Blame It on the Dog Page 2

  “Something isn’t right,” she said, more to herself than to Gabe. “I left a message on his phone last night and told him we were coming.”

  She pulled Harald’s key from her purse. “Gabriel, you do this. My hand is shaking.”

  Gabe took the key and slid it into the keyhole. He grabbed the knob, threw back the silent bolt, and pushed.

  CHAPTER 2

  A HEAVY PERFUME of decay rolled out the door and up Gabe’s nostrils. Before he could close the door on the offending odor, the dog rushed inside. Gabe turned to Sophie and saw her start to crumble.

  “Sophie!” He lunged for her, grabbing her by the arms to keep her from falling. Her body was so frail beneath her silk blouse. Flaccid muscle barely covered her bones.

  A deep breath clattered from her chest. “I’m all right, just shocked.” She paused for a long time before she said in a low, halting voice, “Harald’s dead, isn’t he?”

  “We don’t know that. Let’s get you in the car and turn on the air. I won’t be long.”

  Sophie was a strong woman. She had seen and experienced much in her long life, including the deaths of her husband and too many friends. But never had she experienced anything as disquieting as that awful smell. It was like a dead animal, only much, much worse. It was a slap across her face that she couldn’t escape.

  “Harald, dear, sweet Harald,” she cried to herself.

  “Sit here, Sophie, I’ll be back. He may be okay, we don’t know, yet.” He didn’t believe what he was saying but he had to say the words, even if she didn’t believe them either.

  This time he took a deep breath before he pushed the door open. The dog was waiting for him inside before he ran from the front door to a wide, French doorway off the foyer, barking. Gabe followed him into the living room and that’s when he saw Harald sitting on the sofa.

  Harald Schmidt sat slumped over on his right elbow, defying gravity. He had been sitting there without moving for three days, maybe four. It could have been longer. The room was cold but not cold enough to stop the processes of decay. The bodies Gabe had dealt with were always fresh, sometimes mangled, sometimes whole, but never at this stage of decomposition. Even so, except for the purplish blotches that discolored his sagging skin and the horrid smell, Harald looked peaceful. Dead, but peaceful. Tigger stood on two legs, his front feet inches from the dead man’s face, his nose pointed at Gabe.

  With a husky and gentle voice he said, “Come on, dogface. Let’s go. There’s nothing we can do for him.”

  Still standing on his hind legs, the dog turned his head back to face Harald and slowly lowered himself to all fours. He turned and walked away on stiff legs. It was the way he always walked, only slower. The stupid grin that seemed to be permanently glued to his face was missing, too. For once, he followed the man out of the house.

  The bright sunshine was a stark contrast to the gloom of the room and the fresh air fought to replace the miasma that still filled his nose. It lost the fight; the smell of death was too firmly entrenched. But the change of light energized him and lifted the cloud that had settled over him, inside.

  The dog had stepped into the grass and was laying flat on the ground, head on paws, watching the front door.

  “Let’s go, dogface. Come on.”

  The dog ignored him, his eyes on the door to #2 Serenity Place.

  “Come on, mutt. Get in the car.”

  For a moment he seemed torn between his master and the dead man. The dead man won. Tigger continued his watching. He watched with the same intensity as when he had run his prey to ground and waited for it to emerge.

  “That’s it; I’ve had it with you; when I call, you’re supposed to come!” He opened the trunk and started looking for the leash, with no luck. “Sophie, have you seen the leash? I need the leash. That dog is coming with me whether he likes it or not!”

  She fixed him with her eyes, “That is not very charitable of you.” Her old face looked tired, with more wrinkles than he remembered. “Tigger has had a very traumatic experience. He is grieving in his own way, just as we are. He won’t be any bother, Gabriel. Let him be.” Her voice was so soft he hardly heard her words, but there was no mistaking her message.

  “He doesn’t look like he’s grieving. He looks like he’s waiting for something. What’s he waiting for?”

  “We’ll never know, but he is a waiter. We’ll come back for him after we finish with the sheriff. God, I wish we could go home, now.” Outside of a mealtime prayer, it was the first time he had heard her say ‘God’ in a conversation. ‘OMG’ and ‘Oh, my God’ were staple expletives in the cultural language, universal place holders without real meaning. But Sophie said it like the prayer it was.

