by Jen Blood
“I wasn’t out.” At least it was an answer, even if it was clearly a lie.
“Well, you weren’t in your bed, either.” I lowered my voice, glancing back toward the door. Could they monitor these conversations? I knew they couldn’t if he was talking to a lawyer, but there was no such privilege when a boy was talking to his mother, was there?
“When Doug comes, I need you to tell him the truth,” I said quietly. “I don’t care what that truth is—we’ll handle it. But no one can help you if you won’t be straight with them.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said numbly.
I hesitated. “There will be a hearing on Monday to set bail, but we can’t get you out before then. You’ll have to spend the weekend here.”
“I know,” he said. Did his voice break, or was I just imagining that? “Monty told me. I’ll be okay.”
“Just keep to yourself. If you don’t mix with anyone else, they won’t have a reason to bother you.”
For the first time, he looked at me. He actually smiled. “I’m not in Alcatraz, Mom. All those prison movies don’t apply here, okay? The guards have been nice to me, and there are only like five other guys in here. I can make it through the weekend. I’ll be okay.”
At his assurance, I felt that mask of reason I’d had in place since walking in here start to slip. My eyes welled, but I shut down the emotion fast.
“I love you, kiddo. We’ll get through this. And if you need anything—anything at all—find a way to reach me and I’ll be here just as fast as I can be. I promise.”
“I know, Mom,” he said. His voice was quieter now. For the first time, I saw genuine fear in his eyes. Pain. He looked away, pulling himself back together. “I’ll talk to you again soon,” he said, his voice low. “You better get going.”
The guard came in, and I remained seated while the man escorted Bear away.
How was this happening?
How in hell was any of this happening?
Chapter 22
FROM THE COUNTY JAIL, I returned to the Littlehope town wharf and headed back to Windfall Island. Which, it turned out, was a madhouse by the time I got home at noon that day. Casper was frantic at sight of me, and I spent ten precious minutes just comforting the poor pit bull when I first got through the doors of the galley, where I’d called an impromptu staff meeting. Therese, Monty, and Sarah were all there waiting for me, and I felt another wave of guilt at abandoning ship last night. Everyone looked exhausted.
“How’s he doing?” Therese asked, before anyone else could get the same question out. There was no need to ask who she meant.
“He’s freaked out,” I said. “But he’s okay. Jack’s working on some leads, so we can get the real killer and get Bear out of there as soon as possible.”
“It’s crazy,” Sarah said. “No way would Bear do this. He’s the most peaceful guy I’ve ever met.”
She wore cargo pants and a T-shirt with two kittens armed with machine guns, which I found disconcerting at best. She caught my look, and shrugged. “Sorry. It’s laundry day.”
“The press will be sniffing around today,” I said. “I’m not sure ‘arm the animals’ is the message we want to put out there when one of our own is facing a murder charge because he threatened an animal hoarder.”
“Something should be dry by now. I’ll go change.”
“I appreciate that,” I assured her. “Any other day…”
She waved me off. “I know. Don’t worry, I’m not feeling oppressed yet. Aside from a new uniform, what’s the plan for today?”
“What’s the status on the animals we’ve taken in?” I asked Therese, rather than answering the question.
The veterinarian consulted her notes. Her short gray hair stood straight up on end, and I caught a whiff of body odor that suggested she hadn’t showered today. Or this week.
“Everybody’s stable. We got the shearer out yesterday and he took care of Cornelius—”
I looked at her uncertainly. “Cornelius?”
“The big black and white sheep,” she explained. “He was a mess under all that wool, but he’s doing better. Farrier came out last night and took care of the goats and the donkey, and we’ve got somebody coming today to file down the llamas’ teeth.”
“And the dogs?”
“All good,” she assured me, to my surprise. “We’ve got a slew with mange and parasites, but they’ve all been treated. The mange will take some time to clear up, but we’re slowly starting them over to the Windfall diet. So far, they seem to be tolerating it well.”
