“Geri, it is Fuzzy!” said Pepe, stopping abruptly and looking up at the little dog.
“Fuzzy?” I said. I peered through the grate at the animal inside the kennel, and it did appear to be the dirty little white dog I had last seen at Mark Darling’s house, only much dirtier. She whimpered softly.
“Are you sure?” I asked Pepe.
“I never forget a smell,” he said.
“You know this dog?” the vet asked.
“She belonged to Tammy Darling, the woman who died,” I said. “How long has she been here?”
The vet looked at the tag on the cage. “She was picked up Saturday afternoon around two p.m. Wandering along the highway.”
“Do you suppose she walked all the way from Seattle?” I asked. “Mark said she went missing around midnight on Friday.”
“Which was around the time Tammy died,” Pepe pointed out.
“Let me look at her paws!” Felix suggested.
“Can we take her out?” I asked.
The vet nodded.
I pinched the latch so the door opened and Fuzzy practically fell into my arms, licking my face with enthusiasm.
Felix picked up Fuzzy’s paw. He shook his head. “She did not walk all the way here from Seattle. Her paws would be in much worse shape.”
“So can we take her?” I asked the vet.
He shook his head. “Not unless you’re the owner.”
“But the owner is dead,” I said.
“Who’s her next of kin?”
“Well, I suppose her husband, but he’s in Seattle.”
“And besides, he does not seem to care for perros much,” said Pepe.
“He needs to be the one to get her out,” the vet said. He seemed determined.
“What if he’s not interested in getting her back?” I asked.
“Well, he can either sign her over to you or you have to wait for the three-day waiting period and then come in and pay the adoption fee.”
“I suppose I could do that,” I said. Reluctantly I put the little dog back into her cage.
“Fuzzy, never fear, we will rescue you,” said Pepe. To me, he said, “We must plan a perro prison break, Geri. It is not safe to leave her in the hands of someone who likes to stuff animals.”
Chapter 31
Felix loaded the other wolf-dog into his car, and he and Tavo took off for the Dogawanda ranch. But Pepe and I had one more errand to run. I was determined to talk to B. M. Broadbent and find out why Tammy was giving him money.
We went into the gas station—Pepe insisted I buy him some beef jerky—and I asked where I could find Mr. Broadbent. The cashier told me he had an office over at the city hall.
We found city hall easy enough. It was located up the block across the street from the bar. It wasn’t very large. It looked more like a small house than my idea of a city hall. It was painted white and had a steeply angled metal roof that shone brightly in the sun. An American flag flew from a pole that stuck out over the place’s small front porch.
There was no reception desk in the small foyer, just a large sign on the wall facing us—black with white plastic, stick-on letters—that listed the respective offices of the mayor and the three members of the town council.
“There,” I said, “Barrett Matthew Broadbent the Third, that’s who we want to see.”
“Why the Third?” asked Pepe.
“Well, I suppose his grandfather was first, and his father was second. That would make him the third.”
“I fail to see why anyone would advertise being in third place,” Pepe said with a disdainful wrinkle of his nose. “On the other hand, I would definitely enjoy being known as Pepe Sullivan the First.”
“Oh, indeed, sir,” I agreed, curtsying. “Would you deign to accompany your lowly subject to the councilman’s office?”
As usual, he didn’t get my sarcasm, just said, “Lead the way.”
We went down the short hall, Pepe’s nails clicking on the scuffed hardwood flooring. The first door we came to was marked with a brass plaque that read OFFICE OF THE MAYOR—HENRY “HANK” DAVENPORT. The door was closed, and I didn’t hear any sounds of activity behind it.
The same was true of the next two doors we passed, belonging to town council members Randy Peterson and Evelyn Meyers. (I did note, with some satisfaction, that at least one of the civic leaders was female.)
Approaching the last door at the end of the hall, Pepe said, “I do not hear the sounds of any people in this place. What if nobody is here?”
