Madagin becomes Madagin? Maybe.

My chosen mutt! Without history or name.

I ushered him into the clinic for neutering as required.

His name?" the pert young woman at the desk asked.

"Madigan."

"Cute name." I was prepared to explain that Madigan was old Irish for puppy dog. She addressed my dog. "Madigan."

No response. No recognition of the name 'Madigan'. But Ye Gods he had had that name for less than twelve hours.

Despite the indignity he remained cooperative. He exhibited the same demeanor he exhibited when I walked him at the pound. He heeled beside  the clinic worker, followed her without question to a procedure he could not imagine.

My Life with Madigan

I have been so preoccupied with the death of one dog and the adoption of new one I have been uncreative in trying to write. Thus I have decided to write of this experience.

                                                           My Life with Madigan

My beloved dog, Petro, died unexpectedly.  Or so it seemed.  In retrospect there were signs:  listlessness which I attributed to old age, erratic appetite—only a bit more erratic for my fussy eater, gauntness without weight loss.

A massive stomach tumor explained the symptoms and ended his life.

The emptiness of a house occupied only by Petro and me since my husband’s death last year hung heavy.  Hence my daily treks alternately to the local Humane Society and the County Pound. Two Corgi-mixes proved too rambunctious for a nearly eighty year old widow. A tri-color Sheltie was reunited with its owner. Three mixed beagles in the early puppy stage scared me with their sheer puppiness. Then I saw the one.  A beagle-terrier mix stole my heart the minute I looked on his white coat with sable spots, his long graceful legs, his dangly sable ears framing his white face.

A first day walk around the Pound grounds and  a second  day walk despite the rain. The third day I returned to the Pound with collar and leash in my pocket.  A bank check and scheduled Vet appointment later I began my life with Madigan

Jake Solved the Murders?

We had split a list of ten suspects up into three lists for investigation. I was not enthusiastic about it. 

                                                         PART 23

I spent most of the day pondering what I had gotten myself into and exactly two minutes looking at my list of six. I needed Calvin. Calvin Harris, the best detective I knew, one I had used as a consultant of many of my books. Where did I have his number? The phone rang. “Yes”, I said curtly.

“Oh you old crab ass.” I could see Jennifer’s  smirky smile. “Are you detecting yet?”

“Nothing beyond staring at the list and wondering what the hell I’m doing. And I’ve changed my mind about the fairness of six-two-two.”

“Doesn’t matter. Toss your list, Jake’s got what we need.”

“Who, what?”

“Not now. I'm pressed for time. Tonight. Ok to come by at seven? And call Mike.  He needs to be there.”

“And tell him what?”

“That Jake’s solved the murders. Both of them. See you at seven.” She hung up.

She hung up. Why did I stay in this – what did my agent call it?- the asshole of the whole civilized world. I was beginning to think she was right. But then she did think there  was a book in this mess.

*                      *                       *                        *

“So give,” I said opening the door to Jake and Jennifer.

“Hello to you too,” Jennifer said. “Mike coming?”

“He said he’d try.”

“Try. Try?” she shouted just as Mike exited his car.  “Mike, Jake’s solved the murder. Both of the murders.”

“So I was given to understand.”

“Harold did it. He killed both of them.” Her enthusiasm elicited smiles from all three of us.

Then Mike shook his head. “You got me out here for this? Jen, I know you’re smitten by detective work—or what you think is detective work. But this is nuts. Pure unadulterated nuts. Harold was not in town when his dear little wife was killed.”

Jake who had been silent said, “It’s possible he did it, Mike. Just hear us out.”

                                                                     

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Lovers Galore

We had decided the logical and sensible thing to do was check out the romantic interest of Callie Everson, other wise know to us as Sweety-Pie

                                                                PART  22

Enthusiasm gushed from Jennifer’s words. “And you’ll not guess in a gazillion years how promiscuous she was.”

Jennifer leapt at the chance to do what she called ‘gossip sleuthing’. A service to truth she insisted. “I’ve got a list that doesn’t quit. Half is a little shaky; half are done deals.”

At that moment I knew that only my appreciation and admiration of Jake kept me from kissing her.  “So where do we go from here? To the sheriff?”

