Dark Tort

back door. In one smooth movement, Tom yanked Donald through the door. Claggs followed them onto the deck.

From the floor, Louise Upton wailed, “Could somebody please help me?”

Between Miss Upton’s ham-hock forearm and what I could remember of Archimedes’ lever principle, it only took a few moments of thrashing about to get the two of us vertical again. She was pale and disconcerted; I was more exhausted than if I’d landed a marlin. And not nearly as happy.

Still, I thought the best tack was to be conciliatory. I said, “I’m terribly, terribly sorry, Miss Upton. How about if we go out to the living room and sit down?”

“Two of my lawyers are outside. I think I should wait for them.”

Excuse me? Two of your lawyers? But I let this pass, walked to the back door, and peeked out to the deck. Tom was standing protectively over Donald Ellis, who was sitting, his back hunched, his body shuddering, on a deck chair. Claggs was standing with his hands in his pockets, surveying the backyard. I could hear his voice through the glass. He was telling Tom how wonderful he could tell the landscaping was, even with the snow. Had Tom put all the plants in himself? Claggs wanted to know. I motioned to Tom for them to come inside, which they did, Donald leading with a slow, tentative gait, Claggs and Tom following.

This visit, whatever it was about, wasn’t going very well.

After a few minutes, the five of us were sitting, albeit awkwardly, at our kitchen table. Donald, recovering some of his manliness, had sat up straight and asked for a second scotch. Claggs said he would pass on another bourbon, thanks. I mopped up the two spilled drinks while Tom poured Donald a second hefty dose of Johnnie Walker Black. He splashed a few drops of water on top, plinked in a couple of ice cubes, and placed it in front of Donald Ellis, who took a large gulp. Donald’s face had taken on an even more pallid cast than usual, and he couldn’t seem to stop blinking.

Arch poked his head into the kitchen. “Everything okay down here? We heard a lot of crashing and banging and were worried.”

Miss Upton whirled in her chair and gave Arch a daggerlike look. She cried, “Young man! We’re having a meeting in here, as you can see. Now, if your presence is required, we will summon—”

Arch disappeared.

To Louise Upton, I said evenly, “If you ever, and I do mean ever, want me to cater at Hanrahan & Jule again, you will not, I repeat, not, ever speak to my son again in that manner.”

Louise Upton, immediately defensive, said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh-kay,” Tom said, getting up. “Know what? This so-called meeting is over. Next time any one of the three of you wishes to speak to my wife, we’ll set up a meeting at the sheriff’s department. In an interrogation room.”

“I’m sure that isn’t necessary,” Donald Ellis whispered. He took another long slug of his drink. “Louise, do you mind?” He gave her a meaningful look, and she sat back in her chair, silenced. Man, I wish I could do that. “Louise and Claggs and I,” Donald continued, his voice now firm and authoritative, “just wanted to see how Goldy was doing. We were worried. About her. Please, we’re sorry to have intruded here…and to have caused a, uh, disturbance.” He turned his liquid eyes on me. “I would like you to accept our most sincere condolences. We know Dusty was your friend and neighbor. That’s the only reason we’re here. On behalf of the firm,” he added.

“We’d also like to know what Dusty was doing there at that hour—” Miss Upton began again, her tone unrepentant.

“Dusty was at the firm to help me with the cooking for the Friday meeting,” I said, my voice steely, “as I have already told both you and the cops.”

Louise opened her mouth to speak again, but she was silenced by another stern look from Donald Ellis.

“If you have any idea of what might have happened, or why,” Donald said, his tone again soft, “we would sincerely like to know. We do feel terrible about Dusty. Poor dear girl.”

“We do,” Claggs echoed.

Tom sat back down. “Don’t worry, Mr. Ellis. Mr. Claggett. Miss Upton. The sheriff’s department is working on the case. We don’t need any lawyers just yet.”

“Well!” interjected Louise Upton. “Did she commit…I mean, did she fall down and…or what exactly did happen?”

Tom smiled and said, “Miss Upton, what exactly was the nature of your relationship with Miss Routt?”

“Well, I, uh…we should probably be going,” Louise stammered. “But wait, Mr. Ellis hasn’t finished his drink.”

Donald Ellis lifted his drink to his lips and drained it. “I’m done,” he said to no one in particular.

Claggs said, “Thanks so much for having us, Goldy. This is a great house, really. Glad you’re doing okay —”

Louise stood abruptly and started down the hall.

We were interrupted from finishing our farewells by a loud honking, a fearsome crash, and yells erupting from the street. Louise Upton, who was not quite at the front door, started screaming. Tom bolted for the front door and strode down our sidewalk. I followed, pushing past Louise Upton and Donald Ellis, both of whom were gaping at what appeared to be a hit-and-run pedestrian accident. Walking fast, Tom had already arrived beside the pedestrian, who was sitting on the snowy street beside the curb. He appeared somewhat dazed, and it was my guess he’d narrowly avoided being run over.

Tom helped the pedestrian to his feet. The man was tall, and wore a dark ski hat and coat. He leaned over the grille of a nearby pickup, coughing. I wished I knew what had happened or how badly hurt the guy might be. I looked up and down the street. A couple of inches of snow covered everything: the cars, the lawns, the houses, the pavement. Otherwise, there was no movement at all.

Blinking against the cold, I moved awkwardly toward Tom, who was now talking to the moaning man. Maybe Tom would want me to summon an ambulance or get the department car up here. But when Tom gave me a sideways glance, he held up his hand, indicating I should not come closer. I hugged my sides and waited.

The color of the pickup the pedestrian had landed on, or jumped for, was obscured by snow. On the pavement just beside the pickup sat a large, oddly shaped metal box. It looked as if the man had been holding the box when he’d been avoiding whatever vehicle had been coming down the street. So had the box skittered out of the man’s hands when he’d slammed into the truck’s hood? Maybe his load had been so heavy that he’d slipped on the ice, lunged forward, and lost his balance. But there had been that honking, the yelling.

Wait. The box on the ground was a computer. Or had been. I sure hoped whoever owned it had backed up his data.

Murmuring among themselves, Louise, Donald, and Claggs clomped quickly through the snow and down the street toward the spot where Donald had parked his black BMW. They seemed to be concerned about whether Donald’s car had been hit. Convinced the Beemer was okay, Claggs helped Louise into the backseat, then got in beside her.

Donald Ellis paused and looked back at us. Since he was standing right under a streetlight, I could see his sheaf of red hair hanging like a broom over his forehead. There was pain in his face, and perhaps some question as to what had happened. Something in the tilt of his head made me think he wanted to come back and help. But then he averted his eyes, climbed into his car, and drove away.

CHAPTER 11

It’s Vic,” Tom said as he crunched through the snow to my side. “He’s insisting on bringing that thing in himself.” Behind him, Vic had ducked down to pick up the computer. “He was bringing it over when the driver of one of those supersized SUVs almost hit him. Vic’s sure the driver saw him, too. But that’s all he can remember.”

“What?”

“Look, you’re freezing out here. Let me get Vic inside, then we’ll talk. Okay?”

I nodded and started back up the sidewalk. Then I turned. “Tom? I already have a computer. Why was he bringing me one?”