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  She followed Ben to the end of the parking circle then up a small incline. Despite the drier spring weather, the earthy smell of moldering leaves hung on under the dense oak trees. Where the rise leveled off was a line of cairns that, Helen assumed, demarked pets’ graves.

  “Kyla insists on burying every stray cat,” Ben explained. “They don’t tend to last long.”

  The farthest cairn had been knocked over and the shallow grave dug up. Some of a dog’s skeleton, pelt and desiccated head lay a few feet away, the legs having been dragged from the body.

  “Awesome, huh?” Ben exclaimed. “Look.” He knelt beside one of the legs. “You can see gnaw marks. I bet it was coyotes.”

  Helen hadn’t thought to bring tools or gloves to rummage through the dog’s remains. Now she could see she’d have to search the whole area where the bones were scattered. The bullet could just as well be in some vulture’s stomach slowly poisoning the poor bird. And that’s if it had been in the dog’s corpse in the first place. It could have been a shoot-through, the bullet still lying wherever the body had been found. It seemed hopeless. She considered turning around and flapping her way back to the garage and her own shoes.

  Ben laughed at her predicament but didn’t say anything. Instead, he stood, then pulled on a pair of latex gloves with repeated snaps, left then right. “I’ve been meaning to come up and retrieve the head. I don’t mind checking if there’s a bullet inside.”

  He grabbed the skull and twisted it away from what was left of the body. It broke from the spine with barely a click, leaving most of the fur and skin behind. He held it up. “He was shot in the head, execution style. You can see where the bullet entered.” He pointed to a hole at the top of the skull. “Karen says it was a stray bullet falling from the sky,” he scoffed. “I figure whoever killed him gave him some meat then shot while he was eating with his head down.” He turned the skull over and searched inside with two fingers. “Sorry, not here.”

  Her resolve dampened by the disarray around her, Helen said, “Well, we tried.”

  “Wait a minute. It could be around here.” He carefully placed the skull on the ground beside the carcass then stood. He found a long stick and used it to push around the bones. The ribcage collapsed with a nudge. Moving the pelt uncovered a small gob of moth larvae crawling over each other. Bent over, he searched in widening circles, prying the ground with his stick.

  With little hope of finding anything, Helen grabbed a stick and rooted in the leaves where the dog’s legs had been dragged.

  “Well, looky here,” Ben said, sounding to Helen’s ear like an actor in a spaghetti-western. He was standing over the now empty grave. “I bet this is it.” He held up something between his thumb and forefinger.

  It was too small for Helen to identify at a distance. She walked over and he placed it in her extended palm. The shaft was copper with one end dull silver and flared back on itself like the petals of a flower. It was small—too small, Helen thought, to be such an efficient killer. “Good job,” she told Ben. “I believe you found it. Thank you.”

  “What’s next?”

  “I’ll take it to a friend who can tell us if it came from Ajnabee’s gun.”

  “Detective Griffin, you mean.” Helen could have sworn he blushed when saying Josh’s name.

  “Yes, he promised to do me a favor and check it out.”

  Ben nodded and started back toward the house.

  “Aren’t you going to rebury the bones?” Helen asked. “You father said—”

  “I’ll do it later.”

  Helen watched the back of his head as he walked ahead of her, no longer convinced what Frank saw in the boy was anything more than Frank’s own goodness reflected back at him.

  Helen called Josh from the car. She had to wait for the call to be forwarded, but when he came on the line she told him she’d found the bullet.

  “You’re sure it’s the bullet that killed the dog?” he asked.

  Remembering back to the shambles surrounding the dog’s grave, she had to admit she couldn’t be one hundred percent certain. It wasn’t like Ben had found it lodged in the dog’s skull. “But it was lying on the grave.”

  “I guess it doesn’t matter. It has a tenuous connection to the murder at best. But I did promise to take a look at it.”

  “Do you want me to drop it by your office?”

  “It’s late and I want to get home. You could come over for dinner if you’d like. You and your husband.”

