Ten Little Bloodhounds (25 page)

I went back to my pile of papers, and finally finished cutting out and pasting all the alibis that had been verified on their individual sheets. It was after midnight. My eye settled on the top sheet, which was number ten on the list. It was Steven Ross, Cynthia’s husband, from Kalamazoo, Michigan. His alibi had been checked several different ways. His client, who had been his dinner companion, had been questioned, and the waiter had picked out Ross’s picture. The restaurant had looked up the dinner check that had been charged on Ross’s credit card, which had a register printout time of 10:35
P.M.

He couldn’t have traveled even by private jet to get to the island within the time frame.

I felt justified in using an orange-colored highlight pen and boldly crossing him off the list, thus eliminating my first suspect.
And then there were nine.

W
ayne was weighing the masterpiece litter, and I was charting their gains with satisfaction. They were little wrinkled butterballs.

Wayne grinned at the last one as he placed him back in the puppy cart.

“They are doing great!” I signed. “I regret that we can’t keep one, but we don’t have the time to show it and give it the right ring training. All of these deserve to be champions. At least we’ll be mentioned as the breeder, that should give the kennel some good publicity. I suspect we’ll be getting a lot of phone calls seven or eight months down the road about these guys when they start in the ring.”

Wayne nodded his agreement and began signing.

“Can I ask you a personal question without you getting angry at me?”

“Certainly.” I bit back my reluctance. I might as well answer him and get it over with. The situation between Jasmine and myself still remained mired in an impasse. I couldn’t very well tell Wayne it was none of his business. I suspected that he and Donnie Ray were on the receiving end of our short tempers and had gotten a lot of snappy retorts they didn’t deserve. You could cut the tension with a knife. Jasmine and I were trying to act cool, disinterested, and haughty to each other. All our nerves were wearing thin. Ours from the strained relationship, and theirs from being available and within firing range.

“When are you and Jasmine gonna make up?”

“She started it, not me.”

“But you’re the boss. It’s up to you, not her, to smooth it over.”

“Sounds like you’re now choosing sides, and you think it’s my fault. You can tell her, if you wish, that I will be glad to accept her apology and end this nonsense.”

The speed of his signing accelerated.

“I wouldn’t pass on that message on a bet. I’m too young to die. It’s your place to apologize!”

“In a pig’s eye.”

“Donnie Ray and I are serving notice. Any time in the future when you and Jasmine meet in our presence, we are going to disappear, regardless of what we’re doing. We don’t want to be victims or witnesses. Okay?”

“Read and understood. Anything else you wish to add?”

He signed so rapidly, I couldn’t assimilate his mes-
sage. He threw up his hands and left. If I didn’t know better I would swear he had been cursing, but Wayne never uses cuss words.

Back in the office I decided to call Patricia Ann Newton and thank her on the phone instead of writing a bread-and-butter note for the lovely dinner she prepared for me last evening. I’m sure Miss Manners wouldn’t approve.

Yesterday I had visited the SPCA kennel at five. I ran into Patricia, who spends many hours there each week doing volunteer work. I had met her at the beginning of this year, while I was working to solve an old murder case, and we had become casual friends. She donated a lot of money to the kennel, and also gave freely to some of my special projects.

On the spur of the moment, she urged me to go home with her, promising to prepare dinner for us. I accepted the invitation with alacrity. I had dreaded the thought of sitting home alone, waiting to see if either Jasmine or Susan would come to our regular Friday girl’s night. I suspected both of them would be no-shows. I had an excellent dinner, stimulating conversation, and was back home before ten. I read more reports and went to bed at midnight, without eliminating any of the remaining suspects.

Patricia answered her own phone, something she wouldn’t have done back in January.

“This is Jo Beth, and I wanted to thank you again for the lovely dinner last night.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it. I was spellbound with some of the local stories you shared with me. I’ve fallen more deeply in love with this town of ours with
each day that passes. I’ll be a Southerner before you know it.”

“You were born in the South, and don’t you forget it. Spending thirty years in the Big Apple doesn’t cancel your Southern heritage.”

