A Bloodhound to Die for

by Virginia Lanier

  “Ms. Sidden, Warden Sikes. How are you?”

  “I’m fine, sir.”

  “I want to apologize for the misunderstanding last night. Captain Jenkins just transferred here this spring and he wasn’t aware that you did our searches for missing prisoners. He was, ah, a trifle hasty securing the search warrant, without my permission. The incident would not have happened had I been here.”

  “I accept your explanation, sir.”

  “Has Sheriff Cribbs notified you that we are now ready for you to search for this prisoner?”

  “No, sir.”

  “We have scoured the grounds with no success. It’s obvious that he has freed himself and we have no idea how he did it. How many men do you need to go with you and when can we expect you?”

  “I won’t be available for a search for Jimmy Joe Lane.”

  “Did I hear you correctly? Did you say you wouldn’t search for him?”

  “That’s correct.”

  His tone of voice was sharper and he sounded surprised.

  “May I ask why?”

  “For several reasons. Just be assured that I won’t be able to help you.”

  “It is my understanding that you signed a contract that still has three or more years to run. Is this correct?”

  “Perfectly correct.”

  I was going to make him work for every answer that I gave him and volunteer no additional information. His voice was now cool and had a crisp snap.

  “Will you explain your failure to fulfill this request for assistance?”

  “No, sir.”

  “What?”

  “No, sir, I will not explain.”

  “This is ridiculous. I’ll get back to you shortly!”

  I listened to silence and smiled. I gently replaced the receiver.

  When I entered the grooming room, Wayne informed me that Sara Kirkland’s parents had picked up Sherlock earlier.

  “Did they say why,” I quickly signed, “or leave a message?”

  “Mrs. Watson said she was taking him to the funeral.” Mrs. Watson was Sara’s mother.

  I groaned. “Did she mention if she was going to bring him back?” Wayne gave a negative shake of his head and looked questioningly at me to fill him in.

  “Beats me. Maybe I’ll get a chance to ask her today,” I said.

  I wanted to know what was in Sherlock’s future. I would be glad to buy him back.

  The relatives of Sara and Leon were feuding with each other instead of dealing with their grief. I was going to try to track down the vicious rumor that had destroyed their children’s lives. I just hoped that they wouldn’t fight over Sherlock. Sara’s parents were too old to work and train him; they were both in their early sixties. Sherlock had progressed well with his basic obedience training. He was alert and willing and would make an excellent search dog.

  I hated to think of what he would be like in a year if they decided to make him the family pet as a monument to Sara’s memory. He would be overweight, wouldn’t have enough exercise, and would have lost his edge to learn and be trained even if they finally agreed to try. I made a mental note to myself to go visit them in a couple of weeks and try to explain what he needed.

  After a brief inspection of the kennel, I was walking back across the courtyard when a blue car nosed around the corner from the drive. It slowly pulled up to where I was heading to the back-porch sidewalk.

  I went around to the front of the car while a man unfolded long legs and stood up beside the opened door. He was very tall. I had to keep adjusting my vision upward until he finally finished straightening to his full height.

  He was over six feet, I would guess by five to six inches. He had broad shoulders and looked like a college basketball player twenty years down the road who had maintained his waistline but had lost the battle to keep his hair. His hairline had receded. What hair was left was dark and he had unusual light green eyes and was a total stranger. I stared at the eyes a tad too long. He gave me a small smile.

  “Everyone assumes they’re contacts, but they are inherited from a northern Celt and a Scottish lass, or maybe it’s the other way around. I’m not sure.”

  “They’re beautiful,” I blurted, feeling the color creep up my neck. “I’m Jo Beth Sidden. How can I help you?”

  “I’m Leland Kirkland, Leon’s oldest brother. Please call me Lee.”

  “I’m called Jo Beth. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you. You never expect your baby brother to die first. I understand you tried to get everyone out. I want to thank you for the ones you saved.”

  “I hoped to save all of them, but a slug who’s an agent for the GBI yanked me out prematurely and I didn’t get a chance to try.”

  “You did good. Mom saved the paper for me.”

  “You’re not local, then? You’re just here for the funeral?”

  Why don’t you ask the guy a few questions? I thought with irony. Jesus.

  “I live in Fox Grove. Know it?” I shook my head no. “It’s almost three hundred miles to the north, in the mountains. I visit Mom and Dad two or three times a year, now that they are getting older. Leon’s death just moved my scheduled visit up a few weeks.”

  “Leon was a couple of grades ahead of me in school and you said you’re the oldest brother. If you went to school here, I was probably running around barefoot and with pigtails.”

  “I’m sorry that I don’t remember you, just as you don’t remember me. Right?”

  I smiled. “Right.”

  “Mom and Dad sent me on an errand. They want me to pick up Leon’s dog, Sherlock, and pay the kennel fees for boarding him.”

  Uh-oh. I must have looked surprised.

  “He is here, isn’t he?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “No?” It was his turn to look surprised.

  “Sara’s mother and father picked him up over an hour ago. My kennel manager, Wayne Frazier, told me that they wanted him at the funeral.”

