Blame It on the Dog Page 19

  For his part, Sean was now calm. Quietly he said, “Thank you for not making a stupid mistake, Gabe. I truly do not want to shoot you. Now, be a good lad. Turn around and continue walking. We are almost at our destination. Do be careful, though. I can see that you are in discomfort and the mud can be treacherous. ”

  They walked on, Gabe limping in the front, the gun and the General behind. Shortly they emerged from the trees into full moonlight. Half of the sky was filled with stars. The other half was still obscured by clouds on their way to San Antonio. The temperature had dropped rapidly with the passing of the front. Tonight was cold, tomorrow would be colder still.

  Gabe was wet and mad and chilled to the bone. He also felt fear and an overwhelming spirit of determination. Throughout the enforced march, he had been thinking about the General’s motives and his plans. The last few minutes had clarified things for him.

  He’s going to kill me – that’s a given. But not with the gun. He wants to make it look like another accident. That’s why he didn’t strap my wrists: he can’t take a chance on leaving any marks.

  Brilliant deduction, Mr. Smarty-pants. Now what?

  Don’t be so negative. At least he’s not going to shoot me. On the other hand, he is planning to kill me. Hmmm. We could duke it out. I’ve got 30 or 40 years on him; on the other hand, he’s got 40 or 50 pounds on me and it’s all muscle. The guy’s an ox.

  Yeah. And don’t forget your leg. Not to mention the gun. It’s not looking good for the home team, buddy boy.

  Gabe’s eyes darted back and forth, searching for a weapon, something to give him an edge, or, at least something to even the odds. He came up empty. No fallen tree limbs, no rocks, nothing. His mind worked feverishly as they marched on.

  As it had often done on their hike through the trees, his right hand brushed across King Tut’s tarnished head. Before, he had only noticed the irritation of metal against skin. This time was different. This time it was as if an electric circuit had closed: a flash of inspiration arced in his head followed by a picture of the hatpin concealed in his jeans. It was a very comforting picture and he smiled.

  Gabe accentuated his limp. “Can I walk a little slower, Sean? This leg is killing me.” He stopped and rubbed his thigh with his right hand.

  “Move on, Gabe. You can rest in a few minutes.”

  He kept his hand where it was, covering the head of the pin. “It really hurts, Sean.”

  “Toughen up, son, you’re embarrassing yourself. Get moving.”

  He kept his hand where it was and limped forward. “What’s the plan, Sean? Shoot me in the back of the head? Strangle me? What?”

  “Haven’t you been listening, Gabe? I have no desire to damage your body.”

  The margin of the drop-off shone in the near distance highlighted in the bright moonlight. Sean was guiding them straight for the edge.

  With wet fingers Gabe inched the hat pin from his the thick seam of his jeans, praying he wouldn’t drop it, and concealed it in his palm, the head of the pharaoh’s sarcophagus sharp against the heel of his hand. He hoped the long shaft protruding between his fingers was invisible in the darkness.

  Bring it on, General; I’m not going without a fight.

  “That’s far enough.”

  He felt the General draw nearer and nearer. The weight of his right hand on Gabe’s left shoulder was no surprise. Nor was the iron vise that gripped him. The surprise came from the searing pain that shot down his left arm and the total paralysis that accompanied it.

  “Shocking, isn’t it, son. A little something I picked up in Southeast Asia. It will wear off in a few minutes. You may live to feel it.” He pushed with his right hand, forcing Gabe forward, onward to the gaping wound in the earth. The General leaned forward, almost resting his ear on Gabe’s shoulder. “Just go with it, son. It will all be over that much sooner,” he whispered. It was an intimate whisper; the whisper of a mother or a lover.

  “Give it up, son.” The whisper was seductive. “Let go.”

  A loud chorus of barks shattered the night from their left.

  “What the…?” The General loosened his grip and turned to see the dog, the ugly, white dog he had locked in the shed, bouncing and barking, running at Sean’s legs and snapping those teeth, teeth bigger than its head; snapping and snarling, then retreating before running again and snapping again. At him.

