Ten Little Bloodhounds (3 page)

“You caught my attention when you were discussing him. You mentioned that he was your worst failure in the history of the kennel.”

“You got that right. That big lummox had no desire to scent track humans. All he wanted to trail were rabbits, coons, and …”

“Cats,” she finished.

“He never entered my mind,” I said thoughtfully. “He’s, let’s see … he’s about seven now. I couldn’t sell him to anyone but a hunter, and I would never do that. They would run him in the heat of summer to train the
puppies. They keep their dogs in small cages, feed them erratically, and never give them enough exercise. But seven? He’s probably given up his love to chase cats by now. He’s not young and frisky anymore.”

Jasmine kept her eyes on her salad. “Wayne tells me that Rudy has a set routine every evening as he and Bobby Lee leave for their afternoon run. He stops by Ivanhoe’s quarters, and they race side-by-side, two full lengths of the long run while Bobby Lee watches, then Rudy breaks off the chase and they leave.”

“Wayne has never mentioned a word to me about it!”

Jasmine smiled. “He didn’t want to squeal on Rudy. He says Rudy thinks he’s teasing Ivanhoe, but Ivanhoe enjoys it, and so does Rudy. He said no harm, no foul.”

“True,” I admitted. I thought about it.

“He’s had a leash on twice a day, to be moved back and forth from his quarters to the exercise yard. He hasn’t been put on a trail for over four years. He’s probably forgotten every command he was taught.”

“You could try.” She grinned and used the tag line of an old Southern joke. “And we can always use the eggs!”

I was still chuckling as I reached to pick up the chirping cellular I had moved to the table before lunch.

“Hello.”

“My name is Chief Justice Constance Dalby and I wish to speak to Ms. Jo Beth Sidden.”

Her imperial voice was music to my ears. In my prior relationship with the judge, I had always been the one calling her, but now the shoe was on the other foot. I had been politely blackmailing her for years. I had asked favors on only three occasions, and each time it had been like pulling teeth.

I knew of one illegal act where she had been an accomplice and if I revealed it, it would blow her out of her Tenth District judgeship seat. I would never do it because it would also snare two good friends of mine, and place my own hide in jeopardy. Thank goodness she didn’t know I would never reveal her secret. Her help had been invaluable when I needed her leverage. She truly despised me.

“This is Jo Beth. How are you, Constance?”

I flinched when she hissed her answer.

“You refer to me as Judge Dalby. I will not tolerate you speaking to me in this manner. Is that clear?”

“Certainly, Judge. So what can I do for you?”

I knew what this phone call was costing her and decided not to tweak her pride.

“I believe that you were contacted by Ms. Celia Cancannon, on behalf of Mrs. Alyce Cancannon, to perform a service for her. Is this correct?”

“That is correct, Your Honor.”

“I ask you to reconsider and accommodate Mrs. Alyce Cancannon.”

“Judge, I wouldn’t do it for anyone else, but your wish is my command. It’s a done deal.”

“You will?”

Her surprise that I let her off the hook so easily was monumental. She choked out a terse thank you and disconnected.

I gave an evil smile and a wink to Jasmine, who had seemed in shock ever since she heard me use Judge Dalby’s name.

“We’re on,” I told her.

M
y first call was to Celia Cancannon, accepting her employer’s generous offer and telling her to send the bird. She sounded so relieved and grateful, it made me wonder about the aunt who employed her. She might be a tough taskmaster to serve, or maybe she was just simply a frantic owner of a lost cat.

My second call was to the grooming room. Donnie Ray answered.

“Tell Wayne to harness Ivanhoe. Pack my backpack for two days, fill a small chest with a cool-pack for Ivanhoe’s food, and another iced with six Diet Cokes. Two radios, my rescue suit, gloves, and deer jerky. Ask Wayne to go through our maps and find a detailed one of the smaller islands just off the coast that are between the mainland and Cumberland Island. The one I’m interested in is called Little Cat. Did I forget anything?”

“Ivanhoe?”

“‘Yours is not to reason why,’” I quoted.

“I know, I know, I just do or die. Anything else?”

“Take a jumbo roll of paper towels out to the north field and make an X so the chopper pilot will know where to land. Use cans of Coke to hold it down. Place it a reasonable distance from the kennel roof.”

“Are you sure just one roll will make it big enough?”

