Home of the Brave (Raine Stockton Dog Mysteries Book 9)

by Donna Ball

  Wyn nodded. Buck went around the room, confirming weekend assignments, and ended with, “Deputies Smith and Nike, you’re on PR duty, as previously assigned. Report in for your regular shift Monday morning to do a sweep of the parade route and consider yourselves on high alert until otherwise notified. Dismissed, everybody, and have a safe shift.”

  Jolene waited until the room had emptied to come up to her boss, Nike at an automatic heel. She said, “Sir, I think I could be more helpful if I took an active part in this case.”

  He said, gathering up his papers, “You have your assignment.”

  “That was humiliating!” Her eyes flashed. “We’re in the middle of a crisis and you practically gave me the weekend off! You’re sending me to a kids’ camp when there’s a terrorist threat. That’s what I’m trained for. Let me do my job!”

  Buck’s expression was controlled, his tone only slightly gentled with compassion. “I finally got around to reading your record,” he said. “I think we’re all better off if you stick to your assignment.”

  Something went out of her, a little color, a little courage. But still she insisted. “You told me I should have fought harder. I’m fighting for this. Sir, I need to do my job.”

  “Then do it,” he said shortly. “Your assignment stands.” He turned for the door, and then looked back. For a moment there was a hint of something very close to debate in his eyes, but then he said, “I need people by my side that I can trust. I’m sorry. You’re not one of them.” And he left.

  Only a very select number of people had the private number of the Professor. When he saw the caller ID, he answered immediately.

  “The FBI has set up a task force,” the voice on the other end said. “They know about Brunner. They haven’t identified anyone else. They’re expecting activity on the Fourth, with Wilson as the target. The bomb dog will sweep the area Monday morning.”

  “Excellent,” said the Professor. His voice was calm, completely in control. “Operation Independence begins at oh-two hundred this day. Acknowledge.”

  “Acknowledged.” There might have been a slight quickening of breath, a tightening of voice. A simple enough homage to the historic scope of this moment.

  The Professor said, “This is what we’ve worked for, waited for, prepared for. We are equal to it. ‘Let every nation know, whether it wishes us well or ill, that we shall pay any price, bear any burden, meet any hardship, support any friend, oppose any foe to assure the survival and the success of liberty.’ Do you know who said that, by chance?”

  There was a hesitation. “No, sir.”

  “I didn’t think so.” His voice was a mixture of compassion and amusement. Then briskly, “Good work, Deputy. I shall see you on the field of battle.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The Professor disconnected the call and muttered, “It was John Fitzgerald Kennedy, you idiot.”

  He turned and took the steps of the building two at a time. He was late for a meeting.

  Chapter Eighteen

  After the episode with Gene Hicks, it was kind of hard to get back into my usual cheerful mood. I took Mischief and Magic for the promised run, and since Cisco seemed to have learned his lesson, I allowed him to come along too—although on leash. We angled away from the lake this time, along one of the old bridle trails, but hadn’t even gone a quarter of a mile before I heard engine sounds. I barely got leashes on Mischief and Magic and pulled them off to the side of the road before a jeep came barreling around the corner, blowing up dust and completely oblivious to whatever might be in his path. The driver might have been Reggie, the guy with the weed eater we’d met yesterday, but he didn’t acknowledge me and I couldn’t be sure.

  It was a close call, and the run was ruined for me, so we headed back to camp and caught the last part of the Canine Idol auditions. Pepper won a spot for her Counting trick, in which she would bark out the number of dog biscuits Melanie held up. The real trick, of course, was that Melanie would reward her with a biscuit before she exceeded the correct number of barks, but I still thought it was clever. Apparently so did the judges, Margie and Steve, and Melanie was grinning from ear to ear when she received her competitors badge for the show.

  “Of course,” she told me seriously as we walked back to the doggie dorm so that she could feed Pepper, “I’m not sure if we’re going to have time to work on a whole routine for the show. Pepper’s got a part in the play on Saturday night, and she has to learn her lines. And I don’t want her to be too tired to win the agility trial Sunday morning.”

