“I have a few.”
As he went into a back room, I addressed Mrs. Ashley. “I’ll be over at your place in a bit,” I said.
“Thanks.” She left the building.
I turned to the man. “Mr. Rixie. What’s your dog’s name?”
“Pixie.”
“Pixie Rixie?”
“Yes. Can you find her? She’s a white Maltese, and I’m really worried about her. My wife, Dixie—”
“Dixie Rixie? What’s up with the people in this town and their rhyming names? There’s Willy Nilly, and all his family—”
Anger covered his face. “That’s my wife’s youngest brother.”
“Oops.” I covered my mouth. “Sorry.”
Archie came back into the room and handed me a flashlight with a second set of batteries. I thanked him and walked toward the door.
Mr. Rixie seemed to apologize with his eyes as he held open the door to the police station for me. “Her younger sister married Jake Bixby, up in Hachita.”
I walked through the open door, realizing that this man had some manners. “And her first name?”
“Trixie.”
Trixie Bixby. Who would’ve guessed? These people had more problems with their mental stability and had nothing to do with the partying disease.
Chapter 20
“So what’s your first name?” I asked Mr. Rixie, almost afraid of the answer I’d receive.
“Richard.”
“That’s a nice normal name.”
“I prefer Rickie.”
Rickie Rixie. What a mouthful. “I should’ve guessed,” I muttered.
“I have two sisters, Roxie and Gypsy.”
“I have a stupid question. Why are you telling me all of this?”
“Because they all live in town and party with the rest of them. The only one who doesn’t is my brother. He’s the black sheep of the family. His name is Barney.”
“Why is he the black sheep?”
“He went bad and lives outside town.”
“Bad?” I could only imagine. With a history of names like that, a whole host of possibilities of badness, such as ticks, licking people, hickeys, and anything else that contained the sound ‘ick’ to go with ‘Rixie’ came to mind.
“He sells used cars. That’s like a slap to our family’s business.”
“Which is…” It was like pulling teeth with this guy.
“Selling new cars. I can’t believe he’d stoop to selling used cars. None of us talk to him, his wife, Carolyn, or their ten kids.”
I did a double take. “Ten? How do you avoid them all in a town this size?”
“It’s not easy.”
As we walked less than a block down the street, he pointed toward a small white home. “That’s my house and my wife’s at home. She’s a mess, so try not to bother her.”
“When did you last see your dog, Pixie?” Keeping these names straight required a playbook.
“She was upstairs. No one went in or out. That was a day ago.”
“Did you look through the house?”
“Yes, we did. We called her name and looked everywhere. She probably got out through the doggie door in the back of the house.”
But no one went in or out. I nodded. So someone did go in or out…the dog. “I’ll take a look.” I flipped on the flashlight and walked around the house, looking for the small dog. I assumed it was white, like most Maltese dogs, but one never knew in this town.
The home was small, with an alley to the right of it. To the left was a small area of grass, about two inches wide spanning the length of the home. I could hear Rickie consoling Dixie inside the home while she wailed. She was loud, and I was sure the entire neighborhood was listening.
I followed the alley to the back of the home, calling for the dog quietly. “Pixie, time to come in to eat. Pixie, where are you?” I looked around an old shed, opened it up, and stared at old bicycles and an old motorcycle inside. What I wouldn’t do for wheels.
I walked around their old huge car in the driveway, which was probably a 1950s finned model of something, in search of that dog. I checked around every bush and every tree. But the animal just wasn’t to be found.
Just as I was about to give up and start making fliers offering a reward for Pixie, I heard a car coming down the street. I flipped off the flashlight, ran around to the far side of the house on the two-inch grass yard, and peeked around the corner. The car pulled up to the curb and the back door opened.
“Get the stupid thing out of here,” a male voice said.
The interior of the car was lit up, but I didn’t recognize any of the people in the front seats.
