“What would that be?”
“It is Felix. You fear that he will not believe you if you tell him that I can talk.”
“Well, of course he won’t believe me,” I said. “Dogs don’t talk.”
“Except for me,” he said. “And Dogawanda.”
“Right, and Felix doesn’t believe in Dogawanda. I’m not even sure that I do.”
“Is it important to you that he believe you?”
“Yes,” I said. “Wait! Are we talking about Dogawanda or Felix?”
“Felix, of course,” he said. “And why is that important?”
“I don’t know, Pepe,” I said. “Maybe just that it’s important to have someone else believe in you, even if their belief is misplaced.”
“I must say, Geri, that it is muy importante to me that you listen to me. No one else ever has. And perhaps it is only because no one else believes it is possible.”
“A good point, Pepe,” I said. “I just have to convince Felix that it is possible for dogs to talk. That should be easy!”
“Sí, muy facile,” agreed Pepe, who never gets my sarcasm.
Jimmy G was staying at an old motel on the outskirts of town called the Wagon Wheel. It was one of those old-fashioned motels, two stories and L-shaped, with doors arranged in a line. A giant wagon wheel sat propped up against a rock in front of the office and a huge trapezoid-shaped sign displayed the name in cursive letters.
Jimmy G had a room on the ground floor. “Geri and rat-dog!” said Jimmy G expansively as he opened the door for us. “Come on in.”
The room was fairly small and quite old, its walls paneled entirely with varnished knotty-pine. A double bed—with a rumpled blue comforter on it—occupied most of the room, except for an ancient TV with rabbit ears chained to a chest of drawers and an armchair that had seen better days in the far corner. The room reeked of cigar smoke. An almost-empty bottle of Jim Beam stood on the nightstand, two small water tumblers beside it.
“We’re here,” I told my boss as he closed the door behind us. “But we can’t stay long. We’ve got to get back to the ranch before they miss us.”
“Good news!” Jimmy G said, pulling out one of his ubiquitous cigars. “It turns out Jimmy G knows the town’s sheriff!”
“Sheriff Pager?” I asked.
“Yeah. Ray was an MP at Fort Benning when Jimmy G took his jump training for the airborne division.”
“I thought he said he was in supply in the army,” Pepe told me.
“I thought you were in supply in the army, boss,” I said.
“Never jumped. Fear of heights,” he said, sitting on the bed and lighting up his stinky cigar. “That’s why Jimmy G was in supply. Anyway, your boss saved Ray’s bacon one night.”
“That is a friend, indeed, who does not eat the bacon himself,” said Pepe.
“Ray got jumped by three soldiers at a bar in town, and Jimmy G helped put the kibosh on them. Ray said he’d never forget it. So, here we are. Through serendipity, we got an in with local law enforcement. Got any aspirin with you?”
“Afraid not,” I said.
“Oh well.” The boss frowned. “Guess the only remedy is a little hair of the dog.”
“Lay a hand on my fur and I will bite you severely!” Pepe warned.
Jimmy G poured the last of the whiskey into one of the tumblers, about two fingers’ worth, then raised it to his lips, saying, “Down the hatch.”
“He speaks muy strangely,” said Pepe.
The boss drained the glass in one huge gulp. His face contorted as he shook his head and made a sound like a donkey braying. “There, that’s better.”
“If that is better,” said Pepe, “I would not want to be worse.”
“Have a seat,” said Jimmy G. “Tell the boss about your progress.”
I told him what I had learned from talking to my sister and Fox Black.
“Fox Black?” Jimmy G sat bolt upright and grinned so wide I thought the corners of his mouth might tear. “He’s here? Lead guitarist for The Spikes? Man, I listened to them all the way through Iraq. See if you can get Jimmy G an autograph.”
“Well, I’ll try—”
“Do more than try,” the boss commanded. “Anyway, back to the case. You said they last saw the victim at around midnight.”
“Yes.”
“Interesting,” said Jimmy G. “Because Ray said the coroner had finally established the time of death.”
“And it is?”
“Approximately midnight.”
“We need to find out what happened right after Fox left the hot springs,” I said.
