by Alison Hart
The hound dog bayed, the sound rising gloomily into the night sky. Jas shivered. She hoped Ms. Baylor carried a weapon. Though where she would hide one in her skintight outfit was a mystery.
“Could be he’s passed out drunk,” Ms. Baylor said. “You two stay here. I’m going inside.” Bending, she slid a small gun from her boot.
Jas kept hold of Grandfather. Ms. Baylor climbed the steps, arm relaxed by her side, the gun snug against her thigh. Opening the door, she stuck in her head and hollered, “Tommy! Hey, dude, it’s Shasta. We missed you at Big Mama’s.”
When there was no answer, she went inside. The door crashed shut and Jas jumped. Leaves crackled as the wind suddenly gusted, bringing with it the mournful howl of the dog. “I’m not staying out here,” she told Grandfather. He didn’t need any urging. With Jas guiding, the two hustled up the steps and into the trailer.
The smell of mold and rotten food hit her like a pie in the face. To the right, in the kitchen area, dishes were piled in the sink. An open milk carton and a half-eaten TV dinner sat on a card table. The light was on, and fat black flies buzzed from sink to table in a frenzy.
“Whew.” Jas pinched her nose. “This makes our kitchen look like an ad in Better Homes and Gardens.” Then she noticed the cupboard doors flung open and the pots and pans scattered on the floor. This was beyond messy. It was as if someone had been hunting for something.
She turned Grandfather in the direction of the living area. It contained a flat-screen TV and a worn recliner. Beer cans littered the floor. A dirty dog bed with a rawhide chew sat at the foot of the chair. A stack of magazines had been knocked over, and DVDs were strewn across the stained rug.
Jas gripped Grandfather’s arm tightly. “Someone searched the place. Ms. Baylor?” she called, keeping her voice low. A light turned on in the hallway, and the investigator walked into the living room. Her face was pale under her bright yellow bangs. Instead of her gun, a cell phone was in her hand.
“Where’s ’ooney?” Grandfather barked nervously. Jas could feel him shaking.
“He’s here. Dead.”
“Dead?” Jas’s skin turned cold. Grandfather’s arm jerked as if he’d been punched. “He’s sprawled on his bedroom floor. Someone bashed his head in.”
“Hugh,” Jas gasped.
Seventeen
“THERE’S NO PROOF IT WAS HUGH.” MS. BAYLOR began punching 911 on her cell phone.
“No!” Jas flew over and snatched it from her hand. “Don’t call the police yet.”
“I have to. It’s the law.”
“Not until we look around.” Looney might be silent, but Jas wasn’t. “The place is trashed. Hugh had to have been hunting for something. What if Looney had evidence we need? Evidence that could tie Hugh to Whirlwind? Or tell us where he took her?”
“Honey, Looney was the evidence. That’s why he was killed. The murderer made sure he wouldn’t talk.”
“Murderer? It was Hugh.”
“Regardless, I’ve got to call the police.” She held out her hand.
Reluctantly, Jas gave her the phone, but she wasn’t giving up. “When the police get here, they’ll seal this place off. If there is evidence that could lead us to Whirlwind, we’ll never find it. Just give me a few minutes to look around,” she pleaded.
Ms. Baylor opened her cell but then hesitated. “I agree: Tommy may have been smart enough to keep a record of his hauling work. But where in this trash heap would he have kept it?” Slowly, she walked into the living area, examining the mess. “It does look like Tommy knew his killer. There’s no sign of forced entry. No defense wounds. And Looney did say something odd the other night after a dozen beers loosened his tongue.”
“What?” Jas held her breath.
“‘Sometimes us poor folk can get the better of the rich.’ We’d been talking about being ‘dirt poor,’ as he put it. However …”
“He could have been talking about information he saved to bribe a wealthy client!” Jas exclaimed.
Grandfather had sunk into the recliner. “’ooney was no dummy. I bet he ’ept some kind of record, too.”
“But what kind of record? And did Hugh find it?” Bending, Ms. Baylor scrutinized the paneled walls. “No sign of a computer hookup. He could have had a laptop—and Hugh snatched it and ran. Looney’s body isn’t stiff, and the blood is only partially dried. He hasn’t been dead long.”