  Gabe took advantage of the General’s confusion and stabbed his right foot into the ground, hard. Ignoring the blinding pain that shot through his damaged thigh and the warm blood that ran from the newly opened wound, he pivoted his body’s weight, forcing the heavier man’s own momentum to swing him around, their positions reversed. General Perez stopped, now positioned between Gabe and the cliff’s edge, torn between the threat of those horrible teeth and the precipice behind him. Gabe swung his right fist at Sean’s face with all of his weight behind the blow. The old man saw the blow coming and started to duck, blinking at the same time.

  Gabe didn’t know what the General felt, but he felt King Tut’s head bite into his palm, tearing his flesh as the other end of the hatpin sliced through Sean’s eyelid, through his eyeball, through his retina and buried itself deep in the bone behind his eye.

  The scream in Gabe’s ear was deafening. The weight of the bigger man’s body fell from his shoulder and Sean Perez staggered backward, both hands clutching his face, horror etching his features. King Tut protruded from the man’s left eye. His feet jerked in spasms, finding no purchase in the slippery earth. Now he was the one fighting to resist the inexorable tug of gravity. It was a battle lost before it began. The old General, still screaming, hands still clutching his face, slipped to the wet ground and slid over the precipice into empty darkness.

  When the screams finally stopped, Gabe wiped his face and limped back toward the trees, cradling his right hand against his body, his left arm hanging useless at his side. The rain was gone but he blinked his eyes against a different kind of mist as he beheld the wet and bedraggled dog trotting at his side.

  CHAPTER 30

  “EVENING, SHERIFF.”

  Sheriff Noble was standing in front of the shed when Gabe and the dog limped out of the trees. His jaws were clenched and his right hand rested comfortably on the handle of his still holstered revolver.

  “Mr. Chance.” The greeting was professional and totally non-committal, in a Hill Country sheriff kind of way. “You’ve been injured.” He nodded at Gabe’s bloody pants.

  Gabe groaned, “I wish you wouldn’t call me ‘Mr. Chance’, Sheriff. Mostly when people call me that, bad things happen. How about calling me ‘Gabe’?

  “Come a little closer into the light where I can see you better. That’s good. Now just stop there and tell me what that scream was all about.”

  “General Perez tried to push me off the cliff. He wasn’t happy when I stuck a hatpin in his eye and he went over instead of me.”

  Surprised, the sheriff said, “A hatpin?”

  “It was all I had. The General was really strong for an old man. Or a young man, even.”

  “Is that why you threw him off the cliff?”

  “I didn’t throw him off, he backed off. And he didn’t just want to hurt me, he did hurt me. See the arm?” He tilted his head toward his useless left arm. He was finally getting the feeling back which seemed a mixed blessing because with it came a burning ache. “He wanted to kill me, Sheriff. He thought we had figured out he was the one who murdered Chip Drake. We hadn’t connected all the dots, but we would have.”

  “We?”

  From inside the shed, Jane’s muffled voice called, “Help! Help! Get me out of here!”

  The sheriff raised his left eyebrow at Gabe, his hand still resting on his pistol.

  Gabe took the eyebrow to be a question. “’We’. That’s her, the lady who drove me out here. The General locked her inside with my dog.”

  Noble glanced at the dog and then returned his gaze to Gabe.

  “He got out. He does tha
t, Sheriff.”

  “Are you all right in there, miss?” Noble called.

  “Yes, but these things are cutting into my wrists. Get me out of here!” She screamed the last words.

  He nodded at Gabe. “Open the door, Mr. Chance. And please don’t do anything stupid.”

  Gabe limped to the door and with fumbling fingers pulled the unlocked lock through the hasp. With some difficulty he managed to grab the door and push off his good left leg without falling down.

  “That’s ok, Sheriff,” he grunted, “don’t help me. I’ve – I’ve – got it. Ungh!” With a shriek of metal on metal the door opened enough to let Jane squeeze through, hands still cuffed behind her back.

  Noble squinted, hard, and Gabe pushed his hands back into the air.

  “Step back over there but stay in the light.” He nodded Gabe toward the edge of the circle of light near the corner of the building. “Now, sit down.”

  “In the mud?”

  “You can sit down or I can knock you down.”

  “I’ll need my hands,” he said. He lowered them slowly and bent his left leg keeping the right as straight as he could. He lost his balance and fell the final ten inches to the muddy ground. He landed on his hands and left hip.

