Candidate for Murder Page 13

  “Actually, Ms. Braxton, he can,” Erin said. “He’ll put his paw on an ink pad and then press it onto the signature line.” There was a tension-filled silence during which Dallas assumed that Nancy was firing a deadly glare. “I heard one of the experts answer that very question on one of the news channels.”

  “Whose side are you really on, Erin?” Nancy Braxton’s tone was so low and threatening that Dallas felt a cold chill go both up and down her back.

  Erin’s voice shook. “Yours, of course, Ms. Braxton.”

  “Then why are you even suggesting that that damn fleabag could possibly be mayor?” There was a loud crash inside the room as something hit the wall. “It’s my turn! My turn! My turn!”

  “Nancy—” a male voice said. The voice was cut off by the sound of someone’s face being slapped.

  “George! You traitor! You promised me! This race, it’s my turn to win!”

  “And you can win,” George said. “All we have to do is discredit Gnarly.”

  “How can a dog be discredited?”

  “He’s a German shepherd.”

  “So!” Nancy said with a scoff. “Everyone knows that.”

  “German,” George repeated. “Not American. German.”

  Nancy let out a girlish squeal. “If he’s German, then he’s not American, which means he’s not qualified to run for office!”

  There was an evil tone in George’s laughter. “We’ll demand that Gnarly produce his birth certificate to prove he’s an American citizen.”

  “Do they even issue birth certificates for dogs?” Nancy asked.

  “No,” George answered with a wicked laugh. “So they can’t prove he’s an American citizen.”

  A shout inside the room caused Dallas to jump away from the doorway and search to see if anyone had discovered her eavesdropping. Seeing no one and recognizing that the shout had come from Erin, Dallas tiptoed back toward the doorway. She then heard Erin excitedly announce a discovery that was going to turn Nancy Braxton’s campaign for mayor around.

  “Man, you will not believe it! They say that everyone has skeletons in their closet—but, man! ‘A dog?’ I thought. What kind of dirt could a dog possibly have in his closet? But I went digging—”

  “You got something on Gnarly?” George Ward asked.

  Erin’s voice moved closer to the doorway. Dallas thought that she was possibly taking center stage for her announcement. “Man! Did I ever! One of my sources just came through!“

  The slam of the door cut Dallas off from the news.

  Unable to hear the gem of news they had uncovered, she snatched her cell phone from her bag and ran for the stairwell.

  David picked up her call on the third ring. “Hey, darling, are Bogie and Gnarly ready for the debate?”

  “Maybe not,” she said while running down the stairs to the grand ballroom. “What skeleton does Gnarly have in his past?”

  “What skeleton?”

  “The one he’s been hidin’ in his closet.” She slipped through the door to enter the corridor, which was filled with potential voters anxious to see the new candidate in action. Many were wearing “Vote for Gnarly” shirts and hats. “Nancy Braxton’s team has been digging into Gnarly’s past and found something that has her very excited. What is it? I need to give Bogie a heads-up.”

  She slipped through the door to enter the corridor, which was filled with potential voters anxious to see the new candidate in action. Many were wearing “Vote for Gnarly” shirts and hats. “Nancy Braxton’s team has been digging into Gnarly’s past and found something that has her very excited. What is it? I need to give Bogie a heads-up.”

  David stammered. “A few stints as a pickpocket, a couple of purse snatchings, some shoplifting, and a misdemeanor cat burglary—but no one pressed charges. And there’s that dishonorable discharge from the army, but they won’t discuss that with anyone.”

  “Dishonorable discharge?”

  “But even I haven’t been able to uncover what that was for. How could Braxton find that out? I mean—Gnarly’s a dog. What could he have done?”

  “I have a feeling we’re about to find out.”

  In his private room at the hospital, Mac Faraday was in a drug-induced sleep. Oxygen tubes had been stuck up his nose to help him breathe.

