Case of the One-Eyed Tiger

by Jeffrey M. Poole

  “Sheridan residence, this is Molly. How can I help you?”

  I hesitated. The voice sounded young, maybe early teens. I hoped I didn’t have to explain who I was or why I was calling.

  “Hello there. I’m hoping to speak to Mary Sheridan. Is she available?”

  “She’s out back. Just a second, please.”

  I heard the clunk as the phone was set down on the counter. Then I heard a sliding door open and a shout that was easily heard without my having to hold the phone up to my ear.

  “Mom! You have a phone call!”

  Several seconds of silence passed.

  “I don’t know. You’ll have to ask. Just hurry. I’m expecting a call!”

  I suppressed a smile.

  An older female voice appeared on the line.

  “Hello? Who is this?”

  “Mary? Hello. This is Zachary Anderson.”

  “Who?”

  “Zachary Anderson. The author. We met in person in Dallas last year at the only book signing I have ever done. It was for an alien sci-fi thriller I had released, but it didn’t do that well. I admitted to you I typically wrote in, uh, another genre. Do you remember me now?”

  “Oh! Mr. Anderson! How good of you to call! I didn’t realize you kept my number!”

  “I’m sorry. I hope you don’t think it was creepy of me to do so, but whenever I come across someone that has a unique set of skills I might find useful then I will keep their contact info handy.”

  “My unique skills? What do I... wait. Do you have need of a lawyer?”

  I sighed heavily.

  “Yes, I do. I’m in a pickle, Mary. I could definitely use some legal advice.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “I’ve been arrested, charged with murder.”

  “What?! Did you... you know... are you guilty?”

  “Absolutely not!”

  “And you used your only phone call to call me? How sweet!”

  Holy crap on a cracker. She couldn’t possibly be flirting with me, could she?

  “Mary, focus. Can you help me?”

  “Tell me you want to hire me. For the record.”

  I took a deep breath.

  “Mary, I’d like to officially retain your services as a lawyer.”

  “Excellent. I am on the case. Would you please put the closest police officer on the phone?”

  “I’d love to.” I smiled as I looked over at Detective Samuelson. I handed him the phone. “She’d like to talk to you.”

  Understandably, trying to get someone sprung from jail isn’t a quick process. All in all, it took over six hours for Mary to work her magic. I don’t know how she did it, and I don’t want to know. All I can tell you is that every cop I encountered on my way out of the police station was scowling at me. No doubt I’ve been assigned a police ‘tail’ until this matter has been resolved. No one liked being called ‘inept’ in any line of work. Even though I hadn’t been privy to what Mary had said to the cops, I’m sure it wasn’t good.

  Mary had even told me that she was willing to waive her fee as long as I based a character on her in my next book. Ordinarily I tend to avoid creating characters based on real life people, so I was slow to agree to Mary’s request. However, all it took for me to agree was to hear what her fee was to handle this case for me: $25,000. Did you catch that? Twenty-five grand just to make sure my sorry ass stayed out of jail. So yeah, a little show of thanks was in order for Mary’s good deed.

  I collected my personables, as the deputy behind the desk had called them, and walked my dog out of the police station with my head held high. Sherlock promptly pulled me to the closest tree and did his business. Thankfully I didn’t need to find a baggie.

  Also, as luck would have it, City Hall was on the same side of town as the parking lot where my Jeep was. Ten minutes later Sherlock had his head out the passenger window, spraying doggie saliva all over the glass. I didn’t mind. I was so glad to get out of jail that I probably could have sideswiped a tree with the Jeep and not cared.

  Well, maybe a little.

  I looked over at the newest member of my family. Sherlock had grown bored of the open window and had curled up on the seat. He was sitting in such a way that he was able to watch me without lifting his head.

  I reached over to give him a scratch behind his ears. The corgi’s tongue flopped out of his mouth and he panted contentedly. Dogs. I don’t know if I can do this. I’m not set up to care for a dog. I don’t have any dog food at home. For that matter, I don’t have any human food, either. I never made it to the grocery store today, let alone find out where it was.

