POOLESVILLE, MARYLAND
Dewey took a circuitous route home from Andrews, driving through the Maryland countryside. He knew the route well by now. Fields of deep green spread out on each side of the thin, winding country road. Spring was here and hints of summer came through in the fresh, flowery scents of the country plain. When he came to the crest of a hill, he slowed. There, in the distance, was Bruner’s farm.
As he drove closer, he suddenly registered the line of vehicles, including an ambulance, several police cars, and a few dark sedans.
Dewey took a left into the long gravel driveway. When he came to a uniformed Maryland state trooper, he showed him his government ID. The policeman waved him on. He steered the Ferrari past the line of cars and parked in the circular driveway in front of the rambling mansion, next to the ambulance, whose back doors were open.
Several people were milling about. There wasn’t a sense of urgency, though the mood was somber.
Dewey climbed out and walked up to a group of men in dark suits standing at the front door, which was wide open. He held out his ID.
“What happened?” said Dewey.
One of the agents, a middle-aged bald man, nodded to the other two. They walked away.
“She died last night,” said the FBI agent. “Housekeeper discovered her.”
“How?”
“Old age, heart attack, whatever.”
Dewey nodded and started to move past him.
“We’re not letting anyone inside,” he said.
Dewey glanced at him. He reached into his pocket and again showed him the CIA ID.
“Learn your protocols,” said Dewey.
“Sorry.”
Inside, a pair of paramedics had Bruner’s wife on a gurney. She was already zipped up in a black body bag. Dewey went past them, walking slowly around the ground floor of the house. Someone had cleaned up. The trash bags and laundry were gone now. Every room was cozy and elegant, with beautiful paintings in large frames adorning the walls, gorgeous antiques, and Oriental carpets festooned in subtle, amazing patterns. He came to a closed door and turned the knob. Inside was the living room. It was eerily quiet. He looked at the place she had been sitting when he came to kill her. He stared for several seconds, as if she was still there. Then he saw movement and glanced to his right. Lying down in the corner was her large Saint Bernard. He was sound asleep.
Dewey started to turn around to leave but paused instead. He walked to the big dog and crouched next to him. Dewey put his hand on the dog’s head and rubbed it. After a few moments, the dog opened his eyes and looked up at Dewey.
“Hey,” said Dewey.
Dewey ran his hand along the dog’s soft back, scratching him gently. The dog lifted his head and leaned toward him, licking Dewey’s other hand.
“You feel like going for a ride?”
Dewey stood up and looked at the dog, then grinned. The Saint Bernard stood slowly up. They walked out of the room, down the hallway, and went outside, the dog trailing Dewey the whole way.
Dewey stared briefly at the FBI agent as he walked to the car with the Saint Bernard at his side. He opened the passenger door. The dog stared for several moments at the seat. Dewey leaned down and patted it.
“Get in,” he said. “It’s a Ferrari.”
The dog lifted a paw and put it on the seat and lumbered in. Dewey shut the door and walked around to the driver’s side and climbed in. He pushed a red button on the console and started the car. The engine howled. Before he hit the gas, Dewey looked over at the dog. His head was nearly as high as Dewey’s.
“I’m Dewey,” he said, patting the dog on his shoulder. “Wrigley, right?”
The dog’s big, furry, square head turned left and right. His mouth was open and he seemed to be smiling. He held Dewey’s gaze for a moment. A large drop of drool emerged from his mouth and dribbled down onto the leather dashboard.
Dewey burst out laughing.
He hit the accelerator and sent the Ferrari tearing up the dirt driveway.
“You’re gonna love Castine!” yelled Dewey over the full-throated roar of the Ferrari, wheel in one hand, patting Wrigley with the other as the dog attempted to stick his head up above the windshield so as to feel the breeze. “Sure, it’s a little cold sometimes, but you’re basically wearing a fur coat so you’ll be fine.”