Shepherd's Crook (7 page)

eighteen

Jay stopped barking and
his whole body started to vibrate. About halfway down, outside the fatal storage room, Hutch was talking to a woman. At her side stood a dog wearing a harness over a blue-and-gold vest that said Marion Co. Search & Rescue K9. The dog's shoulder came to the woman's knee, and his medium-length coat was a bright yellow-gold, but unlike a Golden Retriever, he had four white stockings and a collar of white fur. He was angled away from me so I couldn't see it, but I knew he had a white muzzle and heavy white ruff as well. It was Hutch's former partner, Jo Stevens, and her young search-and-rescue dog, a Golden Retriever x Australian Shepherd cross named Shamus.

“What are
you
doing here?” I asked when I reached them.

Jo hugged me and Shamus poked me with his nose, wagging and grinning, while Jay shared his joy with all three of them. When she let go, Jo said, “I was here for the weekend, visiting family. Hutch called and told me what happened.”

When I first met him, Hutchinson hadn't cared a bit about animals in peril. Now, a year later, he said, “I thought Shamus might track the missing dog.”

Even if they had a way to give Shamus the scent, tracking Bonnie in the sea of olfactory input around this place was going to be challenging, to say the least. Judging by the look on Jo's face, she knew it, too. I said, “I wish we had something with Bonnie's scent.” I thought for a moment, and an image came to mind of Ray's rattletrap old pickup pulling into the Winslows' place, Bonnie riding shotgun. “Hutch, is Ray's truck still here? Bonnie always rode beside him on the front seat.”

“It's parked at the far end of the building,” he said. “I don't think it's locked. It wasn't yesterday.”

“Let's do it,” said Jo as she gathered Shamus's leash.

As she and Hutch turned away, I asked, “How long are you going to be in town?” Jo had moved to Indianapolis to join an
inter-agency
canine search team. It was a great opportunity, but I missed her.

“I work tonight,” she said, shrugging at me. “I've got about an hour, then I need to hit the road.”

I thought about taking Jay to the truck to get the scent, but decided a general search would probably be as effective. If Jay sensed Bonnie hiding somewhere or … I wouldn't let my thoughts go there. In any case, Jay would let me know if Bonnie was nearby.

We began with the overgrown lane I had found on Saturday. Jay ranged back and forth across the grassy stretch and into the corn stubble, tangling the longline twice on the remains of last year's crop. I unclipped him and let him move freely, knowing he'd be at my side in a snap if I called. About halfway along the lane, he veered into the field and ran between the rows, not chasing, but determined to reach something. My heart took a little leap and I jogged to where he had entered the cornfield, hoping to see Bonnie hiding there. The field rolled just enough that all I could see was Jay's back, but I could tell that he was sniffing something. I walked into the stubble, afraid to breathe.

Fur. I let my breath go. Gray fur, and a few bones. The remains of a rabbit dinner, and they had been there awhile.

“Jay, come.” He took one last sniff and followed me out of the corn. We spent another forty minutes or so, walking to the end of the lane before cutting across the back edge of the big field and returning to the buildings by way of the tree and fence line. There was no sign of the dog, at least nothing I could see. I would swing by to check the animal shelter when I went to see my mom.
And go shopping
, whispered that nag in my head.
You need a dress for the wedding.

Yeah, yeah.

The red Honda—Jo's car—was gone when we got back to the arena. Hutch's car was still there, but he was nowhere in sight. I grabbed a bottle of water from my van and poured some into a stainless steel bowl. Jay drank enough to be polite, and I took a swig from the bottle.

“Okay, Bub, let's think about this a little,” I said, pulling my phone out to check the time. “We'll give it half an hour, and then we'll have to go home.” Jay cocked his head, letting his tongue dangle out the side of his mouth, and looked at me as if to say, “Sure! Whatever you say!”

We strolled to a stump and I sat on it. The charcoal clouds had thickened, and the place felt spooky. I glanced at the door to the storage room and flashed on the way Ray had looked. I closed my eyes, forced myself to breathe, forced other images to the top. A blue jay was screeching somewhere behind me, and a pair of mourning doves cooed from the corner of the building.

There are no ghosts here
. I shivered.
You're alone with your dog, and safe.

And then I wasn't.

nineteen

An almost slim young
woman in pressed jeans, blue cowgirl boots, and a fitted denim jacket over a red sweater was coming my way from the far end of the pole barn. I could hardly believe how much she had changed in the past year. Apparently trauma can have positive effects on some people.

She bent to pet Jay and said, “Hi, Janet. How are you?”

