“Do you think the events are related in some way?” Luigi said.
“I think there’s a serial arsonist on the loose,” I said. “And I want to catch him.”
“So what’s next?” Cedar said through a bite of her sub.
Good question. What was next? With the cops stonewalling me, all I could do was cool my jets until something broke. “I don’t know. Wait? The gears are turning without me, and if I interfere, I’ll never make it back on the Allegheny VFD. Which leaves me to do what? Help with your research project?”
“Music to my ears.” Cedar launched into a long, involved explanation of her project. Something to do with her beagle, circuit boards, terrorists, luggage, and a device that worked like a microphone for the nose.
The details were lost on me. It wasn’t that I couldn’t understand the concept of Cedar’s project, but my attention was drawn to the courthouse green. A crew of county workers was raising a cherry picker up to a streetlight. They were hanging flags for YamFest, the festival that Allegheny County held every year to celebrate itself.
“YamFest,” I said. “Isn’t that the same weekend as the Olympiad?”
“You mean the Olympiad you’re supposed to be helping me with?” Cedar said.
“Boone-san has problems with his ear holes.” Luigi dropped fries into his mouth. Two of them missed and fell to the ground.
Chigger wolfed them down before Cedar could stop him.
“Bad boy!" she said. "French-fries give you gas.”
“Me?” I said. “I tolerate potatoes just fine.”
“I meant the dog.” Cedar patted her leg, and Chigger returned to his spot. “But yes, as a matter of a fact, you are a bad boy.”
I looked at Luigi with my arms raised, as if to say, Who? Me?
“Don’t try to play it off, Boone. You’re a really smart guy, but you’ve got the attention span of a gnat. Focus!”
She smacked my forehead. Her palm made a huge pop.
I lolled my head and pretended to be hurt.
Cedar blushed. She covered her mouth. “I am so sorry! I didn’t mean to hit you that hard.”
I grinned. “Psyche!”
Pop!
Cedar smacked me again.
“Ow!” I grabbed my sprained neck. “That stung!”
“Serves you right, jerk face.”
I pressed my iced tea on my neck. “Is it swelling? I think it’s swelling.”
“No, it's not.” Cedar pulled the glass away. “It’s fine. Stop being such a wuss.”
Under the table Chigger let out a short growl. I watched him stand, his tail stuck straight out. He jumped over our feet, then bounded out to the sidewalk. He sniffed the air, turned, and sniffed again. His back arched, and he pointed toward at the courthouse green.
“What’s he doing?” I asked.
“Just remembering his old life.” Cedar scooted her chair back. “Customs trained him to signal when he smelled certain chemicals. It used to happen all of the time. I’ll get him.”
“Wait.” I reached out to stop her, but she’d already scooped the dog.
“Fish sticks,” she said.
The dog relaxed.
Chigger looked surprised to see her. He applied a sloppy tongue to the corner of her mouth, where she had missed some Italian dressing with her napkin.
“Silly doggy,” she said and set him in her lap.
“You stopped him. I wanted to see what he did next.”
“That’s all he does. He’s not an attack dog, you know. That’s why US Customs uses beagles in airports, so they don’t scare the people….” Her voice trailed away. Her gaze focused behind me. “Uh oh.”
I turned and was greeted by Deputy Mercer.
His ticket book was open. “Whose dog is that?”
She rubbed Chigger behind the ears. “Mine, officer.”
“ID, miss.”
“What’s this about?” Cedar wasn’t cowed by a cocky little man in a khaki uniform. “Have I broken a law?”
“I’ll ask the questions,” Mercer said. “Show me some ID.”
Cedar fished her license out. “Here you go.”
“There’s a law against bringing pets inside a restaurant, missy.”
“We’re outside,” I said.
Mercer jabbed his pen behind his ear. “Food’s being consumed.”
“Food is consumed outside all of the time.” I leaned toward Mercer. “Take the YamFest. There will be vendors all around town square, and they have a Frisbee contest for dogs right there on the green. Are you going to ticket all of those owners, too?”
Mercer bent down so that he was eye level with me. “Watch your mouth, sailor boy. You’re already walking on thin ice.”
I stared right back at him.
When Mercer didn’t get a rise, he pushed himself back up. He mimed, I got my eye on you. He slapped a ticket on the table, then stalked off toward the courthouse.
“What an asshole.” Cedar picked Chigger up and rubbed his belly. “He gave my puppy a ticket!”
I read the name on the paper. “Technically, he gave it to you.”
Cedar stabbed the ticket with her fork. She ripped it from the tines, folded it into a square, and stuck it into the small pocket with her license. “I’m not paying this. It’s so unfair. Deputy Doofus thinks I won’t show up for court, but I’m definitely going to show.”
My cell buzzed. It was Abner. “Hey, Doc. Where’ve you been? I’ve left you—say that again. You’re kidding. You’re not kidding. He’s not going to be very happy with us after last time. Okay. Okay. I’ll take care of it.” I drained my iced tea. “Anybody care to give an over-medicated guy a ride?”
“Where to?” Cedar said.
“Tin City. Abner wants to see Stumpy’s frozen finger.”
“Again?”
“Again.”
“Okay,” Cedar said, “but this time, you’re coming along. It's too weird.”
“It’s just a finger.”
“A finger? I was talking about Stumpy.”
3
“I’m too much man for your car,” I told Cedar as she backed out of the parking space.
I scooted the passenger seat back, but I still had too much leg for Cedar’s VW Bug. My knee knocked against the dash vase holding an oversized tie-dye daisy made of silk.
“And they say size doesn’t matter.” She hit the gas, and my head snapped against the seat.
“Ow! What are you, a jackrabbit?”
“You could use a little acceleration in your life.”
Dust clouds billowed out behind the car as she whipped the car onto Highway Twelve.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means what it means.”
“Did I do something to make you mad?”
“Nothing.” Her eyes were fixed on the road as she rammed the gearshift into fourth. “You haven’t done a thing.”
I decided to take her at her word, even though her body language said she was upset.
“Damn it,” Cedar said, eyes fixed on the rearview.
I knew that look.
An Allegheny County sheriff’s car was on our tail, lights flashing.
“Better pull over,” I said.
“I am pulling over.”
Cedar drifted to the shoulder of the highway, a soft berm that overlooked part of Black Oak Creek. I checked the side mirror.
“What bug crawled up that deputy’s ass?” she said.
“That’s not Mercer. It’s Hoyt.”
Hoyt climbed out of his cruiser, adjusted his trooper hat, then set his palm on the grip of his Smith & Wesson. The flashing blue lights lent a purple shadow to his face, blanching the ruddy color away and highlighting the pockmarks on his cheeks.
Cedar offered her license. “Hello, sheriff.”
“Put that away,” Hoyt barked. His voice was so full of gravels and dust, I didn’t recognize it. “I know who y’all are.”
She stuffed the license in her pocket. “Then why did you pull me over?”
“Boone,” the sheriff said, “I’d like a minute of your time.”
“What’s going on?” she asked me.