Dog Days (14 page)

I have to admit I wasn’t entirely sure what I was going to say, and I only had the length of the automated voice-mail message to compose my thoughts. I said, “This is Raine Stockton. I think you know who I am and why I’m calling. I’d like to talk to you about your ex-wife, and about her dog Cameo. I’m working a booth at the county fair today so I might be hard to catch at home, but you can call me on my cell phone.”

I left my number and wondered what the odds were that someone who had been covertly following me and who had actually tried to break into my kennel in the middle of the night would bother to return my phone call.

But at least it was starting to make sense now. A private eye would be far more likely to have access to sophisticated surveillance equipment than an ordinary citizen. He had not been trying to break into my car—at least not necessarily—he’d just followed the GPS on Cameo’s collar. The same was true of the kennel. The collar, and the transmitter, had been in my office. He’d probably thought Cameo was in the kennel with the other dogs, and maybe he had intended to liberate her, retrieving the transmitter in the process. The question, of course, was why he had planted the device in the first place. I couldn’t think of a single good answer for that one.

I did, however, have an idea about who might.

Once again I dialed Tony Madison’s number. To my surprise, he answered. “Miss Stockton,” he said, apparently reading my name on the caller ID, “I was going to call you about the dog.” He sounded exhausted and distracted. “I’m good for the bill. I just have a lot to deal with right now. I appreciate everything you’ve done, but you don’t have to keep calling.”

“I’m not calling about Cameo,” I said quickly, before he could hang up. “I’m sorry to bother you, I really am, but you mentioned your wife’s ex-husband the other day. Greg Sellers?”

There was a surprised silence. Then, “What?”

“Did you know he was here? In Hansonville, I mean.”

This time the silence was longer. It was so long, in fact, that I thought he might have hung up. I prompted, “Mr. Madison?”

He said in a quiet, constrained voice, “What are you talking about?”

“The thing is,” I said, “I found a listening device in Cameo’s collar and—”

“A
what
?”

“It’s like an electronic bug. I was going to return it to you, but I think Greg Sellers may have stolen it.” He was silent, so I prompted, “I was wondering if you might know anything about it, or …”

He interrupted harshly, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, and I don’t want to know. My wife just died. All I want is to go home.”

“I know, and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have bothered you. If there’s anything I can do …”

“I’ll tell you what you can do,” he said shortly, “you can give me back the damn dog and stop bothering me. I’m at the campground.”

I said, “I can be there within the hour.”

He replied, “Good.” And he hung up.

I replaced the receiver and looked over at Cameo, who was stretched out on the kitchen floor with a pile of Cisco’s toys in front of her. Cisco sat beside her, watching her adoringly. Cameo was not only an angel, she was a hero. How dare he call her a damn dog?

But she was his dog, now that April was dead, and I had to return her to him.

Of course, that left me with another problem. If I left now to take Cameo to the campground, it would be a tight squeeze to get back here in time to pick up Cisco and make it to the fairgrounds in time for the dog show and, immediately following, my volunteer time at the Humane Society booth. I didn’t need Cisco to help with the dog show, of course, but all of the booth volunteers had agreed to bring their own well-behaved pets because people were much more likely to come over to pet your dog and subsequently leave a donation in the jar than they were to simply wander by and pick up a brochure if you were sitting there by yourself. Besides, I had made Cisco a cute vest that said “Help my brothers and sisters! Donate today!” and he did his begging trick whenever someone walked by. We almost always raised more money than anyone else, and there was no way I was leaving him behind. So, even though it was far from ideal, it appeared I had no choice but to take Cisco with me when I went to deliver Cameo to her legitimate, if undeserving, owner.

I made the change in record time from my sweaty Dog Daze clothes into khaki shorts and a button-down sleeveless shirt more appropriate to a dog show judge and Humane Society volunteer. I was taking no chances with my purse today, so I tucked my phone, driver’s license, and cash, along with a few waste-pickup bags, into the front pocket of my shorts and securely fastened the front tab button. I dug back into my purse for my keys and yelped when something sharp pricked my finger. I peered into the bag and saw a small gold post poking out through the lining of my purse. I probed around it and discovered an irregular shape that I knew could only be one thing.

“Oh, no,” I groaned softly.

I unzipped the pocket—the same pocket in which I used to keep dog treats—and discovered a small hole, no doubt torn by dog teeth, in the bottom. I wiggled my fingers inside it and felt around until I grasped the object and pulled it out.

