.”

At that very instant there was a menacing rumble of thunder. It wasn't a coincidence, ironic or otherwise—and I didn't have to look any farther than Ben's eyes to find the lightning that went with it. “Hold on there, cloud cowboy. I know you're angry, but keep in mind
what
you are, too; lose your temper and somebody else might pay the price. Somebody like every person on the eastern seaboard.”

“All right, all right. Point taken.”

“No,
I'm
the one taking point. As in, I'll find out who did this, and why. Then, if you still want to introduce them to the business end of a tornado, I'll understand. But there's two very important things I want you to keep in mind: One, we don't know for sure this is related to you and Anna being Thunderbirds; and two…”

“What?”

“Two is that we've both learned there are some very scary things out there in the universe. And birds—even Thunderbirds—aren't always at the top of the food chain.”

That tamped down his anger a little. He knew exactly what I was talking about. “Yeah, okay. But there are two things
you
should keep in mind: First of all, it's really goddamn unlikely some big, scary supernatural being would bother throwing a hair dryer into a swimming pool to cover up a murder.”

He paused. I waited.

“What's the second thing?”

He scowled at me. “I don't have one. Really thought something would come to me by the time I was finished with thing one, but no go.”

I tried not to smile. He was angry and hurting and had every right to be, but he was also downright adorable. “Take it easy, sweetie. Whoever or whatever is to blame, I'll find out what's going on. I promise.”

“I know you will. Just be careful.”

“I will, don't worry. You should, too—and you can start by staying away from Fimsby. Whatever he knows, he's being cautious for a reason. It might seem like confronting him and demanding he talk is the way to go, but it's really not. What if
he's
the killer? Maybe this is just a way to draw you out, make you expose yourself.”

Ben considered this. He put the knife down on the counter, carefully. “Huh. But you said he knew about Anna and me—”

“I said he knew
something
about Anna and you. He didn't specify, and I got the feeling he was fishing for information. Don't get all worked up and jump right into his net, all right?”

He gave me a grudging nod. “Fine. I'll avoid him. What if he approaches me?”

“Play dumb. Plead the Fifth. You know nothing, see nothing, hear nothing, and besides, you were home watching TV. Got it?”

“Jawohl, mein fraulein.”

“Was that a
Hogan's Heroes
joke?”

“Don't judge me. I watch
Barney Miller
and
The Mary Tyler Moor
e
Show,
too.”

“Y'know, I think I'm going to pretend I'm dating a time traveler, as opposed to a senior citizen.”

“What can I say? I have a soft spot for the classics. When you said I was home watching TV, you were right.”

I sighed. “We really need to get out more, don't we?”

“Who has the time? If we didn't work together, we'd never see each other.”

I smiled. “Then it's a good thing we work together, isn't it?”

He smiled back, then pulled me in for a kiss. He was a great kisser.

But sadly, I had to focus on the aforementioned work. I regretfully ended our smooch and patted him on the chest. “I gotta go, Weatherman. Me and ZZ need to talk.”

“All right, all right. But can't you come up with a better nickname? Weatherman makes me sound like I wear plaid sports coats and make lame jokes.”

“Thunder Boy?”

“Better, but no.”

“Stormy Bear?”

“Worse.”

“Thor Lips, Mighty Wielder of the Mystic Tongue Hammer?”

He made a face. “Forget I brought it up. Go do your thing.”

“See you later, Thor Lips.”

Then it was time to pay my boss a visit.

Zelda Zoransky had led an interesting life. She was born into money, but came of age in the sixties; that, plus a rebellious, curious, and intelligent nature led to her embracing the counterculture and rejecting her family's more traditional values. She spent decades traveling the world and exploring whatever caught her fancy, and when her parents died—leaving her, the sole heir, all their money—she finally decided to settle down. She moved back into the Zoransky mansion, spruced the place up, and built a zoo on the grounds. She'd been filling it with animals who needed help for quite a while now, but a single cause wasn't enough for ZZ; her globe-trotting era might be behind her, but these days the Internet can bring the world to you. And if you've got a few hundred million in your back pocket, it can bring all sorts of other things—and people—to your doorstep, too.

