Blame It on the Dog Page 16

  Each of the searches cost a dollar. That meant a credit card, which he no longer had. They had gone the way of the job, the apartment, the car, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. If Sophie hadn’t loaned him her credit card he would be dead in the water, a flounderling with no visible – or invisible means of support.

  Fortunately he still had money from the gold coin Ernesto bought. He hoped to live on that until he had fulfilled the terms of her Will and received his inheritance. Or until Peabody decided to start paying him his stipend. Pigs flying. That’s what Gabe thought would be more likely than Peabody paying him anything.

  Thanks to his father, he would no longer be forced to go to Peabody, hat in hand, and ask for life’s essentials. Peabody always asked him to justify why he needed to buy whatever it was he wanted: food, clothes, toilet paper. He had enjoyed explaining the need for the last item in expanded graphic detail. For the first time in his life, he had witnessed Cornelius Peabody experience discomfort. Peabody had never asked him to explain THAT need again.

  Too bad for you, Peabody. A little jingle in my jeans and your power is gone. Poof! Ha!

  So Sophie would get back whatever he had to charge to her card. Even so, his search was coming up empty. He knew that Mountainview Villa existed, and he knew – at least he thought he knew – that Sean Perez was a shareholder. That implied it was a corporation. So why isn’t it listed as a corporation chartered in the state of Texas?

  That’s it: Sean Perez. Search ‘Sean Perez’? How many Irish Mexicans can there be in Texas?

  The answer was at least eight. That was the number of with the two names Sean and Perez. But there was only one Sean Perez associated with M-V Holdings. With a smile he clicked the listing and hit pay dirt. The Registered Agent for M-V Holdings was Edsel Drake. The president was Sean Perez and the only listed vice president was Anita Perez-Drake.

  Perez-Drake? What the – is old Persimmon Lips Sean’s daughter? Holy zamoley!

  Several months before, Gabe had changed the ringtone on his phone from Carol of the Bells to the Hallelujah Chorus. When the choir began to sing he snatched his cell from the table and answered it.

  “Mr. Chance! Have they found you yet?”

  “Andrew? Is that you? Has who found me?”

  “Sheriff Noble and his deputy. Have they come to your house, yet? They should have been there by now.”

  “What are you talking about? What do they want with me?”

  “They think you had something to do with Chip’s murder.”

  “What! Chip’s dead?”

  Andrew’s voice was hushed. “He was murdered!”

  “When did that happen?”

  “Last night, sometime. After you and your girlfriend went to see him.”

  “We went, but he wasn’t there. You know that. We told you last night.”

  “That’s what you told me. But Mrs. Drake said you stuck a needle in his neck and killed him. Everybody thinks she’s right.”

  “Who’s everybody, Andrew?”

  “Not me, Mr. Chance! I told them you didn’t do anything, that you’re not that kind of man.”

  “Who’s saying it besides Mrs. Drake?”

  “Edsel, and the General, but he’s off and on, you can’t count him because he always tells both sides of everything, you know? He says it’s you then he says it can’t be you because you’re such a nice young man. You know how he does.”

  “Is that it?”

  A silence followed by a quiet, “Emma, but only sometimes. She doesn’t really believe you did anything, she just has to go with the crowd, sometimes.”

  “And the sheriff? What is he saying?”

  “He says he wants to hear your side of it before he brings you in.”

  “I’ll bet he does.”

  An uncomfortable silence elapsed before Gabe spoke again.

  “Did you know that Anita Drake is Sean’s daughter?”

  “You’re kidding me.”

  “No, I’m not. State public records show that he’s the president and she’s the vice president of M-V Holdings. They own Mountainview, just the two of them. Sean and his daughter own the whole kit and caboodle.”

  “What about Edsel? What about him?”

  Gabe paused and said, “Edsel Drake is just a hired hand.”

  “Wait a minute. Wait a minute. If Chip was Anita’s nephew that would make him…” Andrew let the question hang. “What? Sean’s grandson?”

  Gabe slapped his cheek, hard. Andrew heard the sound on the other end of the call. “What was that?”