I gazed in resigned dismay at the little schnauzer pin in my hand. I couldn’t believe I had actually suspected Corny of stealing my purse just because the pin was missing, when it had never really been missing at all. The only person who had stolen anything was me, and the worst part was that I couldn’t even apologize to Corny for it.

On the other hand, just because the little pin had not been the object of a purse-snatching did not explain how it had gotten into my house in the first place.

And if I was to get Cameo back to the campground and still arrive at the fair in time to judge the dog show, I did not have time to deal with it now. I put the schnauzer pin safely away in my silverware drawer, grabbed the leashes and my day bag filled with dog supplies, and hurried across the drive to the kennel. I left Mischief and Magic in the playroom with Pepper and Marilee, and stopped by the grooming room to tell Corny I was leaving.

After what I’d suspected him of—never mind that I hadn’t actually accused him of it—I felt awkward leaving Corny in charge while I was gone. But Corny, looking up from a bearded collie covered in suds, was his usual cheerful, oblivious self. “Don’t you worry, Miss Stockton, all is well! I’ll have Bongo here ready to go in another hour, and after that I’ll have plenty of time to help with the day care dogs. Piece of cake!”

Knowing that I would be gone most of the day today, I’d made a point of not scheduling any check-ins or pickups, and only Bongo for grooming. I’d even kept the day care load light, so I didn’t see what could possibly go wrong. I’d only be gone for the afternoon, and Marilee was here.

I smiled at Corny apologetically, even though of course he had no idea what I was apologizing for. “Thanks, Corny. I’ll be back before closing.”

“Not a problem,” he assured me. “None at all!” He started to turn back to scrubbing Bongo, and then looked at me quizzically. “Miss Stockton,” he said, “I know I’ve only been here a couple of days, but I couldn’t help noticing … well, you don’t really have time to run a boarding and grooming kennel, do you?”

I sighed. “The same thing has occurred to me, Corny.” I glanced at my watch, and realized I also didn’t have time to talk about it. “I have to run. Thanks again.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

C
isco sat up straight in the backseat and panted with excitement as I turned onto the road that led to the ranger station. Back when I used to work there he came to work with me every day, and dogs have amazingly long memories for things that give them joy. Cameo, tethered in her seat belt across from him, was her usual ladylike self, resting all four paws on the bench seat while the air-conditioning vent gently ruffled her fur. There couldn’t have been two more opposite dogs. I was going to miss her almost as much as Cisco was.

Since I was only going to be gone a minute, I left the car running with the air-conditioning on and dashed inside the ranger station, where the master list of all campground registrants was kept. It was a quaint, cramped little building made to resemble a rustic log cabin, with just enough room for the counter and desk, a postcard display, and a few shelves stocked with tee shirts, kitschy mugs, and colorful books about the Smokies. It always smelled like fresh cut timber and the great outdoors; even today, with the air-conditioning unit going full blast in the window.

Rick was on the phone behind the counter when I came in and he lifted his hand to me. I waved back absently, but my attention was on the camping gear stacked in a corner just inside the door. The red, white, and blue striped duffle bag was too distinctive to be missed.

“Come to volunteer?” Rick greeted me when he hung up. “We pay in peanuts and coffee, but I sure could use somebody to answer this phone while I do my job.”

“Sorry,” I said. “I already have one job I’m too busy for. I just need to know which campsite Tony Madison is registered in. He asked me to bring his dog.”

Rick shook his head regretfully as he turned to the computer. “I heard she didn’t make it.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, we knew it was a long shot. Still, I hate it. The police have been in and out of here since yesterday.”

I nodded my head toward the camping equipment in the corner. “What’s the deal?”

“Oh, you know.” He picked up a pencil to jot down the site number for me. “Some homeless dude paying by the day couldn’t make his campsite fee. Generally I’ll cut them some slack, but we’re full up.”

I looked again at the red, white, and blue duffle bag. “Do you happen to know who he is?”

“Yeah, he’d be a hard one to forget. Funny-looking kid, red hair, odd name. Sounded like a college professor or something.”

“Cornelius,” I said, a little hollowly. “Cornelius Lancaster the Third.”

“That’s it.” He held out the sticky note with Tony Madison’s site number on it. “Do you know him?”

“Yeah.” I took the note. “He checked in Friday, right?” Because by the time he could have gotten here on Thursday night, the campgrounds would have been closed. I wondered where he had spent the night Thursday. And then I thought I knew.

