The Hound of the Sanibel Sunset Detective (20 page)

“What’s more, they showed no interest,” Tree added. “In fact when Clinton saw Sonny, he growled.”

“Unusual for Clinton,” Freddie said.

At the mention of his name, Clinton raised his head and quizzically regarded his two companions.

“Sonny said he doesn’t like dogs.”

“But Sonny does think that Melora Spark is Vic’s girlfriend, and she killed his brother.”

“Melora, supposedly a member of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, now has been recast as Vic’s killer,” Tree said.

“The Case of the Murderous Mistress,” Freddie said.

“According to Sonny.”

“But how does he know?”

“He just knows, that’s all there is to it. No arguing the point. What’s more, he has hired me to prove it.”

“Tree, you can’t do this.”

“Right now, I’m not sure I’ve got a whole lot of choice.”

“Yes, you do. Go to the police.”

“First of all, I need to know why everyone is after this guy.” He pointed to Clinton. “Until someone tells me that, I’m not willing to give him up.”

“I’m beginning to wonder if you’re willing to give him up, period.”

“Maybe we won’t have to.”

“Tree.”

“I’m just saying.”

“He’s not our dog.”

Tree didn’t say anything. He busied himself petting Clinton. The dog stretched in luxurious contentment. How was he ever going to give this guy up? Tree wondered.

He would worry about that later.

_________

Tree prepared a salad while Freddie seared a couple of tuna steaks in the
Former Actor Too
’s galley. They ate out on the deck, alternately watching the sun set and Clinton enthusiastically chowing down the kibble Freddie had brought to the boat.

When they finished, they took Clinton for a long walk around Gulf Harbor. As usual, he attracted a lot of attention, everyone stopping to pet him, everyone wanting to know his name and asking what kind of dog he was. Clinton took it all in stride; stardom didn’t bother him in the least.

Returning to the boat, Freddie treated herself to a second glass of chardonnay while Tree cleaned up the dishes as best he could, given the limitations of the narrow kitchen featuring a tap that made a thumping sound but refused to yield anything more than a feeble stream of lukewarm water.

They settled once again into
Former Actor Too
’s comfortable bed with Clinton stretched out between them. Shards of moonlight filtered through the cabin. The waters of the Caloosahatchee River were gentle against the bow of the boat, relaxing Tree as he drifted off, believing against his natural instincts that all was not so bad with the world.

Except for that noise.

Clinton lifted his head, his ears perking up.

Something moving. On the deck above them. Clinton growled and jumped off the bed. Tree threw back the covers. Freddie sat up sleepily. “What is it?”

“I’m just going to see,” Tree whispered, slipping out of bed. “Stay where you are.”

“Tree, don’t do anything crazy.”

Tree stood very still, listening.

The sound of feet softly on the rear deck was quickly followed by a clatter as whoever was up there crashed into a deck chair.

That started Clinton barking.

Tree grabbed the dog by the collar, holding him. With his free hand he threw open the cabin door and called out, “Whoever’s up there—I’ve got a gun!”

A voice called back: “No way. You don’t have a gun.”

Tree let go of Clinton who went barking and scrambling up the stairs. By the time Tree reached the deck, Clinton was wagging his tail, presenting himself to Rex Baxter’s hand.

Rex turned toward Tree and grinned crookedly. “See? I knew you didn’t have a gun. Anywhere else in South Florida, there would have been a gun. But my old friend, W. Tremain Callister, he would not have a gun.”

Rex stumbled a bit before he slumped down on one of the deck seats. He gave Tree another crazy grin. “I thought maybe you’d like to have a drink with your pal. Like the old days. You and me, we had lots of drinks back then. Too many. We became friends over drinks. Do you remember?”

“I was going to say something about hoping you didn’t drive here,” Tree said. “But I guess I would be wasting my breath.”

“How about that drink?” Rex said.

Tree called down to Freddie. “It’s okay, honey. It’s Rex.”

“Rex?” Her voice came up from below. “What’s Rex doing here at this time of night?”

“Tell her I’m looking for a drink.”

“You’ve come to the wrong place,” Tree said to him.

Rex shook his head lazily. “No, I’m at the absolute
right
place. I left a bottle of vodka under the sink.”

“I don’t think you need any more to drink,” Tree said.

“That’s where you are wrong. I need a whole lot more. That’s why I’m here. To drink a whole lot more.”

Freddie emerged from the cabin dressed in shorts and a T-shirt. “Rex, are you crazy?” she said.

“Just a little drunk,” Rex said. “Sorry about this, Freddie. I needed to talk to old friends. Someone who has known me since the earth cooled. Your husband happens to fit the profile.”

“Are you all right?”

“I’m in dramatic mode tonight. Kelly and I had a fight.”

“What did you fight about?” Freddie asked.

“Your husband.”

Freddie looked at him. “Why would you fight over Tree?”

“Because maybe, just maybe, I’m jealous of him.”

Freddie ruffled Rex’s hair. “No need to be jealous. He belongs to me.”

“Now and forever,” Tree said.

She bent forward to kiss Rex on the cheek. “Love you though I do, my dear, I’ve got to get up first thing in the morning. I’m leaving you in good sober hands—and paws.”

“I’m not so sure Clinton’s sober,” Rex said.

“Good night, you two,” Freddie said. She gave Tree a quick kiss and said, “Don’t do or say anything to make Rex jealous. Understand?”

“Roger that,” Tree said.

Freddie disappeared into the cabin.

“You should stay here the night,” Tree said.

“I’ve got to get home,” Rex said. “Home to the lovely, elusive Kelly.”

“Come on, be honest. You didn’t really get into a fight over me.”

