Ten Little Bloodhounds (31 page)

On Wednesday, Charlene had jumped over several cases waiting in the wings, and presented Bubba’s
shooting to the grand jury. They dutifully returned the indictment that she requested, second-degree murder.

Hank was shocked and Wade was incensed. They both came to deliver this news. My guess was they didn’t relish telling me one on one. Hank had gone over Charlene’s head and appealed to Bobby Don.

“I should have known better, he’s got his nose up Sidden Senior’s ass. He’s afraid of the next election!”

Wade was pacing the floor and questioning Charlene’s lineage.

“That’s not helping, Wade,” I said quietly. “What happens next?”

Hank answered for him.

“Wade has assured me that you will turn yourself in on Friday at noon.”

“Why the wait?” I asked, directing my gaze at Wade.

“I’ve already requested a bond hearing. It won’t be heard until the Friday afternoon session. I don’t want you to have to sit in jail for two days.”

“Amen to that,” I replied dully.

Thursday morning early, Hank called.

“Charlene is on the warpath, she wants you incarcerated immediately. Get out of the compound until Friday noon. I’m on the way to serve the warrant, and Charlene insists on accompanying me. I can only stall for thirty minutes.”

I hit the panic button, and Wayne, Donnie Ray, and Jasmine came running. Donnie gassed up his truck while Wayne packed food and camping equipment and Jasmine filled an overnight bag. I made two phone calls, and was halfway to the Fargo landing before Hank and Charlene turned into Bloodhound Lane.

Entering Stephen Foster State Park, I turned off the tourist entrance and followed the small blacktop road that wound through planted pines, old growth, and thick brambles to the game warden’s residence, James Phelps. He was waiting on his screened porch and came down the steps to greet me.

“The only time I see you is when you want a favor,” he said gruffly.

I ignored his tone, threw my arms around him, and gave him a grateful hug. James is fifty-two now, has quite a bit of gray in his dark hair, and has added at least ten pounds since I had last seen him. Patrolling his area of the Okefenokee Swamp kept him looking capable and hardy.

He had helped me several years ago to keep Leroy Moore, my very best male friend and his cousin, out of a jam. I still owed him a big one.

He eyed my wraparound sunshades and the colorful bandanna covering my hair.

“I read about the indictment in yesterday’s
Dunston County Daily News.
This is a bad move, Jo Beth. You aren’t planning on taking up permanent residence on Billy’s Island, are you?”

I stepped back and flung out both arms to indicate the beauty around me.

“Don’t I wish! Just overnight, James. My lawyer wanted to set up a bail hearing, and I didn’t fancy spending the night in the slammer. It’s much nicer out here. I turn myself in at noon tomorrow.”

“Who’s this?” James squatted and began rubbing Bobby Lee’s ears.

“The best dog I have. Meet Bobby Lee.”

“Your guide came up to the porch about fifteen minutes ago,” he said, straightening. “Said his boat was tied up at my dock. Sure you can trust him? He looks like a poacher to me.”

I held back a smile.

“Which one came, the big one or the little one?”

“He was small, wouldn’t weigh a hundred and forty dripping wet—wait a minute here—he’s one of the Conner brothers? No wonder he looks like a poacher, both of them are!”

“His name is Ray. His brother Sam weighs two-fifty-plus. Calm down. They are
rumored
to be poachers. They’ve never been arrested. Where’s your sense of fair play?”

“That little twerp is not spending the night in my territory! I mean it, Jo Beth!”

“He isn’t planning to spend the night,” I soothed. “He’s just taking me to the island, and will fetch me in the morning and bring me back here in time for me to get to the courthouse by noon. Stop your fretting.”

James helped me carry my gear down to his small dock and stood glaring at Ray until we rounded a small promontory and were out of sight. As we unloaded, Ray finally asked.

“You told him my name?”

“Without knowing how popular you are. He’s heard
rumors.
”

We grinned at each other, and he left.

