Dog Drama

by Leslie O'Kane

  “Is there an older ghost and a younger ghost, then?” I asked.

  The waitress shook her head. “They’re both former actresses who died in Creede,” she said, “but they’ve never been seen together, so it’s impossible to say which spirit is still here.”

  “Can’t you tell by her clothing?” Baxter asked.

  She studied his face for a moment, as if hesitating to see if he was just playing along. “It’s not a solid apparition. At least not for me. I see her outline sometimes. Mostly it’s just like...a temperature shift. And she rattles and bangs things in the kitchen sometimes.”

  Baxter chuckled a little.

  “I’m serious. I close down the place most nights, and at least a third of the time, I hear her making noise in the empty kitchen.”

  “Could be rats,” Baxter said. “Or a feral cat, chasing mice.”

  The waitress arched an eyebrow. “I once saw her stirring a pot. The spoon was floating in air.”

  Baxter said nothing and took a swig of his ale.

  “I’ve been hired to help train the canine actor playing Blue,” I said. “I’ve been thinking that it’s not out of the range of possibility that lingering spirits in the building are throwing him off track.”

  “If you ask me, I’m positive the ghost has been throwing off the dog’s performance. They’re more sensitive to the spirits from the other world than we people are.”

  I nudged Baxter’s leg with my foot. “See?” I gave him a triumphant smile. “That’s exactly what I’ve been telling Baxter, here.”

  “You’re a believer,” she said with a nod.

  “Sort of. I’m not a believer when it comes to ghosts that haunt places and throw things and try to scare people. But I do believe we have souls that can be separated from our corporal bodies after we die. And I think if the majority of a collective consciousness of a community believes there is a ghost in the theater that inhabits this whole building, it does exist.”

  “Could be,” she said with a shrug. “Would you like me to bring—”

  She broke off, and just then, I felt ice cold for just a couple of seconds. I looked at Baxter and he, too, crossed his arms as if to warm himself.

  “Hah! There you go,” the waitress said. “See what I mean?”

  Baxter and I both looked at each other in bewilderment. Then we had to grin. There was no chance that a chill breeze had just happened by; it hadn’t been moving air, but rather an enveloping sense of coldness.

  Baxter looked at the ceiling, no doubt searching for a swamp-cooler vent. I followed his gaze. The ceiling was solid. “I’m impressed,” Baxter said, returning his gaze to mine.

  “And I’m convinced.”

  “The ghost is a dog lover,” the waitress said. “My Alfie gets along great with her. Can I get you anything else?”

  “Just the check,” Baxter said.

  We downed our drinks, left cash on the table, and started to head back to the hotel. We almost literally bumped into Greg Gulliver on the sidewalk. He gave us an odd smile and said, “Oh, hey! How’s it going? You’re not still working, are you?”

  “No, we were just enjoying a night out,” I said. He shot a nervous glance over our shoulders. I turned to see if someone was right behind us, but the sidewalk was empty. I realized he was probably wondering about Flint and Pavlov. “We left the dogs to fend for themselves.”

  “Their such good dogs, I’m sure they do a great job of...self-fending.” His voice faded. He was acting surprisingly uncomfortable, which made me feel a little awkward as well.

  “Do you have a dog?” I asked.

  “I wish. I travel too often. I doubt I could even give a goldfish enough attention.”

  “You’re a full-time actor, then?” And living alone, I assumed.

  “I’m a temporary full-time actor. I sometimes teach, sometimes wait tables. This play, though, has been giving me some ideas for finding another part-time job. Since I work nights and am off during the day, I could be a dog walker in Denver.”

  “Hey, I’ve got a friend in Boulder who’s got a dog-walking business,” Baxter said. “I can get you his card.”

  “You don’t think it’d count against me that I have a spotty employment record, do you?” Greg asked him.

  “I’m not sure, but my guess is the fact that you’re an actor would immediately explain gaps in your work history. I think they’d just want to know you’re dependable and can be trusted with the keys to clients homes and so forth. ”

  It was too dark to tell for sure, but he appeared to wince. He might have been worried that his record of vehicular homicide would be a deal breaker.