We chatted for a while before I ended the call.

At seven, I filled the bathtub with unscented bubble bath and relaxed in the soothing hot water. Bobby Lee would be working tonight, and I didn’t want to distract his nose. I was invited for drinks at Alice Mae Petrie’s house. My plan to identify her intruder/stalker was in progress. I had taken the precaution of eating a large salad loaded with olive oil, and two slices of wheat bread slathered with butter. The olive oil and butter were to coat my stomach, so the hard liquor wouldn’t go to my head. I’m a beer drinker, but Alice Mae wouldn’t be serving beer. There would probably be three choices of booze: vodka, bourbon, and gin. I didn’t particularly care for any of them, but I could tolerate vodka. If a male guest was filling in for a bartender, the Standing Operating Procedure was to load every female glass to the brim with liquor and add only a token splash of mix. The men seemed to believe that it increased the male’s chance of getting lucky. When it had happened to me in the past, I had always gotten sick quickly and thrown up on my male escort, which tends to cool down even the most ardent Casanova.

Alice Mae had called me Thursday and informed me she had invited twelve: her three suspected suitors, three more males, and four females. A total of twelve people in her small cottage would be a tight fit. It made me think of a packed tin of sardines. It should be an
interesting evening.

When I arrived at a few minutes after eight, the room was somewhat as I had imagined. The couch and chairs were back against the wall, and Alice Mae had supplemented the seating with several of her mother’s dining room chairs. Everyone would be seated in an irregular circle with an opening at the front door for people to enter, and another opposite so we could trek to the kitchen for drinks.

She and I stood in the middle of the circle as she introduced me to the nine who were seated. Her three suspects were among them. She sent me to the kitchen for a drink. I knew the man who was mixing the drinks. He owned a service station facing the courthouse square downtown. We chatted as he worked at the dinette table. It was loaded with glasses, booze, and mixes. He added ice cubes scooped from an insulated cooler, filled the glass with vodka, and more or less waved the carafe of orange juice above it. Adding a swizzel stick he presented it to me with a flourish. “Tada!”

I held the drink up to the light, and could only detect a faint tinge of yellow color. I looked at him.

“Orders from headquarters,” he boomed across the table. He had been sampling his wares.

“Uh-huh,” I said, and went back to the action.

I chose a seat next to a woman I hadn’t seen in ages. She was a paralegal for the county defense league. She had spent a lot of time at the shelter for battered women as a volunteer. I worked a four-hour shift there once a month bringing in a bloodhound and sometimes a couple of puppies if any children were in residence.
I hadn’t seen her there in months. When I inquired if she was still working there, she shrugged her shoulders.

“I got married to Mr. Right. It was my second time around. In less than three months, I was a guest of the shelter for a week, and had filed for a divorce. My experience from working there helped. I knew just what to do when he beat the crap out of me for the fourth time in twelve weeks. I can’t go back there as a volunteer until the divorce is final.”

I murmured the appropriate words, patted her knee, and changed the subject. We played charades for a while, and when interest waned, conversation and something resembling musical chairs began. Men and women began to loosen up from the liquor and changed seats often. I was still nursing my first drink, but the others weren’t so prudent. I slipped into the bedroom and called Donnie Ray.

After fifteen minutes, I wandered over to a window to make sure he had arrived, and flipped the porch light on and off. I gave Alice Mae a nod. She moved to the middle of the room.

“Listen to me, everyone, I have a surprise for you!”

She sounded nervous. The noise level dropped to zero. The three standing quickly took their seats.

“Jo Beth wants to tell you a story about her bloodhounds, and give you a demonstration of their abilities. Would you please remain seated, and give her your undivided attention. Jo Beth?”

I stood in front of the door.

“Before I begin the demonstration, I’m going to bring Bobby Lee, a very gifted bloodhound, inside so
you can meet him. I don’t think many of you have seen a bloodhound in person, so I will tell you first that bloodhounds aren’t aggressive, and don’t bite.”

