Bone Appétit

by Carolyn Haines

  “We’ll all go back to Zinnia and help hunt,” Tinkie said as I answered the phone.

  “Sarah Booth,” Oscar began. “I want to reassure you. We’ve had several Sweetie Pie sightings. Mr. Truesdale saw her behind the Piggly Wiggly carousing with that other hound. He said they were barking at paper sacks blowing around, and I got a report that they were down at the creek beside the high school, swimming and cavorting later this afternoon.”

  This all sounded good. Sweetie enjoyed the water, and she loved to play. But had she thrown over her friendship with Chablis for a man-dog? That didn’t sound like my feminist hound. “I thought for sure she’d return by now. Fun’s fun, but this is ridiculous.” I sounded like the mother of a wayward teen, but I couldn’t help it. “Have you checked at Dahlia House? She may be in the barn.”

  “Already checked.”

  There was something in his voice. “What is it, Oscar?”

  “I don’t know how to say this, exactly . . .”

  “Spit it out.” He was scaring me.

  “It seems Danny the hound has a shoe fetish. Sweetie has fallen in with him on a crime spree.”

  It took several seconds to process this. My friends were staring at me, and I tried to control my expression. “All dogs chew shoes. What are you saying?”

  “This is a serious fixation. A number of cleats from the high school football team went missing. And the cheerleaders’ performance shoes, too.”

  “And they’re blaming Sweetie and Danny? Two dogs? For what, forty pairs of shoes?”

  “Fourteen, to be exact. There’s not much doubt the dogs did it, Sarah Booth. Mrs. Hedgepeth saw them running behind her house. Each dog had a pair of football cleats.”

  I couldn’t believe it. Mrs. Hedgepeth was like the old witch in The Wizard of Oz. She’d had it in for Sweetie from day one. “You know that old bat would lie for the fun of making trouble. She hates Sweetie.”

  “If it were just her word . . .”

  I sensed big trouble here. “What kind of evidence does she have?”

  “She got a picture of both dogs with her cell phone. There’s no doubt Sweetie and Danny are guilty.”

  I was outraged. “Mrs. Hedgepeth knows how to use a cell phone camera?” How was that possible? Though Tinkie was up to speed on technology, I hadn’t mastered the art yet. “Did she bring you the photo?”

  “She showed it to Coleman, and when he only laughed, she took it to the high school football coach. He’s up in arms and wants a manhunt for the dogs and the shoes. It’s sounding more and more like a lynch mob.”

  “Look, it’s possible the dogs took a couple of pairs of shoes, but there’s no point in getting all overwrought about this. When we find the dogs, we’ll return the shoes.” I knew the high school football coach and winning was everything to him. He would be furious about the cleats. Sweetie had shoenapped from the wrong person. “How did the dogs get the cleats?”

  “The coach said they finished practice and the team was in the showers. The dogs must have moved in and nabbed the cleats. Then they moved on to the girls’ gym and snared the cheerleaders’ shoes. They did it all in under an hour.”

  As much as I wanted to defend my hound, I couldn’t. Sweetie had never displayed a fondness for stinky athletic shoes, but she was under the influence of Eros. Love can generate strange behavior. “Those dogs have to be right in the neighborhood, Oscar. They’ve hidden the shoes somewhere nearby.”

  “Let me talk to Tinkie a moment,” Oscar said.

  I passed her the phone and watched her face. She was amused, which made me feel a little better.

  “Shall Sarah Booth and I head home?” she finally asked. She listened a moment. “No, no more problems. Hedy hasn’t been formally charged with anything. We can head home tonight, if necessary.”

  Her tone was so reasonable, so conciliatory. She was masterful at the role she’d taken on.

  “Thank you, Oscar.” She shut the phone and handed it to me. “He’s worried about Sweetie, Sarah Booth. And he feels responsible. She got loose on his watch.”

  “That’s nonsense. Sweetie is her own woman, but I’ll run back to Zinnia while you stay here.” If anyone could find Sweetie, it would be me. And I had to get those shoes returned before Sweetie and Danny became the footgear Bonnie and Clyde of Zinnia.

  “Are you going to call Graf and tell him about this?” Tinkie asked.

