“What’s the matter?” He came out into the hall half-dressed, but for once I didn’t pause to appreciate his bare chest.

“We need to go see Lenny Marlowe.”

“Why?”

I understood his confusion but we didn’t have time for it. “He might be in trouble.”

Understatement. I dressed in record time and sprinted for the Mustang. Chance joined me and put the car in gear. To simplify matters, I gave him my phone and let him listen to the message himself as he drove.

“Shit. Call Saldana and have him meet us there.”

That sounded great. It made a nice change to have a cop on our side for once, instead of being in the crappy position of trying to explain the wildly improbable. I still wasn’t sure I trusted him, but he was the one who had given us Lenny as a lead. Would he have done that if he intended to watch and kill him for showing a little initiative? Would he really go to that much trouble to confuse us?

I was starting to think . . . No. I hadn’t tossed out the dirty cop idea entirely; maybe somebody in the station was sneaking around his office, listening to his personal conversations? But then again, except for Saldana, I hated cops, so it made me happy to blame one.

Our pet policeman answered on the second ring. “Saldana.”

“I may have a problem that requires your assistance,” I said in lieu of hello.

He sighed. “You know, Corine, there’s a picture of you next to the definition of high maintenance. What is it now?”

Because I did need his help, I ignored the insult. “Our mutual friend Lenny Marlowe called me in the middle of the night. I was asleep and I missed it, but the message struck me as alarming, to say the least. We’re headed over there to check on him, but I’d appreciate your official presence on scene.”

There was a long pause, and background noise increased. Somebody must’ve come in. I heard him talking and a mumbled reply, maybe from his partner, Nathan Moon. I could go a long while without seeing that fellow and never miss the man. Finally Jesse came back on the line, speaking cautiously.

“Yes, ma’am, I’ll take a ride over to check on your nephew. I don’t mind a bit, Miss Alice. No, it’s no trouble,” he added, although I hadn’t spoken.

Huh. He didn’t want his partner to know he was talking to me? Interesting.

“You’re good,” I said with a snicker. “You should do Vegas.”

“I will when you get me thrown off the force,” he muttered. “Who knew being a mentor would turn out like this? I’m on my way.”

I closed my phone with an audible click and glanced at Chance. “I think I may be wearing out my welcome with Officer Saldana.”

A smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. “His loss.”

The sky hung over us like a swathe of gauze. Unlike the almost blindingly bright and sunny other days, the air felt heavy this morning, sullen and threatening. In silence we followed the access road leading back to the trailer park where Marlowe lived.

Jesse managed to beat us there. We found him waiting in the tiny excuse for a front yard, beside the BEWARE OF DOG sign. Chance got out and went toward the porch and knelt as if he were listening to something I couldn’t quite make out. I studied Saldana’s grim expression and knew we were too late.

“Don’t go in,” he warned us. “I already called the forensic folks. It’s bad in there.”

“Pulled-apart-by-demons bad?” I ventured.

Shaking his head, he answered, “Shot-up-with-automatic-weapons bad. What did he say when he called you?”

I played the message for the third time. “I feel like shit. We told him to leave it be.”

Saldana eyed me with an expression of pure dislike. I didn’t expect I’d be fending off his advances anytime soon. “You told him enough to interest him and get him in trouble, the poor dumb bastard.”

“You’re saying this is my fault?” I didn’t know if I could argue that. “You gave me his name, so how about we spread the blame around some?”

“You think I’m not aware of that? Christ, I told you his name and now he’s dead. It’s as much my fault as yours. More. I don’t deserve to wear this badge.” Jesse yanked it off his belt and studied it for a minute, dull silver in the palm of his hand, and then crammed it into his jacket pocket. “I should resign right now.”

Oh. So that was it.

“Maybe you bent the letter of the law, but you had good intentions. You wanted to close the case and you thought—”

“Fuck what I wanted. A man is dead. Don’t talk to me about good intentions.” Saldana stalked to the end of the drive to wait for the coroner’s wagon, now driving down the dusty road toward us.

“We should get out of here. If Moon comes . . .” I trailed off when I realized Chance wasn’t listening to me.

With a sigh, I crunched over the gravel to see what had him so enthralled. At last he straightened with a tiny, blood-spattered dog in his arms. Butch had lost some of his attitude but not his red leather collar. Trembling, the Chihuahua curled deeper into Chance’s arms, as if he wanted to hide. He regarded us from damp, perplexed eyes, as if wondering how his day could possibly get worse.

“Shit,” I said. “We’re keeping him, aren’t we?”

Chance leveled his best look on me. “What do you think?”

Have Dog, Will Travel

The damn dog fit perfectly in my red spangled sari sling bag.

