Ten Little Bloodhounds

by Virginia Lanier

  Susan had Jasmine giggling as she finished her story.

  “Don’t believe a word she says,” I admonished Jasmine. “She greatly exaggerates.”

  “Don’t you wish,” she retorted. “I still have the scars from old Mr. Hamlick, our esteemed, and recently deceased, principal. They paddled the girls as well as the boys in those days.”

  “See what I mean?” I held Jasmine’s eye. “It was a yardstick and it only stung. It couldn’t have left a scar.”

  Susan gave me a dark look. “The paddle had holes bored in it. I’ve got two small crescent-shaped scars on my fanny.”

  “I rest my case,” I said smugly to Jasmine. “I’ve seen her bare ass, and it’s alabaster-white without a blemish.”

  I barely managed to catch the thrown pillow before it smacked me in the face.

  “I never know who to believe when you two get started,” Jasmine complained.

  “Me, me,” we chorused, laughing.

  “I almost had a date tonight,” Susan announced.

  “Almost?”

  “A new salesman from one of my wholesalers called on me this afternoon. We hadn’t talked ten minutes when he asked me to have dinner with him.”

  “What happened?” I asked with caution. You never know with Susan, she could be setting me up to bite on one of her jokes.

  “Directly after he left my store he called on that slut that runs the religious book shop over on Fifth, you know who I mean, Jo Beth, the blond with the big boobs.”

  “Peggy?” I was shocked. “But she’s married!”

  “That’s the reason I referred to her as a slut,” Susan replied.

  “Maybe she’s separated from her husband,” Jasmine offered.

  “Nope,” Susan said quickly, adding in triumph, “I saw her and him at Porky’s last night having a gay ol’ time!”

  “My, my.” I was smacking my lips over the juicy gossip. “Homer would strip her and stake her out over a bed of fire ants if he knew. How could she be so stupid? Are you one hundred percent, absolutely and positively sure that it was her? I gather he called you back and canceled. Did he mention her name?”

  “Yes, yes, yes, and no. You decide. He called less than thirty minutes after leaving the store. He asked for directions to her place before leaving. He mentioned that he had already been to the chain out on the highway, and there are only two bookstores in town. He gave the excuse that he had to call at a store later in Waycross as the reason for canceling our dinner date. He also had the balls to ask me, and I quote, ‘Knew a friendly motel in Davis that didn’t ask questions if he got lucky later on,’ unquote.”

  “What a slimeball! What did you tell him?” I was grinning with anticipation.

  “I held onto my temper and suggested he try Davis Motor Inn. I told him they were very discreet.”

  Susan and I doubled over with mirth.

  Jasmine eyed us. “What happens at the Davis Motor Inn?”

  “Drums!” Susan howled.

  “The Inn is owned by an elderly couple who are devout members of the Salvation Army,” I explained to Jasmine.

  “If they even suspect a single check-in has become a double, they will take their position outside the door. She beats the bass drum, and he preaches into a magnified hand-hailer. They’re both hard of hearing and play and shout very loudly. Someone finally complains and the police are called.”

  Jasmine had a wide smile of amusement when I finished.

  “I have the feeling that you two have experienced the drum beating and sermon firsthand. Correct me if I’m wrong.”

  Susan was grinning. “You’re correct. In our wilder years after our divorces and before we attained our present sanity, we did on rare occasions kick up our heels. We sneaked in about ten minutes after the guys registered. We had followed them back to the Inn in my car. Our rooms were next door to each other. They were auditors down from South Carolina on a convention. We were no sooner inside when all hell broke loose outside. I heard Jo Beth knock over a large brass floor lamp in her panic to reach the door. It fell across a glass-covered dresser with a horrendous crash.”

  I continued the tale. “My guy had opened me a beer and after my first sip, he turned out the light. Patience was not in his dictionary. At almost the same moment Armageddon arrived at the door. The drum was booming like the crack of doom and a magnified voice was shouting incomprehensible gibberish.