  “Here,” Baxter said, grabbing his phone. “I’ll just forward you a couple of contacts on my—”

  “That’s okay. Let me knock the idea around in my head for a while first.”

  “Are you heading to the theater?” I asked.

  “No, it’s not open. I was going for a walk is all. I’m such a night owl, thanks to my professional schedule. I need to get out and get a little exercise, or I can’t ever get to sleep.”

  “I know what you mean,” Baxter said. “Allie and I like to take the dogs out for a walk before we turn in.”

  “Good talking to you.

  Just then, Valerie came out of the front door to the theater. I caught just a glimpse of her before she ducked back in.

  “Valerie must be working late,” I said.

  “I guess so,” Greg said.

  “Either that, or she really didn’t want to see us,” Baxter said. “She looked like she’d deliberately changed her mind about leaving the theater when she saw us.”

  “She wouldn’t do that. But something might be wrong. I should probably go check. See you tomorrow.” Greg strode toward the theater.

  “That was odd,” I said quietly as we once again started heading toward the hotel. “I get the impression that Valerie and Gregory have some kind of a date scheduled tonight and don’t want to be found out.”

  Baxter gave no reply.

  Just as we’d reached the front door of our hotel, a gunshot resounded.

  Chapter 20

  “Was that gunshot from the theater?” I asked Baxter.

  “Maybe. Or the sound could have been right by the cliffs and just reverberated.”

  A man—probably Greg but it was too dark to tell—bolted through the theater doors. A woman followed on his heels, and I was guessing that was Valerie. The man stopped on the sidewalk as the woman trotted across the street. “What’s going on?” he called down to us—definitely Greg’s deep voice. “Did you see anything?”

  “No,” Baxter called back.

  “Something’s going on at the theatre housing,” Valerie exclaimed. Greg trotted across the street to follow her.

  “Wait for me in the hotel room,” Baxter said.

  “No, I’m going, too.”

  We quickly traversed the two blocks to the housing units. We arrived in time to hear Valerie shout, “Hammond! What the hell do you think you’re doing!”

  Hammond lifted his hands, one of which was holding a pistol. “It’s just a blank, everybody. I was just goofing around.”

  “What the hell, Hammond!” Valerie cried again. “What’s the matter with you!”

  “There was a woodpecker driving me nuts, so I shot at him with a stage bullet.”

  “You fired at it right over my head,” Karen shouted, stamping her foot. “You could have hurt me!”

  “Sorry. I didn’t see you standing there. I was half asleep and not thinking straight.”

  “Now you’ve got all the dogs in town awake and howling,” Karen said.

  There were indeed many barks and howls in the background.

  “But I scared the woodpecker off. It’s not a total loss.” Hammond gazed at Karen. “What were you doing out here in the pitch black anyway?”

  “I was just chatting on my cell phone, trying to get better reception.”

  “Chatting with whom?”

  �
��My fiancé, not that it’s any of your business.”

  “You have a fiancé?” Greg asked.

  “Oh, dear God, Michael,” Hammond said to Greg, using his character’s name. “You’re sweet on her, aren’t you! We cannot handle another real-life couple in this production.” He was overacting and clowning with exaggerated motions. His antics were doing a wonderful job of lightening the mood, I had to admit.

  Valerie, however, stamped her foot again. “Hammond. You’ve stayed here countless times over the years. This property belongs to the theater, and you know full well guns are strictly prohibited in the apartments.”

  “So sorry, my dear. Bad judgment.”

  “You can say that again!” Valerie snarled. “I’m supposed to expel you from the premises. Immediately. Read the accommodations clause in your freaking contract if you don’t believe me!”

  “I’m sorry, Valerie. Bringing a gun here was a stupid mistake. What with Sam Geller getting killed and everything, I wanted a little extra protection.”

  “In case of a homicidal woodpecker?!” Karen asked.

  “In case I needed to scare someone off the premises. I wanted to protect you and Sally!” He snorted. “Though I should have realized Sally still wasn’t going to be around,” he said under his breath. “But, folks, like I said, it’s just loaded with blanks.”