We left the scene just before the official vehicles arrived, and I had a feeling that was the last favor I could safely ask of Saldana. With guilt weighing on him, he might let his partner lock me up on principle, though it wouldn’t bring back Lenny Marlowe.

And Nathan Moon definitely didn’t like me. I guessed it was a case of genuine mutual antipathy. Sometimes people just scrape you raw, no logical reason for it.

“Any idea what streets start with ‘Hal’ around here?” Chance asked.

Butch nudged my hand with his head and I petted him absently. “Wonder if we could Google it.”

He eyed me. “You have a laptop hidden in your bag?”

“Smart-ass. I was thinking of going back to the house, but I guess you want to keep moving.” I didn’t blame him for that. We had targets on our backs, and I’d like to draw the fire away from Chuch if we could.

“Check the glove box. Maybe there’s a map.”

In my experience people rarely owned a map to the area where they lived, but I looked anyway. I was right. “Stop at the next gas station. We’ll buy one.”

“What do you suppose he saw that was worth killing him over?”

I could only guess. “The contents of those crates?”

“That seems like a safe bet. How’s Butch holding up?”

The dog whined in answer and buried his head in my handbag. “He’s stressed. I hope he’s not a piddler.”

We got off the highway and I went into an Exxon station. Chance filled up the Mustang while he waited, and I bought two Cokes as well as the map. I also picked up a plastic bowl, a bottle of water, and wet wipes for the dog. He didn’t much enjoy his makeshift bath, but I couldn’t carry him around looking like he belonged in an evidence locker. By the time I finished inside, the leaden sky opened up in an old-fashioned Texas downpour. I ran with my head low; Butch whimpered and disappeared into my purse.

My blouse became transparent when wet, something I hadn’t known before. Otherwise the sudden bath didn’t feel bad. It made a nice change from the constant heat.

“Got it?” Chance asked.

“Yeah.” I unfolded the map and looked for the listing of streets. “Shit, there’s a lot of them. It could be any of these.”

“Check the address and make a list of the streets that have the right range.”

“Good idea.”

After rummaging underneath Butch’s bony butt, I unearthed a pen and tore a page out of my day planner, not that I ever used it for anything but scrap paper. The dog watched with cautious interest as I jotted down names that potentially fit our criteria. One of them I tapped with a frown.

“What?”

“I don’t know. I can’t imagine they’re doing . . . whatever near a golf course. This looks like an upscale neighborhood. Wouldn’t those folks notice strange comings and goings and complain about it to somebody?”

He thought about it. “Depends. There comes a point where every house has such high security walls that the neighbors don’t have any idea what goes on inside. In poor areas, nobody gives a shit, and in expensive ones, you pay for privacy. It’s middle class neighborhoods where everybody knows each other’s business.”

“So we’re probably not looking for a building in a middle class zone?” I didn’t know how I could eliminate those without seeing them.

Butch barked once.

Chance glanced over at me. “What’s with him?”

I shrugged. “Who knows? I’m not a dog person.”

By the time I finished making my list and checking it twice, I had no idea who’d been naughty or nice. Six streets could potentially be the one we wanted, but I didn’t know Laredo well enough to rule any of them out just by looking at the map. I ran a hand through my long hair and decided I wasn’t coiffed right for detective work. I found a couple of bands in my purse and started plaiting.

He leaned over to look at my notes. “How did we do?”

“Could be worse. Looks like we have six addresses to check out. Short of spotting a Southern Sanitation truck outside, do you have any idea of how we’ll know it’s the right place, though?”

Butch barked again, just once.

I raised a brow. “What’s that, boy? Timmy fell down the well?”

The dog barked twice. He also looked annoyed at my sense of humor.

A car honked at us, and Chance drove away from the pump. Instead of heading back to the highway, he just pulled alongside the building to park. Maybe he wanted to wait out the rain, but the light in his amber eyes told me he had an idea.

“You think it’s possible Lenny trained him to communicate somehow?”

Unlikely, I thought. Lenny could barely communicate himself.

“One bark for yes, two barks for no?” I hoped my sarcasm wasn’t palpable.

Butch barked once. He glanced between us as if to say, And you two thought Lenny was stupid.

“Ask him about the addresses,” Chance urged.

I couldn’t believe I was about to do this, although it scarcely ranked as weirder than anything else in the last week. “Butch, was it 6874 . . . Halcomb Street?”

The dog barked twice. If we understood correctly, that meant no. Or we were talking to an overly excited Chihuahua to no avail. Part of me thought we’d do just as well to consult a Magic 8-Ball, but we didn’t have one handy and Butch was here.

While rain drummed on the Mustang’s roof, I went down the list. And when I said, “Halstead Creek Road?” Butch barked once.

“Well, holy shit,” Chance breathed. “Looks like we know where to go next. Navigate for me?”