After I had set up camp, Bobby Lee and I explored the island for hours. I tried to imagine how it must have looked a hundred years ago. At that time, there were over twenty families living on this eight-mile
island of marshes, bogs, and some fairly high ground. They farmed, hunted, fished, and lived completely off the land. They had chickens, cows, pigs, and goats, and grew their own food and silage for their livestock. Nothing was wasted. Chicken feathers made mattresses and pillows, tanned cowhides were the seats and backs for chairs. Wild honey for their table, berries for their pies and wine, corn for their moonshine, and a great bounty of venison, turkey, coon, wild hogs, bear, and possum.

In exploring, Bobby Lee and I spotted a few relics of the past, a tumbled chimney with bricks that fell apart in my hand, fragments of fence wire, and one broken dish, half submerged in dirt and water.

I had buried two ears of partially shucked corn and two Idaho bakers before I had built the fire on top of them. When we returned there were only hot coals left from the dead wood. I raked the coals back with a metal spoon and set the veggies aside to cool. I opened my short iron stand, and placed a cast-iron skillet directly above the coals. When the seasoned pan was hot, I added two large hamburger patties, which had thawed during the mild afternoon. As the meat cooked, I fed Bobby Lee a half-portion of dog food.

He raised his head often to stare at the sizzling meat and to breathe in the tantalizing smells, making sure to cast his eyes my way.

“Never fear, dear heart, half is yours as always.”

I broke up his hamburger to cool faster, and shucked both ears of corn, dividing them between us on the paper plates. I buttered my corn and added sour cream and chives to the potato.

Before I started eating, I put on a small pot of water for instant coffee. No food had ever tasted so good. Bobby Lee polished off his share, and lay contentedly across from me noisily sucking all the juice from the corncob. I removed it from his jaws before he decided to chew it up.

Bobby Lee sometimes acts as if he has psychic abilities. He moved to my side and laid his large head on my leg. He seemed to sense my distress. I had been looking longingly at my two true loves—my mysterious, beautiful swamp and him.

I explained to him why I was so sad. There was a good possibility I would have to leave him forever, and the swamp for a great chunk of the rest of my life. The penalty for murder in the second degree is fifteen years to life.

In the morning, after cooking bacon, eggs, and fried bread, I broke camp. Ray picked us up and deposited us on James’s dock. I borrowed Ray’s shower and dressed in a navy suit and heels. At noon I met Wade in front of the Sheriff’s Department.

He delivered me to Hank, who guided me through the fingerprinting and having my picture taken with a sign around my neck with large black numbers. I had to fight the impulse to stick out my tongue for my mug shot. Frivolity is frowned upon here. They were making this county safe from a dangerous person who had the audacity to kill a founding father’s son. I sometimes wonder about my stupidity. I should have secretly stalked the sucker and planted him in an unmarked grave. But being a borderline law-abiding citizen, I had still believed that the system would protect a
woman being terrorized and promised an agonizing premature death. That was then. Now I know better.

I was numb as I awaited the judge’s entrance at the hearing, with Hank sitting on my left and Wade on my right. Sinclair Adams, my CPA, was seated directly behind me. He had patted my shoulder and gave me a smile. I saw he had his ever-present briefcase beside him. I wondered idly how much this fiasco would cost me. He had cashed in my tiny pile of assets, most of them prematurely, and arranged a second mortgage on my homestead just to scrape up bail money. My defense of a murder charge would not come cheap. I moved my anticipated retirement date at age fifty-five to seventy.

When a robed Constance Dalby entered the courtroom and sat on the bench, I lowered my head and spoke softly to Wade through gritted teeth.

“Christ, Wade, you requested her, didn’t you? You have just caused me to be assured of no bail.”

“Trust your lawyer, Sidden.”

“But you don’t—”

I shut up. I couldn’t tell him that I’d been blackmailing his favorite judge for several years now. He’d demand to know why. This I could never tell him. It would get his wife and me a long jail term for tax evasion. It seemed that all my chickens were coming home to roost.

Judge Dalby conferred with the clerk and we were called forward. Charlene, the barracuda, was already seated at the prosecutor’s table.

“This is a bail hearing for the defendant, Jo Beth Sidden. Counselor?”

“Your Honor, Ms. Sidden is a respected member of this community. She has lived her entire life here, and owns a thriving business. She works with local law enforcement finding lawbreakers with her bloodhounds, and rescuing her fellow citizens in distress. She is no flight risk. We ask that she be released on her own recognizance without bail until her trial.”