“Or we could have scared him off before he found the evidence,” Jas said, glad Ms. Baylor was referring to the killer as Hugh.
“No. Looney’s been dead longer than that. And no car passed us.” One ruby nail tapping her lower lip, the investigator strolled into the kitchen. Jas followed her. They stopped in front of the refrigerator. “Look, I don’t dare search the freezer, cereal boxes, or loose floorboards. If the police find out I was snooping at a crime scene, they’ll yank my investigator’s license. But that doesn’t mean you two can’t.”
Jas’s eyes lighted. She reached for the refrigerator handle.
Ms. Baylor held up her palm like a stop sign. “Gloves, please. I’ve got disposable ones in my purse. Just remember—I can’t wait too long to call. The bartender knows what time we left Big Mama’s.”
Grandfather heaved himself out of the chair. “I’ll ’art in the bedroom. ’ou stay out of ’ere, Jas.”
That was fine with her. She had no desire to see Looney’s bloodied head. She followed Ms. Baylor to the car. “Even when you call the police, we’re on the outskirts of the county, so it will take them a while to get here.”
“I know. Still, we have about fifteen, twenty minutes at the most.” The investigator reached through the rolled down window and pulled out her purse. In seconds, she found latex gloves and a penlight. Rummaging a second time, she drew out a larger flashlight. “I’m going to poke around by the truck and van. Now go.” She handed Jas the gloves and penlight. “You haven’t much time.”
Jas leaped back up the steps and into the trailer. She found Grandfather in the narrow bedroom doorway at the end of the hall. His face was gray. Raising his cane, he touched the tip to her chest, keeping her back. “I don’t want ’ou to see this.”
Jas swallowed hard as she helped him pull on the gloves. The metallic smell of blood wafted from the room. She didn’t want to see it, either. She had nothing against Tommy Looney, and she was sorry he’d died because of Hugh.
“We need to find something, Grandfather,” she whispered. “Something that will tie Hugh to Looney’s murder. Something that will help us find Whirlwind.”
“’es. I’ll check the ’athroom, too.”
“Will you be okay?”
He inhaled deeply, “’es.” Turning, he limped into the bedroom.
As Jas hurried to the kitchen, she slipped on the gloves. There wasn’t much time.
Pretend you’re Tommy Looney. Where would you hide something? Jas wasn’t even sure what she was looking for.
Hastily, she poked through the freezer and refrigerator, checking inside opened containers. She felt the floor for loose tiles, the walls for loose panels, the bottom cupboards for false bottoms or sides. She peered under the table and chair, thinking something could have been taped to the bottoms. Under the sink, she looked inside the few boxes and jars of cleaning supplies. Then she double-checked the cupboards. Last, she opened the oven, crusty with burnt food.
Nothing. She made sure she replaced everything to its original place. Then, jumping to her feet, she started on the living room. Using the penlight, she hunted under the recliner and around and under the TV and stand. There were no curtains or shades, and the rug seemed glued to the floor. Walking the perimeter, she tapped on walls. Frustration nagged her. Maybe they were wrong, and the only record Tommy had kept was in his head. That’s why Hugh had killed him.
Jas’s gaze fell on the magazines. Field and Stream. The Rifleman. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, she leafed through every one.
Ms. Baylor stuck her head inside the trailer. “Get your grandfa
ther outside and in the car. I told the police we stopped in to visit, found Tommy dead, and called immediately. They’ll be here in ten minutes.”
We need more time! But Jas didn’t dare protest. She hurried to the bathroom. Grandfather was slumped tiredly on the closed toilet seat. His face was etched with sadness. Jas had forgotten that he’d known Tommy. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
He shook his head. “I didn’t ’ind anything.”
“That’s okay.” She tried to sound upbeat. “Maybe the police will find something. This was murder. They’ll be thorough.” And it will take them forever.
By the time Jas got him in the car, sirens blared in the distance. The hound dog began barking furiously.
A wild idea hit her. “I’ve got to check one more place,” she told Ms. Baylor. “I’ll meet you by the mailbox.”