“Just be sure to go slow. And the worst cases of malnutrition shouldn’t get it at all for now—just get them stable first.”
The Windfall Diet consists of organic meat and a stew of vegetables and supplements, all of them mixed in our own kitchen. Depending on the dog’s constitution, the meat is either raw or cooked. Either way, it works wonders for my K-9 team, and the diet shift is the first thing I do when newcomers came on board. However, any dog dealing with the kind of malnutrition Nancy’s dogs were would have to build up to something like this over time. It definitely isn’t a diet for sick dogs.
“What about Reaver?” I asked. The last I’d seen him, the pit bull had been on death’s doorstep.
“Come see for yourself,” Therese said. “I was worried, but Bear slept in the kennel with him last night.”
It wasn’t the first time Bear had done this, and I was sure it wouldn’t be the last. I hedged, stomach turning. Unless, of course, he was convicted of murder and spent the next fifty years in prison. “This morning, he was up and eating. Bear even took him out for a run.”
“How was he with the other animals?”
“Bear kept him on lead, but he seemed fine. He doesn’t like loud noises, and he hates being chained up. But Bear had Casper with him at a safe distance, and Reaver barely seemed to notice.”
“When you were writing up Reaver’s report, did you do any research on that belly tattoo?” I asked.
“Whoever got to him did a good job burning it off,” Therese said grimly. “I can’t tell much of anything beyond a 3 that’s on there, and even that isn’t totally clear. Could be a partially burned 8. Maybe even just the letter ‘b.’”
“Monty, when you were in the military did you ever work with K-9s?” I asked.
He looked up. “Sometimes. Why? You think Reaver could have been military?”
“I’ve got a hunch. Do you know anyone I could talk to to get that kind of information?”
“Let me make a couple of calls,” he said. “There’s a guy on the mainland who could probably help.”
“That would be great.” I paused. “What do you hear from Grace?”
“Nothing for twenty-four hours now. I haven’t been able to reach Shonda’s mother, either. They must have been evacuated.”
“They should still have their phones, though,” I argued. He frowned, eyes shadowed.
“Yeah, I know. The thought has occurred to me.”
“Wrap up what you need to here. You should plan on going down there as soon as possible.”
“Shonda made it clear. She doesn’t want my help.”
“Well, you can fight about that when you find her. This is your daughter we’re talking about. The hurricane hasn’t made landfall yet, but it will soon.”
“Everything’s gone to shit here—”
“Not your fault. Not your problem,” I said firmly. I fixed him with a stern glare, unnerved at the depth of his uncertainty. Monty was my rock—he was never uncertain.
“I’m serious, Monty. Go. We’ll deal without you.”
He nodded resolutely, and didn’t wait for me to resume my conversation with the others before he was on his way out the door.
When we were finished in the galley, I headed out to the kennels to check on the dogs. They started up with an ear-splitting greeting as I came through the door, and the headache I’d managed to shake returned with a vengeance.
“Easy, guys,” I said, as soot
hingly as I could. “No reason to lose your minds. I’m just doing roll call.”
Just as Therese had said, most everyone looked okay. Not great, but at least they were on the road to recovery. Some were better than others, and the fact that Nancy had worked primarily with smaller dogs worked in our favor. Even with behavioral issues or minor health problems, we would likely be able to find foster homes to ease their transition to a permanent placement.
I strolled past a kennel full of runny-eyed pugs, another with three yappy terriers—Oswald among them, and the next with the mangy Newfoundland, Cody. The massive dog had been shaved to treat the mange, and without the fur he was pitifully thin. He was lying down on the bed provided, and lifted his great black head to watch me as I walked by.
“Hey, Cody,” I said calmly. “Don’t worry, you’ve got a good home waiting for you. Life will get better, I promise.”
He was likely two or three, possibly younger. Newfoundlands already live notoriously short lives, and the fact that his nutritional needs hadn’t been met early on didn’t work in his favor. Still, Hank seemed like a good man who was ready to put the time in. However many years Cody had left, they would certainly be better than the ones he’d spent with Nancy.
