Ten Little Bloodhounds

by Virginia Lanier

  “Good morning. The first feeding and weighing is finished. The trainers are out in the field. Donnie Ray is going to be working on the evening meal. I have to go to town for supplies. Need anything?”

  Wayne is young and bright and a permanent fixture here. He and his mother moved into the upstairs apartment located to the left of the kennel almost three years ago. He was fresh out of a high school for special students. Rosie, his widowed mother, moved out just over a year ago when she married our local fire chief, and Donnie Ray moved in with him. Wayne is tall, dark-haired, and weighs just over two hundred pounds.

  Donnie is short, feisty, blond, and has an ego as large as Texas. He is my videographer, filming the monthly seminars and the occasional searches we use for training films. I took him under my wing and have tried to instill good Southern manners to make up for his worthless slut of a mother, who failed to teach him anything. Wayne and Donnie Ray, so unalike, have bonded and work as a smooth team. I dread the day they find girls and marry. I don’t want to lose either one of them. They, along with Jasmine and Rosie, have become my family. I don’t have any living relatives I recognize as family.

  I consulted my “want” list. “You can stop by Office Outlet and get me a dozen small legal pads. White, if they have them. And … I’m almost out of candy bars.”

  I saw his grin and quick glance at Jasmine. She remained silent, bless her heart. She always nags me about chocolate, but she knew I had resisted a much larger temptation a few minutes ago. I was receiving chocolate for consolation.

  “Donnie Ray, when do we have the pleasure of viewing your latest masterpiece? It’s been a while.”

  He looked embarrassed. “I had to scrape it. I messed up when I tripped over Richard. It lacked continuity.”

  I suppressed a smile. Richard the Lionhearted was a great drug-sniffer but was clumsier than a hippo wearing ice skates. He romped with abandonment through searches indiscriminately bowling over people, objects, or anything in his path as he pursued a drug trail. He’d knocked me on my butt more than once. I could sympathize.

  “F-I-D-O,” I counseled.

  Donnie looked perplexed. “Fido?”

  “Forget It, Drive On.” I sanitized the saying by using an innocuous F. After all, I was Donnie Ray’s role model and mother substitute. I couldn’t use the appropriate F word in his presence.

  After they left I rinsed the coffee things and made a banana and peanut butter sandwich on whole wheat bread. Even if Jasmine returned and saw my breakfast selection, she couldn’t fault my choice. I had fruit, protein, and a double serving of grain.

  It was bill-paying time. I turned on the computer and prayed that I wouldn’t mess up too badly. My computer and I despised each other. Let me make the tiniest mistake, and she would gleefully fill my screen with incomprehensible gobbledygook, and I would be forced to grovel and try to extradite myself without calling for help. Anything that had a plug-in cord or required batteries was in on the conspiracy. I was appliance-cursed and computer-haunted.

  The phone called me back to the real world.

  “What kind of mood are we in today?” Hank asked when I answered. “Kindly, somewhat kindly, or pissy?”

  Hank was Dunston County’s elected sheriff and a good friend. He wanted more than friendship, but we had been there, done that, and had the scars to prove it.

  “I can’t speak for you, but I’m feeling quite benevolent this morning. What favor do you seek?”

  “My lucky day,” he said wryly. “Do you know the sheriff of Camden County, Jeff Beaman?”

  “I met him once. It was at a drug seminar … in Savannah, I think. It was several years ago. He seemed nice.”

  “He’s a good guy, I’ve known him for years. He called just minutes ago. He needs a big favor.”

  “And it involves me? Fire away, although I don’t know why he didn’t call me direct. Does he think by any chance you have some pull with me?”

  “If he does, would he be right?”

  I laughed. “Absolutely.”

  “Don’t I wish. Beaman’s jurisdiction covers the small islands just off the coast. Most of them aren’t habitable, but two of them are privately owned. Cumberland Island is the barrier that protects them. The small island called Little Cat was the topic of his discussion. It’s about seven miles from shore, straight out from Crooked River Inlet. Ever heard of it?”

