| |
“Have you found it yet?”
Flo glanced up at Agnes, wincing. “No. And my head’s killing me.”
“You’re sure the number on the tank will be on those sheets?”
“No. I’m not sure about anything. But I was optimistic. I guess that was too much to hope for.” Flo sighed. “I’ll admit I’m at a dead end.”
“Maybe this will help.” Agnes handed Flo the Silver City Tribune.
“What am I looking at here?”
“This article.” Agnes stabbed a finger at the newsprint, where a small write-up in the social section mentioned a local military collector.
Silver City Man Buys Military Equipment
Flo quickly skimmed the article. “A survivalist.” Shaking her head, she settled the paper down onto the table in front of her. “Those people are nutty.”
“Not always. Some are, for sure. But there are a lot of people who stockpile food and supplies just in case of a natural or other disaster. That’s not crazy. That’s just smart.” Agnes crossed her arms over her chest, frowning.
“I take it you stockpile?”
“I do. And it makes sense, Flo. Think about that last hurricane that hit New Jersey. Within only a matter of days people were dumpster diving. That’s just nuts. It pays to be prepared.”
“You’re right. I shouldn’t lump everyone together.” She smiled at her new friend. “Tell me, what do you stockpile? Rice? Canned soup?”
“Blech. No, I stockpile much more useful foods. Stuff I’ll actually eat. I’ve got twenty boxes of Twinkles Cakes on the shelf right now.”
“Twinkles? That’s not food, Agnes. Those things are nothing but baked chemicals frosted in more chemicals with whipped chemicals inside.”
Agnes got a wide grin. “Exactly! Do you have any idea what the shelf life of a box of Twinkles is?”
“Oh, I don’t know. A millennium?”
“Almost.” Agnes frowned. “Well, it would be that long if I didn’t eat them all within the first couple of weeks.”
“You ate twenty boxes of Twinkles in two weeks?”
“Of course not, Flo. I had fifty of them to start. I ate thirty boxes.”
“Oh good heavens.” Flo shook her head and looked down at the article again. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to talk to this man. If the tank is going to him then there’s nothing illegal going on after all.”
“Except for the fact that Carey had all that money and didn’t tell his manager about the tank in the warehouse.”
“There is that.”
“Hello, ladies!”
They looked up to find the pretty Activities Director at Silver Hills hurrying toward them across the lobby.
In her thirties, lean and pretty with dark brown hair and green eyes, Trisha Colombo, or TC as she was called by the residents, had gone out of her way to make Flo feel at home from the first day she’d been at Silver Hills. They were fast becoming good friends. “Are you busy?”
Flo stood up, taking the newspaper with her and folding it in half. “Actually, we were just heading out to run an errand. What’s up?”
TC frowned. “Well, I scheduled a service for Betty in the small chapel for later today and I was hoping you’d come.”
“Of course, hun. What time?”
“Five o’clock? It’ll be a short one. I just wanted to give the people who knew her a chance to say a few words before everyone goes down to dinner.”
“We’ll be there.”
TC nodded, frowning.
“Is something else wrong?”
“Yes. I mean, it wasn’t unexpected, I guess but...”
“What?”
“Royal Davvid passed this morning.”
“Oh no. That’s too bad.”
TC nodded. “You knew he had stage four brain cancer, right?”
“I did, yes.”
“Royal insisted he wanted to come home in the end. He was tired of being poked and prodded and filled full of what he termed ‘poisons’.”
“I understand those chemo medicines can be bad.”
“They can.” TC teared up, sniffling. “He was only forty years old, Flo.”
“Aw, TC.” Flo pulled her friend into a hug. Royal Davvid had been an avid gym rat so he and TC had gotten close over the last months. It had been a surprise to everyone when he’d announced he had cancer. He’d seemed so strong and healthy.
TC skimmed a quick look toward Agnes. She frowned, looking down at her hands. “Yes. Erm...there’s something you should be aware of, Agnes. It’s crazy, I know but...well Eliza Kemp’s been talking...”
“About what?” Agnes frowned.
“Tolstoy actually.”
Flo was surprised by the change in subject. “What about the cat?”
“When hospice opened the door at Royal’s this morning, well, Tolstoy came running out.”
“How in the world?”
TC shrugged. “Who knows. People have been coming and going there for days. Everyone’s been trying to keep Royal’s spirits up and keeping an eye on him. The cat probably slipped in and nobody saw him. But...”
TC looked so upset, Flo was really worried about what she was going to tell them. “Spit it out, TC. You’re scaring me.”