A dog barked, and I heard a man yell. “It bit me.”
A small white Maltese jumped out the door and the car took off. I glanced inside the car as it passed and saw those dark invasive eyes staring right back at me. They were the same eyes from the guy walking on the street from the night before. Someone now knew my face. Someone who was pure evil.
Chapter 21
As soon as the car was gone, I ran to the dog, which was circling the yard. It lifted its leg and I waited.
“Pixie?” I was sure it was a female dog, but had my doubts when I saw it lift its leg. Who would name a male dog Pixie?
The dog looked up at me and tilted its head.
“Pixie? Are you okay?”
It growled and ran toward the house. I followed along and rang the doorbell, just as the dog started to scratch at the front door.
The light came on and the door opened. “Is this your dog?” I asked, pointing downward.
“Pixie,” Dixie yelled. She scooped the dog into her arms and gave it a hug. “Mommy missed you, little girl.” The dog licked her face and appeared to hug her in return.
I could see from where I stood that it was definitely a boy dog. “You know that’s a boy dog, right?”
“Yes, but we wanted a girl dog, so we call her a girl. It doesn’t matter. She’s been fixed.”
I could only stare. This woman was as nuts as everyone else.
Rickie walked with me to the door. “Is there something we can do in return for you?”
“No, but your dog just jumped out of a car that pulled up to the curb. I think he…I mean she was kidnapped.”
“Kidnapped?” Dixie asked.
“Dognapped?” I said, correcting myself. “I wouldn’t be surprised if the people who are losing time were kidnapped by the same people. You might want to take him…I mean her to a vet and make sure she’s okay.”
“Well, we appreciate you finding her,” Dixie said.
Before Rickie could shut the door in my face, I addressed him. “You have a motorcycle outside. Would you ever consider selling it?”
He glanced over at Dixie then back at me. “Sell a used vehicle? Are you nuts?”
“Well, I was just wondering, because I need wheels. I had to leave my abusive boyfriend in Tucson and hitchhiked here with the doctor. He doesn’t want me buying a car, until I make enough money to afford it. But if I could get a motorcycle, that would be great. I could get around town so much easier.”
He walked away, returning with the keys. “It’s yours. I’d be glad to get rid of the thing. We’re too old to ride it and I can’t sell it. I do have my reputation to uphold.”
“I have another question. Can I keep it in your shed?”
“I really don’t—”
“I’ll pay rent.”
As Dixie walked away, his smile grew and he leaned a bit closer. “Tell you what. Keep it in the shed and we can both use it if we want. I still like to ride but Dixie won’t let me.”
I nodded. “Good idea. I’ll let you know when I use it, too, so you won’t be out a bike. It’ll just be during the day, if necessary.”
“No problem. We only use the car during the day. I can’t ride the bike until Dixie’s asleep.”
“Good. Where should I put the keys?”
“Put the keys on a nail at the back of the shed. Just le
ave the bike there at night and we’ll both use it.”
I grabbed some cash I always carried in my pocket and handed it to him. “Here’s a hundred. Will that pay for some time?”
He pushed it back into my hand. “Don’t worry about it. Keep it filled with gas and you can keep it there for free.”
“Deal.” I patted his arm. “I like you, Mr. Rixie. You’re a good guy.”
“Call me Rickie.”
Never in a million years. “Sure. Have a great night and let me know if there’s anything else I can do for you. I’m staying at the doctor’s place, by his request, with the sheriff. It’s a weird situation, but once I get my own place, it’ll work out.”
“Are you dating the doctor or the sheriff?”
“The doctor, and he’s bent on marrying me. We’ll see.”
“Keep him guessing.”
I had to keep asking questions, because I figured he knew more than I thought. “By the way. When the partying goes on, does it ever affect either of you?”
“Nope. But we stay indoors after three o’clock.”
“Why does that make a difference?”
“We don’t know, but it just does.”
