by Vella Munn
Amy pulled her hand free, then closed her fingers around his wrist. “Don’t leave me with him.” She jerked her head at the officer. “Make him get the soda.”
* * * *
“A dog attack?” Douglas asked after Nate relayed what Amy had told him.
“Dogs, or wolves,” Nate corrected. “A whole pack of them.”
“A pack? Did she narrow it down any?”
“I tried to get her to be specific. The number kept changing. Anywhere from two to twenty.”
“That’s not what I want to hear.”
“Me either,” the other deputy standing near Douglas said.
“We deal with the occasional pack of wild dogs,” Nate explained. “One a couple of years ago killed some lambs. We had to put them down. I haven’t heard of anything lately.”
“My daughter’s in 4-H,” the deputy said. “She’s raising a calf. If wild dogs did to it what was done to these”—he indicated the bodies—“there’s nothing that would stop me from emptying my Glock in the bastards.”
Nate and another officer had staked out the sheep ranch after getting approval from the court to do whatever they needed to. They’d been unable to trap any of the mutts, and he’d been forced to shoot two of the four while his coworker had dispatched the others. He’d never believe the scrawny, tick-infested beasts had gotten what they deserved, he blamed whoever had abandoned them. The dogs had been trying to survive and had paid the ultimate price.
Douglas removed his hat and started fanning himself with it. “I once dealt with a man who bred what he said were wolf mixes. I don’t know what they were but they were ugly suckers. The look in their yellow eyes—I wouldn’t trust them.”
“Are they still around?” the other deputy asked.
“The last I’d heard he’d moved to Texas. I assume he took them with him. But my understanding is he sold several of the pups before leaving.”
“We got a call about that last year,” Nate said. “A man living up Sucker Creek has several wolf-dogs. He says he’s writing a book about them and wants to use them to educate schoolchildren.”
“Sounds like a risky plan.”
“He keeps them in a large cyclone enclosure. As long as they’re contained he’s within his rights.”
“Nothing should have to live caged up, especially something with wild instincts. Who would want one of those beasts? Just thinking about them around children—”
“My concern is predictability,” Nate said. “How deep does the predator instinct go in a hybrid?”
“What about size? Was the new widow able to give you a description?”
“Gray,” Nate replied. “Or maybe black. One looked dark blue. She said they all looked pretty much alike and were as tall as she is.”
“Yeah, right.”
Who knows? “Then she said she couldn’t be sure of that because they were running away when she shot at them.”
“She what? That’s the first I’ve heard of that.”
Amy’s conversation had bounced around in all directions. Apparently she’d run outside with a rifle when she heard her husband and his brother scream. She’d gotten off several shots but didn’t think she’d hit anything. She’d known she should go see if the men needed help, but her husband didn’t like her getting near the kennels. Besides, he didn’t answer when she asked if he was all right. That’s when she called nine-one-one. She had also put the rifle away because she hadn’t wanted to get in trouble.
“She’s going to be a delight for the detectives to interview,” Douglas muttered. “At least she didn’t see what’s left of her husband. You know…”
“What?” the other deputy pressed.
Douglas extended his boot toward the closest body. “Given the existence they forced on those little dogs, they got what they deserved.”
Yes, they did.
As another sheriff’s department vehicle pulled off the road, the little dogs started barking. It was as if they’d collectively come out of their stupor. Several of those who’d been let free trotted toward the foothills, but soon stopped and huddled together.
Nate headed for his rig and the binoculars he kept in it. After retrieving them, he brought them up to his eyes. The chill at the back of his neck all but exploded.
Clamping down on his unease, he worked until the shrubbery on the rocky hill came into focus. Then, wishing he were closer to the others, he concentrated.
A solitary four-legged shape. Color hard to determine. Had to be at least four feet high at the shoulders. Weighing a good hundred and fifty pounds. Panting with its tail lashing but otherwise motionless.
Looking at him.
* * * *
The trailer had been built to hold horses, but this evening it was being used to transport nearly a hundred dachshunds, Chihuahuas, and Yorkshire terriers to the sixty-five-year-old humane society facility north of town. Nate had been there for what seemed like forever while detectives combed over the crime scene, but finally he’d been given the green light to bring in staff so the dogs could get the help they desperately needed.
As she’d been doing since before Nate came to work for the society, seventy-four-year-old Bonnie Martin was in charge of the volunteer effort. Society manager Crosby Getford was here along with Irene Twain, who was the youngest and newest officer, but Bonnie knew how to coordinate the volunteers and wasn’t about to let anyone question her authority. She’d smiled and hugged Nate when she first showed up, but had soon stopped smiling.
“I’m glad I didn’t see the men responsible for this,” she told Nate. “If they weren’t already dead I would have done the job.”
“Unless I’d gotten to them first.”
“We could torture the bastards. I don’t get it. I’ll never get it.” Bonnie held up the dog she’d been cradling against her chest so Nate could see its toothless mouth and protruding tongue. “How did this happen?”