  “Nope. I—”

  I just remembered Celia Cancannon had said the word island in one of her calls.

  “Hank, if the owner of the island is Cancannon, I can’t help. Sorry.”

  “Wait,” he said anxiously. “I thought you had never heard of the island. What gives?”

  “I too had an earlier phone call, two in fact. We never got around to discussing her location, I had to say no. I just remembered she mentioned island. So I put the two together. It’s impossible.”

  “Babe, please reconsider. Beaman really needs to come through on this request, he says there’s a great deal at stake.”

  “I can sympathize with his plight,” I said in a wry tone. “They waved ten grand at me and I’m still suffering mightily for having to turn it down. I wonder what she offered him.”

  Hank gave a surprised whistle. “Ten grand?”

  “Yep.”

  “There’s no possible way you could do it? God, ten grand! What makes it so impossible?”

  “They want me to search for a cat.”

  “Oh. I wasn’t told it was a cat. Beaman said it was a valuable family pet.”

  “I also don’t do dogs, raccoons, monkeys, exotic birds, turtles, guinea pigs, or reptiles. Did I leave anything out?”

  “Christ, Sidden, don’t be snide. No one would attempt that.”

  “A woman in California does.”

  “What?”

  “A woman in California searches for exotic pets. I was just reading about her business. It’s called Pet Pursuit. Maybe Ms. Gotrocks could fly her in. Shouldn’t cost much more than the ten grand I was offered and whatever she promised Sheriff Beaman.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Absolutely. If the sheriff is interested, I have her address and telephone number, which I will supply free of charge. Maybe he’ll be grateful and offer you part of his ‘bonus.’”

  “Why don’t you just fake it?”

  “Can’t. Wouldn’t be ethical.”

  “Don’t hand me that crap. You’ve broken and stretched more laws than the law allows!”

  “Y’all have a nice day now, you hear?”

  I gently replaced the receiver.

  I went back to closing last month’s figures and trying to place the correct amounts on a floppy disk for my accountant. I dropped it into the padded self-addressed envelope and placed it in the mail basket.

  I picked up a long-sleeved shirt. I was going to the kennel to give three five-month-old puppies some one-on-one tutoring. They were dropping so far behind their age group that I knew without a lot of work they would never catch up. They were having trouble with the commands sit, stand, and come. I planned on giving each one patient repetition, which is the key to training puppies. Their attention span was about fifteen minutes. After that, all they wanted to do was play. The long-sleeved shirt was to keep most of their drool off my arms. I’d be covered with it by lunchtime.

  At half past noon, Jasmine and I were having lunch in the kitchen. She had made a salad while I showered off puppy slobber. The salad was delicious. Small cubes of three different cheeses, ham slivers, and cherry tomatoes. A light Russian dressing. I had told her about the puppies’ antics. I was concentrating on my salad when she spoke.

  “Remember telling me about Ivanhoe during rounds the first week I started working here?”

  I nodded because my mouth was full.

  “You caught my attention when you were discussing him. You mentioned that he was your worst failure in the history of the kennel.”

  “You got that right. That big lummox had no desire to scent track h
umans. All he wanted to trail were rabbits, coons, and …”

  “Cats,” she finished.

  “He never entered my mind,” I said thoughtfully. “He’s, let’s see … he’s about seven now. I couldn’t sell him to anyone but a hunter, and I would never do that. They would run him in the heat of summer to train the puppies. They keep their dogs in small cages, feed them erratically, and never give them enough exercise. But seven? He’s probably given up his love to chase cats by now. He’s not young and frisky anymore.”

  Jasmine kept her eyes on her salad. “Wayne tells me that Rudy has a set routine every evening as he and Bobby Lee leave for their afternoon run. He stops by Ivanhoe’s quarters, and they race side-by-side, two full lengths of the long run while Bobby Lee watches, then Rudy breaks off the chase and they leave.”

  “Wayne has never mentioned a word to me about it!”

  Jasmine smiled. “He didn’t want to squeal on Rudy. He says Rudy thinks he’s teasing Ivanhoe, but Ivanhoe enjoys it, and so does Rudy. He said no harm, no foul.”

