Ten Little Bloodhounds (16 page)

We had a rocky affair, riddled with fights and accusations, for a brief period of six weeks over a year ago.
Our friendship had suffered. He wanted to resume the affair and tie the knot. I had pointed out our rocky romantic interlude and rejoiced that we hadn’t inflicted fatal damage on one another. He closed his eyes to our vocal mauling and disparaging remarks that could have sunk us forever, and pooh-poohed the idea that we couldn’t live in peace and harmony.

Hank and I were too much alike to join in matrimony. We were fiercely competitive, had sharp tongues, and used them often. I admitted only to myself that I sometimes longed for him. His shy grin and dark piercing eyes could squeeze my heart, and other times I could cheerfully provide him a slow and lingering death. I shook my head in sadness. Desire was not enough. Did I truly love him? I didn’t have a clue. Sometimes I thought I did, but that wasn’t enough either.

He grew furious at me during our last conversation. He hadn’t called me in several days. Was I trying to hang onto him by constantly reconciling our differences? You bet. I didn’t want to lose him. I could feel him slipping away more each day now. He wasn’t going to wait forever and I couldn’t make up my mind.

I rubbed my temples and frowned at the phone. I decided I would take a dose of the fizzy stuff before I attempted to call him. I had foolishly eaten four strips of bacon and four of the small biscuits, loaded with whipped butter. My stomach was now warning me that it was a major mistake.

Jasmine knocked and entered. She sniffed the air as she approached.

“Bacon? You ate bacon? How many strips?”

“You can’t possibly smell bacon in the air,” I stated, feeling smug. “I aired out the kitchen ten minutes with the exhaust fan over the stove and the overhead paddle fan, and opened both windows!”

She squealed with delight. “I was only guessing, but you’ve just admitted it. Your conscience should be hurting!”

“I’m hurting,” I said, bending a little in the middle and rubbing my stomach as I headed for the kitchen, “but it’s my gut. I have no conscience when it comes to food.”

“Have you called Hank this morning?”

“I haven’t got that far. I’ve only been
thinking
about calling him.” I eased down in a kitchen chair.

Jasmine fetched a glass of water and added two Alka-Seltzers and handed me the glass.

“This has ceased being funny,” she said, softening her voice. “You should go lie down.”

“I’ll be fine, if the fizz does its job. Let’s move to the office. I have to call Hank. What are your plans this morning?”

I managed to walk straight and didn’t clutch my stomach. Mind over matter, I cautioned my gut sternly. Behave yourself.

“I skipped two routine searches last week. Wayne says with Donnie Ray, Windell, and Harvey helping out when he doesn’t have a patient, they can hold down the fort, so I’m going to try to catch junior high, Phillips Industries, and the sewing plant.”

“Why don’t you leave the sewing plant until this afternoon? Are they still running three shifts?”

“Yes, but I did the swing shift last week. The morning
shift hasn’t been searched in almost three weeks, they should be first.”

“Yeah, but your right arm is going to be several inches longer than your left when you finish that agenda. Ulysses really drags you around at a breakneck speed.”

“I thought I would take Violet this morning. She hasn’t had an outing in a month and she’s twenty pounds lighter.”

“Smart. You’re always one step ahead of me when you plan your day. How would I ever do without you?”

“I don’t plan to give you a chance to find out. I’ll be back around two. Take care of the tummy.”

“It’s been told to behave,” I said to her retreating back.

I dialed Hank’s number.

“Cribbs.”

“Hi, it’s me. How you doing?”

“Peachy.”

“Still mad at me?”

“Yep.”

“Come on, Hank. You know I say things sometimes without thinking. I didn’t mean to offend you. I’m sorry. Does that help?”

“Not much.”

“Have you heard from your buddy, Sheriff Beaman?”

“He called about thirty minutes ago. Says he wants me with him when he comes to call on you, and that he’d be here to pick me up in time to get there by eleven. He also told me you have been hired by the estate to investigate the shooting, and was told to cooperate and not get in your way.”

“How is he taking it?”

“Well …” Hank drawled, sounding amused, “he had to spit first before he could finish telling me, so I don’t think he’s taking the news too kindly.”