“Giselle! What are you doing here?”

Giselle Swann trains at Dog Dayz, as do Tom and I, but since Precious, her Maltese, weighs about six pounds, collar and all, Giselle wasn't one of the
sheep-herding
crowd. Not that Precious wouldn't have been willing—he's a
gung-ho
agility and obedience dog, and Giselle had recently started tracking with him. He might control the sheep by sheer will.

“I heard about the missing dog, the Sheltie, and I had a little time between classes, so …” She smiled at me, and I realized that she was wearing lipstick and eye makeup, all very subtle and becoming. And I would bet a morning's photo shoot that she weighed at least eighty pounds less than she had a year earlier.

“Giselle, you look fantastic.”

Color rose in her cheeks and I expected her to deflect the compliment, which had always been typical Giselle, but she fooled me.

“Thanks, Janet.” The smile expanded. “I'm pretty excited to be able to wear jeans that don't have an elastic waist.”

I resisted the urge to pull my
comfort-waist
pants a little higher.

Giselle leaned in and lowered her voice. “What's going on? I heard that some sheep went missing on Saturday, and a man committed suicide?”

“I don't think we know that it's suicide.”

“That's what the radio said.” Giselle looked thoughtful. “I'm not really sure which is better.”

She had a point. In case she had heard a different newscast than I had, I asked, “What did the news story say about the sheep?”

“Just that they were missing and police were investigating. They said it might just be a case of negligence, that maybe someone didn't latch the gate.”

“I really don't think so. Summer and Evan are obsessively careful about their animals.”

Giselle narrowed her eyes at me. “Maybe you should do some sleuthing. You're pretty good at it.”

I was about to decline when Hutch came around the far end of the long building. I pointed with my chin and said, “I think I'll let him take care of it.”

Giselle turned around and gasped. “Is that …?” Her voice drifted off, and I wondered whether Hutchinson made Giselle nervous. He had interrogated her during a murder investigation a year earlier, and he may have been in on her arrest for vandalism last November, although I couldn't remember for sure. But when she spoke again, it wasn't fear I heard in her voice. “It is. It's that handsome cop.”

Handsome? Hutchinson?

Giselle seemed to stand a little straighter and I could swear she thrust her breasts out and sucked in her belly. She smiled and cocked her head the tiniest bit as Hutchinson closed in on us.

Hutch handed me a bottle of water. “I thought you could use this.” He turned to Giselle and froze for a heartbeat or two before he said, “Miss … Miss Swann?”

I was amazed that he recognized her, she had changed so much. Then again, he was a trained observer.

Giselle held out her hand, the picture of poise. “Officer Hutchinson. It's lovely to see you again. And please, it's Giselle.” He took her hand and they looked at one another and I swear I felt the tiniest shift in … I don't know what. I half expected sparks to fly into the air.
Holy jumpin' agility cats.

Giselle broke the spell. “Are you the investigator on these cases?”

“Uh, yeah.” Hutchinson retrieved his hand and looked at me, then back at Giselle. “I'm, uh, just starting …” His voice trailed off as he stared at her.

I decided to help him. I didn't have a bucket of cold water handy, so I asked, “What happens now?”

Before he could reply, Giselle said, “If you'll excuse me, I just came to see if I could help look for the missing dog. Bonnie, right?”

“Right,” I said.

“You seem to have things covered here, so I'm going to drive around the back roads and alert the neighbors. Then I have to get to class.” Giselle barely glanced at me, but she threw Hutchinson another big smile and said, “I hope I'll see you again.”

My jaw felt a bit slack as I watched her walk away. Hutchinson watched as well, and didn't turn back to me until Giselle disappeared around the end of the building. When he did look at me, his cheeks went as red as a police cruiser's turret lights.

twenty

Hutchinson seemed flustered, but
he finally grinned and said, “Giselle's not, you know, involved with this investigation, is she?”

“Not yet.” I waited, but Hutchinson didn't seem to know what to say, so I tried again. “She wasn't around yesterday, and doesn't do any herding, if that's what you mean. And I don't think she knew Ray, or Summer and Evan for that matter.”

He grinned but said nothing.

“Go for it,” I said, play punching his arm. My own feelings made me pretty goofy when I was first getting to know Tom. To be honest, I still feel
gooey-kneed
when he looks at me a certain way.

Hutchinson nodded and cleared his throat, and then pulled a Moleskine notebook from his pocket and flipped through to about the middle. He was
forty-four
going on fourteen when it came to girls, apparently, and I decided to give him a break and follow his change of direction.

