“Dog, you are going out to Hank Blackshear’s place until we find your owners.”
He looked down at Clay. Woof. (We’re going.) Then he trotted over to me and sat beside my leg waiting for direction. Clay dusted himself off, a smile lingering on his face as he reached for the library book he’d perched precariously on one of the boxwoods. But the smile faded as he said goodbye to Dog.
“Well, I gotta be gettin’ home.”
“Where is home?”
“Out at the Bailey Mills Trailer Park. It’s not one of the double-wides, but it’s big enough for Daddy and me.”
The Bailey Mills area wasn’t my jurisdiction, technically. It was just outside the incorporated area of Mossy Creek. That’s where my badge ended. “You meeting your mom or dad in town?”
“No, sir. Momma died a long time ago. Daddy’s at work. I walk it. Takes a bit of time. That’s why I can’t be doin’ this all summer.”
I fought to keep the flash of anger off my face. An eight or nine-year-old had absolutely no business walking miles of road by himself. Hell, he had no business riding a bike that far, but he didn’t seem to know it. Jurisdiction or not, Daddy and I would be having a little chat.
“I tell you what. Police officers worry about kids walking that far alone. It’s our job. And since I’m going out to the Blackshear place, it’s just a bit farther to drop you off. So how about I give you a lift this time?”
“In the police Jeep?” His voice all but squeaked.
“Yep.”
“Yes, sir!”
I flicked my arm at the Jeep in a signal to Dog, who not only knew I wanted him to move off my foot, but correctly interpreted the direction of my “flick” and waited by the Jeep for me to let him in. I shook my head. “You have got to be someone’s dog.”
“Wouldn’t it be cool if you got to keep him?”
“Uh huh.” But I silently gave Dog a warning look. Do not get your hopes up.
CLAY WAS A GREAT kid. Ready smile. No complaints. Didn’t chatter on constantly, but he wasn’t silent either. By the time we’d arrived at the trailer park I’d begun to hope that Hannah and I were just jaded adults, jumping at shadows. The kid seemed well-adjusted, was even supposed to check in regularly with his neighbor while his dad was at work. Maybe his dad just needed a few parenting pointers about child safety.
Dog made the trip with his body curled in the back seat floorboard and his head resting on the console beside my elbow. Clay leaned over from time to time and kissed Dog on the head. Dog’s tail thumped happily in response, but he didn’t move.
I stopped when Clay said, pushed the emergency brake and scanned the area. There looked to be thirty or so trailers. Everything from an almost elegant double-wide to one trailer so small it could be easily pulled behind most trucks. Clay’s trailer was on the smaller side of medium. I guess to a kid, it looked bigger.
The tiny yard around the trailer was a mess. Grass hadn’t been mowed. If there’d ever been a flower bed there was no sign of it now. The trailer itself looked to be in reasonably good shape, at least on the outside.
From a chain inside his shirt, Clay produced a key. “So I don’t lose it.” Before he went inside, he hugged Dog and said, “You can bring Dog around to visit sometimes, right?”
“Clay, I’m pretty sure he belongs to someone.” Two pairs of puppy-dog eyes drooped. Sighing, I said, “But we’ll see.”
He let himself in, and I walked over to the neighbor’s trailer to let her know Clay was home and to . . . snoop. This might not be my jurisdiction, but I was already here. Earlene Hardeman lived in one of the tiny trailers. She was retired, no family. Living in a trailer and collecting a few dollars a week for “watching” Clay let her stretch her social security.
By the time I left, I knew more than I wanted to know about Samuel Atwood. He was a hard man, who ran a tight ship. Only noticed his son when he had to. Couldn’t confirm the bruising but Earlene’s comments painted a picture of borderline neglect. A gray area if I’d ever seen one. I’d be back. I left my number in case she ever needed to reach me.
“HANK BLACKSHEAR, I can’t believe you are telling me to take this dog over to the Bigelow pound. They euthanize after fourteen days, for God’s sake.” I raised a brow and gave him my best official glare. The one that says: You and I both know I can’t make you do this, but you don’t want to irritate me.