  Beneath her innocent question was the real one. “Would you take care of that for me?” Both Cece and Millie looked at me hard. I picked up my phone and her keys. “Thanks, Tinkie. And you girls be good. I’ll let you know when I round up my hound.”

  Driving through the early-summer night home to Zinnia, I felt the Delta rise up around me like the walls of a familiar room. I knew this land the way a devotee knows the contours of her beloved. The taste and smell of the cotton fields were a huge part of my tactile memory. Riding through the night with the stars pulsing in the sky, I had such a sense of home. It was true I’d never made my living farming, but it was the basis of everything in the Delta. The land was interwoven through every facet.

  I’d borrowed Tinkie’s Caddy, and the headlights illuminated the rows of cotton on either side of the two-lane. Where the light faded, I knew the cotton extended in all directions as far as the eye could see. I’d learned to gauge the seasons, both climate and financial, by those endless rows. The hard thing about farming is that a bumper crop can mean financial troubles as much as a poor crop. Too much cotton and the bottom drops out of the price.

  The cotton gave way to another crop. Soybeans. As my aunt Loulane would say, it’s never smart to put all of your eggs in one basket. Savvy farmers planted plenty of cotton, but they also put in soybeans and other crops. Rotating was good for the soil, cut down on the spread of insects and disease, and had other benefits.

  I rolled the window down and let the night scents blow into the car. Someone had just mown grass nearby. The clean smell made me think of watermelons, cold, crisp, and juicy.

  Drawing near a small creek, I caught the fresh scent of the water and heard the rustle of the trees that lined the bank and also served as a windbreak. With the land so flat and open, strong winds moved too much topsoil, and farmers planted a row of trees to block the wind.

  The night cry of a hoot owl came from the trees, but other than the thrum of roadside crickets, the darkness was still and quiet. The scene through the windshield was so familiar, so much a part of who I was that I wondered had I been born in another place, would I have found my way here, to this land and these people? Was the Delta my destiny? It was a curious thought.

  I’d lived in New York City, and I’d worked briefly in the movie industry, yet here I was back in the Delta, headed to the old plantation that had been my family’s home since before the War Between the States. I was on a mission to find my hound, who was as much a part of my family as if she’d been carried in a Delaney womb.

  I glanced at the passenger seat, half-expecting Jitty to put in an appearance. The space remained vacant, though. Good for her. Maybe she was at a spiritual retreat. I smiled at my own humor.

  The miles slipped beneath the wheels, and before I realized the passage of time, I found myself in Zinnia. Millie’s was closed, as was the Sweetheart Café and every other business. Like so many rural towns, Zinnia’s shops closed at 5:00, the end of the workday. Millie’s was normally open later, and the Sweetheart, a drive-in where the high school kids hung out, stayed open even later, but the latest of the late-night hangouts closed at 10:00 p.m., which worked for me. The silent streets allowed me to hunt for Sweetie more easily.

  I pulled into the Sweetheart and got out, whistling for my hound. “Sweetie Pie Delaney, you’d better get up here,” I called. “They’re printing up wanted posters with your picture on them.”

  If she was within earshot, she’d at least give a howl. One of the things I loved about Sweetie in particular and hounds in general was they didn’t play hard to get. If Sweetie heard
me, she’d let me know.

  Nothing. Only the sounds of a small town sleeping.

  I drove around, calling her name, and growing more worried with each passing moment. I’d assumed—wrongly, it seemed—that once I got back to Zinnia and called her, she would come out of hiding. But what if she was injured? Or someone had caught her and—

  I couldn’t allow my thoughts to go there. First things first. On the way to Dahlia House, I called Oscar to make sure he hadn’t found her in the hour since I left Greenwood.

  No luck. Oscar had been hunting with Bobbie Caswell and several others. No one had seen the dogs lately.

  At Dahlia House, I expected Sweetie to run out to greet me. She had a doggie door and she could come and go at her whim. Perhaps she’d grown tired of Hilltop where Oscar led a far more structured life than was our wont at Dahlia House. But no matter how long I sat in the Caddy with the motor running, moving slowly forward and back, easing the headlights over the front of the house and surrounding yard, there was no Sweetie Pie.

