A Quiet Little Town Pt. 03

After living in a small apartment, owning a 3,000 square foot home is a huge change and I still haven't decided what to do with all that space. One decision I did make though, was to furnish it with real wood furniture, not that pressed-wood garbage sold today in many stores. It's taken a year but I finally understand what my friends had been trying to tell me, a house is never finished. There's always one more thing to do. Modern heating and air conditioning systems were always in my plans but I never thought about having to replace all the glass windows with energy efficient ones. The biggest difference between the window replacement and earlier jobs was that I didn't need to have the work done by a company on the list Lisa gave me.

Most people save pictures and mementos of special times or special people in their lives. It may seem crazy but I had that list framed. For me, it's a reminder that I helped put Frank Mitchell away for life.

Before Frank was sent to prison, the people in town were friendly but never seemed as happy as they are now and I've become somewhat of a celebrity. In all my years as a firefighter I never received as much praise. When I venture into town, hardly a day goes by without someone introducing themselves and saying how much their lives have changed. And then there are the women. I've become a target of many women who see me as a very eligible bachelor, hinting that my beautiful house and king-size bed are much too big for just one person.

Now, not being particularly blessed in the looks department, I'm constantly amazed at the comments I get from women and not very subtle comments at that. I always thought it was guys who went to bars to pick up girls, not the other way around but I'm learning that women can be just as forward or predatory. Last week it was Marcia, a twenty-nine year old elementary school teacher who her students would never recognize in the slutty outfit she wore. The week before, it was Debbie, a fifty year old yoga instructor who offered to show me how limber she still was. And before that, it was Sarah who said she got divorced because her ex couldn't keep up with her in bed and she wanted to know if I was interested in seeing if I could. There were others but you get the idea. Maybe it's their biological clock ticking, maybe some are looking for a golden ticket, or maybe they're just looking for a good time. In any event, I'm not gullible enough to believe those women are actually interested in me romantically but I'm also not stupid enough to turn down the sex they keep offering. Perhaps one day I'll find a diamond among the rocks but it hasn't happened yet.

For that reason I consider many of the men in town to be more honest in their friendship. On a recent trip to town, I ran into Dave, the owner of a local hardware store.

"Hank, I never got the chance to thank you. I'll finally be able to earn a decent living now that I'm not forced to buy from particular suppliers at high prices."

"You're not the first business owner who's told me that. Maybe the city will grow a little now although I hope not too fast. I like the small town feeling here."

"Why? Other than maybe some peace and quiet now that Frank is gone, this place has much less to offer than San Francisco."

"Don't knock peace and quiet, Dave. I'm sure the whole town knows what I used to do for a living."

"It couldn't have been all work."

"Most days I had no energy for fun but when I did, I'd join my friends for a few drinks and laughs. Simple pleasures. Other than that, the only time I felt really at peace was when I was fishing for halibut or striped bass in San Francisco Bay."

"Living in the middle of the country, there's no chance of doing any saltwater fishing here, but there are some nice rivers and lakes."

"Near here?"

"A few. Unfortunately, the curse of the state is that while most of the people in Nebraska live in the eastern part, the best fishing is out west. But if you're ever willing to take a four-hundred mile trip, just say the word and we'll make a week of it. I have a buddy with a boat who lives near Lake McConaughy. I'll take a long-overdue vacation and we can drive there in my pickup truck. I've got all the freshwater gear we'll need."

"I'd love to get back on the water."

"Then, how does the end of next week sound? The town can survive without me for a week."

"Looks like we're going fishing."

It was the following Friday that we headed out to the lake. The trip was almost entirely done on Interstate 80 one of the major highways connecting both east and west coasts of the US. As Dave drove, he reflected on the history of the road.

"Sometimes when I'm on this highway I think about what this trip would have been like a hundred and eighty years ago. Back then, It might have taken a week to travel the same distance that we'll do in six hours. Did you know that this highway follows the Mormon Trail, the path the Mormons took as they traveled from Illinois to Salt Lake City hoping for a better life and religious freedom?"

