Claire Gulliver #02 - Washington Weirdos Page 12

  Claire smiled. “Oh, so you’re one of those?”

  “Those?”

  “Guys with a foot fetish.”

  “Hmmm. I never thought about it, but maybe I am. Or I’m just developing one.”

  The band slid into the Theme from Summer Place and the dancers glided over the floor. Claire just enjoyed being held. It was romantic, the warm night, the slight breeze from the bay, the stars overhead and the muted light all adding to the mood.

  Then the rock music was back, and Cliff was there to claim his dance. Jack headed for the house to find something to eat and Claire gave herself up to the beat. After all, it was a Gala.

  * * *

  The black Porsche glided into the deserted parking lot and moved toward the public facilities. This was a popular launching ramp for boaters, so it was well maintained, albeit completely empty at this time of night. He pulled up as far in the shadow as possible and got out of the car.

  He looked around but saw no sign of movement. Then out of the darkest shadow he saw something.

  “Tony? Christ, are you mad? Calling me at the Lickmans’? Why don’t you just take out an ad in the Post?” He couldn’t help it. He was mad. Furious!

  “It wasn’t my fault,” Tony whined. “Everything was fine until that dog appeared. And then she was there, just staring at me. She recognized me immediately. I had to get out of there.”

  Tony’s face hardened. “It wasn’t my fault. I did everything you wanted. It wasn’t in the cards. And now I’m blown. I’ve got to get out of town. I need my money and I need a ride to the Baltimore train station.”

  He nodded. “Where’s the van?”

  “I ditched it a couple miles that way.” Tony gestured with his head. “Then I hoofed back here to call you. It was too big, too white and too noticeable to disappear in.”

  “It wasn’t your fault. I saw it.” He nodded again, sympathy on his face as he moved forward. “I can’t believe the bad luck. Of course I’ll pay you.” He was very close to Tony now, as he reached into his pocket and brought out the gun. He didn’t even pause as he pulled the trigger. Once, twice, and then bending directly over the body, a third time. He wasn’t taking any chances that Tony would be caught and able to tell his story.

  Then he turned, got in the car, revved up the motor and took off for home feeling much cheerier.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Claire came awake slowly, aware it was late. She smiled and stretched. It had been a lovely party. It was like something out of a movie, not at all real. The last of the guests left very late and then the houseguests mingled a little before wandering to their rooms.

  Doug, Cliff and Jack had all kissed her goodnight. Chaste, friendly kisses on the cheek. Doug murmured he would be in touch. Cliff thanked her for being such a good dance partner and helping him have a good time. Jack, a bit disgruntled, perhaps by the number of people milling about in the foyer, said he would call in the morning.

  She grinned. She had felt like the belle of the ball. But now she was starved!

  She made fast work of her shower and was downstairs in the solarium in record time, where she noticed that even though she thought it was late, no one but Amy was in the solarium. Claire helped herself to some coffee and juice and made her way to the table where Amy sat hunched over a bowl of oatmeal.

  “Why such a long face, Amy? Are you a little grumpy from such a late night?”

  She shook her head gloomily. “No, I’m just worried.”

  “Worried? What’s got you worried?” She sat down and took a sip of the fresh orange juice. The sharp citrus tang jolted her taste buds and she drank more, not really paying much attention to Amy.

  “What did you say?” She now turned her attention to the child.

  “I said Tuffy’s sick. And,” her voice dropped to a whisper, “he threw up. It was awful. It was green.” Her eyes were big and round.

  “How sick? Lots of times dogs will throw up, just like babies do.”

  “He won’t get up. When he did stand up he kind of fell over. You know, like he had turned in circles too many times.”

  “Where is he now, Amy? Did you go get your Gramimi?”

  She shook her head solemnly. “No, Mrs. Kramer told us last night to be quiet this morning so Gramimi and Grandpap could sleep in. And I tried to tell JoJo but she just pulled the covers over her head.”

  Claire sat back looking at the child, thinking as she sipped her coffee. Tuffy was such a bundle of energy she couldn’t imagine him sick. She stood up and reached a hand for Amy’s. “We’d better go see him, Amy. Then we can decide what we should do.”

