Doggone Dead

by Teresa Trent

  “Betsy.” I recognized my father’s voice from behind me. “What are you doing?”

  “Trying to figure out how whoever shot at us ended up in two places at once.”

  My father sighed. “Yeah, well, just don’t get in the way.” He paused and then admitted, “Actually, I’ve been doing the same thing.”

  “I just tried timing it, and it would have taken at least two minutes to cross the street and go up the stairs on the other side.”

  “There’s no explaining it,” my father said.

  “Unless it was truly the ghost of Charlie Loper.” Aunt Maggie stood behind us with a fresh cone of rocky road ice cream.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The next morning I woke up with a slight headache, which became less slight when I saw the special Saturday edition of the Pecan Bayou Gazette.

  “Town Victims of Crazed Ghost!” screamed the headline. Rocky had filled the front page with eyewitness interviews, pictures of people in the parade, pictures of dogs in the parade, and of course his celebrity corner with me, Adam and the mayor. Today’s paper would have made The Enquirer envious. Too bad we didn’t have Elvis’s alien baby in the parade. That would have sold a few copies.

  The town of Pecan Bayou was hoping for a big turnout for the Watermelon Festival. With a front page like this, we might have to rent more port-a-potties. Leo had talked about coming down for the festival, but after our last conversation I wasn’t counting on it. He’d seemed pretty mad, and then my switching the emails between him and Adam probably finished off my last chance at having a fulfilling relationship in my life. Maybe if I tried to call him, I could sort some things out.

  I started to reach for my cell phone but then heard the squeak of my back door opening. Could this be him now, ready to forgive and forget? So what if he had pictorial proof of my dating another man behind his back. So what if he had an email proof of my pursuit of another guy. Anyone could get past that, right?

  “Betsy?”

  “In here, Dad,” I said.

  “Is Zach up yet?”

  “No, I was letting him sleep. After all the excitement yesterday, he had a hard time settling down last night.”

  “Two scoops of bubble gum ice cream probably didn’t hurt too much, either.”

  “Did you see the paper? Rocky has gone tabloid on us.”

  “Yes, I did. We called over some relief help from Andersonville for today. We just don’t know what to expect.”

  “I thought you were on limited duty?” I said.

  “No such thing around here.”

  “You think the shooter might try again?”

  “I think,” Dad pulled out a chair and set his Stetson on the table, “I think that the shooter might try again – and that the person the shooter is trying to get is you.”

  “Me? You think Charlie Loper has some crazed vendetta against me for organizing his daughter’s house?”

  “I don’t know for sure, darlin’, but I’m thinking you need to hand your beauty pageant judgin’ to somebody else today.”

  “Dad, I can’t do that. I promised Stan and Rocky.”

  “Oh, Rocky – the one who just plastered your picture on the front page for the second time in the last week?”

  “Okay, I promised Stan,” I countered.

  “Betsy, you aren’t seeing things clearly. Whoever this shooter is, they have two victims now.”

  “Two people? Are we really classifying Noodles as a human, now?”

  “No, we’re not.” Dad bit his lower lip, making his cop mustache wiggle slightly. “We found Dr. Springer this morning.”

  I pulled out a chair and joined him at the table. “Where? I didn’t hear about this.”

  “We haven’t let the media know about this yet. It’s kind of a strange thing, but we might have solved the mystery of the ghost of Charlie Loper.”

  “You found the ghost?” I stopped to think about this revelation and struggled with a basic fact.

  “Shouldn’t that person be dead?”

  “No, we found Dr. Springer...nearly dead.”

  “What does that have to do with the ghost of Charlie Loper?”

  “We aren’t sure yet, except for the fact that we found her dressed up like a cowboy.”

  This wasn’t making any sense. I had seen Dr. Springer right before we started the parade.

  “And she was shot? Who shot her?”

  “That’s the part of the mystery we’re still figuring out.”