"No, but It does make you think, doesn't it? I wonder if the government did that on purpose."

"Hank, there's something else I wanted to talk to you about. I know you live way out at the edge of town by yourself. Ever get lonely out there?"

"Oh no, not you too? It seems everyone is trying to get me married."

"No, no, no. You misunderstand. I was thinking of a dog. When I'm not at the store I volunteer at the local shelter. We've got some great animals looking for a new home."

"You had me worried there for a minute. To be honest, I've thought about it but owning a pet is a responsibility I'm not quite ready for yet." Switching the subject I said, "So, tell me about this place we're going to."

"The lake is the largest in the state and the clear water can reach a depth of over 140 feet. People fish for walleye, catfish, northern pike and of course bass. The fish won't be as large as those you caught in California but since we'll be using very light tackle instead of the heavy saltwater rods you're used to, you're going to feel the tug of every fish you hook."

After hearing that, the drive seemed even longer. I couldn't wait to get there. All during the drive, I wondered what kind of boat Vic had but it wouldn't matter even if it was a rowboat. I'd be fishing again.

At 11:30 a.m. we met Dave's friend Vic at one of the many boat ramps bordering the lake and Vic's boat was definitely no rowboat. He owned a sleek nineteen-foot bowrider, a boat with enough seating in the front and back for nine. It had a Bimini top and was powered by a 115hp motor in the back. Fishing in that boat was heaven. Dave was right, fishing with light tackle and light lines was a new experience. Unlike California, I couldn't just drag a fish into the boat because I could easily break the line and the nine-pound walleye I caught felt like a monster on the rod I was using.

At the end of each day Dave and I enjoyed the hospitality of our host, eating what we didn't release and sleeping at his house about a mile from the lake. Unlike the drive there, the six days fishing on the lake flew by and all too soon we were headed home.

"Dave, that was amazing. Thank you."

"Happy I could do something in return for the man who saved our city."

"I've been thinking about that other thing we talked about, getting a dog. The more I think about it, the more I like it. Tell me about the dogs at the shelter."

"Some are strays we've picked up, some were confiscated by the police for some form of animal abuse and some were turned in by their owners because they couldn't take care of them any more due to medical or financial reasons. Some aren't quite ready for adoption but I'll show you some that are."

"When are you at the shelter?"

"Sundays. I close the store, attend church and go to the shelter after lunch."

"Expect me this Sunday around two o'clock."

Dave was waiting for me at the front door when I arrived and I was given a tour of the place before walking along rows of enclosures filled with dogs begging for attention. Many were cute but none seemed right until I saw the one that I knew was my future dog. As I pointed to him, I asked, "What's the story on that dog?"

"He's a miniature boxer, about eighteen-months old who was found wandering the streets. He actually has a microchip imbedded in him so we contacted the owner but it's been almost a month and there's been no attempt to pick up the dog. You can adopt him but understand that sometime in the future there's the slim but real chance the owner will try to reclaim him. A dog as nice as that one can cost $1,500 if you buy it from a breeder."

"Can you open the cage so I can see his reaction to me."

"Go to room 102 and wait for me. That's the room we've set up for meetings like that. I'll bring him to you."

There were chairs in the room so I had the option of sitting on them or standing. I chose to do neither. I wanted to present myself in as little a threatening manner as possible so I decided to sit on the floor and wait. It was only about two minutes later that Dave entered with the dog and brought him over to me. As I spoke softly and pet him there was no doubt that I wanted to take him home and the wagging of his tail told me the feeling was mutual. I already had a name for him ... Milo which translated means soft-hearted.

"If I want to adopt him, what's the next step?"

"I already know your home and property are suitable so I don't have to make a home visit but I'd recommend you doing a little research on the breed so you'll understand what you'd be getting. This particular breed has some health concerns. Come back in a week and if the owner still hasn't picked up the dog, we'll either do the paperwork or look at some other choices."

"What about the microchip?"

"It wouldn't have to be removed. Just contact the microchip company with proof of ownership and they'll change the owner details."

