LuLu's Desperate House Dogs is a blog about an eccentric little Beagle named LuLu, who, along with her sister Sadie (a Whippet/Terrier/Beagle blend), writes the lurid Puppies in Lust series, and absorbs local color in an idyllic, off-the-leash, canine-centered village known as Lincoln Park~
Tonight! Sam Spencer gets a visit from his guard dog friend Murray, and the mystery of 'The Maltese Chew Toy' becomes a little less murky. Honest. (Photo by Beth Javens) To follow our story from the beginning, please see 03/06/2007 in our archives.
posted by LuLu @ 10:53 PM
LuLu's Desperate House Dogs is a blog about an eccentric little Beagle named LuLu, who, along with her sister Sadie (a Whippet/Terrier/Beagle blend), writes the lurid Puppies in Lust series, and absorbs local color in an idyllic, off-the-leash, canine-centered village known as Lincoln Park~
I am a single five-year-old female Beagle, shown here by myself, while my mix-up of a sister sings the praises of mutts on my blog. Well, let her. I have a most intriguing (one might even say lascivious) past, at least according to my autobiography. In a former lifetime I was Queen Elizabeth the Ist of England, and later on (among others) I was Nell Gwynn, Pauline Borghese, Louise Brooks, and eventually just lovable, neurotic, adorable ME. I have a perfectly charming, albeit very annoying, sister named Sadie. She's rarely plagued by conscience, possibly because she's a Sagittarius. To date she has attempted to steal most of my boyfriends, meaning we're quite used to fighting over bones. Sadie and I are the same age, although she's the adopted one. We do have a fair amount of things in common. For example, she was once Mary Queen of Scots, and later on both Barbara Villiers and Marlene Dietrich. Amazingly we get along -- at least when we're before the public~
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The Maltese Chew Toy (continued)
Last week Sam realized that Bugsy Gatthamer's son was keeping company with his next-door neighbor, Sophie Caruthers. When the gunsel took off in the middle of the night, Sam left the warmth of his doghouse, and charged out after him -- hoping to protect Brigid....
The fog had abated, and only a faint outline of the moon remained in the morning sky by the time Sam made it back to his patch of earth of Post Street. He was exhausted and hungry, having kept a long vigil outside Brigid's elegant quarters at the Canine Coronet Dog Spa.
At least he was satisfied that Bugsy Gatthamer's gunsel of a son hadn't been anywhere near her the night before.
As he padded down the alleyway behind his Post Street digs, he saw no sign of the gunsel's roadster. He also saw none of Sophie Caruthers' spiffy little silver Desoto, which was usually parked directly behind 893.
The light in her apartment was off, and he wondered where a late sleeper like Iva's mistress might have taken herself at such an early hour.
He crawled under the fence, barked for Effie, but she wasn't home, either. Her shed was empty, as was the food bowl. Mrs. Petoma was an early riser, so perhaps she'd taken Effie, and Iva too, out for an early walk.
Sam felt edgy and frustrated. He expected Effie to be in her shed, waiting for him, whenever he felt the urge to come home. On a morning like this one, he really felt the need for her, and he was depressed that she wasn't there.
But Sam was also one tired spaniel. He crawled into Effie's shed, sniffed the sweetness of her scent, and instantly fell into a deep sleep.
But not for long.
A wet nose nudged at Sam's sore ear and he cautiously opened one eye.
Murray was standing outside the tool shed, wagging his tail furiously and grinning with apparent delight.
Sam got to his feet and shook himself off. "What the kennel are YOU doing here?"
Murray's grin widened. "I thought you might be glad to see me, son. I went through enough trouble just getting here! I got lost twice, but I finally remembered everything you told me. Say, is there somewhere a dog can get a drink around here?"
Sam introduced Murray to the communal water bowl, and watched as the big German shepherd lapped it dry.
"The kibble hit the fan at the Gatthamer place in the early a.m.," Murray told him. "Want to hear about it?"
"I'm all ears," Sam replied wryly.
"Don't tell me the gunsel showed up again?"
Story continued below...