“I’m afraid there’s a rumor going around about Tolstoy. Some of the residents are convinced he’s the angel of death in feline form.”
“What?” Agnes objected. “That’s crazy.”
“You and I know that but...well...you have to admit since you’ve been here two people have died and Tolstoy was present in both cases.” TC shrugged. “I’m not saying I believe the rumors. I just wanted you to be aware of them.”
Agnes nodded. “Yeah. Thanks. I’ll try to keep him home more.”
“That would probably be best. At least until this all dies down.”
~SC~
Sydney Felz lived on a large piece of land twenty minutes outside of town. Though the driveway and much of the land on either side was blocked by a dented and broken wood privacy fence, Flo could tell by peering through the broken boards that the fence ended about an acre out on either side. “Not very secure if you’re trying to keep people away,” she told Agnes.
Agnes was busy perusing the chain on the gate, tugging on it to test its strength. “I could probably pick this lock if I had some tools.”
Flo felt her eyes go wide. “You know how to pick locks?”
“Not really. But I’ve seen it on TV lots of times.” She shrugged. “How hard can it be?”
Flo briefly considered walking to the end of the fence to gain access, but then she looked down at her new dove gray pumps and decided that was a bad idea. “I wonder if he has security cameras on this gate.” She lifted her gaze to the trees around them and spun in a slow circle, looking for the telltale signs of a camera.
She saw nothing blinking and the sun didn’t flash off of any glass eye-pieces.
The unmistakable sound of a shotgun being cocked made her jump. Flo and Agnes shared a stricken look and then Flo eased forward, peeking through the hole in the fence. She yelped as she found herself looking into a bloodshot brown eyeball.
Flo jumped back, her pulse spiking. “Heavens!”
“What do you want?”
Flo took a deep breath. “Mr. Felz?”
“That’s for me to know and you to...well it’s just for me to know.”
Agnes jammed her hand through the narrow opening between the gate and the post. “Hi. I’m Agnes.”
Flo hurried forward. “Are you crazy!” she whispered harshly. “He could just cut that hand right off.”
Agnes rolled her eyes. “I have lightning fast reflexes. He’d never even get started.” Agnes jerked on her hand as if to demonstrate and her eyes went wide. She wriggled and jerked, causing the gate to shimmy in its rickety frame, but she couldn’t get her hand free. “Um, mister, do you think you could unlock your gate so I can get my hand out?”
They could hear the man’s heavy boots plodding toward Agnes down the gate. There was a snuffling noise and some panting. Agnes’ eyes looked ready to pop right out of her head.
Suddenly she twitched. “He licked me!”
“He what? Oh Lord!” Flo grabbed Agnes’ thick wrist and tried to pull her free.
A low growl sounded as they struggled.
“Stop that now! You’re upsetting Rufus.”
Agnes seemed to wilt, her eyes rolling closed. “Oh, it’s a dog.” Then her eyes popped open and she renewed her struggles, more frantic than before. “Don’t let it bite me,” she implored. “Please?”
“Rufus don’t bite, lady. At least not much.” Felz’s voice was right on the other side of the gate from where Agnes was caught. Flo moved closer, trying to twist Agnes’ wrist in an attempt to free it.
“What in the wide world of breakdancing were ya thinkin’ stickin’ yore arm into that crack in the first place?”
“I just wanted to shake your hand.” Agnes jumped again. “Um, can you tell Rufus to stop licking me? I’m allergic to dog spit.”
“Well then you’re in luck, lady. Rufus ain’t no dog.”
Flo hadn’t thought Agnes’ eyes could get any wider.
She’d been wrong.
“Will you open the gate, please. We’d just like to ask you some questions about a tank.”
A beat of silence met Flo’s plea and then, thankfully, the sound of a key in the lock. A moment later the gate swung open a few inches and Agnes yanked her arm free. “Thank you so mu...” Her voice trailed off and her mouth fell open as she eyed something just inside the gate. Flo came up next to her, pulling the gate a few inches wider so she could see what Agnes was ogling.
She gave a little chirp of alarm and took an involuntary step back.
“Don’t let Rufus out, now. He’d never survive out in the wild by hisself.”
Rufus stood a foot away from Agnes’ shoes, tiny black eyes lost behind folds of skin that was crusty with something black. There were also intermittent chunks of something else that was gray and slimy. He stood almost to his owner’s waist and probably outweighed him by a couple hundred pounds. His snout was wet and quivered with interest as he fixed his beady gaze on Agnes. Something that looked like a whirly gig spun wildly on his backside, disrupting the cloud of flies trying to rest on the massive haunches.
