Ten Little Bloodhounds (4 page)

“You also read minds?” He sounded piqued.

I sighed. “Only when it’s obvious.”

“I was going to swear to you that you were dead wrong, but it is the question that popped into my mind the second you called Clyde a wimp. I figured you were basing your description of Clyde on the fact he was an underachiever in the sex department. Was I right?”

“Christ, no wonder people think that men are from Mars and women are from Venus! His sexual prowess didn’t cross my mind. He was a whiner, and she had to psych him up before each bank job. You men constantly
think of nothing but sex, sex, sex!”

I suddenly shut up and stifled a laugh. I had eyed him as if he was a piece of meat not three minutes ago; and now I had the audacity to accuse him for his sexual thoughts, when my musings had been running in the same direction.

“How did we progress this quickly into talking about sex?” I giggled as I posed the question.

He gave me a wide grin. “Because we were both thinking about it, and all women do is constantly think about sex, sex, sex!”

“Maybe,” I qualified. “Just maybe.”

“Here we are,” he said, as he turned and dropped the craft gracefully downward. “This is Woodbine.”

W
hen we were on the tarmac, Rand smiled.

“Will this take long?”

“About ten minutes.”

He shut down the engine, and I watched the blades slowly stop their rotation. Sheriff Beaman left the shade of the overhang on the building and started walking our way. I lifted my left leg clear of Ivanhoe, opened the door, and told him to unload. He dropped to the pavement like a seasoned flyer.

“I’ll just stretch my legs,” Rand said, joining us.

“Here,” I said, holding out the lead. “Why don’t you take Ivanhoe over to the edge of the lot, and let him inspect the bushes?”

“Me?” He looked startled. “I don’t know anything about handling dogs. I couldn’t.”

“Are you a chartered pilot, or do you fly for Mrs. Alyce Cancannon? Is this her helicopter?”

“Give me a break. I work for her, but I wasn’t hired to walk a monster like this!”

“It’s easy, don’t be such a ninny.” I thrust the leash into his hands.

“Just hold onto him. A bloodhound loose in traffic is a dead bloodhound. I’d hate to tell Mrs. Cancannon you lost the only dog within three thousand miles that stood a chance of finding Amelia.”

I turned my back on them and walked toward the sheriff.

“Miz Sidden, I’m Sheriff Beaman. We met in Savannah.”

“I remember,” I replied as I shook his hand.

His appearance reminded me of the Marlboro Man, only ten years older and with a slight paunch. He was dressed in Western gear, from the ten-gallon hat to his pointy-toed boots.

“Cribbs called and gave me your message. Glad you’re going to try to find Amelia for Mrs. Cancannon. She’s not one of my favorite people but I have two cats at home, so I can empathize. He also mentioned the amount of your fee and the fact you were wondering what she offered me.”

“It’s not any of my business, Sheriff.”

“She didn’t offer me a dime, Miz Sidden, she knows that I will not accept money from her. It’s what she threatened to offer my deputy that convinced me to call Cribbs to see if he could change your mind.”

“Your deputy?” He seemed to be waiting for an answer, so I obliged.

“Yes’em. This deputy has been with the department as long as I have, and he’s been itching to run against me for eight years now. So far, he’s known better than
to try. She told me she would hire a big-time agency from New York to run his campaign and spend as much money as it would take to make him sheriff. I’m sure he would go for it, any man would.”

“You think she could get him elected?”

“I spent three hundred dollars on my first campaign twelve years ago on signs and having a big public fish-fry, and not a red cent since. With enough money, she could make our local drunk the next sheriff.”

“Well, Sheriff, I wish I could tell her that you were the one who changed my mind, but the one that asked me last made me an offer that I couldn’t refuse, if you get my drift.”

“Miz Cancannon don’t hold a grudge, Miz Sidden. She got what she wanted. You’re gonna help her. She’ll forget all about my deputy by next week.”

“That’s good. I’d better go try to find her cat. If you ever need a future favor, you can call me direct. I’ll help if I can.”

“’Preciate it.” He swept the large hat off for the second time as we shook hands.

Rand was waiting, acting uneasy, until I relieved him of Ivanhoe’s leash.

