Blame It on the Dog Read online

  “But you’ve got to admit moving into a house someone just died in is kind of creepy,” said Gabe.

  “Mr. Chance, when people move out of Mountainview, most often it’s feet first. This is their last stop. We all know that and so do the people who want to live here. They’ll do just about anything to get a place. Besides, Edsel Drake is one heck of a salesman. That man, in spite of all his flash and trash, could sell oil to the Arabs. And price isn’t an issue for the people who live here.”

  “Wait a minute. These are condos, aren’t they? Harald owned his house so why is Edsel selling it?”

  “That’s not quite right. We don’t really own our ‘condos’. We pay an upfront fee to get in and then a common use fee every month that includes street maintenance, lawn care, and stuff like that.”

  “So you and Emma don’t own this place?”

  “Nope. But it’s ours until we die.”

  “Who owns it then?”

  “Whoever owns Mountainview Villa.”

  “I thought Edsel and his wife owned Mountainview?”

  “Nope. They’re just hired hands. The corporation owns it.”

  “What corporation?”

  He shrugged his hands. “Got me. They draft my account every month and I don’t have to mess with it.”

  Gabe’s mind was racing around the possibilities. “The upfront fee, how much is that?”

  “When we bought ours it was $175,000 but I believe it’s up to two or two fifty, by now.”

  “Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars? And you pay rent for the rest of your life? So, what happens to Harald’s $250,000 now that he’s gone? Who gets it?”

  “Who gets it? The corporation, of course. They’ve already got it. When you pay your upfront money, it’s gone. You don’t get it back if you move and you can’t sell it.”

  “That’s nuts,” said Gabe. “Why would anybody do that? Why did you?”

  “Because it’s Mountainview. Believe me: there’s no place like it. If I’m gonna die—and I am—I want to do it here. So does Emma. That’s the decision we made when we moved here. Everybody does, even the General. But I think he’s one of the partners.”

  “A partner? Sean’s a partner?” Gabe was incredulous. “Wait a minute,” he said. He pushed his chin into his hand, hard and moved his head from side to side. “The corporation. They stood to gain when Harald died. And when his wife died. And Helen and Jed. All of them. The money was the motive,“ he said in a soft, quiet voice. “They killed all of them.”

  “What do you mean?” Andrew’s face drained of color.

  Chance was angry now. “It’s a racket: whenever they need money, they pick out some poor soul and execute them. Then Edsel sells the place and they put a couple hundred grand in the bank. Nobody suspects a thing. And you…”

  Before he could finish, Andrew’s face contorted in agony and he clutched his chest, falling backwards onto the couch. Jane rushed to his side and grabbed his wrist, checking his pulse.

  “He’s white as a sheet,” said Gabe. “Heart attack?”

  “Andrew! Do you have angina?” Jane said.

  The old man’s head bobbed almost imperceptibly. His breathing was fast and shallow. Now he was pressing both hands into his chest. Jane’s was trapped between them.

  “Where’s your medicine?” she freed a hand and patted his pockets. Her voice was calm but urgent.

  “Bar,” he gasped.

  Gabe jumped up and rushed to the bar. He quickly found a small, brown, glass bottle. ‘Nitrostat .4 mg.’ was printed on the label. He shook a small white pill into his hand as he rushed back to the man’s side.

  “Open your mouth and lift your tongue,” he said.

  Panting, Andrew raised his tongue and Gabe pushed the pill home.

  Jane squeezed his hand and said, “Try to relax and breathe normally. You’ll feel better in a minute.”

  She was right: in just moments the old man’s pain subsided and his pallor gave way to a bright pink flush as the nitroglycerin dilated his blood vessels. The same thing was happening inside his heart, flooding oxygen-rich blood to oxygen-starved cells.

  After a moment longer he managed to say two words: “Thank you.”

  “Payback’s a pleasure, Andrew,” Gabe grinned.

  Jane said, “We couldn’t have done it without you.”

  CHAPTER 24

  “GABE CHANCE IS not dead.” The Visitor stood at the maintenance shed entrance, body framed against the night darkness. A small tan briefcase, the kind lawyers use stood on the floor.