“Good gods no. This is ours. Our investigation, your book.” Jennifer produced her two lists, the iffy one, the for sure one. “I think we start with the for sure list. We’ll split them up.”

“But Jennifer, I don’t know these people.”

“And you think I do?” She rolled her eyes. “For god’s sake, if detectives checked out only those they knew, they would have limited and short careers.”

“Let’s hire detectives. I have the money up front and can claim it as expenses when the book is done.”

I ducked to avoid her hand flung at my face. “Do that and I’m out of here.”

“Whoa,” I said. “So how do you propose we proceed?”

“You’re the mystery writer. You tell me.”

I made up stories out of pure imagination. I manipulated facts to meet my plot. I knew nothing about detective work. But I knew a few detectives, who had helped me on various occasions. I could get advice from them. Jennifer need not know. “Okay,” I said. “Let’s start with the for sure list.”

-                        -                            -                           -

By the time Jake and Jennifer left we had organized the ten for sure lovers into graph form with the information we had. Location, career, age, length of relationship, and spaces for additional categories as needed. Looking at the chart I said, ”It seems we have our work cut out for us. Let’s split the list.”

“Great. You take 6; Jake and I will take two each. That seems fair.”

“Fair,” I said. “Six, two, two seems fair?”

“More than fair. This is your job. Jake and I have other jobs. We’re doing you the favor. Unless you plan to split the profits from the book you’ll get out of with us.”

It seemed fair.

Harold's Been Found If He Was Ever Lost

Harold and Callie, his Sweety, were missing. I had been completely cleared of any part in the murder of Harold's late wife. In fact I was engaged to help the Sheriff solve the case. And solving it was of great importance to me because it was the STUFF of new novel. 

                                                                         Part 21

At half past seven the banging at my front door jarred me from sleep.  Sleep badly needed since I was up most of the night plotting possible scenarios of this story.

After Jennifer's hardly breathing between the words of her report on Callie Everson’s demise I said, “I know.”

“How the hell would you feel if you went out of your way to share this critical news? Only to find out it is not news.” Jennifer said to me clad only in a wrap around towel. “And how the shit did you know?”

“Sheriff Marlings told me yesterday.”

“And you didn’t feel you should share that?”

“Jennifer, get a grip. I was going to call you later today. How did you find out?”

“Jake got it from Mike last night.”

“Any word on Harold?”

“Not that I know. But then you might since you do seem to know more than I do.” The hostility of her tone equaled that of her fiery eyes.

“Jen—I can call you Jen?”

“You may not,” she snapped. “My close friends call me that. Jennifer will do just fine for you.”

I could see she was not about to thaw. “Jennifer,” I said. “It’s not like I was keeping anything a secret. I just found out for Christ’s sake. Give me a fucking break.”

She burst out in laughter. “I’m sorry, but this whole thing is getting to me.”

It was my turn to laugh. “It’s getting to you. In case you haven’t been paying attention it me—not you – who’s being suspected of murder.”

“Was being suspected, not is,” she said looking at her watch. “God I have to get to work. Ok if Jake and I come by tonight?”

I spent the morning arranging and rearranging known facts into one possible plot after another. At noon Sheriff Marlings called, “Harold’s been found.”

“At his parent’s house no doubt.”

“Yep. How did you know?”

“Only possible place. If he’s guilty of something running away just makes him look more guilty. If he’s innocent why would he run away?”

“Makes sense. Any other ideas?”

“If I were in charge I’d be looking into Sweety Pie’s other romantic interests.”

His laughter seemed unusually raucous. “Being done as we speak.”

"Keep me in formed,” I said.

New Developments

Harold and his sweetie had disappeared from  the area. No one seemd to know where. Or Noone was willing to say.

                                                                 Part 20

I was not in great need of money. My books had sold well, and I could easily go without income for a few years. My desire to write a new book was born of my need to be productive. As I looked at to date my two efforts at writing were feeble.  I could hear my father’s scolding lectures from the time I started school. “Talking about what you are going to do is a piss poor substitution for doing it.”

Sometimes doing things was also piss poor. Like the two books I started—neither going anywhere. If I had an iota of sense I would leave this – What did I call it yesterday when I was talking to Jake?  The asshole of the civil world. I could leave now that I was no longer a murder suspect. I think I could.

