“A jab from a tack actually was an attempted murder,” Baxter said.
“You do know I had nothing to do with that, right?” Karen asked both of us. “I mean, I know you saw my flowers, and the police took them in to their lab to examine them further. But no matter what the tests show, it wasn’t me who tried to hurt John.”
“I’m sure of that,” I said. In truth, I wasn’t completely sure, but of anyone I’d met at the Creede Repertory Theatre, I considered her the least likely to be guilty.
“John’s a personal friend of yours, right, Baxter?”
“He was. I guess he still is. Can’t say I have a whole lot of respect for how he cheated in order to win ownership of Flint.”
“I know. That was pretty disturbing. I don’t think that would have ever come out, except for the police investigation and all.” She gave Baxter a sympathetic smile. “John can be a great guy. When his ambition doesn’t get in his way. It probably has something to do with his childhood.”
“He had a rough childhood?” I asked.
She shook her head. “That’s just me, playing amateur psychologist. I only met him a few months ago when I auditioned. I know next to nothing about his childhood. Common knowledge about all of us actors is that we felt deprived as kids...that we were so love-starved, we need the fix of an audience’s applause.”
“Do you know Sam Geller personally?” I asked.
“No.” She studied my features. “Why do you ask?”
I gazed at Flint. He was sniffing the ground and the air, happily keeping ahead of us. “For Flint’s benefit. I’d like to know whether or not John’s claim that Sam is the one sabotaging the dog’s performances has any validity.”
“I think someone acted irrationally...in the heat of the moment,” Karen said. “I can picture someone being so mad at John, they grabbed a tack from the corkboard, jabbed it into the stem of the Monkshood, and affixed it to the sleeve. But I honestly don’t have any idea who.”
“Sam never grumbled to you or to your fellow cast members about how little he thought of Sam?”
She shook her head. “He’s not much of a talker.” She grimaced. “He’s more the...silent ogler type.”
“He ogles you?” I asked, alarmed. I’d enjoyed his company today.
“During costume changes. Sometimes you really don’t have much time for modesty. And we’re always wearing underwear. He probably watches because he’s a newbie to theater.”
“Does John strike you as a good dog owner?” Baxter asked, somewhat surprising me. Maybe he was souring on John Morris as much as I was.
“Absolutely,” Karen answered. “He always treats Flint well. In my presence, at least.”
Our incline grew steeper. I was beginning to get nervous. I needed to talk to get my mind off this incline. “Did Flint ever appear to be stressed because John was near?”
“Well, he was panting quite a bit when he was backstage during his performances. But not during his rehearsals. So I don’t know what that was about.” She grimaced. “It seemed like classic stage fright to me.”
“Did he ever appear to be drugged...dazed or anything?”
“No, I just...can’t say. I was in my character’s head. Even when I’m backstage, I’m trying to stay in character. During a performance, I’m always looking at him as if he was my new husband’s fondest other. When—”
She broke off and cried, “Whoa!”
Flint suddenly went into hyper-drive, trying to race up the slope. Karen was jerked off balance and lost her grip on the leash. “Wait! Stop!” she hollered.
“Flint, Come,” I called. “Come, Flint!”
Pavlov, too, started straining against her leash and whining, which was unlike her. Baxter was having to put his full strength into keeping ahold of her leash. She paused to sniff at a rock, near where Flint had decided to bolt.
Karen chased Flint up the slope. I was frozen, helplessly yelling, “Come!” The rim was just a few strides away.
There was a red stain on a portion of the rock that had darkened the sandy ground alongside it.
“Is that blood?” I asked Baxter, as I stared at the reddish splatter on the ground and the rock.
Baxter was too busy holding Pavlov back from charging ahead to look.
“Pavlov, sit,” I said. She stopped pulling and sat down, though she continued to whine. I took the leash from Baxter and wrapped it once around the narrow trunk of an aspen tree, to make sure I could prevent her from pulling free from my grasp.