“Finally got rid of the spiral bound?” I knew he was forever snagging his cheap notebook wire on his pockets.

“Oh, yeah.” He held the notebook out and looked at it. “Jo got me one of these awhile back. I like 'em.” I agreed, and he moved on. “So, we're waiting for the autopsy, and forensics, and we're doing backgrounds on people, you know, the sheep owners, the dead guy.” He glanced at me. “You know them very well?”

“Not really. I've known Summer and Evan for a couple of years, and I've been out to their place quite a few times. Jay and I take herding lessons from Summer. They wouldn't …” I hesitated, remembering Summer's angry phone conversation and the obvious nastiness between Evan and Ray. Those memories in turn brought back an argument I had overheard a few months earlier. They apparently had money problems. Summer had wanted to sell some of their livestock and Evan hadn't.

Hutchinson looked up. I wanted to let my memory clear before I said anything more, so I changed directions again. “I don't, uh, didn't really know Ray. I've seen him at the Winslows' farm and a few events, but that's it. He was good with the animals, but not big on conversation.”
Just say it—he gave you the creeps.
Then again, the animals liked him, and that said something. “So are you thinking Ray's murder is connected to the missing sheep?”

“Murder?” Hutchinson eyed me, but he didn't seem too surprised. “Who says it was murder?”

“No one, but suicide? And here, at a herding event? It just doesn't make sense.”

Hutchinson pressed his lips together, closed the notebook, and stuck it back in his pocket. “Why don't we see what the coroner says before we jump to any crazy conclusions? Unless you know something you should tell me.”

I shook my head and reminded myself that he was a friend, but still a cop. “Have you and the Sheriff's department sorted out the jurisdiction question?” Summer Winslow had been furious about the city police versus county sheriff question, and I couldn't blame her. With her sheep's lives on the line, who cared about a technicality? And even with Ray's death thrown into the mix, they still needed to find those sheep. Or try.
And if this turns into a homicide investigation, they'll really have to figure out whose it is.

“We're teaming up. They've formed a ‘joint task force.'” Hutchinson snorted. “We'll see how
that
goes.” He pointed toward the eve under the building behind me. A camera I hadn't noticed before looked back at us. “In the meantime, we've got people looking at the videos.”

“Videos?”

“They used to store boats in the building, and they had four cameras around the grounds, set on motion sensors at night. They're still working. We're hoping they picked something up.” He grinned at me. “You know how helpful pictures can be.” Hutchinson paused, his cheeks reddening again. “Say, Janet, you wouldn't happen to have Giselle's phone number, would you?”

twenty-one

My mother recognized me
only about sixty percent of the time, but she was always happy to see Jay. Granted, she often called him Laddie, and maybe she thought he
was
Laddie, a Collie who died before I was born. Jay doesn't mind, and his presence both perks her up and calms her down, so I take him with me to Shadetree Retirement Home as often as possible. He's a certified therapy dog, and as patient as I am antsy around the residents.

It's not that I don't want to be compassionate. I'm just clumsy about it, and the stress of wondering whether I'll be spending any given visit with my mother or a stranger inhabiting her body just makes me worse. Clumsy or not, I'd been visiting several times a week since we moved her to Shadetree a year earlier, and I was happy to see how Mom had regained some of her faculties since she started seeing Tony Marconi. As I parked across from the front door, I whispered a request to the universe that this would be a good day for Mom.

I had bathed Jay the night before—I always do after close encounters of the woolly kind—so he was clean aside from some dry plant matter stuck in his britches. I gave him a quick going over with his brush, then used it to touch up my own wild hair.
Too bad Bill isn't here
, whispered Janet Devil. Seeing me use my dog's grooming supplies on myself makes my brother crazier than usual, so naturally I do it in his presence whenever possible. Fifty years of siblinghood and we're still pushing each other's buttons. Oddly, dealing with our mother's problems over the past months has brought us closer than we've been since grade school. I was smiling about that as I checked my murky reflection in the van's window. Between the wind and the dampness of impending rain, I was a curly mess. I did what I could, tossed the brush back into the van, and went to find my mother.

Jade Templeton, Shadetree's manager and reigning angel, smiled at me from the far side of the main lounge. She was holding Percy, her Toy Poodle, for a resident to pet. Seeing Percy always twists my emotions in confusing ways. I'm glad he landed with someone who loves him, and if a dog can have a vocation, Percy seems to have one for spending time with lonely old people. The twist comes from the reason he's here at all. Jade adopted Percy when his owners were murdered. Now, a year later, another man was dead, another dog homeless. I just hoped that Bonnie was alive and uninjured, and that someone would find her soon. I'd had enough of murder. I'd had enough of it months earlier, and yet the specter of violent death was back.
Don't jump the gun, Janet. Ray Turnbull really might have committed suicide.

