By Dog Alone: A Kelton Jager Adventure Book 2

by Charles Wendt

Holly looked up enough to have room to shrug her shoulder, “My geometry score, Ma’am.”

  Bridgette’s heart fell in disappointment, but after another long awkward pause she decided to try again, “What else?”

  “My low geometry score?” said Holly, now looking down at her knees.

  “Mrs. Neben said your last quiz was much better than the previous. She can tell you are applying yourself and studying hard. How are your housemates getting such good scores? Are they cheating?”

  Holly rocked between the armrests. All the running made her a skinny little thing, and she’d been a beanpole to begin with. There was plenty of “rattle room” in the seat.

  Mrs. Grant redoubled her attack, “Surely they’re not brilliant and you stupid.”

  Holly swallowed, “I think they’ve employed a tutor, Ma’am.”

  “I’m not aware of any registered tutor. Which means they must have an improper guest in the house. Wouldn’t you say?”

  Holly looked up and cocked her head to the side, “I don’t know if they’ve had a guest. I mean I’ve seen the flip chart paper from the study sessions in the common room, but they may have just hung it all there afterward. I’ve not been invited. I don’t know. I haven’t seen any tutor as a guest in the house. Ever.”

  Bridgette Grant exhaled in disappointment. But maybe it wasn’t over. She just didn’t have enough information to act yet. The new safety patrol might help, but someone inside the house would be better. What she needed was an informant.

  “I need to safeguard all my students, you understand. That’s very important, to have a nurturing environment of learning. I need allies, that will help me keep the campus safe for everyone.”

  Holly’s face brightened a little with relief and pride, “Are you asking me to be on your new safety patrol?” and then as Mrs. Grant’s face went blank for a second, “I saw your email yesterday.”

  Bridgette nodded slowly, “This is a special type of safety patrol. Think of it as a secret, undercover assignment. You can’t tell anyone, but will be rewarded if you protect your housemates from outsiders.”

  “What kind of reward?” asked Holly. The girl’s eyes were sharp and focused, but her canted head betrayed a sense of suspicion.

  “You’d have to pick something invisible to the other girls. To keep from blowing your cover you understand,” Mrs. Grant said. She hated to be negotiating.

  “I want a horse activity fee for the fall semester,” pressed Holly. “So I don’t have to do field hockey.”

  Mrs. Grant involuntarily say back in her chair. How could someone not like field hockey? But then, she hadn’t liked horses as a girl and it was a popular activity. And the favor would be invisible to the other girls.

  But it was also real money and the school was quite strapped. The schooling horse slots always sold out, and with them came the dollars to provide for their care. Obviously, Mr. Healy wouldn’t pay or Holly wouldn’t be asking. It was impossible.

  “I was thinking more about excusing you from practice or your next quiz,” countered Mrs. Grant.

  Holly looked down briefly considering before her face came back up to stare back at her, “Those things don’t help me. I still have to study or I just fall behind because the course material builds on itself. If I don’t practice, I don’t get better and earn playing time.”

  Mrs. Grant leaned forward placing her elbows on her desk, smiling to try and seal the deal with, “Well let’s just say I’ll owe you a favor then? You can keep it in the bank for a rainy day.”

  Holly walked down the stairs from Mrs. Grant’s office to the bathroom. There was no use trying to go to practice as everyone was heading off to the showers or was in morning study hall. Holly knew she wasn’t popular, the best athlete or a scholar. But she wasn’t stupid. It was insulting being offered a bribe for betraying her housemates. They weren’t close friends, but any tattling would definitely come back to haunt her. And it was clear that the favor, that no one could know about and didn’t extend to getting a horse, wasn’t worth anything. In the end, she just nodded acceptance to get out of Mrs. Grant’s office.

  Her phone dinged for an incoming text and she looked at the screen. It was Mr. Grunfeld writing he wanted his morning tits. One close-up camera shot and a quick send later, she was on her way to first period wondering if she could trade in Mrs. Grant’s plot for a space in the tutor group. For the first time in a while, maybe she’d sit next to Kate in English.

