“I can tear up your check or send it back to you, Mr. Ruskin. Your call.”
There was a pause on the other end of the line, then Ruskin laughed.
“No need to do either. You don’t think I’m serious. I’ve decided to offer a reward.”
I should have been suspicious at Ruskin’s fast turnaround. But I was put off by his conciliatory change of tone.
“It’s worth a try. How much of a reward?”
“Oh, I don’t know. How about ten thousand dollars?”
“That will definitely get his interest. I’ll go see Murphy tomorrow and make the offer.”
“Yes,” Ruskin said, after a pause. “That should work.”
He hung up. I went back into the house and came out onto the deck with a can of Cape Cod Red beer. I popped the top and took a slurp, thinking about my conversation with Ruskin. He said his rash suggestion to lean on Murphy was a joke, but I wasn’t so sure. I sipped my beer, letting my mind zone out as the late afternoon sun painted the bay and beach in autumn pastels.
After the beer can went dry, I went back into the house. I pulled together a Greek salad for dinner, then worked a few hours on some paperwork for the charter operation. The figures looked so good that I decided to call my family in the morning to tell them about my accounting.
My eyes were tired from looking at numbers. I had another beer, then I stretched out on the couch and fell asleep. The chirp of my phone woke me up. I groped for the phone, stuck it in my ear and came out with a groggy “hello.” I heard a wet gargle on the other end and a second later the phone went dead. The caller ID said Mike Murphy had called. I hit the redial button and got a busy signal.
The phone’s time display said it was after midnight.
I splashed cold water on my face and headed for the door.
Murphy’s house was in darkness. I parked in the driveway behind the Toyota Camry, went up to the front door and knocked. No answer. I knocked again, louder this time. No one came to the door. I rang the doorbell. No one answered the ring, but something brushed up against my leg.
I looked down at Murphy’s cat, Gus. Funny. Murphy said Gus stayed indoors because of the danger from coyotes.
I tried the knob. The door was unlocked. As I opened the door Gus scuttled past me into the darkness. I stepped inside and called Murphy’s name. No answer. I tried again. This time I heard a low moan. I felt for the wall switch and flicked on the lights.
Murphy was stretched out on the couch, one arm dangling limply toward the floor. The lower part of his face looked as if it had been smeared with ketchup.
I snatched a phone from the floor next to the couch and called 911. I said I was Mike’s neighbor and that he needed medical help. Then I knelt next to Murphy. I put my face close to his, and said, “You’re going to be okay, Mike. Rescue squad is on its way.”
He opened his mouth and I got a knot in the pit of my stomach when I saw that his beautiful Irish smile had been ruined. Something or someone had hit him in the jaw with a force powerful enough to knock out his front teeth. There were bruises on his left cheek. I guessed he’d been worked over with a blackjack.
Anger welled in my chest.
“Who did this to you, Mike?”
He tried to talk. The best he could manage was a wet gurgle similar to the one I had heard over the phone. I asked him again. This time he said what sounded like goats. I tried again. The same answer. His dazed eyes looked past my shoulder. I turned and saw he had fixed his gaze on the fireplace photo of the Crowell barn. Then, mercifully, he passed out.
I had done all I could for Mike. I didn’t want to explain to the police who I was and why I was there. I went outside, got in the pickup, drove half a block and parked where I could see the house. Minutes later, I saw the flashing lights of an ambulance coming down the street.
It was clear to me who’d worked Mike over. Ruskin made no secret that he would crack heads if necessary to get his hands on the decoy. Thanks to my big fat Greek mouth, he knew Murphy held the key to its whereabouts. I had handed Mike on a platter to a dangerous man.
Maybe I should tell the cops what I knew. Lousy idea. Ruskin had the money to hire a team of lawyers who would say that there was no evidence. And Ruskin had the perfect alibi. He never left the house because of his acute allergies, poor guy.
I watched the rescue squad bring Mike out on a stretcher and put him in the ambulance. I followed the ambulance to the hospital emergency entrance. I waited outside a few minutes, but there was nothing I could do while Mike was in the ER, so I drove home.
When I drove up to my house I saw I had company. A black Cadillac was parked in front. I pulled up next to the car and got out of the truck. The caddy’s door opened and a tall man emerged from the car. His silver hair was combed back from a broad forehead. He had a sharp-jawed face with a chin like a shelf. He stood there with his arms folded.
“Ruskin sent me,” he said. He had an accent that was neither English nor Irish. I figured him for Australian.
The black running suit didn’t hide his broad-shouldered physique any better than the white coverall did when I first saw him in the trophy room. “You’re his valet. Dudley.”
If he was surprised I knew his name he didn’t show it. His expression looked as if it had been carved in ice.
“Yeah, that’s me. How’d you know my name?”
“Ruskin’s butler.”
“He talks to much.”
“I almost didn’t recognize you without your hazmat outfit.”
“What? Oh yeah. The spook suit. I put it on after I’ve been out of the house. Ruskin worries about bringing in bad stuff.”
“I’d ask you in for a cup of tea, Dudley, but the place is a mess. What brings you by this time of night?”
“Mr. Ruskin wanted me to tell you you’re off the case. He doesn’t need you anymore.”
“Funny, he didn’t say anything about firing me when I talked to him a few hours ago. He suggested I offer a reward to a source who might be able to lead him to the decoy.”
“Save your energy. You’re done.”
“Does that mean he’s found the decoy?”
“He knows where it is. You’re out of the picture.”
“He paid me a lot of money to snoop around.”
He sneered. “Don’t bother cashing the check. He’s going to put a stop payment on it.”
“Mr. Ruskin is stiffing me?”
“You didn’t find the bird. That was the deal. He had to take matters into his own hands. I’m here to pick up the fake bird.”
“It’s a fake. What’s the hurry?”
“Mr. Ruskin doesn’t like other people to have his property.”
“People like Mike Murphy?”
“Whaddya talking about?”
“I told Ruskin that Murphy might know where the decoy was. A few hours later someone put him in the hospital.”
Dudley smiled. “So?”
“So maybe the police might like to know the connection between your boss and Murphy getting beat up.”
“That would be stupid on your part.”
“Tell Ruskin I’ll drop the duck off tomorrow. Maybe we can talk about my paycheck then. Thanks for coming by, Dud.”
Calling him Dud was my first mistake. Turning away from a violent thug was my second. He moved in, and I saw him unfold his arms from across his chest a second before something hard slammed into the side of my head. My legs turned to rubber and I went over like a fallen oak.
I didn’t even have the chance to yell, “Timber!”
A groan woke me up, which wasn’t surprising because it was coming from my throat.
I pushed myself onto my elbows, then onto my knees, got my legs under me and staggered into the boathouse. The right side of my head was on fire. I had trouble focusing, but I saw that the inside of the house looked as if a bulldozer had gone through it. Only not as neat.