Hank squared off and stared me down for all he was worth. And he’s worth a lot. Solid man in the community. Solid marriage. Solid career. Solid values. Besides, when you play softball with a man, it’s hard to intimidate him. He raised his brow right back at me. “I am not telling you to take that dog to Bigelow. I’m telling you that I don’t have room for him here.”
I snorted. The Blackshear Clinic was old but in first-class condition. When Hank took over, he brought everything up to the most modern standards. He’d added buildings and kennel runs so he’d have enough room for a proper large and small animal practice. I was looking at all that extra room over his shoulder right now.
“You had room to take care of Possum when Ed Brady needed you. Hell, Hank, I’m looking at two empty kennel runs!”
“Casey needs those. They’re the closest to the house. When I’m out on a call, she can’t be rolling all over the place trying to find a spot to put a dog when a client drops one off. And I can’t ask my clients to handle their own dogs and walk to the back forty. No.”
Damn. Casey’s wheelchair trumped my need to get rid of this dog. What was I going to say that wouldn’t sound completely insensitive? Even if I thought Hank was lying about needing both runs? Every instinct I had told me Hank could take this dog if he wanted to. Why on earth wouldn’t he?
Dog had taken up residence by my side with one paw on my boot again. I flicked my hand at him to tell him to get off and down. He did. I shook my head. Hank could see Dog would be no trouble at all, so what was Hank’s real problem?
Couldn’t be money. Ida had set up a small per diem for any animals Hank cared for at the request of the town. It wouldn’t cost him anything.
Ida. I smiled.
She had lots of room. I had to talk to her about the council meeting anyway. She liked animals. She’d take Dog.
“Okay, Hank. You can’t take him. I’ll figure something out.”
“Good man. You’ll enjoy having him around. He’s about the best-behaved Cattledog I’ve ever seen. It’s like you trained him personally.”
“Whoa. I’m not taking this dog in. My next stop is Ida’s.”
Hank smiled. It reminded me of one of Mac’s smiles. I didn’t like it. He thumped me on the back as I turned to leave. “Tell Ida I said hello. And don’t forget to come out to the ball game Friday night. Casey wants you to coach third base for her girls.”
I had to laugh. “The Blackshears, who just turned me down for a favor, now want a favor from me?”
“I turned you down. Casey wants the favor, and you’re welcome to go tell her no. God knows I can’t, but maybe you won’t have any trouble with it.”
Shaking my head, I declined. You don’t tell a ray of sunshine that you’re going to rain on her parade. “Tell her I’ll be there. Get in the Jeep, Dog.”
He obeyed. This time he plopped himself right in the middle of the passenger seat and grinned at me as I got in.
“You have not won, you mangy mutt.” I leaned toward him to make my point.
He poked my nose gently with his and then looked out the window.
AS THE CROW FLIES, Ida is actually quite close to Hank and Casey. But getting there in the Jeep meant I had to circle around Trailhead Road. Dog enjoyed the scenery. I used the time to check with Sandy. The answer to every question I asked her was a resounding, “No.” No one had called in about the dog. No one had placed a lost dog ad in the paper. No one had put up any fliers a
round town.
Time for Plan B. I turned onto the long drive up to the Hamilton place, and reached out to scratch Dog’s ear. “You’ll like it here.”
Woof. (Uh huh, sure.) Then he promptly laid down on the seat in a sulk.
I was still laughing when I saw Ida walking up the drive toward the Jeep. I hit the brakes a little too quickly. Dog slid to the floorboard with a thump, and now I did feel like a jerk. “Sorry, Dog. I’m not used to a dog in the car.”
He crawled back up on the seat and mumble-growled a scold at me. I cut the ignition and got out. He followed, perking up as he saw cows through the rail fence. Every muscle in his body tensed.
“No! Sit. Stay.”
His butt hit the ground, but he wasn’t happy about it. On the other hand, I felt quite clever. Nothing like saying just the right thing at the right time to avoid disaster. I sure didn’t want Ida to realize this was a herding breed until I was halfway back to town. Then Dog could herd all he wanted. Right now I needed him to sit and be charming.
