Blame It on the Dog Page 7

  Gabe was not convinced. “Murder is a strong word,” he said to the table.

  “Yes it is,” Sophie snapped, “but if a spade is a spade don’t call it a manual digging device, call it what it is.” Sophie was becoming impatient with him.

  “I’ll admit there are some questionable circumstances, here, but calling it murder seems hasty to me. Besides, do you have any, uh, suspects?”

  “It was that Chip!” said Emma. “He did it!”

  “Chip is certainly a possibility,” said Sophie.

  “Chip?”

  Sean said, “Chip Drake, Edsel and Anita Drake’s nephew. He’s had an unfortunate life and Anita wanted to help him as much as she could so she hired him as the maintenance man, here. He also does some landscaping, and he’s a fair mechanic. Chip is a little rough around the edges but…”

  “Does he live around here?”

  “He lives in a small apartment beside the maintenance barn”

  That surprised Gabe. “So he’s on the property 24-7?”

  “I suppose so, except when he runs into Milieu or up to Brandt,” said Sean.

  “He might be worth looking at. Anybody else?”

  The group looked at each other but said nothing.

  Finally, General Sean Perez broke the silence, “There really isn’t anyone else. But Chip, even though he is not my favorite person, he doesn’t have the right personality for murder. He’s bluster and bravado, not action,” said Sean.

  “Okay, not Chip. Who else might have had a motive?”

  “I wouldn’t be so quick to discount Chip Drake, dear. He is a most unpleasant fellow and he lives here. All of us wish he lived far away but he does not,” said Sophie. “I feel that way, Gabriel, and I don’t even live here, myself.”

  “Okay, then, Chip. Is that it? Is he the only one?”

  The table became quiet and stayed that way until Sean spoke again.

  “Gabe our pool of suspects is shallow. I’ve told you what I think of Chip’s prospects, which doesn’t lead you in his direction; even so, I’m afraid he’s all we’ve got.”

  “So… let me get this straight: you guys are certain that somebody is killing Mountainview’s residents but you can’t agree on a suspect. But you expect me to call on my super-human powers to somehow divine who the bad guy, or guys, is. That’s about it, isn’t it? All you can give me is a list of dead, old people living in a retirement community where everyone is walking around on banana peels and the only possible suspect is a man nobody likes. Pardon me for saying, but you very nice people are nuts!”

  Sophie flared. “Gabriel, that is not fair and you know it!”

  “My, my, you all look as if you’ve just lost your best friend,” Edsel Drake said, teeth gleaming. No one had noticed him walk up.

  “But we’re not going without a fight! You’ll see,” said Emma.

  Unsure of what Edsel had heard, Sophie said quickly, “Emma means we’re all concerned the other man will win the election, Edsel, and that would be a terrible blow to Medicare. But the election is not over, yet, Emma. There’s still time.”

  The General said, “That’s exactly what Gabe and I were saying, Sophie. These last few weeks and days, both candidates are walking on banana peels, to use Gabe’s description. One false word, one unfortunate turn of phrase can change the course of an election, don’t you agree, Edsel?”

  There was something about his expression that seemed to imply another level of communication between the two men but Gabe couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was.

  Edsel’s smile never faltered as he brought his hands up, palms out, “Oh no, General, you’re the political animal, not myself. I’m simply an ambassador for Mountainview who can’t bear to see its residents unhappy. Will you look at that view of Lake LBJ! Isn’t that the grandest thing you’ve ever seen? It reminds me of Lake Cuomo in Italy, though that one pales by comparison. Oh dear, it appears they are trying to close the dining room. No matter. If you like I will keep the staff here as long as you need them. Unless you would like to show your young friend that magnificent view from the deck? Tell you what, I’ll have chef make some special sandwiches and I will serve you personally.”

  Edsel bowed so deeply that Gabe got a ringside view of his bald spot. On his way up, he swept his left arm toward the doorway to the deck, his teeth threatening to blind him. “Right this way, my friends.” Without another word Edsel Drake moved on to the only other occupied table. “Would you look at that view!” he said to its occupants.

  “I do believe Edsel is trying to get the staff off the clock,” the General said. “No matter, I think we’re done here. It’s now up to our ‘candidate’.” He smiled and nodded at Gabe.