I did the research Dave recommended and didn't see anything that would change my mind. He had the exact temperament I was looking for and I could deal with any health problems if they developed.

Even though my house and property were acceptable, there were so many things I had to purchase before I could take him home. With the help of Dave and the local pet store I was able to stock up on the food Milo had been eating, the toys and treats he enjoyed, a leash and body harness (which I preferred to a collar), bowls for food and water, puppy pads, a carrier and many other things I'd never considered. By the time I was finished, my car was overflowing with pet supplies and I was on a first name basis with the pet store owner and all the employees.

For the first week I took Milo everywhere, hoping to get him comfortable living with me. The second week I left him alone for short periods of time to gauge his anxiety level at separation while reassuring him with lots of affection when I returned. Everything was going well until the day I came home to a silent home. Usually Milo met me at the door. I called his name but there was no response and I started to worry.

Anyone nearby must have heard me yell when I found him lying dead on the kitchen floor. Next to him was his food dish with some food in it that I never bought and a message on the refrigerator scrawled in red marker. "You took someone dear from me so I took something dear from you."

I crumbled to the floor and dug my cellphone out of my pocket.

"911. What is the nature of your emergency?"

"Mary, this is Hank Michaels. Patch me through to the sheriff. Someone just killed my dog."

The Sheriff arrived with another person and looked at the scene.

"Hank, have you touched anything?"

"No, I've seen enough crime shows."

"Hank, this is Kendra Allen, our Medical Assistant and Lab Technician. This being a small town, some people wear two hats."

I had a flashback to Lisa telling me the same thing. Kendra looked to be in her late twenties, with blonde hair and if she wore a little more makeup you might see her as a younger version of the actress Sharon Stone.

"Miss Allen, the food in his dish wasn't anything I put there so my guess is he was poisoned."

"We'll take it to the lab to have it analyzed but from what you've told us, you're probably right."

"Any idea who might have done this?"

"No, but whoever it was left that message on the refrigerator."

The Sheriff took out his phone and took a picture of it.

"Does the message mean anything to you? It takes a pretty angry person to kill a man's dog."

"Not a thing. The only person that comes to mind is behind bars and his family is no longer here."

"Hank, disappear for a few hours. I'll send one of my deputies here to investigate the scene. Maybe he'll find a fingerprint that'll give us a clue. Until we can sort this out, I'll give you the same advice I gave you before, watch your back."

Kendra then added, "And when I finish my analysis of the food, the Sheriff can give you the results."

To kill a few hours I decided to go to the movies although I left halfway through the film. My mind was elsewhere, still focused on Milo's death. Unconsciously, I found myself walking to Dave's hardware store.

"Hi Hank. How are you and Milo getting along?"

"He's dead."

"Dead? What happened? Did he get hit by a car?"

"I don't have the results from the Sheriff yet but I think he was poisoned as some sort of revenge."

"That's crazy. Everyone in this town thinks you walk on water. Could it be someone who followed you here from San Francisco?"

"Hadn't thought of that possibility. I'll keep my eyes open for anyone I recognize. It's going to be difficult thinking about getting another dog. I guess it was Milo's kind and trusting nature that contributed to his death. I just keep thinking that if I never took him home, he'd still be alive."

"You can't think that way. Some people are just sick."

"I know but as long as the killer is out there, I won't risk the lives of any other dogs."

"I understand."

"Damn, I just thought of something, The killer got in without damaging the door. That means the killer either has a key or knows how to get in without one. Do you sell those metal bars that you wedge under the door knob to prevent intruders?"

"We don't sell many of those but I may have one in the back. Let me check."

My phone rang and I walked away from the counter to take the call. It was the Sheriff.

"Kendra said you were right. The food in Milo's bowl had rat poison in it. Unfortunately, the bowl was clean, no fingerprints. Sorry."

"Can I return home now?"

"Yeah. Listen, my deputy found the spoon used to put the food in his dish. Maybe Kendra can do something with that."