“Thanks.” I walked away, happy to know I had wheels. And free ones were even better.
I took the address for Mrs. Ashley out of my pocket and walked the block and a half down the other side of the street. Señora Bonita had one main street and all the older homes lined it. The side streets contained different businesses, which I found odd. I would’ve thought the homes would be back the side streets and the businesses would be out front, but it was the opposite, making me think the businesses were newer than the homes.
Upon approaching Mrs. Ashley’s house, I stared at her dead lawn. How could she think it smelled funny if it was just dirt and dead stems? She had one cactus in her lawn, and that was it. Maybe the cactus smelled?
I walked over toward the cactus, not turning on my light, and after two steps, felt something squishy under my foot. I flipped on the flashlight. I found the smell…dog doo-doo. Yuck.
I wiped the dirt off my sneaker the best I could and stepped back to the sidewalk. The odor was offensive, so I took off my shoes and left them on the sidewalk. I’d have to do something with them, so maybe Mrs. Ashley could help.
I approached the door in my socks and rang the doorbell. I looked down at my jeans shorts, thankful I wasn’t wearing a full-length skirt or long pants. They would’ve gotten into the mound of poo.
The door opened and Mrs. Ashley appeared behind it, flipping on the porch light. “Hello, Jane. Did you find the dog?”
“Sure did. We think he…I mean she was dognapped, but the dog nappers dropped it off at the front of their house. I also found the odor in your yard.” I looked down at my feet. “I think I stepped in it.”
“Oh, dear. Where are your shoes?”
I turned and pointed. “Back there. They’re covered. I have a feeling I’m going to be walking home tonight.” Or taking the bike…I could only hope. I loved motorcycles. It kind of went with my first name of Harley. I loved cruising down the streets going as fast as I could, the wind whipping by, tossing my hair out the back of my helmet. Yeah. I really missed that.
“No, you won’t be walking home. Not if I can help it.” She pointed out the front. “See that old car of mine? I’ll take you home.” She stepped out onto the porch. “So some dog made my lawn smell?”
“Looks that way. Want me to clean it up for you?”
“I can do it tomorrow. Let’s take your shoes out back and clean them, too.” She walked out to get them, turned, and looked at her lawn. “I think it’s all on your shoes. I don’t see anything left.”
“That’s good to know.” I really needed some new sneakers, even though I had bought them on the way to Nogales from New York. They were only a few days old.
She carried the shoes up the stairs. “Follow me.” I did as requested, stepping into an odd home, mixed with fake fur animal pelts and paneling. It wouldn’t have been bad except some of the animal pelts had been dyed pink—bright pink.
“So do you like animal skins?” I asked.
She led me through the house. “Those were my dead husband’s. He was a hippie and had a bad trip about a year before he died.”
“Was he a partier?”
“Yes, but I wasn’t. For some reason, he was affected with the partying sickness, but I didn’t feel a thing. He died right before I retired.”
“Why don’t you have a lawn?”
“Well, I started working the afternoon shift about a year or so before the partying happened. My husband was in charge of doing the lawn work, because he was retired, but he let it go. He’d just water it with the automatic sprinklers then forget to mow it. I’d mow it on Saturday mornings, while he just had hangovers. So after he died, I let the thing die and didn’t water it any more. I just keep to myself now, watching those stupid people party. I’m doing research on them for fun.”
She opened the door to the back porch and we stepped outside. She rinsed off my shoe, took an old stick she kept beside the stairs, and dug at my shoe over the trashcan.
“What causes that partying?” I asked.
“I have a theory,” she said. “I think it’s something they use to treat the grass. If you notice, everyone who has no grass or lives outside of town doesn’t party.”
“What do they use to treat the grass?”
“They all use the same company. It’s Hagar Lawns out of Animas. I think the people here aren’t used to the chemicals they use.”
“When do they put the chemicals down?”
“In the morning,” she said. “Although we never put chemicals on our lawn, most of the people in town do.”