I called the police station. “Mike Marlings. Please”

“Who’s calling?”

“Conrad Murdock.”

“Just a minute. I’ll see if he’s available.”

Or is willing to talk to me, I thought and realized I was paranoid. I waited  and waited and waited. Just as I was about to hang up Mike Marling’s voice came on. “Connie, what’s up?”

“Wondering if it’s ok for me to on for me to leave?”

“For how long?”

“Forever.”  Silence.  I continued, “I thought you had eliminated me as a suspect.”

“That’s right. But I thought you had agreed to help solve this.” Silence. “You did agree, didn’t you?”

“I guess I did. But for the life of me I don’t know what more I can offer.”

“We have develpoments.”

“Developments. What developments?”

“Can you come by headquarters? I’ll fill you in.”

“On what?”

“On what’s new. This afternoon. Say around 2. Can you make it?”

At 2 I was settled in Mike’s office. At 2:05 he came in. “Mr, Marlings,” I said.

“Mike. Now Connie—I can call you Connie?” I nodded. “Well Connie, the developments. This is not for general knowledge yet. I’m sure you’ll be prudent. That includes Jen and Jake.” I nodded. “Well we have a second murder. Harold’s other woman.”

“Sweety Pie?”

“If you mean Callie Everson. Yes. Can’t say   I have heard her called that.”  He laughed. “Jen’s name for her. Right?” I nodded. “Sounds like Jen.”

“She said Harold and Sweety Pie had gone missing.”

“They had. Now only Harold’s missing. Callie’s been found. Dead. And not from natural causes.” He tapped his desk top with his pen. “Interesting.  Wouldn’t you say? Harold’s two women—both carrying his babies- are dead.” His lips spread; his eyes fastened on me. “Still want to leave?” 

Harold and His Sweetie Have Vanished

                                                                 Part 19

“No question about it, Jackie.  I am in one hell of a mess.” I said into the phone. “Unless this is cleared up I can’t get on with my writing. What do you want me to do? Just make up stuff?”

“Great Gods, how creative of you,” she said. “Stuff. And just what is stuff?” Silence. Silence. I was ready to hang up when she said, “And yes I think you should make up stuff.” She emphasized stuff. “Connie, that’s what you do.”

“But this is real and I’m in the middle of it.”

“I thought they excluded you as a suspect. They did, didn’t they?”

“Depends on who they are. Two friends and the sheriff. The rest of the rubes around here. To them I’m likely guilty as sin.”

“Then I suggest you get the Hell out of that god-forsaken place. Back to home. Back to normal people.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Then—my god, Connie. You are a writer. You write. So write. Either solve this yokel-hokel mystery or make it up. But write. I’ll check in next week. And mark my words. You better be working.” She hung up before I could respond.

I was still staring at the phone when it rang—making me jump—in body and mind. “Hello,” I said trying to modulate my quivering voice.

“Connie, that you? You sound funny. Jake here.”

“Yeah Jake. What’s up?”

“Got news for you. Not over the phone. Can you meet me for lunch? Harry’s hotdog stand. You know where it is. 12:15. I only have forty five minutes.”

At a corner table away from other patrons Jake and I sat with our hotdogs and beer. “Things are hopping,” Jake said with a mouth full of hotdog.

"Things.  Like what things?” I nibbled at the dry hotdog on the stale bun.

“Relax. You look like you’re ready to pop.”

“No kidding. Why I ever came here is a question I may never be able to answer. Here in the ass-hole of the civil world.”

Jake’s laughter attracted universal attention. Silence fell on the noisy crows. All eyes were on us. In lowered voice Jake said, “”Asshole of the world or not. Right now it’s yours. And—“  He held up a halt hand to stop me from interrupting. “Right now we have to solve this. And there’s news. That’s why I called you.”

“Oh,” I said with as much sarcasm as I could muster. “There’s news. What is it? Somebody confess to this murder?”

“Harold is gone.”

“Gone where?”

“Nobody knows. His little sweetie is gone too.”

“I thought she was already gone.”

“From here. Yeah, but now it seems she’s gone from the face of the earth, at the same time that Harold is.”

                                

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