“Any problems?”

“He had a nice pee, wiped saliva on my pants leg and some dripped on my shoes, but he didn’t take a bite out of my thigh, so I guess you could call the adventure a success.”

“Bloodhounds aren’t aggressive. They’re not attack dogs. If you had hauled off and kicked Ivanhoe, he wouldn’t have bit you. He’s a pussycat.”

“I’ll take your word. I wouldn’t attempt to kick a dog that big.”

“That’s nice,” I said. “Ivanhoe wouldn’t retaliate, but I would.”

“I don’t doubt it for a minute. Shall we depart?”

“Let’s.”

Without the helmet, I could see his facial features and his thick dark brown hair. He was one fine-looking man. Still couldn’t see his eyes, they were covered with the wraparound shades, but all else checked out just fine.

When we were seated, and I was attaching the seat belt under Ivanhoe’s harness, I saw that Rand had removed his glasses, and was polishing them with a cloth.

“Rand?”

He looked up. His eyes were dark brown-colored pools that you could drown in. I took a deep breath.

“What is it?” He was waiting for me to speak.

“How big is this island?”

It was the only thing I could think of to ask and I did need to know.

“About four by six miles, maybe a little less. Roughly a rectangle with wide sandy beaches on all four sides. There’s a twenty-foot bluff on the north side and a small marsh area near the south end. Everything else in between is oak, pine, cypress, and thick growth. There are some fairly large clearings. There’s a herd of feral horses, deer, wild hogs, all types of small game, and large herds of wild turkeys.”

“Do you have a detailed topographical map?”

“I have one on the island. I’ll get it for you when we land.”

“Thank you.”

When we had finished climbing and heading east again, I saw the edge of the Atlantic, a bright blue
expanse that seemed to cover the world. There were small green islands right off the coast and one large one that was very long. That must be Cumberland Island, where my father had painted almost all of his paintings. I had never been there, except when I looked at his oils. He was a landscape artist. He died several years ago. I still miss him.

Long before we reached Cumberland Island, Rand turned and started descending from the south, heading into the wind. We flew low, just above the treetops. Suddenly we were flying over a large clearing, and I spotted several deer racing across a dark green lawn.

“Did you see the deer?” I asked.

“Yes. Sometimes they will stand on the exact spot where I want to land and just stare at me. I have to go back up and wait till they move.”

I saw the roof of a large building, just getting a glimpse through small openings in the trees as we were coming down. He set the copter on grass in front of a large shed with a shiny aluminum roof. Even with my sunshades, the aluminum reflected the sun’s glare so brightly, I had to look away.

“New roof, I see.”

“This one is three years old. We need a new one after each big blow.”

“You should use tin. It’s not as expensive as aluminum.”

He laughed. “You wouldn’t recommend tin if you were visiting here during a hurricane or a violent storm. A piece of tin being blown by winds in excess of a hundred miles per hour is a missile just as deadly as a Scud. It can slice through a wall, roof, or window. It can lop
off mature trees till they’re nothing but stumps. We had six pieces go through the main roof during the no-name storm and destroy one of the servants’ cottages. Aluminum folds and crushes easier. It can do damage, but nothing compared to tin.”

We deplaned and I took Ivanhoe to smell the bushes. Rand went into the shed. When he returned he was with two Filipino men in their fifties. One was pulling a small cable, which he attached to the front of the helicopter. With Rand on one side and the two Filipinos on the other, they walked slowly alongside as the cable drew the machine into the shaded depth of the building.

There wasn’t anything sinister in the scene, but I felt goose bumps dance on my spine in the eighty-degree heat. I guessed it was the contrast of the brilliant light and inky darkness within the shed. Maybe it was the realization that the object that disappeared from my view was my only link to civilization.

Rand pulled out of the cavernous shed in a sparkling new Ford pickup. I could see my gear piled on the open tailgate, where one of the Filipinos sat dangling his short legs from the truck bed.

I opened the passenger door and patted the seat for Ivanhoe. He scrambled in and sat on the smooth bench seat. I had to scoot him over to have room to get in; he wanted to hang his head out the window. It was an automatic reaction that is always present in all canines, not a learned experience, because to my knowledge, he had never been in the front of a pickup before.