  “You’re kidding!”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  Lee focused on the tarmac and moved a foot back and forth absentmindedly.

  “Is the dog valuable?”

  “If you mean money-wise, I really don’t think that’s the reason both sets of parents want possession. They are all hurting right now, blaming each other and trying to assuage their pain with anger.”

  “I’m just trying to understand what’s going on. Legally, who gets the dog?”

  “That’s going to be touchy, if they’re gonna fight for possession. I’m not sure, but I would think that if Sara and Leon had a reciprocal agreement that everything goes to the other, Sara survived Leon—but since she was the cause of his death, she doesn’t stand to gain from her crime.” I gave him a straight look.

  “I’m really worried about Sherlock. He’s a very talented dog, and with another month of hard work, he should finish his obedience trials. If he’s going to be in limbo for months while the court settles a civil dispute, he might not ever achieve his potential.”

  “Couldn’t you board him here and keep up his training until they decide who inherits?”

  I smiled. “It’s not that simple. It takes a great deal of time, commitment, stamina, and money.”

  “How much time?”

  I laughed. “I think I know what you’re thinking. I really couldn’t explain a bloodhound’s needs in less than two or three hours and we both have funerals to attend today. Why don’t we have lunch later this week? How long are you planning on staying?”

  “My first game is in three weeks, but I should get back before then. I’m a high school football coach. I will be staying for a few days. I’ll call you about lunch.”

  “Great.” I glanced at my watch. “I’m sorry that I don’t have time to visit with you longer. I have to get dressed for Sara’s funeral. Will I see you there?”

  “My mom would disown me. Personally, I liked Sara, but under the circumstances I couldn’t go.”

  “I unders
tand.”

  He left and I stood there gazing after him. I’d asked almost everything but the most important question, did he have a wife? I had left this too late to work it in smoothly without being obvious.

  Why would I even be thinking along those lines anyway? I’d had a long-distance romance with Jonathan that had withered on the vine because of a lengthy commute; it would be foolish to even contemplate another. I should forget that Lee was the first to even stir any interest, lo these many months, and those wonderful green eyes, the broad shoulders, et cetera, et cetera. I went to take a cold shower.

  11

  “Comforting the Survivors”

  August 26, Monday, 12:20 P.M.

  Susan and I had sat together in the fifth row of All Souls, and were now strolling among large pine trees to the graveyard, two hundred yards behind the church, where Sara would be laid to rest. Bright sunlight and high humidity. We were both eyeing the black smudges that were moving in slowly from the east.

  “What’s our chance of getting damp?” Susan asked idly.

  “Thirty percent this afternoon, and fifty tonight.”

  “You obviously disagree, since I see your umbrella in your bag.”

  “Just prudent. They’re guessing along with the rest of us. I’ve been in toad stranglers when they predicted thirty.”

  “You’re getting older and more cautious, Sidden. An umbrella and flat heels? Where’s your adventurous spirit?”

  “I’m not risking a sprained ankle from stepping into an armadillo hole out here. We have two more cemeteries to walk through this afternoon. You can live dangerously if you wish. I knew you were gonna mention my choice of footwear before the day was over,” I grumbled, “and slow down, I’m beginning to sweat!”

  She laughed and we slowed our pace until we reached the large open-sided green tent. Millers’ Brothers Mortuary had arranged about fifty folding chairs inside and a good two hundred had attended the service. We stood with the overflow in the sunshine and listened to Reverend Williams’s brief summation of Sara’s life.

  When the long line began forming to walk by the immediate family, seated directly in front of the casket, I halted Susan and turned her back toward the church.

  “We’ll have to pass on offering our final condolences. That line will take an hour. Everyone says a few words, and some say more than a few. Mrs. Watson also has Sherlock sitting in front of her knees. He seems to be behaving, but I’d hate to make him break training if I walked up close to him. He knows my smell and he might be bored. We have twenty minutes to reach Gospel Holiness downtown or we’ll be late and I don’t want to be late.”

  Susan hesitated. “I wouldn’t mind missing Leon’s service. I’m still angry with him over the way he treated Sara.”

  “The way he was rumored to have been treating Sara. Anyway, if you don’t go, you will possibly miss meeting the man I might marry sometime in the future.”

  I had taken several steps into the trees before she could catch up with me and halt my progress.

  “YOU MIGHT MARRY … WHO?”

  “Lower your voice,” I said, laughing. “It’s too soon to be announcing my coming nuptials. For all I know, he may be already married. I just met him this morning.”

  Susan dramatically placed a hand over her heart and groaned.

  “One of these days!” she threatened. “First thought that entered my mind was that you meant the idiot who just escaped from prison, your long-term admirer from afar. Is he still loose?”

  “I guess so. I haven’t been told differently.”

  “You really aren’t going to help them look for him?”

  “Nope. I didn’t appreciate their attitude.”

  “I talked briefly to Hank last night. He mentioned that your attitude left a lot to be desired—but I’m with you, to hell with them!”

  “Thanks,” I said dryly. “Now if you’d just change your attitude and tell me who told you about the love triangle…”

  We had reached her car. She unlocked it, slipped in quickly, turned her key, and started the engine. We stood with the doors open and the air conditioner on high to dispel the pent-up humid August heat. When the air was bearable to breathe, we climbed in just as a single large drop of rain splattered against the windshield.

