by Lauren Carr
“Gnarly has been invited to a debate. Tomorrow night. Spencer Inn. Eight o’clock.”
Everyone waited in silence while Mac turned his head to look at Gnarly, who was eyeing him back.
“I know you think it’s silly, but Bogie and I have been thinking about this,” David said. “As his owner, you’re his representative. You’ll bring Gnarly to the debate, and you’ll answer the questions for him.”
“Oh,” Mac said, chuckling. “You want me to channel Gnarly for the debate.”
“Not exactly channel—”
“Will Nancy Braxton and her crew be there?”
“Of course.”
“I’ll do it,” Mac said. “Hopefully, I’ll be over this flu by then, and if I am, I’ll do it.”
“You’re not mad?”
“I’m too sick to be mad.” Mac hung up the phone.
“You’re going to debate Bill Clark and Nancy Braxton?” Archie asked.
“If I’m alive.” Every part of his body aching, Mac pulled himself up to his feet. “And while I’m debating Nancy Braxton, you two can snoop around to see if you can find out who killed Sandy Burr and that witness. The last thing Spencer needs is a dirty, rotten killer for a mayor.”
Chapter Six
Garrett County Sheriff’s Department, Oakland, Maryland
In his office at the end of the hallway that led away from the squad room, Christopher Turow, the sheriff, was up to his eyeballs in statistical quarterly reports for the county commission. Looking out the window, he saw that it was a bright, sunny day.
Guess I could go out on patrol.
His eyes fell on an old family photo of his daughter, who’d been only five years old when the photo had been taken, and his late wife, Belle. Suddenly, the bright, pretty day reminded him of the last day they had spent together as a family, before Belle had gone off to Iraq and come back in a box.
Suddenly, the sunny day made the big, muscular chief law-enforcement officer feel solemn.
The sound of a deep bark followed by a familiar ruckus outside of his office granted him a reprieve. Recognizing the bark, a grin came to the sheriff’s lips. He wasted no time in getting up from his desk and opening the office door—just in time to see Gnarly on his leash pulling Police Chief O’Callaghan down the hallway. The German shepherd clawed his way across the tile floor to get to the sheriff.
Sheriff Turow dropped to his knees. “Hey, Gnarly! How’s my boy?”
David dropped the leash, allowing Gnarly to gallop to the sheriff, who took the dog into a bear hug. The former army officer allowed Gnarly to lick him all over his face before he stood up.
“How’re they treating you in Spencer, boy?” the sheriff asked.
“We’re spoiling him rotten,” David said.
“As you should be.” Leading Gnarly into his office and behind his desk, Turow said, “Hey, Gnarly, I’ve got something for you. I found it while cleaning out the garage and re—” His voice trailed off. Wiping his mouth, he opened the bottom drawer of his desk and extracted a stuffed squirrel from it.
Upon seeing the toy, Gnarly practically knocked the sheriff out of his chair and then clutched the toy in his jaws.
Sheriff Turow laughed when Gnarly took the toy out from behind the desk and trotted over to show it to David. When the police chief reached for the squirrel, Gnarly jerked it away. Shaking his head, Gnarly turned around in circles until he got dizzy and plopped down onto the floor—much to David’s and Sheriff Turow’s amusement.
The sheriff cleared his throat. “I knew he’d like that.”
“Where did you get it?” David asked.
“I was going through some old boxes in the garage,” he said. “You know. Spring-cleaning. Trying to put the past behind me and move on.” Looking down at where Gnarly was licking the toy, he smiled softly. “Hard sometimes.”
Glancing over at the family photo on the table next to the window, David remembered that Sheriff Turow was a widower. The sheriff never talked about his wife, though David recalled his mentioning the year before that she had died while serving in the Middle East.
“Now,” David said, “with Dallas, I can’t imagine going on if something happened to her.”
“What’s the alternative, especially when you have a child together?”
With the squirrel in his mouth, Gnarly got up and went around the desk to lay his head in the sheriff’s lap. Happily, Turow stroked the top of the dog’s head while he chewed on the toy.