  “I’m not sure your ‘candidate’ is up to the task, General. I’ll admit these deaths are suspicious. But Chip Drake is your only suspect, and a lousy one at that. That makes it even harder and I don’t know where to start. You folks really need to call in the authorities.”

  “That is preposterous, Gabriel. Sheriff Noble is a good and honest man, but there hasn’t been a murder in Hanson County since he was elected. You have more experience with this sort of thing,” and then to the table she said, “And his father before him; it runs in the family.”

  “But, Sophie, I don’t…”

  “Is that true, son?”

  “She’s right on both counts, Sean. But in my case, I just got lucky. Dad? I don’t know, I really don’t. But I guess I could give it a shot.”

  General Perez nodded and said, “I agree with Sophie, Gabe. If anything untoward is happening at Mountainview, I believe you’re the best man to look into it. I think Andrew agrees, don’t you Andrew?”

  Andrew Jefferson nodded his head like one of those perpetual motion birds that won’t stop dipping it’s beak in the water. “You bet. And so does Emma.”

  General Perez grinned, “Then it’s settled. When would you like to start, son?”

  Gabe put his lips together and puffed his cheeks. When the air came forth it fluttered his lips. “I guess tomorrow. But I’m not sure where to start.”

  “Then start there, Gabe. Begin your investigation and you will learn the truth. That will be enough,” said the General.

  Andrew grabbed Gabe’s hand and pumped it like he was looking for water, “That’s great Mr. Chance, just great. Emma, Mr. Chance is going to take care of everything. Thank you Sophie for bringing him to us.”

  “Yes, thank you, Gabe. If I can help you in any way, please don’t hesitate to call on me.” The General was still grinning.

  Gabe wasn’t.

  CHAPTER 11

  A FOUL MOOD had gripped him since morning. The prospect of spending a day chasing his tail across the Hill Country didn’t give him a happy face. Nevertheless, he had promised Sophie, so he was stuck.

  He finished the cup of instant coffee he had made in the microwave and put the cup in the sink. “All right, bucko, let’s get dressed to meet people and make ’em love ya.” The dog fell in line and followed him down the hall.

  It didn’t take long to select his clothes. He had only been able to scrounge enough money to get a few things at his friendly neighborhood Wal-Mart and everything was dirty except a…

  “Wait a minute! I’ve got a pocket full of cash from selling Dad’s coin! Hah! Target, here I come.” He checked the time on his phone. “Better make that Wally World, Target’s not open yet.”

  The clothes he had worn to Mountainview the previous day were already on their last legs before the laundry, but he spied a red t-shirt peeking out from under the pile which he remembered having worn only two days when he got rained on. And the grey pants should be somewhere in the same stratum. He sniffed them both and smiled. Both smelled reasonably fresh and neither was too wrinkled to wear long enough to get some new ones.

  But first a shower. Cleanliness is next to Godliness, that’s my motto.

  Down the hall, white ears perked up and angled toward the bathroom. The dog headed in the opposite di
rection and trotted down the hall out the doggie door and into the back yard. Within minutes he was back, drawn to strange sounds coming from the shower.

  “Fi—ga—ro—, Fi—ga—ro, Figaro, Figaro, Fi—ga—ro—,” Gabe was singing at the top of his lungs.

  The dog began to whine, followed by a series of yips.

  “Ayyy. Whassamatta you?” he said, jerking the curtain aside, water cascading from his hair to the floor. ”You no-a like-uh the way I sing? Take it up with Bugs-a Bunny. Everything I know about opera I learn-a from him! Ev-a-rybody’s a critic!” He jerked the curtain shut in a mock huff and continued singing.

  The dog ran into Gabe’s parents’ room.

  While he was dressing in his room he saw the dog staring at him from across the hall. He was staring with the same intensity he used on prey.

  Gabe finished tying his shoes and said, “Knock it off, dogface, you’re making me nervous.” He stopped in front of the dresser and gave a last tousle to his curly black hair, smiled and said, “Red is definitely my color.”

  At the door he stopped. “All right, mutt, boots and saddles. Poof! Get in the car.” The dog continued to stare.

