At a quarter after twelve, flustered and uncertain, Nancy Feather arrived at the Tribues’ estate. Farris met her at her car, led her to the front porch, and installed her in a rocker that was angled away from the dog-training area.
He offered her a half-sandwich from the tray on the side table, and Nancy, somewhat unnerved by the enormity of the occasion, snatched it up and took an immediate bite. When she’d chewed and swallowed, she patted her mouth with one of the linen napkins and tried to compose herself.
Nancy Feather ruffled the fur of one of the dogs. Standing still with strict patience, the dog gazed off toward the wide view of wilderness, range after range of mountains stacked behind one another into the hazy distance. Another spring storm was darkening the southern sky, some distant rumbles rolling up the valley.
Sprawled nearby, the other dog assumed a position of tranquillity, but his eyes continually darted in his master’s direction.
Farris extended the serving tray, and Nancy Feather selected one of the glasses of iced lemonade.
“I wish I had longer than an hour for lunch, Farris. But you know how it is. We working girls.”
She took an anxious peek at her watch.
“We have plenty of time. Not to worry.”
“I was kind of surprised, you calling. All hush-hush, don’t tell anybody where I was going. Kind of scared me, I guess. Thinking maybe I’d done something wrong. I was going to get interrogated or something.”
Farris shared a laugh with the woman.
Nancy Feather wore white jeans and a green blouse that was rigidly ironed. Chopped short, her black hair lay flat and lifeless on her skull as if it, too, had been ironed until it had lost its will.
She had a round, homely face with a stubby nose, plump cheeks, and a chin with a deep cleft.
In his crisp blue uniform Farris sat down beside her, and had a sip of his lemonade. She took a dainty bite of her sandwich and made a “yum” noise.
“You’re a good cook, Farris. Most men can’t boil an egg.”
He gave her thanks and bit into his own sandwich.
Nancy, in her anxious desire to please, had not dared to change her chair’s position. Though a simple turn of her head would have brought Shannon Muldowny into view, Nancy had shown no interest in looking beyond Farris’s face or the mountain range.
They ate their sandwiches and drank their lemonade and watched the thunderstorm roll northward, dragging with it several long curtains of rain.
“It’s so beautiful here,” Nancy Feather said. “I can’t hardly imagine what it would be like to have every day free just to watch the weather and play with my dogs.”
“Are you applying for the position?” Farris said.
Some magazine or insipid friend had coached her to laugh frequently and with gusto at a suitor’s remarks, and Nancy Feather applied the lesson with yet another whoop of laughter.
“Tell me about your work, Nancy.”
“Oh, it’s nothing really. Typing contracts, filling out forms. Nothing very demanding. I always wanted to be a schoolteacher, but I didn’t have much of a head for books.”
“But travel,” Farris said, bringing her flighty mind back to the issue. “Surely that must be an exciting benefit to your work.”
“No, I don’t get to travel. I just buy tickets for other people.”
“I see.” Farris looked over at the dogs and they both stiffened.
“If I lived in a place like this, I’d never travel. Why would I want to when I could just sit out here all day and all night and never be bored?”
“Eating plate after plate of bonbons,” Farris said.
She looked at him with momentary alarm, then again resorted to a hearty laugh at his display of wit.
“I believe you handled my brother Martin’s bookings, did you not?”
“Oh, poor Martin. Everybody is so shocked. Struck down like that right out in public in a big-city airport. I’ve heard terrible stories about Miami. I don’t know why anyone goes there at all. Though if they came into the office saying they wanted to travel to Miami and I was to tell them how dangerous it was down there, Mr. Weatherby would fire me in a minute.”
“You arranged Martin’s trip to Miami?”
She was not so dense that she failed to hear the harsh authority in his voice.
“Yes, sir. I did all his plans.”
“Call me Farris, please, Nancy. No need for such formality.”
Now Nancy was thoroughly befuddled. Was this police business or a social call or something else entirely? The moment had tipped precipitously, and her round face was pinched with worry.
“I didn’t know young Mr. Tribue that good. But he always asked for me. I guess he thought I was nice or something.”
Nancy took a hurried sip of her lemonade and plucked the rest of her sandwich from the plate and bit into it in such haste that she appeared to believe she was about to be evicted.
“Do you have any friends, Nancy? Women you talk to sometimes?”
“Sure, I have friends.”
“Do you ever discuss your work with your friends?”
“It’s usually so boring at work, there’s nothing to talk about.” Then she laughed again.
One of the poodles stood up and walked over, its nails clicking against the oak planks. It stopped in front of Nancy and stared at her.
“I’m curious,” Farris said. “Mr. Weatherby told me he thought one of your friends might be Lucy Panther. Is that true?”
Nancy Feather looked at the poodle standing just two feet in front of her. She reached out and patted its head with a hand so stiff she might have been flattening dough. The dog could tolerate her touch no longer and turned and rejoined its littermate.
“Me and Lucy were in the same class at reservation school. We knew each other from a long time back.”
“Do you still see her, talk to her?”
Farris watched as she wrestled with the question. She looked at the poodle, then out at the distant storm.
“I see her,” she said quietly. “Sometimes.”
“Did you by any chance discuss Martin Tribue’s recent travel plans with Lucy Panther, your friend from long ago?”
She swallowed and set the remains of her sandwich back on the plate.
“I’m not supposed to talk about the personal affairs of our clients. That’s one of the rules. Mr. Weatherby’s very strict about his rules and regulations. They’re on the bulletin board in big letters.”
“Don’t worry about Julius. This discussion is strictly confidential.”
“Okay.” Her breathing had become shallow and irregular. “Well, yeah, I might have said something to her about Mr. Tribue going to Miami.”
“Why did you do that? Did she query you on the matter?”
“Query?”
“Did Lucy Panther ask you to keep her informed about Martin’s plans?”
She shrugged and licked her lips and looked longingly at the remains of her sandwich.
“I guess so,” she said. “Lucy knew Martin, and I guess she was curious what he was up to. You know, his comings and goings.”
“Where can I find Lucy Panther?”
She shook her head, mouth clamped like a child refusing medicine.
“You won’t tell me such a harmless thing as that?”
“Those FBI men, they’ve been hounding her for two years, tracking her everywhere she goes. I swore not to say where she was living, not tell anyone.”
“But I’m not just anyone,” Farris said.
Again Nancy Feather shut her mouth tightly.
When he stood up from his chair, both dogs rose in unison.
Farris reached down and gripped the back of Nancy Feather’s rocker and wrenched it ninety degrees to the left.
She looked over her shoulder at Farris. Eyebrows arched, her mouth a dark, perfect hole of shock.
“Now watch,” he said.
Nancy turned her gaze to the clearing where Shannon Muldowny was gagged and bound to a wooden fence post, her arms and legs loose so she could make some attempt at defending herself.
Farris had taken care to plant the post in a shallow footing, so it would collapse when sufficient force was applied. Thus the dogs would be less likely to injure themselves when they flung their bodies at her.
With the dogs focused intently on his every move, Farris raised his hand to his forehead, held it there for a moment, then he saluted the young woman from Boston. His father’s concubine, his mother’s replacement.
Without hesitation, his two poodles rushed from the porch, scampered across the lawn, and did their silent duty.
It was the first time he’d substituted human flesh for the mannequin, and Farris was pleased to see the dogs appeared to notice no difference.
Martin would have been thrilled.
Nancy Feather closed her eyes and ducked her head, but Farris ordered her to open them and she obeyed, however briefly.
“Now tell me, Nancy, where I can find Lucy Panther.”