Story cont'd...
"The gunsel showed up," arfed Murray, "but plenty happened before he arrived on the scene."
"Is this going to be a lengthy tale?" Sam asked.
"Sort of," Murray conceded.
"Then let's both stretch out in the shed," Sam suggested with a yawn. "I got no sleep at all last night, so I prefer to take my news lying down today."
When the two dogs were reasonably comfortable, despite Murray's bulk, the guard dog continued with his story. "To start off, Mr. Webley-Fosbery let me inside around midnight because of the heavy fog."
"Considerate of him."
"Not long afterward, he made a phone call, and I heard him say --'He's off The Rock and on his way to the warehouse. You know where it is, so do the deed now.'"
Sam felt his weariness begin to ebb. "Off The Rock? Sounds like he was talking about Gatthamer. That might have been the phone call the gunsel took at Sophie's."
Murray cocked his head. "Say what?"
"Nothing," said Sam. "Get on with your story."
"A short time later, Mrs. G. showed up. I heard her tell the butler she was leaving the country. She'd come back in the wee small hours only to pick up her passport and some money, and then she was on her way to Singapore. I didn't see much of her, but I heard her. She sounded tense and jittery."
"Afraid of the gunsel, probably."
Murray barked a laugh. "He wasn't the one she had to be afraid of. Next thing I knew, this two-footer dame arrived."
"What did she look like?"
"Dark hair, skinny knees. Mrs. G. told the butler to let her in, like they were old friends or something."
Sam stretched, or tried to, but Murray's bulk was like a ton of bricks.
"Turns out they definitely were not friends. They started to argue, and I nudged open the kitchen door. 'I know you've booked a stateroom on the La Paloma,' the dark-haired woman said. 'I suppose you think Lefty's going with you?'"
"Lefty?" said Sam. "Our gunsel's name is Lefty?"
Murray continued. "Mrs. G. kept shaking her head. 'I don't want anything to do with Lefty,' she kept saying. 'That's over. You're crazy if you think we're still involved.'
"I didn't know what to do. Mr. Webley-Fosbery didn't seem to know what to do either, so we both just sort of stood there. Then the dark-haired woman reached into her purse, pulled out a gun and shot her."
"Sophie Caruthers," said Sam. "Sophie Caruthers shot Florinda Gatthamer."
Story continued below...
Story (cont'd...)
"Please tell me, son," arfed Murray. "Exactly who is Sophie Caruthers?"
"My next-door neighbor," Sam replied. "She's been our gunsel's bitch bop for a while now, and I was a dumb mutt for not figuring it out before. Anyway, go on with your story. What happened next?"
"Mrs. G. collapsed on the well-polished tiles in the front hallway. She was wearing an orange sweater and a pink skirt, and all that blood clashed badly with both."
"Murray..."
"Sorry, son. Guard-dog humor."
"When did the gunsel arrive?"
"I'm getting there, son. I'm getting there. 'You didn't have to do that,' Mr. Webley-Fosbery told her. 'You didn't have to kill her.'
But this Sophie said, 'Oh, yes, I did. She knew the whereabouts of the diamonds, and I know where they are. But Lefty would've chosen her over me. Now he has to choose me. We'll take the diamonds and leave the country. We'll be rich! And we'll pin all the murders on you, you old fool!'"
"I've never much liked Sophie Caruthers," admitted Sam, "but I had no idea she was a homicidal maniac."
"'Lefty would never agree to such a thing,' our butler told her. 'We made a pact -- he would kill Gatthamer -- it would be our revenge killing, but none of the rest of it...and he would never harm me!'"
"What was Sophie's reaction?"
"She just laughed," Murray replied. "She laughed and walked straight out the door -- right past the gunsel, who was on his way in."
"Wait a minute!" barked Sam. "I just realized something. This gunsel, Gatthamer's son. Are you telling me he murdered his own father?"
"Nope," said Murray.
"But..." Sam hesitated.
Murray thumped his tail. "Just like Brigid never had a sister -- Bugsy Gatthamer never had a son."
Story to be continued next week...
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