  I fought back a grin. “Sometimes you just have to prioritize,” I agreed. “But it’s good to have options.”

  But even saying that made me sad again, because it reminded me of the guy in the woods whose options had all be been taken away.

  Melanie went on brightly, “We learned the Big Finale for the play today. Do you want to hear it?” And without regard for whether I did or not, she began to sing to the tune of “America the Beautiful”:

  Oh, beautiful for collie dogs

  And German shepherds too,

  For poodles and Siberians

  With shining eyes of blue!

  Oh Labradors, oh Rottweilers,

  Oh spaniels all springy

  Throughout the days

  We sing your praise

  You’re everything to me!

  I laughed all the way back to my cabin.

  I sat on the porch of my cabin and called Miles while the dogs were inside scarfing down their dinner, and before I knew it I was telling him about the whole incident with the runaway dog, the demolished bear bag, the homeless camper.

  “Let me get this straight,” he said when I had finished. His voice had that deliberately calm tone it often took when he wasn’t particularly calm at all. “You went back out into the woods, alone, to find an angry man with a gun.”

  I scowled uncomfortably. “I wasn’t alone. Cisco was with me.”

  “When is Parents’ Day? It sounds like I need to come get you.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake. You’re completely missing the point.”

  “The part about the gun?”

  “The poor guy lost everything, Miles. I just feel so bad for him.”

  He was silent for a moment. “I do too, sweetheart. Unfortunately, it’s not an uncommon story. Everybody was hurt by the recession, including myself. There are far too many men like him out there, and a lot of them are angry. They have a right to be. But I just wish you would stay away from this one, okay?”

  I bit down on what I was thinking, that he might think he had been hurt by the recession, but there was a big difference between having to postpone buying a new jet because of the economy, and having to turn your dog into the pound because you couldn’t afford to feed him. Miles was definitely on the wrong side of this story.

  Then he redeemed himself by adding, “Honey, I’m sorry this guy ruined your weekend. I know how much you were looking forward to it.”

  “He didn’t ruin the weekend,” I said. “It’s just that … oh, Miles, do you ever wish you could be a kid again?”

  “Yeah, baby,” he admitted with a sigh. “I do. Even though my childhood wasn’t exactly out of a storybook, I’d trade it for being grown up in a heartbeat.”

  I settled back on the step, leaning my weight on one elbow, watching a cardinal hop from one branch to another in the maple tree across the path. “Did you go to camp?”

  “Nah, we didn’t have the money. I used to spend my summers at the Y, playing basketball, swimming, putting cherry bombs in toilets, that sort of thing.”

  I choked on a surprised laugh. “You were a bad boy!”

  “Sweetie, you don’t know the half of it. One year my buds and I got hold of some M-80s and almost blew out the side of the damn building. We’d’ve ended up in jail if anyone found out, but I guess the statute of limitations has run out by now.”

  “Oh, well. I guess I won’t bother turning you in then.”

  “I appreciate that.
I’d also appreciate you not ratting me out to my daughter. I’m trying to set an example.”

  I chuckled. “Speaking of Parents’ Day, Pepper’s going to be in the talent show Sunday. Be sure to make a big fuss when Melanie tells you about it.”

  “You bet I will. What time does the show start?”

  “Be here at two,” I told him. “They’re having refreshments for the parents and a tour of the camp before the awards are given out, and the talent show is the last thing.”

  He said, “Can’t wait.” And the thing is, I knew he meant it.

  “Umm, also,” I added, “you might be in for a lecture about deer hunting. The subject came up. Just a heads-up.”

  In the silence that followed, I could hear Cisco pushing his metal bowl across the floor inside, always a sign that he was looking for more. The Aussies’ dinner would be in jeopardy if I was not there to supervise, so I stood and went to the door, glaring sternly at Cisco. He watched me out of the corner of his eye, pretending innocence.