Flint was barking continuously. He had stopped at the highest elevation—at what must be the rim that John had felt was too treacherous for Flint to get near.
“Karen, wait,” Baxter said. “Let me get Flint. Stay with Allie.”
Flint had stopped just twenty yards or so ahead of us. “Flint, come!” I called once again. He made no move to obey me. He gave me just one glance and then turned his head back to the mine entrance. A second later he took a wide-legged stance and barked at me.
“Something is up there. He wants us to come see,” I said, thinking out loud.
Karen returned, and I had her grab the handle of Pavlov’s leash, in case Pavlov chose to zip around the tree and unwrap it. I followed Baxter partway up the incline, needing to be careful not to get too dizzy.
Baxter raced up to where Flint was standing. He grabbed Flint’s leash and stood staring into the pit below.
“Aw, crap. A man’s down there. I think he’s dead. He’s not moving at all.” He seemed to sag as he continued to stare. “Call nine-one-one,” Baxter called to Karen.
“It’s not John, is it?” I asked, climbing toward him.
He shook his head and took a couple of steps toward me. “Wait there,” he said.
I was confident I could meet him halfway. “It’s not a steep drop off, is it?”
Flint stopped to tinkle. Baxter shook his head. “Less than ten feet, and it’s graded. I need to get down there, though. He could need CPR.”
“There’s no signal—no cell coverage here,” Karen said.
I took a deep breath and strode to where Baxter stood. I took two more steps, and took a glimpse at the supine figure below us, his head cranked to one side, his neck at an unnatural angle.
I returned to Baxter’s side and grabbed his arm. “That’s Sam.”
Chapter 13
“It isn’t anybody we know, is it?” Karen asked. She continued to hold Pavlov’s leash.
We pretended not to hear her question.
My head was spinning. This all felt too hideous to bear. We had been on a simple hike with the dogs! Sam had been alive and well just an hour or two ago. Maybe none of this would have transpired if I hadn’t told Karen that there were highly toxic flowers in her bouquet from an anonymous fan.
Baxter said in a half-shout, “Flint, heel.”
I stared again at the body, willing my eyes to stop seeing that this was really happening. My vision swam. “There’s something in his hand,” I said, so woozy now that I took a seat on the hard-packed dirt. I sunk my face into my knees.
“Yeah. It looks like it’s a small piece of cloth,” Baxter said.
“I’m going down there,” he said, breaking into my silent self-flagellation. “He could still be alive. You’ve got to hold onto Flint’s leash and keep him up here. Okay?”
I sat up and took the leash handle. Flint sat down beside me, panting. I tried to take deep, even breaths.
Baxter’s footfalls were noisy as he descended the hardscrabble slope. “It’s plaid,” he said. I knew at once that he was talking about the piece of cloth in Sam Geller’s hand. “A light-brown plaid.”
“Damn it,” I muttered to myself. John had been wearing a light-brown plaid shirt today.
“Are you okay?” Karen called up to me.
“Fine. Baxter’s checking to see if the man is still alive,” I answered. “We’ll come down soon. Please just keep Palov with you.”
Baxter made his way back up to Flint and me. “He�
�s dead. I’m going to stand guard. You and Karen need to get the police up here. Bring the dogs back to town with you.”
He helped me to my feet.
“Are you steady enough to walk?” he asked.
I avoided his gaze. I needed to just keep going. Block my feelings. Get help. “I’m fine.” I started to trudge down toward Karen.
“Allie,” Baxter said. “It’s John’s pocket. Sam’s holding John’s pocket. But he wouldn’t have done this. I don’t see any footprints near Sam, but the killer could have covered them up, after planting John’s shirt pocket. Somebody must have framed John.”
I managed a feeble nod. I led Flint to rejoin Karen and Pavlov.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
I nodded.
“Does your cell phone have any coverage?” she asked.
I pulled it out of my pocket and glanced at it. “No signal bars,” I said. “We need to head toward town until we can get a signal.”
We began to walk side by side. She studied my features. “It’s someone we know, isn’t it?”