Ida had on some old jeans. Hers, not hand-me-downs. I could tell because they fit in all the right places. Her faded navy t-shirt was a fairly short one, the bottom edge slightly askew—like she’s used the end of it to dry her hands. As she approached, she eyed Dog for a minute, then me.
Ida is a woman who, despite all her contemporary thoughts, still does something old-fashioned. She “takes stock” of a man. At least she took stock of me from time to time. I wasn’t yet sure what her judgment was. As a chief, I passed muster. As a man, I realized the age difference was giving her fits. She couldn’t put me neatly into a category. I wasn’t a young friend of Rob’s. Or just a town employee. Or a good neighbor.
I wasn’t young enough to be completely out of the question, but I wasn’t old enough to be acceptable to the logical side of her brain. I hadn’t once crossed the line of acceptable behavior. I’d never given her cause to slap me down, to settle this issue once and for all . . . never given her the chance to politely decline my attentions.
The all-seeing, all-knowing, completely “together” Ida Hamilton was treading water, and she didn’t know which way to swim for land. I certainly wasn’t giving her any sign posts. I behaved myself, and let Ida draw her own conclusions about if there was or was not a little spark of chemistry there.
She was the fine upstanding mayor of Mossy Creek. A woman of principles and substance. Ida didn’t want to get her fingers burnt or be gossiped about—unless she was orchestrating the gossip. And by now, she knew that nobody orchestrated me. What Ida couldn’t control gave Ida pause.
I decided I liked her that way—uncertain but damned if she’d show it. I grinned as I realized that I wasn’t the only one holding some “need to know” information close to the chest. Ida had herself a little problem, too. Explained a lot about why her relationship with Del hadn’t progressed to something serious.
Ida broke the awkward silence first. “So, what brings you by today, Amos?”
I laughed. “Since you’re meeting me on the road, I’m guessing Hank called you and you know damn well why I’m here.”
She rubbed the back of her neck to lift her hair off it in the heat. “He did. I do.”
“Did he tell you he refused to take this stray?”
“He didn’t have room.”
“We pay him to have room.”
“We pay him when he has room.”
This time both Dog and I snorted. How stupid did Hank and Ida think we were? “I’ve still got a problem.”
“Why?”
“Because I have to park Dog somewhere. He can’t stay with me and I don’t have time to go all over town looking for a foster home.”
“Keep him.”
“Ida, I don’t have a fence. He could be run over.”
She cocked a hip and crossed her arms. “Do you see a fence that will hold him around here either?”
I looked back down the long drive to this spot and then forward to where I still couldn’t see the house. “Hell, Ida. He’d have to pack a lunch and make a day of it to get to the street.”
She laughed. “Point to you. But I can’t take him in. This is prime growing season. I haven’t got time to train a new dog where he can and cannot urinate. And Heaven help me if he digs in the beds. The Garden Club is counting on me this year. An untrained dog can do a lot of damage.”
Stepping away from Dog I spread my hands like a magician showing off a trick. “Does this look like a dog, who’s hard to train?”
“No.”
“So, what’s the problem, Ida?”
“He’s a herding breed for God’s sake. The entire time we’ve been talking, he’s had one eye on you and one on the cows. You don’t expect him to lie around all day twiddling his paws, do you? I’ll be fetching him out of the pasture morning, noon and night. He’ll herd my geese until they’re nervous wrecks.”
“All right. You’re a hard woman, Ida. Remind me not to get on the wrong side of you.”
That brought her up straight, sputtering. “What you mean by that?”
I signaled Dog back in the Jeep. He gave the cows one more soulful look and then vaulted into the driver’s seat. I waved him over to the passenger side then hooked my hand on the door frame before I got in. When I turned to her, Ida was still waiting for my answer. “What I mean, Miss Ida, is that I feel sorry for poor Dwight. He hasn’t got a prayer in hell if this council meeting’s about the bike incident that ruined his suit. There’s not a soul on his side and hasn’t been since he lost that damned ram.”