  Gabe touched his stinging cheek. “Nothing. It wasn’t anything. You’re a genius, Andrew. Chip is the General’s grandson, but he’s not Anita’s nephew. He’s her son!”

  Jefferson’s voice was hushed. “That explains a lot, doesn’t it Mr. Chance?”

  “Sure. It explains why they kept Chip on all these years. You never could understand how he kept his job? Why he never went to prison after all the stuff he pulled?

  “They wouldn’t let him. Anita couldn’t let her son go to prison and her daddy couldn’t put the finger on his own grandson.”

  Andrew was quiet for a moment. When he finally spoke his voice was hushed. “So, who killed Chip?”

  That brought Gabe up short.

  Who did kill Chip?

  “That’s the question of the hour, isn’t it? But it’s not really the issue anymore.”

  “Huh?”

  Gabe paused for a minute, thinking. “Who at Mountainview knows you have heart problems?”

  “Everybody, I guess. It’s no secret. I’ve had a couple of spells at meals and once when we were playing Bingo. Edsel called B12 on the five thousand dollar prize and I jumped up hollering ‘Bingo’. That did it. It was like Margie Henderson was sitting on my chest. Have you met Margie? She’s a big woman, Mr. Chance, at least 300 pounds. Why are you asking?”

  “I was thinking, if anything happened to you, would Emma be able to stay there?”

  “Of course she would! Why wouldn’t she?”

  “I’m not sure how to say this, Andrew, but Emma seems to be sliding a little.”

  The silence on Andrew’s side of the call was hard to listen to.

  “Mentally, I mean,” added Chance into the silence.

  Finally Jefferson said, “I understand what you’re saying, Mr. Chance. Emma is getting older, but who up here isn’t? But she’s doing fine, she really is. She just needs a little help every now and again.”

  “I’ve noticed how you help her, Andrew. It is obvious how much you love her. Do you think anyone there might think she leans on you a little more than she should?”

  “I don’t care what anybody thinks. Emma is doing fine.”

  “I know Andrew, I know. But what if the General thought she wasn’t? Or Mrs. Drake? Or Edsel? What if they thought your wife couldn’t make it without you?”

  The phone was silent for so long that Gabe wondered if he had lost the call. “Andrew?” he said. “Are you there?”

  “I’m here. What are you trying to say that you’re not saying, Mr. Chance?”

  “I don’t know how to put this, Andrew, but what if they thought Emma couldn’t continue to live at Mountainview if you were to have a heart attack? What would happen to her?”

  “You think she might have an accident, too? Is that what you’re saying?” Andrew’s voice was calm, but strained.

  “And then Edsel would be selling your unit, next. Andrew, are you there?”

  A weak and husky voice answered, “I’m here.”

  There was a long silence. It was different than before. It seemed to Gabe as if the call had been lost. But, maybe Andrew was just steeling himself to speak. Finally, he did.

  “You live your whole life loving someone, trying to take care of them, make sure they are taken care of when you’re gone, and then… Suddenly I don’t know what to do. What can I do, Gabe?”

  “You can help me stop him, Andrew.”

  “How?”

  “I don
’t know. But I’ll think of something.”

  “What are you going to do? I mean about the sheriff?”

  “Same answer, I guess: I don’t know but I’ll think of something. That’s all I can… Uh! What’s that smell?”

  “What smell is that, Mr. Chance?”

  “AAAGGHH!”

  “Is something wrong, there?”

  “You stupid mutt! Get out of here! Out! Out!”

  “Mr. Chance, what’s happening? Is Tigger all right? What’s that sound? Are you choking?”

  “I’m gonna kill him. I’m – going – to – kill – him.”

  “Who? What…”

  “He found a skunk! Aaagghh!”

  “In your house? Mr. Chance, is there a skunk in your house?”

  “The whole house smells like skunk. Gaaahh!”

  “Tomato juice. That’ll do it,” said Andrew, “tomato ju…”

  Gabe punched off and started chasing the dog from room to room. He finally cornered him in the bedroom sitting on his bed. Gabe’s bed. On his pillow. Gabe’s pillow.

