The Wager (14 page)

P
rivate detective Norm Dixon ignored the chilly wind blowing near the ocean and scanned the start of the dog walking park for members of the Seniors Dog Walking Club. He held the composites of Bea's dog Angus, and the man named something like Turkey that John Broughton had helped him with. He also had a photo of several of the members and their dogs he had located from the archives of the local newspaper.

"This is all I have to go on in this latest case," he muttered to himself. "That fellow hasn't turned up at the Tyneburst cafe despite all my surveillance and I still haven't found out who all those people at the care home were."

The burly detective felt quite a bit of negativity strike him as he remembered his conversation with Bea Broughton's son as he had renegotiated the fee for investigating his mother's disappearance given the recent developments. His investigative mind had detected a lot of guilt at the man's decision to place his mother in the care home.

"Odd that well-off citizens that had a lot to lose would endanger themselves to pull some deteriorated person out of a care home."

Norm put such thoughts out of his mind. "That's none of my business," he said to himself.

"I don't think that Bea Broughton is lying somewhere

under a tree," Norm Dixon mused. "And these people have something to do with it."

Norm stared at two ladies coming down the walkway with two dogs cavorting in front of them. He glanced at the names of some of the dog walking members from a photo he had found in the local community newspaper.

"My God. That's one of them all right. "Linda Daniels, the local veterinarian."

Norm intercepted the women. He started as a large Doberman barked sharply.

"Cleo, sit," one of the women ordered. Norm looked relieved as the dog sat as ordered but noticed it still stared at him in a warning fashion. He had a fear of dogs from an incident in his childhood. The smaller dog growled at him as he moved toward his owner.

The large man freaked.

"My God, it's a Pitbull. He must be picking up my fear." He aimed a kick at the dog as it continued to growl. Bourbon lunged at his shoe. Norm screamed as the dog's teeth sunk into his heel. He desperately tried to shake the dog off.

"Damn it. Do something!" he screamed.

Norm used his other foot and his considerable bulk to pin the Pitbull's head against the concrete. He managed to manoeuvre his free foot over the dog's throat and put his weight on it. The dog gasped but did not let go of his foot. A crowd of dog lovers gathered around the pair.

"Take your foot off Bourbon's throat," Norm stared at the Afro-American lady in disbelief.

"His jaws have locked!" Norm screamed. He was completely terrified and did nothing.

"That's a myth. Y'all are an idiot!"

He screamed in considerable pain as the woman drew

back her fist and punched him firmly in his large belly. He staggered but managed to keep his foot on the Pit Bull's throat. His foot was still in the dog's jaws but the animal could at least breath.

"Get off the dog's throat!" A man screamed. "A big man like you afraid of that small dog."

"Stop hurting the dog," a little old lady yelled at him. Norm was shocked as the crowd seemed to be on the side of the Pitbull. The pain in his stomach and foot were excruciating and the detective increased the pressure on the dog's throat.

Honey Pratt was having a ft.

"Bourbon can't breathe," she screamed. "Get your foot off his neck, now!"

Norm Dixon gasped with pain as the Afro-American lady suddenly charged into him again and kicked his foot off her dog's throat. He was still trying to get his breath back after the blow to his stomach. He went down to all fours with the dog's teeth still sunk into his right heel. The dog seemed unwilling to release the shoe. The detective was completely frantic.

Linda Daniels moved in, grabbed hold of the animal, and gently massaged it. Her massage worked. Suddenly the dog calmed down and spit out Norm's foot as the detective pulled his foot away. Linda gave the leash to Honey and she pulled the dog out of range of the detective. Norm Dixon staggered to his feet and tried to ignore the pain in his foot and stomach. He reached down and noticed blood seeping out of his shoe.

"Is the dog all right?" Norm was amazed as the audience did not seem to care the slightest about whether he was all right.

"This is a Dog Park." Some man yelled at Norm. "We don't put up with abuse of animals, here!"

Norm felt a lot of relief as the dog stopped gasping. The

crowd simmered down as the dog started breathing normally again.

"Don't y'all ever do that again to my dog!"

Norm Dixon decided it was in his best interest to ignore the dog's biting and the woman's violence. He tried to slow down his pounding heart. He was deathly afraid of dogs.

"Bourbon was trying to protect you," Linda Daniels told Honey.

"I'm sorry. It's my fault," Norm Dixon managed to gasp.

"You shouldn't have attempted to kick him," Linda Daniels exclaimed.

"You're right." Norm ignored the pain and took the blame rather than antagonize the women and the crowd further.

"Whatever do you want, anyway?"

"Are you two friends of Bea Broughton?" Norm's trained eye noticed a startle reaction as both ladies took a closer look at him.

"Yes," the younger woman finally replied. "A lovely lady, Bea. She's disappeared, you know, from a care home."

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about."

Norm Dixon pulled out the composite pictures that he and John Broughton had made.

"Does either of you know who this might be? Or who these dogs belong to?"

The detective's trained eyes took in the sharp intake of breath from the woman with the Pitbull. The other woman looked more closely at the composite of a large man dressed in casual clothes and shook her head.

