An Excerpt from The Mountain Man's Dog by Gary Corbin

We are delighted to welcome author Gary Corbin to Omnimystery News today.

Gary has a new first in series mystery out this month, The Mountain Man's Dog (Double Diamond Publishing; June 2016 trade paperback and ebook formats), and we are so pleased that he has agreed to share an excerpt from it with our readers, the fifth chapter.

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PAPPY SAT ALONE IN THE KITCHEN, as always, chain-smoking hand-rolled cigarettes and watching Sunday talk shows with the sound turned down. Probably had turned off his hearing aid, too, hidden under the silver tousled mop that passed for hair. Stooped forward onto his hand-made wooden cane, he nevertheless looked as strong as ever, his wiry frame and leathery skin befitting a lifetime of hard work in the outdoors.
  "Maw's off to church again, I take it?" Lehigh asked in a loud voice. The heavy smell of tobacco and stale coffee filled his nose, and his eyes watered.
  Pappy nodded, eyes locked on the TV screen. "Then grocery shopping. Same as always."
  "Nothing ever changes, I guess."
  A shrug. "Just get older and fatter."
  Lehigh smirked at the familiar joke. Pappy carried not an ounce of fat on his body. "I see you got the wood chopped. I'd have done it for you."
  Pappy waved him off. "Gives me something to do. How's business?"
  "Oh, fine. Same as always." He helped himself to some weak coffee and refreshed his father's cup.
  "Better get me more syrup," Pappy said.
  Lehigh found a bottle of Log Cabin in the fridge and squeezed a glop into the mug. Pappy took a noisy sip, swirled the cup in his hand, and emptied his mouthful back into it before starting the process over again.
  "I could get you a spoon," Lehigh said.
  "I'm fine mixing it this way."
  Lehigh sat next to him at the table and waited for a commercial break. The louder, fast-paced pitch of a local tire dealer broke the monotony of the talk show's droning guests after a few minutes. He raised his voice. "Ever felt like breaking up your routine, Pap?"
  Pappy squinted at him sideways. "Nope." A pause. "Why?"
  "Well, I was wondering. T'other day, I rescued a hound dog, bleeding on the highway."
  Pappy's eyebrows raised. "You?" He lit another cigarette, then stubbed out the first in an overflowing ashtray. Lehigh reached for it, but Pappy batted his hand away. "I'll get it. I'm not lame." The old man stretched his arm opposite Lehigh and emptied the ashtray over an open trash can in the corner. About three quarters made it into the rectangular opening. The rest snow-flurried onto the floor.
  "I'll get the broom," Lehigh said.
  "You will not." Pappy's hand interrupted Lehigh's rise, thumping him mid-chest and popping him back into his chair. "I'll get it later." He flicked his cigarette into the empty tray and blew smoke from his nose onto his flannel shirt.
  "Okay. Well, as I was saying, there's this dog."
  "How did you end up with a dog?" Pappy's bushy eyebrows somersaulted across his brow. He sipped his coffee, this time swallowing.
  "I found her on the highway."
  "Surprised you didn't run him over."
  "Me too, kind of. But anyways, I didn't. I brought him to a vet and somehow got talked into keeping him. Ah, her. It."
  Pappy flashed a wicked grin. "I can guess how. Blonde, brunette, or redhead?"
  Lehigh sighed. "Stacy Mc —"
  "Aw, damn, son. Tell me no." A deep scowl replaced the grin.
  "I wish I could."
  "You get caught up with her again, you're a fool."
  Lehigh fidgeted. "Well, that's where you can help me."
  Again the suspicious glare. Pappy turned back to the TV.
  "See," Lehigh said, "I was hoping maybe you and Maw could —"
  "Absolutely not." A long drag on the cigarette, several flecks into the ashtray, emphatic shakes of the head. "No dog. No."
  "I thought you liked dogs. You always said, if not for me —"
  "I like 'em fine, from a distance."
  "You sound like me now."
  Pappy snorted, then coughed. Smoke poured out of his mouth and nostrils.
  "You okay?" Lehigh asked.
  "I'll be fine," Pappy said in a strained voice, "so long as your Maw don't find no stray dog on our property when she gets back. You know your Maw's not keen on dogs."
  "Maw's not keen on much of anything. Particularly me. But —"
  "Don't talk like that about your Maw. As for the dog, forget about it. Besides, it might do you some good. Teach you a lesson about taking on someone else's problems."
  "Pappy, I —"
  "Hush. My program's coming back on." The Washington, DC pundits resumed their low-volume shouting match on Pappy's TV.
  Lehigh sipped his coffee. This damned dog. There had to be another way. There just had to be.