  With a total lack of ceremony he clicked a leash to the dog’s collar and pulled. Tigger jumped to the floor and headed for the door. Gabe pulled him up short just before he ducked through the doggie door. He opened the back door and together they went outside.

  A light bulb almost appeared over his head as he stuck his finger in the air and said to himself: “Sophie. She’ll know what to do.”

  CHAPTER 27

  “GABRIEL BURTON CHANCE! Don’t you dare bring that nasty dog in this house! Take him around to the back hose. And don’t touch him unless you want to smell just like him.”

  “Did you hear the way she was talking about you, dogface: ‘that nasty dog’? That’s what messing with a skunk gets you – and you deserve it. Not even Sophie’s on your side on this one. Not even Sophie! I wouldn’t be surprised if she didn’t fix you breakfast for six months.”

  Sophie pushed through the screen door to the backyard carrying a blue plastic bucket and let it slam behind her. “Gabriel, leave that poor baby alone.”

  “I’m not doing anything to him! I never touched him.”

  “Tigger is a sensitive spirit. You don’t have to touch him to injure him; you only have to speak harshly to him. Or with condescension.”

  “Weren’t you the one who just called him ‘that nasty dog’?”

  “He knows I didn’t mean it.” She handed him a pair of pink latex kitchen gloves. “Put these on, Gabriel.”

  He held the gloves up with two fingers. “Don’t they make these things in blue? Or black? Pink, for crying out loud? The whole world is not pink!”

  “I should think you are secure enough in your masculinity by now to withstand a pair of pink gloves for the sake of little Tigger.”

  While Gabe grumbled and shoved his hands in the gloves, Sophie drove to the Super S Food Market for a couple of bottles of hydrogen peroxide and a jug of vinegar. Apparently tomato juice was passé as an antidote for skunk perfume. Sophie said that according to Dr. Alyssa, the vet, some genius chemist had come up with the perfect dog bath to make skunk stink go away.

  Color me dubious, he thought. “And color you stinky, muttski. If this guy can make you smell good he really is a genius. And keep your distance. Persona non grata, that’s what you are.”

  By the time Sophie pulled into the driveway Gabe had the dog leashed to the backyard faucet bib and the blue plastic pail stood at the ready. He was standing a good distance away, upwind.

  “That was quick,” he said when she handed him the shopping bags.

  “The benefit of a small town and a small town grocery store,” she smiled. “All right, let’s get to work. Pour the hydrogen peroxide and the vinegar into the bucket and I’ll get the dish soap.”

  “Got it right here.” He held up a bottle of Dawn. “If it’s good enough for greasy geese it ought to be fine for a stinky dog.”

  Thirty minutes and two vinegar and peroxide rinses later the dog was bedraggled and disgusted but the people were happy.

  “Dr. Alyssa was right, Gabriel. The formula worked wonderfully.”

  Gabe took a deep breath and said, “The guy that came up with this gets my vote for scientist of the year, but I don’t think dogface agrees.”

  The wet dog resembled Bill the Cat on a bad hair day. He looked even scrawnier and more bedraggled than ever, like he had lost twenty pounds. He stretched his neck and shook his body, starting at his nose and ending at his tail. Water and hair flew everywhere.

  “Hey! HEY!”

  “He has to get dry somehow doesn’t he, Gabriel? And you’ll dry, too.”

  “Not fast enough. Hey, Sophie, I need to leave Tigger with you for a few hours while I run out to Mountainview. But first I gotta get some dry clothes.”

  Sophie looked alarmed. “Why must you go to Mountainview?”

  “I would already be gone if this skunk business hadn’t happened. Andrew Jefferson just told me that Chip Drake was murdered last night. Sheriff Noble’s prime suspect is me.

  “That would explain the two Sheriff’s Department cruisers at your house.”

  Gabe’s face whitened appreciably.

  “Perhaps they just want to talk with you, Gabriel.”

  “Like Tigger talks with rats. I can’t get to the Pink Lady, Sophie and I have to get out there. Let me use your car. And get you to watch the dog for me.”