I hadn’t considered that we might not find anybody at the city hall. If our guy wasn’t in, I—
“Wait!” said Pepe. “Hear that?”
“Yes.”
“Musica,” he said.
It was music. The old country song “Your Cheatin’ Heart.” It was coming from the last door, which had to be Broadbent’s office.
“I believe it is the original,” observed Pepe. “By Hank Williams.”
“Since when were you into country western?” I asked.
“I only like the classic stuff,” he told me.
Just another thing I didn’t know about my dog.
I went to the door and checked the brass plaque on it before knocking. It was indeed Broadbent’s office. Below his extremely long name, the plaque also was inscribed with, WELCOME CONSTITUENTS! COME ON IN AND SAY HI TO BARRY!
“This is what is called an open-door policy, is it not?” Pepe asked me.
“I suppose you’re right.”
“Then why is the door closed?”
I shook my head, saying, “Don’t ask,” and knocked on the door.
We heard someone shout, “Come on in!” and so we did. The office would have been your typical government cubicle—white blinds, steel-gray metal desk, beige file cabinets—except for the mounted deer heads and rifle racks that lined the walls.
A tall, husky man somewhere in his midforties was sitting at the desk. He had carroty red hair, cut in a flattop, and a big smile. He got up as we entered and approached me with his hand out. He was wearing a red, Western-style shirt (the kind with pearl snaps instead of buttons on it) and a pair of crisp Levi’s with a huge, silver belt buckle adorning a wide tooled-leather belt.
“Watch it,” Pepe warned me. “I think this is called glad-handing.”
“Barrett Matthew Broadbent the Third,” he said, his oversized hand swallowing mine whole. “Just call me Barry. To whom do I have the pleasure?”
“Whatever you are selling, we are not buying,” said Pepe.
“Geri,” I told him, wondering when I’d get my hand back. “Geri Sullivan.”
“Glad to meet you,” Barry said, using my hand like a pump handle, then finally releasing it. “And you’ve brought your little dog with you, I see.”
“I hope you don’t mind,” I said.
“Mind?” he said, kneeling down in front of Pepe. “Not on your life. I love dogs. Got a few myself. What’s your name, little guy?” he asked Pepe.
“Trouble,” Pepe told him with a curl of his lip.
“Spunky, isn’t he?” Barry said, standing up again. “So, what brings you to me, Miss Sullivan? It is Miss, isn’t it?” he asked, glancing at the ringless third finger of my left hand.
“Yes,” I told him. As to his question of why I came to see him, I just said, “Well . . .” and paused, wondering how to answer. (The Private Detective’s Bible said to try and put a suspect at ease in order to get them talking.) “Are you a hunter?” I continued, looking past him at the gun rack on the wall behind his desk. “That’s quite a collection of guns you have.”
Barry smiled, taking it as a compliment. “Yup. My daddy hunted and my grandpa before him,” he said. “You hunt?”
“We hunt criminals,” said Pepe.
“Not really,” I told him. “But I’ve always had a deep appreciation of firearms.” The Private Detective’s Bible made it clear a little white lie was acceptable when questioning a suspect.
Barry nodded, then went
to the gun rack and took one of his rifles out of it. “You’ll like this one, then,” he said, bringing it over to me.
Even with my limited knowledge of guns, I recognized it as the kind of rifle that cowboys always used in old Western movies.
Barry pulled the rifle’s lever down—to make sure it wasn’t loaded, I think—then handed the rifle to me, saying, “Try this on for size. It’s an 1873 Winchester Commemorative, hundredth anniversary limited edition. Belonged to my father.” The councilman pointed to the stuffed animal heads on the wall. “He took that eight-point buck there with it. I took the six-pointer beside it with the same gun. Sweet deer rifle the thirty-thirty.”
“He is a killer of defenseless animals,” said Pepe.
“What do you think?” Barry asked me.
