She’s baiting you! my mind cautioned. Don’t you dare ask; and if you have to ask, for God’s sake, don’t beg!
“Do you … still have them?” At this moment, my heart had control over my mind.
“We’ll discuss them,” she commented slyly, “if and when you return with Amelia.”
I opened the door, pulled Ivanhoe clear, and slammed the door with all my might.
When I turned, Celia stood frozen ten feet down the hall.
“What happened?” she whispered, looking terrified.
“Why are you whispering?” I yelled angrily. “How can you stand to be around that bitch? Get me out of this maze, and give me the damn cat’s scent articles, before I shoot somebody!”
She scurried in front of me, trotting to keep ahead of my long stride. I followed her blindly, choking on my anger. When we reached the stairs, I passed her at a fast clip and stopped only when I was standing in front of my gear, which had been placed against the wall in the entranceway. I popped a Diet Coke, took a long swallow to ease my dry throat, and looked around for Rand. I sat on my ice chest and started taking off my shoes. Celia approached timidly, holding a paper bag. She seemed worried.
“Are you going to search for Amelia?”
“Of course, that’s what I came to do.” I was calming down, somewhat.
“Rand,” I yelled, “front and center!”
I had both legs in my rescue suit when he came out of a door to my right and looked at me with apprehension. I glanced at my watch before I stuck my arms in the sleeves. It was hard to believe it was only 3:30, and I had spent only fifteen minutes in the witch’s presence. It had seemed a lot longer. I shrugged the suit over my shoulders, and zipped it closed. It was neon yellow with large white letters denoting SEARCH AND RESCUE on the front and DUNSTON COUNTY SHERIFF’S DEPARTMENT on the back.
“Nice suit,” Rand offered.
“It’s made of lightweight Kevlar. It’s briar-proof, fang-proof, and almost but not quite bulletproof.”
I was putting my shoes back on.
“Don’t shoot anyone you run into out there. All the servants that are not on duty are scouring the brush hoping to find Amelia on their own. They think they will receive a generous reward.”
“El Grande Bastardo will probably fire them for not finding Amelia sooner.”
Rand smiled. “They’re Filipinos, not Spanish, if that was what you were trying to imitate.”
“Whatever,” I snapped.
“I gather the meeting didn’t go well?”
“I’m proud of myself. I fought a good clean fight. I didn’t kick or scream or draw my gun.”
“I was hoping that you two would hit it off.”
“Hit would have been a good choice. I didn’t do that, either.” I looked hard at him. “Are you going to be here when I return?”
“The clan is all gathering to console their aunt. If you’re out more than two hours, I will be. Two have already landed at JAX. I expect the other two within the hour. I’ll fly over and pick them up.”
I glanced at Celia. The news that her cousins were to arrive soon didn’t make her happy. She looked troubled.
“Do they give you a hard time too?” I asked her.
Rand spoke quickly. “Don’t worry, Celia, I’ll keep them occupied so they won’t give you a hard time.”
As she looked at him, her face softened. I thought, Well, well, she really likes him. Okay, I corrected, as she continued to gaze at him, she really, really likes him. I couldn’t read Rand’s face. His expression was a closed book.
I was loading my pockets and checking my backpack. I had attached Ivanhoe’s lead to my belt. He wanted to explore the premises.
“I’ll have your luggage taken up, and have the maid unpack for you. You’ll be tired when you get back.”
“Thanks, Celia, but don’t you dare touch my things. I wouldn’t spend a night under this roof for a million bucks! Rand is going to fly me home when I finish. I’m going to give this search to near first dark, then I’m coming in and Rand will take me home. Isn’t that right, Rand?”
“If that’s what you want.”
“I just remembered. You don’t have telephones out here. How did you know the clan was gathering and needed to be picked up?”
“We have a radio hookup in Fernandina Beach. They relay all long-distance calls in and out. Our radio can also reach Camden County. It’s where we do our local shopping.”
I pulled out my radio and arched my brows in question.
“Sorry, won’t work. The closest signal tower is a good forty miles on the far side of the Camden County Sheriff’s Department.”
