Butterfly Boy: An Avery Barks Dog Mystery (Avery Barks Dog Mysteries Book 1)

by Mary Hiker

  _________________________

  The club (as I called it) was really just a small local bar. A couple of pool tables, a little area to dance, low lights and some music. That was all the folks around here wanted in a bar.

  Jamie was talking to a good-looking, muscular guy when I arrived. Her eyes sparkled and her shoulder length black hair bounced when she turned her head. It always made me smile the way her face would light up like a Christmas tree whenever a good looking guy was around.

  She ran over to me and whispered, “That’s Rick, the guy you were talking about. I told you he was a hunk! Come on, I will introduce you.”

  She literally grabbed my arm and half dragged me over to where her hunk-a man stood. I did not even get a chance to let her know what was going on and why I was there with her tonight. I decided to just roll with it. I needed to find out if this guy’s momma knew the dead stranger from Miss Judy’s field.

  Jamie chirped, “Hey Rick, this is my friend Avery – she is a dog lover, too.”

  His eyes lit up at the dog lover part. “Nice. What kind of dog have you got, Avery?”

  “I have the best kind, a rescue.” I added, “Actually, I need to talk to your mom. Would you mind getting me in contact with her?”

  His eyes immediately darkened and his jaw clenched. Every muscle in his whole body tightened. He turned to walk away and said angrily, “Don’t you ever go near my mother.”

  Hey, I never claimed to be a trained detective. Guess I made my move too soon.

  Things went downhill from there. I looked across the room through the dim lights and Rick’s buddies glared at me like a pack of wolves. Jamie came over and said that I made the world speed record for running guys off. Something like 3.5 seconds.

  I asked her over the beats of the music on the jukebox, “Do you think you could keep Rick occupied for an hour or two? I am going up to Hatcher’s Ridge and try to find his mother.”

  “Sure, I will dance with him all night if you want me to. I think SLOW dancing will occupy him best!” she giggled.

  As I headed out the door, I realized that Jamie had never asked why I wanted to talk to Rick’s mom. She must have been totally preoccupied with the nice fit of his jeans.

  Chapter 6

  There are a couple unwritten rules in these mountains. You do not trespass. You do not go nosing around in the dark near a stranger’s house. There are other rules, too, but these are the rules that I hoped I would not need to break. The consequences tend to be pretty bad.

  Chevy was licking the windows in the back of the truck when I got out to the club’s parking lot. I hoped he would stay quiet for the five-mile ride up to Hatcher’s Ridge. It would be hard to travel undercover with a dog barking with delight the entire way there.

  I realized that ten thirty at night was not the best time to do this, but at least Jamie had Flora’s son occupied. The moon was out and I was starting to enjoy the peaceful night as I got closer to Crazy Flora Jones’ cabin. I pondered what I should say if I got a chance to talk to her. I decided to just relax and keep the conversation casual. Suddenly, out of nowhere, bright floodlights filled my truck.

  The light virtually made it impossible to see the road in front of me. All I saw were two white lights bursting though the dark into my back window. The sounds of angry men shouting took over the quiet night.

  The crack of gunfire filled the air and my truck started just bumping along. One of my tires had been shot out. The truck rolled to a stop, and within a few seconds, the passenger side window of my truck shattered. My heart hammered in my chest and fear erupted throughout my nervous system.

  I could not see anything but bright light. Then everything went dark.

  _________________________

  I opened my eyes and found myself looking directly up at the night sky. The air smelled so fresh and clean. The forest trees surrounded me. My first thought was how beautiful the stars looked. That thought abruptly changed when I realized I was lying on my back in some muddy water.

  Where is my dog?

  I slowly sat up and noticed a middle-aged lady seated on a log right next to me. She just sat there in the dark, giving treats to my dog. Go figure. I was sprawled out in a mud puddle while Chevy had the time of his life. He made friends wherever he went.