  “My first silly thought was a brass band was outside, that me and the auditor were winners of a contest being the millionth couple to occupy the room. I could picture reporters and cameras outside making sure that our reputations were forever branded as sluts. I freely admit to panicking, but I wasn’t the only one. Ms. Susan here could be easily heard screaming over all the noise, ‘Mama, is that you? How did you know I was here?’”

  Susan grimaced. “I lived back at home after the divorce until I was almost twenty-one. Mama and daddy treated me like I was sixteen.”

  Jasmine looked wistful. “You both had families that loved you. You were very lucky.”

  We both knew that Jasmine’s mother had tossed her out of her home at twelve and she was forced to survive by living on the streets until she was nineteen. I quickly changed the subject.

  “Susan, I just remembered something you said earlier. You said you saw Peggy and Homer together at Porky’s last night. Just how did you visit Porky’s without me? You obviously had a date last night. Fess up! We want to hear all about him.”

  Dismay flashed across her features and then she shrugged with resignation. “Me and my big mouth,” she muttered.

  She took a deep breath. “It wasn’t a date. I just met an acquaintance there. Can we drop the inquisition? Please?”

  “No.”

  “Damn!” Susan suddenly yelled, holding a finger under her eye. “I just smeared my mascara. I’ll be right back.”

  She took off in a fast lope for the hall and toward the bathroom … I hoped. Too late, I remembered what was displayed on my bed. Would she use the bathroom mirror or my makeup mirror in the bedroom? The odds were fifty-fifty, for either location. I decided not to press her about her “acquaintance.”

  Jasmine spoke just above a whisper. “Are you going to make her tell you?”

  I gnashed my teeth in frustration. “That sleazebag named Brian Colby is back in town, I just know it!” I hissed.

  “Do you remember what happened last time, when you and Hank interfered?”

  “Yes,” I replied, hating to admit it. “Hank ran a check on him at my request and found out that he scammed women. Then he ran Colby out of town, also at my request. It took a long time for Susan to forgive me, she was furious. She accused me of trying to run her life.”

  “Well?”

  “I know, I know. You’re right. I won’t mention him to her, all right?”

  “Great.” Jasmine looked relieved.

  I heard the toilet flush, and felt relieved myself. Susan had used the bathroom to repair her makeup, and not my bedroom. I could now tell the cat story my way.

  Susan placed her bag at the foot of the sofa, sank down, folding one leg beneath her, and settled on the couch cushion. She looked at me with apparent calm.

  “Where were we?” I could read the storm signals loud and clear.

  “I was just about to start my cat story. Let me turn on the oven and warm the pizza.”

  On my way back, I replenished our drinks with more beer and wine. For the next eighteen minutes, I told my tale about the rescue of Miz Alyce Cancannon’s cat, Amelia. I started with the telegram from Celia Cancannon, and finished with me stalking off from the confrontation with Rand, and my mistaken belief that he would follow me, apologize, and reissue the invitation to dinner tonight. We all chuckled about my error in judging the situation correctly.

  “I know a true fact when I hear one,” I said as I left the room to fetch the pizza. “Men are from Mars.”

  I placed the pizza slices on paper plates and passed around plenty of paper napkin
s. We dine al picnico, but drink out of crystal goblets. This way we can pretend we’re both practical and sophisticated.

  I was still on my first slice of pizza when the phone rang. I frowned.

  “At this hour? Hank knows I won’t take a callout, and Bubba hasn’t called in over a month.”

  “I know a quicker way to solve the problem.” Susan spoke with her mouth full. “Answer the dang phone. Hee—hee—hee!”

  “Ah, so wise! Such a wit! A veritable sage!” I kissed the tips of my fingers and blew her a raspberry on the way to the phone.

  “Hello.”

  “May I speak to Ms. Jo Beth Sidden?”

  A mature male voice. No one’s speech pattern that I recognized.

  “I’m Jo Beth Sidden. How may I help you?”

