Ten Little Bloodhounds (12 page)

“Rest easy, Mr. Jackson. Miz Cancannon was not a relative, not even a close friend. I’ve been tied up with a new litter and haven’t seen a paper. I’m sorry she died, but I only met her last Monday, and didn’t anticipate any future contact. If this call is about those checks that she wrote me, the amounts were ridiculous and I tore them up. She owes me five hundred dollars; but with her death I have no proof, so I won’t send you a bill. I would, however, appreciate an answer to my question. How did she die?”

“I’m not at liberty to say at this time, Ms. Sidden. The investigation is not complete.”

“I’m not asking for the
official
cause of death. I understand they have to wait for the autopsy, which could take days or weeks. I’m asking for the
unofficial
version. Surely you could narrow speculation a bit. Did it look like a natural death, or was she hanging from a chandelier, stabbed, suspected of being poisoned, shot, or garroted? Did I leave anything out?”

He chuckled. “Other than clubbed to death, snakebit, or mauled by a bear, I’d say you covered the spectrum.”

“Well?”

This guy had a sense of humor. Maybe I could get a straight answer out of a lawyer … nah.

“Sorry, I can’t explain.”

“Then why the hell did you call me this late, less than forty-eight hours after she died? You didn’t call to tell me of her death; you thought I’d been informed. I now know that you weren’t trying to trace two checks that Celia Cancannon, her niece, has probably already supplied an adequate explanation to both you and the sheriff. Stop pussyfooting around, this is not a one-way street.”

“I need to talk to you about an important matter.”

“Ah, but the question is, who is it important to?”

“It’s in your best interest, believe me.”

“We’re talking,” I noted. “Shoot.”

“This has to be a personal meeting, it can’t be discussed over the phone.”

“The CIA, FBI, GBI, and DEA no longer bug my phone, Mr. Jackson. It’s unproductive. They’ve learned I don’t discuss state secrets or drug shipments over the phone.”

I heard a snort of suppressed laughter. I waited.

“Would you be able to come to my office tomorrow anytime after eleven? I should be out of court by then.”

“Not for all the tea in China,” I replied sweetly.

“May I come to your home tomorrow? I can be there anytime after eleven.”

I thought about it. In court at nine, he couldn’t drive here by eleven, so that meant Rand and his helicopter. Was I curious about what Jackson wanted to discuss with me? Did I want to see Rand again? Do bears sleep in the woods?

“Only on one condition, a simple yes or no. Was Alyce Cancannon in your opinion murdered?”

“I was told—”

“Good-bye, Mr. Jackson.”

“Wait!” he said quickly.

“Yes or no?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll expect you at eleven tomorrow,” I uttered as I hung up.

Jasmine and Susan had been sitting quietly, hanging on my every word.

“I need a pit stop and a beer, then I’ll be back with all the news.”

“Hurry,” urged Susan. “I’m dying for the details.”

I went first to the bedroom and grabbed the basic black dress, a black lace teddy, and the three-inch black heels that I had spread out on the bed, just in case. I’m a diehard optimist. I had listened for the whirlybird long after 6:00
P.M.
I was relieved that Susan hadn’t seen them, and put them away.

I got comfortable with my beer, and gave them Jackson’s
side of the conversation. They had already heard mine.

“I bet you’re in her will!” Susan exclaimed excitedly. “Maybe she left you her fortune for finding Amelia!”

“I only met her Monday and we didn’t part friends,” I answered dryly. “I think not.”

“You did find her cat, maybe she mentioned how good you were to her lawyer. Maybe he wants to hire you to find her killer. That sounds feasible,” Jasmine reasoned.

I had to laugh. “Also a not. With her millions or billions, he could hire F. Lee Bailey, Johnnie Cochran, and a whole plenitude of experts, consultants, and investigators. Tracking down a cat with a bloodhound is not on par with solving a murder.

“Y’all wanna know what I think? I think he’s been told that I spent about thirty minutes with her alone after I brought the cat back. She really wasn’t a happy camper when I warned her that she had an enemy who might wish her harm. I think that she was spitting tacks over someone almost drowning her cat, and the agony that poor Amelia had to endure for hours.