  He crawled in and put the car in gear. In silence they drove the short distance down Serenity Place to the Clubhouse and walked inside, each with their own thoughts. Like Tigger, they waited.

  CHAPTER 3

  THE TABLE IN the empty dining room faced the magnificent view of the Teapot Mountains that had given Mountainview Villa its name. Sophie didn’t even notice. Rarely did she feel the weight of her years, but now they threatened to crush her. Harald had been such a dear friend. First his wife, then the stroke, and now this horrible, horrible… she shook her head as if she were clearing the window of an Etch-a-Sketch. She continued to sit and stare at nothing for what seemed to Gabe like a very long time.

  Finally she found her voice and said, “Something fishy is going on here, Gabriel.”

  That was not what he expected her to say. “What do you mean?”

  “I was just going over a few things in my mind.”

  Before she could say what those things were, a man’s voice intruded.

  “Oh, my dear, dear Sophie. I am so sorry for your loss. You must be heartbroken. I can’t believe Harald has passed. We had such a nice conversation, just last week.” Gabe had not seen the tanned man in tennis shorts and a powder blue polo shirt standing by their table. His face was grey, the color of damp smoke.

  “Thank you, Edsel. Gabriel, let me introduce you to Edsel Drake. Edsel is the owner of Mountainview Villa. Edsel, this is my friend Gabriel Chance, Lucille’s son.”

  Edsel Drake appeared to be a man who had lost his best friend. He and Harald had not been, of course, best friends. The difference in Edsel’s 48 years and Harald’s 88 years made that unlikely. But Edsel knew and cared for all his residents as if they were his own family. He was especially fond of Harald.

  “You don’t look so hot, dearie.” A woman about 10 years older than Edsel Drake appeared at the table across from Sophie.

  “Mr. Chance this is my wife, Anita. Darling, isn’t it horrible?”

  Mrs. Drake shrugged and shifted her eyes to peer at Gabe from beneath hooded eyes. Her obligatory condolence delivered, she ignored Sophie. Compassion was not Anita Drake’s forte. In fact, it was her pianissimo. Her real strength was numbers. Edsel’s job was people. She didn’t like people.

  “Mr. Chance is my friend, Mrs. Drake,” said Sophie.

  “Friend? I thought your friend was dead.”

  “I have more than one,” said Sophie. Her voice had turned frosty.

  “Humph,” Mrs. Drake sniffed and returned to her office by the front door. The sounds of Divorce Court assaulted Gabe’s ears; a shrill, loud voice stridently insisted she had never hit her husband with anything, especially not a table leg, before the noise was lost behind the closing office door.

  “Please forgive Mrs. Drake, Sophie. She’s always uncomfortable around grieving people.”

  “I know exactly how she is, Edsel.” Sophie’s voice crackled with icicles.

  Edsel reddened and excused himself.

  “What just happened, Sophie? That was surreal.”

  She flashed her palm and slowly shook her head, “I don’t like to speak ill of others, Gabriel… so I won’t. What were we talking about?”

  “You said you thought something was rotten in Denmark,” he said.

  “Oh, yes. To
o many of my friends have died out here, recently. Harald was sick but the others…” She shook her head again and leaned toward Gabe to whisper, “I think someone may have slain them.”

  “Are you serious?”

  Her eyes blazed brightly. “As a heart attack and I don’t say that lightly. I want you to find out who is killing them and what they stand to gain by murdering old people. All of the people out here live with one foot in the grave and the other on a banana peel. There’s no sense in killing them off one by one; time will take care of that, and time is short for all of them.”

  Gabe leaned back in his chair, distancing himself from this woman he had known all his life. “That’s nuts, Sophie, just plain nuts. And if it’s true,” he added, “let’s get the sheriff on it. He’s had a lot more experience with this sort of thing than I have.”

  At that moment, the front door opened and a tall man in uniform strode through the dining room heading straight for their table. He touched his right forefinger to the brim of his Stetson and said, “Afternoon, folks.” To Gabe he said, “Are you Gabriel Chance?”

  This guy’s straight from Central Casting: typical small-town Texas sheriff – tall, rugged, back straight as a two by four. He looks like he could crack walnuts with those jaws.