  Kelton Jager packed up the slim binoculars in disgust as the girls packed it in from the field and headed toward the houses and showers. He confessed that he had found the action lively, more interesting than soccer or basketball; even not being a sports spectator type of guy. But he hadn’t been there to idly watch schoolgirl sports. There was a rescue mission of sorts to execute, and he was struggling for the intel to get the operation off the ground. He hadn’t seen the little blond girl again, and was now losing confidence in remembering for sure what she looked like. Maybe it was time to give up and drift down the road? He wasn’t a quitter, but to proceed he needed some type of lead.

  The spiral stairs leading up to where he lay in the parent’s loft rang with the tapping of a cane. He scooped up his pack, and Azrael followed him down the stairs.

  “Good morning, Helmut. What’s up?”

  “I’ve bad news my friend. Mrs. Grant is establishing a kind of neighborhood watch program for the school to report people who aren’t students or staff. By tomorrow, you won’t be able to hang out here anymore. I won’t be able to protect you. At least until things cool down a little.

  Any luck with your quarry?”

  “None. Trails gone cold. I can’t say I’ve any reason to linger with nothing to go on. I’ll make my goodbyes to the study group tonight and head on. Thank you for being a good friend.”

  “My pleasure, Hauptmann Jager. I’ve appreciated the extra set of hands. Hopefully we’ll get our staffing back for the fall semester. Summers are getting harder and harder.”

  “Ever think about retiring?” smiled Kelton.

  Helmut shrugged, “I’ve not got anything else. Horses take everything you have. If you’re a professional, this is where it leads you eventually. But don’t fret; I’ve known that it would for decades. I’m gracefully enjoying all the seasons of life. Even winter.”

  “Okay then. Why don’t I give you and Jose a hand for the morning? Then I’ll go down to that Full Cry Market for a few items, teach the evening, and get through downtown in the night. I’m sure the police are still looking for me.”

  Sergeant James Barker sipped his coffee sitting at his paper covered desk and stared at the freshly cleaned and streaky whiteboard. He’d gone through the motions of the shift change briefing, made a few announcements, and rushed the rank and file out to the pavement. All for the sake of getting back to the office to think some more. He’d a good nose when something wasn’t right, an eye calibrated to the various rhythms of the town. Random things happened all the time. But his gut told him there were connections to be made somehow and included the department in some way.

  McFife hadn’t much to say for himself during yesterday’s afternoon ride back to his truck. He said he’d gone to the fixture to look for the marauding dog just like he’d been told. Bobby had stroked him with, “and just like you said, Sergeant, I saw the dog there right away!” That he’d tried hard to quickly disembark the truck, damaging his door on a tree he hadn’t realized he’d parked so close to because he was watching for where the dog was going.

  Then he’d chased it on foot. Said he didn’t bother with the catch pole, because it was going to be put down anyway and the rural backdrop made directly shooting it a good option. He’d tried hard all morning, getting further and further from his vehicle. He’d become lost, and for certainty of finding his way, opted to walk back upon the road. That’s what he’d been doing when his sergeant drove up, he claimed.

  Sergeant Barker was suspicious and had always thought of McFife as an under
performer. The hospital malingering over the weekend was only the most recent in a series of similar examples. The sergeant had gently probed why his officer had pursued the dog with such energy, and been treated to a speech about just doing his duty and how he didn’t want the citizens to suffer as he had in the “jowls of this devil beast”. But chasing through the woods and fields for hours in pursuit of a dog and being picked up on a dusty gravel road didn’t square with clean black patrol boots that McFife was wearing when picked up.

  So he dropped Bobby off at his truck and rushed back to the office to start putting theories and questions together for a more formal interview in an interrogation room working toward a “gotcha moment”: a recorded outright lie. An hour later, he was yelling at Officer Temple about where the hell did McFife go and why wasn’t he back at the office? It seemed that mechanical problems with the truck were to blame and the interview was postponed. Barker dropped it for the moment to start preparing for being called by the chief.