It seemed like a weak theory to me, because the partying started in the afternoon. People would have to be in contact with the stuff in the morning when it was wet, and then wouldn’t present symptoms until that night. Didn’t sound plausible, but I kept it in the back of my mind.
She handed me both of my shoes back, and I touched the insides. They were both wet. Very wet. I couldn’t wear them or I’d slosh back to the sheriff’s station.
“Thank you so much for helping me,” I said to her. “If you think of anything strange, call me. I’m staying at the doctor’s house with the sheriff, until we find our own places.”
“You can stay with me, free of rent,” she said.
“I don’t think the doctor would like that. He made me leave the bed and breakfast, because he saw what was going on in town. It even made me act crazy, too.”
“It did? And you’re still alive?”
I studied her in confusion. “Yes, why?”
“If anyone comes into town and gets the sickness, they’re the first ones to die.”
Uh-oh. Now I was worried about dying, too.
Chapter 22
“How many has this happened to?” I asked Mrs. Ashley.
“A lot. A young boy even died. They’d just gotten here to visit his cousins. It makes me think that the people who are doing this started with weaker chemicals and have upped the dosage. The locals are used to it. I’m wondering if they had a gradual increase in dosage.” She nodded. “Someone’s going to pay, for sure.”
“Has anyone investigated Hagar Lawns?” I asked.
“Not to my knowledge. When the CDC and the EPA were here for a week, nothing happened.”
“Did Hagar Lawns come out to treat anyone’s grass then?”
“Nope. It was wintertime, and no one does much of anything to their grass in the winter. It does get cold here at night, even though you wouldn’t believe it.”
“Well, thanks anyway.” My cell phone rang and I reached into my pocket and checked the identification screen. “It’s the doctor.” I was tempted not to answer it, thinking he was in the doghouse anyway, but thought twice. He may need me. So I pressed the on button and lifted it to my ear. “Hello, Dr. Henry.”
“So formal. You’re not alone.
”
“Nope.”
“Are you at the old lady’s or the old man’s house?”
“The first one you mentioned.”
“I see. Can you get to the mortuary? I have something to show you.”
“Got it.”
“I want you to know, I do love you more than you know. I—”
The doghouse had rules. I flipped off the phone and stuck it in my pocket. I wasn’t about to get into that kind of discussion with him.
“Was he asking you out for a date?” Mrs. Ashley asked.
“Sort of,” I said. “But I’m mad at him right now, so he can wait.”
“Don’t be mad too long. I saw how he looked at you and he loves you.”
“Yeah, it’s a problem.” I went back inside the house and headed for the front door.
“A problem?” She followed me the whole way. “When my husband died, it took everything I could to forgive myself for not telling him I loved him more. He wanted sex every morning and every night and I didn’t give it to him. If I could turn back the hands of time, I’d keep him home and give him what he needed. Then he wouldn’t have died of a heart attack.”
I stopped at the front door. “Tell me this. Did he drink coffee or caffeinated sodas?”
“All the time, why?”
“Just curious. Any time you need me, call Dr. Henry. He’ll know where I am.”
“Sure. Now don’t you be doing something stupid with him.”
I grinned. “Not a chance.” I walked out the door and headed down the sidewalk in my stocking feet, watching my feet and the road at the same time. I noticed many manicured lawns, with no weeds and as green as could be. However, I also noticed something else very interesting. No one, and I mean no one, was out on the street. There were no partiers, and no one was outside, at all. They weren’t even walking their dogs.
Storm clouds loomed overhead, and by the time I got to the mortuary, which was a few blocks away from Mrs. Ashley’s place, it had started to rain. A downpour began and I ran inside the backdoor of the mortuary, pretty much drenched.
Jim looked up from the dead hooker lying on the table. “You could’ve asked me for a ride.”
“I didn’t want to bother you.”
Murders on the Edge Page 12