“That means I have no means to communicate. Don’t worry if I don’t show up tonight. If I’m not back two hours after sunrise, come looking for me in your bird. I have signal flares I will use if I can hear you. If I’m unconscious, you’ll have to find me the hard way.”
“If I have to look, I’ll find you,” Rand assured me.
“I’m counting on it.”
I drained my Diet Coke, and they wished me luck.
Outside, I knelt beside Ivanhoe.
“Well, partner, we’re both cherries on this adventure. You’ve never had a successful search for a human, and I’ve never searched for a cat. We’re evenly matched, so maybe we’ll get lucky. Let’s give it a try.”
7
“Cat Trailing”
October 2, Monday, 3:40 P.M.
Ispent the first hour circling the house and constantly pulling Ivanhoe back on track because he wanted to return to the house, where the scent of Amelia was the strongest. I gently tugged on the leash to suggest he go left instead of right. I was walking the perimeter in a clockwise rotation.
After two circles, I moved out another three hundred yards, and tried to work counterclockwise. Not once did he go right. He kept trying to return to the house.
I stopped and presented the bedraggled hairy gray mouse that I was told was her favorite toy. The mouse no longer squeaked. It looked as if it had not been treated kindly, and had had a very bad year.
“Find the kitty, here, kitty, kitty!” I whispered with excitement into Ivanhoe’s ear, for the hundredth time. Bloodhounds pick up the handler’s emotion. If you act bored, they will copy you in no time, losing their enthusiasm for the search. I was trying to use the same words I shouted out the back door when Rudy had taken a powder.
“Here, kitty, kitty, here, kitty, kitty!” Ivanhoe perked up, raised his head, and pawed playfully at my leg, trying to get me to jump at him, or run away. I sighed, and again pulled out the disreputable mouse. My back was already throbbing. Stooping with a thirty-pound pack on your back every three to five minutes can make you wish you hadn’t, after a couple of hours.
“Let’s find Amelia,” I sang in a high squeaky voice. “Ivanhoe is a good dog! Find Amelia!” I took a couple of shuffling steps sideways, looking foolish, I’m sure. He sprang along with me, and poked his nose in the air with pure joy.
I put my hands on my hips and stretched. When I switched my attention back to Superdog, he began pulling on the lead, nose held high, and his loose wrinkles on his high narrow head quivering in intense concentration. He changed from dancing clown to a dedicated trailer in less than fifteen seconds.
I wasn’t positive, however, about the object of his search. His head should be down near the ground. I gave him plenty of room to maneuver by feeding out slack on the long lead and letting him pull me for a change. He picked up his speed and was clearly excited. I wasn’t.
Amelia would stand about a foot tall. To trail her, his nose should be active near the ground, his long ears funneling the smell from below to his nose. His huge ears were flopping with each step, but they didn’t look like they were doing much scooping. If he was trailing a mother coon carrying supper back to her brood in a large nest high in a cypress tree, I was going to inform him he was now permanently in full retirement. Damn, it could also be a wildcat or bobcat. If he ran one of those guys
to ground, he could get scratched eyes and a lacerated muzzle. It also could easily be a black bear on the prowl for honey. If this was what he was chasing, I hoped the bear was in good shape and could outrun him. ’Course, they usually sleep during the day and hunt at night.
We were traveling through waist-high grass, briar-berry bushes, and cattails, already turning a deep brown. Plenty of titi and palmetto shrubs. Small yellow leaves were clinging to my gloves where we had brushed against vines that slowed our progress.
“Hey, big guy, halt! Halt!” Ivanhoe finally slowed, turning back to me looking impatient. “Just give me thirty seconds to catch my breath. Jeez!” My rescue suit was breezeproof. Air couldn’t circulate inside and I was sweating buckets. I could feel it trickling down my torso and running down my legs. I’d be soaking wet when I pulled off my suit. I was also wheezing like an asthmatic. The seven months I had refrained from smoking still hadn’t cleared my lungs.
