Blame It on the Dog Read online

  Jane pulled the blue fabric away from her body. “You’ve gotta be kidding. These are hospital scrubs. They’ve been bled on, vomited on, and… you don’t want to know what else. They’ll be fine.”

  “Then let’s go.”

  He turned and followed the dog. It didn’t take them long to emerge on the other side. They each had white scratches on their skin from the briars. Gabe was bleeding slightly from a deeper scratch on his right hand which was tightly closed. Jane stood erect and ran her fingers through her hair, freeing broken twigs and dropping them to the dirt.

  She pointed at his bleeding hand. “Do you need medical attention, mister?”

  He shook his head without smiling. “But someone will.” He opened his closed hand. It held a small piece of white cloth.

  “Tee shirt fabric. Torn from whoever dragged that bar through the brush.”

  Her eyes widened but she kept silent. They continued on, each absorbed in their own thoughts. When they neared the rim, they stopped.

  “This looks like the place,” he said.

  “What makes you say that?”

  “It feels right. Right distance from the dam. Right amount of plants that may be visible from down there. And maybe some fresh break in the cliff edge.” He pointed with his chin. Jane didn’t see what he saw, but she did see the dog, standing on the edge, staring intently down into the valley below. He looked like a statue, frozen on the edge of space.

  “Wait here. I’ll have a closer look,” he said.

  “I’m coming, too.”

  “It might not be safe, Jane.”

  “Life isn’t safe, Gabe. Let’s go see what there is to see. This is fun.”

  As they neared the dog, Gabe said, “Let’s get down on our hands and knees, spread our weight. We’re a lot heavier than he is.”

  They crept closer, crawling over deep cracks that split the earth parallel to the cliff edge. Gabe pointed to their left.

  “See how the cliff stops over there? See the crack that runs right up to it? That crack used to extend all the way over here. I’ll bet somebody stuck a digging bar in it and levered the face away. Let’s go see if I’m right.”

  He laid himself prone, extending his right leg and putting his weight on his left leg and hands. “This area is fragile so be extra careful. We don’t want to end up down there on top of some poor schlub.”

  He looked over at her. She was still on her knees. “What?” he said.

  She was wagging her head back and forth and her brows were bunched.

  “Jane?”

  “I didn’t believe you. I thought you were… I don’t know what I thought. Now…”

  “Now we still don’t know. That’s why I’m going to crawl up there beside the mutt. I’ll be back in a minute.” He winced and jerked his hand back, examined it and held it to his mouth. “Sticker,” he mumbled past a brown burr between his teeth and spit it out. “I hate stickers.”

  He picked his way forward, pulling himself across the ground, dragging his right leg along. He stopped every little bit to pull a sticker burr from some part of his body or clothing. Several minutes later he found himself lying beside the dog. He shoved his head forward and peered into the abyss.

  The craggy pile of rubble below did not seem so cataclysmic from this angle. It was more compact, not as wide as it had appeared from down there. For a long time he laid there, in one place, occasionally rotating his head to one side and then to the other.

  “Chip,” he breathed. To the dog he said, “Let’s go, pup.”

  He pushed himself up on both hands and then crashed back down as the earth gave way, taking his right hand with it.

  Jane gasped, “Are you all right?”

  “Yeah,” he gasped. Spreading his hands as wide as possible he rose on his fingertips and slithered pushed himself backwards, less concerned about stickers than he was about keeping on this side of the precipice. Finally he climbed to his hands and foot, propping his right foot forward and dusted his palms across his pants and shirt. He stopped several times to pick burrs and flick them away.

  “Well?”

  “Well what?”

  Below tightly knit brows she said, “What did you find out?”

  “It was no accident.”

  “It wasn’t? How do you know?”

  “I’ll show you. Come over here.”

  She hesitated. “Is it safe?”