Fire flashed in Ida’s eyes. I thought maybe I’d gone too far this time and that Ida-the-Mayor was going to take a chunk out of my hide. Instead, Ida-the-woman snapped her open mouth shut on her argument. She sized me up again, and then said, “You’re right. I’m not happy about it, but you’re right. Someone has to take the first step. And since you seem to think I’m the one who needs a little character improvement, it’ll have to be me.”
My eyebrows elevated. Ida Hamilton had just admitted she cared about my opinion of her. This was turning out to be some day.
She half-turned to walk back down the drive, but called over her shoulder, “You just be there, Chief. I’ll bring the crow.”
“WE’RE HOME.” I swore. “No. I’m home. You’re visiting, and if Josie finds out you’re here, we’re both in trouble.”
You’re in trouble already. You’re talking to a dog like he understands you. Had been all day long. What was I supposed to do? Ignore him? He’d been with me all day long because Sandy’d suddenly decided to clean the office. Said she couldn’t have the dog around the cleaning chemicals.
So Dog made calls with me. Even lay quietly beside my chair when I stopped by O’Day’s on the way home for a consolation beer. Michael wouldn’t hear of him being left in the Jeep. Any decent Irish pub allowed dogs. But even with all that high-and-mighty-dog-lover rhetoric Michael wouldn’t take Dog home. That was the last straw. I accepted my defeat.
But I wasn’t going to suffer in silence. I put my gun and my keys on top of the old-fashioned, bench-seat hall tree that was about the only thing to survive Josie’s purge of furnishings. She said the patina of the oak was “fabulous” and I liked the framed top that functioned as a shelf. There weren’t any kids running around to grab my gun, but I felt better with my work gun up the minute I walked in the door.
Business taken care of, I turned to Dog, who waited as patiently as always for some command. “Who are you? An alien? Stray dogs don’t act this way, buddy. Okay. Let’s do this.” I began the tour of the house.
“Are you familiar with the movie Turner and Hooch?”
Woof.
“Good. Then you’ll know what I mean when I say, ‘This is not your chair . . .”
BY THE TIME THE council room began to fill, I was tired of explaining
about Dog. I’d brought him with me tonight for the same reason he’d been with me all day: new cow-leather chair. I had a mental image of Dog trying to herd the damned thing and then nipping at it when it wouldn’t move into the corner. So Dog was my new best friend. He went everywhere with me, because I couldn’t leave him in a closed car in the summer, and “stay in the Jeep” was the only command he didn’t seem to know. Dog thought it meant, “Wiggle out the window and quietly dog my every step.”
Clay wasn’t the only kid in town who fantasized about Mossy Creek getting its very own police dog. Kids in the park wanted to see his badge. Patty Campbell had hustled right over to the station to make sure I had the proper collar and leash.
Right now Katie Bell wanted to know if it was true that we had a drug lab in town and Dog was here to sniff it out.
Woof. (Oh, puh-lease.)
I bit my lip and told Katie, “No.” Then I shook hands with a couple of the council at the table, raised an eyebrow at Ida, and took a seat as close to the back as I could get away with. Looked like every kid in town had shown up in support of Little Ida, who sat primly in the first row, a militant look on her face. I smiled. Blood will tell.
Dwight bustled in and skidded to an unhappy halt beside me as his consciousness registered the number of people in the room under four feet tall. Then he mentally counted the stern-faced parents with them. You could see his head move as he counted.
I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a man with a face more pinched and sour than Dwight’s. Probably knew he’d already lost. Dog felt sorry for him and gave him a nuzzle of encouragement. It was more of a goose really. Dwight squeaked, glared at me, and then mustered his dignity for the walk to the podium. Once there he fumbled through his coat pockets, his back pockets; rummaged through his briefcase, and then did it all again. The more he scrabbled around, the more stressed he looked. Even the other council members were beginning to give each other questioning looks.
Summer in Mossy Creek Page 3
