Bark M for Murder

by An Anthology

  Not daring to peek out to check on Jamil and Gennie’s progress, Maddy took the bottle and tucked in behind the Dumpster along with the dogs. She had absolute faith in the strength of her pitching arm. After all, she threw sticks and balls and Frisbees for the dogs every morning of her life, rain or shine. The question was, what would happen when she nailed Jamil with that bottle? If he was still holding the gun to Gennie’s head… what if it went off and struck her anyway? That was probably why the Seattle PD sharpshooters hadn’t risked taking a shot either—the very real danger of collateral damage.

  Maddy could hear Gennie’s voice now. Maddy couldn’t make out any of the individual words, but Gennie was talking a blue streak. Poor Gennie. She’d had not a clue about Jamil’s real intentions, so she had to be completely befuddled by what was happening. Their feet crunched in the gravel as they stepped off the parking lot pavement. Now Maddy could hear what was being said.

  “Please, don’t do this, Jamil,” Gennie was pleading. “I don’t know what’s going on. I’m trying to help you.”

  “Shut up!” Jamil ordered.

  Next to Maddy, a low growl emanated from deep in Aggie’s throat. Her hackles stood on end. She may have recognized Jamil’s voice from the night before, or she may have simply responded to the naked threat in the way he said the words “shut up.” But good to her training, Aggie didn’t break the stay.

  Maddy held her breath, trying to strategize. She needed to hit Jamil in a way that would cause his arm to go up and make any resulting shot wild enough that he wouldn’t injure Gennie or anyone else.

  Hit him in the head, she thought. An upper cut to the chin that’s hard enough to knock him over.

  When Gennie’s leg appeared around the corner of the Dumpster, Maddy sprang forward. Gennie was twisted to the right, trying to look at Jamil and the gun. Jamil was looking behind him. Neither of them saw Maddy coming. Using both hands to hold it, she smashed the bottle up and into Jamil’s chin, pushing him up and back at the same time.

  The bottle shattered while gunfire roared in Maddy’s ear. She watched, stricken, as Gennie pitched forward and Jamil fell sideways while the gun flew up and away, twirling overhead in a kind of slow motion reality Maddy Watkins had never experienced.

  The excitement proved to be too much for the dogs to hold their stay. By the time the gun landed, Aggie had charged forward and had Jamil’s right wrist in her growling grip. Meanwhile, Daphne, intrigued by this new game, went off to retrieve the spinning gun, which, according to her particular breeding, must have looked like a some new kind of Frisbee.

  And then, appearing as if from nowhere, there were cops everywhere, all of them with weapons drawn, all of them shouting. “Get down! Get down! Don’t move!”

  As they tackled Jamil, Maddy grabbed Aggie’s leash and pulled her away. When Daphne returned, daintily holding the gun by its handle, Maddy ordered her to drop it—which she did. Then, holding both leashes and with her heart aching with dread, Maddy turned to Gennie.

  Had the bullet hit her? Was she dead? Dying? Her head seemed to be lying at a weird angle. Maddy’s first thought was that her sister’s neck was broken. But then, Gennie moaned and moved. When she shook her head, the blonde mane of a wig she’d been wearing fell off into the dirt.

  “What happened?” Gennie demanded, rising to her knees. “What’s going on? Is Jamil all right? Where is he?”

  “Jamil’s just fine,” Maddy told her. “But it looks to me like he’s on his way to jail.”

  Just then Detective Caudill came careening around the corner. “Are you nuts?” he demanded of Maddy. “He could have killed you! What were you thinking?”

  He looked and sounded so much like Rex right then, Maddy almost burst out laughing, except he really was concerned and exasperated with her— and for good reason. She stifled the laughter.

  “Somebody needed to do something,” she said soberly. “I just happened to be in the right place at the right time.”

  “But what did Jamil do?” Gennie was demanding. “What’s going on? Why are those cops putting handcuffs on him? Somebody please help him.”

  “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, Mrs…” Stumped, Detective Caudill paused in his explanation and glanced at Maddy for help.

  “Mrs. Gaylord,” Maddy supplied.

  Caudill nodded. “Your friend, Mr. Mahmoud is a suspect in two Atlanta-area homicides. Two years ago, two elderly women, one sixty-eight and another seventy, disappeared after emptying their bank accounts. Their remains were found a year later and only a few feet apart when a developer started clearing an open field for a new subdivision. By then Mr. Mahmoud had skipped town and no one could find him.”

  The comment was so provoking that Maddy couldn’t keep quiet. “I’ll have you know, Detective Caudill,” she said, turning on the man, “sixty-eight and seventy are a long way from being elderly. But that probably explains why I never heard one word about those two cases on America’s Most Wanted. The victims were elderly. Everyone thought it was high time they turned up their toes and croaked out. I believe I’ll have to send that nice Mr. Walsh an e-mail about this. It’s out-and-out age discrimination, if you ask me, and absolutely inexcusable.”

  Detective Caudill sighed. “Yes, ma’am,” he agreed. “I’m sure you’re right, and I do apologize.”

  The rest of the morning was very busy. Maddy and Gennie were both questioned in detail about what had happened. By the time that was over, Maddy had to call and cancel her lunch meeting with Ralph Ames. Several of the local TV stations had requested interviews with her and the dogs. Maddy wanted to have her hair done and be properly dressed before one of those short-skirted reporters got anywhere near her. Fortunately, the Fairmont was a full-service hotel with a full-service spa. And once Maddy had been properly coiffed and made up, she looked like dynamite in that bright red St. John outfit.

  Maybe she’d have to rethink her daughter-in-law’s outrageous taste in clothing.

  While Maddy was being beautified, so were the dogs. One of the bellmen had brushed them until their red coats shone.

  The telephone rang as Maddy examined herself in the full-length bathroom mirror. The caller turned out to be Sally, the concierge.

  “The car is here to take you to your interviews, Mrs. Watkins,” Sally announced. The name discrepancy on Maddy’s hotel registration form had now been fully explained and corrected. “Will you need any help with your animals?”

  “Oh, no. I’m quite capable of handling everything myself,” Maddy said airily. “The girls and I will be right down.”