knew about it, because she’s the one who told me Ziggy was in there.”
Guidry waved his fingers back and forth to show how insignificant my blabbing was.
“Dixie, can you account for your time this morning? Did anybody see you during the hours before the guard was found dead?”
I swallowed against a lump in my throat. “There was a woman, Guidry. She was out walking a miniature bulldog and she stopped me this morning. There was something odd about her. She said her dog’s name was Ziggy, and she seemed relieved when I said I was going to see an iguana named Ziggy. She ran off and got in a car and drove away fast. The whole thing seemed phony somehow.”
“Dixie, that’s not—”
“Her picture was on the table beside Ken Kurtz’s bed. He denied it, but I’m positive it’s the same woman.”
“What do you mean, he denied it?”
I licked lips that had suddenly gone bone dry. “I asked him about her. I know I shouldn’t have, but I did.”
TEN
Guidry’s pupils contracted into little pinpoints, like a man about to jump up and ward off the devil. Half the people in Southwest Florida believe in a literal Satan, so for all I knew he might have caught the devil-believing bug, like catching chicken pox.
He said, “What’re you doing, running your own investigation?”
“It may be an investigation to you, but it’s my life ! I’m the one who got tricked into going to that house. I’m the one the woman accosted. I’m the one somebody’s using, and I have a right to know who’s doing it and why.”
“I’ll agree that somebody tricked you into the house, but all that other stuff is your imagination—the woman didn’t accost you, it doesn’t mean a thing that her dog has the same name as the iguana, and the odds of her being the same woman in Kurtz’s photograph are about a quadrillion-to-one.”
“The photo was on his table when we carried him into the bedroom, and then later it was gone. He hid it.
Why would he do that unless he didn’t want anybody to see it?”
“I can think of a million reasons why a man might not want people to see whose photo he keeps beside his bed. The point is that you’re there as a pet sitter, not as an investigator. If you see something you think is relevant, tell me about it, don’t go blundering around asking questions. Furthermore, don’t withhold information, any information, and don’t put groceries in a refrigerator that may be an important part of a homicide investigation.”
Uh-oh. I’d forgotten about putting Ziggy’s veggies in the refrigerator.
Guidry’s voice had got louder with each word, and by the time he ended his face had gone from an appetizing peachy color to a rather unhealthy rose.
In a little-bitty voice, I said, “Okay.” Under the circumstances, that seemed like the best thing to do.
Visibly, he got control of himself. “I don’t know what it is about you, but you always seem to pop up whenever something really weird is going on.”
“So you agree the whole Kurtz thing is weird.”
He slid my gun in his jacket pocket and headed toward my French doors. “I don’t see how it could get any weirder.”
He didn’t even say goodbye, just left me wishing he hadn’t said that it couldn’t get any weirder. Call me superstitious, but I think it’s a big mistake to challenge the universe to pull out all its weird possibilities. That’s like declaring what you will not do, will not accept, or will not believe, ever, so long as you live, amen. Like parents who say about their baby boy, “No son of mine
will ever have a motorcycle,” are bound to look up one day and see him wearing a bug-eating grin with a biker chick glued to his road-calloused buns. You have to be careful about what you set into motion with what you say.
I went into my office-closet to check on messages. All but one were from people wanting to know my rates. I took their numbers to call back. The other was from Ethan Crane. Ethan’s an attorney, but
Guidry waved his fingers back and forth to show how insignificant my blabbing was.
“Dixie, can you account for your time this morning? Did anybody see you during the hours before the guard was found dead?”
I swallowed against a lump in my throat. “There was a woman, Guidry. She was out walking a miniature bulldog and she stopped me this morning. There was something odd about her. She said her dog’s name was Ziggy, and she seemed relieved when I said I was going to see an iguana named Ziggy. She ran off and got in a car and drove away fast. The whole thing seemed phony somehow.”
“Dixie, that’s not—”
“Her picture was on the table beside Ken Kurtz’s bed. He denied it, but I’m positive it’s the same woman.”
“What do you mean, he denied it?”
I licked lips that had suddenly gone bone dry. “I asked him about her. I know I shouldn’t have, but I did.”
TEN
Guidry’s pupils contracted into little pinpoints, like a man about to jump up and ward off the devil. Half the people in Southwest Florida believe in a literal Satan, so for all I knew he might have caught the devil-believing bug, like catching chicken pox.
He said, “What’re you doing, running your own investigation?”
“It may be an investigation to you, but it’s my life ! I’m the one who got tricked into going to that house. I’m the one the woman accosted. I’m the one somebody’s using, and I have a right to know who’s doing it and why.”
“I’ll agree that somebody tricked you into the house, but all that other stuff is your imagination—the woman didn’t accost you, it doesn’t mean a thing that her dog has the same name as the iguana, and the odds of her being the same woman in Kurtz’s photograph are about a quadrillion-to-one.”
“The photo was on his table when we carried him into the bedroom, and then later it was gone. He hid it.
Why would he do that unless he didn’t want anybody to see it?”
“I can think of a million reasons why a man might not want people to see whose photo he keeps beside his bed. The point is that you’re there as a pet sitter, not as an investigator. If you see something you think is relevant, tell me about it, don’t go blundering around asking questions. Furthermore, don’t withhold information, any information, and don’t put groceries in a refrigerator that may be an important part of a homicide investigation.”
Uh-oh. I’d forgotten about putting Ziggy’s veggies in the refrigerator.
Guidry’s voice had got louder with each word, and by the time he ended his face had gone from an appetizing peachy color to a rather unhealthy rose.
In a little-bitty voice, I said, “Okay.” Under the circumstances, that seemed like the best thing to do.
Visibly, he got control of himself. “I don’t know what it is about you, but you always seem to pop up whenever something really weird is going on.”
“So you agree the whole Kurtz thing is weird.”
He slid my gun in his jacket pocket and headed toward my French doors. “I don’t see how it could get any weirder.”
He didn’t even say goodbye, just left me wishing he hadn’t said that it couldn’t get any weirder. Call me superstitious, but I think it’s a big mistake to challenge the universe to pull out all its weird possibilities. That’s like declaring what you will not do, will not accept, or will not believe, ever, so long as you live, amen. Like parents who say about their baby boy, “No son of mine
will ever have a motorcycle,” are bound to look up one day and see him wearing a bug-eating grin with a biker chick glued to his road-calloused buns. You have to be careful about what you set into motion with what you say.
I went into my office-closet to check on messages. All but one were from people wanting to know my rates. I took their numbers to call back. The other was from Ethan Crane. Ethan’s an attorney, but
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