  Sophie shook her head. “Oh, no, dear. You can’t take my car. And even if you could reach yours, you couldn’t take it, either. They are both much too recognizable, don’t you think?”

  He looked at the yellow Studebaker and then thought about the pink Ambassador. Reluctantly he said, “I guess you’re right. They’re not exactly ‘undercover cars’ are they? But I have to get out there and check out the scene, see if there’s anything that’ll keep me out of the hoosegow; prison isn’t in my Christmas plans, Sophie.”

  “Don’t you think Sheriff Noble has already investigated the crime scene? You really should let him handle this. He is a very fair man, Gabriel.”

  “I don’t care how fair he is, I’m not trusting my neck to a hick sheriff. That’s like asking the IRS to audit you. Bad form.” Then he looked at his old friend and tried to look as pitiful as he could. “How am I gonna get out there, Sophie?”

  Sophie didn’t bite. “Why don’t you call one of your friends? Call Bob. He will help you; he always does.”

  “Great idea!” Bob Cox was his oldest friend. His old buddy was as close as the brother he never had. Even so, Bob hadn’t been around much, lately. The drought almost destroyed his fishing guide business. Since it broke last summer, Bob had been scarcer than hair on a catfish. Gabe was beginning to wonder if he was an endangered species.

  He punched Bob on speed dial. He let it ring seven times before it finally went to voice mail.

  “Cox Fishing Service, this is Bob. We’re at the Land Cut catching the big ones, but we’re booking now for early next month. Don’t be disappointed! Leave your name and num…”

  “Yeah, yeah, I get it.” He pressed ‘End’ looking depressed.

  Sophie had an idea. “What about one of your lady friends?”

  Gabe shook his head. “Alyssa decided she doesn’t want anything to do with a killer. I don’t think she’ll feel more charitable towards a murderer. Make that, murder suspect.”

  “Oh, my.” She put her chin on her left fist, wrinkled her face and tapped her forehead. She was thinking. “Isn’t there anyone else, dear?”

  He jerked his head up and said, “Hah! Jane! I’ll call Jane!” He whipped the phone out and dialed the hospital.

  It took a while but when he was connected, he said, “Jane. Gabe. I have to borrow your car.”

  “I don’t loan my car, Gabe, company policy. What’s wrong?”

  “What company?”

  “Mine. Me. I just don’t do it. What’s wrong?”

  “Come on, Jane, can’t you make an exception for me? It’s importan
t.”

  She lowered her voice, and he could tell she was holding the phone closer. “What’s wrong, Gabe? What’s happened?”

  He sighed, exhaling deeply. “Somebody killed Chip Drake after we went to see him. They think I did it.”

  “That’s ridiculous. We never even saw the man.” He heard a patient groan in the background.

  “Jane, nothing is ridiculous where the cops are concerned. They’re at my house, now and the Pink Lady’s in the driveway. I’m at Sophie’s.”

  “What about her car?”

  “Her old, yellow Studebaker? It’s too recognizable. Come on, Jane! I have to get to Mountainview and I need you’re car.”

  She was quiet for a moment, and then said, “I won’t loan you my car, but I will take you. My shift is over at seven.”

  “Now who’s being ridiculous, Jane? This has nothing to do with you.”

  “Yes it does. I was with you, remember? That makes me an accomplice, or something. I’ll pick you up after seven.”

  “Tonight? That’s too late!”

  “It’s the best I can do, Gabe. The Knife and Gun Club decided to start early, today and the ER is covered up.”

  “Oh. Okay; yeah. But seven? That’s awfully late.”

  “If I can get away sooner I’ll call. Just hope I don’t have to stay longer. I have to go now, Gabe. See you at seven.”

  He punched the end button and, under his breath said, “Damn!”

  “Gabriel, you know how I feel about swearing.”

  “Yeah, I know, I know. Sorry, Sophie. I wish she’d just let me have her car.”

  “She’s agreed to take you, then?”

  He nodded.

  “That’s wonderful, Gabriel. Don’t look so glum.”

  He shook his head. “There’s one other problem.”

  “Yes?”

  “Dad's pistol, his .45. It’s in the wardrobe in their bedroom. I think I may need it.”