Chet The Dog

Posts Tagged ‘Death Valley’

Major Clue, Ignored (Sigh)

“It’s my guess,” Bernie said, “that Ezra Printz got out of the mental hospital and went back to Death Valley looking for more evidence of the crime. Was it there? I don’t know. We didn’t find a skull or bones or anything like that, just the film can.”

Whoa. A skull? I had a memory of that, deep in the cave, just before the roof fell in. Yes, there’d been a skull for sure. I barked. No one paid attention. I barked again. Outside, Iggy, somehow running free, barked back – yip yip yip.

“Keep it down, you two,” Bernie said.

Mental Problems

“What happened to Ezra Printz?” Suzie said.

“Good question,” Bernie said. “Records show he spent time in Stockton State Hospital.”

“Meaning he had mental problems?” said Suzie.

Portia interrupted. “The whole family’s out of their minds.”

“Which explains why Kelo married you,” said Trimmer.

Portia gave him a quick kick. “Zip it, bro.”

“Another inmate at Stockton State,” Bernie continued, “was the painter Martin Ramirez. He’s considered a great artist now, but his life was kind of miserable. It’s my guess that he and Ezra met and somehow the murder film got switched with a painting. Maybe they made a trade.”

“But you found the can with the painting in Death Valley,” Suzie said.

“Chet did, actually.”

My tail started up.

“How did it get there?” Suzie said.

I waited to hear. Bernie was always the smartest human in the room.

More Greed

“Here’s what I think,” Bernie said. We were out on the patio, Suzie, Bernie and me. They had coffee. I had a biscuit from Rover and Co. Have I mentioned Rover and Co.? Their biscuits are the best.

“What we’ve got,” Bernie was saying, “is footage of a real killing. I believe Ezra Printz, Hollywood PR flack at the time and grandfather or great-grandfather of our missing client Kelo Printz, got hold of the footage. Somehow, he ended up in the same mental hospital as the artist Martin Ramirez, and the footage got switched with a painting. What I’d like to do now is go back to Death Valley and have another look in that cave.”

“But didn’t you say the roof had fallen in?” Suzie said.

Hey! I remembered that.

“A slight problem,” Bernie said, “but – “

At that moment, I heard a car pull up in front of the house, and missed whatever came next. A few moments later, there was a knock at the front door. A heavy knock: even Bernie and Suzie heard it.

If Only I Could Remember The Post About The Skull

IN THE CAVE

“Wait, Chet,” Bernie said. This was yesterday. We were outside this cave, or abandoned mine or whatever it was, somewhere in Death Valley. “There are no supports. Don’t go in there.” But I had to. I smelled a rat, one of those big desert rats. I don’t like them, not one little bit, don’t like their smell, either, which is kind of like mice except more sour, like they’re always eating something rotten.

The next thing I knew, I was deep in the shaft, smelling the rat, and hearing him, too, scurrying on ahead of me. “Chet! Chet!” Bernie shone the light inside. I saw my own shadow, stretched out way ahead. And what was that? Uh-oh. A skull. A human skull, sitting straight up on the hard-packed ground. And beside it lay a can, a big flat kind of metal can, pretty much the shape of a Frisbee.

“Chet? What’s going on?”