  “Stay just like that, Mr. Chance.”

  “Sheesh, Sheriff. I never figured you for the suspicious type.”

  Sheriff Noble ignored the comment and turned part of his attention to Jane. “What’s your name, ma’am?”

  “Jane.” Then she added, “Trujillo. I’m a nurse at Brandt Memorial.”

  “What are you doing out here and who locked you in that shed?”

  “Gabe wanted to see the actual scene of the murder you people thought he committed, to see if there was anything you missed. We figured it out but then the General came in with a gun and locked me inside.” She nodded at the dog. “Tigger, too.” He took Gabe away and I thought he was going to kill both of us. She turned her back to the sheriff and bent forward, holding her hands up. “He put these on me, too. They’re hurting me. Can you take them off?” She was looking at him over her shoulder.

  The sheriff bunched his lips, pushed the brim of his hat up and scratched his forehead, all the while staring at the dog. “How did he get out?”

  “I – don’t – know!” she said, each word louder than the one that preceded it. “Get these things off me! I didn’t do anything and neither did Gabe.” She turned sideways and wiggled her fingers.

  Noble reached into his right rear pocket and pulled out a large, lock-blade pocket knife. With a practiced flick of his right wrist he snapped it open, held her wrists still with his left and with one, deft swipe, cut through the tough plastic.

  Jane surveyed the damage to her arms and grimaced at the stinging rawness.

  “Let me take a look, ma’am.” Sheriff Marshall Noble lifted her tender wrists, one at a time, and inspected them.

  Jane was surprised at the gentleness of the big man. She also noted how handsome he was, even though he looked to be about ten years older than she.

  Sheriff Noble said, “Hmmm,” and his face darkened as he inspected the blood on her right wrist. “These were tighter than they needed to be. Who strapped them on you?”

  “Gabe.”

  Noble’s lips tightened.

  “But he made him do it!” she hastened to add.

  The skin around his lips softened and he nodded. “You’ll be all right ma’am. I don’t think you’ll have any scars. There’s an antiseptic in my first aid kit I’ll clean you up with,” he said, then added, “It’s betadine. It won’t burn a bit.” He smiled at her.

  “Thank you, sheriff. You’re a very sensitive man.”

  Did she bat her eyes? She batted her eyes at him!

  Sheriff Marshall Noble was still holding her hands and he was still looking into her eyes. “Please, Miss Trujillo, call me Marshall.” Noticing the confusion that clouded her face he said, “Marshall is my given name, ma’am.”

  She smiled and said, “It’s a lovely name. Marshall.”

  “Hey! Remember me, the guy bleeding in the mud; the guy who just went through hell and back; the guy who almost got killed? Can I get up now? I’ve had a hard night.”

  “Get on up and come over here, Mr. Chance. I want to talk to both of you together.”

  With a groan and some difficulty Gabe rose and joined them, wiping his muddy hands on his wet pants legs. Jane was still smiling at the sheriff though he had given her hands back. “Well – all righty, then,” he said to no one. He growled at the dog, “What’re you looking at, mutt?”

  “Let’s step inside, Miss Trujillo and ya’ll tell me what happened tonight.” He ushered them into the shed.

  Jane liked the way he rolled the ‘r’ in her name. “Do you speak Spanish, Marshall?”

  “Yes ma’am, I do. Sort of a job requirement out here.”

  “You have a delightful accent.”

  Gabe rolled his eyes and shook his head from side to side. “I hope I don’t throw up.” He didn’t say it loud enough to be heard, which was just as well since neither of them was paying any attention to him.

  She glanced at Gabe and for the first time noticed his bloody pants. “Your leg!” she gasped. “Marshall, we have to stop the bleeding, immediately. Do you have any bandages?”

  “Yes, ma’am, we have to be prepared for gunshots and automobile accidents so our first aid kit is very complete. But, ma’am, do you have the skills to do that?”

  “I run the emergency room at the hospital, Marshall.”

  “That answers that.” The sheriff smiled and nodded at Gabe. “Will he need an ambulance?”

  “I don’t think so. Not if I can stop the bleeding.”