Binoculars lowered on the driver's side of a silver Dodge Charger parked behind a tangle of untended hedges overgrown with blackberries a few hundred feet down Lehigh's long gravel driveway. The heavy-set brown-haired man holding the binoculars jotted a few notes onto a small notepad attached to his dashboard with double-stick tape. The man had seen what he'd come for: the woman he'd been following had entered the house of the long-haired guy over an hour before and hadn't come back out. He couldn't see everything going on inside, but he saw them in a passionate embrace, sucking each other's face and grabbing at each other like teenagers. Then the guy had picked her up and carried her off, and he could pretty well imagine what happened next.
  He adjusted the earbud attached via a thin white wire to his phone and pressed the entry at the bottom of his speed dial list. His current employer answered on the second ring.
  "You with her?" His employer was not one for pleasantries.
  "She's with a guy."
  "What guy?"
  He squinted at his notes. He needed glasses. "No positive ID. Some logger dude with long hair."
  "What's she doing with him?"
  "She ain't playing cribbage."
  "Don't be obtuse. Answer my question."
  The man frowned, not entirely sure what "obtuse" meant. "They're in the bedroom, and they ain't catching up on their sleep."
  "Dammit! I want pictures, I want names —"
  "You want me poking my nose into their damned bedroom?"
  A long pause. "No. Run the address and let me know who it is. And when she leaves."
  The man cut the connection. He had a lot of work to do, and he needed to do it without being noticed, and before the woman returned to her car.
  But he smiled. He loved the work. And his employer paid well.
  ***
  Paul van Paten cursed out loud, despite being alone in his black BMW. Alone, that is, with several hundred strangers, each in their own vehicle on westbound Interstate 84 in Portland. Sunday afternoon traffic had gotten as bad as rush hour lately.
  The phone call he'd just received put him in a foul mood, and he needed to get over it for the next call on his agenda. Nasty just wouldn't cut it with people like this. He took deep, calming breaths, willing his heartbeat to slow and his blood pressure to drop. He thought of the success he'd enjoyed recently in his law practice, and with the Senator's campaign, and the bright prospects ahead of him after the election. Normally, he'd also bring to mind the beautiful, dark-haired woman he hoped would become his wife. But at the moment, she engendered the opposite reaction in him.
  The traffic eased, helping to relax his spirits, and he dialed a number into his phone. A man answered with a sibilant, raspy voice. "Well, well. If it isn't my favorite fund raiser."
  "I'm honored."
  The man laughed. "Don't be. How goes the campaign?"
  "Spendidly. We picked up two new editorial endorsements this week."
  "I know. I paid for both of them."
  Paul smiled. "And we appreciate your efforts."
  "I'm working on more. As you know."
  "Which is why I'm calling." Paul cleared his throat. "We may need to, ah, accelerate it just a bit. Say … within the week? Would that be possible?"
  Another laugh, this one humorless. "Anything is possible, for a price. And do you know what our price is?"
  Paul held his breath a moment, then exhaled. "We can't move legislation until the session opens in January."
  "Now you offer me excuses?"
  The drawn-out S's in "excuses" stung Paul's ear. He sighed. "I'll see what I can do."
  "As will I," said the man. "As will I."

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Photo provided courtesy of
Gary Corbin

Gary Corbin is a writer, actor, and playwright in Camas, WA, a suburb of Portland, OR. In addition to writing and editing for private sector, government, individuals, and not-for-profit clients, his creative and journalistic work has been published in BrainstormNW, the Portland Tribune, The Oregonian, and Global Envision, among others. A homebrewer as well as a maker of wine, mead, cider, and soft drinks, Gary is a member of the Oregon Brew Crew and a BJCP National Beer Judge. He loves to ski, cook, and garden, and hopes someday to train his dogs to obey.

For more information about the author, please visit his website at GaryCorbinWriting.com and his author page on Goodreads, or find him on Facebook and Twitter.

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The Mountain Man's Dog by Gary Corbin

The Mountain Man Mysteries

Publisher: Double Diamond Publishing

In the small town of Clarkesville, in the heart of the Oregon Cascade Mountains, a humble forester stumbles into the complex world of crooked cops and power-hungry politicians … all because he rescued a stray, injured dog on the highway.

Lehigh Carter didn't really mean to adopt the dog. But his ex-fiancée, Stacy McBride, convinces him to do it, with a promise to help. Their rekindled romance angers her father, state Senator George McBride, who sees her backwoods suitor as a blemish on his carefully created political image. It also sets off a chain of events that entangle Lehigh in a life-or-death conflict with the senator's hardnosed campaign treasurer, Paul van Paten, who had his own plans for Stacy's future.

— The Mountain Man's Dog by Gary Corbin. Click here to take a Look Inside the book.