“It will make two forty-four-foot strips. Ever heard the expression, ‘Just do it’?”

“Yes’m.”

“Good man.”

Knowing the total running feet on a roll of jumbo paper towels isn’t trivia that I keep stored in my brain. I had just checked on the figures in the kitchen before I called. It had only shown cms, whatever they are, and not linear feet. The wrapper happened to mention it held ninety-six sheets, eleven inches square, so I had laboriously taken a pen and notepad, multiplying eleven times ninety-six and dividing by twelve. I’m the boss and supposed to know these things.

I called Hank.

“I’m taking the assignment. Call your friend, and tell him I’m dropping by in the next hour. I’ll land in his chopper space, and tell him to keep himself available. I need all the daylight I can salvage this afternoon. And tell him not to take credit for my change of mind. Someone in the food chain way over his head accomplished it.”

“And you’re not gonna enlighten either one of us on who it is, are you?”

“You got it. See ya.”

Jasmine was packing an overnight bag for me. I went to the bedroom to check on her. She was standing in front of my closet with the double set of folding doors open, to reveal all of the interior. I glanced in the bag and saw she had the essentials.

“What are you looking for?” I asked.

“You just might be invited to dine with the hostess of this foray tonight and not have to eat in the kitchen with the servants. I can’t decide between the gold lamé top and the black long tube skirt, or the violet sheath.”

“The basic black dress and one-inch heels.”

She acted as if I hadn’t spoken.

“I think I should pack both of them. You might be there for two nights.”

“Not the gold spikes!” I pleaded when I saw them in her hands.

“You’ve had these shoes three years, and to my knowledge you have worn them twice. Are you saving them for your retirement?”

I sighed and picked up my snub-nosed .32. I checked the load, opened the bedside drawer, fed six more rounds into the elastic loops on my shoulder holster, shrugged it on, and fastened it below my breasts.

I walked into the living room and stooped to talk to Bobby Lee. He had followed me from room to room. When I strapped on the gun he knew I was preparing for a search. He was eagerly awaiting my command for him to fetch his leash.

“Sorry, sweetheart, it’s a no-no. You can’t go.”

He followed me to the back porch, glanced at both of his leads hanging from nails on a pillar, and back at me. He still had hope.

I said good-bye to Jasmine when she joined us. I knelt again and fondled Bobby Lee’s ears. He slumped in dejection when I pointedly said good-bye to him. I knew he would wait on the porch until I returned, whether it was a week or forever. I didn’t look back.

I heard the approaching helicopter as I set my case down where Wayne had piled my gear. Wayne, Donnie Ray, and I watched as it hovered, then slowly lowered and touched down. Wayne handed me Ivanhoe’s lead and I eyed him critically. We were both heading for uncharted waters. Wayne and Donnie Ray humped the gear out. The pilot had the door open but remained inside. He hadn’t shut off the motor. The wind from the rotating blades blew my hair in wild disarray. Ivanhoe’s ears were whipsawed, and his wrinkles all but disappeared from the wash’s pressure. The guys loaded the gear and backed away.

I slapped the floor, lifted the lead, and Ivanhoe landed in front of the seat. I held him tightly and climbed aboard awkwardly, spraddling my legs where I could grip Ivanhoe’s bulk between my knees. I was a tight fit, but his head was above window level, and he could see the ground. I slammed the door and glanced at the pilot.

He was pointing at Ivanhoe and then gesturing toward the back. I shook my head in an emphatic
no.
He reached behind him and came up with a helmet like he was wearing. I put it on and adjusted the chin strap and pulled the small mike closer to my lips. The noise abated and I could hear him clearly.

“The dog should ride in the rear. There isn’t enough room for him up here.”

What he really meant was he was very uncomfortable having such a large dog with a huge head, which held big teeth, sitting twelve inches from his right knee.

“I don’t think so. He’s fine here.” I gave him a warm smile.

“I’m afraid that I’ll have to insist.” He was returning my smile with equal warmth.

“Ivanhoe has never ridden in a copter before,” I said casually. “He could freak out any minute and go berserk. He weighs close to one hundred and thirty pounds. I have no idea how much damage he could cause, up to and including the ability to cause a crash if we’re airborne. I believe I can control him from this position. Wanna give it a try?”

His smile slipped and he thought it over.