  “What are you talking about? I crushed him like a bug. No one could survive that.”

  “No. You did not crush him, Chip. He is very much alive and vengeance is on his heart. A few hours ago he came here to find you. He has no doubt you tried to murder him and now he wants to return the favor. I can’t say that I blame him.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You tried to kill the man, Chip. You failed. He wants his turn and I don’t think he will fail.”

  “Oh, yeah? Let him try. I’ll rip his face off and shove it down his throat. I’ll cut him from here to here,” he said drawing his finger across his neck. The angry sneer turned into a smirk. He pointed at the briefcase. “What’s in the little, bitty bag, your lunch?” he snickered.

  The Visitor ignored him and, pushing beer cans and other debris out of the way, walked toward the car Chip was working on. “We need to talk. I don’t believe you appreciate our problem: Mr. Chance is still alive. Very much alive.”

  “Yeah, you said that.”

  “He will not let this go.”

  Chip reached for a filthy hunting knife laying on the engine block and accented his words with it. “That’s the trouble with accidents: they don’t always work. I told you I should have used a knife. If I had gutted him like I told you, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

  “You have to finish him. And his dog.”

  “Dog? You want me to do a dog? Chip straightened and grinned, pointing the blade toward the Visitor. “Not for that price. I told you; you didn’t listen; now, it’s on you. You want me to do it my way this time, great. But it’ll cost you another five. And,” he scratched his cheek with the point of the blade, “the dog’s another grand.”

  “That is not the agreement we made.”

  Chip shrugged and smiled. “Do it yourself, then.”

  The Visitor nodded his head. “We have another problem caused by your ineptness.”

  “What ineptness? You decided to make it look like an accident, not me. It’s not my fault if your plan went blooey.”

  “I’m not referring to that. You failed to do as you were told when you broke into the veterinarian’s office. You were told to take only the drugs but you took more. And you had the stupidity to hide your plunder here in that automobile.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Mr. Chance discovered it earlier tonight and shared the information with Mr. Jefferson who will no doubt share it with the sheriff if he lives long enough. A logical progression, don’t you agree?”

  Absently, Chip scratched the whiskers of his chin with the dull edge of the knife blade. His face was contorted in thought but then, earnestness gave way to a small, cagey smile. He pointed the tip of the knife at the Visitor and said, “There’s another step in that progression: accidents are real common for old men.”

  The Visitor’s eyebrow went up. “Oh? You plan to kill Mr. Jefferson?”

  “You bet – but I’m not doing anything for free. The old man will cost you 10 and Chance is another 5. And I’ll throw in the dog for free. It’ll be just like old times.”

  “Even though your bungling has made the extra effort necessary?”

  “I’m not inept and I haven’t bungled. You made lousy decisions and you’re too damned weak to take care of business yourself. You don’t have the guts either. Hey, just consider it the cost of doing business, you know?”

  “A good point, Chip,
a very good point. You continue working on your car and I will get your money.”

  Chip’s eyes narrowed. “All of it?”

  “Of course. Then we will discuss what you will do and how you will do it.”

  “Works for me, but don’t be too long. The price might go up, know what I mean?”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t want that to happen.”

  “So, what are you doing standing there? Go get my money!”

  On the way out the Visitor walked past the valise, leaving it behind on the dirty concrete floor.

  Chip noticed the leather case and shook his head. With a derisive chuckle he leaned beneath the hood of the car.

  Moments later the Visitor returned carrying a small flashlight in his right hand. His other hand was behind his back.

  Without looking up Chip said, “Forgot your purse?” He snickered. “I knew you’d be back. Don’t forget my money.”

  “It’s a shame, you know,” the Visitor said and pressed the flashlight against Chip’s lower back. A press of a button and eight million volts of electricity discharged into his body. A loud crackle bounced off the sheet metal walls followed by a loud yelp of surprise. Chip’s back arched violently, slamming his head against the heavy steel hood. Blood spilled down his neck and back. His legs folded. His head bounced on the hard concrete and he lay there, stunned and bleeding, unable to move.

