Chasing Can Be Murder

by June Whyte

  I dragged my eyes from Ben’s face to peer through the windscreen. Thick black smoke enveloped a property up ahead. I blinked, my breath caught in my throat and fear sliced a hole in my chest as I took in the flames leaping angrily into the night sky.

  Three fire engines, sirens echoing and hammering in my ears, whooshed past, screeched through my open gateway and slewed to a halt in front of my burning kennel-house.

  “Nooo!” Screaming, sobbing, I tugged on the door. “Please, God. Not my dogs!”

  Before the van stopped, I leapt through the open car door and hit the ground running. All I could see through the thick choking smoke were tongues of yellow and red flames. All I could hear was the roar of the fire and the hysterical barking of terrified dogs.

  28

  A fierce roaring filled my ears. I stumbled. Almost fell to my knees as I plunged through a blinding fog of smoke.

  “Scuzz…where are you?” I screamed, but my voice got lost in the rage of the fire. Why wouldn’t my legs move faster? It was like my brain had pressed the slow motion button and left me to plough through a sea of treacle.

  Not content with devouring my kennels, the greedy flames snapped at the sky, demanding more. Heat punched me in the face. Two firemen, snaking thick hoses along the ground, yelled at me to stay back. I ignored them.

  Only two thoughts filled my mind–finding Scuzz and saving my dogs.

  Coughing and retching against the blanket of smoke that curled and blinded, I fought my way to the open doorway of the kennel-house. The only recognizable shape in the frenzy of flames inside was my luxury dog-treatment table. I’d spent more than I could afford on that piece of equipment, but with all the extra attachments it had made my work easier and I’d never regretted the expense. Now, the wooden surface bubbled and the steel legs were red hot and melting. To my overwrought senses, the table appeared to be writhing in agony. A shiver dumped down my spine yet the heat from the inferno was so intense I tugged my T-shirt over my head before lurching through the doorway.

  If this was akin to the fires of Hell, from now on I’d be especially kind to the sick, the homeless, those who called me bad names and my mother, if she ever returned from her extended holiday. My eyes stung. My throat burned. My lungs were a tight clamp in my chest. But I had to find Scuzz. Save my dogs.

  I hadn’t gone more than three steps when a rough hand grabbed at my shoulder, dragging me backwards.

  “Let me go!” I kicked out, connecting with a hard shin.

  “No way.” It was Ben and of course he didn’t listen. The kick didn’t even slow him down. And when I dug my heels in and refused to cooperate, he continued hauling me like a bag of garden refuse until we were well clear of the burning building.

  “Jesus, Kat!” His eyes wild, his head huddled under his jacket, Ben tightened his fingers on my arm. “You got a death wish or somethin’?”

  When I tried to shake loose from him, his fingers fastened onto my other arm and clamped tight. When I tried kicking him again, he picked me up and held me hard against his body.

  “Damn it, Kat. It’s too late! There’s nothing you can do in there except commit suicide.”

  “Noooo!” I screamed, struggling to get free of his python hold, only to have it rack up an extra notch. “I have to find Scuzz. Save the dogs.…”

  “Kat, it’s okay. Scuzz is—” Ben began in a soothing voice and ended with a groan—right about the time my knee connected with certain sensitive items around the groin area.

  Breathing heavily, Ben’s face contorted, but his grip didn’t loosen. “Scuzz…is over by the ambulance,” he gasped, his face going a strange greenish color. “They’re treating him for burns.”

  “You’re sure?”

  Ben nodded, and then, just when I expected him to give me a blast for hurting him, he angled his head to the side and kissed me. A kiss so soft and comforting it was as though he was telling me how glad he was we were alive. I felt him relax his hold and, lips attached, slid through his arms until my feet touched solid ground again.

  A mixture of guilt for the knee jab, euphoria that Scuzz was okay and the need for comfort had me deepening the kiss. After the first five seconds, guilt subsided and enjoyment kicked in. But not for long.

  “What about my dogs?” I asked, my voice cracking and tears threatening to spill as I pulled away.

  Arms still wrapped around me, Ben cocked one eyebrow and twisted his mouth into a grin. “Well, apparently, our mate, Scuzz, is a hero. He managed to save all but one dog and the only reason he couldn’t save her is because the roof caved in before he could get back in.”