  “Which can still be lethal, if you hold it against someone’s head,” Karen said.

  “Here.” He thrust the gun at Valerie. “Take it back to the prop room.”

  “It came from the prop room?” she asked.

  “Yeah. I saw it there a couple of days ago. I decided to scare off the woodpecker once and for all. And anyway, you should see what he’s doing to your eaves. Since you’re trying to protect the property and all.”

  “You didn’t know there was a gun on hand?” I asked Valerie.

  “No. We don’t stockpile guns, we just acquire them on loan...and keep them locked up in a cabinet...when we happen to be staging a play that calls for a firearm. It shouldn’t have been there. None of our productions this season call for a gun.”

  “Maybe John was getting so frustrated with the script he ordered it,” Hammond said. “He could brandish it about during rehearsals and threaten to shoot us.”

  Karen clicked her tongue. “It was probably just unclaimed from one of last year’s productions.”

  “We didn’t need a gun last year, either,” Valerie said. “And we overhaul the storage room at the end of every season. This gun was not in the storage room when we first opened the season. I’m one-hundred-percent certain of that.”

  Hammond held up his empty palms. “Regardless, Valerie, I have relinquished the pistol and promise to never shoot at an obnoxious woodpecker again.”

  Valerie sighed. She truly seemed to be in a horrible mood. “Let’s all just go home, and we’ll deal with this in the morning. I, for one, have better things to be doing than standing in the dark and yammering. Meanwhile, Hammond, you’d better call the police and explain why some moron discharged a firearm in downtown Creede, or we’ll be getting late-night visits from the sheriff once again.”

  Valerie pivoted and marched away. Greg was rocking on his heels. “I was about to take a nighttime stroll. I think I’ll go home and have a nightcap instead.” He strode toward what I assumed was his apartment. “Anyone care to join me?”

  “No thanks, Greg, but sleep well,” Karen said. “I’m going straight to bed.”

  Only Hammond was left outside with Baxter and me.

  “I guess Sally must be staying at John’s tonight, which means he’s not in a jail cell,” Hammond said in what was a clear annoyance to him. “No accounting for taste.” He patted both Baxter’s and my shoulder. “Good night, you dog handlers. If only you could morph into people handlers, we’d be doing a whole lot better.” His breath was so heavy with alcohol, I turned my face away.

  Baxter wished him a good night, then he and I walked back to the hotel in silence. We took the dogs out on leashes, waiting with our matching green bags in what we termed Double Poop Patrol Duty.

  “Jeez, Allie. I’m starting to think I couldn’t have done worse by you than to drag you up here for this fricking assignment.”

  “On the other hand, there hasn’t been a dull moment since we arrived.”

  “Meanwhile, someone on the staff, cast, or crew brought in a handgun.” Apparently he was having nothing of my attempt to cheer him. “Maybe John is still alive only because he got arrested so quickly. Maybe the gun was brought to the theater by the killer because the poison wasn’t strong enough.”

  “If that’s true,” I said, “wouldn’t it also be true that Sam would still be alive?”

  “John’s innocent,” he said under his breath.

  “I’m losing my confidence in that being true,” I said quietly.

  “I can see why. I just think we’re going in opposite directions.”

  “Let’s have a heart-to-heart discussion with him when John gets home tomorrow. Maybe that will prove enlightening and give us the answers we need.”

  Baxter snorted. “The way our luck has been going, the closest thing to anything enlightening is a bolt of lightning that takes us all out.”

  ***

  Not fifteen minutes later, someone knocked on our hotel door. I could tell by Flint’s wagging tail who it was. I had been searching for reviews on the play and had found one that I was just about to discuss with Baxter, who was about to climb into bed.

  “Has to be John,” Baxter said as we both headed to the door. He was in his striped pajama bottoms; I was still fully dressed.

  As I swept open the door, John was rocking on his heel. “Sorry to drop in on you so late. I saw your lights were on, though.” He grinned at Flint and started petting him. It was high time he showed his wonderful dog a little affection.