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  “No problem. I’m cooking for Delyth anyway. Something quick. Salmon, if that’s okay.”

  “That’d be lovely.”

  He said he’d text his address.

  FIFTEEN

  Delyth put on the blue-lace sheath she’d found at a consignment shop, and stood in front of the mirror. She liked the way it showed off her slim figure—which she thought was her best feature—and just the right amount of leg, but it was too dressy. She stepped out of it and dumped it on her bed alongside two other rejected outfits. How about jeans and a white pullover? Classic casual. Too casual. They joined the blue dress. She retrieved the green tunic and brown leggings she’d initially spurned because they made her look like a tree, but she decided it would have to do. What was she worried about? It was only dinner with Helen and Frank.

  But it was their first dinner party they hosted as a couple since getting back together. Josh told her it wasn’t a party, nothing special, just what he’d have made for the two of them anyway. Helen had something she wanted to show him and he could tell them what he’d learned from the Mexican police. He was doing all the cooking. All she had to do was show up, and help with the cleanup. But it officially established them as a couple, like shopping for his-and-hers towels. She took a deep breath and drove to his house.

  Helen and Frank had already arrived when she got there. The three of them were peering down at something on the kitchen island. Josh looked up and said, “Hey, honey.” He walked over and gave her a quick kiss on the lips. “Simon Lagree keep you working late again?”

  In fact, Ted, had left early giving the underlings the chance to leave on time. Rather than going into the whole clothes insecurity story and the reason behind it, she murmured, “Un huh.” She hugged Helen and, after a tentative moment, Frank.

  Helen was wearing a top from some South American country, clearly hand-woven and as vibrant as a parrot. “You look great,” Delyth said. “Where did you get your top?” she added hoping to deflect the obligatory, reciprocal compliment that she wouldn’t believe.

  “Right in Sullyton, would you believe? At the consignment shop on the way out of town.”

  “I was just there and didn’t see anything so interesting.” Then, wanting to change the subject, she asked, “What were you guys looking at when I came in?”

  “The bullet that killed the Duddas’ dog,” Helen explained. “Josh was saying it doesn’t match Ajnabee’s rifle.”

  “One of the attractions of a nine-millimeter is it can be used in either a handgun or a rifle,” Josh explained. “I'm no expert, but my guess is this one was fired from a handgun. A round gains velocity from a longer barrel, so you’d expect the spent bullet to be flattened more.”

  “I still say you find the person who killed the dog, you’ll find the person who killed Ajnabee,” Helen said.

  “If it is the bullet that killed the dog,” Josh said. “We don’t know that for sure. Even if it was, it could have been from someone target practicing or celebrating by shooting in the air. Which might explain why it isn’t as flat as you’d expect.”

  “Does the bullet match any of the guns owned by other suspects?” Frank asked.

  “I can’t tell you that,” Josh said.

  Delyth was so frustrated by what Josh would and wouldn’t disclose that she couldn’t stop herself from asking, “Why tell us this didn’t come from Ajnabee’s rifle, if you won’t tell us about the other guns?”

  “Because the do
g’s death isn’t part of my investigation.”

  “Come on. You’re making up the rules as you go along.”

  “We really appreciate your help.” Helen gave Delyth a sharp look. “But if,” she went on, “Ajnabee didn’t do it, who else might have a motive?”

  “For that matter, what motive would anyone have for killing a dog?” Delyth asked. “I mean, if Ajnabee didn’t do it out of revenge.”

  “It could’ve been a rival gang sending him a warning,” Frank offered.

  “By killing the neighbor’s dog?” Helen asked.

  “And if they were trying to warn him off,” Delyth said, “wouldn’t they start by trashing his grow operation? Why kill him?”

  “Maybe he heard them and got shot when he confronted them,” Frank suggested.

  “But the vandalism happened the night before he was killed.” Delyth immediately regretted letting slip information she’d learned by snooping into Josh’s briefcase. She was glad she at least managed not to say it was Ben who’d done it.

  “You know about that?” Josh asked, his tone wary, his look suspicious.

