Bad Monkey

Burton said, “What if Stripling was killed in Miami? You think the homicide guys up there will give you credit for solving the case? Never in a jillion years. Your name won’t even be in the reports, Andrew, unless you change it to C. Informant.”

“Do me a favor,” Yancy said. “Next time you come over, just bring chicken soup.”

“For Christ’s sake, I’ll check on the seaplane.”

After Burton was gone, Yancy realized he should have asked to borrow a gun. Eve would be scouring the Citizen’s website for news of Yancy’s tragic drowning. When she didn’t find the story, she’d probably send the boyfriend back to Big Pine to try again. Yancy called Rosa Campesino at the morgue to tell her about his action-packed evening, but the secretary said Rosa was in the middle of an autopsy. Next Yancy tried Caitlin Cox and left a message on her voice mail.

Hearing a knock, he peeked through a window and saw a sallow, thickset fellow who was dressed like a plainclothes cop, which he was.

“John Wesley Weiderman,” the man said after Yancy let him in. “Oklahoma Bureau of Investigation.”

“You’re shitting me.”

“Can I have a glass of ice water?”

“Did you fly into Miami International?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then hard liquor is in order.”

“Tap water’s fine, thanks.” John Wesley Weiderman opened a briefcase and took out a years-old mug shot of Plover Chase, a.k.a. Bonnie Witt. “Do you know this woman? Her husband said we might find her down here.”

Yancy sat down across from the investigator. “I haven’t seen her in a while. Can I assume she’s in trouble?” He was wondering why Clifford had ratted out his beloved Bonnie.

“Ms. Chase is a convicted sex offender. For years she’s been a fugitive.”

“Well, we did have an affair, a romance, a fling, whatever you call it back home. But in no manner did she victimize me, John—may I call you John? I was a willing participant. Recklessly enthusiastic, to be truthful. But I’m sure Dr. Witt filled you in. Here in the Keys she called herself Bonnie, not Plover. I’d never sleep with a woman named Plover.”

The investigator said, “What’s the matter with you?”

“In general? I don’t know where to start.” Yancy readjusted his towel, which kept slipping off his hips due to the medicinal sheen on his skin.

“Were you in a fight?”

“There’s a pack of mad dogs in the neighborhood, I’m sorry to say.”

“Those don’t look like dog bites.”

Yancy shed the towel, spun around and bent over to display the tooth wounds inflicted by the mixed-breed fiend that lived next door to Eve Stripling. The investigator from Oklahoma took a slight step back.

“And what happened to your head?”

“I took a tumble,” Yancy said, “while running for my life.” He refilled John Wesley Weiderman’s glass with water. “Are you folks really going to prosecute Bonnie after all this time? Hell, the bail bondsman’s probably dead from old age.”

“Dr. Witt said you used to be a detective.”

“Tell me something—when you spoke with Clifford, did you happen to notice any rope burns on his neck? Because he likes to choke himself while he whacks off. Not that I’m passing judgment, but it’s important for you to know that your complainant has oxygen-deprivation issues.”

John Wesley Weiderman said, “Hey, I’m just doing my job.”

Although Yancy had never been to Tulsa, he imagined any civil servant there would jump at the offer of a trip to Florida, even in the dead of summer. The investigator gave Yancy a business card, but not before asking point-blank if Plover-slash-Bonnie was the person who assaulted him.

“John, get serious.”

“But it wasn’t really wild dogs, was it?”

“What did she do to piss Clifford off? Or, should I say, who did she do?”

“Please call me if she shows up. To us, this isn’t a joke.”

Yancy began pawing through the open Neosporin containers on the table. “Man, the last thing I need in my life right now is a fucking staph infection.” He found a tube that wasn’t empty and said, “Would you excuse me for a minute?”

“Actually, I’ve got an appointment in Key West.” John Wesley Weiderman stood up. “Can you recommend a place for lunch? The guy at Hertz said Stoney’s was real good.”

Yancy smiled in resignation. “So I hear.”

Widowhood was a grind.

Eve Stripling thought she’d prepared herself, but there was much more paperwork than she’d expected. Also, the endless condolences—her friends, Nicky’s friends, random clergy, relatives she didn’t know existed. Except for Caitlin they all meant well, although Eve was ready to strangle the next person who brought her a damn casserole.