Another day, Nate might tell Bonnie that the Yorkshire had probably lost her teeth through a combination of poor nutrition and trying to chew her way out of her prison. Right now, however, he simply stroked the small head. His fingers encountered imbedded ticks. Fleas scurried away. Bonnie must have known the insects were getting on her—not that she’d stop trying to comfort the dogs.
“Is she going to make it?” Bonnie asked. “Maybe it would be kinder if we let her go.”
“Maybe.” He’d seen one half-grown pup with a mutilated paw. His guess was it had gotten caught in the mesh floor and the dog had panicked. Infection had set in, and Nate doubted the leg could be saved. Maybe worse, the young male hadn’t been socialized and saw humans as the enemy.
Damn. God damn.
“I’m not going to be able to sleep tonight.” Bonnie brought the shivering female back to her breasts. “You either I bet.”
“No.”
“I’ll never get it.” Bonnie sounded furious. “How can anyone treat a living creature like this?”
“I don’t know.”
Bonnie shifted the dog to her left hand and touched Nate’s cheek. “Did those bastards get what they deserved?”
A fresh wave of fury washed through him. He needed to hit something—someone. “I hope to hell so.”
“They’re dead. Maybe there’s some justice in this world after all.”
“Maybe.” Nate couldn’t stop shaking. He felt like throwing up. He hadn’t said anything to anyone about the dog he’d seen, or thought he’d seen, because he’d been overwhelmed.
Chapter Four
“I didn’t know if you wanted to see this,” Rachelle Reames said. “If you’d rather I didn’t—”
Joe Landrieu stopped her with a look. Her stepfather—was there such a thing as an ex-stepfather?—gripped the screen door with white knuckles, making her wonder if he wished he could close it on her. He turned his attention to the picture album she held.
“I put this together after Mom and you—you know. She didn’t want me to do it, but she didn’t try to stop me.”
“Not in my presence. Joe, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to spring this on you so soon after we’ve reconnected. I guess—I’m not sure what I was thinking.”
Joe’s features softened a little. “It’s hard, isn’t it?”
“For both of us.” She ran her free hand through short, wavy hair that had taken her a good thirty seconds to pull together this morning. “I’ve been so busy getting settled and ready for students that I haven’t had time to think about you and me. That makes me feel bad.”
“Don’t. You had nothing to do with the divorce.”
At ten she’d been caught in the middle of something she hadn’t understood. Now she had a better idea of what had pulled her mother and Joe apart, but that didn’t make trying to figure out her relationship with Joe any easier. She’d hoped the album would start bridging the years, but couldn’t she have started with something easier, like offering to cook him a meal or clean his house?
“What if I leave it with you?” she offered. “We can talk about the pictures later if you want. If you don’t…”
He reached out a leathery hand and brushed his fingers over the side of her neck. “You grew up beautiful, Rach. Just like I knew you would.”
His voice hadn’t changed. It was still so deep it seemed to come from the earth. He’d aged, of course, lost some hair, and what remained was turning silver. He was still too thin with broad, scarecrow shoulders and muscular thighs. She remembered how he used to hoist her onto his shoulders and pretend he was going to go through a doorway with her perched up there. He’d told her she was the only other person who’d ever been allowed to wear his sweat-stained Yankee baseball cap or hold his POW medal. Had anyone done either of those things since she’d left?
Sadly, she didn’t even know if he’d remarried or had children of his own. From what she’d seen of his place when she’d been out there three days ago, she knew he lived alone.
“I wish… Sorry, I promised myself I wouldn’t go there.”
He had every right to ask what she was talking about. Instead, he nodded, and she wondered if he knew she’d been about to say she wished the divorce hadn’t happened and she’d grown up calling him Dad like she had for two wonderful years.
Maybe she’d caught him in the middle of something, because he didn’t seem as happy to see her as she hoped he’d be.
“I should ask you in,” he said after an uncomfortable silence. “It’s a mess.”
She’d been inside the other time she’d been out here, so figured dust still coated the sparse furnishings. “I don’t care.”
Unlike before, his dogs Smoke, Gun and Stone weren’t in the large kennel to the left of the two-bedroom house. The gate was open. “Where are they?”
“Roaming.”
Joe lived in an unincorporated area at the east end of the county. Called Sawmill because there used to be several lumber mills out here, it now consisted of mostly low-income mobile home parks and a small subdivision labeled an instant slum. Joe’s closest neighbors were the twenty or so families living in a trailer park that appeared to be on its last legs. The closest trailer was a couple of blocks away, and Joe owned over an acre, plenty of room for him to do what he wanted and not many people to see him doing it. But was it enough space for the big gray creatures to roam?
“Your neighbors don’t mind?” she asked. “What are the leash laws?”
“This is county land. Besides, until recently they always stayed on my property.”
“Until recently? What changed?”
He closed then opened his eyes. “They’ve grown up. Gotten more curious about what they can’t see from my front porch. Look, I figure a dog that feels free is more likely to stay in one place than one that’s always caged. I’m not going to start hemming them in now. I had them in the kennel when you were here before because I didn’t want them overwhelming you.”