  “The last person I saw her talking to was...” I searched my mind. “Clay and Lina Bonnet. They were at the front of the line.”

  “Okay. Was she dressed like a cowboy then?”

  “No,” I said. “Why would she dress like Charlie Loper, and why would she be shooting at me?”

  “Did you pay your bill on time?”

  “Dad,” I scolded. Gallows humor was a sure sign of a lifetime cop.

  “Where did you find her?”

  “She was in the alley behind Earl’s Java underneath some black plastic bags. Earl didn’t discover her until he took out the trash this morning.

  Just another reason to decaffeinate.

  “Is she okay?” I asked.

  “We can’t be sure yet. She lost a lot of blood, but it looks like she made a homemade pressure bandage to try to stop the bleeding.”

  “Did she say who might have shot her? Did she shoot herself?”

  “From the lack of searing or powder burns on her body, we feel she was possibly shot by someone else. We can’t be sure who shot her. She wasn’t able to talk when we got to her,” he said. “Whoever shot her, they left her for dead. I guess she was just like one of those cats she treats and had a few extra lives to trade on. She’s in a coma right now.”

  “So, Dr. Springer was impersonating Charlie Loper and could be our shooter, but we can't question her if she’s in a coma and possibly shot by someone else? Do the doctors think she'll come out of it?”

  “Maybe,” my dad replied. “One thing we figure is that whoever shot her wanted her dead, and for all intents and purposes we are saying she’s dead. We have her in the hospital under another name. So if all of this is true, I need you to be out of danger. Is there any way you could cancel all of your public appearances for the few weeks?”

  “‘If’ is the word I’m going to focus on in that sentence,” I said. “So let me counter you with an ‘if.’ If I promise to be vigilant, safe and observant, will you lighten up?”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  “No.”

  We heard little feet shuffling into the kitchen. Zach was standing there with his slingshot in his hand. “Don’t worry, grandpa. I’ll protect Mom. I can get a shot off from pretty far these days.”

  “Yeah, well, it’s just lucky for us all that even though I’m under investigation, Chief Wilson has agreed to let me be out there with my gun and my badge today.”

  “So do you think he’s starting to realize that Bonnet’s charge is false?”

  “The only thing I’ve heard lately is that the Bonnets seem to have something else to share with Mr. Cole,” he said. “There’s some sort of additional evidence now.”

  “Well, I’ve been looking through all the pictures I turned in and can’t see anything else that could be interpreted as planting evidence,” I said with my hand across my heart.

  “No, it’s something weird. Did you know that the Bonnet farm used to be a ranch run by Charlie Loper?”

  Now that was amazing. “No, when did they buy it?”

  “That’s the thing. They didn’t. They’ve been renting it for the last ten years. At least that’s what Clay told the chief.”

  “So who were they paying rent to? Hunter Grayson?”

  “I guess so. I suppose Libby is handling it now,” he said. “I don’t like the idea of her having to go out there and collect rent from those people.”

  I envisioned their Rottweiler growling at her when she tried to collect rent. She would do well to get rid of
them as tenants.

  “If I had to put money on this, as of yesterday I would have pointed at the Bonnets to be Ghost Charlie. Now with Dr. Springer found dressed up like him, I don’t know what to think.”

  “Did she have a gun on her?” I asked.

  “Nope, and Art Rivera didn’t see any powder burns on her hands. She might have been dressed like Charlie Loper, but she hadn’t shot a gun.”

  “Maybe Dr. Springer was a decoy,” I said.

  “Could be. And if she was, the shooter is still out there.”

  “Shooting most of the time near me. I would say at me, but it’s always near me.”

  “Maybe someone is trying to scare you,” said my father.

  “They’ve accomplished that,” I admitted. “I wish they’d move on to something else on their list.”

  “Darlin’, I would like for you to wear something today.”

  He rose from the table and went out the back door with a squeak and a slam. He returned momentarily, carrying a white vest connected together with Velcro.