“Ms. Stevens?” Judge Dalby sounded bored.

“We request that bail be denied. This was a coldblooded murder, Your Honor. The victim was armed only with a baseball bat, and the defendant shot him six times in the chest. Her life was never in danger. Her response was excessive and uncalled for. The victim would never have hurt her, while she was holding a gun. She saw her chance to rid herself of an annoyance and deliberately murdered him. The defendant has no family ties here, and so little equity in her business, she is definitely a flight risk. If convicted, she faces at least fifteen years in prison. I ask for no bail.”

Wade quickly responded, “Your Honor, I would like to remind the district attorney that bail is not punitive, nor an instrument for revenge. It is to assure the court of the defendant’s appearance in court. If you decide on asking for bail, we plead for a reasonable amount. The defendant works for a living and has limited resources.”

“Bail is set in the amount of fifty thousand dollars. Cash only. Pay the clerk or be remanded to jail.”

Judge Dalby rapped the gavel once, stood, and departed.

I sat limp with relief. Sinclair had exactly fifty thousand in the briefcase that he sat on the clerk’s desk and
began to empty. I could sleep in my own bed tonight. If worse came to worst and I was convicted, I now had a few months before the trial to train Bobby Lee that Jasmine’s apartment was his new home. These two facts were worth every penny of the bail.

I thanked Wade and Hank and walked over and waited for Sinclair to finish so I could thank him. I noticed that there were several packets of bank-banded money left in the open briefcase while he waited for the clerk to write out the receipt. He joined me at the dividing rail.

“Let’s pull a shepherd, and get the flock out of here,” he whispered while guiding me to the door.

“You had more money than fifty thousand. Where did the rest come from?”

“It’s for something else,” he replied lamely.

“Sinclair, you still haven’t learned how to lie convincingly. Give!”

“Hank was afraid that she might say one hundred thousand. He, Wade and Sheri, and Sylvia and I floated a loan. Please don’t tell them you know, they’d be embarrassed.”

“I won’t. Thanks.”

Wade was wrong when he told the judge I had limited resources. I have faithful friends and that means I have it all.

D
uring the four months preceding the trial I tried to put my house in order.

I worked diligently, knowing I was racing the calendar on several projects. The most important one was retraining Bobby Lee. Then I wanted to solve the murder of Alyce Cancannon. I also desired to have another go at trying to find Captain Evan Danglish and the USAF’s downed plane.

I started with Bobby Lee. Jasmine spent her days with him attached to her belt. He went willingly, not knowing that it was possibly a permanent arrangement. I had Wayne put two screen door hooks and eyes at the bottom of the pet door in my office. Rudy spent two uncomfortable nights on the back porch before he folded and accepted Jasmine’s hospitality. He might have missed me a little, but he loved his comfort more.
He didn’t come to the pet door and scratch to be let in. He had his bed, his food dish filled on time, and his ears scratched nightly. He possibly missed the occasional treat I fed him that Jasmine wouldn’t provide because he was obese. Cats are very sensitive. He caught on quick that I was avoiding him, so he avoided me. He complained vocally to Jasmine about the loss of his treats, but artfully stayed out of my way. I was surprised that I ached so much from missing him.

Bobby Lee’s love was unconditional and he had a tough heart. It took months to break it. Every morning when Jasmine let him out for his morning run, he hastened to my door and scratched and whined miserably when he couldn’t get it open. I started avoiding him; I couldn’t bear his bewildered and questioning glances. He seemed to be asking, What have I done?

We all lost weight; Rudy from eating correctly, Jasmine and I from lack of sleep worrying about Bobby Lee’s condition. He seldom ate and his coat looked dull and lifeless. He lost ten pounds quickly. Harvey, my vet, patted my back and held me when I consulted with him on Bobby Lee’s condition. He told me that I was doing the right thing. I asked him when the pain of betrayal would end, but he had no answer.

In the third month, Bobby Lee began to change. He ate more, and he stopped shedding so much of his hair. Gone was the vibrant dog that so enjoyed life he danced with butterflies. He had a different demeanor. He seemed ashamed. He carried his tail limp, not curled dramatically over his back. He knew that he had failed to please. He was now resigned to his banishment.