Three Dog Day

by Lia Farrell

  “Yes, sure, honey. I’m fine.”

  “You sound funny.”

  Ben was Mae’s handsome boyfriend and the sheriff of Rose County. They had been a couple for nearly a year. They met when Mae turned in a report that her neighbor, Ruby Mead Allison, was missing. Shortly thereafter, Mae stumbled on Ruby’s dead body and found herself a suspect in a murder case. It had been a rocky start. Once Ruby Mead Allison’s killer had been identified, they were hit by another complication when Ben found out he had a son by his former fiancée, Katie. But they had gotten past all that and now were quite happily in love.

  “I’m okay now, but I got lost in the snowstorm today. I’m finally starting to warm up.”

  “I’m glad you’re all right. You should take a hot bath if you’re still chilled. Listen, Mae, I don’t mean to cut you off, but I wanted you to know that I won’t be able to come over until late tonight, if at all. We’ve got cars in ditches all over the county.”

  As Sheriff of Rose County, Mae’s boyfriend had a lot of responsibilities. And many people in Middle Tennessee were not used to driving in wintry conditions. Still, Mae was disappointed that Ben would be late.

  “At least the kids are still out on Christmas break,” she said. “The last thing you need to deal with is school buses on these roads.”

  “You’re right, Mae. They were supposed to go back tomorrow, but it looks like they’ll get at least one more day off. Maybe two. I’ve gotta go. Hopefully I’ll see you late tonight.”

  “Be careful out there,” she told him. I don’t want to lose you like I lost Noah.

  “I will. Bye.”

  Chapter Two

  January 5th

  Dory Clarkson

  It had been two days since the big snowstorm, and things were mostly back to normal in Rosedale, Tennessee. Miss Dory Clarkson, Sheriff Ben Bradley’s glamorous office manager of a certain age, had arrived at the office early. She was reading the “How to Become a Deputy” section of the Tennessee Sheriff’s Manual. Her perfectly polished French manicure gleamed, showing up nicely on her coffee-colored fingers as she flipped quickly through the pages. The temperature in the sheriff’s office was a little lower than optimum. Dory reached for the blue suit coat hanging on the back of her chair and put it on.

  She felt around in the pocket and pulled out her lipstick and a mirrored compact. After applying another layer, she pursed her lips and looked briefly at her unlined bronze complexion and new shorter hair style. You’ve still got it, kiddo. The office phone rang and she answered in a distracted tone, saying, “Sheriff’s office.” Stupid phone was a nuisance, disrupting her studies.

  “About damn time somebody answered the phone. Who is this?” The man sounded furious, at the end of his rope.

  “This is Miss Dory Clarkson. I’m the office manager. What can I help you with?” Dory used her most soothing voice, trying to defuse the man’s frustration. It was awfully early in the morning for this level of drama.

  “I’m Logan Yancey. Don’t know if you know who I am, but I’m building that multi-million dollar new subdivision up on the ridge, north of town. It’s called Pine Lodge Estates.”

  “Yes, Mr. Yancey. Do you wish to report a crime?”

  “I certainly do,” he said. “I’ve had about one hundred thousand dollars’ worth of high-end building materials hijacked off my site. The bastards took three fireplace inserts and all the copper piping for four houses in addition to two pallets of Carrera marble for the entryways. I expect you to get someone out here today to investigate.”

  “Certainly, sir,” Dory said.

  Sheriff Ben Bradley opened the front door to the office and came in with a blast of cold air. Dory touched her finger to her lips, and he grabbed the door quickly before it could slam behind him. Dory flipped the phone on speaker so Ben could hear the conversation.

  “What time can I expect someone here?”

  “I’ll write up an incident report right now and talk to the sheriff ASAP. What’s your phone number please?” He gave it to her and she jotted it down. “Thank you, Mr. Yancey. We’ll get back to you right away, sir.” Dory rolled her eyes at the sheriff.

  “Who was that?” Ben asked, after she ended the call, “and how did he get you to do all that ‘yes sir’ stuff? You don’t give me that level of respect.”