  I knew then that finding my hound was not going to be a simple matter. Calling in reinforcements was my only option, so I recruited the best.

  The kitchen, without my hound in residence, was a lonely place. Even with Coleman Peters and Deputy Gordon Walters sitting across the table from me.

  “No one has reported seeing her lately,” Coleman admitted. “But that doesn’t mean anything bad, Sarah Booth. There are thousands of acres of fields and woods, a paradise for a hound—especially one with romance on the brain. Sweetie and that new hound have likely holed up somewhere.”

  “With twenty-eight pungent athletic shoes. Perfect. As soon as I get my hands on her, she’s going straight to the vet. If that ovary stump has regenerated . . .” I didn’t have the heart to threaten dire action for my wayward pup. I was too worried for empty threats. Sweetie Pie, since she’d come into my life, had never displayed this kind of wanton lust. Something must have happened.

  Coleman and Gordon listed the locations they’d searched, all logically thought out. “Is there a special place?” Coleman asked. “Where does Sweetie Pie’s heart lie?”

  The question stopped me cold. I pondered that exact question on the drive from Greenwood, but I’d been thinking only of myself. Now, I needed to reframe it with Sweetie in mind. Where did her heart lie?

  “She loves the woods behind the cemetery.” Sweetie was as partial to the old grove of oak trees as I was. Some might say the Druid spirits lingered there, amongst those old trees. Or maybe Sweetie liked the possibility of snaring one of the many squirrels. Whatever her doggie reasons, she was drawn there as surely as I was.

  “Let’s check it out,” Coleman said. “How are you holding up, Sarah Booth?” He put his hand on my shoulder and gave a gentle squeeze. The kindness almost broke me. We’d been star-crossed in our affections for each other, but such feelings don’t die. We’d walked away from them, but Coleman still had a piece of my heart and always would.

  “I’m okay.” I fought hard for control and clung to it. “And you, Coleman?” He’d lost a young woman he’d begun to show feelings for in our last case. We’d both thought she was guilty of serious crimes, but she’d only been a victim. Misjudgment had cost us both. A lot.

  “As your aunt Loulane would say, ‘Time heals all wounds.’ ”

  “That’s because you die eventually. Enough time passes and you’re dead. If you aren’t healed, at least you can’t talk about it.”

  Coleman pulled me close and held me as laughter rumbled in his chest. “Gordon, whatever you do, don’t give this woman a gun. She’s a danger to others,” he said. “Now let’s find that hound.”

  We left out the back door, flashlights in hand. “Sweetie! Sweetie Pie!” I called, and Coleman and Gordon took it up as well. As we walked past the Delaney Family Cemetery, I let my fingers run over the wrought iron surrounding the graves. Scrolled and ornate, the fence was not much good at keeping the dead in or the living out. Jitty visited me whenever she took a notion.

  If I didn’t find Sweetie Pie in the next half hour, I’d find an excuse to go up to my bedroom and see if I could get Jitty to help. She wasn’t the most tractable ghost. She appeared when she had something to say, not when I wanted to hear from her. But I was desperate enough to seek help from the Great Beyond.

  We continued to the oak grove. Coleman slowed, swinging the flashlight beam around the area. “This is like a cathedral,” he said. “I’ll bet it’s something else in the daylight.”

  There was a reason our connection ran so deep. Coleman understood the land the same way I did. We would not have romance, but we had something almost greater, a love of the land. “It was my mother’s favorite place,” I said.

  Gordon, discreet as ever, walked slightly ahead, calling for my dog.

  “Listen.” Coleman moved the beam along the ground until he picked up two gleaming red eyes.

  “Sweetie!” I cried.

  A low and mournful howl answered.

  “That’s her.” I ran forward while Coleman held the light. I heard his gun clear the holster. I knew what he was thinking—Sweetie was so close to home. She’d heard us calling, but she hadn’t responded. Something was wrong, and it could mean danger.

  Though I was cautious, I was also fast. I gathered Sweetie in my arms. She was too big to carry, and for some reason she didn’t want to move. “Bring a light,” I yelled.

  Coleman and Gordon hurried to me. In the beam of their flashlights I discovered what ailed my hound. One very sick harrier hound lay on his side, the remains of at least two dozen shoes all around him.