  “My name is John Jason Jackson. I’m an estate attorney from Woodbine, Georgia. I want to apologize for calling this late. For the past several hours I have been with Sheriff Jeff Beaman of Camden County, and unable to reach a telephone. I will be handling the probate of the late Ms. Alyce Cancannon’s will.”

  “Late? She’s dead?” My voice had risen with each word.

  “I’m so sorry, I assumed you knew. She died unexpectedly between midnight and nine A.M. yesterday morning.”

  13

  “Unfinished Business”

  October 6, Friday, 8:30 P.M.

  How did she die?” was my next question.

  “This is awkward, Ms. Sidden. I’m sorry you found out this way. I assumed you knew. It was in all the papers, even New York. I do apologize.”

  “Rest easy, Mr. Jackson. Miz Cancannon was not a relative, not even a close friend. I’ve been tied up with a new litter and haven’t seen a paper. I’m sorry she died, but I only met her last Monday, and didn’t anticipate any future contact. If this call is about those checks that she wrote me, the amounts were ridiculous and I tore them up. She owes me five hundred dollars; but with her death I have no proof, so I won’t send you a bill. I would, however, appreciate an answer to my question. How did she die?”

  “I’m not at liberty to say at this time, Ms. Sidden. The investigation is not complete.”

  “I’m not asking for the official cause of death. I understand they have to wait for the autopsy, which could take days or weeks. I’m asking for the unofficial version. Surely you could narrow speculation a bit. Did it look like a natural death, or was she hanging from a chandelier, stabbed, suspected of being poisoned, shot, or garroted? Did I leave anything out?”

  He chuckled. “Other than clubbed to death, snakebit, or mauled by a bear, I’d say you covered the spectrum.”

  “Well?”

  This guy had a sense of humor. Maybe I could get a straight answer out of a lawyer … nah.

  “Sorry, I can’t explain.”

  “Then why the hell did you call me this late, less than forty-eight hours after she died? You didn’t call to tell me of her death; you thought I’d been informed. I now know that you weren’t trying to trace two checks that Celia Cancannon, her niece, has probably already supplied an adequate explanation to both you and the sheriff. Stop pussyfooting around, this is not a one-way street.”

  “I need to talk to you about an important matter.”

  “Ah, but the question is, who is it important to?”

  “It’s in your best interest, believe me.”

  “We’re talking,” I noted. “Shoot.”

  “This has to be a personal meeting, it can’t be discussed over the phone.”

  “The CIA, FBI, GBI, and DEA no longer bug my phone, Mr. Jackson. It’s unproductive. They’ve learned I don’t discuss state secrets or drug shipments over the phone.”

  I heard a snort of suppressed laughter. I waited.

  “Would you be able to come to my office tomorrow anytime after eleven? I should be out of court by then.”

  “Not for all the tea in China,” I replied sweetly.

  “May I come to your home tomorrow? I can be there anytime after eleven.”

  I thought about it. In court at nine, he couldn’t drive here by eleven, so that meant Rand and his helicopter. Was I curious about what Jackson wanted to discuss with me? Did I want to see Rand again? Do bears sleep in the woods?

  “Only on one condition, a simple yes or no. Was Alyce Cancannon in your opinion murdered?”

  “I was told—”

  “Good-bye, Mr. Jackson.”

  “Wait!” he said quickly.

  “Yes or no?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll expect you at eleven tomorrow,” I uttered as I hung up.

  Jasmine and Susan had been sitting quietly, hanging on my every word.

  “I need a pit stop and a beer, then I’ll be back with all the news.”

  “Hurry,” urged Susan. “I’m dying for the details.”

  I went first to the bedroom and grabbed the basic black dress, a black lace teddy, and the three-inch black heels that I had spread out on the bed, just in case. I’m a diehard optimist. I had listened for the whirlybird long after 6:00 P.M. I was relieved that Susan hadn’t seen them, and put them away.

  I got comfortable with my beer, and gave them Jackson’s side of the conversation. They had already heard mine.

  “I bet you’re in her will!” Susan exclaimed excitedly. “Maybe she left you her fortune for finding Amelia!”