"That little dog looks just like Bea Broughton's Pomeranian, Angus." Linda Daniels thought fast. The composite of the man was remarkably like Turk O'Brien. It was complete with a large tattoo of a naked lady on his right arm.

"Who are you?"

Norm pulled out his identification.

"A private detective. I'm working for Bea Broughton's son. He's determined to get to the bottom of his mother's disappearance."

"A sad thing that! I don't know why she was ever put into that home. There's nothing wrong with Bea's mind."

The detective felt the hair on his neck standing up. He sensed the woman might be right. Others had told him the same thing. Norm Dixon noted that Linda Daniel's tone of voice sounded sincere.

"That's none of my business," he told himself.

"I'm afraid we can't help you. We're in a hurry to get to a pet store."

The detective nodded and let the ladies go on toward the parking lot. He sighed deeply as the crowd dispersed, still glaring at him, and forced himself to ignore his pain. The ladies had told him more than they knew.

"They know something they're not telling me," he decided. He took off his shoe and placed a handkerchief around his bleeding heel. He forced his pounding heart from his fear of dogs to slow down. Then he forced himself to ignore the pain of the bite and scanned the walkway looking for more members of the Seniors' Dog Walking Club.

Five minutes later adrenaline shot through Norm Dixon's system as a large, white, Standard Poodle came into view running beside a Malemute.

"Those dogs. They're like two of the four visiting dogs that the care home nurse described." Norm's eyes bugged out of his face. He stared at the man walking with the dog and checked out the photo of the dog walking club members.

"Gus Gustafson!" The detective moved to intercept the man. "A movie producer of all things."

This time a huge Malemute blocked his way as he strode over to the dog's owner. The dog was not growling but kept himself between the detective and his master. Norm Dixon felt his fear of dogs choking his breath again. He tried to suppress his anxiety but when the large white poodle rushed up, stood on her hind legs and placed her paws on his chest he lost it.

"Put those dogs on a leash. Get them away from me," he shouted.

"He's at it again," a former member of the crowd yelled. Several of the original spectators rushed over to the scene.

"Shame! A big man like you. The poodle is trying to get you to play with her."

"To Hell with you," Gus Gustafson told him. "Don't you know this is an off-leash, dog park? They're right. Gigi is just trying to get you to play with her."

Norm Dixon managed to calm himself down a little.

"This your poodle?" He tried to stay calm as the dog seemed to think he was a play toy and jumped on him several times, growling playfully and then running backwards.

"What's it to you?"

Norm suppressed his scream as the huge Malemute growled menacingly as he moved closer to his owner. He pulled out his ID and told the man he was investigating Bea Broughton's disappearance. The dog's handler did not seem to be impressed. The crowd of onlookers watched closely. Norm realised they were watching to make sure he did not abuse another dog.

"That woman didn't deserve to be put in the care home," Gus Gustafson told the detective.

"That's their motivation," Norm Dixon realised. "They're convinced they were doing the right thing. Maybe they are right," he wondered as he remembered the look of guilt John

Broughton had exhibited when he was telling the detective what had happened.

"Not my business," the detective brushed off his own rapidly developing feelings of anxiety. He prided himself on being on the right side of justice.

"Looking for this fellow," Norm handed the man the composites of the man from the restaurant and the Rottweiler. "And his dog."

"Don't know who that is! All male Rottweilers look much the same."

"You are the owner of this poodle and the Malemute, then?"

"None of your business." Norm watched in amazement as the tall, bushy haired man called the dogs and went down the road to the parking lot without another word. Norm collapsed on one of the benches beside the walkway. The crowd dispersed again.

"Fellow knows something," he decided. "Likely one of the people that were there that night." His breathing finally returned to normal as he watched for some more members of the dog walking club. "There's a lot more here than meets the eye."

Once Gus was far enough away from the detective he pulled out his cell phone and punched in Tyler Thompson's number.

"Tyler, you've got to get the Hell out of here with Dogzilla. There's a private detective with a composite of Turk and the dog. He's intercepting people on the walkway going to the parking lot."

"Yes, use the back way. We'll meet later, at my place. Make sure there's no one following you." Gus punched in some more numbers into his cell phone.

At the same time at the parking lot Linda reached for her cell phone as it rang.

"Yes, I know. He stopped Honey and me, too. Yes, I'll warn Turk O'Brien?"

"Glad Bourbon bit that man. Dogs can sense it when someone doesn't wish you well."

Linda reached Turk O'Brien on the second ring. She alerted Bea's friend that there was a private detective circulating a composite drawing of him at the Dog Walking Park. She told him that the drawing of himself was a very good likeness.

"We need a meeting, Sugar," Honey interjected. Linda passed on the message.

"This evening. At Gus's place. I'll let the others know." Linda Daniels folded up her cell phone and placed it back into her pocket.

"Going to have to get Bea out of this area," Honey advised the veterinarian. "And Turk."

"Or we're all going to wind up in the clink,"

"Nonsense, Sugar, that fat cretin's no match for a group of seniors pooling their resources."