  Amy led her to the far end of the nursery where Tuffy’s basket sat. Amy was right. The dog was sick. The dog’s normally white crispy hair was limp and matted, and instead of jumping up when they approached, he only opened one eye to look at them and then closed it again. Claire was no expert but it looked serious to her. She held out her hand and touched his nose feeling how warm it was. She thought that meant he had a fever, and she could see the green mess he had made during the night on the other side of his bed.

  Amy stooped down close to the dog. Patting him gently on the head she whispered to him, “Don’t worry, Tuffy. Claire is here. She’s going to take care of you.”

  Claire felt a tightening in her chest. She wasn’t sure what to do. Finally she simply told Amy to stay with Tuffy while she went for Mrs. Kramer.

  The kitchen seemed to be back to normal already, even after all the activity of last night. Cook had a couple of helpers ready to prepare breakfasts as people ordered from the solarium.

  “Where can I find Mrs. Kramer?”

  “Take that door, down at the end. I’m sure she’s up by now, but she hasn’t been here yet.”

  Claire tapped at the door, hating to disturb the woman who so competently ran this household.

  Mrs. Kramer looked surprised to find Claire at the door but asked graciously, “What can I do for you this morning?”

  “It’s Tuffy. He’s sick. Amy told me, but she hasn’t told MiMi or David. I did go up to see him and even knowing nothing about animals I can see he’s very sick. I didn’t know what to do, so I decided it would be best to get you.” The last was said to Mrs. Kramer’s back as she had already started moving briskly down the hall toward the back stairwell.

  JoJo finally gave up when they traipsed back through the nursery. Rubbing her eyes she grumped, “What’s going on? Why is everyone in here?”

  “Tuffy’s sick,” Amy explained. “I told you before.”

  Mrs. Kramer knelt down beside Amy and looked at the dog carefully. Then standing up she said to Claire, “I’ll go down, call the vet and talk to Mrs. Lickman. Can you call Charlie? The number is star 17 on the house phone. Ask him to bring the car around and then come up here to carry Tuffy down.” As she went out the door she said over her shoulder, “Don’t worry about that mess. I’ll send someone up to clean it in a few minutes.”

  “JoJo, it sounds as if a lot of people will be in here in a very little while, so you may want to take your clothes into the bathroom and get dressed,” Claire suggested as she picked up the phone to contact Charlie.

  She was right. MiMi was there in a matter of minutes, looking alarmed and rumpled, not having finished her normal grooming cycle when Mrs. Kramer knocked on her door.

  “Tuffy, baby. What’s the matter with you?” she cooed as if the dog was going to answer.

  When Charlie arrived only a few minutes later she instructed him to take the dog, basket and all, down to the car. “I’ll get my shoes and be right there.”

  Mrs. Kramer had returned by then and MiMi stopped. “Oh, my guests...” Then making up her mind she hurried out the door. “They’ll just have to entertain themselves for a few hours; I have to go with Tuffy.”

  “Gramimi, can I go too?” Amy’s anxious face looked earnestly at her grandmother.

  MiMi paused in the hall. She couldn’t seem to make up her mind, so Claire offered, “Do you want m
e to go with you? I could look out for Amy.”

  “Would you? Thank you.”

  Then seeing JoJo come in from the bathroom she said, “JoJo, there you are. You stay with your Grandpap and help him with the guests, will you?” And she was gone.

  “Dr. Milhouser, Tuffy’s veterinarian, asked if he ate anything unusual, so I told him about the spinach soufflé incident. He asked that I bring a sample, but I don’t have any. The caterers took all the trash away with them last night,” Mrs. Kramer told them as she headed downstairs with Amy and Claire following.

  Then Claire remembered. “What about the towel you used to clean Tuffy last night? Did the caterers take that too?”

  Mrs. Kramer thought a minute. “No, I don’t think so. I think I threw it in the laundry. That’s a good idea, Claire. Wait just a minute.” She was back in a very short time with the stained towel in a sealed baggie. “Here, see if this will do.”

