“Pomeroy. When I left you went back out there and made him tell you everything he told me, and then you couldn’t keep it to yourself, you went to the Argus and blatted out everything you knew; and got your picture taken and your name spelled right, and ruined what was left of the poor bastard’s life.”
Phillips had figured out who I was, but he kept frowning.
“Hey, I got a right to conduct my own investigation,” he said. “I’m the fucking law out here, remember?”
“Law, shit,” I said. “You’re a fat loudmouth in a jerkwater town playacting Wyatt Earp. And you cost an innocent man his life.”
“You can’t talk to me that way. Whose life?”
“Pomeroy killed himself this morning, in Boston. He had a copy of the Berkshire Argus story with him.”
“Guy was always a loser,” Phillips said.
“Guy loved too hard,” I said. “Too much. Not wisely. You understand anything like that?”
“I told you, you can’t come in here, talk to me like that, that tone of voice. I’ll throw your ass in jail.”
Phillips let his feet drop off the desk top and stood up. His hand was in the area of his holstered gun.
“You do that,” I said. “You throw my ass in jail, or go for the gun, or take a swing at me, anything you want.”
I had moved closer to him, almost without volition, as if he were gravitational.
“Do something,” I said. I could feel the tension across my back. “Go for the gun, take a swing, go for it.”
Phillips’ eyes rolled a little, side to side. There was a fine line of sweat on his upper lip. He looked at the phone. He looked at me. He looked past me at the door.
“Whyn’t you just get out of here and leave me alone,” he said. His voice was hoarse and shaky. “I didn’t do nothing wrong.”
We faced each other for another long, silent moment. I knew he wasn’t going to do anything.
“I didn’t do nothing wrong,” he said again.
I nodded and turned and walked out. And left the door open behind me. That’d fix him.
Chapter 34
“I KNOW people who might take one dog,” Susan I said. “But three? Mongrels?”
“I’m not breaking them up,” I said.
We were in my living room and the dogs were around looking at us. The alpha dog was curled in the green leather chair; the other two were on the couch.
“Where did they sleep last night?” Susan said. I shrugged.
Susan’s eyes brightened.
“They slept with you,” she said. I shrugged again.
“You and the three doggies all together in bed. Tell me at least they slept on top of the quilt.”
I shrugged.
“Hard as nails,” Susan said.
“Well,” I said. “I started them out in the kitchen, but then they started whimpering in the night…”
“Of course,” Susan said, “and they got in there and you sleep with the window open, and it was cold…”
“You’re the same way,” I said.
Susan laughed. “Yes,” she said. “I too think the bedroom’s too cold.”
“Dogs do not respect one’s sleeping space much,” I said.
“Did we sleep curled up on one small corner of the bed while the three pooches spread out luxuriously?” Susan said.
“I wanted them to feel at home,” I said.
“We must be very clear on one thing. When I visit, we are not sleeping with three dogs.”
“No,” I said.
“And when we make love we are not going to be watched by three dogs.”
“Of course not,” I said. “Hawk says he knows some woman owns a farm in Bridgewater and is an animal rights activist.”
“Don’t tell her about my fur coat,” Susan said.
“He thinks she’ll take them.”
Susan put the palm of her right hand flat on her chest and did a Jack E. Leonard impression. “I hope so,” she said, “for your sake.”
“You wouldn’t like to take them over to your place today,” I said. “I need to go to my office.”
“I have meetings all day,” she said. “It’s why I’m here for breakfast.”