  “Let’s go, buddy. We’ll stop at Mickey D’s for an Egg McMuffin. Hustle-hustle.”

  The dog ran to his doorway and barked once, then again.

  “Cut it out! No barking in the house. If you’re coming, let’s go, or you can stay here – which is my preference.”

  Another bark.

  Gabe’s mood darkened a few degrees. “No barking! Shut up and get in the car.”

  More barking.

  Stupid dog doesn’t know I’ve been watching The Dog Whisperer. Now he’ll see who’s alpha in this house!

  He stood tall and straight, legs spread, hands on hips, just like the Dog Whisperer stood. The dog raised both eyebrows, turned, and ran into the parents’ bedroom.

  “Hey, this stuff really works! It’s the dawn of a new era in the lives of man and mutt.”

  Muffled by the intervening wall he heard three distinct barks.

  “Knock it off, dog! No barking in the house, I said!” Gabe strode angrily into his parents’ room.

  The dog was sitting with his left paw resting on the door of his father’s antique armoire, staring at him.

  Gabe stared back. “Let’s see who blinks first, bonebreath.”

  The dog narrowed his eyes and pushed his head forward. Lightly, and only once, he scratched the old varnish on the door.

  “Do you have a death wish?” Gabe yelled.

  The dog placed his left paw back on the closet’s door.

  To save his sanity and his father’s armoire, Gabe took a deep breath and through gritted teeth said, “That nasty excuse you call a ball better not be in there.” The door made a loud click as he pulled it. Before it opened more than a few inches, the dog disappeared inside.

  “Get outta there,” he shouted and opened the door wider. In the center of the armoire, head cocked to one side and staring, sat the dog.

  Gabe stared back, hard. It didn’t make any difference. All that happened was the dog cocked his head to the other side. Then he barked. Then he barked again. And again. And again, spinning in tight circles on the floor of the armoire.

  It was an amazing display and Gabe watched in fascination. Bark, jump, spin. Bark, jump, spin. Over and over until fascination gave way to irritation. Before it could be transformed into full blown anger, Gabe said, “Okay, I get it. You want something. Can you give me a hint?”

  Tigger stopped barking and trotted outside. He turned and stared at the top shelf of the armoire. Gabe followed his gaze and reached for the wooden case he knew was there.

  “Is this what you’re acting so nuts about? Well I know what’s in it, and I don’t need it.”

  Another bark.

  He placed the wooden case on the bed and opened it. Inside were his father’s .45 automatic, a well-worn Colt Commander, and two full clips of ammunition. There was also one in the chamber. Each was loaded with 7 rounds of hollow-point ammunition. He knew that because he had loaded them himself.

  Finally the room and the house were quiet. There was no barking.

  “That was a prudent decision, dog,” he said, removing the pistol from its resting place. “Never bark at a man with a loaded gun.”

  Gabe held the gun in wonder. He was surprised anew at how light it was and how well it fit his hand; the heft, the balance. It felt like an extension of his right arm. He returned it and closed the case.

  “Not today, Tigger-dog. I don’t think we’ll need this to talk with Dr. Leonard or the sheriff.”

  The dog’s whine was almost inaudible.

  “Trust me, you’re overreacting. We’ll be back before kibble time.”

  He returned the case to the shelf and closed the closet.

  “Let’s get in the car. And do it the normal way, this time, all right? There’s no need to strain yourself.”

  Bruce Leonard was the part-time Medical Examiner of Plato County. He was also the part-time Medical Examiner of Hanson County. He also had a growing pediatric practice and flew airplanes in his spare time.

  As he stood at the counter, there was no hint of emotion on the face of the middle-aged woman who slid the glass back and waited for Chance to speak.

  “Gabe Chance to see Dr. Leonard,” he said.

  With a tiny smirk, she said, “Dr. Leonard is a pediatrician: he doesn’t see big people, only children.”

  “He does see big people, ma’am, only they’re dead. Tell him it’s about a case.”

  After rolling her eyes like a teenaged girl she sighed, “Give me your card, then.”

  “I don’t have one on me. I must have left them in my other clothes,” he said tapping the pocket of his new, red Wal-Mart shirt. Will you please tell him I’m here?”