“I know that this was before your time,” David said, “but I was hoping that you could look into the county’s case files to see if the sheriff’s department has any information about Ida Clark’s death. She was Bill Clark’s mother.”
“The Bill Clark who’s on the town council in Spencer?” Sheriff Turow asked. “Who’s running against Gnarly for mayor?”
“You heard about that?”
“Heard about it? I donated two hundred dollars to his campaign fund.”
“To Clark’s?”
“Hell, no!” the sheriff said. “I donated to Gnarly’s campaign.” He leaned across his desk. “What do you need? Are you looking for dirt on Clark?”
“Maybe,” David said. “I heard a rumor that Bill Clark killed his mother.”
Sitting up straight, Sheriff Turow furrowed his eyebrows. “His own mother? I’ll admit the guy is an a–number one jerk, but murdering his own mother?”
“Back in school, I was friends with his younger sister, Lisa,” David said. “She joined the army. I joined the marines. Sometimes we’d get together when I was stateside between tours.” He swallowed. “Unfortunately, she died. But after hearing this rumor today, I did a little bit of digging. Bill Clark was the oldest of three children. Lisa was his sister, and they had a younger brother named Leroy. Their mother, Ida, was a local society matron. She came from money. Her husband, Bill’s father, had worked in finance and real estate and had left her millions of dollars. She spent her time doing volunteer work with the social clubs. Leroy was a drunk and eventually took off somewhere. Lisa joined the army, and Bill—well, we know what happened to him.”
“Get to the murder, O’Callaghan.”
“A little over a dozen years ago, Ida Clark died in her home, supposedly in her sleep,” David said. “It was about eight months after Lisa died.”
“Before either of our time,” Sheriff Turow said while smiling down at Gnarly.
“I went through the county’s records, and this is what I was able to piece together,” David said. “Bill Clark found her body. The sheriff at the time, Clark’s father’s old friend, did nothing more than write up a report. I found no record of any investigation. There was no autopsy. The death certificate was signed by the family doctor, another one of Clark’s old friends, and Ida was at the funeral home and cremated within twenty-four hours of Bill’s finding her body.”
“What was Clark’s motive for killing his mother?” Sheriff Turow stopped petting Gnarly to look over at David for his answer.
With a grin, David rubbed his fingers together. “What else? Money. That, power, and sex mean everything to Bill. I found in the court records that after his mother’s death, Leroy contested Bill’s handling of the estate. Leroy claimed that Bill, the executor of their mother’s estate, which was worth millions, cheated him out of his share of the inheritance.”
“Sounds like something Clark would do.”
David was nodding his head. “Bill and Leroy never got along. Bill was his father’s favorite. Ruthlessly ambitious. Lisa told me that he was just like their father.” Sitting forward, he scratched behind his ear.
“What is it?”
“Lisa and I got pretty close in Washington before she got killed.” Pausing, David rubbed his hands together. “She told me some family secrets.”
“Any of those secrets point to a motive for murder?”
“Bill was very jealous of Leroy.”
“Why would Bill Clark, a very successful businessman who’s worth millions, be jealous of a drunk?”
“Because his mother always liked the drunk more,” David said. “Lisa told me about this one incident…after their father had passed away. There was a signet ring with the family crest on it, and their father had always worn it on his pinkie. The family tradition was for it to go to the firstborn son. Well, Leroy had been gone for over a year before their father died. He showed up right before the viewing at the funeral home. As soon as Ida saw Leroy, she took him to a back room at the funeral home. Lisa assumed that it was to say hello, because no one had seen or heard from Leroy in over a year. A little bit later, Bill saw that Leroy was wearing the signet ring on his pinkie. Well, Bill went nuts. Right there at the viewing…in front of everyone. Lisa told me that in all fairness, Bill should’ve gotten the ring. Their father had wanted him to have it. But their mother said that because their father had been so hard on Leroy, she felt sorry for him, so she decided on her own to give it to him.”