  When the phone rang on his desk, Barker had thought the summons he’d been dreading all day had finally come. He was as ready as he possibly could be, given all the unknowns. However, the call wasn’t from the chief’s office, but the motor pool. McFife’s truck had been sabotaged with a clogged exhaust pipe rather than falling victim to some random mechanical failure. The dirt bag had shirked his duty yet again. By then, Barker’s shift had been over and he went home unbidden.

  Things rubbed at him and Monday night or not, he drank. Just Michelob Ultra, and just a couple of bottles at that, but it took some of the tension away and let him think. Or suppressed his perception so he thought he’d done better thinking. He’d given many public service messages at the local high school of that theme. The value judgement of which of those were true in this case remained to be seen. Normally, he’d never taken his work home as a point of pride. It was a quiet town, and any such work was, by rule, typically make believe. But halfway through television’s mindless sitcoms he was reaching for a pen and a notebook to start writing down the facts as he knew them, and questions which needed answering.

  Like was the West Point tutor and the thug with the dog who attacked the riding instructor related? McFife claimed they were one and the same, chased from one of the resident houses. Miss Harper seemed unimpressed by this theory. What was the motive in attacking the riding instructor? The thug had already escaped the campus and three of his patrolmen at that point. Why the drive to double back and make that assault? There had to be more to the riding instructor.

  Given the setting and the time of night it clearly wasn’t a random attack. Their suspect had been a seasoned muscular guy, much like Sergeant Barker himself. With the additional advantage of the element of surprise and a bludgeoning weapon, how was that fight lost against a frail old man who walked with a cane? Helmut Meunch was not what he seemed.

  Was there some old debt or slight someone powerful was intent on repaying? Barker couldn’t remember a time though Mr. Muench wasn’t teaching at the school. It would have to be one hell of a grudge to last all these years if it predated his current employment. More than likely, it would have to be something more recent. Could the riding coach be selling drugs to the students? Could he be pimping out some of the students? Little Miss Harper seemed to have poise and confidence beyond her years. That could indicate an uncommon comfort level with older men. It was also the type of self-confidence the school sought to build that kept such girls from ever being recruited into that line of work.

  The Harper name kept coming up a lot. The suspect had allegedly fled from a house with Miss Harper. The nurse on duty in the ward when the suspect was sprung, was Mrs. Harper. The victim of the assault spoke to the city council Monday night chaired by Mr. Harper. It was just too much coincidence to keep his mind from being stirred up; even though it was a small town. He certainly wanted Murphy’s report from the hospital as soon as it was completed.

  Mr. Muench wasn’t the only recent assault victim. Master Bartholomew’s injuries were consistent with a bone breaking beating via steel rod. Fortunately, the master was likely going to be lucid today. Jim Barker would definitely be stopping by the hospital. There was a serious conspiracy going on here. There had to be.

  The sergeant’s mind drifted back to Bobby McFife. He’d been spending a lot of time up around the school where both victims were assaulted. He most certainly seemed to be lying about his movements and motives. Barker didn’t think for an instant that McFife was any kind of mastermind, but even drones had useful information. He considered seeing if Johny Temple could track McFife’s movements using the mobile phone tower pings, in the same way he’d been located. Certainly the technology was there, but the fixture often made for intermittent cell signals and so the analysis might not be particularly conclusive. Temple would also never be able to keep his mouth shut about it, and Jim Barker wasn’t ready to let everyone know he was investigating quite yet.

  Barker looked from the empty whiteboard to the clock in the lower right corner of his computer monitor. It was coming up on midmorning, and the Chief still hadn’t summoned him. The veteran cop turned cold, with clammy palms. Conspiracy indeed. Why wasn’t the boss asking about it? They’d had an officer and two citizens violently assaulted, and a detained suspect escape with aggressive outside intervention in just the past couple of days. Westburg was nothing like the dangerous Church Hill neighborhood in Richmond where he’d spent his rookie days. The chief should be screaming up a storm for answers, but instead was quietly going on like it was just another day at the office. And then, the phone on his desk rang.