  Relief flooded through me at Ben’s words. Scuzz was safe. All but one dog had been rescued. I should have been dancing for joy, but for some strange reason my legs had gone on strike and refused to do anything but shuffle. Add to that my throat was on fire and my chest hurt and all I wanted to do was cry.

  Ben’s dark eyes glinted yellow as he looked down at me, a reflection from the flames. “Now, sweetheart, can we please move right away from this fire? I admit, I did plan to be stretched out beside you tonight—but not on a slab at the mortuary.”

  “I don’t understand any of this, Ben. Who hates me so much they’d want to kill my dogs? And why?”

  “I don’t know, babe, but I’m sure as hell determined to find out.”

  We found Scuzz perched on a hard green plastic chair beside the ambulance. His face was streaked with soot, his beard singed and his leather pants scorched. In stark contrast, spotless white bandages covered both his hands.

  As we approached, Scuzz removed the oxygen mask covering his mouth and in the light of the fire I thought I saw a tear balanced precariously in the corner of one eye. I shook my head. Nah! Leather-clad bikers didn’t cry. Especially a rugged, man-mountain with legs like two-hundred-year-old tree stumps and a knife strapped to his boots.

  “How’s it going, Scuzz?”

  “Kat,” he croaked. The single tear began its slow downward roll. I gazed at the phenomenon, mesmerized, unable to stop my own tears from bubbling to the surface again. The tear slid down his cheek, reached his chin and plopped onto his boot. “I’m sosorry,” he whispered, his ruined eyes never leaving mine. “I couldn’t save her. The little white dog in the end kennel. She was so scared, yet she didn’t make a sound, not until the end and then…and then she screamed. One long, drawn-out, terrified scream.” He shook his head, wiped his nose on the back of his hand. “I’ll never get that scream out of my head as long as I live.” His eyes beseeched me to understand. “I tried to reach her, Kat. Honest. See, I’d promised I’d come back…but the fire beat me and—”

  “Oh, Scuzz…”

  Bawling like a five-year-old, I threw my arms around the big guy’s neck and hung on. “Bubbles knew you did everything possible to save her,” I assured him, hiccupping as I patted the large expanse of leather jacket under my hand. “She wouldn’t have blamed you.”

  “Bubbles? Was that her name? I called herLittle One.”

  “Hey, she’d have known you were talking to her.Little One was her nickname.” Weighing in at only 24 kilos, Bubbles had been the smallest, cutest, sweetest greyhound in my racing kennels.

  Ben shuffled from one foot to the other, concern for Scuzz scribbled in anxious lines across his face. “You okay, mate?”

  “I’ll live.”

  Scuzz placed the oxygen mask back over his nose and mouth, took a few deep breaths then ripped it off and frowned up at us. A frown so ferocious, so dire, his eyebrow rings clicked together.

  “We have to catch this maniac,” he growled, top lip curling back in a wolf snarl revealing teeth jammed together hard enough to crack the enamel.

  Ben’s eyes narrowed and grew darker. “Bloody oath, we do.” He took a step closer, bent down so he didn’t have to yell over the noise. “Don’t suppose you caught sight of the mongrel who lit the fire, did you?”

  Scuzz nodded.

  “Recognize him?”

  Scuzz
slowly shook his head. “Too dark.” I could see frustration eating at him; hear it in the bitterness of his voice. “The son-of-a-motherless-goat took off into the bushes when he saw me coming. If I had been close enough to grab him I would have hurled the creep so far into orbit he would have landed in the middle of a meteorite storm.” Scuzz shrugged his massive shoulders and stared down at his bandaged hands. “The kennel-house was on fire by this time so I couldn’t chase him. All I could do was ring the fire brigade and evacuate the dogs.”

  “Thank God you did,” I put in, affection for the big guy making it difficult to talk through the soggy lump in my throat. “You know, if I thanked you every day for the next ten years, it still wouldn’t be enough for what you did tonight, Scuzz.”

  At that moment the ambulance attendant, a motherly woman dressed in bottle green overalls with luminous yellow strips front and back, came hurrying over. She paused to replace Scuzz’s oxygen mask and check his bandages.