  And they were off. Claire sat in the front with Charlie. MiMi and Amy sat in the back with the dog, crooning softly to comfort him as Charlie drove as fast as the country roads would let him.

  They arrived at the animal hospital a few minutes before Dr. Milhouser. But the attendant was expecting them and led them back to an examination room. Claire looked around surprised at how like a doctor’s office it was. Not having a pet, she had never had the occasion to visit an animal hospital before. And when Theroux the cat decided to adopt the store, she had called in a veterinarian on wheels to check her out, because Mrs. B had advised her it would result in a lot less trauma on all of them.

  When Dr. Milhouser hurried in, Claire could see that he had not intended to spend the Sunday of his Labor Day weekend in the clinic. In spite of his tennis clothes, he didn’t seem at all put out with the interruption; his only apparent concern was with the sick dog.

  “What’s the matter, Tuffy?” He peered closely at the dog, pulling up an eyelid to look into his eye. Then he inserted a tongue depressor in the dog’s mouth while he examined his teeth and gums. His assistant deftly inserted a rectal thermometer and Tuffy didn’t even flinch.

  “Well, Mrs. Lickman, I’m sorry to agree that Tuffy is very ill. I understand there was an incident with some creamed spinach last night?” He picked up the folder his assistant had ready for him on the counter and thumbed through the contents. “Has he ever eaten spinach before?”

  MiMi shook her head.

  Amy nodded hers. She looked at her grandmother with guilt all over her face. “Well, last Christmas when Mom said I had to eat some,” she gulped, not really wanting to confess, “well, Tuffy was under the table and...

  “But, he liked it,” she said earnestly.

  “So he didn’t get sick then?”

  “Apparently not.” MiMi raised her eyebrows at Amy.

  “So it’s probably not the soufflé. Has he been outside? Could he have eaten any mushrooms? You know, in the woods or out on the lawn.”

  “I haven’t seen him. Do dogs eat raw mushrooms?”

  The doctor shrugged. “Not usually. Has he had access to any poisons?” Seeing MiMi shake her head he said, “Look, why don’t you wait outside while we do some blood work? Then I’m afraid our only hope is to pump his stomach and hope he responds. It sounds like he threw up a good portion of what he had eaten, so maybe we can get the rest out of him in time. Meanwhile, we’ll see if we can get someone at the lab to look at the sample you brought with you.”

  Then he looked gravely into MiMi’s eyes. “We need to know what made him so sick before we can administer an antidote. You need to know that without this information, we may not be able to save him.”

  MiMi sat down in the waiting room, suddenly old looking. She couldn’t stop her tears. “Oh Claire, you must think I’m a dotty old fool. Getting this upset about a dog.”

  Before Claire could answer, Amy went over and hugged her grandmother. “But Gramimi, Tuffy’s your baby, isn’t he?”

  MiMi cried harder, nodding, hugging the child closer.

  Claire turned to Charlie. “You have a cell phone, don’t you? I need to contact Jack. And I need his cell number.”

  Charlie nodded and led the way outside. He punched in the number and handed the phone to Claire.

  “Jack? This is Claire.” She ignored his surprised greeting. “Jack, we have a sad thing happening here at the Lickmans’. You know the dog, Tuffy? Well, he is very sick this morning. The doctor seems to think it is some kind of poison. He’s been questioning the spinach soufflé as Tuffy had eaten more than his share from the floor last night...and he vomited quite a bit of it, but...”

  Jack’s response was a squawk and then he shouted, “The spinach? Wasn’t that what your guy was handing off before he hit the road?”

  She nodded. Then realizing he couldn’t see, she answered, “Yes, that’s what’s so suspicious. We don’t know what he was doing in the Lickmans’ kitchen. But I for one assume he was up to no good.”

  Jack was silent. Then he responded, “We need to get a sample and have some tests run. Do you have any there?”

  “No, it went all over the floor and what Tuffy didn’t get went in the garbage. I understand the caterers took all the trash away with them when they cleaned up, so I don’t know where it would be.”

  “Okay, I do. I’ll have somebody track it down. Hopefully, it didn’t get picked up yet. The guys hate to go through the dump.”