“It’s lovely,” I said, looking the rifle over. I hefted it and looked down its barrel like I knew what I was doing. I handed it back to him, saying, “You must be proud to own it.”
“Sure enough,” he said, placing the rifle back in the rack. “Have a seat,” he added, turning from the gun rack and sitting down at his desk.
There were two small leather chairs in front of the desk. Pepe jumped up on one, so I sat down on the other.
Barry clasped his hands on the desk pad in front of him. “You’re not from around these parts, are you, Miss Sullivan?” he asked. “You just in town for the day or—”
“No, I’m here for a while.”
“Good,” he said. “Staying down at the resort, I imagine?”
“Yes,” I lied.
“On vacation?”
“Sort of.”
“Sort of?”
I figured it was time to start getting down to business. “Actually I’m here doing research on the Dogawandans,” I told him.
“Them?” He said it as if I were talking about cockroaches. “The Dogawandans?”
“Why, yes,” I said. “You seem shocked by that. Have you had any trouble with them?”
“Well, yes and no,” said Barry. “Their ideas and the town’s ideas haven’t exactly matched from time to time. They like to get their own way. Council’s been working with them, though. Takes all kinds, you know. They have brought some extra business to town since they got here. I’ll give them that.”
“So that’s good, right?”
“Sure enough. We’re just a little mountain town in the middle of nowhere to most folks. But we’re starting to grow again. Like the big resort you’re staying at. Now that has really increased the town’s revenues. So much so, I’m happy to say, that I’m about to remodel my gas station into a convenience store type station like you see in the bigger cities.”
“Really?” I asked. “I imagine that’s pretty costly.”
“Yup. But my business model shows that it should work out nicely. It will be well worth it.”
I’d gotten him relaxed and talkative like The Private Detective’s Bible said you should, so now was the time to spring the direct question on him.
“And the twenty-five thousand dollars you got from Tammy Darling,” I said in the friendliest sort of manner, “will sure help with expanding your gas station, won’t it?”
“Sure will,” he said. “I—” He abruptly stopped talking. His expression went all gargoyle-like and he said, “What did you say?”
“You heard her, mister!” said Pepe.
Now was the time I was supposed to be hard and tough in my questioning. “How did you know Tammy Darling, Councilman Broadbent?”
“What?” His face turned beet red.
“And why would she give you that kind of money?”
“I don’t even”—he began to fidget—“know who you’re talking about.”
“Don’t play games with me,” I said in my best hard-boiled voice, thinking this was going really well, just like The Private Detective’s Bible suggested it would.
“Who are you?” asked Barry, raising his voice.
“That is for us to know, and you to find out,” said Pepe. “Now spill it!”
“I have copies of the money orders Tammy signed,” I told the councilman.
“It was just, uh, a campaign contribution,” he said. “For the next election, that’s all.”
“Why would Tammy contribute to your campaign?” I asked.
The councilman jumped to his feet. “It was a totally legitimate transaction and I don’t have to answer your questions. This conversation is over.”
“If that’s the way you want it,” I said.
“Out!” he said, coming around the desk, flailing his arms. “Get out or I’ll throw you—”
Pepe said, “I think we better vamoose.”
He didn’t have to say it twice. I almost knocked my chair over as I got up and reached for the doorknob. As Pepe and I headed down the hall, we heard the sounds of swearing and stomping and something breaking behind us.
Reaching safety half a block up from city hall, with Councilman Broadbent thankfully nowhere in sight, Pepe said, “Geri, perhaps we should consider refining our interrogation technique a bit.”
Where I’d gone wrong, I didn’t know, but before I could agree with him, Mark Darling came charging up the street. He was wearing a yellow polo shirt and crisply pressed khaki pants. He was also breathing fire when he reached us.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
“I’m looking for Councilman Broadbent!” he yelled at me. “Where is he?”
“He’s in city hall,” I said. “We just saw him.”
“And?”
“And what?” I asked.