Rick scratched his head. “Nah, it was earlier in the week. Monday or Tuesday, seems like. He paid for a couple of days, then ran out of cash I guess and packed up on Thursday. He was back here bright and early Friday morning, though, before I even opened the gates. Good thing too, because I gave him the last tent spot. Nice enough fellow. Rides a bike everywhere he goes. No law against that, I guess. Paid in cash for Friday, then said he was getting a paycheck and could I please hold the site for him. I told him I couldn’t promise. Anyhow, I guess it didn’t work out, because it looks like that one-day fee was all he had.”

Of course it was. Out of the ten-dollar tip I’d given him, he’d spent seven dollars for the campsite, three dollars for farm-stand blueberry muffins, and his employer hadn’t paid him yet. I felt awful.

I said, reaching into my pocket, “How about if I pay for the site? Could you—”

But he held up his hand. “Like I said, I’d like to, but it’s already rented. There’s not a single spot left on this whole mountain this weekend.”

I let my hand drop. “Well, could you at least let me take him his stuff?”

“I’m not supposed to, but …” He shrugged. “The rules say if it’s not picked up by noon we send it on to Goodwill. Seeing as it’s you, go ahead, if you think you can find him.”

“Oh, I can find him, all right.” I picked up the duffle bag and the compact tent bag just as the phone rang. “Thanks, Rick.”

He waved at me and picked up the phone. I heard him say, “Ranger Station,” as I pushed through the door.

A lot of the pieces were beginning to fall into place, but the gaps that were still left formed a very confusing picture. This explained why Corny hadn’t wanted to fill out the employment papers: he didn’t have an address to list. And it explained what he had been doing here on the night he’d seen April and Cameo get into the car with Tony Madison. But it did not explain why a college student from an upscale place like Chapel Hill—with or without a trust fund—would be unable to pay a $7.00 campsite rental, even if he did prefer a bicycle to a car. All kids had credit cards these days. Didn’t they?

Before I left the ranger station, I took out my phone and scrolled down until I found the number of Professor Rudolph. I dialed and sat in the parking lot waiting for him to answer. I was surprised when he actually did.

I told him who I was, and reminded him why I was calling. He was quick to remember. “Yes, yes,” he assured me. “I was so sorry not to connect with you earlier, but of course I want to do whatever I can to help young Cornelius out. A fine young man, none better. I’m so glad to hear he landed on his feet. What can I answer for you?”

I said, “You were one of his professors at Duke?”

There was a short silence. “Why, no. I do teach at Duke University, but as far as I know Cornelius was never enrolled there. He worked for me—odd jobs, dog walking, some yard work, that sort of thing. Most industrious young fellow I’ve ever known, and he was a magician with Sophie, my Great Dane. Of course we talked about getting him into a program at Duke, and even looked into some scholarships. He is a brilliant young man, tested very high in math and science. I believe he took some courses at the junior college but frankly, even with a scholarship, the university was far beyond his means, and that was before the tragedy.”

I put in quickly, “The tragedy?”

“He lost both his parents in a fire on Christmas Eve last year. It was a terrible blow, as I’m sure you can imagine. There was no insurance, I’m sorry to say, and barely enough money for the funeral. Afterwards, Cornelius just disappeared. I’ve thought about him often, wondered what became of him.”

I said, with some difficulty, “So there’s no trust fund?”

“What?”

“Nothing,” I said quickly. “Never mind. Thank you, Professor.”

“He’s working with animals, did you say?” said the professor. “Excellent. You won’t be disappointed, I promise you that. A very industrious young man.”

I thanked the professor again and hung up. I drove to the Bottleneck Campground with confusion and uncertainty nagging at me like a toothache.

~*~

The RV sites at Bottleneck were nice enough, but too narrow and close together for my taste. Each site was shaded, though, and most of them were within hearing range of the tumbling waters—when their generators weren’t roaring, of course. I found site #21 and parked in the shade, rolling down all the windows for the dogs. The RV looked empty, the campsite deserted. In the site to the right a woman was hanging wet swimsuits on the line, and in the camp to the left four adults were gathered around a camp table, chatting and sipping coffee. I walked around the side of the Madisons’ RV and knocked. “Hello,” I called when there was no sign of movement inside. I knocked again. “Hello, Mr. Madison, I’ve brought your dog!”

I walked all the way around the vehicle, standing on tiptoe to try to see inside the darkened windows. I noticed a tow hitch on the back, but no car. I could only guess he had been on his way back from Asheville when I’d talked to him on the phone, and had been delayed. I went back to the door and knocked one more time.