  “I’m pretty sure it is.” He walked her farther to the right, away from the fractures. “The ground is more secure here.” He pulled her toward the edge. “Come on and stand right… here.” He pointed at the area he and the dog had just left. “Look back over there to the edge of that fissure. From there to here,” he said, pointing to a spot on the rim about 10 feet away. “The rock of the cliff face is all fresh and new. White. On either side it’s weathered. Brownish white. See that fissure I showed you before? That lines up with the new edge? Now draw your eyes this way. See that indentation? Continue this way. See the next one?”

  “Yes. I do. What are they?”

  “Those are tool marks. Someone stuck a tool in the fissure – say a strong, iron bar? A digging bar? – And pried until he caused that rockfall. It was probably close to giving way on its own – he just helped choose the time.” In a voice barely above a whisper he added, “I know who it was.”

  His eyes were so intense that Jane took an involuntary step backward and gulped, “Was it Chip?”

  The knots in Gabe’s jaw muscles rippled.

  “I wouldn’t want to be Chip Drake!” She said.

  “He won’t either.” Both fists were white hammers on the ends of his arms.

  Alarm bells clanged inside Jane’s head. “What are you going to do?”

  “First I’m going to find him. Then I’m going to get him to tell me who put him up to it. And then I’m going to take his heavy iron bar and break his leg with it.”

  She couldn’t take her eyes from his. They were terrible, as if a ferocious thunderstorm was gathering behind them. “You’re serious. You’re going to break that man’s leg? Gabe, you can’t do that!”

  “Watch me. No, don’t watch me. Go home, Jane. I’ll take it from here.”

  “You don’t know that he did it. It could have been anyone. You don’t know for sure. You can’t be sure. What if it wasn’t him, Gabe? What if he’s not the right man? You’ll go to jail!”

  His lips moved beneath those terrible eyes and he said, “I don’t think so.”

  “Gabe you can’t do this! You’ll—you’ll,” she searched the sky for inspiration, and found it. “You’ll make me an accomplice!”

  “What? That’s ridiculous, Jane.”

  “You told me what you were going to do! If I don’t stop you, or call the sheriff or something, why, I’ll be as guilty as you are!”

  “You’re going to call the cops?” He was incredulous.

  “Well, no, but… Oh, go ahead: break Chip’s leg…” She stopped, exasperated. “Just, just bash his head in, throw him off the cliff, put ants in his pants,”

  “Ants in his pants?” he chuckled and grinned at her.

  She laughed. “Yes! Ants in his pants.”

  Gabe’s head moved from side to side. “Ants in his pants. A guy tries to kill me and … ants in his pants. Jane, you are too much.”

  “No,” she batted her eyes, “I’m a lot, but not too much.” As quickly as it came, the smile gave way to concern, “But seriously, Gabe. Don’t hurt him.”

  He folded his arms across his chest. “And what do you suggest I do?”

  “Well,” she searched her brain, “Talk to someone. See what they say. Talk to your friend, the General. What’s his name?”

  “Sean.”

  “Talk to Sean. If he thinks it’s a good idea, then by all means, break Chip’s leg! Break both his legs! Just see what your friend thinks. Please?”

  He considered the idea, and then said, “On one condition.”

  Relief flooded her face, “What is that?”r />
  “Go home. I have transportation. If you leave now you can salvage the last part of your afternoon.”

  “You want me to just go home? Forget the last thirty minutes and go home?”

  “No. Remember whatever you want. Go back to Brandt, and if I’m not in the county pokey tonight, have dinner with me at Margie’s.”

  “Forget it, buster. I’m not going anywhere until you do. You stay, I stay.”

  He nodded. “Okay, stay. I’ll talk to Sean, then I’ll decide whether to put ants in his pants or not. Then dinner.”

  “Only if you don’t go to jail.”

  He grinned.

  “Come on, mutt,” he called over his shoulder. “Time to go.”

  “He’s not there, Gabe.”

  “What? Where’d he go?”

  “He didn’t come with you. He was still there a minute ago, but now he’s not.”

  Gabe jerked his head around, and then back to Jane. “Did he fall over the edge? What if he fell over the edge?” He turned and bolted toward the rim of the precipice, oblivious to the danger until he remembered that the ground might crumble beneath him. He planted both feet to stop but the loose pebbles and dust on the sun-baked, hard ground pulled them out from under him. He finally found the traction he was looking for when he came to a dead stop on his backside. He didn’t notice, though, because someone was yelling. It was him.