  It was evening, and the sun was about to set. The clock on my dash said it was almost 7. I certainly hoped the offer of a free pizza dinner was still open. A quick call to Harry confirmed that it was.

  “How on earth did you ever get out?” Harry wanted to know. “Julie made some discreet inquiries and found out that you’re the owner of the murder weapon, they have your prints on a notebook outlining the theft of that glass tiger, and that you couldn’t explain any of it.”

  “I’ll tell you all about it when you come over. Uh, you and Julie can still come, right? I haven’t eaten anything yet and I’m pretty sure there isn’t any food in the house. If there is, I wouldn’t touch it with a ten foot pole.”

  “You bet, pal. We have the neighbor’s daughter watch the kids all the time. As soon as she gets over here we’ll pick up the pizza and head over.”

  “One other request, Harry.”

  “Absolutely. What do you need?”

  “Dog food. Poor Sherlock has got to be hungry. He hasn’t eaten anything, either, and I know there’s nothing at the house for him.”

  “I already have a complimentary bag of food in the van,” Harry assured me. “They’ll be no canine mutinies tonight.”

  Fifteen minutes later I pulled into the drive of my new home. As I parked in front of the detached three car garage I yet again felt the familiar pang of loss deep within my chest. Samantha. She would have loved this house. She’s always had an affinity for houses with front porches. This one certainly fit the bill.

  She and I used to…

  I angrily shook my head. Sam was gone. There’s nothing I could do about that. I had to live in the present, not the past. I had to take care of myself.

  Sherlock gave a small yip, drawing my attention. He was staring up at me with an expectant look.

  “Are you a mind reader now, sport? Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you, too. I may not know what the hell I’m doing, but I’ll give it my best effort, okay?”

  Sherlock seemed satisfied with that and pulled on his leash, eager to explore his new surroundings.

  The best way to describe Great Aunt Bonnie’s house would be to call it a country farmhouse. As I had previously mentioned, the house had a large wrap-around front porch. The house wasn’t huge, not by today’s standards, but for a single person it was more than enough. The house had over 3,100 square feet spread across two floors.

  As I walked up the steps to the front door I paused. I retraced my steps and looked back at the house. There, under the ground level first floor was a clear separation of building materials. There was a gradual slope near the western side of the house, revealing what I thought was a brick foundation. However, upon closer examination I could see several narrow windows peeking out from the overgrown shrubs bordering the house.

  This house had a basement! Cool! I wonder what I’d find in there. As long as it wasn’t Aunt Bonnie then I’d be fine. Harry was right. I really didn’t have any idea what the house contained.

  What I knew about the house was what I had picked up from the attorney who had handled Aunt Bonnie’s estates. The main floor was larger than the second. There were 4 total bedrooms, with the master bedroom on the ground floor and three bedrooms up on the second story. The house had two full bathrooms,
one on each floor, and a smaller half bathroom right off the kitchen, which is an odd place to locate a toilet, if you ask me.

  Whatever. I didn’t pay for it.

  Sherlock and I entered through the front door. I immediately stooped down to unclip his leash. The inquisitive corgi turned to look up at me with an incredulous look on his furry face. Apparently he couldn’t believe I was turning him loose inside a strange house.

  “This is your house, too, pal. Might as well become familiar with it.”

  Sherlock instantly veered right and began sniffing along the ground. I followed from a discreet distance. After all, I really hadn’t had a chance to explore the house and didn’t want him getting into anything he shouldn’t.

  We hit the formal dining room first. There was a large, dusty oak table with six chairs placed around it. The cushions were orange, the same shade of orange shag carpeting you’ve probably seen before in an elderly relative’s house when you were growing up. It wasn’t a pretty color. Wonder if I could reupholster those?

  The dining room opened into the main family room, which was easily my favorite room in the house. It stretched up to the second floor and had vaulted ceilings that were close to 25’ high. It was huge. Too bad it had severely outdated furniture. An old blue and white couch patterned with a floral print was set in front of an honest-to-goodness wood fireplace. There was something else I hadn’t noticed before: no televisions anywhere.