  “That was Mr. Logan Yancey. He’s the builder of that new luxury development called Pine Lodge Estates. He had some building materials ripped off to the tune of about one hundred K. Could you call him back and get the details? I need to get back to my studying.” Dory handed Ben the phone number.

  “Thought you were supposed to be working here,” Ben said. He rubbed the back of his neck and narrowed his eyes, but Dory caught a glimpse of a twinkle in his eye.

  “Women, as you know, Sheriff, are capable of doing two things at once.” She gave him a pointed stare. The sheriff raised his arms in surrender and walked down the hall to his office. Dory called after him, saying, “And if you’d hired another staff person to help handle the office duties like you promised, we’d have enough help around here.”

  Only a few minutes later, the phone rang again. Trying not to reveal her exasperation, Dory said, “Rose County Sheriff’s office.”

  “Can I speak to the sheriff?” the adolescent male voice squeaked.

  “He’s on the line with someone else right now. I’ll give him a message. Do you wish to make a complaint or report a crime?”

  There was a long pause and at that moment Dory turned her attention away from the deputy manual and came to complete attention. A young person rarely called the office, and if they did, they usually hung up almost immediately, giggling. Dory was on alert and concerned.

  “What’s your name, honey?”

  “It’s Ray, but I, well I don’t want to tell you my last name.”

  “That’s fine, son. Are you all right? Do you need an officer?”

  “No. I clean dog cages after school for a breeder. He says he’s a breeder, but I think this place would be called a puppy mill. The mother dogs can’t even turn around in the cages and if I don’t come over there, they don’t always get water and food. I can’t come every day. I’m only in ninth grade.” His voice cracked again.

  “I’ll have to do some checking with the sheriff or one of his deputies, but I’m afraid puppy mills aren’t illegal. However, what you’re describing may be animal cruelty and that’s against the law. Give me the name and address of the property owner, please.”

  “The guy I work for is named Jerrod Clifton. The address is fifteen hundred, North Branch. Rosedale Township.” His voice was so quiet it was almost a whisper.

  “Thank you, Ray. I’ll get on it.”

  They said goodbye just as George Phelps, their portly freckled deputy with reddish hair, walked into the office, yawning. Dory pounced on him immediately. As he walked past her desk, she stood up, put her hand on his arm and smiled up at him flirtatiously. Looking up at him was difficult; after all, she was exactly his height—five feet, five inches. She bent her knees slightly and poured on the charm.

  “George, honey, could you help me out for an hour or so?”

  “Um, what do you need, Miss Dory? I’m kind of busy right now. I have stuff to do on the computer.”

  Dory just refrained from rolling her eyes. The laziest person in the office, George used his computer mostly for playing online games. She had discovered this one day when she was snooping through his “Favorite” sites. After that, she felt it was important to monitor his work to ensure that his mind was on his job. She paused in chagrin, realizing she wasn’t exactly on the job at the moment herself.

  “I just need you to get the phones for a while, sweetie. I’m taking my deputy exam soon and I need to study. I’ll use the conference room, so I’ll be here if you need me. Please, George?”

  George gave her a hapless stare and without waiting for his assent—which Dory considered a foregone conclusion—she left the room quickly, her leopard-pat
terned stiletto heels clicking. George sighed and sat down at Dory’s desk. The phone rang again, almost immediately.

  “Sheriff’s office,” she heard George say dolefully as she entered the conference room and closed the door.

  Early that afternoon—after the sheriff had evicted George from her desk, sent him out on a routine call, and returned her to the phones—Dory turned on her computer and Googled the Tennessee statutes for the definition of a commercial breeder. It read:

  Any person who possesses or maintains twenty or more adult female dogs for the purpose of the sale of their offspring as companion animals.

  She wished she had asked Ray how many animals were in the kennel. She was still troubled by his cracking voice. “Poor kid,” she said quietly to herself, “he just wants to do the right thing and I can’t even help him. Some deputy I’m going to be.”