  She said, “I’m Flora Jones. I hear you wanted to talk to me.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said. “Do you know who just tried to run me off the road?”

  “That was my son, Ricky, and his friends. They are so protective of me. Isn’t that sweet?” She sounded like a proud mother. “There is nothing for you to worry about. I raised my Ricky right and he would never hurt a woman.”

  “Then why am I lying in a mud puddle on a dirt road?”

  “You passed out when they opened the door to your truck.”

  “I guess that would explain it.”

  “The boys already put the spare tire on your truck,” Flora said. “I don’t think the flat tire is going to work anymore.”

  “Okay, thanks,” was all I could muster up.

  I wanted to avoid any further trouble and kept the conversation friendly. I guessed Jamie’s tactic to slow dance with Rick did not work out as planned.

  Flora said softly, “You have such a nice dog. When I saw him, I knew you must be a good person. I love his soft golden fur and happy personality. What was it you wanted to talk to me about?”

  She spoke to me but kept her focus on feeding dog cookies to Chevy.

  As I sat in the mud, I told Flora the basic events of the past couple of days (except the part about my initials on the dead guy’s forehead). “I heard there was a stranger in town asking about you and wondered if he was the same person that I found in the field.”

  She replied, “If the person you speak of is dead, then I hope it is the one and the same person.” She looked at me and calmly continued, “Yesterday morning, my ex-husband showed up here. He abused me for years and forced me into hiding. As bad as it might sound, it would actually be a relief to me if he were dead.”

  “What was he wearing?” I asked.

  “Let’s see, all I remember is a dark jacket with a patch on it. Like a target from a shooting range.”

  “Sounds like the same jacket the guy in the field was wearing,” I said. “What is his name?”

  “Richard Mallory. But everyone calls him Sniper. He loved to shoot at targets. Ridiculous, if you ask me.” She stammered, “He scared me half to death yesterday. I didn’t even recognize him at first, with that long hair and scruffy beard. He said he was buying some land here to keep an eye on me. I slammed the door shut and locked it, then called my son. “

  “He was scruffy?” I asked.

  “Very scruffy,” she confirmed. “I am glad that my son is so protective of me.”

  “Sounds like you have a great son,” I said (but did not really mean it).

  “I do. Thank you.”

  I thanked Flora and got Chevy loaded into the truck. The cool breeze flowed freely through the cab where the window had been broken out. My glove compartment was open and had been rifled through, but I did not notice anything missing. I wasn’t going to complain about it. At least the guys swept most of the glass out.

  I decided it was best to count my blessings and move on from this situation. What a weird day. As Chevy and I headed back toward home, one thought stayed in my mind.

  How does a scruffy stranger show up in a small town early in the morning – and end up dead in a field with a clean cut look by early afternoon?

  Chapter 7

  The next morning, I wanted to get a jump start on the day. I had quite a list of things to accomplish. One, find a new job. Two, solve a murder before I became the lead suspect. Three, get my truck window fixed. What is the best way to prioritize that kind of to-do list?

  I started with solving a murder. Or at least get enough information to keep any suspicions off me. Deputy Don was good at his job, and I figured it would not take long for him to find
out about my whacked-out connection with the deceased.

  I drove into town, which housed one barber shop and two beauty salons. Sniper must have gotten a haircut and shave somewhere. Using an educated guess, I headed over to the barber shop to see if I could come up with some more information.

  The town barber’s nickname was actually Barber. I always found that kind of humorous. At least it made his name easy to remember.

  I pulled up right in front of the building and got Chevy out of the truck. My best bet was to take him inside with me. I opened the door to the barber shop and a bunch of elderly guys looked at me in shock. In this town, ladies did not tread into this men’s domain. I quickly announced that Chevy wanted to visit all his buddies, so all was okay. Chevy trotted up and got a scratch on the head from all the guys.

  I asked Barber if there was an out-of-towner in here yesterday.

  “A guy was in here calling himself Sniper” he said, which made the old timers laugh.