The woman who was hanging up swimsuits finally took pity on me and called, “Honey, he’s not there.”

I walked over to her. “I’ve been keeping his dog for him,” I explained. “He asked me to bring her by this morning.”

She shrugged. “He peeled out of here about forty-five minutes ago,” she said. “Seemed in an awful hurry. There are speed limits on these roads, you know. People walking, kids playing. Somebody ought to get out and enforce the law, if you ask me.”

I began, “Well, the forest service doesn’t really have the …” And then I broke off, frowning. “Forty-five minutes, you say?”

“More or less.”

That would’ve been right after he talked to me. Why would he leave when he knew I was on my way?

“Do you want me to tell him you were here?” the woman volunteered.

“Thanks, I’ll wait a little longer,” I said. “Maybe he just had to run out and get something. He knew I was coming.”

I turned to go back to the car and sit with the dogs when a plume of dust approaching us on the road caught my eye. The vehicle was going pretty fast, and from the way the lady next door had just described Tony Madison’s departure, I thought it might be him returning. But only for a moment. I stepped back out of the way as the sheriff’s department’s K-9 unit pulled up in front of the campsite, followed closely by a patrol car.

Jolene got out of the SUV, glaring at me. I heard the two doors of the patrol car slam and Deke and Mike approached, their hands close to their gun belts. The formerly friendly woman next door looked at me warily and took a step back; the people in the site on the other side got up from the table and moved closer, craning to see what was happening.

“Stockton,” Jolene said curtly, “what are you doing here?”

I lifted my hands in mock surrender. “Hey, I’m just doing my job. Mr. Madison told me to return his dog. But he’s not here. That lady,” I nodded toward the woman next door, “said he left forty-five minutes ago.”

Jolene looked at Deke and jerked her head toward the RV. They immediately moved forward, Deke banging on the door, Mike moving around the opposite side. I heard Deke call, “Tony Madison, this is the Hanover County Sheriff’s Department. We have a warrant for your arrest. Please open the door now or we will break it down. Mr. Madison!”

I swung my gaze back to Jolene. “Warrant?”

She said, “Return to your vehicle. Stay out of the way. Do not leave the premises.”

She strode up to the RV and I heard her say to Deke, “Break it down.”

Let the record show that up to this point I’d been more than cooperative with the police. But I was getting a little tired of Deputy Jolene telling me where to go, when to go, and what to do when I got there, especially since, in this instance, I knew perfectly well there was no one inside that RV and the chances of gunplay were pretty slim. So while the onlookers shrank back with wide eyes when the officers drew their guns and Deke kicked open the flimsy lock on the RV, I walked over to the lady with the swimsuits.

“My name is Raine,” I said. I gestured toward my car, where Cisco was watching the proceedings with interest from his open window; Cameo rested her chin on the other window and didn’t seem very impressed at all. “The white golden retriever is Mr. Madison’s, and that’s my dog Cisco on the other side. Do you remember what kind of car Mr. Madison was driving?”

She looked at me suspiciously. “Are you with the police?”

“No,” I admitted. “But—”

“Then I shouldn’t be talking to you.” Immediately contradicting herself, she added anxiously, “What’s going on? What are they arresting him for? It’s not drugs, is it? Because I’ve got kids. Good heavens, in a national forest campground, there should be a law.”

I heard Deke shout, “Clear!” and Mike echoed, “Clear!” It was an RV, after all. There weren’t that many places to hide.

I said, “There is a law. That is, there are lots of laws, and that’s why people get arrested when they break them. It would really help me out if you could tell me what kind of car he was driving. Even the color.”

“You planning to chase him down, Stockton?” Jolene came up behind me, scowling as usual. “I thought I told you to stay out of the way.”

“I am out of the way,” I returned sweetly. “I’m all the way over here, talking to this nice lady, who saw Tony Madison drive away this morning. If I knew what kind of car he was driving, I could give you even more information.”

Jolene turned to the other woman. “Is that right, ma’am?”

She nodded, looking more self-important than alarmed now. “That’s right. He looked to be in a big hurry, too.”

“What time was that?”

“Like I told her …” she indicated me. “It was about forty-five minutes before you all got here.”

“That would be,” I added helpfully, “right after I told him his wife’s ex-husband was in town.”

Jolene turned to look at me, her features inscrutable. Then she raised her hand to Mike and said, “Mike, will you come take this lady’s statement, please? Deke, see if the people on the other side know anything.”

She took out her notebook and gestured me back toward the Madison campsite. “Talk to me, Stockton.”