The Scottie Barked At Midnight (17 page)

At her side, Liss heard Valentine breathe a sigh of relief.

Curious,
she thought.

She applied the brakes and lowered her window when a man approached, signaling for them to stop. He wore the outdoor uniform common among Mainers from late fall until the temperature hit fifty or above in the spring—a quilt-lined coverall made of cotton duck with a corduroy collar and lots of zippers.

“We're not open until nine on Wednesday.” He peered at the windshield. “And I don't see a permit. You can't recycle here unless you live in Orlin.”

Valentine leaned across the seat far enough to pass a piece of paper to him. “I'm here to take pictures, although I'd count it a huge favor if you'd also let my friend leave off a small amount of trash.”

The dump keeper studied the page so intently that Liss wondered just how well he could read. The suspicion on his jowly face was undiminished when he handed it back to Valentine. “What kind of trash?”

“Uh, they're called pee pads.” Liss felt heat creep into her face. “Uh, sort of like big diapers?”

He didn't look happy, but apparently Valentine's paperwork was in order. He indicated the bin where she could discard her garbage and then stomped back inside the largest of the buildings.

“Now what?” Liss asked when her distasteful task had been accomplished.

“Now I take pictures.” Valentine sounded more cheerful than she had on the drive from the hotel, but the way her gaze darted from side to side as she strode forward struck Liss as odd. For a professional photographer used to searching in strange places for interesting subject matter, she seemed extraordinarily jumpy.

A bulldozer and a beat-up old truck that obviously belonged to the dump keeper were the only other vehicles in sight. The only person was the town employee who'd checked Valentine's credentials. She felt comfortable leaving the dogs in the backseat of her car, the windows cracked open for air, while she trailed after Valentine. This transfer station—the old term
dump
was no longer politically correct, although people continued to use it—was similar to the one in Moosetookalook. Recycling was accomplished by the use of a single bin, no sorting required. A large sign attached to the building listed those materials that were accepted and those that were not. The rejects, together with bags of unrecyclable trash—clear plastic trash bags only!—eventually went into a landfill.

“It wasn't that long ago that recycling meant separating everything into piles and going from giant dumpster to giant dumpster to deposit newspapers and magazines in one, mixed paper in another, corrugated boxes in a third. There must have been a dozen different categories. If I remember right, there were separate bins for milk jugs, for detergent jugs, for aluminum cans, for metal cans—they had a magnet mounted nearby if you weren't sure which were which—and for brown paper bags. Or maybe those went in with corrugated boxes.” Liss chuckled. “There was a big sign over that bin, warning you not to throw in any pizza boxes.”

“Why not?”

“They might have food stuck to them. Clean cardboard only, if you please. And you'd better believe the dump keeper yelled at you if you put something in the wrong place.”

“And before there were regulations—what were town dumps like then?”

“When I was a little kid, the dump was just a landfill. Everything went into it.” She frowned, trying to remember. “There were always seagulls circling around, even though we're nowhere near the ocean. Scavengers.”

“How . . . picturesque.”

Liss was struck by Valentine's sarcastic tone of voice. “It's a lot less photogenic these days.”

“Thank God.” She kept taking pictures.

“Meaning?”

They'd come to the edge of the paved area, where their view encompassed the section where trash was buried. Some of it was biodegradable and would eventually become part of the ecosystem. Other items would be around forever. Liss felt a twinge of guilt about those pee pads, until she reminded herself that she hadn't been the one who'd bought them.

She glanced over her shoulder at her hatchback. It was still the only car parked at the transfer station. The dogs were safe. They wouldn't even be cold waiting in there, not the way the sun was beating down. If she and Valentine stayed much longer, she'd have to go open that window a little wider to keep them from getting too hot.

Valentine stopped taking pictures, but she made no move to leave. She continued to stare at the landfill, as if she saw something that wasn't there.