“Which means finding out who would have a motive to kill Tammy,” Pepe added.
“Oh, that reminds me. We found these papers in Tammy’s mattress,” I said, pulling the copies of the money orders out of my pocket. I smoothed them out on the bureau. “Looks like the name is Broadbent. Maybe B. M. Broadbent?”
Jimmy G took the copies and peered at them, holding them up to a light as if looking for secret messages. “Now why does that sound familiar?”
“I don’t know, boss,” I said.
“Hey, I know,” he said. “There was a guy drinking in the bar with us last night. Ray said he owns the local gas station. Introduced us. Said his name was Broadbent. Apparently his old man was the guy who founded Fern Lake.”
“Why would Tammy be giving a money order to the guy who owns the gas station?” I asked.
“Don’t ask Jimmy G! Maybe she was buying a gas station,” Jimmy G said. “Tell you what, though. Ray was very impressed by the fact that Jimmy G had an operative in the compound. I’ll pass this along to him. Meanwhile, Jimmy G will do some discreet sleuthing in town.”
“Ha, discreet! Not likely with that tie!” Pepe was amused.
Jimmy G was wearing a bright red tie with crazy green and blue squiggles all over it. “What do you think of this?” he asked, holding it up.
“It’s fine, boss,” I told him, thinking that he was probably the only man in the world who actually wore all the bad ties that were perennially given as gifts.
“Yep. This is a good one,” said Jimmy G. “If you spill ketchup on it, no one will notice.”
“I think there is ketchup all over that tie,” said Pepe, sniffing. Suddenly he darted under the bed. “Aha!” he exclaimed, dragging out a cellophane bag. “Half a bag of fried pork rinds!” It made crinkly noises as he pulled it along the carpet.
Jimmy G glanced down at the bag Pepe had in his teeth. “Hey!” he said. “Those are Jimmy G’s pork rinds!” He jumped to his feet. “Gimme!”
“No way, hombre,” said Pepe, standing over the bag like it was a prized kill. “You will have to fight me for them. They are the next best thing to bacon!”
Chapter 29
“Is that not the stinky dogmobile?” Pepe asked as we headed for our car.
I looked across the street and saw the station wagon Felix uses for his dog-walking business parked on Main Street. It is an old Volvo station wagon outfitted with a screen between the front seats and the back so he can carry a number of dogs. Pepe had objected to sitting in the back like a mere dog.
“I wonder what he’s doing in town?” I said. “I thought he was going up to the ranch to work with the wolf-dogs.”
“Let us go investigate,” said Pepe. “I will sniff him out.”
His little nose led him to the front door of the police station. I pushed open the door and found both Felix and Tavo standing in the reception area, arguing with Alice.
“I’m sorry,” Alice was saying. “There’s nothing I can do about it.” She spotted me and Pepe at the door. “Geri,” she said, “what are you doing here?”
Felix whirled around. He seemed happy to see me. “Geri!” he said. “Tell this woman I’m an animal trainer and expert on animal behavior. Tell her about the way those hybrids reacted when I got in their cage.”
“It’s true,” I said to Alice. “He walked into their pen up at the ranch yesterday and they ju
st laid down and practically worshipped him.” And I could see why. He was looking really hot in a bright white cotton T-shirt and a pair of tight black jeans.
“It doesn’t matter what they did,” said Alice. “They’ve been impounded as dangerous animals and they’re going to be put down.”
“But we need them for the movie!” Tavo said after giving me a big smile. “Can’t you postpone their execution until we get this straightened out?”
“It’s not up to me,” said Alice. “You’d have to talk to the animal safety officer.”
“And where’s he?” I asked.
“He’s out on a call,” she said.
“Where are the wolf-dogs?” I asked.
“They’re at the vet’s office. That’s where we keep the impounded animals.”
“Where is the vet?” I asked Alice.
“Over on Second Street,” she said. “But he won’t be able to release the animals. Not without permission from the sheriff.”
“What if I can prove the hybrids did not attack anyone?” Felix asked.
“How would you do that?” Alice wanted to know. I wanted to know, too.