  I vowed to rectify that discrepancy the very next day, even if it meant I had to drive to nearby Medford, which was over 20 miles away. Sherlock jumped up on the couch, sniffed once at a cushion, and immediately jumped down.

  I nodded and added one couch to the list.

  Sherlock wandered back to the dining room and then turned left, emerging into the kitchen. This room wasn’t nearly as bad. I could tell someone had done some remodeling in here within the last five years or so. A couple of appliances could stand to be replaced, but as long as they worked they would do for now.

  The kitchen had a small island, which is where the sink was located. It was a white ceramic double sink, complete with a garbage disposal. A flick of the switch confirmed it worked, only it didn’t sound too healthy to me. Sherlock barked once, not in surprise but with an annoyed edge. He hadn’t barked at the disposal but at me.

  The little snot had an attitude. I slowly grinned. Good. I like that in a dog.

  Continuing on with his inspection, Sherlock moved into the… you know, I don’t know what to call it. It’s a small sitting area off of the kitchen where another dining table had been set up. This table wasn’t as nice as the other, so I’ll call this a breakfast nook and the other room can be the formal dining room.

  Samantha would be rolling with laughter if she could see me struggling to come up with the proper names for these individual rooms. She knew full well I couldn’t care less about this type of stuff.

  My thoughts trailed off as Sherlock approached a closed door in the kitchen and growled. The hairs on the back of my neck stood straight up. My eyes had widened to the size of saucers and I desperately glanced around the kitchen for something to use as a weapon.

  “What do you smell, boy?” I quietly asked the dog.

  Sherlock growled and refused to move. Shit. Was there someone else in this house besides the two of us? Hadn’t the detective said that several calls were made from here while I was away? I added ‘change the locks’ to my list of things to accomplish tomorrow.

  I caught sight of a knife block on the counter. I grabbed the biggest handle I could see and pulled the knife out of the block. It was an 8” cleaver. What the hell Aunt Bonnie was doing with a knife like this was beyond me but right now, I didn’t argue. I was about to go Psycho on someone’s ass. I gripped the doorknob and look over at Sherlock, who still hadn’t moved and hadn’t stopped growling.

  “Are you ready?”

  Apparently, are you ready was corgi-speak for lose your freakin’ mind. He began barking like crazy and bouncing up and down, but only on his front two legs. He’d inch forward, bark like mad at the door, and then his sense of self-preservation would kick in and he’d run to the other side of the kitchen island.

  “Thanks, pal,” I grumbled, as I steeled myself to open the door. “All I ask is if there’s a person in there, bite him any place you can reach. Okay?”

  Sherlock’s look of derision had me laughing. I yanked open the door, brandishing my meat cleaver, and prepared for the worst. Nothing. It was a utility room. A surprisingly new front-load, high efficiency washer and dryer met my gaze.

  I turned, fully intent on scolding Sherlock when I noticed he was still growling. Confused, I looked back in the room. What was he growling at? I spotted a laundry basket on the ground with a few pieces of clothing still in it.

  “That? Do you smell the clothes? They’re Aunt Bonnie’s. At least I hope they are.”

  A thought occurred to me. What if they weren’t? Could they belong to whomever was in here earlier today? If so, what kind of stupid dumbass would take off a shirt, or jacket, and leave it in the laundry basket?

  I saw a broom leaning up against the dryer and used its handle to poke the basket. Now, before I describe what happened next, it’s imperative you understand my frame of mind at this point in time. I had just had one of the most stressful days of my life. I had spent a good chunk of the day in jail. I was angry, hungry, and tired, and clearly not thinking straight.

  Remember that.

  Something small, gray, and furry leapt out of the basket and streaked across the ground. I’m ashamed to say that I screamed like a little girl, jumped up on the dryer, and began swinging the broom through the air much like Conan would do when wielding his broadsword. Sherlock barked once, signaling he was in pursuit.

  Of course it was a mouse. Look, I’m a dude. I’m not afraid of mice, but when you’re not expecting anything to come leaping out at you, the sight of something unknown coming straight at you would be enough to send chills down the spine of even the bravest of souls. At least no one but Sherlock had seen me losing my cool over a tiny rodent.