Her demeanor puzzled Liss. What was there about the town dump to make the other woman look so worried? She tried to see her surroundings through Valentine's photographer's eye. Once there would have been veritable mountains of trash where now only little molehills cropped up. She added gulls to her mental picture. White ones. There should be rats, too, she supposed. It had been quite the sport in the old days, going to the dump to take potshots at the rats.

And then it hit her. She knew what was bothering Valentine. Suppressing a laugh, she touched the other woman's arm, unsurprised when she jumped a foot and let out a little squeak of alarm.

“Let me guess—you read
Salem's Lot
at an impressionable age.” That would certainly explain why she hadn't wanted to visit the dump alone.

Valentine's smile was rueful. “A little imagination is a dangerous thing. I don't suppose that old guy in the coveralls is really a vampire, but he gives me the creeps.”

“It's broad daylight,” Liss reminded her, pointing up toward the sun.

They had their backs to the barnlike building that housed the office and the recycling center. It took a surprising amount of willpower not to look over her shoulder, especially when Liss heard the sound of a car engine. Stephen King's powerful writing had stuck with her all these years, just as it had for Valentine.

“If I remember right, the dump keeper was the monster's first slurp.”

“The vampire got lucky at the dump.” Valentine shuddered. “I had nightmares for weeks after I read that book. I never felt the same again about rats, either.”

“I'm pretty sure all the rats are long gone.”

Valentine turned with a smile that looked forced. It faded when her gaze shifted past Liss's shoulder. Her eyes narrowed. “Not all of them.”

Liss turned to look. The vehicle she'd heard had stopped at the area reserved for discarding lumber. A glance at her watch told Liss the transfer station still wasn't open for business, but the driver was already out of his car and working fast to unload what looked like a pile of broken boards from his trunk.

“Hey! You there!” yelled the dump keeper. “You got a permit?”

Without pausing to reply, the man slammed his now-empty trunk closed, jumped back into his car, and took off. He didn't notice Liss and Valentine, but Liss had a clear view of his face as he sped away. It was Hal Quarles.

Liss and Valentine exchanged a look and headed for the area Quarles had just left. It did not take long to inspect the wood he'd left behind. Liss took a piece of it away with her. It was obvious even to her untrained eyes that the wreckage had once been an item of furniture, and a very specific type of furniture at that.

She drove Valentine back to the hotel in thoughtful silence. They hadn't encountered one of Stephen King's vampires at the dump, but they might just have crossed paths with a murderer. What else could explain why Hal Quarles had been getting rid of the remains of the Great Umberto's magic cabinet?

 

By the time Liss and Valentine returned to the hotel, Hal Quarles had long since scurried inside. Liss was just as happy not to run into him in the parking lot. Confronting him about what they had seen was tempting, but probably not a smart thing to do.

“I'm going to give Dandy and Dondi a run before I go inside.” Liss said, indicating the little parklike area with the statue of the skier. “It should be less messy than the last time we were there. It's still mud season, but there's nothing like a few hours of bright sunshine to start drying things out.”

Valentine didn't answer her. She was staring at something in the opposite direction. “Isn't that the television reporter who was here the other day? Ballantyne? Berryman?”

“Barrigan. Troy Barrigan.” All Liss saw was a back view of a man in rapid retreat. “That could have been him, but I didn't get a good enough look to be certain.”

“If he's snooping around, it won't be good for the show.”

“If he was worth his salt as an investigative reporter he wouldn't have filed that fluff piece after his last visit. He'd already guessed there was something fishy about Eastmont's claim that the show is recorded live.”

“I think I'll see if I can catch him. I'd like to have a little chat with him.” Valentine set off at a trot.

With a shrug, Liss hauled the two dog carriers to the edge of the parking lot and opened the doors to set the Scotties free. She didn't have their leashes with her, but Dandy and Dondi were well trained. She wasn't worried about either of them running away, and they'd come when she called.