  He grabbed the handset and announced himself firmly, “Barker.”

  “Hey, Sergeant,” said Johny Temple. “I’ve got a Mr. Johnbull Sesay on the line. He says he was up north of the hairpin walking the Westburg hounds when they all started digging in this freshly dug soil. Claims the earth wasn’t disturbed there yesterday afternoon and thinks it may have happened after hours. Looks suspicious to him. He tried to call from the scene earlier this morning but couldn’t get a signal. Normally I’d send Bobby, but McFife is off until tonight and I knew you’d been out there recently. How do you want to play it?”

  “I’ll go myself. Where can I connect with the guy?”

  “He’s at their kennels now. I’ll tell him you’re on your way.”

  CHAPTER—20

  Arabell Harper stirred to the singing of birds outside her window. The soft bedsheets felt soothing against her skin, and she resisted rising despite the warm ray of the sun upon her cheeks. As usual, Justin and Abriella were long gone and she was alone to sleep off last night’s liquor. Winding down had taken most of her secret stash. Without opening her eyes, she reached and grabbed his pillow. He’d been gone long enough that it’d cooled, but it bore his scent and she cradled it inhaling deeply.

  She made it downstairs and heaped sugar into her morning coffee. Normally she was good, opting for an artificial sweetener, but the events of last night still had her a bit shook up. They’d stopped taking the newspaper to cut expenses, and she wasn’t as internet savvy as people who scanned headlines on their mobile devices. Arabell looked out the window by the breakfast table instead. Indy was still opting to graze, but large wet marks covered his flanks and shoulders as he sweated in the humidity. Flies would chase him into the barn soon. She needed to run the vacuum and transfer over a load of laundry somewhere, but wanted a little time to herself first.

  Anymore these days, that proved to be sitting time. After losing her first baby, hobbies of hers had vanished with somehow getting pregnant again. It had all been nursing school, helping Justin campaign, and running after a little girl too assertive for her own good sometime. With both of them working, it was hard to remember what it was she used to do.

  She got up and turned on the TV in the den, using the remote to surf through the channels. The morning news shows were long over, the intellectual programming giving way to trashy daytime television. She turned it off, not interested i
n a panel of women who’d all had an affair with their husband’s brother. It was close enough to lunch to think about making a sandwich, but somehow that seemed too much effort. Then she heard the dull thud of a slamming car door. As she got up to see who it was, her husband came in the kitchen door.

  “Is everything all right, Dear? I thought you’d be at work.”

  “I just did a couple of quick things, and then had Connie push all my meeting off the next couple of days off. Thought we could take a little trip.”

  “But Justin, I have to work. And what about Abriella?”

  “I spoke to Dr. Potter’s office, and after the thugs breaking into the ward he said he’s okay with giving you a couple of days. We can come back before tomorrow night.”

  She started to get cross, not liking him calling her work around her back. But, she reminded herself, they’d known the Potter’s for years and their daughters were still best friends.

  “But we can’t leave the kid alone,” she protested.

  “Abriella is sixteen! Of course we can,” said Justin.

  Arabell shook her head, “Exactly, she’s sixteen.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure her blood will run as hot as yours,” he said as she blushed, “but she’s got no notice we’re going and it’s a school night. We’ll be back before she can plot any shenanigans. It’s no different for her than any other week night.”

  Guilt flashed in her mind before realizing he was right, “What do you have in mind, Mr. Harper?”

  “It won’t take long to slip over to a cabin in Shenandoah State Park. We can have a nice dinner along the way. Float in the river or walk a couple of nature trails after a leisurely morning,” he said grabbing her big hips, “and we can probably manage to play three times if one of them is before we go.”

  She kissed him, full on the mouth, and he moaned at the taste of sugar on her lips.

  Sergeant Barker drove his patrol car with Johnbull Sesay riding shotgun. When he’d pulled in, the kennel master had come walking over so quickly that before the sergeant could disembark he was pulling at the handle of the passenger side door. The veteran patrolman quickly sized him up, and then hit the door unlatch button.