I looked back to see how far we had come from the house. I could see a sliver of roof and the top of a double chimney. The grade of the land was beginning to slope upward. It would make it harder for me to run and breathe at the same time. My head snapped around when I heard a large animal crashing through dry brush. It was about five, or maybe a tad later. Our scent on the air had probably spooked a couple of deer. I took another deep breath as Ivanhoe and I stared toward the east, where the cracking foliage had been trampled in a wild flight to avoid us. They were more frightened of us than we were of them.
My breath slowed and I reluctantly let Ivanhoe start the search, and labored on another fifty feet of ground that continued to present a steeper climb. I let Ivanhoe half-pull me to the top of the small cliff. The ground was turning white in spots, and I thought I saw small patches of sea oats on the next dune, which was slightly higher than ours was. We were a good two miles from the water.
Perhaps a small inlet had been formed by erosion and drifting sand. The house was less than a mile away, I had seen it just a short time ago, and I remembered it was located almost exactly in the center of the island. I should have waited for Rand to fetch his map, but my anger made me impetuous and drove me to leave prematurely. I had no fear of getting lost. Ivanhoe could lead me back to the house in minutes. I wondered what four-legged creature he was trailing. I knew for certain that he wasn’t mantrailing: He had never accomplished a successful find.
As we walked closer to the open area, I noticed that the leaves and small vines had been swept neatly against the trees and shrubs, leaving an almost circular area clear of debris. The air currents must rotate up here more fiercely than in the lower areas.
Ivanhoe had his head up, testing the light breeze. Since his head was already tilted upward, I had no warning when his huge jaws opened and he let forth a loud joyous bay of success. My heart leaped into my throat. He was celebrating that he was near his target. Bloodhounds run mute. They only bay when they know they have located the origin of the scent they’re seeking.
We raced over the open area, scrambling for purchase, his paws and my feet sliding in the shifting sand. He was baying continuously and I was yelling in excitement and praising him for his victory. He reached the end of his journey, and placed both paws on a man-made circular object, and continued his baying.
I fell to my knees and shrugged off my backpack.
My chest heaved from the exhausting run. Sweat was pouring from every pore. I had to cool down some before I tried to ease my constricted throat with liquid. I sat there gasping like a fish out of water. Ivanhoe finished his solo and dropped on his belly beside me. He was huffing, and puffing, as hard as I was.
“We both need to exercise more,” I wheezed.
I absently patted his shoulder as we both eyed the cistern. My mind had furnished the name while I was waiting for my breathing to ease. They were made years ago, to store water, or to contain a natural spring or hand-dug shallow well. It must be old. The solid mixture of concrete and crushed seashells had a dark patina, fading from black to light gray. The outside was pitted, and had spider cracks leading to where mortar had eroded and fallen away.
It was embedded in the sand, three feet above the ground, and three feet from side to side. The top looked heavy. I was in no hurry to try to slide the cover over far enough to inspect the contents.
Ding dong bell, Pussy’s in the well. Throw Amelia in the ocean, the tide might wash her back to shore. Toss her in the trash, and she might be found. I didn’t know how garbage was handled on the island. Sorted and burned, buried, or Rand might airfreight it out. They couldn’t use an open landfill; the animals would be at risk. With the high water table here, she couldn’t have been killed and hidden in the brush either. In this heat the smell would draw scavengers, and buzzards circling the area would be a dead giveaway for the search party.
So Amelia was abducted, and tossed in an abandoned cistern which, I imagine, very few knew about. No one would lift the lid to look inside. She couldn’t have fallen in accidentally, then pulled the cover over her. Amelia hadn’t walked here. She was carried in someone’s arms. Ivanhoe had been taking the scent out of the air, not the ground.
Maybe she had been catnapped. A terrified cat can be a handful. They scratch and bite, and can seem to have supernatural powers to wiggle free if they don’t want to be held. Maybe she was killed accidentally, while someone was trying to spirit her away. That would account for no ransom demand. Anyone who knew Miz Cancannon would know that she wouldn’t pay ransom without positive proof that Amelia was still alive. That could prove tricky. How could someone prove that a cat was still alive without producing the cat?