  As she sat next to his bed, Archie stared at Mac, watching for any sign that he was getting better or worse. David and Jessica were sitting at the foot of the bed. Murphy was asleep in a chair in a corner of the room.

  After overhearing David’s discussion and seeing the concern on his face, Jessica watched him disconnect the call and look down at the phone in his hand as if it would provide the answers he needed. “What’s wrong? Bad news from Dallas?”

  “Maybe,” David said in a low voice. “One of Gnarly’s opponents has dug up something from his past that could be used to smear him.”

  “What? What could Gnarly have in his past?” Jessica asked.

  “Everyone knows he’s a thief,” Archie said. “Must be from when he was in the army.”

  “But that’s classified,” David said. “I tried to find out what he did to get a dishonorable discharge, and I couldn’t. How could they have done it?”

  “It’s politics,” Jessica said. “If the bosses want their candidate to win badly enough, all they have to do is go up the line to their big bosses on Capitol Hill and ask them to open up the file.”

  “Well, we need to find out what’s in Gnarly’s past so that we can head this off,” David said.

  “I’m way ahead of you.” Jessica jumped up out of her chair and crossed the room. She bent over Murphy and kissed him on the cheek. He stirred and let out a pleased moan at the touch of her lips. “Wake up, sweet cheeks. It’s time to go to work.”

  Off of the stage area in the grand ballroom at the Spencer Inn, Bogie was trying to extract instructions about what to do at the debate from the moderator.

  A chubby young woman who had graduated from college with a degree in journalism only a few years before, Salma Rameriz was already the producer of a local news program. Pugnacious and aggressive about her views, she was making a name for herself in the political arena. From the debates he had attended, Bogie was well aware that Rameriz didn’t know the meaning of the word “objective” when it came to political debates.

  A devoted Nancy Braxton supporter, Salma Rameriz would likely play patty-cake with Nancy during the debate and throw as many knockout punches to Bill Clark and Gnarly as the audience would let her get away with.

  “We’re going to pick numbers to see who’ll go first,” Salma Rameriz said to Bogie as they went over the schedule on her tablet.

  Kneeling next to them, Dallas was brushing Gnarly from head to toe. Seeming to sense the seriousness of what was about to happen, Gnarly sat up tall with his ears erect—until his snout picked up the scent of a goody in Salma’s briefcase, which she had placed at her feet.

  Seeing that the moderator was preoccupied with giving detailed instructions to Bogie, Gnarly casually dug around in the bag with his snout.

  Ah! He had hit the mother lode! With a shake of his head, he managed to shake the last half of a granola bar from its wrapper and then dropped down to snatch the goody from the floor.

  Bogie only caught sight of the misdeed a split second before Gnarly gulped down the snack. When Salma turned to pick up her bag, he let out a call and grabbed her arm. “I have one last question!”

  “What’s that?” Salma turned back to him just in time for Dallas to grab the wrapper and stick it into her own handbag.

  “What if Gnarly has to go pee?” Bogie asked.

  “He is housebroken, isn’t he?” Salma’s eyebrows furrowed. “Then you or one of his people will take him outside if he has to go.” Scoffing at what she considered to be a less than intelligent question, she picked up her briefcase and went to
the table that had been set up for the two journalists tasked with asking questions of the mayoral candidates.

  Satisfied that Gnarly was as handsome as he could be, Dallas rose to her feet.

  “Any word from David about what they may have on Gnarly?” Bogie asked her.

  She shook her head. “Nothing. But he said that he has a source who might be able to find out for us.”

  Bogie looked down into Gnarly’s eyes. “Old boy, what did you do?”

  Sensing that they were worried and that he was the source of their concern, Gnarly’s eyes softened. His ears fell back in a plea for mercy.

  There was a scurry of excitement as Doc Washington hurried through the crowd to make her way to them. She was carrying a digital camcorder in her hand. “I hope I’m not too late.” She kissed Bogie on the lips and knelt to kiss Gnarly on the head. “I’m going to record everything and stream it live to Jessica so that they can see it in Mac’s hospital room.”