“Does he dip snuff?”

“He spit to show disgust, Jo Beth,” he explained.

“I knew that, I just wondered if I was gonna have to lug around a spittoon so he wouldn’t kill the grass.”

Hank snorted. “I forgot. You know everything, don’t you?”

“Not hardly,” I said, trying to pacify him.

“I bet you don’t even know that I had a date with that little blond that works at Pete’s Deli. We did the town last night.”

“The one with foot-long eyelashes, a ten-inch waist, and a forty-four-double-D cup? Billie? You went out with Billie Jean Crews?”

I knew my voice had risen with equal parts of disbelief and annoyance. I decided I’d better tone it down. The things I have to do to keep this teetering relationship functioning sometimes appall me.

“Jealous?”

“Of course not,” I said quickly. “You know she just broke up with that bruiser who lives over in Collins. I’m just worried that he might return and break his guitar over your head.”

Hank chuckled with satisfaction. He had received confirmation that I was still interested.

“Jeff and I will be there around eleven.”

“Hank, will you do me a big favor?”

“It depends.”

“Ask Sheriff Beaman to leave the helicopter there and let you drive him out here. It’s only three miles.”

“Why?”

“There are ten suspects, and the pilot is one of them. I don’t want to meet him in a social situation where I would be forced to shake his hand. He may be the perp.”

Hank accepted my explanation and agreed.

That should thwart Mr. Randall Finch if he was planning on meeting a simpering grateful woman who would fall all over him for an invitation to dine. I smiled with relish.

Sometimes I’m much too devious for my own good.

When Hank and Beaman arrived, it was obvious I would have my work cut out for me. The sheriff was on his high horse and not being subtle.

“Glad you could come, Sheriff. I appreciate you bringing me a copy of your files,” I said, beaming, as I offered my hand.

He ignored both my hand and my gracious smile.

He spit.

“I didn’t have a choice in the matter,” he uttered, looking over at the kennel.

“Howdy, Jo Beth!” Hank was acting friendly and pumped my hand several times. “You sure have a nice place here.”

I gave him a severe glare. You ought to know, you ninny, you lived here once for six weeks!

He was tall, slim, and trim. He wore a uniform of tailored gabardine. He didn’t have to wear a uniform, but he knew that the long creased lines showed off his
lanky figure to perfection. His dark hawklike eyes and ebony hair, his gift from an Indian ancestor, made him tall, dark, and handsome. There was only one problem: He knew it.

I had to bite back a retort. He was enjoying his friend’s sour manners.

“Would you like me to give you a tour of the kennels, Sheriff?”

“Never could abide bloodhounds,” he commented, not facing me. “Hard to raise and a mangy breed. Never used them and never will. They are lousy with coons, and can’t fetch a squirrel if you drop one at their feet.”

He punctuated his comments with another spit, looking at Hank for his approval. Hank gave him a wan, noncommittal smile. He was careful to stay neutral. He knows how far he can push and my low boiling point when someone shows contempt for my animals.

Now I can abide an angry attack on me personally, but my bloodhounds? Never!

“Sheriff, you have every right to be angry with me. You don’t want any woman poking her nose into one of your cases. I can live with your disapproval of me, but don’t disparage my bloodhounds. Every word you utter about them points out your ignorance of both law enforcement advances and the breed.”

“You calling me ignorant?”

“If the shoe fits,” I said, giving him a Cheshire grin, “then wear it!”

“Well, that sure is something, you getting hot and bothered about those hounds of yours. Jackson came back from seeing you, and gave me a cock-and-bull story about how those bloodhounds could have found
Miz Cancannon’s killer if they could smell the air in her bedroom. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, telling such big whoppers, and the damn fool believed you. I can’t get over it, thought he had more sense.”

“Every word I told him was the gospel truth. Several cases have been written up and published in most of the periodic police journals, which you obviously don’t read.

“The man I bought the scent machine from lives in New York. He has personally presented bloodhound evidence to the courts in over three thousand cases, in which he achieved
convictions in every case!
Quite an enviable record, don’t you think? I’ll give you his name and address, if you wish. You just might learn something to help you get a conviction now and then. And one other thing. Bloodhounds’ testimony were convicting felons in court a hundred years before you were born!”