As if sensing my thoughts, Jay bumped my knee, and I shook off the dark thoughts in favor of a cheery visit. We can usually find my mother in the atrium, soaking up the sun surrounded by the raised beds of the therapy garden. Mom is the
self-appointed
head gardener, and the way she runs the operation, you'd think she was overseeing work at Kew Gardens. Bossy as she is, everyone seems to acknowledge that she deserves the job. Whatever else she may forget, the names and needs of all the plants are at her memory's every beck and call. Today, though, the only person in the atrium was a man I had seen but never met because he was usually sound asleep. He was tucked into a wing chair with a blanket across his lap, a book in his hand, and a walker by his side. I left him to his nap.

Jay and I struck out for the smaller lounge at the back of the building, and halfway there, Jay started to pull. He always knew where Mom was before I did. And there she was, tucked into a recliner facing the picture window. She was focused on the
Fine Gardening
magazine in her hands. I might have interrupted more gently, but Jay had no such compunction, and he shoved his nose up under the magazine, grinning and whining at her. She started to laugh, tossed the magazine onto the end table, and bent to kiss my goofy dog.

“Jay! How are you, sweetheart?” Jay popped his front end into her lap and leaned his head into the cradle of her arms.

A long breath of relief left me.
Mom's here
.

“Hi, Mom.” I was pulling a
red-flowered
armchair around to face her when she reached for me. My mother has never been much of a hugger, but lately she's much more
touchy-feely
. I wondered if that came from Tony, too. We hugged each other as well as we could with a
fifty-pound
dog in the way, and I sat down across from her. “How are you doing?”

“I'm fine, Sweetie.” She had a new softness about her, a calm and, odd as it sounds, a glow, as if a quiet fire were burning inside her. “And how are you? All set for the big day? It's only two weeks now.”

“Do you want me to get him off you?” Jay was leaning into her lap. Gentle or not, he's a load even for me, and I'm not frail.

But she shook her head and kept stroking his cheeks and ears as he squinted in ecstasy. “Have you found a dress yet?”

Gaaaa.
I haven't worried about dresses in longer than I care to say. My wardrobe is decidedly animal friendly, which means mostly pants of various lengths, stretchy, comfy tops, and running shoes.
Admit it
, whispered my inner nag,
you're more frightened of dress shopping than you are of rustlers and murderers.
Encountering the missing sheep and Ray's death in a single thought sent my mind down a path that had nothing to do with clothes shopping.

Were the events connected?
The police didn't seem to think so, but a link seemed more plausible now. Still, how exactly would the two crimes be connected? If Ray was involved in the theft, why take the sheep from the weekend event? As far as I knew, he had access to them all the time at the Winslows' farm. Then again, removing sheep in the daytime would be nearly impossible, I thought. Summer's weaving school and wool shop were on the property, so she was rarely gone. Evan was a graphic designer, and he also worked from home. Ray might have been able to steal the sheep at night since he knew the Winslows' dogs, but that too seemed foolhardy to me.

No one else would pull it off, though. I was sure of that. Nell, the Winslows' English Shepherd, had the run of the place, although I had no idea whether she was loose outside at night. Still, she would hear intruders even if she were inside. And then there was Luciano, Summer's
hundred-pound
Maremma. He'd been raised with the flock and was very protective, and although he loved Summer, he was none too fond of anyone else. Summer always secured Luciano in the barn before any dogs other than Nell were allowed near the sheep, but Summer had mentioned more than once that he was loose with the flock at night. Trying to get past him really would be suicidal. So it made sense that the theft took place away from their farm. The question now was whether Ray was involved, or whether he found out something and died for his trouble. And the bigger question—did he commit suicide, or did he have some help? His swollen, twisted fingers suggested a struggle, although I couldn't picture how fighting could cause that kind of damage. Had someone broken his fingers on purpose?

Hutchinson had mentioned security cameras, and by now the coroner might have an opinion about manner of death. I'd have to remember to call Hutch when I got home, although I knew he might not tell me much. I was pondering how I might wangle the information out of him when I noticed my mother watching me, a bemused smile on her lips and one eyebrow raised.

“Janet, dear,” she said, leaning across Jay to pat my knee, “shopping for a dress won't kill you.”