I continued on, speaking quiet words of encouragement to each of the dogs, evaluating as I went.
In the kennel at the end, I was surprised to note that the blanket between Reaver’s kennel and the second to last had been removed. An odd-looking beagle/Dachshund kind of mix who was visibly pregnant watched me with wide, baleful eyes. Reaver sat at the door of the kennel, reminding me for all the world of a soldier at attention.
“Hey, sweet boy,” I crooned through the gate. His tail waved, but he remained seated. “Mind if I come in for a second and check you out?”
I reached for the latch, careful to keep my movement slow and controlled. Reaver didn’t seem concerned, though he stood and backed up to allow my entrance.
“How are you doing, Reav,” I said conversationally. The kennel floor was clean, the door to the outside kennel open for him. I noted that the other area was likewise spotless. If he’d been housetrained early on, that training may be kicking back in now. For some dogs, a kennel situation can be incredibly stressful because the desire not to use the bathroom indoors is so ingrained that they actually make themselves sick trying to hold their urine.
“You want to take a walk, big guy?” I asked.
He stood eagerly, tail wagging harder now. I took the leash clipped to his kennel door, and called up the line to other workers in the area.
“I’m coming out with Reaver. Everybody else in?”
There was a pause before I got Sarah’s response. “Everybody’s in—go ahead.”
There’s a fine art to getting a dog-reactive or dog-aggressive dog past a line of occupied kennels. It’s a dangerous business that can easily end in disaster if the handler doesn’t know what she’s doing. I was prepared for a fraught walk up the line. Instead, Reaver walked sedately beside me in a perfect heel, paying no attention whatsoever to the barking, occasionally lunging dogs on either side of him.
How could anyone have mistaken this dog for a killer? Had he truly given Nancy reason to, or was he just terrified, traumatized, and she reacted to that and his appearance in a way that just made his issues that much worse?
My hunch about the housetraining proved correct, because the moment he was outside Reaver lifted his leg and liberally christened the nearest pine tree. A few feet farther on, he crouched. His stool was still runny with a couple of flecks of blood, but it was worlds better than it had been just yesterday.
Phantom had spotted us when I first came out of the kennel. She minded my “stay back” command well, but still trailed after us with clear curiosity over the newcomer.
I was certain that Reaver was aware of her presence, but his posture remained relaxed. I hesitated. I wanted to know the extent of his aggression, but had to do so without risking Phantom’s safety. Even on leash with Phantom free, an animal with real dog-aggression issues could do serious—even fatal—damage if she got close enough and he turned on her.
“Easy, Reav,” I assured him in a soft voice. “I’m not bringing you back in yet. I just need to grab something.”
I attached his leash to a line outside the building, checked to make sure no one was around, and darted into the kennel to grab a muzzle. Phantom watched me from a safe distance, her attention still split between me and Reaver.
“Hey,” Sarah said when I stepped through the door. “I talked to Tracy, and she says she’s got fosters for the pugs, the terriers, and a possible placement for that big lab-looking guy. Somebody else has volunteered to take Celia.”
I shook my head, clueless. I’d been away for less than twenty-four hours, and I felt like a stranger in a strange land. “Who’s Celia?”
“Pregnant beagle-looking thing at the end of the line. They’ve fostered newborns before, are all up on early puppy care. Do you think Bear will mind?”
“No,” I said, without hesitation. “He just wants what’s best for everyone. He knows an actual home setting is the best way to train everybody, and get them acclimated to their future forever family.”
“Yeah, that’s what I figured,” she agreed. “I’ll let Tracy know.”
“Perfect. Thanks—you’re doing an incredible job with all this. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.”
She seized on that. “Do you appreciate it enough for a favor?”
“What kind of favor?” I asked. I was at the wall of leashes, Gentle Leaders, collars, and muzzles, but found the drawer that should contain muzzles for larger dogs frustratingly empty. “Do we have any more sixty-plus pound muzzles?”
“Check the next drawer. Things have been crazy, they may have gotten misplaced.”