  “Come on in,” I said.

  We took seats in our tiny living room, Baxter and I on the sofa, John turning one of the two kitchen-table chairs to face us.

  “I was granted bail this morning,” he said. “You probably got my text. I’ve been keeping a low profile today. Trying to make a plan.” His brief smile for Flint was gone. He looked utterly disheartened. “My lawyer says I have a couple of months until the trial comes up. I don’t know what to do. I can hire a private investigator to help find evidence to prove my innocence. It just...really looks bad, though.”

  “Yes, it does,” I said.

  “Hang in there, John,” Baxter said, giving me the briefest of sharp looks.

  Despite Baxter’s disapproval, I couldn’t simply ignore my suspicions. “I have to ask...did you scramble with Flint’s training yourself?”

  “Of course not. Why would I want to do a stupid thing like that? Screw up my own play?”

  “I was searching for reviews of Good Dog, Blue! a few minutes ago. I found an article in the Post. It had an interview with you talking about how much the audience loved the dog’s miscues and how well-rehearsed the actors are at responding to the dog’s antics.”

  He furrowed his brow and hesitated. “Right. They called me out of nowhere, and I had to talk up my work. What I was supposed to do? Admit that the play was a disaster?”

  “Actually, she mentioned in the piece that you had contacted her initially.”

  John shook his head. “That’s misleading. After I’d heard it was going to be written up, so I went on the offense to help control the story.”

  I held his gaze, and he could see I wasn’t buying it.

  “Damn it all. Okay, yes, Allie. But it wasn’t my idea. Not entirely. I was following Valerie’s orders.”

  “When I ask Valerie about this tomorrow, she’ll tell me was upon her orders?”

  He grimaced a little and shifted his gaze to Baxter, whose arms were crossed. His expression hinted that he was ready to spit nails at John. “We were brainstorming. It was a mutual decision, but considering she’s my boss, yeah. It’s not like I would’ve done this without her s
upport. She likes the SRO sellouts. I like the publicity. And I was doing you guys a favor. I figured you’d have a free vacation and lots of publicity to increase your profitability.”

  “That’s bullshit,” Baxter said.

  “I swear, bro. That’s what I was thinking. You guys could come up and work with the dog so nobody would suspect I was...gaming the system a little by getting free publicity.”

  “And how did Sam Geller figure into the situation?” Baxter asked. “Did you tell him to use a high-pitched squeaky toy to throw off Flint?”

  “What are you talking about?” John asked.

  Baxter glanced at me, and I shook my head just slightly. I didn’t want John to know about Felicity’s agreement with Sam.

  “I found the toy in a seat cushion in the theater,” Baxter said, “with Allie’s and Pavlov’s help.”

  “I didn’t know anything about that. I swear. How did you know it was Sam who put it there?”

  “He’d been repairing the seats,” I interjected.

  John hesitated, then said, “Look. I figured Sam would catch on that I was giving Flint the wrong cues. So, yeah, that’s what we argued about. But I swear to God I didn’t go after him.” His gaze darted from me to Baxter and back. “You need to see this from my side. I got Sam the job, and I tried to cut him in so that it was in his best interest to keep his mouth shut and do his job. Obviously he couldn’t manage. He was sabotaging my play even so.”

  “Which you were already doing intentionally,” I retorted. “So, why hire us to make it seem like we’d ‘cured’ Flint from his antics? Why not let Sam be your puppet in this whole freaking charade of yours?”

  John stared at the floor. He was taking turns massaging one fist and then the other with a free hand. Watching him, I wondered if he was thinking he’d get into a fistfight with Baxter over his sorry tale. “Sam was a loose cannon. I knew from the get-go that he hated me. And making Flint appear to have stage fright was the only way I could have gotten that article about my play in the Denver Post. I planned to have just three or four botched performances. And then give you all the credit.”

  I cursed under my breath.

  “I still think Sam jerry-rigged those lights to fall at some point. I wanted to make sure there was no chance he had to perform again until I got the chance to get Sam the hell away from my dog, once and for all.”