“You
believe
you can control him?”

His voice rose slightly with each syllable.

“No promises.”

“What happens if I say no way?”

“Ivanhoe and I will bail out and you’ll have a lonely trip home.”

“Do you have a very large personal injury policy on your business?”

“Huge.”

“Well, with that assurance and the fact that I was told not to return without you, we will begin our perilous journey. Fasten your seat belt.”

I pulled the belt out to its limit, ran it under Ivanhoe’s harness, and awkwardly fastened it while he watched.

“Through thick and thin,” I said.

“Can he swim? We’ll be traveling over water.”

I knew by his tone of voice that he was giving me a chance to have the last word. I began to breathe easier.

“No, but he can dog-paddle.”

He lifted us upward, then sideslipped to the right. I caught a glimpse of Jasmine and Bobby Lee quickly becoming tiny miniatures as we climbed. When he leveled off and headed east, I spoke.

“I’m Jo Beth Sidden. Glad to meet you.” I held out my hand.

“Randall Finch. Everyone calls me Rand.”

We shook hands briefly and his returned to the controls. With the helmet and sun shades, I couldn’t see much of his face. His teeth were very white and even. He had a nice smile and a strong chin. I’d have to wait ’til later to tell if he was handsome or homely. He had on a jumpsuit of stonewashed denim. Long legs. I compared his bulk with my memory of Hank’s six feet, and he appeared to be as tall, and with the same broad shoulders. I couldn’t see the color of his hair.

“Do you know where Sheriff Beaman’s helipad is located?” I asked.

“The one in Woodbine?”

“He has more than one?”

“He has one by his office in Woodbine, two near police departments in other towns, and one by the Georgia Highway Patrol post on State Road Seventeen.”

“Woodbine. Could you please stop there? I need to check in with him.”

“Sure. Be about fifteen minutes.”

“Thanks.”

I watched a small section of Okefenokee unfold
before me. The dark inlets looked black against the foliage. The wild maple leaves were just beginning to turn. The sweet gum and vines were yellow, red, and maroon. They had reached their peak of colors; most of the vines were yellow by August. The broomgrass was golden splotches of cover against the dark green of the cypress. Next month the cypress would shed and their denuded silhouettes would mingle with the evergreens and long-leaf pines of old growth, and the planted slash pine sections. Ivanhoe was staring downward out the window at the landscape, the same as I was. I wondered what he thought about being up so high, and seeing trees and water below him. He seemed to be taking the trip well; he wasn’t nervous and whining.

Bloodhounds don’t have the life expectancy of other breeds. Eight to ten years is average. At seven, Ivanhoe was in his late fifties, in people years. I noticed a few gray hairs in his muzzle. My knees were locked on either side of his body. I relaxed a little, and he tried to inch closer to the glass. We were a tight fit in the small space, and he couldn’t move more than an inch or two because my right thigh was resting on the door panel. I hoped my legs didn’t start cramping, because there wasn’t enough room to stretch them.

“Your dog looks like he’s enjoying himself.”

I dabbed the edge of his gums with his slobber towel. I didn’t want him shaking his head and slinging drool on me or the expanse of the glass-enclosed cabin.

“Ivanhoe is a dedicated tourist. He hasn’t taken his eyes from the ground since we took off.”

“Ivanhoe?” He chuckled with amusement.

“We give all the dogs a working name. Drug dogs
are named after famous authors and poets, Shakespeare, Chaucer, Tolstoy, Christie, the Brontës. Scent trackers are famous or infamous characters in fiction and history, Ulysses, Gulliver, Dr. Livingstone, Melanie. Our arson dogs are paired as famous or infamous lovers, Samson and Delilah, Tarzan and Jane, Bonnie and Clyde. You get the picture. We have fun naming them.”

“Have you ever thought about some of those lovers? Most all of them have the man’s name first; but I’ve never heard anyone say, Clyde and Bonnie, it’s always Bonnie and Clyde. Do you ever wonder why?”

“Not with those two. Bonnie was the stronger personality, she deserved first billing. Clyde was a wimp.”

“Are you married?”

I was surprised he asked so abruptly, then I understood. I was not at a loss for words when I replied.

“I was married at eighteen, corrected my mistake at twenty-one, which was twelve years ago; and yes, Rand, I am a feminist.”