“I could compare the marks on the body to the animal’s actual paws, plus look at the crime scene photos to determine how the attack occurred—if it occurred.”
“He’s been an expert witness at trials on animal attacks,” Tavo said. That was something I didn’t know about Felix. Impressive.
“He’s known as the Wolf Whisperer,” I added.
Felix winced. Tavo looked amused. “Wolf Whisperer?” he repeated, then regained his composure. “Yes, indeed, the one and only Wolf Whisperer.”
Alice seemed persuaded by this title to call the sheriff for approval for Felix to examine Tammy’s body, so Pepe and I volunteered to head over to the vet’s office to check on the wolf-dogs, while Tavo and Felix headed to the mortuary to meet the sheriff.
We headed down Main Street, past the bar, and turned right onto a street of little houses. The first one on the left, a little blue cottage, had a big wooden sign in front saying COIFFURES BY CARRIE. The second one, which was a faded peach color, had a sign hanging above the front steps reading FRANK FORREST, DVM.
We clattered up the steps and in through the front door, which was unlocked. The living room had been converted into a waiting room. The floor was covered with lime-green linoleum, which smelled of antiseptic and urine. Long benches covered with brown Naugahyde lined the walls. But there were no patients.
There were taxidermy animals, which seemed odd to me in a vet’s office. A giant owl perched above the door that led to the reception counter. A stuffed beaver stood holding a bell that sported a little sign asking me to ring for service. So I did.
There was no response. I rang again. The beaver swayed a little. Pepe was dancing around, and I knew he didn’t have to pee because he had watered the posts holding up the sign in front. Maybe it was all the taxidermy animals making him nervous.
“Something bad is happening, Geri,” he said. “I smell fear. We must get in there.”
“OK! If you say so!” I pushed through the hinged door that separated the waiting room from the rest of the house. We found ourselves in a big room lined with shelves. In the center was a large stainless-steel table, and one of the wolf-dogs lay on it, sprawled on its side, its legs sticking straight out, its bushy tail hanging down, almost brushing the floor. A short, balding man in a white coat was bending over the wolf with a syringe in his hand.
“Oh my God!” I said, not entirely pretending to be alarmed. “That looks like a wolf!”
“It is a hybrid,” said the vet, looking up. He seemed to be pleased. “Very dangerous animal. Attacked and killed a woman up at the Dogawanda ranch.”
“What are you going to do to him?” I asked.
“I just sedated him, and now I’m going to administer a cocktail that will put him to sleep forever.”
“Geri! We must do something!” Pepe said.
“I know, but what?” I asked him.
“I know!” said Pepe, and fell over on his side. “Ow! Ow! Ow!” he said, rolling around on the floor, waving his little feet back and forth.
“Oh my God!” I said. “My dog is having a seizure.”
“Is he really?” The vet looked at him suspiciously. “That was sudden.”
“That’s the way they happen,” I said. “One minute he’s fine. The next he’s like this. That’s why I brought him in. I could sense this was about to happen.”
Pepe flopped around like a fish, his tongue hanging out of his mouth.
The vet frowned. “Well, I can examine him in a minute. Put him on the table over there.” He pointed to another table set against the wall, under a glass-fronted cabinet, then bent back over the wolf-dog, the syringe raised. I saw my chance and stumbled forward, pretending to be lunging for Pepe but knocking the syringe out of his hand. It bounced on the floor and rolled under a cabinet.
“Damn it!” said the vet. He peered under the cabinet as I scooped Pepe up and put him on the table.
“Now what?” I asked him, but the vet thought I was talking to him.
“The sedative should wear off in about ten minutes,” he said, glancing at the wolf-dog. “I hope this won’t take too long.” He hunched over Pepe, grabbing his jaws and forcing them open. Pepe’s long pink tongue flopped out of his mouth. He rolled his eyes as far back in his head as he could. He definitely looked like a dog in distress.
“I think he needs a shot,” said the vet, putting one of his hands firmly down on top of Pepe’s small body and groping with his other hand in the drawer underneath the counter.
