The Big Chihuahua (14 page)

“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 just 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 C
OIFFURES BY
C
ARRIE.
The second one, which was a faded peach color, had a sign hanging above the front steps reading F
RANK
F
ORREST
, 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.

“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 associate 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.

“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.”

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 O
FFICE OF THE
M
AYOR—
H
ENRY
“H
ANK
” D
AVENPORT
. 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, W
ELCOME CONSTITUENTS
! C
OME ON IN AND SAY HI TO
B
ARRY
!

“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.