A few minutes later, Iris Jansen came out of the back entrance to the hotel and crossed the parking lot in the direction of the magician's van. Spotting Liss and the Scotties, she changed course and joined them. “Hi,” she said with her usual friendly smile. “You're up and at 'em early this morning.”

“You don't know the half of it.” Liss fingered the piece of wood she'd picked up at the transfer station and tucked into her coat pocket. Pulling it out, she showed it to Iris. “Does this look familiar?”

Iris's eyes widened. “It almost . . . but it couldn't be!”

“I'm afraid it could. Valentine and I just came from the town dump. She was taking pictures. While we were there, Hal Quarles drove in and unloaded a whole pile of broken bits just like this one.”

“Hal Quarles? Why, that awful old man! This cabinet isn't going to be cheap to replace. We'll sue his socks off if he doesn't pay for it.” Indignant, she started toward the hotel.

Liss caught her arm. “Don't be hasty, and don't confront him on your own.”

“I was going to tell Oscar.” Her eyes opened wider. “Do you think he's the one behind everything that's happened?”

“I don't know, but if he is, he could be dangerous.”

Worry lines creasing her forehead, Iris hugged herself. She wore only a red knit sweater, but Liss didn't think it was the cold that was making her shiver. The day continued to warm up rapidly, springlike even though there was still snow on the ground.

“Is that where Valentine went?” Iris asked. “Did she follow him? If it isn't safe for me, she's very brave to face him down on her own.”

Liss supposed Iris had crossed paths with Valentine inside the hotel, although it had been the driveway along the side of the hotel that the photographer had followed in pursuit of Troy Barrigan. Who knew where the reporter had led her?

“She'd didn't go after Quarles,” Liss said. “It was that TV reporter she wanted to catch up with. She thinks he's snooping around, trying to get the inside scoop on
Variety Live.
”

“Oh.” Iris thought that over. “She's probably right.”

Seeing Dandy approach, the magician's assistant abruptly crouched down and thrust both arms out toward the Scottie. “Come here, you sweet thing! Give Iris a hug!”

Startled, Dandy jumped backward into the parking lot. She squeezed between two cars and kept going when Iris gave a little squeal of distress.

“I'm so sorry, sweetie. Did I frighten you?” Iris went after her.

“Come here, Dandy,” Liss called.

The little dog ignored Liss, much as she'd ignored Iris that first day in Deidre Amendole's condominium. Instead of returning to the safety of the wooded area, Dandy broke cover and took off in the direction of Valentine's RV. At the same time, Liss heard the unmistakable sound of an approaching car.

A station wagon, skis lashed to the top, came around the end of a row of parked cars. The teenaged boy behind the wheel was driving just a little too fast. For one horrible moment, Liss was certain Dandy would be hit.

Then, somehow, Iris was between the vehicle and the dog, waving her arms and shouting. An inch short of striking her, the station wagon screeched to a stop.

Dandy changed course and charged back toward Liss. She seemed to think they were playing a new game. Liss scooped the Scottie up and stuffed her inside her carrier in one movement. Her hands trembled as she fastened the latch. Dondi, oblivious to all the excitement, trotted up to his carrier and went inside on his own.

The teenager drove on, slowly, careful to select a slot on the far side of the parking lot. Iris, looking shaken, walked up to the bronze statue and leaned against it for support.

“That was one of the bravest,
stupidest
things I've ever seen,” Liss said. “You could have been killed.”

“It would have been my fault if Dandy was run over,” Iris said. “How could I live with myself if that happened?”

Liss went up to her and hugged her. “Thank you.”

Red-faced, Iris squirmed free. She gave a shaky laugh. “Honestly, I wasn't in any real danger. I've been trained as an escape artist. I can pick locks almost as well as Oscar can and I can even get out of the water tank on my own. Why, I'm practically indestructible.”

Liss backed off, reluctant to embarrass Iris further, but she didn't buy the young woman's grandiose claims for a second. That had to be the adrenaline talking.