“Can I have that in writing?” called out one of the males who wasn’t a suspect. He received a couple of snickers for his humor. I ignored him, trying to draw the eyes and attention of the others to me. I opened the door and took Bobby Lee’s leash and the thawed scent pad from Donnie Ray, who had been standing with the screen door open. I quickly shut the door in his face, and ordered Bobby Lee to sit. I now had their attention.

“This bloodhound is trained for search and rescue. His ability to smell is many, many times greater than ours is. I’m going to tell you a story, and I want all of you to suspend any disbelief of his abilities so I can prove he can do things that seem impossible.

“Two months ago, Alice Mae began to have a feeling that she was being followed. She tried to ignore it, but it kept reappearing, and was stronger each time. She came home one evening and found her door unlocked. Had she forgotten to lock it, or had someone picked the lock, gone inside, and wanted her to be aware of his uninvited visit? She wasn’t sure until the second occurrence. That’s when she called me.”

The jokester began to hum a ghostly theme and received more laughs and a couple of hushes. A woman gave a large shudder and glared at the culprit.

“Don’t interrupt again. I for one am very interested in what Jo Beth is telling us!”

I sneaked a glance at Alice Mae and I saw she was resigned to the fact that she might lose more than one friend tonight. She tightened her lips and nodded her
approval for me to continue.

“I came over immediately after her call, and brought with me a fairly new invention called the scent machine. I’ll explain briefly what it does. It captures the scent, or I should say the latest scent at a crime scene. In this instance, the person who entered Alice Mae’s living quarters, who is unknown at this time, left his scent all over the house. The scent machine was placed near Alice Mae’s bed, and I let it run for five minutes.”

At the mention of her bed, I heard some suppressed snickers.

“Ah, but your thoughts are incorrect. This type of stalker, predator, or would-be rapist isn’t lusting for sex. They want to prove they have power over women, to feel in control, and to dominate.”

I didn’t let my eyes roam around the room because I knew I might let my gaze linger on the three suspects to see how they were reacting to my statements.

“The machine draws the air from the room and forces it through a sterile gauze pad, like this one.”

I held the pad in front of me so everyone could see.

“It can be frozen indefinitely, and thawed when you believe you have a suspect, and used to convict him, if he is identified by a bloodhound who has the right credentials.”

“Let me get this straight, this sounds like the
Twilight Zone.
Are you telling us that you’re gonna let that bloodhound there, what’s his name, smell that gauze pad and he’s then going to pick out a male in this room as the one who took an uninvited tour here, and has also been following her?”

The questioner was a stout dark-haired woman who owned the local car wash. I couldn’t remember her name. I smiled and nodded.

“You are correct. Bobby Lee will point him out shortly.”

“Man’s best friend is going to fink on him? I think that’s priceless!” Another woman heard from. This one had come with one of the three suspects. She had an infectious grin.

“That is correct.”

I kneeled and held two pieces of deer jerky in my gloved hand. This was the signal to let Bobby Lee know it was time to put his nose to work. I opened the Ziploc freezer bag, removed the scent pad, and thrust it under his nose.

“Seek, Bobby Lee, seek!”

I slipped off his short lead and whispered the familiar command in his ear.

“Find your man, get your man, where’s your man?”

He took one fast sniff, stared around the room as if he were searching for a perp hiding under a sofa, and padded softly across to the first person on his left in the ragged circle of possible suspects. It was a slight female who still looked like a teenager, when I knew she was at least thirty years old. She giggled when Bobby Lee’s nose brushed against her slacks. He moved around the room, hesitating briefly to take a sniff.

In front of the seventh person, who was one of the three suspects, Bobby Lee raised his head and began his victorious bay while planting his enormous paws on Tom’s shoulders.

Everyone was riveted by the loud bay, which
stopped just short of rattling the rafters. I knew what to expect and was still startled by the suddenness of Bobby Lee’s actions, so I could understand why the others were so shocked.

Tom came out of his trance and began to push Bobby Lee away from him, but being seated, he couldn’t get purchase on the happy animal. I got over there quickly, slipped on Bobby Lee’s short lead, and hauled him out of Tom’s range.