As the call ended, Dave returned with one of those security bars and I left the store feeling a little safer. I wished I still had the surveillance equipment used by the FBI, but when they left they took the equipment with them. For my own safety I took another trip to that electronics store in Omaha.

Entering the store I was immediately recognized by the salesman who sold me the electronic bug detector.

"Still thinking about a home surveillance system?"

"One question, can you install it too?"

"We work with a small company that can do that."

"Then the answer is yes. I've already had a break-in."

I purchased cameras capable of recording both sight and sound to monitor the inside and outside of my house. The whole self-contained and motion-activated system would be connected to a recording device in my house that was active twenty-four hours a day. Recordings could be viewed on any of the TVs in my house and erased afterward. It was expensive but my life was worth more than the $10,000 the system cost. My only request was that the people who installed the system arrive in an unmarked truck. I wanted as few people as possible to know what I was doing.

While the FBI did remove their cameras and listening devices they left me the phone I used to contact "Brother Paul" and the small digital recorder I used to capture conversations. I used the phone to text a message. "Brother Paul, I have a problem that might be related to Frank Mitchell."

A reply came back almost immediately. "What's the problem?"

I texted all that had happened and waited for another message.

"How can I help?"

"Find out if Lisa is still in the vicinity. She's my prime suspect."

"She can't be the one you're looking for. Lisa is under surveillance in Tennessee."

"Do you know if any of Frank's or Lisa's relatives live in town?"

"Hold on a second while I pull up their records." After a pause the text continued. "Not according to our records. They were both born in North Carolina and got married when he was thirty-four and she was twenty-two. He was nothing special then and really didn't draw our attention until they moved to Nebraska about eleven years ago and he started making waves."

"Maybe one of her relatives here is known by a different last name. What was her maiden name?"

"Accardi"

"That doesn't ring a bell. Guess I'll have to keep digging. Thanks anyway."

This was one of those times when I wished for the old days before cellphones when you could pick up a phone book that listed everyone's name, address and phone number.

The security system was scheduled to be installed in two days. Unfortunately the person who killed Milo didn't wait that long to send another message. In addition to the usual bills and junk mail in my mailbox, there was a folded piece of paper with another message written in red marker. There was no doubt it was from the person who had killed Milo. It read, "It's only a matter of time before I come for you."

I contacted the Sheriff immediately.

"Sheriff, I got another message from the person who killed Milo."

"I'll be right there."

The police car arrived in about ten minutes and I handed the Sheriff the paper.

"I doubt we'll find any fingerprints on it other than your own but we'll check it anyway. It's obviously a death threat but I don't have the manpower to assign an officer to watch your house. Do you own a gun?"

"No."

"It might be a good idea to get one."

"I'm not really comfortable carrying a gun."

"I get it, but if the choice is being uncomfortable or dead, I'd choose uncomfortable. Nebraska is an open-carry state but if you want to carry a concealed weapon you'll have to complete a gun safety course. If you change your mind about guns, I can recommend one."

"Thanks Sheriff."

As he drove away I hoped the security people arrived before the killer did. I really didn't want to carry a gun.

I tried to live a normal life but it was difficult. I had Milo cremated and the ashes placed in a box that I now keep on my fireplace mantle. I only knew him a short time but I miss him already. I still visit my favorite bar but now, suspicious of everyone, I politely decline all the late night offers I receive from the ladies. These days I worry about being murdered in my sleep.

Luckily there were no more threats before the security system was installed. All I could do now was try to stay safe while I waited for the killer's next move and I didn't have to wait long. Two days later the killer deposited another message in my mailbox, this one more ominous than the last. It said just two words, "Time's up."

I ran to the house, praying that my new security system had done its job and I'd finally see my stalker. I played the video saved from the last twenty-four hours until I saw a figure walk to the mailbox. According to the time stamp, the person delivered the note at about 5:45 a.m. Dressed in a hooded jacket and black pants, the person's face was hidden but the killer had made a mistake and I now knew who killed my dog and threatened me. What I didn't know was why and I wanted answers as well as justice.