  “This here is a covert Kevlar bulletproof vest. You can wear it under your blouse and no one will know the difference.”

  “Dad! Do you know how hot is out there today? It’s the freakin’ Fourth of July! I’ll die of heatstroke.”

  “Yeah, well at least we can treat that better than a bullet wound,” he said.

  “Mom, you need to wear this.” Zach put his hands together, pleading. “Please.”

  I had planned on wearing a white tank top with blue shorts today. Now I’d have to wear something to cover this monstrosity.

  “Okay, okay. I’ll wear the darn thing. But you’d better be running large cups of sweet tea my way every fifteen minutes.”

  *****

  After Dad left, I had the rest of morning to get ready for the pageant. I was scheduled to be there at 12:30 and planned to enjoy being cool before I had to put on the heavy vest my father had left for me.

  I decided to try to call Fitzpatrick one more time. If he had checked out the paper on the Internet today, I had to make it clear to him that I had no interest in Adam Cole. This was probably better than an email, and now I would tell him everything. As I rehearsed in my mind what I would say, I realized something a little bit scary. This was more important to me than I had thought.

  The phone rang on the other end, two and then three times.

  “Hello.” His tone was abrupt.

  “Leo? Is that you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Leo, I just wanted to say to you that...”

  “Betsy, this isn’t necessary. I understand.”

  “But it is necessary. You need to know that I was never involved...”

  “Betsy. I saw your picture. Twice.”

  “You did?”

  “Sure. Your latest escapade was caught in the Pecan Bayou Gazette online today, and while I have to say I’m extremely upset you’ve been shot at again, I was also not pleased to see you standing with Cole.”

  Darn that Pecan Bayou Gazette online. Just another reason to take Rocky off my Christmas list.

  “No, you don’t understand. Adam had just walked up to me and...”

  He stopped me cold. “Betsy.”

  “Yes?”

  “Are you all right?”

  I was quiet for a moment. I felt my insides melt. Maybe he was going to forgive me. It felt so good.

  “Yes,” my voice quavered.

  “Good. Bye.”

  With that, the phone clicked silent. Was he saying “good you’re not hit,” or good as in “goodbye”? I tried a redial, but he didn’t pick up. That was it. He was out of my life. My weatherman blew in like a hurricane, and now all I had to do was call the insurance guy and calculate the damage. How could I have been so stupid as to have let this happen?

  I slammed my fist down on my desk, sending the printed photos from the Bonnet farm to the floor. I had just lost Leo. I lost him because I was trying to play spy/seductress. Which I also failed at miserably. I felt the tears rushing up as I bent down to pick up the papers, now strewn across the floor of my office. I was so stupid. As I picked up the pictures I had taken of the shed, I leaned up against the desk and sat cross-legged on the floor. When my tears were spent, I sat quietly, the picture still in hand. The color blue caught my eye.

  My father was being framed, and now I had proof.

  My dad had insisted on George taking us over in the squad car. As soon as we got to the pageant, I would try to tell him.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “Are you okay?” Stan said, leaning over me as I sat at the judge’s table.

  “I’m fine. Why do you ask?”

  “Your face is terribly red,” he said. “Why don’t you take off that jacket? It’s hotter than blazes out here.”

  It was pretty hot under the jacket, too. “No, Stan. I’m fine.” After viewing my lumpy self with the vest on under a cotton blouse, I decided to take Tory’s advice and dress up a little for the pageant. Now I had a choice – look lumpy or sweat like a farmhand in August.

  Zach ran up with a large paper cup full of sweet tea. I downed it while he stood there and sent him off for another. I felt my internal temperature recede slightly. I was able to stay a little cooler, but the part I hadn’t planned on was the sudden urge to dash to the port-a-potty. I was situated at the front of a long runway, right in the middle of the crowd. Luckily, near the side of the stage area was a row of three port-a-potties. I would be so glad when this day would be over and I could relax in a cool tub.