  “He came in here for a shave and cut. Gave him the $15 special,” Barber continued. “The nut job didn’t even want to talk. Who comes in a barber shop and doesn’t want to talk?”

  One of the old timers piped up, “Yeah, he was strange. “

  “I’ve heard that about him before,” I said. “Do you know anything about him?”

  “Nope, just what I told you,” Barber answered.

  As I got ready to leave, I noticed that Chevy had disappeared. That usually means one thing. The ‘garbage man’ was at work again. Chevy had a knack for sneaking away to the nearest garbage can and finding himself a treat.

  “Chevy, where you at, buddy?”

  He wandered around the corner with a beef jerky wrapper hanging out of his mouth. That meant there was a tipped over garbage can nearby. I grabbed the wrapper out of his mouth and gave him a dog treat from my pocket as a fair trade.

  Chevy’s personality had always been 90% love and 10% mischief. The 10% part had just kicked in.

  “Chevy, were you digging in some trash again?” The old timers laughed at the situation.

  “Sorry, Barber, this dog loves to get in the trash can.” I had to laugh, too.

  I went down the short hall into Barber’s office to pick up the trash can. Thankfully, it was just papers. As I scooped up Chevy’s mess, I noticed a business card for Mr. Richard Mallory (aka Sniper).

  I stuffed the business card in my pocket and took a quick glance at the other papers. It looked like some sort of demand to purchase Barber’s land. There were also a couple of pictures of moonshine stills and another picture of a couple holding a baby.

  Barber’s piece of land was located about a mile or so from the field where Sniper’s body was found. There had been rumors for years that Barber brewed and sold some illegal liquor out there, but around this town, moonshine was viewed as a perfectly legitimate home-based business.

  Why would Barber lie about knowing Sniper?

  I put the papers back in the trash can, said my good-byes and headed out the door, Chevy in tow.

  Chapter 8

  I tried to figure out the whole Barber and Sniper connection as I walked out to my truck. I did not see Deputy Don before I heard his smooth, deep voice.

  “Want to tell me about the day you got fired, Avery?” He sounded so masculine that I knew he was in his sheriff deputy mindset.

  Oh boy, here we go, I thought.

  “Hey, Don. A couple dogs got hit and I ran to help them. They needed a veterinarian and I forgot all about work at that moment. A guy complained about me and I got fired for it.”

  “You mean Richard Mallory complained and got you fired?” Don sounded very serious.

  “Yeah, I guess so.”

  “Anything else you want to tell me?”

  I thought my best bet was to let him know about the papers in Barber’s garbage can. At least that would get him off my back for a little bit.

  “I found Richard Mallory’s business card in Barber’s office.” I gave him the business card and continued on. “There are some other papers in the garbage can that look like there was a disagreement about some land. You may want to take a look.”

  “Okay. I will do that,” Deputy Don said. “Do you want to tell me what happened to your truck window?”

  “Someone broke it out. I don’t know who.” I fibbed on that last part.

  “Maybe you should stop playing wanna-be detective.”

  “Maybe so.”

  As I loaded Chevy in the back of the truck, Deputy Don questioned, “By the way, Avery, what is your full name?”

  “Avery Meadow Barks”

  “Initials A.M.B.?”

  “I’ve got to go.”

  _________________________

  Deputy Don strolled into the barber shop to get a haircut and chat up the old timers for information.

  While he was there, the deputy borrowed Barber’s office to make a private phone call. This was his way to get a look inside the garbage can. The deputy bent over and dumped out the office trash, including the pictures and the demands to buy Barber’s land.

  As he picked up the papers, something else caught his eye in the pile … the empty packaging for a black magic marker.

  Chapter 9

  I spent a couple days job hunting with no luck. The economy was pretty tight in the rural areas and the stress weighed on me. The extra expense to get my truck window fixed was not welcome. I was over at the glass company getting prices when my cell phone rang.

  “Hey, it’s Don. Can you come out and help me with a cadaver search?”