  “True,” I admitted. I thought about it.

  “He’s had a leash on twice a day, to be moved back and forth from his quarters to the exercise yard. He hasn’t been put on a trail for over four years. He’s probably forgotten every command he was taught.”

  “You could try.” She grinned and used the tag line of an old Southern joke. “And we can always use the eggs!”

  I was still chuckling as I reached to pick up the chirping cellular I had moved to the table before lunch.

  “Hello.”

  “My name is Chief Justice Constance Dalby and I wish to speak to Ms. Jo Beth Sidden.”

  Her imperial voice was music to my ears. In my prior relationship with the judge, I had always been the one calling her, but now the shoe was on the other foot. I had been politely blackmailing her for years. I had asked favors on only three occasions, and each time it had been like pulling teeth.

  I knew of one illegal act where she had been an accomplice and if I revealed it, it would blow her out of her Tenth District judgeship seat. I would never do it because it would also snare two good friends of mine, and place my own hide in jeopardy. Thank goodness she didn’t know I would never reveal her secret. Her help had been invaluable when I needed her leverage. She truly despised me.

  “This is Jo Beth. How are you, Constance?”

  I flinched when she hissed her answer.

  “You refer to me as Judge Dalby. I will not tolerate you speaking to me in this manner. Is that clear?”

  “Certainly, Judge. So what can I do for you?”

  I knew what this phone call was costing her and decided not to tweak her pride.

  “I believe that you were contacted by Ms. Celia Cancannon, on behalf of Mrs. Alyce Cancannon, to perform a service for her. Is this correct?”

  “That is correct, Your Honor.”

  “I ask you to reconsider and accommodate Mrs. Alyce Cancannon.”

  “Judge, I wouldn’t do it for anyone else, but your wish is my command. It’s a done deal.”

  “You will?”

  Her surprise that I let her off the hook so easily was monumental. She choked out a terse thank you and disconnected.

  I gave an evil smile and a wink to Jasmine, who had seemed in shock ever since she heard me use Judge Dalby’s name.

  “We’re on,” I told her.

  3

  “Bringing in the Sheaves”

  October 2, Monday, 1:00 P.M.

  My first call was to Celia Cancannon, accepting her employer’s generous offer and telling her to send the bird. She sounded so relieved and grateful, it made me wonder about the aunt who employed her. She might be a tough taskmaster to serve, or maybe she was just simply a frantic owner of a lost cat.

  My second call was to the grooming room. Donnie Ray answered.

  “Tell Wayne to harness Ivanhoe. Pack my backpack for two days, fill a small chest with a cool-pack for Ivanhoe’s food, and another iced with six Diet Cokes. Two radios, my rescue suit, gloves, and deer jerky. Ask Wayne to go through our maps and find a detailed one of the smaller islands just off the coast that are between the mainland and Cumberland Island. The one I’m interested in is called Little Cat. Did I forget anything?”

  “Ivanhoe?”

  “‘Yours is not to reason why,’” I quoted.

  “I know, I know, I just do or die. Anything else?”

  “Take a jumbo roll of paper towels out to the north field and make an X so the chopper pilot will know where to land. Use cans of Coke to hold it down. Place it a reasonable distance from the kennel roof.”

  “Are you sure just one roll will make it big enough?”

  “It will make two forty-four-foot strips. Ever heard the expression, ‘Just do it’?”

  “Yes’m.”

  “Good man.”

  Knowing the total running feet on a roll of jumbo paper towels isn’t trivia that I keep stored in my brain. I had just checked on the figures in the kitchen before I called. It had only shown cms, whatever they are, and not linear feet. The wrapper happened to mention it held ninety-six sheets, eleven inches square, so I had laboriously taken a pen and notepad, multiplying eleven times ninety-six and dividing by twelve. I’m the boss and supposed to know these things.

  I called Hank.