“So,” Sheriff Turow said, “Bill Clark could have killed his mother, who had denied him her love and his birthright, the ring. Then, to take it a step further, he delivered payback to his baby brother by cheating him out of his share of the family inheritance.”
“I know that it sounds devious even for Bill Clark.” David shrugged his shoulders. “The lawsuit was dropped after Leroy Clark got drunk and drove his truck into the lake.”
“At which point Bill Clark got all of it,” Sheriff Turow said.
“Exactly. Lisa had told me that she was worried because her mother mentioned that Bill kept suggesting that she put his name on her bank accounts. Ida herself asked Lisa if she thought that that would be a good idea. She didn’t know how to tell her mother that she shouldn’t trust her own son. Well, she told me that less than a year before Ida Clark died.”
“If Bill Clark got his name on his mother’s bank accounts and was the executor of her will, he could’ve legally embezzled the money in her accounts,” Sheriff Turow said.
“Then after killing her, he could’ve claimed that the amount in her accounts was all there was,” David said. “Maybe when Leroy contested that, Bill Clark had him killed so that no one would discover the embezzlement.”
“You really don’t think that Bill Clark has a moral compass, do you?”
“Not really,” David said. “Think you can do some poking around for me?”
With a whine, Gnarly held up his paw to shake the sheriff’s hand.
Shaking his paw, Sheriff Turow said, “Of course—anything for a friend of Gnarly’s.”
After leaving the sheriff’s office, David called Archie to check on Mac. When David had stopped by Spencer Manor to pick up Gnarly, Mac hadn’t eaten anything and had claimed that he simply wasn’t hungry. He had spent the day in bed, dozing in between coughing fits. Archie requested that David pick up the takeout pizza that she had ordered.
The parking lot of Carmine’s Pizza, one of the most popular Italian restaurants for local residents, was packed with vehicles when David arrived. Since it was too early for the peak dinner hour, David surmised that a party or an event was taking place in the banquet room.
“Stay in the cruiser,” David said to Gnarly while slipping out of the driver’s seat.
Leaving his toy squirrel on the front seat, Gnarly leaped out of the open passenger-seat window and beat David to the entrance.
“You listen so well,” David said sarcastically before opening the door to allow Gnarly, who was clad in his service-dog vest, inside.
Behind the checkout counter, Carmine Romano greeted them with a broad grin. “My main man, Gnarly!” He rushed out from behind the counter and held up both of his hands. “Give me ten!”
Laying his ears back, Gnarly trotted over to the jolly Italian and jumped up to touch both of his paws to his hands. After rubbing Gnarly’s side, the restaurant owner grabbed a jar of garlic sticks from the counter and fished one out of it for him.
Despite the loud greeting, David could hear Nancy Braxton’s grating voice in the banquet room off of the main dining room.
“When I am mayor, we are going to have a police department that’s serious about protecting Spencer—including our people.”
Carmine chuckled upon seeing David cringe. “Can you imagine listening to that for the next six years?”
“If she gets elected, I’m moving to Canada,” David said.
“I’ll go back to Chicago,” Carmine said. “Worse, can you imagine listening to her day in and day out? Guess that’s why her hubby spends all of his time otherwise engaged.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder, indicating the bar in the lounge.
Cocking his head to look beyond Carmine, David recognized Nathan Braxton, who was sitting at the bar next to a slender young woman with long, lush auburn hair. The husband of the mayoral candidate was blocking David’s view of the woman’s face. However, he was able to get a good view of her long legs and her ultrashort, form-fitting dress. David was also able to see Nathan’s hand, which was resting high up on her bare thigh.
“And his wife is right on the other side of the wall?” David asked. “Does he have a death wish?”
“Those two are all lovey-dovey when they’re in front of the cameras, but offstage?” Carmine rolled his eyes. “You should have seen them an hour ago. Mr. Octopus—”
“Octopus?”