  “You know I only train dogs now.”

  “I know, but my dog is the only one available and I would feel better if I had you there. Just meet me over at Miss Judy’s field.”

  “The same field where the other body was found?”

  “Same one”

  “I have Chevy with me, but he can rest in the back of the truck, I guess.”

  My truck window repair would have to wait.

  I was somewhat confused why Don wanted me to accompany him on this search. If he was suspicious of me, wouldn’t he want to keep me away from the original crime scene? Or did he want to keep me close because he did suspect me?

  Is this guy trying to mess with my head right now, or what?

  Chevy barked with pure joy as I pulled up to Miss Judy’s field. Don was already there with his SAR dog and a couple of sheriff’s deputies. Don was off duty and worked the SAR mission in a volunteer capacity. His dog, Ace, was trained to find the scent of deceased persons.

  As I walked up to the group, Don reported the latest news. “We got an anonymous call about a truck driving around in this field last night. The report also stated that someone pushed a wheelbarrow along the back woods line. The caller sounded drunk, so it is probably a wild goose chase.”

  Don turned to me and continued, “The sheriff asked me to work my dog out here, just to cover all our bases. I thought you might want to help.”

  “Is Miss Judy freaking out about all this commotion on her land?” I was worried about her.

  “She doesn’t know exactly why we’re here. I told her we were still investigating,” said Don.

  “Well, we might as well get started,” I said.

  I walked back to the truck and grabbed my radio and hip pack. Chevy’s bowl was filled with water so he would be fine for a while. As usual, the butterfly boy was having a great time licking the truck windows.

  I caught up to Don as he put his dog to work. He gave Ace the command, “Find.”

  The dog started searching for the scent of a deceased human. Ace’s nose immediately caught some scent in the air. His muscles tensed like an athlete. He followed the cone of scent back and forth through the field and was headed toward the far woods line. It was beautiful to watch the shiny black labrador work through the tall grass.

  The cadaver dog eventually reached the back edge of the field. As he got near the trees, he really picked up speed. Ace worked his way into the woods through a sm
all clearing, ran about 200 more feet and stopped directly in front of five dead deer.

  The dog turned and faced his handler, sat down with military-like precision and looked Don straight in the eye. It was an obvious “cadaver sit alert”, right next to the pile of dead deer.

  The chubby officer that accompanied us on the search broke out in a booming voice, “Ahhh haaa haaa! Don, you have a great cadaver dog, don’t yaa! Old Ace did a textbook alert right at dead deer! Haaa haaa”

  Don stared at his dog in disbelief.

  The officer continued his badgering. “Hey Don, I’ll buy him for fifty bucks from ya. I want to take him hunting with me ‘cause he’s good at finding dead DEER! Haaw haww.”

  The officer doubled over and held his stomach as he continued his raucous laughing. Eventually, he caught his breath and headed out of the woods and back toward the field, still laughing as he went.

  Don’s face turned beet red. He would not look at me. He just stood there in shock and stared out into the woods.

  Finally he spoke up. “I don’t know what’s wrong with my dog. I’ll never be able to live this one down at the sheriff’s department. I am going to retire my dog, unless you want to work him.” The look of pain, shame and humiliation was all over his face as he turned to walk out of the woods, too.

  A cadaver dog should never alert on dead animals. The scent of a dead animal is very different than that of a dead human, especially to the sensitive nose of a trained dog. We trained many hours to make sure his dog only followed the scent of human death on the “Find” command.

  As I started to walk with him, my first instinct was to console him. But my thoughts took over. Something is just not right with this picture.

  Suddenly, the mantra that many search and rescue dog handlers live by sounded like an alarm in my mind, TRUST YOUR DOG!

  I punched Don’s arm and said, “Don, I have trained with you about a hundred times. Your dog worked this scent perfectly. Your dog is trained not to go to dead animals. Your dog did a perfect alert. TRUST YOUR DOG!”