  He took the radio from his belt and pressed the large button on the side. “Oscar, bring the cruiser up. Mr. Chance has been injured and needs first aid. Pop the backend when you get here. And we need an ambulance. Mr. Chance says that an adult male fell off the cliff. His status is unknown. Tell them to bring enough people to extricate him if he is unable to move. And tell them to keep one on standby for Mr. Chance. We’ll let them know.”

  “Yessir, Sheriff.”

  Sheriff Noble said to Gabe, “Mr. Chance would you be more comfortable sitting down?”

  “That’s a bad idea, Marshall,” said Jane. “His leg is already at risk of infection. There’s not a clean place to sit in here,” she swept the room with her hand. “It’s,” she crinkled her nose and searched for the right word. She finally settled on, “unsanitary.”

  “Then, when Oscar gets here we’ll get you into the back so Miss Trujillo can take a look at that leg—” he looked at Jane and nodded, “under more sanitary conditions.

  “Now let’s get back to these deaths. Are they the ones we talked about in my office?”

  Gabe said, “Yeah, maybe more. It seems to have been going on since they opened the place.”

  The sheriff sucked his teeth. “Is anyone else involved besides General Perez?”

  Gabe wagged his head, and bright stars shot behind his eyes so he stopped. “I’m not sure, but I’m guessing Mr. and Mrs. Drake. She’s his daughter and the two of them own Mountainview. We think their motive was to make money by reselling the dead people’s houses. I gotta sit down.” He started to fall and the sheriff caught him.

  “No you don’t. I’ve got you, Mr. Chance.”

  As if on cue, Oscar pulled the SUV to a stop beside the door, and popped the hatch.

  “Put your arm over my shoulder and we’ll get you into the truck.”

  “Not afraid I’ll tear your throat out with my teeth, Sheriff?”

  Noble ignored the comment. “Give me a hand, Oscar.” The deputy was standing behind the truck, the rear door open.

  “Mind Mr. Chance’s leg. He’s been injured. Ma’am, will you see to that leg?”

  Together, the three of them lifted Gabe into the warmth of the police cruiser. Sheriff Noble gave Jane the emergency kit and said, “Ma’am, we’
ll leave Mr. Chance in your care. Oscar and I are going down to pay our respects on Mr. and Mrs. Drake. We’ll be back if you need an ambulance. Otherwise, you’re free to go. I’ll see you in Brandt, tomorrow, to take your statement. You, too, Mr. Chance.” He touched his right index finger to the brim of his hat. “Please take care on your way home: the deer are everywhere and acting kinda crazy.” Smiling at Jane he explained. “Rutting season,” and then turned and walked beyond the light. He and Oscar disappeared down the dark road.

  EPILOGUE

  “I WISH I COULD cook like this.” Bob Cox helped himself to a second helping of Sophie’s Original Breakfast Casserole. It was a favorite of both his and Gabe’s.

  “I would be happy to teach you, Robert.”

  “Bob is cooking impaired, Sophie. He burns water,” Gabe said

  “So who’s going to tell me what’s been going on while I’ve been out making a living? Some of us still have to work, you know – Gabe.”

  “I’m working, here. Look.” He held the coffee pot above Sophie’s cup and helped support it with his bandaged right hand.

  “Just a smidgeon, dear.”

  He looked at Bob making the same offer, which Bob declined with a shake of his head and a full mouth.

  “Fishing isn’t work for you, Bob; it’s your version of living. Pass the blueberries.”

  Sophie handed him the crock of berries. “Gabriel has been very busy working for me, Robert. Terrible things were happening to my friends at Mountainview Villa. He discovered who was responsible and brought them to justice. I knew he would.”

  “Yeah? What’s the scoop?” Palms up he motioned with his fingers. “Come on, buddy boy, give.”

  “There’s not much to give. Sophie’s friends were dying and she thought something fishy was going on. She was right. When I started snooping around, the killers tried to add me to their list. Me and dogface made one of them the fall guy, didn’t we, pooch?” He grinned at the dog and continued. “The sheriff of Hanson County caught the rest of them. Case closed.”

  “They tried to kill you? That’s getting to be a habit for you. So’s this hero stuff.” He snapped his fingers. “I’ve got it! I’ll buy you some Superman underwear for Christmas, get them embroidered with your name and everything.” Bob winked at Sophie.