  The Visitor pocketed the camouflaged stunner and brought his left hand from behind his back. In it was a syringe filled with ten cc’s of clear liquid. He removed the cap covering the needle. “Less greed and more competence would have changed things for you. This is the Somulethal you stole, Chip.” The needle broke the skin on Chip’s neck and with a steady push of the plunger liquid death flooded his bloodstream. “It is the preferred way to put large animals to sleep, which is appropriate since you have shown yourself to be nothing more than an animal. Go to sleep, now, and rest in peace.”

  Chip heard every word. And as panicky as the words made him feel, there was nothing he could do. Chip Drake never actually felt the needle penetrate his neck or the cold, clear liquid rush into his carotid. He kept expecting to feel something but he never did. In less than a half minute he was gone, his body a lifeless shell lying on the cold concrete, the empty syringe dangling from his neck.

  “Tsk, tsk, tsk,” said the Visitor. “I’m shocked that Gabriel Chance would do such a thing, Chip, even to a beast like you. He always seemed like such a nice young man.”

  The Visitor turned, took the briefcase in hand and, without as much as a glance at the dead man, strolled through the open doorway and out into the star-studded night.

  CHAPTER 25

  HIGH, THIN CIRRUS clouds veiled the sun in the morning sky. Sheriff Marshall Noble stepped out of the white police cruiser and wondered to himself why murder mornings so often wore such morose and colorless clothing. He had experienced far too many of them when he came up through the ranks at the El Paso PD. Now, those folks out there had murders, he remembered with a grim smile.

  Ahead of him, Edsel Drake and his shrewish wife – what was her name? – waited on the front deck of the Mountainview Villa Clubhouse.

  “Morning, Edsel. Mrs. Drake.” He touched his right forefinger to the brim of his Stetson.

  “Sheriff,” Drake answered. He stood, waiting, shifting from foot to foot. Behind him his wife was a block of ice with pursed lips.

  “Tell me what you know,” said the sheriff.

  Edsel looked at his wife, passing the question to her.

  She stepped forward pushing her husband aside. “My nephew is dead,” she said.

  “That’s what I understand. Who found him?”

  “I did,” she said. “When he didn’t show up for breakfast I went to the shop. Chip never misses – missed – a free meal. He was always hungry.”

  “He never did. She thought something must be wrong.” Edsel was wringing his hands.

  “Let her tell it, Edsel. Go on, Mrs. Drake. Tell me what you found.”

  A sneer curled below her nose. “He was dead. He had a needle stuck in his neck. Gabriel Chance killed him.”

  “Chance? What makes you think Chance killed him?”

  “It’s no secret that he blamed Chip for that freak accident. He…”

  “Freak accident? What do you mean?”

  By now a small crowd had gathered around them on the deck.

  Andrew Jefferson said, “The whole blasted cliff fell on him. If Emma and I hadn’t come along when we did, well, I don’t know what would have happened. Mr. Chance might have died.”

  General Sean Perez nodded his head. “I’m afraid what Andrew is telling you is true, Sheriff. Gabe came back last night looking for Chip. He was convinced he was responsible for the accident. He was very, very angry. From the way he was talking I was afraid he might do something regretful.”

  “We all were, Sheriff,” said Edsel from behind his wife.

  “He killed my nephew.” Anita Drake’s eyes were dark with hatred. “He’s a killer.”

  “Andrew, he could kill us. All of us! I never did like his shifty eyes. He has shifty eyes, they shifted back and forth, back and f…”

  “Emma, stop it. The rest of you, too. You all act like Chip was a choir boy. He was a convicted felon and a bully. And Mr. Chance is a war hero.”

  The sheriff seemed surprised. “A war hero? How do you know that?”

  “That’s what Sophie Andersen says and I believe it. He was awarded a Silver Star. They don’t just give those away.”

  Sheriff Noble raised both eyebrows.

  Mrs. Drake’s voice was cold. “That just tells us he has killed before. Once you’ve killed, killing is easy. Gabe Chance stuck a needle in my nephew’s neck and murdered him. Even your idiot deputy can see that.” Mrs. Drake’s tone was matter of fact.