“Wait. Where are you—”
But headlights were turning into the drive. Jas took off clockwise around the trailer. It was a moonless night and so dark she ran right into a metal object and pitched into the grass. A wet tongue splatted her cheek along with snuffles and whines of delight. Jas threw her arms over her face, trying to protect herself from the slobbery greeting.
“Shhhh. It’s all right, Digger.” She patted the hound, then pushed him off her. A chain rattled as he hopped back and forth, wanting to play. “Good boy. Sit.” Miraculously, he did.
Light from the trailer dimly illuminated the wooden doghouse. The hound had worn an oval in the grass. Beyond the grass were thick woods.
Jas crept to the doghouse, Digger on her heels. Clicking on the penlight, she crawled all the way around it. It was set on bricks to keep the floor dry. She shined the beam underneath but didn’t see anything out of place. Then she stuck her head through the arched hole, grimacing at the odor. Twisting, she checked the sides and corners. The thin beam found a cruddy bone sticking from the straw bedding, but no records.
A lump of disappointment rose in her throat. Before pulling her head out, she aimed the light upward. The lump stuck in her chest. There, taped to the roof, was an ordinary white envelope.
Fingers trembling, she began peeling the tape. Faint voices came from the front of the trailer. She had no idea how long the police would interview Ms. Baylor and Grandfather. She had no idea how much the investigator would tell them. The insurance company needed the cooperation of the police, so obviously she would tell the truth. But that truth didn’t include what Jas might find in the envelope.
Digger let out a woof, then shoved his head inside. Jas pulled off the last of the tape. She slid the envelope underneath her T-shirt, tucking it into the waistband of her jeans.
“Good boy.” She ruffled the hound’s floppy ears. “Now let me out.” As she crawled backward, her foot hit a food pan, making a clattering noise. She froze. Beams of light bobbed wildly to her left, and the voices grew louder. The police were following her path around the back of the trailer.
Scrambling to her feet, she bolted for the woods. Digger bounded after her. He hit the end of the chain. It snapped him to a hard stop, and he whined pitifully. “Dang you, dog.” Running back, she unsnapped the chain, worried he’d hurt himself.
Together they raced into the woods.
Sticks snapped, branches slapped. Digger trotted ahead as if on a path, so Jas kept behind him. But she knew he’d head to a coon tree or a rabbit hole. She had to get back to the road or she’d be lost forever.
When she was far enough to be safely out of sight, she knelt in the leaves. The flashlight beams bounced off the trailer. They aimed at the windows, not the doghouse or the woods. The police weren’t searching for her. They were checking the perimeter. That meant they didn’t realize that an idiotic teenager, pretending to be Nancy Drew, was on the loose.
Placing one palm on the envelope, Jas stood. Carefully, she made her way through the woods, keeping the trailer lights in sight. She didn’t dare turn on the penlight for fear of being spotted.
What seemed like forever, she stumbled from the woods onto the road. The mailbox was twenty feet to her right. She jogged toward it, crouching behind the huge tires. Briars had scratched her arms, and branches had left knots on her forehead. Her throat was parched. But when she crinkled the envelope, a smile stretched her cheeks.
She crouched there until headlights came from the direction of the trailer. Jas hunkered lower as a car slowed at the end of the drive and then turned left. The Ford crawled past. “Jas!” Ms. Baylor hissed out the rolled down window.
She sprang from behind the tires. Yanking open the door, she piled into the backseat the same time the hound vaulted into the car. His tongue swatted her face like a wet washcloth. Jas slammed shut the door. “Go!”
“What in the world?” From the front seat, Ms. Baylor and Grandfather stared at Digger, then at Jas. She elbowed the hound off her lap. “Just go!”
Tires scrabbling at the gravel, the Escort rumbled down the road. “Sorry it took so long.” Ms. Baylor said when they were a safe distance from Looney’s. “The police asked a million questions.” The investigator stared at Jas in the rearview mirror. “Well? Did you find anything?”
“An envelope taped to the top of the doghouse.” She pulled it from under her T-shirt.
The Ford jerked to a stop. Ms. Baylor swung around in her seat. “What’s in it?”
Jas stared at the envelope. In her adrenaline rush, she’d imagined it contained the location where Tommy had taken Whirlwind. Now she realized it could be anything—like the warranty for the doghouse or Digger’s immunizations.