“I think she must have taken her anger and frustration out on all of them after I left the scene. I imagine that anyone as rich and powerful as she was, and remember she’s had both money and power all her life, finally gets to the point where they believe they are godlike. Think about it. I bet she jumped down their throats, all of them. She may have sealed her own doom by talking about harsh penalties when she found out who had catnapped Amelia. She might have threatened
to cut them all out of the will until she could find the guilty party. I think Mr. John Jason Jackson, Esquire, simply wants to pick my brain. He wants to know what I said and what she said during that thirty minutes. Wanna form a pool? We put in five apiece, and the one who comes closest to the answer wins it all.”

“You always win,” Susan grumbled, but she was digging in her large suede carryall for her wallet. I walked over to the desk and lifted a five from the petty cash fund. I turned to tell Jasmine I would trust her until tomorrow because she never brings a purse with her. I stood there speechless, staring at her with my mouth agape.

Jasmine had one of her polished loafers in her lap and had peeled back the insole. She slipped out folded currency and peeled off a bill.

“Anyone got change for a hundred?”

“You bank out of your shoe?” I blurted without thought.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. As soon as I uttered the words my brain told me why.

Susan was cawing with laughter and pointing a red-tipped talon. “I’m not believing this!”

“Susan,” I warned, to silence her.

“Oh, Jasmine,” I said, feeling sad for her. “After all this time?”

Jasmine smiled bravely. “I never have left home without it since I was nineteen.”

“I’m in the dark here, ladies.” Susan looked from me to Jasmine, waiting for an explanation.

“It’s bail money,” I said softly. “In case she’s arrested.”

“They wouldn’t dare!” Susan sputtered. “Hank would skin them alive!”

“Hank’s not always available, and doesn’t control the neighboring counties’ deputies,” I explained. “Both Jasmine and I have enemies who wear a badge. They could possibly try getting even with me by harassing her. God, Jasmine, I didn’t know that it still troubles you.”

“Hey, cut it out,” Jasmine demanded. “Sometimes I go for days and don’t even think about it. I honestly thought you both knew I carried cash for an emergency, or I wouldn’t have exposed my stash.”

Liar,
I thought sadly. Seven years of dread, and she had exposed her worst fear in one careless moment of forgetfulness. All because of a silly bet.

I had dreaded Bubba’s attacks much longer than she had dreaded being picked up and thrown into a cell. I could empathize. She had told me once, this new Jasmine born after leaving the streets, that she could not survive one night of penal confinement. I believed her.

I mentally promised once again that I would protect her from all harm. I would also keep my guard up twenty-four out of twenty-four and not turn complacent about Bubba. He hadn’t forgotten his burning desire to destroy me. He was out there—waiting.

We rehashed everything we knew of Alyce Cancannon’s suspected murder, and then started discussing the new litter.

“Did all ten arrive healthy?” Susan asked as she tilted her empty beer bottle in my direction.

Jasmine grabbed it before I could and went to get refills. I noticed that she took her goblet with her. She
limits herself to two glasses at meals and on these pizza nights. This would be her third. If she brought me back one, it would be my fourth. I was beginning to feel mellow.

“Five beautiful females and five handsome males, all perfect and healthy—at least—so far.” I reached over and rapped the wood coffee table for good luck. “The last one arrived at one
A.M.
this morning, almost twenty-four hours after Judy delivered the first one.”

“That sounds like a long time, is it normal?”

“Yep, Wayne and I had our usual bet. He said before twenty-four hours, and I took after. I lost by sixteen minutes.”

“Good!” declared Susan. I stuck out my tongue. She gave me an evil grin. I knew right then I was in hot water.

“You always act so righteous! You never admit you’re vulnerable and can be conned just like the rest of us. You were so quick to figure out I went to meet Brian last night, and so tactful about not pursuing the matter.”

“Susan—”

“Hush!” she sang, delighted and determined. “I want Jasmine to hear this. You were so careful when you explained earlier to Jasmine and me how you didn’t give a good goddamn whether you ever saw your flyer hunk again. Total indifference is what you pictured so eloquently. You know what was laid out on her bed for a quick change, Jasmine?”