“I appreciate it. They are a bit intimidating.” It wasn’t just their great size. Their sober black-eyed stares had made her feel as if they were trying to get inside her head. She wasn’t sure they approved of her. If they gave off the same vibes around other people, someone would have complained.
Unless the grays knew to keep their distance.
“What does animal control say about them?”
He shrugged. “Not much. We could go in. The mosquitos get worse late afternoon when there are more shadows.”
She waited for him to step back so she could enter the house, but he turned to the left and lifted his hand to shield his eyes. She caught a glimpse of the raised white scar bisecting his wrist. There was an identical scar on his other wrist, both put there before he’d become part of her life.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Nothing.”
She looked in the direction he was but didn’t see anything except weeds and oaks. “Did you spot them?”
“No.”
She wasn’t sure he was telling her the truth. Earlier, Joe hadn’t suggested she get up close and personal with them. Instead, he’d directed her to stand near their kennel so they could get used to her. They hadn’t been aggressive or friendly, they’d simply been. She’d been inclined to tell Joe there was a kind of wisdom to the way they’d studied her, but of course that was crazy.
Her problem, one of them anyway, was that she had an overabundance of trigonometry, geometry and algebraic smarts but not so much when it came to human beings. Obviously it was the same when it came to understanding Joe’s dogs.
“Maybe they don’t know what to make of me. That’s why they’re keeping their distance.”
“Yeah, maybe. Once they see you around me a few times they’ll warm to you.”
Once they see you around me a few times. She hoped it would be like that, but the two of them were too new with each other for her to be sure. They had a lot of years to get around. Maybe they’d discover they no longer had anything in common, not even love.
She wanted to try. That in part was why she’d applied for the teaching position in Oak Cove, which was the only town of any size in Oakwood County. In preparation for the upcoming school year and her new job, she’d moved here right before classes started. The first week had been a blur of finding a place to rent, unpacking, meeting with staff members and setting up her classroom. Dealing with her mother’s objections and concerns. Dealing with her own emotions in the wake of her broken engagement.
Coming to Oak Cove had allowed her to put distance between herself and her into-herself mother. Telling Brett he wouldn’t have to worry about running into her anymore because she’d accepted a job out of state had felt good—right up to the moment she’d privately admitted that much, if not most, of the breakup was her fault. Brett had been right. She was too closed up, not outgoing enough.
Private.
At least she’d been outgoing enough to call Joe—she’d found his landline number online—and invite him out to dinner. Sounding shocked, and maybe near tears, he’d suggested she come to his place—the house where her mother and she had once lived with him.
When she’d spotted the picture he’d taken of her shortly before her mother and she had left, she’d nearly fallen apart. “You still have this,” she’d whispered, picking it up from its spot on the coffee table.
“You couldn’t have been more my child if you carried my blood.”
They were still trying to figure out their adult relationship.
“The dogs always return?” she asked, pulling herself into the present and hopefully less emotionally charged territory. “You’ve never had to report them missing?”
“What is it? You’re worried they’ve—”
“No,” she hurried to say. “I’m just trying to understand.”
“Are you?”
She’d said something he didn’t want to hear, she just didn’t know what it was. “You’re right. It’s none of my business.”
He pinched his nose. “That’s all right. I’ve had them since
they were puppies. They know I’m their parent.”
Maybe he was. From what she’d seen, the trio loved him as much as he did them. “Do they have a curfew?”
“No. They come and go as they want, not that they’ve done much wandering until recently. They have a need for freedom I totally understand. They’re always ready to settle down when they return. It’s like they’ve gotten their exercise.”
Exercise or mischief. The males were intact. One had tried to mount the female, Smoke, which led her to conclude that Smoke hadn’t been neutered either.
“That’s irresponsible,” she’d told Joe the first time she’d been here. “They could be breeding.”
Joe hadn’t responded, and because the last thing she’d wanted to do was get into an argument, she hadn’t pressed the issue.
“Could they be hunting?”
“Hunting? I— They’re hungry when they get home. It’d be, ah, in the news if people were losing pets or livestock.”
And as long as no one was, Joe would continue to let the dogs do what they wanted—needed. Either it hadn’t occurred to him that he was asking for trouble or—or what? If they were her pets, which thank goodness they weren’t, she’d make sure they and everyone they might come in touch with were safe.
They didn’t wear collars. Were they licensed? What about rabies shots?
What was it her mother had said, that Joe’s main problem was he didn’t give a damn what other people thought or wanted? If he didn’t believe a law had anything to do with him, he ignored it.
“I can’t stay,” she said. “I have to go back to school. When I came across the photo album while unpacking last night, well, I figured I had enough time before my meeting to run out here and show it to you.”
“Why the long hours?”
“Meetings are the bane of all teachers’ existence and they can’t take place during school hours. As the new kid on the block, so to speak, I’m trying to make a good impression.” This would be her third year as a teacher and her first in a new environment.
