by Scott Cook
I looked at him, “Well, there isn’t much to explain. Nice of you to be here, though.”
“No…” Debbie continued, “You don’t understand. Mr. Foster wants to talk to the owner of the dog that was killed.”
I looked from one of them to the other in abject confusion, “Huh? I’m the owner, Deb, you know that already.”
Foster’s face split into a huge grin as the inner door to the examination area opened and a black Doberman with floppy ears and a complete tail bounded out and leapt toward me. I caught the dog, who started barking and trying to lick my face.
“I don’t’ think he gets it yet,” Foster said with a laugh.”
Scott,” Debbie said as I stood there stupidly, “The dog you brought in didn’t have an ID chip.”
“But…” I stammered as the room seemed to spin, “But Morgan had a chip…”
“Still does,” Foster beamed.
I bent down and looked into the dog’s face. As the full import of what they were saying sunk in, my vision blurred and tears began to spill down my cheeks. I didn’t care who saw either. I just wrapped my arms around my pooch and buried my face in his neck as his tail and butt wiggled with joy.
After a few moments, I sniffled and stood, using the long sleeve of my shirt to wipe my eyes and nose, “Uhm… sat on my keys…”
Foster and Debbie laughed. The other detective put a hand on my shoulder, “No shame in it.”
“How?” I croaked.
“Somebody found a Dobey just like him,” Debbie said, “Same ears and tail and everything. Side by side you’d be able to tell.”
“Whoever did it,” Foster added, “they were banking on your distress covering for any differences you’d notice.”
“My God…” I breathed, scratching my seemingly resurrected dog’s head, “But that means somebody out there really is missing their pup. What a thing to do… How did you find him?”
“Believe it or not,” Foster replied, “when I got home later that evening after you’d… paid me a visit… I found him just hanging out in my back yard. I had a pretty good idea of whose dog it was, of course. I brought him to my vets… I’ve got two dogs myself and they actually got along fine… and when they scanned the chip, your name came up. I contacted Deb here and…”
“I wonder if they brought Morgan to your place to implicate you just in case,” I pondered, “Christ what a case…”
“Well,” Foster said, patting me on the shoulder, “I’ll let you two catch up. Come and see me one of these days, Scott. Think we owe each other a drink.”
“Come on, Pupson,” I said to Morgan, who looked up expectantly, “Do I have a story to tell you!”
The Romans have a saying that states that those who ignore history are doomed to repeat it. It’s widely used and the wisdom has not diminished over the centuries. Sadly, there are still many people who fail to learn this simple lesson.
Yet should the sins of the father taint the son… or the daughter? Do we owe a debt for the actions of our forbearers? Personally, I don’t think so. We’re all responsible for our own actions. For whatever reasons, Audrey Lambert got it in her head that she should follow through with Hitler’s last ploy.
Why? I’ll never know… I doubt it was for some multi-generational devotion to the Reich. She didn’t even know the truth about her grandfather until very recently. It was more probable that someone had gotten to her.
Maybe it was some neo-Nazi group or some Palestinian organization or even some other anti-Semitic enclave that wanted to use Hitler’s last failed attack on Israel. Maybe it had been something else entirely.
In the end, it hadn’t mattered. Like her Nazi forbearers, she only seemed to see the world through the tunnel vision of hate. Even her grandfather, a survivor of the war and a former Nazi himself had seen the error of his ways.
And yet they’d both paid the price for ignoring history. Audrey paid by losing everything. Hank Lambert, or Ernst Schumer, had finally paid with his own life. A life he’d stolen from the real Hank Lambert so long ago.
Where Audrey had died because of arrogance, hatred and a single-minded devotion to whatever she believed in, Ernst had paid for his folly by protecting another. I owed him my life and I could pity him. It was easy to pity him, in fact.
Perhaps Ernst Schumer had believed that the sins of the father did pass on. He’d tried to make up for his sins and those of the people who’d created him. In a real way, he’d succeeded. I’d always remember him as a kindly, gruff and humorous old sailor.
As for your humble hero? Well, I didn’t know what was next, but at least now I could face it with my four legged buddy again. Now that we were reunited, I figured it was time to go sailing. Morgan thought that was a splendid idea.
Author’s notes
Ah, dear reader and / or listener as the case may be… we’ve once again slammed head first into the impenetrable wall of a novel’s end. Are you as bummed as I am?
I love a good story and I hope that you do, too and I also hope that you found this one entertaining and worth the price of admission. Fear not, though, I’m already working on Jarvis #7…!
…and the prologue of that book, albeit a first draft, has been added after this section for your bonus reading pleasure! Ain’t I swell?
In my books, you may notice that credulity occasionally takes a hiatus, or at least allows itself to be stretched to near breaking. I admit this, yet I thought I’d address it, based on one or two nuggets of feedback I’ve received over time.
The Adventures of Scott Jarvis, although based in what we laughably call the real world, is a fantasy. It is not intended to represent a hyper-accurate documentation of police or intelligence procedure. While I do try and observe certain customs and standards, I will bend reality for the purpose of dramatic license from time to time. I’d rather my tales be 10% fantasy and engaging than try to be 100% accurate and duller than your uncle Leroy’s account of his pollup surgery.