  She did some more reading, finding the basic standards for animal care. The American Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals (ASPCA) could order a raid, using animal cruelty statutes, but probably needed more information than an anonymous tip from some boy in the throes of a voice change. She walked down the hall to Sheriff Ben Bradley’s office and knocked on his half-open door.

  “Yes,” he answered, looking up from the papers on his desk.

  “I got a call this morning asking us to look into a puppy mill. The person who called said there was neglect and possible cruelty going on. The property belongs to a Mr. Jerrod Clifton. Should I call the ASPCA and report it?”

  “Definitely,” he said. “Please call before you leave today. If Mae December found out somebody in Rose County was being cruel to dogs at a puppy mill, she would never get off my case. In fact, you should probably ask her what she knows about standards for breeders. Hey, Dory,” Ben looked at her with eyebrows raised, “I’ve been thinking about you. I know you’re going to take the deputy exam soon, but would you want to do the investigating on this one? I could make you the investigator in charge of the puppy mill case if you’d like that.”

  “Really?” Dory ran around to Ben’s side of the desk and grabbed her boss in a tight hug. “Thank you, thank you!”

  “Don’t thank me yet. If the ASPCA does a raid, I’ll expect you to go to the site and assist. You’ll have to write up a report. And check to see if this Jerrod Clifton guy who owns the puppy mill property is in the system, will you?” A corner of his mouth rose in a lopsided grin.

  Miss Dory Clarkson floated out the door on a cushion of air. Back at her desk, she called the ASPCA and spoke with the director of the Nashville office, a Mr. Lawrence Gunderson. He said he would dispatch an agent to check out the facility immediately. He would let her know if they raided the facility. Dory intended to go with them.

  On her way home that evening, Dory thought back over the months since the successful closing of the Tom Ferris case last August. That was when the idea first occurred to her to become a deputy. Her subtle questioning of Evangeline Bontemps about Tom Ferris’ Last Will and Testament and the night she went to the biker bar with Detective Wayne Nichols had been eye-opening. She had always excelled at ferreting out background data, but learning how to establish rapport with people for the purpose of eliciting information was intoxicating. When Sheriff Bradley thanked her on TV in the press conference, she knew her days as the office manager for the Rosedale County Sheriff’s Department were numbered. A sense of satisfaction came over her every time she remembered her boss’ words thanking her for her contribution to the “solve.”

  The journey from office manager to deputy, however, was proving challenging. There were both physical and knowledge tests she had to pass. Now, half a year later, she had been working out in a gym for months. The standards were surprisingly high. The candidate needed a high school diploma. That wasn’t a problem. The person had to be fingerprinted by the Tennessee Bureau of Investigation. She had taken care of that part and her fingerprints did not turn up any criminal record. She was relieved. There had been that one time in high school when she’d found that perfect lipstick and had been just the teensiest bit short of money ….

  The required session with a psychologist had been a breeze. Its purpose was to certify that she was mentally fit for the duties of a deputy. She had enjoyed chatting with the man and passed with flying colors. In fact, he told her she was almost “too well adjusted” to enjoy chasing criminals. Her medical exam was also a breeze. “You’re going to live to a hundred,” the doctor told her. The drug screen urinalysis showed no trace of drugs, as she knew it wouldn’t. Dory hated what drugs did to people and never used them.

  The problem was the two-phase test of physical ability and agility. There was a broad jump, sit-ups, push-ups, chin-ups, and a dummy drag. Then there was a mile-long run. Dory had hired a personal trainer, Alex Compton, a good-looking young black guy who worked diligently with her for months. He was encouraging, although he frowned whenever she had to stop to catch her breath. Passing the physical challenge was going to be tough.

  When she saw the chart stating the physical requirements, Dory learned that the age for women only went up to age fifty-nine. Miss Dory was just a tad bit over the age limit. To her irritation, she found that males could take the test up to the age of sixty-nine. After a quiet, confidential chat with Evangeline Bontemps, her dear friend and attorney, she raised the issue with the sheriff, biding her time until Ben was in a good mood—after a night he spent with his girlfriend, Mae December. She showed him the chart that specified upper age limits for both men and women.