  Miles said, “Didn’t I hear somewhere you had a degree in wildlife science? You couldn’t have diffused the subject?”

  I shrugged. “Hey, I’m on the deer’s side.”

  “Have I mentioned lately how glad I am I met you?”

  I grinned to myself. Like I said, Miles always finds a way to make me laugh. “Gotta go,” I said. “Twenty-five miniature campers and all that.”

  He said, “Love you, babe. Have a good night.”

  Here’s the difference between Miles and me. He tossed his love around like confetti at a parade: he loved my dogs, he loved Melanie, he loved apple pie. He loved me. I hoarded my love like a fragile crystal I was afraid would get broken if I allowed anyone to touch it. I wished I could be as open and easy with my feelings as Miles was, but I couldn’t. He never let on that it bothered him, and maybe it didn’t. But it bothered me.

  “You, too.” It was all I could manage, but I said it with tenderness, and he knew what I meant.

  At least, that’s what I wanted to believe.

  It is virtually impossible to be in a bad mood while sitting around a campfire singing camp songs like “How Much is that Doggie in the Window” and “Bingo” while melting chocolate and marshmallows between two graham crackers—not to mention trying to keep twenty-five dogs of all sizes and energy levels safe and happy. All of the instructors and counselors earned their money that night, and there were times that I laughed until my face hurt. Afterwards, the instructors all walked back to the cabins together while the counselors got the kids settled in their dorms for the night. We lingered on the porch of Margie and Steve’s cabin, chatting informally about the kids and how we thought things were going, about the plans for tomorrow and the facility in general. Cisco, Mischief and Magic who, with the exception of a few stolen marshmallows, had been model citizens at the campfire, sniffed around at the ends of their leashes, occasionally sidling up hopefully to one of the instructors, remembering that they always carried treats.

  “I think I’m going to talk to the owners about booking it again for next year,” Margie said. “It might be a little run-down, but it really is perfect for what we need. All the different covered pavilions, the fenced fields, and that Girl Scout camp in Tennessee has gotten to be so unreliable. They refuse to book a year in advance, and you see what happened this time …”

  I was standing on the next to the bottom step when the explosion cracked the air. I whirled and almost fell off the step, saved only by Cisco, who jumped up with his paws on my chest and pushed me against the railing. Before I could right myself, there was another explosion and another. Dogs started barking.

  “Oh, look!” Margie exclaimed, pointing toward a shower of red sparks that were dissipating against the night sky. There was another cracking boom, and an umbrella of gold spread across the sky.

  “Somebody’s celebrating early,” commented Lee, pushing himself to his feet. “Guess I’d better check on the thunder-phobic dogs.”

  I rubbed Cisco’s shoulders to disguise my own frazzled nerves. He panted anxiously in my face. He wasn’t exactly thunder-phobic, but he wasn’t wild about fireworks. Or gunshots. “Do you need any help?” I asked.

  “Nah. You’ve got your own crew to worry about. But say, how about letting me borrow one of your Aussies tomorrow for the flying disc class?” He had brought his own dog, an Irish terrier who knew more tricks than any dog I’d ever met and had actually starred in a couple of television commercials, but who could care less about chasing things that flew.

  I assured him that would be no problem at all just as another fireball exploded in the distance. I took Cisco’s paws and lowered them to the ground, untangling his leash from Mischief’s and Magic’s.

  “Honestly,” Margie sighed. “Why can’t they wait until Monday?”

  “Some people just have more to celebrate than others, I guess,” her husband replied. “I’ll give Lee a hand.”

  I said good-night and walked next door to my cabin, and the last starburst fizzled overhead as I climbed the steps.

  Happy Fourth of July. I guess.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Saturday started off beautifully, with another sunrise run around the camp—this one blissfully uninterrupted—followed by a six-thirty staff meeting over banana pancakes.