  The smirk returned and she shook her head in disbelief. Then, without speaking the woman turned and disappeared from view.

  “Gatekeepers,” he muttered, turning his attention to the waiting room.

  It was overflowing with children, lots of children, some with red faces, and others with pale, blotchy faces. More than a few were sniffing and coughing; a couple were playing with toys in one corner of the room. A few others had drying tears on their faces. And one was making new tears accompanied by loud whuffs and wheezes. There were mothers, too, one for each child, almost. 'Almost' because some of the mothers had two children and because two of the mothers were fathers. Everybody looked and sounded sick. Gabe could feel bacterial and viral beasties beginning to crawl up his legs, their destinations unknown and he didn’t want to know.

  “Doctor said he would see you now.” The smirk had been replaced by disappointment. Then, in disbelief she said, “Is that…is that a dog! You can’t take a dog back there.”

  ‘It’s okay: he’s a kid at heart and he’s a lot healthier than anybody else in here.”

  Dr. Leonard walked up behind her. “Hi, Gabe. How’s the pooch?”

  “In the way, mostly. How’s the doc-shop?”

  “Healing. Whatcha got? I’m very busy.” He ushered Gabe past the woman and she shut the door.

  “I need you to put your M.E. hat on. You pronounced Harald Schmidt dead out at Mountainview Villa. What was the cause of death?”

  “What’s your interest?”

  “He was a personal friend. And some mutual friends asked me to look around. I thought talking to you would be a good place to start.

  Leonard shrugged a shoulder, “Nothing to see. Stroked out.”

  “Is that normal? I know he’d had a big one, but I thought modern medicine had made…”

  “Subsequent strokes unlikely. True, but not iron-clad. Mr. Schmidt died of a stroke.”

  “That’s what the autopsy said?”

  “He didn’t have one. Nobody wanted it and there were no suspicious circumstances, so no autopsy.”

  “Hmm. So what about the others?”

  “What others?”

  “T
he others: Harald’s wife, she drowned; a guy named Jedidiah Grzalik who died of a heart attack; and Helen Kirkpatrick – emphysema, I think.”

  “So?”

  “Was there anything suspicious about any of their deaths?”

  Dr. Leonard’s jaw muscles were tight as he said, “I’m the M.E., Gabe. I call them as I see them. If you don’t agree, go see the Justice of the Peace, he’s the county coroner. If you can convince him, he can call for an inquest. But don’t get your hopes up: he’s never done it before. Gotta go. Take care of the mutt. Christie, Mr. Chance is leaving now.”

  “Yeah. Okay. Thanks, Doc.”

  Christie broke into a victorious smirk and watched him walk through the sick and crying children and out the door.

  The dog snorted in Christie’s direction and followed.

  CHAPTER 12

  GABE SQUINTED AGAINST the glare of the blinding autumn sun, his hair blowing in the strong, easterly wind. “Don’t go picking any fights with dog-kicking Deputy Oscar, dogface. He’s bigger than you are but try not to see that as a challenge. Give him a wide berth. And don’t show your teeth. The size of those monsters won’t help our cause. And watch the staring. No staring, got it?”

  Poorly located on a secondary road, more a capillary than a main artery was Milieu, the county seat of Hanson County. It may have been the current seat of county government but it was not the first county seat. That distinction went to Comanche Falls a little farther south on the main highway. One dark night in 1863, the good townspeople of Milieu crept into Comanche Falls and stole the county records and hauled them back north. Comanche Falls protested but lost and little Milieu became the new seat of Hanson County. It was a hollow victory. Over the decades Milieu’s substandard location and the new state highway through Comanche Falls stunted the town’s growth. Comanche Falls, on the other hand, grew and prospered. Milieu just limped along.

  The rough rock exterior of the Sheriff’s Office was taller than it was wide, and it wasn’t very wide. The ancient, weathered plank door and rusted iron bars denoting the detention area were 19th century leftovers. Since the town had been “discovered” by a country-western singer (not Willie Nelson) in the twilight of his sporadic career, it had achieved a small measure of notoriety and had become an off-and-on magnet for local wannabe country stars and looky-loo’s.