  “You really should get checked out at the hospital, Mr. Parkington.”

  For a moment I couldn’t work out who the ambulance attendant was addressing until Scuzz answered. “I told you before, madam,” he said, one finger pulling his mask away from his face so he could speak. “No hospital.”

  With a slight shrug she lifted his chin and checked his eyes. “No need to get upset, dear. It’s your call.”

  “Ihate hospitals,” Theodore Parkington the Third continued, his bottom lip protruding like a toddler ready to throw a tantrum. “Last time I was admitted the nurses avoided me and the doctor on duty selected the largest needle he could find to sedate me before I could even begin to explain my medical problem.” He paused and I caught a fleeting glimpse of naked pain in his face before it was whipped away by the quirking of his lips. “Anyway, hospital sheets are way too scratchy for my tender skin.”

  I grinned. Glad to see the return of the Scuzz I knew and loved. “I could always drop your black satin sheets off at reception for you. Pack them in with the Panda Bear hot-water bottle and your Superman jammies.”

  “Not necessary. I am not going to the hospital.”

  The ambulance attendant reached out and patted Scuzz on top of his shaved head. I almost expected her to select a lollypop from a jar and hand it to him. Instead, she told the giant biker not to worry, he could rest in the chair for as long as he liked.

  “While you’re here,” Ben said to the woman, “any chance of taking a look at my girlfriend?” He gently nudged me forward while I momentarily lost my breath at his use of the word, “girlfriend.” “Kat’s suffering from shock and smoke inhalation. Thought she was fireproof, didn’t she?”

  “Hello, Kat.” The attendant’s motherly smile broke out again. “Are you the owner of this establishment?”

  I nodded at her. And then my shoulders sagged as I heard the last of the kennel-house collapse behind me. All that was left was a wet smoking husk. A tumbled mess of twisted iron and blackened wood. And with it went my livelihood, my dream of making it as a professional greyhound trainer. Mr. Big, thwarted by the rescue of Erin and the success of Lofty, certainly knew which button to press to bring me to my knees.

  “Let’s take a look at you, dear.” The attendant climbed the steps into the ambulance before stretching one rubber gloved hand out to assist me. “I know it seems like your world has come to an end tonight, dear, but the main thing is no one died in the fire.”

  I straightened my shoulders and sent her a smile. She was right. I needed to be strong, not allow this lowlife to beat me. My kennel-houses could be rebuilt. Erin was safe at home. Scuzz’s burnt hands would heal. “You’re absolutely right,” I told her as she placed a cold stethoscope against my chest. “The main thing is no one died in the fire tonight.”

  Scuzz coughed and his soft voice drifted out from beneath his oxygen mask. “Except for little Bubbles.”

  29

  By the time I settled my traumatized greyhounds into outside runs and the fire brigade packed up their gear and trundled out of the gateway, it was almost two o’clock in the morning.

  Weary to the point of exhaustion, Ben, Scuzz and I trudged through the front door of my house and into the kitchen where Tater and Lucky subjected us to a royal welcome. Nails clicked and slithered on the linoleum, bodies contorted into near-impossible shapes and tails lashed joyfully. Then, certain of our full attention, Lucky wriggled under the sofa and brought out her new hot pink beanie baby for Scuzz to inspect, while Tater did his usual I’m starving tap dance beside the refrigerator.

  After distributing several slices of cheddar cheese to keep the locals happy, I slouched across to the window, leaned against the sill and gazed outside at the wreckage. Who was I kidding? It was all very well to get all pumped up, tell myself to act brave and not let Mr. Big win, but how could I possibly go on training greyhounds? All my equipment was gone. My kennel-house was a bomb site. Hell, I didn’t even own a collar and lead any more. Perhaps my mother was right and I should give up this foolishness, as she called it, quit greyhound training and get a realjob.

  Trouble is, stuffing my butt in an office chair from 9 till 5 or flipping burgers at the local burger joint would drive me nuts within a week. I loved training greyhounds. I loved the freedom of being my own boss, the crisp air that made my ears go numb on a cold winter morning, the thrill of watching my beautiful dogs stretch out at the gallop and the challenge of guiding a young dog from the time he left the breaking-in establishment to the excitement of his first race.