  Claire shuddered with revulsion just thinking about that search.

  “We do have a towel here that Mrs. Kramer used to clean him off last night, and it has some soufflé on it. Would that help?”

  “Maybe. Where are you?”

  Charlie gave her the address and she repeated it to Jack. “They’re going to pump Tuffy’s stomach, but that’s all they can do until they identify the cause. The doctor is sending the sample we have here to a laboratory for testing. But he thinks it could be toadstools or poisonous mushrooms that Tuffy got into in the woods. I’m more suspicious. I suspect foul play.”

  “I’ll get someone out there to pick up a piece of that towel, and we’ll see how fast we can work. Where can I reach you?”

  She gave him the hospital’s name and number as well as Charlie’s cell phone number before going back inside to sit with MiMi and Amy.

  The doctor reported that Tuffy’s blood work showed no clues as to the source of his ailment, so their only course of action was to pump his stomach. They waited through that, and Tuffy still stubbornly held on.

  Then the doctor sent them home as there was nothing more they could do. The towel had been split in two. One half he sent to the local lab for testing. The other half was waiting for the person Jack was sending to pick it up. And the doctor promised he would stay with the dog for the duration of the crisis. “I’ll call immediately with any change.” His eyes were sympathetic. “Good, or bad.”

  The ride back was at a much more sedate pace and Claire watched amazed as MiMi pulled herself together, preparing to assume her duties as hostess even though Claire knew her heart was breaking.

  * * *

  “Jack, we got your guy.” Wiley’s voice boomed over Jack’s cell phone.

  “Great! Where is he? I have lots of questions.”

  “I don’t think you’ll get many answers, but I’m going there now. Wanna come?”

  “Naturally, do you want me to meet you somewhere?”

  Wiley gave him detailed directions to the boat launch parking lot and hung up with a telling comment, “No hurry now.”

  Jack plugged his phone into his car lighter socket; he had already used it so much today the battery was getting low. He headed out of D.C. toward the Lickmans’. They had their sample of the spinach soufflé. It turned out that because one of the vans had been stolen, the caterers had to crowd all their workers, the leftover food and the dishes into the two remaining vans. Consequently, they had left the trash at the Lickmans’ and sent someone back early this morning to get it. In doing so, they had missed the scheduled trash pick-up at t
he caterer’s. That was a lucky break. But Jack still sent someone out to the veterinarian hospital for the towel as a back up.

  Jack’s colleagues made arrangements through the FBI for a laboratory in Maryland to do an immediate analysis. He hoped to hear the results soon. The personnel files at the catering company contained bogus information on the man who fled the Lickmans’. But it turned out the cousin, who recommended him for the job, was a bonafide person. The cousin reluctantly identified the man they were seeking as Anthony Berberson. The police files provided further information on him. He was known as Tony the Pickman, a small-time hoodlum who did anything for hire.

  The puzzle was coming together piece by piece. However, they still had no clue as to the purpose of these strange happenings. Tony the Pickman could be the key to this mystery.

  Jack pulled off the road behind a pickup with a boat in tow and then waited while the driver maneuvered a u-turn to get back out to the road. A policeman was blocking the entrance to the lot, patiently turning away boaters planning to use this facility to launch their boats into the Chesapeake Bay.

  Jack ignored the gesture to turn around, rolling his car forward so he could talk out of the window. “I’m Jack Rallins. I’m to meet Wiley Blackford from Vantage Airlines. Has he gotten here yet?”

  The policeman nodded and gestured to the far end of the lot where a group of emergency vehicles, cars and people were clustered. Then he waved Jack into the lot before he stopped another boater who had pulled up close to Jack’s bumper. Jack angled his car across the large empty lot pulling up beside a car he thought might be Wiley’s.

  When he stepped out of the car onto the steaming asphalt, Wiley separated himself from a group of men and motioned him over to the trees bordering the edge of the lot.

  “Whew, let’s stand in the shade a bit. It’s gonna be a scorcher today.” The big man had on lightweight chinos and a golf shirt, but was still perspiring.