Jasmine shook her head, remaining mute.

“Her ‘Come hither’ black dress, teddy, and spikes!” she cackled. “Now tell us, dear, if flyboy had descended tonight, would you have gone and left us to consume the pizza?”

“You’re sneaky, you know? You flushed the toilet to make me think you hadn’t seen them.”

I tried to sound indignant. Susan was enjoying herself, and she had every right. She had nailed me fair and square. I wouldn’t give in too easy.

I squirmed. “I changed my mind
after
I put them there.”

“Answer the question,
would you have gone?
”

I sighed. “In a New York minute. Now are you satisfied?”

“Gotcha,” she laughed with satisfaction. Jasmine joined her.

All things considered, it was a nice evening.

I
spent Friday night with Judy and the puppies. Other than two quick early morning phone calls, I had remained at her side until a few minutes ago, when Jasmine had called me to breakfast. We had finished eating and I was sitting in my office admiring my father’s paintings.

Jasmine entered quietly.

“Would you like me to come back later?”

“Sit,” I told her as I reached behind the window drape and pushed the button to conceal them. The panels slowly lowered over the four oil paintings with only a small hum of the motors. They should be in a museum, but I couldn’t bear to part with them. After my death they would belong to the masses, but right now, for my too few allotted years, I would use them to sustain me against loneliness and all the dark nights when demons came calling.

“I’m going to confide one of my secrets that I haven’t told another living soul, aren’t you lucky?”

“Hmmm,” she answered.

“That sounds noncommittal to me.”

“That’s what I was aiming for.”

“Well, I’m gonna tell you anyway. Have you ever heard of Little Bemis?”

“No,” she answered with conviction, “that name I would remember.”

“He’s not called Little Bemis because he weighs over three hundred pounds, it’s because his older brother is Big Bemis.” I looked at her.

“Haven’t heard of him, either.”

“I’ll give you the short version. Big Bemis played fullback in high school. All-State three years, and the alumni’s great white hope to put Balsa City on the map when he went to U of G. South Carolina offered him a black Trans Am for signing, so he jumped ship. Four glorious years of college and three years in the pros before he ruined his knees and was forced to retire.”

“This left the alumni with Little Bemis,” Jasmine stated.

“Are you sure you haven’t heard this story?”

Jasmine smiled. “Proceed.”

“In his freshman year Little Bemis was just as good or better than his brother. The alumni were drooling, hope springs eternal. At Christmas Little Bemis was given a computer by his brother. When school started, Little Bemis quit the football team and took a computer class and refused to play football. The whole school went berserk. They made a pariah out of him. They didn’t acknowledge that he was still on the planet. It warped him
and changed his personality. He has to this day attended every home game wearing his brother’s football jacket, to which he added special panels so he could zip it—driving a new black Trans Am—which he trades in each year for the latest model.”

“Good for him,” Jasmine clapped. “Is he really warped?”

“The rumor is he presented himself to the personnel department out at Apex-Semex when he was eighteen and demonstrated his skill with a computer by entering all their secret chemical files without them giving him passwords—also opened their competitors’—so they could compare. They hired him on the spot. He’s been a productive citizen ever since, with one small exception.”

“Ah, we’re down to the nitty-gritty.”

“He thinks he’s the last great spy left in the universe. Since I discovered his quirky operation purely by accident, and worked out the correct approach, he’s been securing every bit of information I want for several years now. It’s accurate and complete and best of all, free. I just feel so silly abiding by his rules.”

“This is the quirky part?”

“My code name is Lila. I have to work out the code name from a codebook and use it in a sentence when I call him. I have to couch the reason for the information in figures from nursery rhythms or mythology. I need ‘Jewels rescued from the dragon,’ or ‘The princess must be returned to the castle.’ You get the picture.”

“You have got to be putting me on,” she giggled.

“Scouts honor. Then I have to follow his instructions to the ‘drop,’ where he leaves the information for only
so long. If I don’t pick it up on time, he’ll consider me compromised—deactivate my code name—and I’m shit out of luck for any future information. But he’s accurate and fast.”