  “Have we caught you at a bad time?” Harry’s voice asked from the kitchen doorway. His right hand was wrapped around a large bag of dog food slung over his right shoulder while a six pack of beer was in the other. From the way he was grinning at me I could tell he had witnessed the whole thing.

  I hastily jumped down from the dryer and tried to reclaim my shattered dignity. Or what was left of it.

  “When you tell this story, and I know you will, try to remember that I had a really shitty day today.”

  “What’s going on?” Julie asked as she came in the door. She was carrying a bag of groceries and a gallon of milk. She brushed by me and began putting things away in the kitchen.

  “Oh, nothing,” Harry called back to her, a smile forming on his face. “Zack was just showing me how high he can jump.”

  “Bite me, dude.”

  Julie looked quizzically at me and then at her husband. She shrugged and headed towards the kitchen. She plopped everything down on the counters and began unloading her bags. Bread, milk, peanut butter, Milk Bones, and several other essentials were laid out for all to see.

  “Thanks, guys. I really appreciate what you’re doing for me. Do you, er, know where everything goes, Julie?”

  “Do you?” Julie countered as she slid the milk in the fridge. Thankfully the old Maytag was running, cold, and completely empty.

  “No,” I admitted.

  “Then you should have no worries. Where would you like the bread?”

  I got the distinct impression that she was mothering me, as though I didn’t know how to care for myself. Then I realized that for all intents and purposes, I was standing in a stranger’s house with no idea where anything was.

  “I got you some laundry detergent,” Julie added. “Something tells me you’ll want to wash everyt
hing before you use them.”

  “Before I use what?” I wanted to know.

  “Sheets, towels, linens, etc.”

  I looked at Harry.

  “She thought of everything.”

  Julie pulled out two large bowls she had just found from a cupboard in the kitchen island and filled one with water. Harry filled the other with dog food and both were set down on the floor for Sherlock.

  Once the corgi was busy crunching through his kibble we all took seats at the breakfast nook. The pizza was fantastic. They had brought two pizzas. I don’t know where they got it, nor did I care. At least there was a pizza joint in town and that’s all that mattered. As for the pizza itself, one was a meat lover’s and the other was a Hawaiian.

  We talked for hours sitting at that table. I recounted everything that had happened to me today, starting with meeting the attorney at the front door and ending with my triumphant release from jail. The only part I left out were the specifics of my profession. Harry had already caught me screaming like a girl. I didn’t want him to know that I let people think I was one when it came to writing books.

  Harry, in turn, told me about his life and how he had ended up in PV and what it had taken in order to break him out of the reckless behavior he was known for. Turns out it was a car accident. A bad one. It had almost killed him and that, apparently, was enough of a reality check to break him out of his bad habits. He and Julie rekindled their romance, she talked him into going to school, and the rest is history.

  We sat in those wood chairs for so long that my ass fell asleep and my legs were only moments away from going completely dead on me. Thankfully that was when Sherlock decided he needed to go outside, presumably to do his business, and barked twice by the door.

  Once he was back inside it was decided we should call it a night. They, of course, had kids that needed to go to school tomorrow. I, on the other hand, could sleep in and was really looking forward to doing just that.

  Only as they were driving away did I realize they never did get a chance to show me around the property. It didn’t matter. I had already spent one full day in Pomme Valley without poking around the house I had inherited. Whatever this house had to show me, it could wait until morning.

  Boy, was I wrong. More on that later.

  I found the master bedroom on the other side of the house. It had a huge bathroom attached to it that had dual sinks, a large walk-in closet, and a Whirlpool tub. I was also surprised to see a second porch easily accessible from a sliding glass patio door on the same wall as the bathroom.

  I was about ready to turn down the bed for the night when I remembered that a little old lady used to live here. Had the sheets been changed since she had died? I decided I didn’t care if they had been or not. I needed to find a fresh set.