"I'll give the rest an hour or two to get home and then I'll call them about the meeting. Particularly Gus and Gloria since it's at their place."

An hour and a half later Norm Dixon was certain that the dog walking seniors knew something they were not telling him. Almost every one of them had shown a startled look to his trained eye when the composite of the mystery laundry worker at the Care Home had been shown to them.

"Infuential people," he concluded. "And not easily intimidated. I'll have to have proof before I make any accusations."

"I had better contact John Broughton again," the detective

said to himself. "There's more than meets the eye here. I'll have to investigate further. Look's like I'm going to have to follow these seniors around. It'll cost that fellow big bucks if I have to deal with vicious dogs and their vicious owners as well as everything else. Hope he's up to it."

He limped back to his car to make an appointment with his doctor about the wound on his heel.

M
onica Mason stared at Lorne Brooks in total disbelief. He was standing on her doorstep looking quite dishevelled. She had been weeping for days since Malcolm Brook's butler had driven her home and the last thing she wanted was someone named Brooks standing in her doorway. She had been arguing with herself ever since Malcolm's lawyer had called and offered her a generous settlement if she was willing to give custody of the child to Malcolm when it was born. Her own lawyer had advised her against the settlement when she had called for advice.

"We'll get more in court," he promised.

"What the Hell do you want?"

"Your lawyer called. Said you were launching a civil suit against Malcolm for damages in the accident. He wants me to testify about Malcolm being drunk."

Monica motioned Lorne into her townhouse. He sat down on one of Monica's armchairs. She was busy dabbing at her eyes.

"How come you broke up with Malcolm?"

"He's so selfish!" Monica started weeping openly. "All he cares about are those god awful, exotic pets of his."

"Oh, you mean the Jaguar and Pyrannas from South America and the Boa Constrictor from India, the Green Tree Python and giant Cassowary Bird from New Guinea, and the Howler monkeys from God knows where."

"Pyrannas, those fish in his living room are Pyrannas? Where is the Green Tree Python?"

"A good thing you didn't go for a stroll around the grounds!"

"He's impossible!" Monica went into a hysterical weeping ft again.

"There's a way we can both get even with him."

Monica was surprised at the venom in Lorne's voice.

"What did he do to you?"

"Fired me. After all I've done for him and the company!"

Monica stopped crying. She listened attentively as Lorne told her that he could arrange an abortion, even at this late date. He told Monica that Malcolm desperately wanted the child. He promised to make the arrangements, stand by her side for moral support and then connect her with an even more prestigious modelling agency that the Montgomery one.

"What agency?"

Lorne gave her the name of the most exclusive modelling agency in New York. He told her that he was a close friend of its owner.

"Or even better, you could marry me. That way, I would have control of his child, his only chance of an heir besides me. Think of it, Malcolm having to answer to me for a change, maybe even begging."

Monica stared at Lorne in horror.

"I would never marry a Brooks! Never, even if they were the last man alive. You're all weird."

"How about the abortion, then?"

"You're insane. I'm close to four months pregnant, maybe even five. Any more time and the baby might even live. That's what Malcolm's lawyer has been telling me."

"He's lying."

Monica stared at Lorne in alarm. His tone of voice was furious. His eyes were staring at her like some maniacs. Monica suddenly reached a decision. She realised her nerves were completely frayed. She realised she was not up for a contest in court.

"No, I'm going to accept the last offer Malcolm's lawyers made me," she blurted. "He gets the child and I get financial security for the rest of my life."

Monica freaked as Lorne suddenly jumped to his feet and came toward her. She could tell he was out of control. She screamed loudly as he seized her arm and pulled her up to her feet.

"You're hurting me!" Monica tried to pull free.

"You're coming with me!" Lorne insisted, dragging Monica toward the front door. She resisted and he struck her across the face.

"Don't," she screamed.

"You're getting an abortion," Lorne told her as he opened the front door. His expression turned to horror as a man was waiting on the doorstep, a gun in his hand pointing at Lorne. Lorne quickly recognized Malcolm's Head of Security.

"Mitch, it's me Lorne. Put the gun down."

"Let go of the lady, now!" Mitch motioned Lorne away from Monica. Lorne sprang toward his tormentor. Mitch clubbed him over his head with the butt of his pistol and Lorne sank down unconscious. Another man came out of a car next to Lorne's and dragged Malcolm's unconscious nephew into the back seat.

Monica was crying hysterically.

"I'm sorry, Miss Mason. Don't worry. He won't be bothering you any more."

"Who are you?"

"Malcolm Brook's Head of Security. Malcolm told us to keep an eye on his nephew."

"What will you do with him?"

"Short stay in a sanitarium," Mitch promised. "Until he stabilises."

"My God! I'll accept Malcolm's offer. Just get me out of this city."

"That's very wise, Miss Mason. It will be arranged. In the meantime one of my security guards will be watching this place."

"Thanks." Monica headed back into her townhouse. She sank down into her chesterfield and broke down in tears, sobs shaking her body..

"At least this way I can go back to my modelling career," she decided some time later. That decision seemed to calm her.

"There's no way I'm ready to be a mother."