  Susan had ignored my last question while maneuvering her Lumina minivan out of the church parking lot. I decided not to push her for an answer. She’d tell me in time.

  I once again admired the pristine condition of her car. She had it washed once a week, detailed and simonized monthly, and was a fanatic about maintenance. It looked just as good today as when she’d driven it out of the dealership.

  “How many miles have you racked up on this thing?”

  Her gaze dropped automatically to the odometer before she answered, but I bet she already knew within fifty miles.

  “Eighteen thousand plus. She’s been mine for three months now.”

  “You’ve had this one for over three years!”

  “After thirty-six payments to the bank, Miriam and I are debt free.”

  “Don’t you want a new model?”

  “I hate car payments. Miriam and I are going to grow old together. Don’t ever mention trading in her presence again.”

  I laughed. Wayne and Donnie kept all our vehicles running smoothly, but they had dents, scratches, the odd burns from my smoking days, and a great many more miles on their meters.

  “You never told me about the guy you met this morning,” she reminded me. She changed the wipers from intermediate to high, as the water was now sluicing down the glass, softening the lovebugs that were stuck to the pane’s surface from the ride so far today and that would haunt us for the next three weeks. We were in the middle of our second lovebug attack of the year. She changed the air vents to blow on the windshield because the quick change from hot air to cool water was making the glass fog.

  “His name is Leland Kirkland. He’s Leon’s elder brother, who’s home for the funeral. He lives in the extreme north portion of the state. If I can ascertain that he’s not married, engaged, living with someone, or seriously committed, I am going to have lunch with him this week.”

  “Jesus, why bother? You’ve already gone the longdistance dating commute with Jonathan. Are you a glutton for punishment?”

  “You haven’t seen him,” I said smugly.

  “So he’s a hunk, so what? Why don’t you do your shopping locally?”

  “Susan, you’re my best friend, and I want you to remain my best friend,” I explained wearily. “I have to be honest here. I don’t think the pot can call the kettle black, if you get my drift. I’m not Julia Roberts in looks and temperament, and Brian Colby is not Hugh Grant. Let’s practice a little tolerance.”

  After a deafening silence, she finally answered in a faint voice.

  “Touché.”

  We were lucky in finding an empty parking place almost beside the canopied sidewalk. Susan reached under her seat and groped around for her umbrella and muttered with disgust when her hand came up empty. I pushed on my door, opened it, and ran around to her side. We huddled close under my umbrella’s cover until we reached shelter.

  The temperature had plummeted ten degrees in fifteen minutes. The wind had picked up and was blowing spray the width of the walkway. We hurried close to the inner edge and were both wet from our hips to our toes by the time we entered the church vestibule.

  I stacked my wet umbrella against the wall with the others and brushed ineffectively at my damp navy voile skirt. Maybe it wouldn’t shrink too much above my knees. I caught a glimpse of my hair in the hall mirror and felt despair. The heavy moisture had turned my smooth hairdo into a riotous mass of kinky curls.

  “I know what you’re thinking, Sidden, and it isn’t that bad,” Susan whispered.

  “The hell it isn’t,” I hissed softly, momentarily forgetting my hallowed surroundings.

  We were seated near the front, only four pews back from the immediate family. We were on tim
e, but most of the attendees were still on their way, driving slowly because of the heavy deluge of water.

  Out of the blue I remembered a cute story I had read years ago of a millionaire’s funeral in a cold northern state, in January. He had asked to be buried on the coldest day of the month, when the worst weather conditions prevailed. Only three had attended the outdoor interment in the family burial vault: a nurse, an elderly housekeeper, and his limousine driver. They were very startled later when they were informed that they were to share equally in his twenty-million-dollar fortune.

  I smiled as I remembered. That couldn’t happen in a small Southern town in Georgia. We take funerals of townsfolk as a sacred commitment. We go to see and be seen. No telling what you would miss if you skipped one because of a little rain and wind. We have attended during hurricane warnings, tornado watches, and all other disasters, mainly because the surviving family members would never forgive you if you stayed home.

  Susan leaned close and mouthed into my ear, “Point him out.”

  “He’s to the left of his mother.”

  “He’s bald!” she said, sounding surprised.

  “No, he isn’t,” I said with a smile. “He has a high forehead.”

  She rolled her eyes upward at my nonsense. I glanced back. The church was slowly but surely filling. It would be another twenty minutes or so before the services could be started. I wondered if I had time to dash to the bathroom. I discussed it with Susan and we both decided to go. She asked the lady sitting next to her to save our seats.

  The rest rooms were off a corridor on the right, and when we entered, the four stalls were full and several women were at the long dressing table trying to repair the wind and rain damage to their makeup and hairdos.

  I recognized one of Leon’s first cousins and flinched when I saw her turn her angry countenance on Susan.

  “Well, I hope you’re satisfied, Susan. Spreading all those lies about Leon got him killed! Florence told me what you said about him. You should be ashamed of yourself!”