  “See, Sheriff, this just isn’t right,” Dory said. “Look at this table here. Old guys can take these tests up to the age of almost seventy, but fit women of a certain age have been excluded. Ms. Bontemps says its discrimination.” Sheriff Bradley sighed.

  “Dory, I’m impressed with your commitment to becoming a deputy, but I’m not willing to enter a lawsuit over this.” He shook his head. “We might even win, eventually, but it would cost a bundle and it could take years. You could be dead by the time we won the case.”

  “Can’t you have your auntie, the judge, help with this?” she asked. “We don’t need to change the rules for everybody, just for me.”

  The sheriff shook his head. “How old are you anyway, Dory?”

  “I know your mama raised you better than that, Sheriff,” she told him. “Asking a woman’s age is off limits.” Lowering her eyes so he wouldn’t notice her evasion, she said, “I’m eligible, just wanted to get your reaction.”

  In fact, Dory was above the listed age, but when she completed the online application for the deputy test, to her surprise it didn’t ask her age.

  They probably knew asking was discrimination, Dory thought. She called Evangeline to tell her the good news.

  “Of course, they could ask your age when you check in for the test,” Evangeline said cautiously.

  “With my youthful good looks?” Dory asked. “I doubt it. Luckily women of color don’t age as fast as white women do.”

  “It’s odd, isn’t it?” Evangeline mused. “There’s still so much prejudice against black skin, yet it ages better and stays youthful-looking longer. I just hope they don’t ask you for your driver’s license.”

  “Me too,” Dory whispered. All the months of effort would be wasted if she didn’t get a chance to take that exam.

  When Dory got home, she called Mae—Ben Bradley’s girlfriend as well as the daughter of Suzanne December, one of Dory’s oldest friends. Dory quickly acquainted Mae with the details of what young Ray had reported.

  “A puppy mill! In Rose county? It just makes my blood boil. I have no idea why they aren’t against the law. That’s nothing like what I do, breeding one or two litters a year. My females only have three or four litters before I retire them. Those poor females have litter after litter until they die.”

  “I know. It’s awful. I’m going to do something about it. Ben appointed me as an investigator and told me I was in charge of the case.”

  “Will
you be able to assist the ASPCA when they raid the place?” Mae asked.

  “That’s the plan,” Dory answered with determination.

  Chapter Three

  January 5th

  Mae December

  In all the seventeen years that Mae December had known her best friend Tammy Rodgers, she had never seen her like this. Even when she was a thirteen-year-old with braces and no figure to speak of, Tammy was a well groomed, high-energy morning person. Mae had returned from the barn after doing her kennel chores to find Tammy sound asleep on her sofa.

  Mae stood in the kitchen, quietly helping herself to coffee as she studied her friend, who lay sprawled on the living room sofa. Tammy was wearing ratty sweats. Sweats! And no makeup. With disheveled hair. She was also snoring.

  “Tammy, wake up,” Mae said, touching Tammy’s shoulder.

  Tammy sat up with a sudden snort, staring at Mae.

  “What’s that awful smell?”

  “That is not an awful smell. I might not be a gourmet cook, but I scrambled some perfectly fresh eggs a little while ago and made toast,” Mae answered. “Would you like coffee or tea?”

  “I don’t feel good.” Tammy’s forehead glistened with sweat and she had dark circles under her large brown eyes.

  “I’m not going to lie, you don’t look good.” Mae shook her head. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so un-glamorous. Where did you get those sweats?”

  Tammy looked down at the oversized stained pants with a frown of disgust. “These are Patrick’s. All my pants are too tight in the waist. I don’t understand it—I’ve actually lost weight—but it’s like my proportions are all off.”

  Something was definitely wrong with Mae’s dear friend, who suddenly bolted from the room and ran down the hall. She heard the bathroom door slam. The unmistakable sounds of retching followed soon after. A few minutes later, Tammy emerged. She shucked off her sweatshirt.