Which is why she needed me. I was the one who handled the logistics side of things, the one who lined up the experts, bought the equipment, ordered the supplies. This meant not only that ZZ and I spent a lot of time together, but also that I had to know and understand how she thought. Some of her hobbies were ephemeral, some were not. My ZZ-ometer wasn't a precision instrument, but it could gauge the level of her interest: Momentary Whim was at the bottom, while Growing Obsession was at the top. Everything in between was a constantly shifting landscape of intrigue and consideration, and the key to navigating it lay in understanding the woman who was continually renovating the whole place. I thought I did.

But it wasn't like her to keep things from me.

Whiskey and I stopped in front of her bedroom door, my hand raised to knock. Raised, and apparently stuck in that position. Maybe the door was radiating some kind of invisible force-field. Sure, that was it.

[Do you want me to wait outside?]

“What? Why would I want that?”

[A confrontation with the leader of the pack is always difficult. I will understand if you need to do this alone.]

I smiled. Even though he sounds like a barrel-chested butler from a century ago, Whiskey is still a dog. “It's not that big a deal. I'm fine, really.”

[Then why aren't you knocking?]

“Um. No reason. Just refining my plan of action, that's all.”

[I see. One knock, or two? A light rap, or something firmer? Weighty decisions, indeed.]

“Sarcasm is not support.”

[Would it help if I accompanied you and growled menacingly in the background?]

“No.” I paused. “But you could do that stare you do—you know, when I'm eating something really greasy and forget to offer you some? Sort of accusatory and disappointed at the same time.”

[Done. Now either knock or run away—the anticipation is unbearable.]

I knocked.

“I'm busy, Foxtrot,” said ZZ from inside.

“How'd you know it was me?”

“You're the only one who bothers me when I tell everyone I want to be left alone.”

“Yes I am. Can we have this conversation face-to-face, please? Or is it easier to be rude to me when the door is closed?”

“Kind of.” She sounded a little guilty, so I just waited. After a moment, the door unlocked and swung open.

ZZ was in her sixties, with curly, orange hair—that she refused to call red—slowly going gray. She was currently wearing purple satin pajamas and oversized bright-green slippers made to resemble three-eyed aliens trying to eat her feet. She stared at me defiantly, then turned and stalked back inside. Whiskey and I followed.

ZZ threw herself back onto the enormous, circular bed like a recalcitrant toddler. I resisted the urge to cross my arms and threaten her with a time-out.

“Very well, Foxtrot,” ZZ sighed. “What current emergency is beyond your entirely remarkable abilities?”

“It's about Anna.”

Her face didn't so much fall as plummet. “Ah. Whatever Ben needs, Foxtrot. Time off, funeral expenses, anything. Please, just take care of it.”

“I am. But there's something I need your help with.”

“What?”

“Understanding why you lied to me about Efram Fimsby.”

Her eyes widened. ZZ was, by nature, honest; she was used to getting her own way by simply asking for things as opposed to being manipulative. Besides, lying took a lot of time and energy that she'd prefer to spend on other pastimes. “I'm not sure what you mean by that, Foxtrot.”

“Yes, you are. You invited him here because he asked you to, and it has something to do with a big secret Anna was keeping. I just talked to Fimsby and that's what he told me.”

She glanced away, then back at me. “Oh. Well, then. I'm sorry, but—they swore me to secrecy, Foxtrot. Anna was very insistent. I had no choice.”

I frowned. “You're not really helping with the whole understanding thing, ZZ. Why all the secrecy? What was Anna hiding? Why couldn't she tell her own brother, at least?”

“I—I can't say, Foxtrot. She told me it was important Fimsby attend the salon, and that it had to appear I invited him on my own. I wasn't supposed to let Ben or anyone else know Fimsby and Anna were acquainted.”