“Yes. It’s Sam Geller.”
She hesitated for a moment, then continued to trudge beside me. The dogs were flanking us, silent now, no longer tugging on their leashes.
“Allie...this is all just.... It’s not right. None of this is right. This theater has been producing plays every summer for more than fifty years. We’re just doing an amusing little play about a dog wanting to reunite his owners.”
“I know. I was thinking the same thing.”
After a heavy silence, she asked, “Would John have killed Sam over their dispute with his play?”
“I don’t know. I hope not.” But that’s sure how it looked. “Baxter thinks the killer was trying to frame John.”
“Maybe it was an accident?” she said as if asking a hopeful question.
I gave no reply. I couldn’t envision John and Sam walking along the rim, arguing, then Sam clutching John’s pocket as he fell. If that had happened, he would have called the police, and they’d be here.
Was the bloody rock the killer’s bludgeon? Why was it so far from the rim? The ground didn’t look as if Sam’s body had been dragged to the edge of the pit—after he’d been knocked unconscious. Could he have hit his head, then staggered up the incline, and fallen into the rocky pit? After having grabbed John’s shirt pocket earlier?
“If it’s a frame-up, that’s maybe even worse news,” Karen said. “It’s got to be someone we know, who had it out for both of them.”
Karen and I trotted down the path in a dark silence. We kept checking the bars on our phones to see if we were within signal range. We had probably only gone a couple hundred yards or so before we got a strong enough signal to place a 911 call, which I made. I gave the dispatcher my name and said that Baxter McClelland had found the body of Sam Geller when we were hiking on a trail to Inspiration Point.
“No, we left the trail to Inspiration Point,” Karen corrected. “We’re in North Creede.”
“Sorry. My friend Karen says we’re in North Creede. We found Sam’s body in an open mining pit.”
“Can you tell me precisely where you found the body?”
My heart was pounding and I was starting to lose my temper. I wanted to scream at her that there couldn’t be all that many open mining pits near North Creede.
“Can you talk to the dispatcher?” I asked Karen and thrust my phone at her. “She needs you to describe Sam’s precise location.”
Karen answered questions for a minute or two, then asked, “Can you hear me?” three times, before hanging up. “We lost the signal,” Karen told me.
“Let’s go rejoin Baxter and wait for the police.”
We walked in silence and spotted Baxter standing guard at the rim. He turned to face us when Pavlov gave him a little yip in greeting.
“We got through to nine-one-one,” Karen told him. “The sheriff will be here soon.”
Pavlov whined again, and I released her from her heel and let go of her leash. She promptly went over to Baxter’s side and leaned against him. I probably should have done the same thing. Instead I stayed put, feeling miserable about myself and the horror of a human being lying dead just below my vision. I wanted to be whisked back in time to yesterday morning, so that I could decide not to come to Creede after all.
A pair of officers arrived within fifteen minutes. Sergeant Caulfield explained that they’d parked at the trailhead. A second group arrived, none of them in uniform. After we explained that we’d gone on a hike and discovered the body, the sergeant said he’d drive us into town and take our statements at the station house and would then return us to the theater. The three of us and the two dogs weren’t going to fit easily into one car. Baxter quickly said he and Pavlov could wait and ride down later, while Karen, Flint, and I went down in another vehicle.
Karen started crying in the police car. “You okay, miss?” the officer asked.
She shook her head. “I just can’t believe this is happening. Sam was just... one of those people you see every day and ignore. He’s the guy that’s always one step away from being a drunken homeless guy. All he needed was a break.” She looked at me. “We were only just now talking about him. I feel terrible.”
“Because you didn’t like him?” the officer asked.
“Because I didn’t think highly enough of him to get to know him. He wasn’t an actor, or writer, or designer. Not anybody who fit into my circle of friends. It’s like I’d already decided he wasn’t important enough to befriend.”
“Apparently somebody figured he deserved to be killed. Looks like he tore someone’s pocket off before he fell. Did either of you recognize the cloth in his grasp?” the officer asked.