Sure enough, I found one crammed into the drawer for medium-sized muzzles. “Got it, thanks. Now, what can I do for you?” I shifted to take a quick look outside to make sure Reaver was still okay, and froze. “Sorry—it’ll have to wait,” I said hurriedly, and dashed out the door.
Too late, as it turned out.
Phantom had already decided she was ready for an introduction, and she wasn’t waiting for me.
The shepherd lay down a couple of feet from Reaver—close enough that the dog could easily reach her if he wanted. Reaver, however, was likewise lying down in the grass. Phantom crawled a little bit closer, belly never leaving the ground. My dog, the Ninja.
I watched Reaver’s body language closely, poised to intervene if it became necessary. His tail waved, his body loose. He relaxed onto his side.
And then, he rolled onto his back, belly exposed. Phantom looked at me with a panting grin, and did the same.
I watched in awe as the two bicycled their hind legs in tandem, bodies wriggling in the warm grass. When they were done, they’d wriggled themselves close enough for a proper greeting. Reaver righted himself, and looked at me as though for permission.
“It’s okay,” I said. “You can say hello. Just don’t eat her, please.”
He did no such thing. Instead, he sniffed her backside briefly, bumped his body against hers, and lay back down. Phantom, well used to being taunted and tormented by Casper, looked utterly confounded.
She lay down beside the pit bull, closer this time, and relaxed with her head on her paws.
Huh.
I unclipped Reaver’s leash from the line and set out again, this time with Phantom keeping pace beside the other dog. They walked easily together, bodies occasionally bumping together, tails at half staff and their mouths relaxed in open, welcoming grins.
My cell rang as we were approaching the galley. Reaver was still on leash, and I had no intention of letting him off until I had a clear idea of what I was dealing with, but we’d fenced a five-acre dog yard adjacent to the galley so staff and guests could let their dogs roam and play while they ate. That dog yard was currently unoccupied.
“Hello,” I said into the r
eceiver. I’d answered without checking the ID, too preoccupied to take the extra time. I let myself into the gated area with Reaver beside me. Phantom whined when I kept her on the other side of the fence. If something went sideways between the dogs, however, there would be no place for Phantom to escape to. For this meeting, I needed to be fully focused on the two dogs.
“Jamie?” a familiar voice said. I nearly wept upon hearing the Nigerian accent I’d come to love.
“Hey, sweetie,” I said to Ren. I let Reaver off his leash. He stood still for a moment, as though confused. “It’s so good to hear your voice.”
“You too,” she said. “I’m sorry I haven’t kept in touch better. The time difference…”
“Don’t worry about it, it’s fine. It’s just good to talk now.” I hesitated. “What’s up?”
There was a pause on the other end of the line, before she spoke again. When she did, her voice was hushed, as though she didn’t want to be overheard. “I just wanted to check in. I…I was just wondering. Is Bear okay?”
“Why do you ask?” I said, rather than answering the question.
“I’ve tried to call him the last couple of days, and he’s not answering. He’s not answering his texts, either. That’s not really like him.”
“When was the last time you talked to him?” I asked. Reaver had ventured away from me, though he was moving very carefully, his attention riveted on the world around.
“Tuesday night,” she said promptly. “It wasn’t a good conversation.”
Now why wasn’t I surprised about that? “What time did you speak to him? Do you remember?”
“About eleven my time, so a lot later for him. Probably two a.m. He didn’t sound good—he was very upset.” She sniffled wetly, and I realized she was crying. “He wouldn’t tell me what was wrong, just kept saying that we shouldn’t talk anymore. He said it was messing with his head.”
“He broke up with you,” I said.
Another pause. When she spoke again, she sounded confused. “Well… No. We broke up before I left. He didn’t tell you? I didn’t want to,” she added hastily. “But he kept talking about all these opportunities I would have here. These other guys I could date. I told him, I’m not interested in dating somebody else. But then I thought, perhaps he had girls he would like to see. I didn’t want to tie him down.”