“Did you get my money?”
“No,” I told him. “The councilman—”
“Well I’ll damn sure get it!”
Mark turned to go, but I grabbed him by the arm. “Wait,” I said. “How do you know about him having your money?”
“Your boss, Jimmy G, told me. What do you think?”
“Oh, right . . . of course,” I said, wishing Jimmy G hadn’t shared our conversation with Mark.
“What kind of private detectives are you, anyway?” He pulled away from me. “That’s what I hired you for! But never mind! I’ll get it myself!” He barreled up the street. “And that means you won’t get any.”
“Mark!” I called after him, to no avail. “Mark!” I yelled as loud as I could, but he was already mounting the steps to city hall.
“I would not go in there just now!!” Pepe called to him.
Chapter 32
“Do you think we should go back in there and rescue him?” I asked Pepe, watching as Mark pulled the door open and marched inside.
“I think we should go enlist the help of our boss,” said Pepe.
The motel was only a few blocks from the city hall, and we hurried over there, looking back occasionally to see if Mark had emerged from the encounter, which I half expected.
Jimmy G was in his room. A great puff of cigar smoke floated out as he opened the door, along with the voice of Judge Judy, who was castigating some poor litigant on the TV.
“What’s up, doll?” Jimmy G asked, removing his cigar from his mouth.
“I just saw Mark Darling,” I said, “and I think he might need our help. He was going to confront Broadbent—”
“The third,” Pepe added.
“Don’t interrupt,” I said.
“Jimmy G wasn’t interrupting,” said our boss.
I decided to ignore both of them. “—and the guy was not in a good mood. Plus his office is full of guns.”
“And the stuffed heads of helpless animals that he slaughtered,” said Pepe, shivering.
“Hey, don’t you worry your pretty little head, sweetheart,” said our boss. “Mark Darling can take care of himself. Besides, he fired us.”
“What? How did that happen?” I asked.
“He stormed in all indignant because he said Jimmy G and his operatives weren’t doing their job. Jimmy G showed him that piece of paper you and your rat-dog had found up at the compound.”
�
�So that’s what set him off?” I asked.
“When he found out his wife had given twenty-five grand to this Broadbent character, he wanted to know why. Told him Jimmy G couldn’t read minds and maybe he should go talk to Dogawanda if he wanted an answer. That’s when he marched out of here and said if we weren’t going to do our jobs, he would do it for us!”
“That was our only piece of evidence,” I said.
“And we were doing our jobs,” Pepe said.
“Well, actually I think maybe we blew it,” I told Jimmy G. “I was questioning Broadbent, trying to get him to explain what the money was for and instead of getting information, I just got him all riled up.”
“Like poking a bear,” said Pepe.
“Funny metaphor,” I said, looking at my dog.
“Never did understand what ‘riled’ meant,” admitted Jimmy G. “So tell me more about your interrogation techniques.”
“Well, they came straight out of The Private Detective’s Bible,” I said. “You know, where you’re supposed to start out friendly and then drop in a zinger—”
Jimmy G cut me off. “You’re just too cute to use that technique, doll. Dames got to work the interview from a different angle. Use your feminine wiles. Get him eating out of your hand.”
“Well, if that is the case, then you really blew it, Geri,” Pepe said.
We headed back up to the ranch, leaving Jimmy G to deal with the brouhaha over the money orders.
When we arrived at the compound, I saw Felix’s car in the parking lot but it was empty. He and Tavo must have unloaded the wolf-dogs and perhaps they were putting them back in their pen.
I felt a little guilty about being gone for so long—at the beta level, Dogawandans were not supposed to leave the compound at all—but there was no one at the Beta Barn when I returned. I slipped into my new Dogawandan clothes and went out looking for them, meanwhile trying to think of a great excuse for my absence. The lack of caffeine was still bothering me, and I decided I would simply say I went into town to get some medicine for my headache.
The Big Chihuahua Page 14