  CHAPTER 22

  THE TV SHOWS and the movies have it wrong: Pain meds don’t work that fast. The pain-o-meter in his leg hit white hot levels when he landed on his backside in an attempt to stay on the top side of the cliff. Jane was Janie-on-the-spot with a pill which he choked down without any water and it still took about 30 minutes before it kicked in. By that time they had persuaded the dog to quit chasing some critter or other and join them on the trek back through the thicket to the car. At the clubhouse he limped up the steps with Jane following right behind him. Neither of them saw the man coming through the door until the two men collided, chest to chest. Gabe recovered first and recognized Edsel Drake.

  With clenched jaws he growled, “Watch where you’re going, Drake.”

  “Pardon me, sir, I wasn’t watching… Mr. Chance!”

  “Surprised to see me, Drake?”

  “Well, yes. I am. The Jefferson’s told us you were injured yesterday. We all thought you had been seriously injured, even killed.”

  “’The rumors of my demise have been greatly exaggerated’, as you can see,“ Gabe said.

  Edsel was confused.

  “Mark Twain. Do you mind getting out of my way?”

  “Oh, uh, no. Of course not. Were you looking for someone?”

  “Two someone’s: Sean Perez – and your low-life nephew.”

  “Chip? What could you possibly want with Chip?”

  “It’s personal. Where is he?” Gabe’s expression, already terrible, intensified even more.

  Drake licked his lips and looked around, blinking rapidly. “I…I…I don’t know.”

  “Gabe! How great to see you,” the General shouldered past Edsel and grabbed Gabe by the shoulder. “I was shocked to learn of your accident. Tell me all about it. Join me for dinner – both of you. And, Gabe, please, introduce me to your lovely companion.”

  The force of the General’s personality threw him off balance. “Oh, uh, Jane, this is Sean Perez. General Sean Perez.”

  “At your service, my dear.” He bowed slightly and waved both of them to the door. “Call me Sean, won’t you?”

  Drake used the interruption to escape.

  “We were just talking about you, Sean.”

  “How wonderful. I’ve already reserved a table on the deck.”

  “Already? How did you know we were coming?“ His voice was strong with suspicion.

  Sean stopped and looked into Gabe’s eyes. “I didn’t, son. I always reserve a table so I can sit where I want. And it would please me if you and Jane would join me as my guest. It is so good to see you safe and sound. But, if you’ll pardon my saying, you don’t look very well. Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine, Sean. Just fine.”

  The General nodded, “You would know, but you look a little tired. Come, my dear.” He offered his arm to Jane and when she took it he clasped her hand with his free one. He led them through the dining room to the large wooden deck, stopping periodically to let Gabe catch up. This time his table was in the warm sunshine, overlooking the valley.

  The table he led them to had a discreet white tent card on it on which was calligraphed the word ‘Reserved’. General Perez seated Jane facing the view and motioned Gabe to the chair beside her. He sat across from them.

  “This may be our last opportunity to enjoy the view for a few days. Once the cold front hits we will have a few days of cloudy weather and rain.”

  Surprised, Gabe said, “Rain? I don’t think so. The weather man says no rain and lots of sunshine.”

  The smile was indulgent, even patronizing. “Trust me, son. Weather has often dictated my life. I know more than the weather forecasters.”

  Gabe couldn’t tell if he was serious or delusional.

  “You appear to be moving around with not much difficulty, for which I am grateful. That must have been a nasty accident.”

  “It was no accident, Sean.”

  “Oh? What was it, then?”

  “Attempted murder is more like it.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “As a heart attack. Chip Drake tried to kill me?”

  Sean looked bewildered. “Chip? He tried to kill you? I don’t believe it.”

  “Believe it. He used that digging bar to cause a landslide to mark my final resting place. It was no accident, Sean.”

  “That is incredible. What do you intend to do? Nothing irresponsible, I hope.”