Once again, thank you valued follower of Jarvis. Believe it or not, I do read all reviews and feedback, so if you’d like to leave a review on Amazon or Audible – or both if you’re truly the magnanimous sweetheart I know you to be, then please do so. It’s appreciated.
Please visit me and follow me on Facebook at:
www.facebook.com/swcwriter
Other books by the author…
In the Scott Jarvis Investigations series…
Choices – book 1
The Ledger – book 2
Play the Hand You’re Dealt – book 3
Isle of Bones – book 4
Shadows of Limelight – book 5
You may also enjoy:
World of Corpses – World of Corpses zombie apocalypse book 1
Bonus Prologue from Jarvis #7
The woman stepped through the open door from her suite onto her private balcony. In one hand, she held a tumbler filled nearly to brimming with pale brown bourbon and only a very little ice. In her other she held an almost full pack of Viceroys with a disposable Bic lighter nestled inside.
The bourbon wasn’t her usual Jefferson’s Ocean Aged or Michter’s and certainly not anything like the rare bottle of Pappy Van Winkle’s she could get her hands on. Neither were the cigarettes her usual Newports or even Capris. Yet considering that she wasn’t in the U.S. and some adjustments had to be made, it wasn’t so terrible.
This mindset of adaptation also ran to other aspects of her current situation as well. For as she sat on the balcony of her cliff side suite and looked out past the rainforest and over the sparkling Pacific below, she felt that while the view of the oncoming sunset was admittedly spectacular, the five star Arenas Del Mar resort was only just adequate. The room was nice, the service was above average and it couldn’t be argued that the cuisine was delectable. Most people would classify those as absolutely top notch… but then she wasn’t most people.
It would do, of course. Considering her circumstances, she couldn’t really complain. However, what she d
id find particularly frustrating was the current lack of quality in other means to satisfy her wants. She was a woman who enjoyed her pleasures. The finest drink, tobacco and food. The most luxurious living conditions and only the choices cuts of male companionship could even temporarily slake her ravenous hungers. Thus far, she was loathe to accept, the pickings at this resort were slim at best. Most of the guests were either families or couples who came for a romantic getaway. She more than once considered seducing a notably scrumptious married man who’d arrived a few days back. He was just right, tall, handsome, wealthy and saddled by two whiney children and a wife who’d not quite bounced back from the youngest.
She’d met him and his family on a nature walk in the nearby Manuel Antonio National Park. The kids were unruly and the wife had an air of dissatisfaction about her, as if having to walk in a beautiful Costa Rican rain forest was beneath her. The husband, an investment banker from one of the second-tier states… Ohio or Oregon or Georgia or someplace… was outgoing and friendly, especially when she’d said hello and started to chat with him.
Nothing unusual there. She was a ten and she knew it. Even at forty, her body was athletic and well-muscled. Her skin was baby-smooth and free of child bearing stretch marks. Her hair was a natural shade of golden blonde that fell in highlighted tresses halfway down her back and had yet to show a single strand of gray. Her face was that of a model, although she’d never been one. Large jade green eyes, elegantly arched brows, strong cheekbones, a pert nose, full pouty lips and a face shaped into a perfect heart without even a hint of lines.
Her breasts were solid D’s, firm and full and a titillating contrast to her flat belly and high and proud round ass. She couldn’t go out of doors without feeling the hungry eyes of men and some women on her. Their gaze analyzing and memorizing and their minds fantasizing. And she loved every moment of it.
So it was no surprise that when she’d met Steve the next morning in the resort’s workout center that he’d found a way to exercise near her. He struck up a conversation and paid her enough attention to confirm that he could be hers if she wanted.
But…
Even she had to exercise some restraint, if only for now. This wasn’t what she was used to either, frankly. She was used to getting anything she wanted anytime she wanted it. However, under the current circumstances, it would be better to maintain a low profile and she knew it. She would admit that she loved her vices a bit too much, yet she also possessed a powerful will. She was strong enough to ignore her own baser impulses when there was a greater reason. And of all her desires, that of possessing as much wealth as she could acquire sat at the top of a very long list. Of course, it was true that money was power, and power gave you the ability to get what you wanted… so this muddied the waters some. Yet with wealth she could get any other thing she wanted and there were virtually no barriers to her attainment. Not financial, temporal or even ethical.
Had she not been in Costa Rica for reasons other than pleasure, she’d have taken Steve that very morning. She even amused herself with the fantasy of how it’d go. She’d chat him up, offer to partner up in their workout and then go for a refreshing run afterward. She’d lure him to her room, get them undressed and showered and then take him. And afterward, when he’d expressed regret and guilt over his infidelity, she’d soothe him and stroke his ego. And then she’d watch him with his brats and his doughy wife and revel in her conquest.