  “Yes, I’m the one who called you. And this is Sophie Andersen. We discovered Mr. Schmidt’s…” He glanced at Sophie. “Uh… Mr. Schmidt.”

  The sheriff pursed his lips and nodded once. Then he said, “What can you tell me?”

  Sophie spoke before Gabe had the chance. “Harald and Nellie Schmidt were friends of mine and Gabriel’s mother. Nellie died a few months ago and Harald had a stroke a couple of months later. I’ve been keeping closer tabs on him since he got out of rehab. He hasn’t been answering his phone or returning my calls so I determined to come see him and asked Mr. Chance to accompany me.”

  “Do you live here, Mrs. Andersen?”

  “No, Sheriff. We’re both from Brandt.”

  “What did you ‘discover’, Mr. Chance?”

  Gabe answered, “Well, Sheriff…?”

  “Noble, Sheriff Noble. Please go on, Mr. Chance.”

  “Well, the dog ran to the door, barking and scratching like crazy. I rang the bell and knocked but there was no answer. Sophie had a key so I opened the door, announced myself and walked in. She waited in the car.”

  The sheriff lifted his left eyebrow slightly.

  “What?”

  Sophie answered Sheriff Noble’s unspoken question. “The stroke left him paralyzed and I thought someone should have a key in case of an emergency. He said he trusted me, and, well, there you have it.”

  Sheriff Noble nodded. “So what did you find when you opened the door, Mr. Chance?”

  “There was an odor,” Gabe glanced at Sophie, “of death. I found him slumped over on the couch.”

  “I see. What does your dog look like?”

  “White, small, looks like somebody stuck his tail in a light socket. We left him outside Harald’s place. He wouldn’t come with me. Sometimes he doesn’t mind very well. Why?”

  “He gave my deputy fits. Thought we were going to have to shoot him, but he finally backed off. Tore a piece out of Oscar’s pants before he did. Kind of favors that right hind leg, doesn’t he? I don’t think Oscar kicked him hard enough to make him limp like that.”

  Gabe stood up, planted both hands on the table and said in a matter-of-fact tone, “If your deputy hurt my dog, a tear in his pants will be the least of his worries.”

  “Simmer down, Mr. Chance. It’s never a good idea to threaten a duly authorized peace officer. I will chalk your comments up to emotional distress at your friend’s death, but please get a hold of your tongue.”

  Gabe continued staring at the lawman.

  “Gabriel,” Sophie’s voice was soft but authoritative. To Sheriff Noble she said, “Gabriel has been more protective of Tigger since he was shot recently.”

  “Shot?”

  “Yes. Alan Tate – you know the Plato County sheriff don’t you? Alan took the men in who were involved, but it was a nasty business. Poor, little Tigger was injured.” Sophie’s calm explanation had the effect of defusing both men.

  “Chance? I thought I recognized that name. We don’t get many murders in these smaller counties. That’s more the speed of San Antonio or Austin or Dallas, for sure. And not many citizens step up to the plate like I understand you did. The way Sheriff Tate tells it, you’re a pretty brave man.”

  “He’s a war hero, Sheriff,” said Sophie.

  “Stop, Sophie. Enough. It was an unfortunate situation, Sheriff. I would appreciate if you would tell your deputy to lay off of my dog.”

  In a softer voice, Sheriff Noble said, “Why don't you go fetch him, son. Then come back and give me your statement. After that you folks can go home.”

  Gabe nodded. On his way out he heard the sheriff’s radio crackle and him say, “Oscar, Mr. Chance is coming to get his dog. I would appreciate if you would help him any way you can.”

  CHAPTER 4

  THE PINK LADY’S door swung wide. “Your carriage, your highness,” Gabe said, ushering the dog inside with a sweep of his arm before sliding behind the wheel himself.

  The dog snorted at him before sitting back against the seat. Then he sneezed. A small drop of liquid from his nose landed on the cloth seat.

  “Hey, watch the upholstery, rat-breath! She’s not much but it’s the only ride I’ve got.” Gabe pulled a blue surgical towel from the floorboard and wiped the drop of goo before it could be absorbed. “You’re gross: If you’re not blowing snot out your nose, you’re farting. If you’re not farting, you’re bringing me that nasty ball to throw. Or dropping dead rats on the floor. Gee, now why was it I didn’t want a slime ball mutt like you?”