  At least, that was how Delyth interpreted it. “Suzanne Dussault told us.”

  Helen looked puzzled. “I don’t recall—”

  Delyth interrupted her. “Oh, that reminds me, Suzanne called and invited me to Ajnabee’s memorial.”

  “What?” Helen blurted. “Really? When? Why?”

  Delyth laughed nervously, hoping to bury any curiosity about her sudden change of topic. “I know. Strange. And I should have called it ‘a celebration of his life.’ Suzanne was very explicit about that.”

  “Do you think she hopes you’ll write something positive about him?”

  “She didn’t say that, and she didn’t submit an obituary, but maybe. Anyway, two o’clock tomorrow at Ajnabee’s place.” Delyth turned toward Josh. “Are you going to be there?”

  “You mean the cop skulking behind the tombstones hoping to catch the murderer? That only happens on TV. Besides, it’s on private property. I can’t be there without being invited.”

  “You could be my plus-one.”

  “Did the invitation say that?”

  “Nothing so formal. She just called and left a message. I thought you’d be interested in who shows up.”

  “I trust you’ll tell me all about it.”

  “I’ll go,” Helen said.

  Delyth had assumed Helen would want to be there. Still, she was relieved to know for sure she didn’t have to go alone.

  “Anyway,” Helen said to Josh, “you promised you were going to tell us what you learned from the Mexican police.”

  “How about some wine to go along with the story?” Frank said. “We brought champagne.”

  “Good idea,” Josh said. “But what I learned from the local policía won’t take long.” He pulled four champagne flutes from a cabinet while Frank set to work on the cage and cork.

  Delyth grew more impatient when Josh brought out a plate of cheese and crackers, and gave the cheesemonger’s tale behind each one. Finally, he poured the champagne and welcomed them. As soon as they’d all clinked glasses, Delyth prompted, “So what did you learn?”

  “Why don’t we go sit in the living room,” Josh suggested.

  Delyth suspected he was teasing her, and wanted to pinch him for it.

  “Frank, would you bring the champagne?” Josh said. He grabbed the cheese plate and led them to the next room.

  “So,” Josh said once they’d settled. “From the people I talked to, the chief of police there is a good guy, but he’s got his hands full with the cartels. They tried to kill him soon after he took over, raking his car with assault rifles and launching a grenade at it. Good thing the car was bulletproof. Even so, it was a miracle he escaped, although he downplayed it when we talked.” He took a gulp of champagne. “I was really surprised when he accepted my call. He kept apologizing for his English, but it was really good. A lot better than my Spanish.” Delyth knew it was a joke at his own expense, because he knew very little Spanish. He stood to pass the plate of cheese and crackers, then cut a hefty gob of goat brie for himself.

  “What did he say?” Helen asked.

  “He remembered the kidnapping even though it was before he’d become chief. A gringo getting kidnapped and killed despite the ransom being paid was bad for the tourist business, so the police at the time were more interested in getting it off the front page than solving who actually did it. Of course, a million dollar ransom was big news. When the body was found a couple of weeks later, another burst of headlines. All along the police said it was renegade narco-henchmen. They arrested two low-level hoods, so low-level the cartel didn’t bother rescuing them, if you believe what the chief claimed. Could be they were part of a deal between the cartel and the police, and they agreed to plead guilty in exchange for a lump sum of cash for their families. In any case, they’re still in jail.”

  “Wait a minute,” Helen said. “Weren’t they supposed to have just gotten a million dollar ransom?”

  “Kind of points to their being set up, doesn’t it? I didn’t say this made sense.”

  “Maybe they did it and preferred jail to giving up a million bucks,” Delyth said.

  “Doesn’t the whole Bitcoin transaction strike you as pretty sophisticated,” Frank said. “I mean for two low-level thugs?”

  “The cops didn’t care,” Josh said. “They got a conviction, and got the story out of the newspapers.”

  “So how does Foley fit into this?” Delyth asked.