  Dallas caught sight of Nancy Braxton and her entourage making their way toward the stage area. Her arm in a sling, Erin was doing the best she could to follow the barrage of orders that Nancy was snapping to her and everyone about her. Suddenly, Erin whirled around and hurried away. Watching her, George Ward paused to look Nancy up and down before casually following after Erin.

  A sly grin crossed Nathan Braxton’s face when he read a text on his cell phone. He raised his eyes to look through the crowd.

  Dallas followed his line of sight over to Bill Clark’s camp and saw a young woman flash a grin at him. She acknowledged him with a slight nod of her head before turning and slipping her arm through Bill Clark’s arm.

  It’s true. Politics does make strange bedfellows.

  While making his way through the crowd, shaking hands, and taking selfies, Bill Clark barked orders to an excited young blond man who was loaded down with laptop cases, cell phone, cameras, and tablets.

  Dallas watched the two men step up to the stage, where they stopped. Then they pressed their heads together and giggled like a couple of schoolboys up to no-good. Their chuckles grew to laughter when the young man pressed a button on his cell phone. He and Bill Clark looked up, directing their gazes toward Nancy Braxton’s camp, where Salma was hugging Nancy.

  Salma then greeted Bill Clark with a firm, business-like handshake and marched over to her seat, where she checked a text message on her cell phone. As she read it, a frown crossed her face. She looked over to Nancy Braxton’s entourage and then turned to settle her gaze on Gnarly.

  Dallas swallowed.

  The ammo was then loaded, and the weapon, aimed at Gnarly.

  Chapter Eleven

  They could tell by the glare in her eyes that Archie had uncovered something unpleasant while writing down Gnarly’s registration number. She then ended her call to the veterinarian, and, handing the number to Murphy, said, “I found out how they got their information. The veterinary assistant told me that I was the second one to call today to ask for Gnarly’s registration number. Mac called around lunchtime to ask for it.”

  “Oh, yeah,” David said with heavy sarcasm. “Gnarly’s service record has been foremost on his mind all day.” They all looked over to the bed, where Mac was sound asleep.

  Murphy dialed a phone number on his phone, a special, untraceable cell phone that he used only for his missions. “What time is the debate?”

  “Eight o’clock.” David checked the time on his watch. It was ten minutes after seven. “The debate is in less than an hour. Do you think they’ll drop their bomb during the debate itself or feed it to the news media?”

  “Neither way would be good,” Archie said. “Even if it’s something minor, with the way the members of the media work, take sides, and push for their own agendas, they’ll spin and flip whatever it is and turn it into something it’s not—all to promote their candidate.”

  “And they’ll bury Gnarly and his reputation in the process,” Jessica said while watching Murphy leave the hospital room to find a quiet place to talk to his commanding officer.

  “Dad was right,” David said. “Anyone who gets involved in politics has to be nuts to begin with.”

  Murphy found an outdoor patio where hospital employees could eat with the pleasant surroundings of a floral garden and an employee parking lot. Making sure that no one was within earshot of him, he sat at a picnic table and listened to the phone on the other end of the call ring.

  The deep, sultry feminine voice answered on the third ring. “Good evening, Lieutenant. I didn’t expect to hear from you today. I thought you’d be immersed in marital bliss with your lovely bride.”

  “So did I,” Murphy said. “But my father-in-law has pneumonia, and we’ve run into a unique situation. I need a big favor.”

  “Why type of situation?”

  “Do you remember Gnarly?”

  “I know Gnarly. He’s running to be the mayor of Spencer.”

  “How do you know about that?”

  “I know a lot of things, Murphy,” she said. “Gnarly is the front-runner and favored to win.”

  “Unless some dirt from his past is brought before the media,” Murphy said.

  There was silence on the other end of the line.

  “Do you know what that dirt is?”

  “I need to make a couple of phone calls,” she said.