  “This is my favorite day of camp,” Margie declared, pressing her hands together and grinning like a kid herself. “Dog demo day! The kids get a chance to see how they can take what their dogs have learned so far to the next level, and of course we always like to use as many of our campers as we can in the actual demonstrations. For everyone’s peace of mind, of course, the camper dogs will be crated in the dorm during the demos. I believe Counselor Haley has the duty today.”

  Haley, with blond braids and a mouthful of pancakes, lifted her hand good-naturedly.

  “We have a full morning of classes, and right after lunch we’ll start arts and crafts in the rec hall to give the rest of you time to set up for your demos. Our police dog team will be here at two, and the deputy will need some help setting up materials for her bomb-detection demo. I thought the north field would be a good place since the agility course is already set up and it would be great for the kids to see how a game like agility can be used to teach police dogs.”

  Counselor Bill looked mildly alarmed. “Excuse me, did you say bombs? They’re bringing bombs here?”

  Margie smiled and shook her head. “I’ve never actually seen a demo but I don’t think they use real bombs.”

  As it happened, Melanie had sent me a link to an article not long ago on how bomb dogs are trained, because at that time she wasn’t sure whether her future lay in training drug dogs for the DEA or bomb dogs for the private sector. The information was still fresh in my mind so I supplied, “It’s the components of explosives the dogs are trained to smell. They don’t actually have to be mixed together into a bomb in order to be detected. They can smell gunpowder on a policeman’s hands, for example, even if he hasn’t fired his weapon for hours, which is how you can get a lot of false positives when the dogs do demos at police academies.”

  There were some nervous chuckles, and I turned to Margie. “And that’s why I don’t think the agility field would be the best place for the demo. I found an old target and shell casings there when I was setting up yesterday. I think somebody’s been target shooting while the camp was empty. It might distract the dog.”

  She looked disappointed. “I don’t like to keep moving the kids from one arena to the other. It’s so hard to keep them organized.”

  I thought about it for a minute. “Well, the grass is all mowed around the lake. If everything else is taking place up here, maybe we could do the search and rescue and police dog demos last and just have the kids walk down the hill. It would be a lot better for both demos if we had a clean field anyway, and you can get Willie to bring down the equipment we need on the ATV.”

  “That might work,” Margie agreed thoughtfully. “We could still cl
ose with the parade of breeds—the kids are making some cute glitzy bandannas for their dogs to wear— here in front of the lodge.”

  “Be sure to announce play rehearsal at five thirty,” Lee added. “It’ll only take about twenty minutes, but if they want to be in the play tonight they need to be on time.”

  And on that note, Margie dismissed us all to begin our busy days.

  Canine Nosework was my last class before lunch, and as the kids fanned out with their dogs toward the dining hall and the exercise areas, I let Cisco earn his keep by retrieving each of the stuffed toys I’d used for the lesson and placing them in my duffel bag. Actually, I was waiting for Willie, who was supposed to load up the tunnel and the miniature A-frame and take them down to the lake after I finished my morning agility class, which had been two hours ago. I had tried him on the radio earlier, but had gotten no response and figured he was out of range. I was about to try him again when the radio crackled in my hand.

  “Raine, are you on your way in?” It was Margie.

  “Five minutes. Have you seen Willie?”

  “He’s here somewhere. Our police dog has arrived.”

  I spared time for an incredulous face that no one could see before pressing the talk button. “She’s early.”

  “We may have to rearrange the schedule a tad.” Margie hated rearranging schedules. She was trying hard to sound cheerful. “Can you show her where you’re going to set up?”

  I picked up the duffel bag and Cisco’s leash. “Do you mean after lunch?”

  A hesitation. “I think she’s in a hurry.”

  Well, bully for her. What did she think this was, on-demand theater and she was the star attraction? Is this what you do when you’re a fancy-pants canine handler with a superhero dog, you just waltz into a camp full of kids and demand everything be rearranged to suit your schedule? Maybe when she was invited to dinner she arrived two hours early and demanded to be served so that she could get on with her day. Seriously, of all the nerve.