  “Don’t know for sure. After the partner left the bar feeling sick, a witness saw a big, black SUV stop and pick him up. He seemed to know the driver and they spoke English. Foley said that after he received the ransom demand, he’d returned to the States to arrange the transfer, but after a week without his partner being released, he called the PV police. He never went back to Mexico. The partner was found in an abandoned shed. He was tied up and wearing just his underwear. They figure he died of thirst. Heartless way to kill someone.”

  They all took deep swigs of champagne, and accepted Josh’s offer of a refill.

  “You can imagine the condition of the body after a month in a rat-infested barn in the Mexican heat. They had to use dental records to ID him.”

  Delyth wrinkled her face. “Ugh! We’re going to be eating soon.”

  Josh jumped up. “That reminds me, I’d better get going on dinner.” They followed him to the kitchen and stood around the island. “Salmon, leeks, tomatoes, white wine and basil on rice, okay?”

  “Cute, smart and he can cook,” Helen said, beaming. “He’s a keeper.”

  Like a pin to a magnet, Delyth felt the collective expectation for her to say something doting and coy, or for her to snuggle up against Josh’s arm and make googly eyes, but she couldn’t get herself to do it.

  Helen, who was the one who caused the uncomfortable situation, was the first to break the silence. “We were talking about Foley’s involvement. Why would Robert…” She looked at Delyth as if she’d said too much.

  Delyth pursed her lips and gave a quick shake of the head to tell Helen not to mention the business section article or Robert’s real identity.

  Josh didn’t seem to notice, perhaps preoccupied browning the rice and filling the room with a popcorn smell.

  Frank, however, did. When Helen didn’t go on, he asked, “What about Robert?”

  “Oh, dear,” Helen said, sounding flustered. “A senior moment, I’m afraid. I can’t remember what I was going to say.”

  Frank gave her a puzzled look but, as if wishing to cover her embarrassment, he quickly went on, “I have a question. Why would Robert go through all the trouble of telling us these stories about Foley’s partner’s death if it didn’t have something to do with Ajnabee?”

  “That’s the question,” Delyth said. Robert had told her he wanted to expose a bad guy living next to Zad, but Delyth didn’t believe him then, and she didn’t believe him now.

&n
bsp; “Is Robert a suspect?” Frank asked Josh.

  Josh half-turned from the stove. “I can’t tell you that.”

  “You seem to be the only one who can discern the line between what you can and what you can’t say,” Delyth said with a touch of humor.

  “The Mexican stuff wasn’t in my jurisdiction.” His tone mimicked Delyth’s. He poured water into the sizzling rice with a splatter and puff of steam. “Ajnabee’s murder is.” Covering the pot and lowering the flame, he joined the other three, and offered more champagne.

  Helen and Frank held a hand over their mostly empty glasses. “I’ll wait for dinner,” Frank said.

  Josh drained the bottle into Delyth’s glass.

  Helen said, “Robert could be trying to point to Foley as the killer.”

  “Pretty indirect way of pointing,” Frank said.

  “Maybe he doesn’t have proof for the Ajnabee murder.”

  “He didn’t really have proof of the partner’s murder either,” Josh said. “Other than the word of an unidentified character who admits to pimping for tourists.”

  “Still, let’s assume Foley did it,” Helen said.

  “What’s his motive?” Frank asked.

  “Don’t know. Maybe he just didn’t like Ajnabee. Didn’t Howard say he resented the way Ajnabee and the Duddas maintained their property?”

  “I can’t say I remember that,” Delyth said.

  “And it’d be a pretty weak motive,” Josh said. “I mean, you’d have to be a real nutcase to start killing off neighbors just because they don’t cut the grass.”

  “Okay, so we don’t know why Foley would do it,” Helen admitted. “But play along. It’s a thought experiment.” When no one objected to her game, she went on. “Foley knew about the feud between Ajnabee and Jerzy. Maybe he killed the Duddas’ dog hoping to foment the enmity between them to the point where Jerzy would kill Ajnabee for him.”

  “I like it,” Josh said. “I don’t buy it, but I like it.”