Karen and I exchanged glances. “I’m pretty sure it was a pocket ripped off the shirt that John Morris was wearing,” I said, realizing even as I spoke that I was fudging. It was John’s shirt pocket.
I felt like crying myself. I was being a terrible girlfriend. Baxter was reeling at the enormity of what we’d just discovered. As bad as it was for Karen and me, it had to be twice as painful for Baxter, knowing John was so likely to be the prime suspect. Yet I’d left him to wait up there to ride down by himself. Still, at least he had Pavlov with him. She would be his loyal companion no matter what transpired.
Karen got through her individual interview much faster than Baxter or I did. She volunteered to take Flint with her to the theater, assuming there was still going to be a performance that night. I refused to let Flint leave my side, however. I was unwilling to risk John giving him yet another tranquilizer.
It was after six p.m. by the time we arrived at the theater. The lobby was empty. The ticket taker said to us, “The staff is in the auditorium. We’ve had terrible news tonight.”
I merely nodded. Baxter thanked her and opened the door for me. Flint maintained a heel position.
The first person I saw as we walked down the aisle was John. He was sitting on the edge of the stage. His eyes were huge. He looked like a frightened little boy. Sally sat beside him, rubbing his back. He was now wearing a preppy-looking black, short-sleeved golf shirt. Beside me, Flint’s tail was wagging at the sight of his owner, but he stayed put. I could see the backs of heads of the three other actors, seated in the front row. Felicity, too, was sitting beside them. Valerie was pacing in the space between the stage and the front row, speaking quietly into her cell phone. As she neared the far wall and turned to face us, she nodded at us and gave us both a sympathetic-looking smile.
Baxter and I stopped at the foot of the aisle, and both dogs sat down beside us.
John looked at me. “Is it true that Sam had the pocket he tore off my shirt in his hand?”
“How did you hear that?” I asked.
“The wife of a rescue volunteer told Valerie,” Sally answered on his behalf. She rose and hoisted herself up to sit beside him on the stage.
John sighed. He swiped at his brow. He looked as if he was having a panic attack.
“Obviously it is true. I didn’t kill him. I went to apologize to him. He said he was meeting someone up in North Creede, which is as big as a nickel-and-dime store, so I drove up there. I figured it’d be best if we talked things through in private, right away, rather than let things fester. It looked like he was waiting for someone...up by the ‘Keep Off’ sign near the strip mine. He started shouting at me right away to get the hell away from him. I grabbed his shoulder just to get him to stay put and listen. He yelled, “Let go of me,” and ripped my pocket off. He threw it down and marched off. I left it there and headed back to my car. That’s the truth. The whole truth. Swear to God.”
“The investigators will be able to find evidence at the site,” Baxter said. “Footprints. DNA.”
John was staring at the floor, shaking his head the whole time Baxter was speaking. “I’m going to be arrested. I know it. I’ve hired a lawyer, and we’re going to go to the sheriff station and tell them what really happened.”
“That sounds wise,” I said, thinking that he had ample reason to worry that the police would consider him a prime suspect.
He looked at Baxter for the first time. “Bax, will you come with me? Just to be there? I could use a little support.”
Baxter looked at me without answering.
Just then, Valerie ended her phone conversation with a “Yep,” and turned it off. “Under the circumstances, John,” she said gently, “wouldn’t it be best if Allie and Baxter were both here to help out at tonight’s performance? Allie will be able to give Flint his cues as we’d already planned. Baxter can handle any interruptions.”
“Interruptions?” John repeated.
“If the sheriff needs more information during the performance from the four of you who were...in Sam’s vicinity.”
John pushed himself off the stage and stood next to Valerie. “I don’t want Flint to perform when I’m not here, Valerie. I want to use Pavlov. We’ll be better off that way.”
“How will we be better off?” I asked. “I want to complete what I came here to do, John. Flint is ready, and if you’re right that Sam was behind the problems on stage, he’ll do perfectly well tonight.”
Dog Drama Page 12