  The first thing that Mac was aware of was the fresh, cool oxygen filling his lungs. The roar in his ears faded away as he began to hear the voices around him.

  “First of all”—Mac was shocked to hear Bill Clark’s voice—“I want everyone to know that I never did support the ban on clotheslines.”

  He heard Archie scoff. “He’s such a liar. His name was all over that ban.”

  “He looks like a snake,” Jessica said in agreement.

  Confused about what Bill Clark was doing in his hospital room, Mac opened his eyes and looked around.

  Archie was instantly at his bedside. “Honey, don’t try to sit up. You need to rest.”

  Mac became aware of the tubes wrapped around his head and the IVs in his arms. “What happened?” Seeing his daughter, he asked, “What are you doing here?”

  Jessica took his hand. “Watching Gnarly in his first debate.”

  “Ah, man, I’m still hallucinating.”

  David appeared on the other side of his bed. “It’s the drugs.”

  Nancy Braxton’s shrill voice leaped from Archie’s tablet. “When I’m mayor, I won’t repeal the clothesline ban. I’ll fix it and make it work for everyone.”

  There was a mixture of applause and boos for several seconds until one of the journalists asked, “How will you make the ban on clotheslines work for everyone?”

  “It’s simple,” Nancy said. “I’ll bring people from both sides together, and we will reach across the aisle to come to a solution that will make everyone happy.” Upon hearing doubtful grumbles from the audience, she added, “I’ve done it before. I was the one who negotiated the release of a hundred hostages taken prisoner by pirates in Somalia!”

  “Somalia?” Bogie said in disbelief.

  He saw the journalists on the stage furrow their brows. Judging by how her mouth was hanging open with awe, Salma Rameriz was buying every word, which spurred Nancy Braxton on.

  “The secretary of state was too busy negotiating with Iran. But my heart went out to the families of the victims who had been snatched from their boats by pirates in Somalia.” Nancy furrowed her brow in a well-rehearsed expression of sincere compassion. “So I offered to try to rescue them myself. Because the secretary was afraid that I would be taken hostage, he assigned me a security detail.”

  Trying not to disrespect the mayoral candidate, Bogie turned away from the audience. Dallas’ eyes were wide with disbelief.

  “I flew into Somalia.” Nancy waved her hand to indicate the plane’s flight. “
And they told us that there were Somali snipers at the airfield. So when we landed, my security detail surrounded me, and we had to run across the airfield with our heads down, ducking the snipers’ fire.”

  The audience didn’t know what to make of the candidate’s story. Murmurs of both doubt and admiration rose from the audience.

  “Then I had the Somali pirates brought to my hotel suite, where we ate dinner and talked. They told me their problems, and I listened. That’s all they needed—someone to listen to them. Then finally, they agreed to let a hundred American hostages go.”

  “Lady, you have way too many cobwebs in your attic,” Dallas said. Shaking her head in disbelief over the fact that the moderator seemed to be buying Nancy’s story hook, line, and sinker, she turned away and caught a glimpse of George Ward and Erin, who were engaged in what appeared to be a serious discussion.

  Nancy pounded the podium. “When I’m mayor, I will get it done! I am the only candidate here on this stage who can!” She pointed a finger at Gnarly. “No dog can work to build bridges so that we can all live together in peace and love!”

  “Bigot!”

  It started as a single outburst from one voter. Then two more joined in and were followed by four more and then eight more and so on and so on until the whole audience was chanting “Bigot! Bigot! Bigot!”

  Her eyes bulging, Salma Rameriz stood up to face down the audience members who had dared to disrespect her favored candidate.

  Refusing to back down, Nancy shouted into the microphone. “It’s the truth!”

  “You wouldn’t know the truth if it bit you in the butt!” a man in a plaid shirt said, prompting laughter.

  With a jerk of his chin toward his officers, Bogie gestured for the Spencer police to quiet everyone down. Wading into the crowd, they managed to settle the audience so that Salma could put forth the next question.