  Nose against the window, I let out a sigh that came from way down in my soot-covered sneakers.

  Scuzz, chest wheezing like a chronic asthmatic, placed one bandaged hand around my elbow and shepherded me across to the nearest chair. “Come along, Katrina, you must stay strong.” It was like he could read my mind. “If you give up now…you’ll have that evil man laughing.” The biker’s huge frame collided with the kitchen table as he tried to ease his body into the chair beside me. “You need to look beyond tonight’s nightmare and concentrate on the future. I have many friends who will rally around and build a temporary structure to house your dogs until a new kennel-house can be built.”

  Ben looked up from the floor where he squatted, all the better to scratch Tater’s favorite spot, the little whorl behind his left ear. “There’s more than enough iron and timber out the back of our block for a temporary kennel-house. We can use that.”

  “Good.” Scuzz raised his be-ringed eyebrows at me. “So…I’m surmising you areinsured?”

  I nodded, thanking God for my share of race wins this year which helped keep the exorbitant insurance fees up to date.

  “Good,” he said again and then paused for another body wrenching coughing fit. “And don’t worry about your dogs. The gentleman next door has already taken four off your hands. And by tomorrow I’m sure other trainers will offer to care for the rest of your team until you’re fit to train again.”

  Of course Scuzz was right. Here was I wallowing in self-pity while Scuzz, recovering from a nightmare himself, was attempting to cheer me up. It was definitely time to develop a stronger backbone. As the motherly ambulance attendant had proclaimed, no human life was lost in the fire and all but one of my dogs had been saved. After all, what was an inanimate object like a kennel-house compared to that?

  The phone chirped, scattering my thoughts to the rafters.

  Ben glanced up at the clock and frowned. “Let it go to the answering machine.”

  As though swimming through deep mud, I pushed myself off the chair and stood up. “Might be an owner who’s heard about the fire and wants to check on his dogs.”

  Ben, much to Tater’s disgust, stopped scratching behind the little dog’s ear and stood up. He opened the refrigerator door and hooked a carton of milk from a side shelf. “What say I make us a round of hot chocolate before we hit the sack?”

  “I’ll be in that. Thanks, Ben. You’ll find a bottle of brandy at the back of the food cupboard to strengthen the brew.” />
  Important details dealt with, I lifted the receiver and spoke into the handset, only to find it was Big Mistake’s previous trainer, calling from Melbourne.

  “Sorry I’m ringing so late, sweetheart,” he said, his words slurring into each other. I rolled my eyes. This I could do without. Sounded like the guy had been partying on into the night. “Bloody good win by Lofty.”

  “Yes, we were rapt.”

  “And you’ll win plenty more with that dog, sweetheart. He’s a bloody champion.”

  “He certainly is.”

  “I told Peter when he left to drive home before the big race that Lofty would win the final of the Puppy Championships. And now he’s bolted in first up for you too.”

  I frowned. Peter left beforethe big race? I thought he’d left Melbourne the morning afterthe race.

  “The wife and I won a heap of money on the big ugly bloke tonight. Backed him with the bookies and couldn’t believe the price he paid. Bloody marvelous!” The trainer’s raucous laughter had me easing the phone from my ear. “Anyway, gotta go, sweetheart, ’cos me darling wife has just refilled me glass. Can’t let me beer go flat, now can I?”

  With that he hung up.

  I shook my head, bewildered. Had Peter lied to us, or was this guy so drunk he’d forgotten what day of the week it was? I sighed, my brain too clogged with smoke, fear and unanswered questions to sort this out at the moment. I’d quiz Peter in the morning.

  “Everything okay?” asked Ben, placing three giant mugs of hot chocolate on the kitchen table.

  “That was Lofty’s previous trainer. Says he won a packet on the dog tonight and it sounded like he’s been celebrating.”

  “Typical,” growled Ben running long fingers through his already rumpled hair. “Everyone won money on Lofty—except us.”

  I quirked an eyebrow at him. “Considering we didn’t know whether Jake would be gumming Lofty’s toes together, I guess backing the dog wasn’t a huge priority for us.”