  Steel eyes pierced the older man. “That depends on what you consider irresponsible, General.”

  Sean shook his head very slowly. “Oh, no, Gabe. Why don’t you let the sheriff handle this? Sheriff Noble is a good man. He’ll come out and start an investigation, and if he thinks there’s enough evidence, he will arrest Chip and hold him for trial.”

  “If he thinks there’s enough evidence. Then maybe he’ll stand trial. And maybe he’ll get convicted. And then, maybe, just maybe, he’ll get, what, 5 years? 10? If he does half of that I’ll eat my shorts.”

  “Gabe, I’ll grant you that Chip Drake is an unpleasant character. And I know he is not innocent, if not of this, then other things. But…”

  “What ‘other things’?”

  “Small things, really. Things that can’t be proven.”

  “What kind of things, Sean?”

  The General was silent for a moment before speaking. “Really, just kid stuff. You know, the kind of things unsupervised boys do.”

  “What kind of things?” Gabe demanded.

  “Uh, Gabe, please, son, calm yourself. None of the rumors have ever been proven.”

  He pressed the General, his eyes tight slits. “What rumors, Sean.” Gabe’s voice was loud drawing the attention of other diners. “What rumors?” he repeated even louder.

  The General eyed him with sorrowful eyes. “There have been rumors – now, remember, son, rumors, only – that Chip has hurt animals. Dogs.” The General was obviously not comfortable sharing these facts with Gabe and Jane.

  “Dogs? What kind of dogs?”

  “Not adult dogs, just puppies.” He said it as if hurting puppies was the lesser crime.

  “What!”

  “Just rumors.” Sean pushed his hands down in an attempt to calm him. He knit his brows and stared into the sky above Gabe’s head. “And that boy. I forgot all about the boy.”

  “Boy? A little boy? Ooo.” Jane said and shuddered.

  Gabe turned to her.

  “That’s a classic progression,” she said. “Hurting small animals, then children, then more aggressive, deadly acts. I wouldn’t be surprised if he started fires as a child.” She shuddered, again
.

  “What about a little boy, Sean?” Gabe’s voice was hard and sharp.

  “Again, just a rumor,” he said. “There was an incident with a little boy in Milieu, but it turned out to be just talk. All of it was, Gabe. There is no proof. Chip is unpleasant and asocial, but there is no proof he has done any of the horrible things people say he has. None at all.”

  “None?” Gabe probed.

  Sean squirmed in his chair. “Well… they did find that boy’s shoe in the back of his truck. But he didn’t know how it got there, so…”

  “A boy’s shoe?”

  “Yes. It belonged to a boy – I can’t remember if it was the same child. Five, maybe six. The boy went missing for a couple of days. The sheriff found him down by the creek, hungry and thirsty, covered with bug bites. Sheriff Noble said he told an unbelievable story of a long-haired man with a red nose and scary, bloody eyes who ate children and crushed their bones to make bread in a big oven in the forest. It turned out the poor child was mentally insufficient. He was barely functional and terribly disturbed by the unfortunate incident.”

  “Five years old? That sounds like a five year old’s description of Chip.”

  The General registered surprise, “Seriously?”

  “It fits. Except for the fairy tale part about eating children and crushing their bones to make bread, it sounds exactly like Chip. He’s a big, powerful man and a big drinker. You said so yourself. The spidering on his nose, along with his bloodshot eyes, support that. I can see how a traumatized kid could describe our unfriendly, neighborhood sociopath that way.”

  The General lifted his chin to the sky and stroked his neck. After a long moment, he nodded slowly and said, “Yes. Yes. You may be right, Gabe.”

  “You can bet the last cent you own on it.”

  “What do you intend to do?

  “I want to talk to him, Sean. Just talk to him. Where is he?”

  “Gabe, didn’t you want to talk with your friend about that thing?” said Jane.

  The General raised a questioning eyebrow.

  Gabe glared at her.

  “What thing would that be, son?”

  She urged him with her eyes.

  Gabe rubbed his chin with the palm of his hand.