  The dog sniffed and lay on his belly, right leg drawn part way up, facing front.

  Gabe’s high school buddies had dubbed his mother’s pink 1972 AMC Ambassador sedan ‘The Pink Lady' and the name stuck. Everybody called her The Pink Lady including Peabody.

  Before Gabe was born, his mother persuaded his father to buy her a sturdy luxury car. She believed a bigger car would be safer for the baby that was on its way. The nearest Cadillac and Lincoln dealerships were in Austin and San Antonio, but Billy Mead’s AMC was right here in Brandt ‘Serving the Hill Country since 1946’. Billy Mead’s AMC had died the year before the AMC brand in 1985. Billy and his wife had retired comfortably on their ranch on the Guadalupe River near the village of Comfort.

  Lucille never regretted her decision. Nor did she regret her decision to have the Ambassador painted pink before she drove it. Sophie said that Burton went crazy trying to change her mind but Lucille knew what she wanted and she wanted a pink car.

  Gabe shook his head and changed the subject. “Here’s the schedule, dogface: first Pagoda Palace, then the vet’s, even though I think you’re faking it. Not a problem, though. If you think your leg hurts, then we’ll get it checked out. The lovely Dr. Alyssa is a hottie.”

  ‘Stan Li’s Pagoda Palace, Hot Donuts’ read the sign in front of a not very pagoda-looking building in the Wal-Mart parking lot. Gabe pulled through the drive-thru and a dark-haired Asian man opened the window. “What’ll it be, round eye? We got a special on kolaches this morning until 10 o’clock. Oh, hi, Mr. Chance. Didn’t recognize you in that sex wagon. How do you keep the women from crawling all over it?”

  “I’ll have you know all the ladies in Brandt love The Pink Lady. Makes them think I have money.”

  “Right. Old, old money, like the car.”

  “That’s ok. They’re old, old ladies. So what gave us away? How did you know we were getting kolaches?”

  “The dog’s a dead give away. He always orders kolaches. Whaddaya want, sausage and cheese?”

  “Naw, japs for me, times two. Dogface wants a ham and cheese. He doesn’t like japs.”

  Tigger barked once.

  “Want to amend that, Gabe? I don’t think the
dog agrees? And it’s ‘jalapeño’, not ‘japs’, round eye. I could be offended. If I was Japanese.”

  “’Japs’, Stan, is short for ‘jalapeños’. You really need to get out mo… hey, Kathie,” he called through the order window.

  Even with donut flour all over her apron and her ebony brow, Kathie Li looked like she belonged on a movie set – or the cover of Cosmo. She was easily the most beautiful woman Gabe had ever laid his hazel eyes on. Once, he had talked with her inside, across the counter. He had a hard time thinking. And breathing. Since then he preferred the drive-thru. It felt safer, somehow.

  She stuck her luscious head out the window and clicked her tongue at Tigger. “Hi Gabe, Tigger. How about a free kiss?”

  Crimson raced up Gabe’s neck like wildfire.

  “Look, honey. Mr. Chance is blushing,” she laughed. She held up a half-sized donut hole pinned with a piece of bacon. Tigger wagged his tale. “Here, Gabe.” She offered the kiss on her open palm, and a hundred watts of smile blinded him.

  “You’re killing me, Kathie. Make her stop, Stan. Send your wife to her room. She is a wicked, evil woman.” He smiled back. “Okay, girlie. If you can dish it out I can take it.” He reached out of the car and plucked the kiss from her outstretched hand like he was stealing bait from a bear trap. “Ha!”

  “Still with the lightning reflexes, he is!” laughed Stan. “So, did you want a Spidery-man with that?”

  Kathie and Stan had owned and operated the Pagoda Palace for almost six years and business was always good. Even for his Spidery-man Bear Claws. Marvel Entertainment had threatened to take him to court for infringing their Spiderman trademark so he and Stan Lee countered with a compromise name and Spidery-man was born. They couldn’t do anything about the name Stan Li. It was his name, for heaven’s sake. Stan Lee, Mr. Marvel himself, got a kick out of the whole mess. His vote was to let Stan Li sell as many Spiderman Bear Claws he could, but the lawyer types didn’t agree. So instead, Spiderman’s creator suggested Stan and Kathie change the name to Spidery-man. And so they did.