“Rufus is a...” Agnes gulped.
“Ain’t you never seen a pig before, lady?”
Flo scanned the pig’s owner a look for the first time. She blinked. And then frowned as unease skittered through her empty stomach. “Um...” Her first thought was that Sydney Felz must have bathed alongside his pig in the wallow that morning. He was filthy.
And he looked like his pet.
Sydney’s eyes were beady too and were so dark they looked black. And his cheeks pushed at them just as Rufus’ did, making them even smaller than they were. “Mr. Felz, I presume?”
To her horror, though he looked like something that lived in the jungle, snorfling around on the ground searching for truffles, the man apparently believed in having some manners.
He offered Flo his hand.
His. Black. Crusty. Hand.
She couldn’t stop the grimace that shoved at her lips. But she took the very tip of one of his fingers and gave it a quick jerk. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Felz. I’m Flo and this is Agnes.”
“Yeah, she already told me her name.” He stood there, shotgun resting across his arms, and stared at them with an expression that was identical to his pig’s.
All Flo could think was that the man’s gaze looked cold and dead. There was no emotion. No curiosity. Not even any irritation that they’d intruded on his little piece of...heaven. “We wanted to ask you about your collection.”
He and the pig scanned a look toward Agnes and then back to Flo, their heads appearing to be attached to the same string. “What collection?”
Flo suddenly remembered the newspaper. She pulled it out of her purse and gave it to him, showing him the article.
He peered at it without any reaction for a moment and Flo realized he might not be able to read. She was just about to offer to read it for him when his lips started to move.
She and Agnes shared a look and waited. Five minutes later, Felz folded the newspaper and slipped it into the waistband of his filthy pants.
Flo swallowed bile. She wouldn’t be requesting that back.
“What of it?” he asked them in a defensive tone.
“Um.” Flo threw Agnes a helpless look.
Her friend stepped forward. “We wondered if you’d bought a tank lately?”
Felz and Rufus swiveled a blank look in her direction. It took Felz a moment to respond and when he did, Flo wasn’t expecting it.
He laughed.
A strong, genuine belly laugh that made Rufus drop to his haunches in the dirt, his ears and tail whipping around in alarm. “A tank? What would I do with a tank?”
Flo shrugged. “I’m not sure what anybody would do with a tank but the paper said you collected military equipment so...”
His laugh died but the smile hung around for another few beats. Finally he nodded, reaching into the pocket of his crusty pants. Agnes took a step back as he came up with a beat up old knife. He slipped the sheath off and showed them a blade that looked like he’d used it to chop rocks. “This here’s from WW2. Ain’t it a beaut?”
Flo frowned. “Um. Yes, that’s...erm...lovely.”
His oversized brow lowered over his eyes, making them all but disappear. He stared at her as if trying to judge her sincerity.
“Is that your whole collection?” Agnes asked. She didn’t even bother to hide her disgust.
“No, ma’am. I got me a rocket too.”
“A...” Flo felt herself go pale. “A rocket?”
“Sure. Come on, I’ll show ya.”
They picked their way carefully through the scruff grass and mud, heading toward a tiny cabin with a crooked porch. A laundry line ran from one post of the porch to a nearby tree. The clothing hanging on the line was so gray it still looked dirty. The only things that didn’t look as if they were a hundred years old was a pair of camo pants and a matching shirt.
Rufus snorted and snuffled his way along just behind Agnes. He seemed to like her shoes a lot, and spent a lot of time with his moist snout pressed against her heel. For her part, Agnes all but leapt off the ground every time he sniffed them.
Which, when Flo thought about it, was probably the reason Rufus kept nuzzling her. He no doubt enjoyed making her dance.
Flo grinned.
“Here ya go.” Felz slammed a meaty palm down on top of a long, aluminum object that was half buried in the ground. The thing was ten feet long and was shaped like a giant bullet. It was covered in mud but Flo thought she could just make out the letters, U.S.A. and a series of numbers on its nose. On the blunt end there were three visible protrusions that Flo figured had once upon a time been the rocket’s guidance system. It currently seemed to serve as a scratching post for the giant pig. She was pretty sure Rufus was smiling as he scratched his muddy butt on the closest one. “You’re using your rocket as a trough?”
Felz looked at Agnes, clearly surprised by her question. “Well, yeah. I believe in repurposing things. And besides, Rufus loves it.”
Sure enough, the top of the rocket was cut off and the inside was filled with what looked to Flo like rotten produce.
To Rufus it looked like lunch. And it didn’t take him long to stick his wet snout into the piggy salad bar and commence to snarfin’.