  “Sarah Booth, can you drive a vehicle back here?” Coleman asked. “I’ll get the veterinarian on the phone. I have a feeling this poor guy needs professional help.”

  “Come on, Sweetie.” I headed for Dahlia House. I was not in danger, but Danny was. Sweetie had listened to far too many Tammy Wynette songs. She intended to stand by her man.

  I didn’t waste time trying to persuade her. I sprinted through the velvety warmth of the night, hoping we could get Danny to help in time.

  14

  “Danny should be just fine,” Dr. Lynne Leonard assured Coleman, Oscar, Bobbie Caswell, and me. “Surgery wasn’t necessary. Thank goodness the blockage moved through his system, but he’s still one very sick dog.”

  “Thank you,” Bobbie said. “What a great community this is. Zinnia is a special town for everyone to help find these dogs.”

  Sweetie gave up her vigil at the door of the examination room and flopped at my feet. She was asleep before she hit the floor, exhausted by her crime rampage.

  “I’d like to keep Danny for the rest of the night, but we can release him tomorrow,” Dr. Leonard said.

  “We’re due to return home to New York,” Bobbie said. “Will that be a problem?”

  “Not at all. Danny will be fine to travel. Just be sure your shoes are out of his reach. Obviously, he can’t control himself.” She patted Bobbie’s arm. “Sarah Booth, I’m glad you found Sweetie Pie.”

  “Me too.” Relief had taken the starch out of my spine. I was ready to get horizontal.

  Coleman’s radio barked, and he excused himself for a moment. When he returned, he was grinning. “Gordon says most of the shoes are undamaged. Danny only ate four.”

  “I’ll replace those gladly,” Bobbie said.

  “And I’ll kick in, too. Sweetie might not have eaten a shoe, but she was in this up to her canines.” For all the times Sweetie had saved me, I couldn’t fail to support her in one small criminal act.

  “Then the case is solved,” Coleman said. “It’s after midnight. I suggest we get some sleep.”

  “Thank you all,” I said as I nudged Sweetie gently with my foot. She got up, stretched, and followed me out the door. When she was in the front seat of the Caddy, she went back to sleep. No guilty conscience there, not even a twinge at all the worry and heartache, not to mention leather damage, she’d been the source of.

 
Back at Dahlia House, Sweetie perked up enough to make a quick patrol of the house and barn before she hurried up the porch steps behind me. I was dragging, so tired not even a libation held appeal. I doubted I could stay awake long enough to swallow. I opened the front door and stopped in my tracks.

  Music played softly. Something old and nostalgic. At last I recognized Nat King Cole, a voice like a lover’s touch. What was Jitty up to now?

  I closed the door and locked it. When I turned around, Graf stood in front of me. Whatever anger I’d held against him evaporated. I flung myself into his arms. After a long, delicious kiss, I asked, “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming home?”

  “It would have ruined the surprise. Tinkie knew. And Oscar is the one who told me Sweetie was missing.” He eased from my arms and bent down to Sweetie. “I’m glad to see the prodigal hound returns. You know, there are therapists in California who can help her overcome this shoe fetish.”

  I had to laugh. “Danny needs the help. Sweetie was just a willing accomplice. She isn’t into stinky leather and painful cleats, but she sure can be swayed by a baritone howl.”

  “She just likes the bad boys, eh?”

  “Indeed. She has a taste for the fast and loose. I’m just glad she’s home.” Sweetie walked a circle at our feet and then slumped into another coma. “She’s worn out. Me too.”

  Graf pulled me into his arms. “Too tired to give your fiancé a proper welcome?”

  “Not too tired for that,” I said as I led him up the stairs to the bedroom.

  We sat at the kitchen table sipping coffee and listening to the pop and sizzle of bacon in the pan. I cooked while Graf filled me in on his movie. It sounded fabulous. Action, but not overblown with special effects.

  “We finish shooting in two weeks, if everything goes as planned,” he said.

  “And then?”

  He took my hand. “What about Ireland? A real vacation. Maybe we could find an old stone country church, a priest, a couple of witnesses, and tie the knot.”