“Have you noticed that the man in back hasn’t closed the tailgate? It’s not safe for him to ride where he is now.”

Rand chuckled. “He’ll be fine. What are you doing?”

I was struggling with the seat belt and Ivanhoe wasn’t helping. He had one huge paw in my lap, leaning over to get closer to the window.

“Stop, Jo Beth,” he said, grinning from ear to ear. “The belt is not necessary.”

He reached over and caught my hands in his when I continued to try to buckle up.

I went still. “Why not?”

“It’s a short trip.”

“That’s no excuse.”

“It’s a very short trip.”

“So?”

“You didn’t notice the truck. What do you think of her?”

“It’s a nice truck.” I sent a fleeting glance around the cab and turned my eyes to his, and waited.

He turned on the key, and I saw the instrument panel light up.

“Look at the gas gauge.”

I leaned around Ivanhoe for a closer view. The needle was resting below empty. I saw that one of the little figures that lights up when something is amiss was a glowing red. I pointed to it.

“Your gas gauge is empty,” I said wryly. “Your warning light is telling you you’re almost out of gas, and I bet there isn’t a gas station for miles and miles. Do we walk?”

“No, I’ve been driving it a year. She’s a gas guzzler, and by next October I’ll have to put in a gallon.”

I pushed on Ivanhoe to move his legs back and leaned closer to read the mileage. My eyes widened.

“You’ve only put twenty-one miles on this truck in a year?”

“Well, two miles of that was from the dealership to the dock, in Fernandina Beach. I only put two gallons in the tank because I plucked her off the deck of the Cumberland Island ferry two miles offshore. The ferry couldn’t get any closer. I didn’t want a full tank of gas in case I dropped her in the Atlantic, or on the lawn.”

“You obviously didn’t drop her, and you’re really not going to put more gas in the tank for another year?”

“We have a pool going, and most of the people on the island have invested. I picked next October first for the day she runs dry. I’ve also locked the gas tank to keep everybody honest.”

“How long is this very short trip?”

“Three hundred yards.”

“I’ll go without buckling up, I like to live dangerously.”

“Atta girl!” He clamped his hand over his mouth in mock chagrin when he caught me wrinkling my nose. “OOPS! Bad choice of words. Atta person! How’s that?”

“Fido!” I replied, acting haughty and pointing imperiously toward the small blacktop road.

O
ur three-hundred-yard journey was uneventful. Two short curves and we were at the door of the mansion.

“Wow,” I whispered in awe.

This three-storied edifice made Tara look like a gardener’s cottage. The grayish front wall loomed above us. I had to lean out the window to gaze upward to find the red tiled roof, and twist backward to see where the mixture of brick, stone, wood, and mortar of the wall ended.

“It’s larger than it looks,” Rand stated.

“It couldn’t be, it looks bigger than the Pentagon. How many bedrooms?”

“There’s twenty guest rooms, and five permanent suites for the relatives when they visit.”

“La-di-da. Hold my mint julep, Colonel, while I whip my slaves.”

“That won’t play here. This house wasn’t built until the early nineteen twenties. Miz Alyce’s relatives were all foreigners or transplanted Yankees and it remains the same mixture today for the present staff, including me.”

I detected a hint of coolness and felt the blush rising from my neck to suffuse my face.

“Goodness gracious!” I was suddenly a full-blown southern belle. “I’ve always said, one shouldn’t have to apologize for the circumstances of their birth, which includes where they were born. Don’t you agree?”

I had gotten carried away in my role and began to rapidly fan my face with the loop of Ivanhoe’s leather leash.

Rand laughed. “I think I just dropped a couple of points in your poll.”

“Only one,” I replied, with saccharin sweetness, “and if you deduct one from mine it makes us even. The relatives that visit, are they her children?”

“She had no children. It’s five nieces, from two of her husband’s older brothers who died years ago. She partially raised them. It’s four nieces that visit, all of whom are married. The fifth, Celia Cancannon, resides here permanently and has never married.”

“Is there a Mr. Cancannon?”

“He died when Miz Alyce was thirty. She never remarried.”