  “I’m taking the assignment. Call your friend, and tell him I’m dropping by in the next hour. I’ll land in his chopper space, and tell him to keep himself available. I need all the daylight I can salvage this afternoon. And tell him not to take credit for my change of mind. Someone in the food chain way over his head accomplished it.”

  “And you’re not gonna enlighten either one of us on who it is, are you?”

  “You got it. See ya.”

  Jasmine was packing an overnight bag for me. I went to the bedroom to check on her. She was standing in front of my closet with the double set of folding doors open, to reveal all of the interior. I glanced in the bag and saw she had the essentials.

  “What are you looking for?” I asked.

  “You just might be invited to dine with the hostess of this foray tonight and not have to eat in the kitchen with the servants. I can’t decide between the gold lamé top and the black long tube skirt, or the violet sheath.”

  “The basic black dress and one-inch heels.”

  She acted as if I hadn’t spoken.

  “I think I should pack both of them. You might be there for two nights.”

  “Not the gold spikes!” I pleaded when I saw them in her hands.

  “You’ve had these shoes three years, and to my knowledge you have worn them twice. Are you saving them for your retirement?”

  I sighed and picked up my snub-nosed .32. I checked the load, opened the bedside drawer, fed six more rounds into the elastic loops on my shoulder holster, shrugged it on, and fastened it below my breasts.

  I walked into the living room and stooped to talk to Bobby Lee. He had followed me from room to room. When I strapped on the gun he knew I was preparing for a search. He was eagerly awaiting my command for him to fetch his leash.

  “Sorry, sweetheart, it’s a no-no. You can’t go.”

  He followed me to the back porch, glanced at both of his leads hanging from nails on a pillar, and back at me. He still had hope.

  I said good-bye to Jasmine when she joined us. I knelt again and fondled Bobby Lee’s ears. He slumped in dejection when I pointedly said good-bye to him. I knew he would wait on the porch until I returned, whether it was a week or forever. I didn’t look back.

  I heard the approaching helicopter as I set my case down where Wayne had piled my gear. Wayne, Donnie Ray, and I watched as it hovered, then slowly lowered and touched down. Wayne handed me Ivanhoe’s lead and I eyed him critically. We were both heading for uncharted waters. Wayne and Donnie Ray humped the gear out. The pilot had the door open but remained inside. He hadn’t shut off the motor. The wind from the rotating blades blew my hair in wild disarray. Ivanhoe’s ears
were whipsawed, and his wrinkles all but disappeared from the wash’s pressure. The guys loaded the gear and backed away.

  I slapped the floor, lifted the lead, and Ivanhoe landed in front of the seat. I held him tightly and climbed aboard awkwardly, spraddling my legs where I could grip Ivanhoe’s bulk between my knees. I was a tight fit, but his head was above window level, and he could see the ground. I slammed the door and glanced at the pilot.

  He was pointing at Ivanhoe and then gesturing toward the back. I shook my head in an emphatic no. He reached behind him and came up with a helmet like he was wearing. I put it on and adjusted the chin strap and pulled the small mike closer to my lips. The noise abated and I could hear him clearly.

  “The dog should ride in the rear. There isn’t enough room for him up here.”

  What he really meant was he was very uncomfortable having such a large dog with a huge head, which held big teeth, sitting twelve inches from his right knee.

  “I don’t think so. He’s fine here.” I gave him a warm smile.

  “I’m afraid that I’ll have to insist.” He was returning my smile with equal warmth.

  “Ivanhoe has never ridden in a copter before,” I said casually. “He could freak out any minute and go berserk. He weighs close to one hundred and thirty pounds. I have no idea how much damage he could cause, up to and including the ability to cause a crash if we’re airborne. I believe I can control him from this position. Wanna give it a try?”

  His smile slipped and he thought it over.

  “You believe you can control him?”

  His voice rose slightly with each syllable.

  “No promises.”

  “What happens if I say no way?”

  “Ivanhoe and I will bail out and you’ll have a lonely trip home.”

  “Do you have a very large personal injury policy on your business?”

  “Huge.”

  “Well, with that assurance and the fact that I was told not to return without you, we will begin our perilous journey. Fasten your seat belt.”