  “I only met her Monday and we didn’t part friends,” I answered dryly. “I think not.”

  “You did find her cat, maybe she mentioned how good you were to her lawyer. Maybe he wants to hire you to find her killer. That sounds feasible,” Jasmine reasoned.

  I had to laugh. “Also a not. With her millions or billions, he could hire F. Lee Bailey, Johnnie Cochran, and a whole plenitude of experts, consultants, and investigators. Tracking down a cat with a bloodhound is not on par with solving a murder.

  “Y’all wanna know what I think? I think he’s been told that I spent about thirty minutes with her alone after I brought the cat back. She really wasn’t a happy camper when I warned her that she had an enemy who might wish her harm. I think that she was spitting tacks over someone almost drowning her cat, and the agony that poor Amelia had to endure for hours.

  “I think she must have taken her anger and frustration out on all of them after I left the scene. I imagine that anyone as rich and powerful as she was, and remember she’s had both money and power all her life, finally gets to the point where they believe they are godlike. Think about it. I bet she jumped down their throats, all of them. She may have sealed her own doom by talking about harsh penalties when she found out who had catnapped Amelia. She might have threatened to cut them all out of the will until she could find the guilty party. I think Mr. John Jason Jackson, Esquire, simply wants to pick my brain. He wants to know what I said and what she said during that thirty minutes. Wanna form a pool? We put in five apiece, and the one who comes closest to the answer wins it all.”

  “You always win,” Susan grumbled, but she was digging in her large suede carryall for her wallet. I walked over to the desk and lifted a five from the petty cash fund. I turned to tell Jasmine I would trust her until tomorrow because she never brings a purse with her. I stood there speechless, staring at her with my mouth agape.

  Jasmine had one of her polished loafers in her lap and had peeled back the insole. She slipped out folded currency and peeled off a bill.

  “Anyone got change for a hundred?”

  “You bank out of your shoe?” I blurted without thought.

  Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. As soon as I uttered the words my brain told me why.

  Susan was cawing with laughter and pointing a red-tipped talon. “I’m not believing this!”

  “Susan,” I warned, to silence her.

  “Oh, Jasmine,” I said, feeling sad for her. “After all this time?”

  Jasmine smiled bravely. “I never have left home without it since I was nineteen.”

  “I’m in the dark here, ladies.” Susan looked from me to Jasmine
, waiting for an explanation.

  “It’s bail money,” I said softly. “In case she’s arrested.”

  “They wouldn’t dare!” Susan sputtered. “Hank would skin them alive!”

  “Hank’s not always available, and doesn’t control the neighboring counties’ deputies,” I explained. “Both Jasmine and I have enemies who wear a badge. They could possibly try getting even with me by harassing her. God, Jasmine, I didn’t know that it still troubles you.”

  “Hey, cut it out,” Jasmine demanded. “Sometimes I go for days and don’t even think about it. I honestly thought you both knew I carried cash for an emergency, or I wouldn’t have exposed my stash.”

  Liar, I thought sadly. Seven years of dread, and she had exposed her worst fear in one careless moment of forgetfulness. All because of a silly bet.

  I had dreaded Bubba’s attacks much longer than she had dreaded being picked up and thrown into a cell. I could empathize. She had told me once, this new Jasmine born after leaving the streets, that she could not survive one night of penal confinement. I believed her.

  I mentally promised once again that I would protect her from all harm. I would also keep my guard up twenty-four out of twenty-four and not turn complacent about Bubba. He hadn’t forgotten his burning desire to destroy me. He was out there—waiting.

  We rehashed everything we knew of Alyce Cancannon’s suspected murder, and then started discussing the new litter.

  “Did all ten arrive healthy?” Susan asked as she tilted her empty beer bottle in my direction.

  Jasmine grabbed it before I could and went to get refills. I noticed that she took her goblet with her. She limits herself to two glasses at meals and on these pizza nights. This would be her third. If she brought me back one, it would be my fourth. I was beginning to feel mellow.