“That’s why I’m running the cash register instead of cooking my secret pizza sauce in the kitchen,” Carmine said. “When Braxton got here, he wouldn’t keep his hands off of my host—until she fed him a fistful of knuckles to the throat. I sent her back to work in the kitchen, where we have plenty of knives that she could use to defend herself. Guess Braxton decided it was safer to redirect his attention to Mrs. Clark.”
“Clark?” David jerked his head back to look into the lounge and saw the woman reach for her martini. She was indeed Cassandra, Bill Clark’s third wife. They had been married for less than a year.
“It’s true,” Carmine said. “Politics does make strange bedfellows.”
“Does Nancy Braxton know about this?”
Carmine shrugged his shoulders. “Politicians aren’t like regular folks. That’s why I’m wearing this every day until the election.” The restaurant owner unbuttoned his white cook’s jacket and opened it up so that David could see that he was wearing a blue T-shirt with Gnarly’s face on it. Gnarly’s name was scrawled across the top of it. In block letters below it were the words “He’s Not Snarly! Vote for Gnarly.”
“Where did you get that?” David asked.
“I got a whole case of them for free when I donated the use of my sign out front to Gnarly’s campaign.” Then in a whisper Carmine said, “Braxton had already scheduled her event when I found out that Gnarly was running. As soon as Braxton is off of the property, it’ll be ‘Gnarly for Mayor’ from here on out.” He gave Gnarly a thumbs-up. “You’ve got our vote, dude.”
“Is this Gnarly?” A young woman clutching an excited little boy’s hand had come out of the banquet room.
“The one and only!” Carmine said, and then he bent over to talk to the little boy. “Do you want to meet Spencer’s next mayor?”
The boy answered by throwing his arms around Gnarly, who licked his face. His mother whipped out her cell phone to snap pictures of them. When Carmine offered to take her picture with Gnarly, she gladly accepted.
Hearing the boy’s shrieks, some patrons looked over to see what was happening. Three teenage girls screamed and ran over with their cell phones to start snapping selfies with the local celebrity. Before David could realize what was happening, the canine mayoral candidate was being mobbed by restaurant patrons—and loving every bit of it.
Cell phones were thrust into David’s and Carmine’s hands so that they
could take pictures of Gnarly with single voters, couples, children, and even a group of smiling women wearing “Change Spencer with Nancy” T-shirts.
David was snapping a picture of Gnarly “kissing” twins whose mother was holding one of them in each arm when Nancy Braxton’s shrill voice sent a shiver up his spine.
“What the hell is going on here?” She shocked David so much that he dropped the phone.
The mayoral candidate had come out of the then-empty banquet room to see who had stolen her audience.
A young woman who David recognized as Carmine’s special-event coordinator made the mistake of stepping up behind Nancy Braxton with a martini glass containing a purple drink. “Ms. Braxton, I think we finally got your drink right. I made it myself.”
Uttering a loud vulgarity, Nancy Braxton slapped the drink out of the coordinator’s hand, which sent the purple beverage flying. It drenched the restaurant employee’s face and neck and the front of her blouse.
A gasp went up throughout the restaurant.
Behind Nancy Braxton, Cassandra Clark scurried into the kitchen while Nathan Braxton smoothed his hair and straightened his suit to assume the image of a supportive husband before coming out of the lounge.
Muttering curses, Carmine ushered his tearful employee out of the room.
Oblivious to her rude behavior, Nancy directed her attention toward David. “I am sick and tired of you and your candidate stalking me!” She emphasized each word by shaking a finger at him.
“Stalking you?” David said with an involuntary chuckle. “Seriously?”
With her fists clenched, she moved toward them only to have her path blocked by a pudgy man in a gray suit and a red tie. “Don’t, sis,” he said in a low voice. His eyes darted around to indicate that they were in a public venue. “Now is not the time.”
Nancy’s eyes bulged, causing David, who thought that she might completely lose it and come after him with her claws, to lay his hand on his gun. “Who let him and that dog in here?” She slapped the man in the suit. “This is all your fault, Hugh!”