  “Wait a minute…” said Oscar. He puffed his body out and stood straighter. “You don’t have any call to…”

  Sheriff Noble restrained his deputy with his calm voice. “Stand down, Oscar and take a deep breath. The rest of you need to do the same.”

  Oscar glared at Mrs. Drake. “Want me to call the Rangers, boss?”

  “No, I don’t want you to call the Rangers. We don’t need the Texas Rangers, the Highway Patrol or the FBI. What we need now is for everyone to simmer down and let me do my investigation. You folks go home, now. If I need to talk to you, I know where to find you.”

  Slowly, the conversations subsided as they each made their way back to their homes. When they had all gone, the General remained.

  “Is there something specific you need before you follow your friends?” said Sheriff Noble

  “No, there isn’t. But I wanted to say something on behalf of Mr. Chance: he is a fine young man, Sheriff. I have seen many, many men like him in my career, men moved by their ideals and their passions. Mr. Chance has both but I believe his ideals will eventually win out over any misguided passions he might exhibit.”

  “And what ‘misguided passions’ might those be?”

  “He was very angry with Chip because he believed Chip was responsible for his injuries. He even voiced to me his desires to get even. But I assured him that Chip could not have caused the landslide that hurt him. Certainly Chip did not possess such power.”

  “And were you able to persuade Mr. Chance that was the case?”

  The General paused. “Not immediately, Sheriff. But Mr. Chance is the type of young man whose passions can be directed with proper guidance, and that is what I did. I have no doubt that no matter how vociferously he claimed revenge on poor Chip; I was able to divert him to a more rational course.”

  “And what makes you so certain that you had ‘diverted’ him?”

  The General opened his mouth to reply, thought better of it and, without another word, turned and walked away, shaking his head slowly.

  Sheriff Noble watched him go.

  “What do you think, Oscar?”

  “I think somebody here is trying to blow
smoke up our skirts.”

  “I think I agree with you. What say we go see what we can make of the crime scene? Then, maybe we’ll drive up to Brandt tomorrow and visit with Mr. Chance.”

  “I’m with you, Sheriff.”

  CHAPTER 26

  A FEW DROPS of milk spilled from his cereal bowl when he set it on the floor and removed the spoon. “Chow down, dogface, then hit the road. I’ve got work to do. Gotta find out if our friend the General really does own a piece of Mountainview.”

  The dog seemed to think that was an acceptable plan; at least the chow down part. He was waiting with quivering intensity for Gabe to take his hand off the bowl. Then he fell to it with gusto. When he finished, his tongue lapped over lips and whiskers leaving an expression of hopeful expectation of more.

  “Nope. Absolutely not. You are such a pig! A greedy, good for nothing, pig. What is this, second breakfast? Third? I know Sophie gave you your usual bacon and eggs. And your bowl is empty again. It wasn’t empty when I went to bed last night. You just finished my cereal. Now you want more? Get your mangy carcass outside and do whatever dogs do when they’re not irritating their owners. Out! Go! Get out of here!

  Inscrutable as ever, the dog stared at him. Finally, he snorted and strode to the doggie door. There he gave a last, parting stare over his shoulder, snorted once more, and passed through the flap.

  Gabe carried the bowl to the dishwasher and then sat down at his laptop on the dining room table.

  His first search on ‘Mountainview’ returned 155,000,000 possibilities. To narrow the results he entered ‘Mountain View’. This time there were 834,000,000 possibilities. ‘Mountainview Villa’ was more promising with only 8,310,000 results. Better but still about 8,300,000 too many. He tried several other searches, too but still came up empty. Or, rather, he continued drinking from a fire hose.

  Google had no direct answer for how to learn the owners of a specific company. Eventually, however, by serendipity he found his way to the Texas Secretary of State’s website where he located a tab that promised to give him information about any company in the state. But it didn’t. There was no record at all of “Mountainview Villa”. Nor was there a record for “Mountain View Villa” or “Villa of Mountainview”. Regardless of which permutation he entered the answer was always the same: nothing.