But…
She wasn’t in Costa Rica to mount another woman’s husband, after all. If she was going to dally, it would be better to dally with an available man who wouldn’t represent potential trouble. That also extended to the staff, one or two of whom might fit the bill, yet this too might prove just a bit too risky. The irritation came from the fact that so far, Costa Rica had proven a good place to lay low but not so good for meeting her carnal needs.
It was all the more frustrating as she sat on her balcony and watched the sun hanging low over the glittering ocean. Had she some masculine company, she’d lean over the railing, slide her sun dress up over her hips and let him enter her from behind, both of them watching the sun set as they rutted in full view of anyone who looked up. Yes, they’d be clothed, but a few people would know what was going on and just the thought of it made her lower belly tingle in erotic expectation.
But no, that was not apparently to be. So she sat there, beginning to fume. The decent bourbon and the soothing smoke hadn’t yet begun to take the edge off of her frustration. She had plenty of time to think, and the thoughts were not comforting at the moment.
After all, the whole reason she was here was because of her darling husband… well, ex-husband now. If there was a model for what would be woefully inadequate to keeping her happy, then Miles Palmer could be the poster child. Both in and out of the bedroom she found him contemptable.
Yes, he had money. That was the primary reason she’d first paid him any attention more than a dozen years earlier. Back then he met at least some of her criteria. He was tall, good looking in a take home to mom sort of way, athletic and well-educated. At thirty-three, his sustainable engineering firm was already a modest success and poised to go international.
If she was now considered to be a grasping, self-indulgent and power hungry lioness, it was all Miles’ fault. When they’d first met, she’d thought him kind and friendly, if a bit shy. He was ambitious and intelligent, if a bit of a nerd. She saw a lot of potential in him. At the tender age of twenty-seven, she felt that with her support, she could push his good qualities above the average range and together they could create a financial empire that would grow beyond their wildest dreams. Back then they shared this outlook and the future seemed exciting. It was exciting enough for her to overlook some of his less than stellar qualities… at least for a while.
While she and Miles worked well together building what was now their company into an international juggernaut… their intimate life left much to be desired. For Miles was sadly deficient behind closed doors, especially for a young woman with her almost super-human level of ardor. He had neither the skills to please her, the stamina to allow her time enough to please herself… an admittedly easy task considering her sexual hunger… and sadly, he was below average in terms of the physical requirements as well.
Three strikes!
She was a lioness to his ram. In every conceivable way, Andrea Palmer, once again Andrea Wellesley was his superior. She was more physically fit, far better in bed, more ambitious, far more ruthless and even more intelligent… or at least she felt so. Her intelligence and ambition weren’t hobbled by bashfulness, guilt or too many ethics for that matter. Not that she was an evil woman, it was simply that she held herself and her desires above all others and would go to greater lengths to satisfy herself than most… within reason, after all.
Miles had served his purpose, though. He’d been the springboard that had helped Andrea attain an impressive financial portfolio as well as power. Power based in the extent and capabilities of the company that he felt she was trying to steal from him. And this, more than his three minute fumbling screws or his hesitancy in the face of opportunity was the cause of their break.
Eco Life was hers. Yes, he’d started it, but it was her genius, her doggedness and her boldness that had taken a small Missouri-based design firm making less than half a million dollars annually to a multi-national business with subsidiaries in two dozen countries spanning four continents and earning nearly one-hundred million dollars and growing. All this in less than ten years! Without her, Miles Palmer would still be sitting at a CAD station designing greenhouses and solar heating systems for rich people’s homes that he couldn’t afford rather than designing entire self-sustaining communities that were making national news for their ingenuity and almost zero carbon footprint.
Eco Life was world renowned and Miles Palmer a household name in green tech thanks entirely to his younger, smarter and tougher wife. And how did he repay her? By trying to leverage her out of what was rightf
ully hers. By claiming that she was undermining him and that she had no right to usurp him as the captain of the ship they’d built. Unfortunately for Miles, he had neither the guts nor the tenacity to beat her at this game. He was fighting out of his league and he’d soon learn that the hard way.
However, this meant being patient and biding her time. It meant going to Costa Rica and stewing in her own juices while her plans came to fruition. It was vital that she be as far away from the corporate headquarters still based in St. Louis when the shit truly hit the fan.
But God how she needed a good fuck!
She felt that there were few men who lived with her level of animal fervor. When Andrea got it in her head that she was randy, the desire was like a thirst that couldn’t be slaked or a hunger that gnawed at her. She felt that if something didn’t happen soon, she’d explode. She was a female Caesar, or a Cleopatra, and history told that such people had sexual needs as strong as their need to conquer in other ways.
What Andrea Wellesley couldn’t have possibly imagined is just how quickly a likely candidate for her recreational thoughts would come and in what ironic form.
She took a long pull from her whiskey and placed one of the cigarettes between her lips and sparked it to life with the cheap lighter. She drew in a deep drag and sighed, the smoke drifting around her and then quickly vanishing with the last of the sea breeze.
Unlike her other vices, smoking was one that she kept to a minimum. Just a few pills a day, nothing more. Nothing that would permanently limit her physicality or prematurely age her. She was blessed with robust youthfulness and wouldn’t do much to jeopardize it.