Beaman turned to Hank. “I’ll be in your car, when you’re ready to leave.”

He turned and trudged back to Hank’s car.

I threw up my hands in disgust. “Leave!” I yelled. “You just might learn something if you stay!”

“Hush,” Hank hissed softly, “you’ve done enough damage for one day. Don’t make matters worse.”

I glared at him and stalked back inside. I slumped at my desk. No reports, and no statements of alibis. Sidden’s big mouth strikes again. I was a total screwup. I tried to laugh and ended up with my head on my desk, bawling with frustration.

I heard the door open, and Hank enter without knocking. I jerked my head up and surreptitiously tried
to wipe my tears while I pretended I was straightening my hair.

Hank advanced with a bulging file folder.

“Beaman asked me to give you these,” he said, placing the file on my desk. He looked up and noticed my tear-stained face and probably red eyes.

“Hey,” he uttered softly and came around the desk with his arms open. I slid into them like it was a common occurrence. He held me, murmuring my name. It felt so good, I put my arms around his neck, pulling his face toward me. He kissed me, and it felt better than good.

Hank groaned. “He’s waiting on me.”

“So go.” I pushed him away with a smile.

“I shall return,” he promised.

“Not tonight, big guy. I was up all last night with the puppies.”

“I’ll call you.”

I watched him hurry out. Another complication in my busy schedule, but I’ll tell you true, it was a great kiss.

J
asmine and I stood on the back porch while I gave her instructions on the search. It was a cool forty-seven degrees, with hardly any wind. I had on my bright rescue suit in neon yellow. It felt good now, but later in the morning I would be sweating heavily. The temperature could get up in the eighties. All the gear was packed; I’d checked the puppies, and I was trying to point out our departure spot to Jasmine.

“It’s no use, I’ll have to call you when I reach where we’ll be going in. Since they have put up all those new street signs on every turn-in in the county, I have no idea what the sign says.”

“When did the county say they would have the new maps?”

“When I called last week, they said it was at the printer’s and promised they’d be ready in six weeks. I
know it’s the third dirt road to the right off the Woodpecker Route, after you pass Tom’s Creek Road.”

“If it becomes necessary, I’ll find you,” Jasmine assured me.

“I know. I hate to leave the van exposed during hunting season, or I’d leave it in open sight. It’s only legal for bow hunters now, but they shoot and then look to see if it looks like a deer.”

I looked down at Bobby Lee. He was wiggling his whole body in anticipation, clutching both leads in his jaws. I had on my rescue suit and he knew I was going to work, and unfortunately, he thought he was going also.

“Oh God,” I murmured to Jasmine. “Look who thinks he’s going mantrailing.”

“I’m glad I’m not the one who has to tell him,” she whispered, and quickly moved a discreet distance away.

“Bobby Lee,” I said softly as I knelt beside him, “you can’t go. It’s a no-no. You can’t go.”

I removed his leashes from his mouth and hung them back on their respective nails. I didn’t look down at him when Jasmine returned, I knew what I would see. He would sit there looking forlorn in a constant vigil until I returned.

“You’re nervous about this search, aren’t you?”

“Nah, just getting more careful as I mature,” I said, smiling.

I was antsy, and didn’t know why.

“Don’t get alarmed if we don’t come out tonight; there’s a possibility that we’ll camp out. If I think we’re getting close, I want to use all the daylight I can, instead
of hiking out and then hiking back in.”

“
If
the radio doesn’t work, and
if
you don’t show up tonight, when should I start looking?”

“If I haven’t contacted you by six
P.M.
tomorrow, send in the Boy Scouts. Where is the captain? It’s six-fifteen already. I thought he would be here with bells on, as gung-ho as he seemed yesterday.”

The first gate alarm sounded.

“About time,” I grumbled.

I walked to the back of the van and peered through the aluminum cage.

“You ready to go, big guy?”

Stanley’s nose was pushed against the wire. I slipped a finger inside and rubbed his face. I watched Captain Evan Danglish, USAF, drive across the tarmac.

He left the car and walked over.

“Am I late?”