Amelia was either abducted for ransom, or killed to make Miz Cancannon suffer. With her tight surveillance and security, if she wasn’t blowing smoke, it had to be a servant, a resident of the island, lawyer, veterinarian, pilot, or niece. It could be a conspiracy. A stranger working with Rand. He could have flown someone in and flown him or her out. But if that was a correct scenario, why put Amelia in the well? She could have been dropped from the air anywhere on the mainland.
I was rested and was breathing normally. I had fed Ivanhoe deer jerky, given him water, and drunk myself. I had stalled long enough. It was going to be an unpleasant task, but if I could recover her body, I was taking Amelia back to Miz Cancannon. I wanted her to know for sure that her cat was dead by someone’s hand on the island, who possibly wanted payback. I disliked her, but it was only fair to warn her.
I pulled on my gloves and walked Ivanhoe over to a tree about twenty feet from the cistern and tied his leash securely. I didn’t want him dancing around my legs while I was hanging over the well taking a look. He was strong enough at 130 pounds to push me over the edge when he was highly excited. He wasn’t Lassie. If he knocked me in, he wouldn’t race back to the house barking excitedly, and lead people back here to save me. He would whine a little, maybe peer over the edge trying to see me, and do something stupid like sailing over the lip and landing on top of me.
I checked the time. It was a quarter to six. I had an hour before first dark. I opened the backpack and pulled out a plastic body bag. I unzipped and spread it open.
It was large enough to hold a 250-pound human. The cat’s body would look pitifully small in it, but it was all I had. I would roll it up, and seal the tiny bundle. I fished out tape, and wet wipes to cleanse my hands after, a fresh pair of gloves, and an industrial-strength pressed paper towel. I placed them all on the body bag.
I grasped the edge of the cover and pushed. I couldn’t budge it. I groaned. The second time, I scooped back sand with my shoes until I had enough to brace my feet against so I wouldn’t slip. I got into position and threw my 128 pounds behind my push, and grunted in frustration when I saw I had moved the sucker about an inch. At this rate, I’d still be standing here straining when Rand took to the air to search for me after sunrise. I braced and tried again, moving it another hard-fought inch. I had to stop because black dots began to float within my vision.
As I rested, I eyed Ivanhoe. When the puppies matured into adults on their first birthday, they were trained to pull the rescue sled. They were first paired with a seasoned dog, then trained solo. I had no idea if Ivanhoe had passed with flying colors or had failed miserably. I couldn’t remember. It was worth a try.
From my backpack I took out a 25-foot, 150-pound test, three-ply nylon rope. I snapped it on his harness, wrapped his long lead around my waist, and brought him back to the cistern. He began to whine and scratch on the sides of the well.
Seeing him diligently trying to scratch through the solid cement to find Amelia’s scent brought a fragment of a lecture I had listened to in the broiling sun of July, three years ago in Atlanta. I had Lazarus standing beside me. It was a training exercise for cadaver dogs. I could see the short, slight instructor’s sweaty face as he delivered his message.
“Remember, trainers, your dog is not scenting on a human body smell here, they are searching for the smell of death. A chemical odor has been lab-produced that resembles the death odor. Once a living body dies, it doesn’t produce an individual smell. All cadavers smell alike. Your scented search sample has been sprayed with this odor, as well as the dummies buried under the rubble.”
His words—just remembered—gave me hope. I believed that Ivanhoe followed Amelia’s scent while the abductor was carrying her. He was still trying to reach her. He had never been given any training to search for a cadaver, so he couldn’t have scent memory of the cadaver death smell, so therefore—
I broke off speculating, hooked the rope tightly around the short protruding edge of the cistern’s cover, and, acting animated and excited, stood shoulder to shoulder with Ivanhoe and gave the command to pull.
“Pull, pull!” I cried as I tugged on my end of the rope. It was looped around my right shoulder and padded with a bandanna. I looked at Ivanhoe and he was standing there expectantly, slowly wagging his tail, but he wasn’t doing any pulling. He seemed to be waiting for me to give him a clue about this new game.
Ten Little Bloodhounds Page 5