“You kissed her, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t kiss her,” Tree said.

“She kissed you.”

“It was a kiss, but it wasn’t a kiss,” Tree said.

“It looked like a kiss to me,” Rex said.

“It wasn’t anything,” Tree insisted.

“Tell me this,” Rex said. “Did you love her?”

“Love who?”

“You know who I’m talking about. Did you love Kelly?”

“That’s probably not a question you should ask a guy who’s been married four times.”

“But I’m asking you, Tree.”

He thought about it and then said, “I don’t think it was a question of whether I loved her. I think the problem was she stopped loving me.”

“She says she doesn’t think you ever loved her.”

“What can I say, Rex. That would not be my read of the situation. Not that it makes any difference at this point.”

They fell silent. Various night sounds floated across the stern of the
Former Actor Too
. In the distance, Tree heard the thin sound of a passing car on McGregor Boulevard. Rex rubbed his hand across his face, a gesture he had not seen his old friend perform since their Chicago days when there was ratings pressure at WBBM-TV. Or a former wife was complaining about a late alimony payment. Or one of his kids was in trouble.

“You see, the thing of it is, I am crazy about this woman—this woman who is your ex-wife. This woman I introduced you to, for God’s sake.”

“Only Kelly could get you drunk and keep you up this late at night.”

“What I can’t tell, the unsolved mystery, I can’t tell how this woman, this ex-wife of yours, feels about me.” He rubbed his face again and then looked blearily at Tree. “How do you know that, Tree? How can you tell—how did you know when Freddie was crazy about you?”

“Easy enough. She told me.”

That reduced Rex to another bout of silence and more face massaging. “There you go,” Rex said finally. “That’s it, isn’t it?”

“The only thing I would say, and it’s kind of late at night and you’re sort of out of it, Rex, but for you and Kelly it’s still early days. Relax and enjoy what the two of you have, and sort of let it develop from there.”

“I don’t think she likes me,” he said.

“That’s crazy,” Tree said. “How can you say she doesn’t like you?”

“Okay, maybe she
likes
me, but that’s as far as it goes. I irritate her, I think. At least she gives me that impression.”

“Everybody irritates Kelly from time to time,” Tree said. “She’s an impatient woman, and she’s floundering right now. For years her identity was built around being a Chicago TV personality. She loved it, loved all the attention.”

“I know she did,” Rex said. “Who didn’t?”

“Now she’s lost that, and she’s suffering.”

“She could be happy with me,” Rex said. “I could make her happy.”

“I think you would make her a lot happier if you didn’t stay out late and get drunk. She must be concerned and wondering where you are.”

“I don’t think she gives a damn,” Rex said.

“Of course she does.”

He shook his head in wonderment. “First time I’ve had a fight with a woman in I don’t know how many years. I’d forgotten how sick it can make you feel.”

“I’m going to drive you home, Rex. This will all look different in the morning.”

“What? You can’t stay up and talk to an old buddy about his woman troubles?”

“It’s late, and I’ve got a full day tomorrow.”

“Full day? Hey, you’re retired, remember?”

“Yeah, right,” Tree said, getting to his feet. “Sometimes I forget.”

“Tree Callister. The ex-Sanibel Sunset detective. So much for reinvention. Didn’t work out so well, did it?”

Tree said, “Give me your car keys, Rex.”

“I’m okay to drive,” Rex said. “I don’t need some retired guy driving me around.”

“Come on. Don’t argue. Hand over the keys.”

Rex sighed and groped in his pocket. “It’s not keys anymore,” he said. “It’s a key. And it’s not even a key.”

He tossed the key to Tree. He tried his best to catch it, but he fumbled the catch. Rex chortled. “You never were any good at sports. You were never much good at anything—except you were a pretty damned good reporter.” Rex paused and thought about it. “There is one other thing you’re good at.”

“Being a detective?” Tree said.

“No, you’re not much of a detective, either. I’ll tell you what you’re good at, Tree. You’re very good at being my friend.”

“Then I don’t need much more than that,” Tree said.

He helped Rex to his feet.

31

T
he driver’s side door of Rex’s prized Dodge Challenger Hellcat had been left open in the lot adjacent to the Gulf Harbor clubhouse. Tree got Rex into the passenger seat and then went around and slipped behind the wheel. Rex was snoring by the time he started the engine. It was like awakening a monster in its cave. The sound of that motor made Tree nervous. He gripped the T shifter and shoved it into reverse. The Hellcat jerked back and brought Rex awake. He sat up groggily. “What are you doing?” he said in a slurry voice.

“I’m driving you home.”

“You don’t have to do that,” he said. “I’m okay.”

“I know, but humor me, will you?”

“Okay. Ordinarily, I wouldn’t let you behind the wheel of this Hellcat. But it’s in valet mode right now, so I guess it’s okay.”

“Valet mode?”

“It means no one but me can drive it full out.”

“Good. I don’t want to drive this thing full out,” Tree said.

Rex reached forward and fumbled with the glove compartment. The lid dropped down with a loud clunk. He pulled the gun out and held it up so that the otherworldly glow from the dashboard touchscreen gleamed off its surface.

“What’s that?” Tree said.

“You’re fairly new to South Florida, so you wouldn’t know. This is what the locals call an equalizer. Folks from out of state refer to it as a gun. The Glock 17, the weapon of choice for police officers all over America.”

“Except you’re not a police officer. What are you doing with it?”

“What do you think I’m doing? I’m protecting myself—and my Hellcat.”

“Why don’t you put the gun back where you found it?”

“Do I make you nervous?”

“You don’t. The gun does.”

“You should get yourself one of these babies.”