“Another vote of confidence. What’re you staring at?”
“Nothing.”
“Blue jeans, sandals and a Donna Karan pullover—is that what streetwalkers are wearing these days?”
Twilly said, “You look great. That’s what I’m staring at.”
“Well, don’t.” Self-consciously she pulled her hair back into a ponytail, tucking it into a blue elastic band. This gave Twilly quite a lovely angle on her neck.
“What’s in the shopping bag, Mrs. Stoat?”
When she showed him, he broke into a grin. It was a paperback edition of The Dreadful Lemon Sky, a box of Tic Tacs, a jumbo bag of Liv-A-Snaps and a compact disc called Back From Rio, a solo album by Roger McGuinn, the dog’s namesake.
Twilly slipped the CD into his dashboard stereo. “This is an extremely nice surprise. Thank you.”
“Welcome.”
“What’s the matter?”
“Nothing.” Desie sniffled. “Everything.” She was biting her lower lip.
“I’ll shut up now,” said Twilly. But they weren’t even halfway to Miami Beach when he noticed her left foot tapping in time to the music. Twilly thought: She’ll be all right. And it was nice with her sitting beside him again.
He’d reserved two ocean-view rooms at the Delano. Desie was incredulous. “The dog gets his own?” she asked in the elevator.
“The dog snores,” Twilly explained, “and also farts.”
“How’d you sneak him past the front desk?”
“Kate Moss is staying here.”
“Go on,” Desie said.
“She and her actor boyfriend. What’s his name—Johnny Damon?”
“Johnny Depp.”
“Right,” Twilly said. “This is Johnny’s dog. Johnny doesn’t go anywhere without him. Johnny and the dog are inseparable.”
“And they went for that?”
“Seemed to.”
“Lord,” said Desie.
The elevator was lit in red but the rooms were done entirely in white, top to bottom. McGuinn was so excited to see Desie that he dribbled pee on the alabaster tile. She took a white towel from the white bathroom and got on her knees to wipe up McGuinn’s piddle. The dog thought she wanted to play—he flattened to a half crouch and began to bark uproariously.
“Hush!” Desie said, but she was soon laughing and rolling around on the floor with the dog. She noticed that the surgical staples had been removed from his belly.
“He’s doing fine,” said Twilly.
“Is he taking his pills?”
“No problemo.”
“Roast beef?”
“No, he got hip to that. Now we’re doing pork chops.”
Desie went to the minibar, which was also white. She was reaching for a Diet Coke when she noticed it—a plastic Baggie. She picked it up, recognized what was inside and hastily put it back, between the table wafers and the Toblerone chocolate bar. With a gasp she said, “My God, Twilly.”
He plopped down helplessly on the corner of the bed. McGuinn trotted to the other side of the room and tentatively positioned himself by the door.
“Where did it come from?” Desie asked.
“Same place as the ear.”
Desie closed the door of the minibar.
“Don’t worry,” Twilly said, “I didn’t kill anything. He was dead when I found him.”
“On the road?” Desie spoke so softly that Twilly could barely hear her. “Did you find him on the road?”
“Yep.”
Her eyes cut back toward the minibar. “What a weird coincidence, huh? Another black Lab.”
“No coincidence. I was looking for one. I drove all over creation.”
Desie sighed. “That’s what I was afraid of.”
“Well, what the hell was I supposed to do?” Twilly rose from the bed and began to pace. “And it worked, didn’t it? The Great White Hunter fell for it.”
“Yes, he did.”
“Right, so don’t give me that what-a-poor-sick-soul-you-are look. The animal was already dead, OK? He didn’t need the ear anymore!”
Desie motioned him to sit down. She joined him on the bed and said, “Calm down, for heaven’s sake. I’m surprised is all. I’m not being judgmental.”
“Good.”
“It’s just… I thought the ear was enough. I mean, I thought it worked like a charm. Governor Dick did what you wanted, didn’t he? He vetoed the Shearwater bridge.”
“Well, speaking from experience, it never hurts”—Twilly shooting to his feet again—”it never hurts to add an exclamation point.”
“All right.”
“So there’s no ambiguity, no confusion whatsoever.”