Motor Mouth (Alex Barnaby 2)

Beans gave a happy woof and took off at a gallop, chugging across the room like a freight train. He skidded to a stop in front of Felicia, put his two front paws on her chest, and she went down to the floor with Beans on top of her.

Hooker gave a whistle, pulled a dog biscuit out of his pocket, and tossed it across the room. Beans’s head snapped around, his eyes opened wide, and he abandoned Felicia like she was yesterday’s news, thundering off in search of the biscuit.

“He likes you,” Hooker said to Felicia, helping her get to her feet.

“Lucky me,” Felicia said. “It’s a dog, right?”

Rosa hugged Hooker and me. “We just came to say hello. We never see you anymore.” She looked over Hooker’s shoulder and went wide-eyed at the hauler. “Omigod, this is one of those NASCAR trucks, isn’t it? It’s the thing the car goes in. How does it work? Where do you put the car?”

“The car goes in the top,” I told her. “The ramp is on hydraulics. It lifts the car and the car gets rolled into the bay on the top.”

“And who’s this?” she said, eyeing Gobbles.

“This is Gobbles. He also works for Stiller Racing.”

“Ladies,” Gobbles said, bobbing his head.

“Are you a driver?” Rosa wanted to know.

“No, ma’am,” Gobbles said. “I’m a spotter like Barney. And during the week I do some detailing.”

Felicia swept past me to the hauler. “What’s in the downstairs? I always wanted to see this. I just want to look in the door,” she said. “Just take a little peek.”

“No!” Hooker and I said in unison, blocking the way.

Rosa tried to see around Hooker. “Does this truck have one of those lounges with black leather couches where all the drivers have sex?”

“We don’t all have sex there,” Hooker said.

“Is there someone back there now?” Rosa asked. “Someone famous?”

“No,” Hooker said. “No one’s back there.”

“Your mouth is crooked,” Rosa said. “Your mouth always gets that little crook in it when you tell a fib. Who’s back there? It’s not a movie star, is it? I’m not giving up until I find out.”

There was a loud woof and then a thud from inside the hauler. We all turned and looked and saw that Beans had gone into the hauler through the side door and was trying to get Oscar Huevo to play. He’d managed to knock Huevo over, and now he was jumping on him, making growly dog sounds. Huevo didn’t move or squeak, so Beans straddled him and sunk his teeth into what I suspected was Huevo’s shoulder.

“Holy crap!” Hooker said.

He threw a biscuit at Beans, and Beans snapped it up in midair. The next biscuit fell short, and Beans had to jump over Huevo to get it.

I ran to the SUV and opened

the back hatch. “Get him to jump in,” I yelled to Hooker. “Throw some biscuits in here.”

Hooker whistled and tossed the biscuits, and Beans galloped across the floor and sailed into the SUV. I slammed the hatch closed and leaned against the car, my hand over my heart.

“What is that?” Felicia wanted to know, looking into the hauler. “It looks like a big bag of chicken parts. No wonder the doggie wanted to chew it. What are you doing with chicken parts? Are you having a barbecue party?” She elbowed Hooker out of her way and stepped into the hauler. “It smells funny in here,” she said, bending for a closer look. “I think these chicken parts are rotten.” She suddenly straightened and made the sign of the cross. “This isn’t chicken parts.”

Hooker blew out a sigh. “It’s a dead guy.”

“Holy mother,” Rosa said. “What are you doing with a dead guy?”

I gave Rosa and Felicia an abbreviated version of the last six hours. Felicia made the sign of the cross at least ten times, and Rosa listened with her mouth open and her eyes half popped out of her head.

“I gotta see this,” Rosa said when I was done. “I gotta see the dead guy.”

We all returned to the hauler and gaped at Huevo.