“Yes,”

“I ran that by the detective in Tucson. Seems she’s well known to the PD, also.”

“How so?”

“I guess she’s been an assistant prosecutor there for years. She was incapacitated by a stroke sometime in the recent past. I explained to him the reason for my call, and he said he would check on her and get back to me.”

“Sometimes life is a train wreck,” said Ray.

“So the rest of the materials there are first drafts of evidence to take to the prosecutor. I’ve also asked for a search warrant of Zwilling’s car. If he survives there will be a whole list of charges.”

“And,” said Ray, “the issue of whether or not he is competent to stand trial.”

6

After Ray delivered his line on Zwilling’s competence to stand trial, they sat in silence, each reflecting on the horror of the scene.

“Is there anything else?” asked Ray.

“Simone, she has a vet appointment late this afternoon. She needs a heartworm check and a Lyme disease vaccination. And Ray,” she gave him her wry smile, “we don’t have an arrangement in our joint custody agreement for Simone’s veterinary bills, but if you would cover this I’d really appreciate it. I’m sort of short this month.”

“No problem. And I apologize for not having thought about that earlier. In fact, from this point forward I’ll look after the vet bills, you do more than your share with her other expenses.”

“And after the vet, would you take her for the evening. I’m going to dinner and a movie in town with the girls. I’d like to not be in a rush to get home.”

“No problem,” said Ray. “She’s always good company.”

“And you have no other plans? I guess I should have asked that first.”

“No. She will be the center of my universe.”

“That’s true. Whether you want her to be or not.” Sue retrieved a brown paper bag and set it on the table. “Here’s Simone’s overnight bag. There’s a can of her special food, her favorite tennis ball, and some treats, to be doled out judiciously when she sits to have her leash taken off.”

Many hours later, after the trip to the veterinary hospital, Ray took Simone home. As he started supper for himself, he opened her bag of supplies and pulled out the can of food. He eyed the label carefully and looked over at Simone. “Do you know what’s in here? Let me give you the highlights. Pork by-products. Simone, I can’t imagine what that would be. The stuff they can’t put in hotdogs because it’s too disgusting. How about powdered cellulose? That’s sawdust, kid. Then there’s marigold extract.” He paused and returned her intense look. “No, I’m not making this up. But wait, there’s more. Dried beet pulp, and guar gum—always one of my favorites. Then there’s a whole list of multisyllabic, chemical sounding stuff with the monos and tris, the sulfates and phosphates. Do you really want to eat this?” He held out the can, turning the ingredients list in her direction.

Simone, looking up at Ray, continued to hang on every word.

“How about a couple of lamb chops? You can have them with rice or whole wheat couscous.”

Simone woofed, a command bark.

“Okay, I take that to mean the whole wheat couscous. And we have to do something with this first.” Ray carried the offending can to the garbage. He dropped it in and then pulled paper over the top of it. “Simone, this is called destruction of evidence. In certain circumstances, this is a felony. However, extreme times require extreme measures. So don’t rat us out.”

After dinner and a long walk, Ray and Simone settled in for a quiet evening—Ray in his favorite chair reading the New Yorker, Simone straddling the top of a couch near a window guarding against marauding squirrels and killer rabbits. She soon nodded off.

Eventually, Ray moved to the bedroom and went through his journal writing ritual, filling a favorite fountain pen and reading over his most recent entries. Then over the next several pages, brown ink on ivory paper, he reviewed the tragic encounter with Garr Zwilling. He speculated on other ways he might have handled the confrontation, concluding that there were few alternatives. At the end he gave Malcolm Wudbine a few paragraphs, trying to capture his mannerisms and the way he treated Richard Grubbs. He wondered if he’d ever encounter Wudbine again.

Ray’s journal entry was cut short by a command bark. Simone was at the door awaiting a second evening walk.

7

Ray sat in the passenger seat of Sue’s Jeep, Simone standing in his lap looking out of the windshield. A golf cart piloted by Richard Grubbs led the way along the narrow, curvy main road of the Mission Point Summer Colony.

“So what’s this all about?” asked Sue.

“Grubbs wouldn’t tell me on the phone. Weeks ago, after the Zwilling incident, he said there was something he needed to talk to me about. Then he just dropped it. Late yesterday afternoon he called me and said there’s this police matter he needs help with. Would I please come by and could I bring an evidence technician. When I pushed him as to what was going on, he said he couldn’t talk about it on the phone; it had to be face-to-face. It’s all very mysterious.”

Grubbs slowed and pulled off the road. Sue parked behind him. They followed him to the bluff overlooking what had once been the site of Ravenswood Cottage. Several pickup trucks were clustered around a new building that closely resembled the original.

“A lot can happen in a short time,” said Grubbs.

Ray and Sue stood in silence taking in the scene.

“How many weeks has it been since the fire?” asked Ray.

Grubbs looked thoughtful. “I think four. This is the start of the fifth week.”

“How did this happen so quickly?” asked Ray.

“Well, even before that unfortunate incident, there were a lot of things going on. Mr. Wudbine, in his role as president of the board, is always doing his best to micromanage both me and everything that happens in this organization. On the other hand, he’s not very good at communicating what he’s up to. Anyway, Malcolm had been negotiating for the purchase of Ravenswood Cottage, something he never mentioned to me until after that whole unfortunate affair.

“As you will remember, the owner of the cottage was Regina Zwilling-Glidden, Garr’s aunt. When her nephew found out about the sale, he came up here to see if he could disrupt things. Apparently he has a long history of mental illness.”

“How did you learn this?”

“Well, once you sent me word that we could go forward with the site cleanup, Wudbine wanted to have his own people do the work. When I challenged him on the legality of that, he told me he’d purchased the property. Then he told me he wanted to get started on the new building as quickly as possible. We have this process here and a whole series of guidelines that any remodels or new buildings have to conform to. We’re trying to preserve the character of the place. He told me to make sure that process happened instantly, his favorite phrase ‘chop-chop.’

“Like I said, we have this process here. We have a committee. We ask for architectural drawings. Our goal is not speed. Our goal is continuity. Malcolm doesn’t think any of that applies to him. And he pushed his contractor the same way he pushed us. The contractor pulled a building permit, and the first time the inspector showed up, he put a cease-and-desist order on the job because walls were going up before the footings had been checked. I was impressed by that guy, whoever he is. He refused to be cowed. Malcolm was yelling and screaming at him, and he was totally unmoved. Luckily for Malcolm, the contractor was able to smooth things over with the inspector and a day or two later they were back at work.”

“So how about this building, does it conform with your colony standards?” ask Ray.