“I’ve been asked by the Cambridge police to question a James Carlysle Murdock concerning a burglary in her boardinghouse room . Burglary! And you had one last night, too? Whatinhell’s going on here?” and he glared around menacingly.
The ensign returned with a sailor who pushed past the major with a polite excuse and suppressed curiosity.
“Evans has had some training, miss,” the ensign said and we all stepped aside for the sailor to look at Merlin.
“Merlin! Friend,” I told the dog as Evans, his face lighting with admiration for the shepherd, bent slowly, his hand extended.
Merlin whined, licked his lips, but let the sailor examine his head.
“That’s a bad crease, miss, but it’s clean.”
“We dug a bullet out of his shoulder,” the lieutenant said.
Evans turned back the quilt and whistled. I heard him pull in his breath sharply as he saw the wound. He put the quilt back and stood up.
“That’s beyond me, sir. And he’s too good a dog not to have the best.”
Evans turned to me, his face eager. “Ever thought of donating him to the K-9 Corps?”
Turtle snorted. I held up a warning hand.
“He’s been in, sailor,” I said gravely.
I know it was outrageous to imply that Merlin had seen service and been retired honorably but I didn’t want him belittled any further with explanations after his heroism of the night before.
Evans’ eyes widened and he saluted.
“There’s a good vet in Hyannis, miss. With the ensign’s permission, I’ll give him a call. He’ll come out if I say so.”
“We’d appreciate it, sailor,” the major said smoothly, moving to my side, his manner, for some reason, protective. I glanced up at him inquiringly and caught, out of the side of my vision, the smirk on Beatty’s face. I didn’t like it.
“Thank you, Evans,” I said, not to let the major do the honors for me exclusively.
The Coast Guard contingent left with expressions of apology and good will. Merlin growled low in his throat as the Dobermans’ baying announced withdrawal.
“All right, now,” Beatty said. He pulled a chair from the table and sat himself down, opening his heavy coat, taking out report forms, and a pen, his long, lantern-jawed, mulish face disagreeable.
“I want a few things cleared up on the civilian level,” he said nastily.
I saw the lieutenant ease himself out to the study.
“There’s been some hanky-panky heyah that I don’t miss even if you pulled rank and all on them sandpeeps.”
“I’m sorry, officer,” the lieutenant said smoothly. He held out to the policeman a small leather case and a folded sheet of army issue paper. “This matter is now classified.”
“Whatinhell you say?” He reluctantly took the papers from DeLord. His eyes widened with outraged surprise. “I don’t believe it. Burglaries? Classified?”
“I’m working out of Fort Edwards at the moment. Call CID for verification. This is my code number.”
I began to like the lieutenant again.
“I don’t like it,” Beatty said flatly. He thrust the chair back angrily as he rose. “I don’t like it one bit.” He waved a finger under DeLord’s nose, his anger growing with each shake. “And don’t think for one moment, Lieutenant, that I’m not going to call Edwards. There’s something godal-mighty fishy about this. Burglaries! Shooting!” He turned to include me in his catalog. “Wards! Hell. I know you too well, Regan Laird.”
“Now, wait a minute,” Turtle growled, placing himself belligerently in Beatty’s path. “You don’t - “
“You look familiar, Sergeant,” Beatty interrupted him pugnaciously, his lantern jaw jutting out. “You at Edwards?”
“Bailey’s just back from Germany,” Laird intervened. At his stern look, Turtle stood aside as Beatty, casting one more meaningful sneer over his shoulder, stalked out the door. Merlin’s soft snarl summed up my feelings exactly.
“I don’t think we’ve seen the last of him,” the lieutenant remarked ruefully, his hand reaching for his head.
“Leave that damn thing alone,” I snapped with irritation, pulling a chair near the stove and curling my cold feet under me.
“Edwards does know?” the major asked hopefully.
“Oh, indeed, they do,” DeLord replied. “You know this Beatty fellow?”
The major sat down heavily, lighting a cigarette and inhaling deeply before he answered. “Beatty and I have had a few run-ins before.”
“Speeding?” I taunted flippantly.
The major shook his head. “Long before I started driving, Carlysle, and long before he got on the force. I came here for summers as a child, you know.”
“No, I didn’t know,” I said caustically.
He ignored me. “If my memory serves me correctly, the initial engagement was fought over some crabs.”
“Crabs?” Turtle exploded. Merlin barked.
“Crabs,” the major reaffirmed, amusement lighting his face. The lieutenant began to chuckle. “I believe we were about ten at the time. I lost all the crabs I’d caught - a whole morning’s work - and came home without the net and with a black eye.”
“And Beatty?” I prompted hopefully.
“Oh, he was crabless too, and minus a front tooth.”
“And you’re still fighting over that?”
“No,” Laird allowed, setting his jaw against what he had no intention of discussing. “There were a few other minor disagreements.”.
Turtle chuckled understandingly and had that special look which I had learned meant members of my sex were involved.
“However,” and the major’s attitude changed abruptly as he turned to me, “it only points up my reasons for wanting you out of here.”
“That?” I exclaimed, gesturing at the door where Beatty had exited.
“That!” Laird repeated emphatically. “I don’t trust Beatty’s discretion any further than I can throw him. And I would if it’d serve any purpose. It’s going to be all over Orleans that I have a good-looking adolescent ward - “
“I am not adolescent,” I objected strenuously. I did not fail to catch the other adjective and treasured it.
“Shut up. And that’s going to ruin your reputation.”
“But Turtle and the lieutenant are here
“
“Turtle possibly constitutes a chaperon but the lieutenant? Sorry, Mrs. Grundy says no.”
“A backhanded compliment if ever I had one.” DeLord chuckled and then hastened, spurred by Major Laird’s angry look, to add his weight to the argument. “But the major’s right, Miss Carla. Beatty is no gentleman.”
“Now, wait a minute,” I suggested, my dander rising on several fronts, “there’s one helluva lot more at stake than my reputation. About which I’m not worried.” I glared at all of them impartially. “Have you so easily forgotten my father’s murder? You started to outline what we were going to do next to trap Warren. And I warn you, all of you, I’m not giving up that little item. I want Warren up for court-martial, you, the major, the shore patrol, Beatty, and the entire town of Orleans notwithstanding.” I looked at each man belligerently, knowing I had a very strong case.
“Furthermore, Merlin can’t be moved. And if I’m not here, he plain won’t eat. You’re not going to sacrifice him to convention, are you? Because I won’t.”
“That C. G. rating said he’d call the vet,” the major said evasively. “Maybe he can be moved.”
“Over snowy roads, in a jeep?” I asked sarcastically. “Ever done it, wounded?” and bit my lip because the look on Turtle’s face, not to mention the major’s, gave me a definitive answer to that. I swallowed and changed my tactics. “That burglar last night wasn’t Warren because Donald Warren would have frozen solid with fright if Merlin were anywhere near him. But I’ll bet Warren hired him.”