[That would seem to agree with what Mr. Fimsby said to you.]

Yes, but it doesn't tell me anything new
. “But
why,
ZZ? Why would you agree to do that?”

Now she just looked miserable. “I wish I could tell you, Foxtrot, I truly do. But I can't. Please, just accept that and trust me.”

Damn.
Whiskey was right, confrontations with your pack leader were hard. I couldn't exactly command my boss to 'fess up—though I could work the guilt angle mercilessly. “You know best, boss. It's not like I expect you to trust me or anything.”

I could practically see that one strike home. “I
can't,
Foxtrot. It would just burden you.”

“Hey,” I said gently. I sat down beside her on the bed. “It's okay to burden me. I have strong shoulders, remember? That's why you hired me.”

She gave me a troubled look, then nodded slowly. “I suppose that's true. All right, then.”

She took a deep breath and composed herself. “There wasn't just one secret, Foxtrot. There were two. And one of them has to do with
me
.”

 

C
HAPTER
T
HREE

I stared at ZZ. “You? In what way?”

“In a blackmail sort of way, Foxtrot.” She paused, and then said, “Well, perhaps
blackmail
is too strong a word. Maybe graymail. Let's just say that Anna knew something about me that I didn't want other people to know, and she threatened to spill the beans if I didn't invite Fimsby.”

Now
that
was unsettling. Normally ZZ didn't care what other people thought of her, or what she did or said. She was famous for it. More than one guest has picked their jaw up off the floor after ZZ delivered one of her colorful opinions over the salad course—and if there's anything she hates more than keeping her views to herself, it's being pressured to do something she doesn't want to. So what could possibly accomplish both at the same time?

“You're not going to tell me what it is, are you?” I asked.

“No, dear. But it may come out eventually anyway, and if that happens you'll understand why I kept it from you.”

[Foxtrot. You're getting distracted by a secondary scent. Focus on the main trail, please.]

“Okay, so you were a gun-running NyQuil addict that ran a Smurf cult in another life.
What was Anna's secret?
”

She stared at me. I stared at her. I'm pretty sure Whiskey was staring, too, but I was too busy to notice who at.

After a moment ZZ blinked and said, “I don't know.”

“What?”

“I don't. She said she was in trouble, and that Ben might be, too, but she couldn't give me any specifics. Naturally, that wasn't enough for me, so I refused. Which is when—”

“—she waved the graymail in your face, right.” I snorted. “Do you have any idea how
exasperating
this is?”

“I'm sorry, dear.”

“I deal in facts, ZZ. Schedules, bills of lading, contracts. I am severely allergic to the vague, and so far every wispy, insubstantial non-fact in this affair is making me feel like sneezing my head off.”

“I
am
sorry, dear.”

“A secret is one thing. A secret that's hiding another secret is something else. And when half the number of people who knew the original secret are now
dead,
that's something else
entirely.
”

“Well put, dear.” She waited, then added, “Are you all right now, or would you like me to apologize again?”

“I'm fine, just frustrated.”

[Ask her to apologize again. It couldn't hurt.]

“What did Fimsby say to you?” ZZ asked.

“That Anna contacted him while she was in Australia and asked him some very odd questions—and no, he wouldn't go into detail about that, either. He seems sure Anna's death wasn't an accident, and that Ben may be next. He was just as tight-lipped with me as Anna was with you, and wouldn't even approach Ben directly. He seems to feel we're being watched.”

“Does Ben know any of this?”

“As much as you do. I talked to him first.”

ZZ frowned. “And he had no idea what was going on, either?”

“No. Whatever Anna discovered, she didn't talk to him about it. The only one who seems to know what's actually going on is Fimsby, and he doesn't seem inclined to share.”

“Then we'll just have to convince him otherwise, won't we?”

That
was the ZZ I was used to. “We will. But I don't think we're gonna accomplish that in here, unless your plan is to invite him to a slumber party and weasel the information out of him while we braid his hair.”