“No, Geri, no!” yelled Pepe. He began struggling. “Don’t let him give me a shot!”
“My dog is afraid of shots,” I said, stepping forward.
“He won’t feel a thing,” said the vet, pulling out a plastic pack that contained a syringe and sticking it in his teeth. He ripped it open by pulling on the other end.
Oh my God! What was I going to do?
Pepe was making a terrible squeaking sound.
“Hold it!” said a strong masculine voice. I turned to see the sheriff in the doorway and behind him were Felix and Tavo.
Chapter 30
“What are you doing here?” I asked, so grateful to see them.
“New wrinkle in the case, Frank,” the sheriff said to the vet.
Frank let go of Pepe. He leaped off the table. I was always surprised by how far he could jump without injury.
“Gracias, amigo!” he said with a little bow to Felix. And then he turned to me, putting a little paw on my foot, which was a signal to pick him up. “Finally your novio has proved his value,” he said, licking my cheek.
“Looks like you’re OK now, little guy,” I said, kissing him on the top of his head.
“That was a fast recovery,” the vet said with a frown.
“A miracle!” I said.
The vet dropped the syringe into a plastic container on the counter and turned to the sheriff. “Who are these people?”
“I work for a production company and we have a contract with the Dogawanda Center allowing us to use these animals in a movie,” Tavo said, pointing at the wolf-dog. “We came to get them. If we can’t use them, the contract will be voided and we will have the right to sue you for the cost of replacing them.”
“Dash it all!” said the vet. He looked at the sheriff. “Those weirdos are always interfering with us.” He stood in front of the wolf-dog, rolling up his sleeves as if getting ready for a fight. “Anyway, the contract doesn’t matter. Last night these wolves attacked a woman.”
“Looks like that might not be true,” said the sheriff reluctantly. “We just went over to the mortuary and looked at the body. This young fellow—” He waved his hand at Felix.
“The Wolf Whisperer!” said Tavo with a snicker in his voice.
“—examined the marks on the body. Don’t know why I didn’t see it before. Clearly not the marks one would associa
te with an attack. No gouging. No gnawing. No attempt to cache the body.”
“Maybe they don’t behave like wild animals,” the vet suggested. “After all, they are being kept as pets.”
“Look,” Felix told the vet, “there weren’t even any bite marks on the body. No puncture wounds at all. The only marks on her body were abrasions and scratches. But they weren’t consistent with a wolf attack in any way, shape, or form.”
“Frank, I made a mistake,” the sheriff told the vet. “These animals might be dangerous, but they did not attack that woman up at the compound.”
“Maybe the other animal did?” the vet suggested.
“He really does seem eager to kill them,” Pepe suggested. “Perhaps he wants to stuff them!”
“There is no way in hell,” said Felix, sounding irritated, “that one of these hybrids killed her. You might as well blame Crystal Star’s old Weimaraner.”
“I’m glad they are not blaming me,” Pepe told me. “We Chihuahuas are known for our ferocity. But I do have an alibi, just in case.”
The sedated wolf-dog was beginning to wake up. His paws twitched lightly.
“What do you want me to do, then?” Frank asked the sheriff. “You want me to let these animals go?”
“I can guarantee that they will be confined and carefully monitored,” Felix said. “And since I don’t believe the conditions at the Dogawanda Center are suitable for long-term care, I will make arrangements to have the animals placed in a center where they will be able to live more natural lives without any danger to the general populace.”
“That sounds good to me!” said the sheriff, shaking his hand. “Kills two birds with one stone.” He turned to the vet. “You can release them into this man’s custody. See that it’s done.”
He and the vet helped Felix and Tavo load the sedated wolf into the back of the “stinky dogmobile.” Then the sheriff left and we went back inside to get the other wolf-dog, which was in the outside kennel.
To get there, we had to go through a small back room. There were cages stacked along one wall. One contained a sleepy gray Persian cat who raised his heavy head, examined us, and then turned around, showing off his magnificent bushy tail. The only other occupant of the kennel was a little dirty white dog. She was looking out through the bars, her dark eyes bright and whimpering softly.
The Big Chihuahua Page 13