Fingers trembling, she opened the envelope. It contained a folded piece of notebook paper, like the kind she used at school. Slowly, she unfolded it. It was a handwritten list with dates and abbreviations. At first nothing made sense except the dates. Then Jas studied it closer, and her pulse began to race. “I think I found it. I think I found a record of the horses Tommy hauled!”
Eighteen
MS. BAYLOR PUT THE CAR IN PARK AND TURNED in the seat. Her penciled eyebrows rose up to touch her bangs. “Are you certain it’s Looney’s records?”
“No, not certain.” Leaning forward, Jas clicked on the penlight and held the sheet so Grandfather and the investigator could see it. “Look. The left-hand column contains dates. The middle contains abbreviations, maybe for places? Followed by an amount—see there’s the word one. And the last column is … I don’t know.” She blew out a breath of frustration, suddenly realizing her initial reaction was hasty. If the list was about hauling horses, it made no sense.
“Wait, wait.” Ms. Baylor studied the sheet. “I think you’re right.” She ran her pointy nail down to an entry dated 6/1. “That must mean June first. Isn’t that the date Whirlwind was hauled from the farm?”
Jas nodded, her excitement returning. “And look. Next to the date is HMF—High Meadows Farm! Then ‘one’—one horse? And ‘one hundred thirty m.’”
“One hundred and thirty miles,” Ms. Baylor guessed.
“Yes, yes! One horse was hauled a hundred thirty miles from High Meadows Farm on June first. That has to be Whirlwind!” Jas began to bounce on the edge of the car seat like a little kid.
The investigator frowned. “Except the entry ends with the word black.”
“And ’irlwind is chestnut,” Grandfather said.
Jas inhaled sharply. Her fingers gripped the notebook paper. “No, that can’t be right,” she whispered.
Grandfather patted her hand.
“Even if it was Whirlwind, the entries don’t tell us exactly where he took her,” Ms. Baylor said. “It must have been his record of mileage—maybe for payment—so we could check towns in a hundred-thirty-mile radius.”
“Which will give us how many towns? A hundred?” Her voice rose as she realized the futility. “It might as well be a million.”
“I’m sorry, Jas.”
She nodded. A tear trickled down her cheek. Digger stuck his nose in her face and slurped it away.
“The good n
ews is, the police are taking Tommy’s death seriously,” Ms. Baylor went on. “Meaning they aren’t labeling it ‘drug deal gone bad’ or ‘neighbor shot over barking dog.’ I told them about the possible link between Hugh and Tommy. Maybe something will come of it.”
Jas threw herself back against the seat. “Sure. Like Hugh will convince his golfing buddy—who just happens to be the prosecutor—that Tommy bashed himself in the head.”
“Come on, don’t give up. I’m still looking at the horse dealers that Hugh might have worked with. Perhaps I can link one with a town a hundred thirty miles from here. Okay?” She again started the car down the road.
The hound dropped his head in Jas’s lap. She stroked his soft ears, trying to hold back the despair. Every lead, every clue, every possibility seemed to turn to nothing. The information to Whirlwind’s whereabouts had died with Tommy Looney. Just as Hugh wanted.
Jas was about to angrily scrunch the list into a ball when she decided to look at it again. Ms. Baylor was right. She couldn’t let Hugh win this easily. Examining the sheet, she tried to make sense of the entries. Obviously, Tommy had hauled a horse on June 1. And HMF had to be High Meadows Farm. And hadn’t he all but admitted the day she’d called him on the phone that it was a chestnut horse? Then why the notation “black” in the right-hand column?
She scanned the right-hand column of the other entries. Several others had “black” listed. Yet most of the other entries had names: Smith, Woodward, Gentry.
Suddenly Jas understood: “black” was not a color. It was a name. Scott Black the horse dealer! Words tumbling from her mouth, she explained her discovery to Ms. Baylor. Grandfather had fallen asleep, his head tipped forward. “And his barn’s in Lexington—that’s about sixty-five miles away—a hundred thirty round trip!”
“Hey, girl, you’re good!” Reaching back, Ms. Baylor slapped palms with her.
“Except I thought you said Scott Black was squeaky-clean,” Jas said.