  I could hear the overhead speaker blaring as the announcer invited the crowd: “Y’all come and set a spell for the very first Miss Watermelon contest.” Now I realized I had less time than I thought and hurried inside a port-a-potty that stood in a line of the portable outhouses. With the vest hugging me tightly and the closed-in, foul-smelling air of the outdoor toilet, I felt my lunch threatening to come up. I used the bathroom and hurriedly pulled my clothes together and grabbed for the handle of the door. It would not open. I pushed at it with my shoulder, but it still wouldn’t budge.

  The door of the port-a-potty was jammed. I started slamming my fist against the door and yelling from my blue molded-plastic coffin. Outside I could hear the announcer still calling for the audience to sit down. How long would it be before they noticed one of the judges wasn’t there?

  I continued to pound on the door, hoping maybe somebody else had to use the bathroom and was waiting outside for the port-a-potty to be available. I put my hands on either side and tried rocking the entire structure. I only made it move slightly as I pushed each side. It started to waver, and I heard the slosh of the disinfectant below the seat. Someone had to be noticing the outhouse rocking out there. The sweat ran down the back of my neck into my snug bulletproof nightmare of a corset. I had to get out before I collapsed from heatstroke. I put all of my energy into one last terrifically hard push. This was it – all or nothing.

  I rammed my shoulder up against the door, expecting the thud of the plastic hitting the ground, but instead I felt a whoosh of cool fresh air and a bright light in my eyes.

  “Betsy? Damn, get some water, somebody!” I looked up into the blue eyes of my favorite weatherman. Leo Fitzpatrick was here, and he was holding on to little old me.

  *****

  It was a few minutes later before I was finally able to talk. “The door jammed. I thought I was going to die a disgusting stinky death in there.” I gulped down a cup of cool water.

  “What do you have on?” Leo asked, feeling my sides, oblivious to the crowd of beauty pageant participants around us.

  I squirmed from his touch. “It’s a bulletproof vest.”

  A man broke through the crowd. “Betsy? Did someone shoot at you again?” It was Adam, the one guy I least wanted to have to talk to while being held by Leo.

  “No, the door jammed on the port-a-potty.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong,” said Leo. “When you burst through, a stick went flying i
n the air. Someone locked you into that thing.” Leo stiffened and sat me upright, taking his hands out from under my arms. “Now that your new boyfriend is here, I’ll just be on my way. I left Tyler with Zach, and they’re probably lost by now.”

  “Leo!” I said as he rose and started off. “Leo, wait. You came all this way.”

  He turned. “Yes, I did. Deep down inside I had to make sure that you and...” he searched for Adam’s name, but couldn’t quite seem to get it, “...this guy were an item. My suspicions have been confirmed.”

  “Leo!” I had to make him understand.

  A woman came running up behind Adam Cole and grabbed hold of his waist. “I found you! I didn’t think I’d ever get finished at the department.” He turned to Elena Morris and kissed her. I couldn’t believe it. Elena and Adam? That fast? I sat on the pavement, stunned.

  Adam looked down at me and extended his free hand to help me up. He turned to Leo, “You were saying what about me and Betsy?”

  Leo’s jaw slackened. His pace had been going in the other direction, but now he turned and grabbed me up from the pavement by my other arm. “Come with me,” he said.

  “Leo, I can’t go with you, I have to go judge a beauty pageant in about five minutes.”

  “Five minutes is all I’ll need.”

  Stan stepped in front us, stopping Leo's momentum. “It’s just going to have to wait, loverboy.” Stan’s nose curled up. “Betsy, do you have any perfume in your bag? You smell awful.”

  “Sorry,” I said. I turned to Leo. “Please, there about twenty little girls and twenty soon-to-be angry family members over there waiting for me. I need to go.”

  He relented. “Go,” was his one-word answer. Somehow I worried that my going meant more than go judge a beauty pageant. Was he releasing me out of whatever it was we had? I had to admit he had been more than patient with me, but the thought of him out of my life left a sadness deep inside of me.