  Half an hour later sheer exhaustion was threatening to settle in. The sheets were changed, the linens having been dumped in the utility room, and I had located a couple of boxes of my clothes. I shut off all the lights and headed to bed when I saw that Sherlock was already waiting for me. He had jumped up on the bed, claimed the left side, and was curled up by the pillows. As soon as my head hit the pillow the dog rolled to his feet, timidly approached me, and licked my hand once.

  “What was that for, Sherlock?”

  The corgi nuzzled my shoulder, turned in place three times, and finally settled in right next to me. The next thing I knew both of us were out cold.

  Fast forward six hours later.

  I knew it was early. The sun wasn’t up and it was incredibly dark in the house. The first thing I noticed was the complete absence of noise. I had lived my whole life in the city where there was always something happening. Passing trains, honking horns, helicopters flying overhead, anything and everything usually found in the city had been my white noise.

  Now, in the middle of the country with my nearest neighbor a half mile away, it was quiet. Freaky quiet. Wow. I was going to have to do something about that. Maybe I could buy a white noise tape and have it…

  A soft snuffling sounded nearby, causing my blood to freeze in my veins. What the hell was that? I know it wasn’t me. Was there someone else in the house?

  I reached for my phone. Whoever designed my smartphone included the ability to turn on the LED flash and keep it on, thus turning the sophisticated device into an unsophisticated flashlight.

  My arm swept the bed and instantly found a furry body snuggled up against my right side. Memories from yesterday flooded back to me. That’s right. I owned a dog now. Sherlock, it would seem, enjoyed sleeping like I did, which was flat on my back. My hand explored his sleeping form. Yep. He had all four legs sticking straight up. I gave his belly a pat, eyed the time (it was just after 5am) and rolled back over.

  Unfortunately, my mind refused to go back to sleep. It began reviewing the events of yesterday, starting with the evidence the police had against me. First up was the gun. It had belonged to Aunt Bonnie. Okay, what was a little old lady like that doing with a gun? Had she felt as though she needed it for protection?

  I was told Bonnie’s gun was the murder weapon. Obviously someone knew Bonnie had the gun and had known where to find it. The police had also said that there were calls placed from the house landline. That could only mean someone had been in this house for an extended amount of time.

  I wasn’t concerned about the literature featuring Emelie Vång. Anyone could have had that in their house. She was a well-known artist, therefore I should be able to rule out that bag of evidence.

  The notebook, on the other hand, concerned me greatly. Was it just a coincidence that the writing was a close match for my own? How had my fingerprint ended up on it? How could someone have gotten samples of my handwriting in order to learn how I write? Everything I write nowadays is on the computer. It had to be a coincidence. As for the fingerprint, well… I was going to have to think about that one.

  I frowned. I really didn’t believe in coincidences. Here I was, brand new to town, and find out that someone had broken into this house, placed several phone calls, and plotted out a burglary. On top of that we need to add one murder – using Aunt Bonnie’s gun – and one pissed off police department who are now convinced I am the mastermind behind the whole thing.

  Someone wanted me out of the picture. That much was clear. Whoever that was had been desperate enough to kill. Would they kill again? What else could they do to try and hurt me?

  My hand continued to stroke Sherlock’s belly. Sherlock. Could my dog be their next target? Could they go after him in an attempt to hurt me? I mentally vowed not to let Sherlock out of my sight. I had been a dog owner for less than 24 hours and here I was, surprised to learn that I had become fiercely protective of the feisty canine. I blame Harry.

  I tried to close my eyes and will myself back to sleep. As soon as my eyes closed Abigail Lawson’s sour face swam into view. Ah, yes. Ms. Uber Bitch. I mustn’t forget about her. If ever someone had motivation to get me out of the way it’d be her. However, it was too cut and dry. Too convenient. I find out someone is trying to set me up to take the fall for a crime I didn’t commit and suddenly, presto, Ms. Bitch appears and demands I bow out of the picture.

  It didn’t add up. Someone wanted me out of this town and I wanted to know who. Tomorrow, once I had changed the locks, bought a respectable big screen TV, found the grocery store, unpacked my stuff, and who knows what else, Sherlock and I were going to look for some answers.

  Sometimes you had to stir the pot so you could see what floated to the surface.

  FOUR