Gun Shy (18 page)

Buck and I had met each other in the corridor of the hospital when I returned a few hours ago; he was entering as I was leaving. We said hello, but that was all.

I shrugged again and added, “I really can’t even get mad at him. After all, I knew he was a snake when I picked him up.”

She looked puzzled, and I explained, “You know that story about the woman who finds a snake frozen on the ground, then takes him home and thaws him out, and as soon as the snake can move again, he bites her. When she says, ‘How could you do that?’ the snake says, ‘Why are you so surprised? You knew I was a snake when you picked me up.’ ”

She smiled, and Hero, sitting suddenly at her side, barked. Her smile changed to a kind of puzzled interest as she looked at the dog. I was as startled as she was.

“He hasn’t barked once since I brought him here,” I said. “And now he suddenly seems to have a lot to say. First he barked at Sandy Lanier, and now at you.”

She said, still looking at him, “It was the snake. Something about a snake. He says be careful of the snake.”

I sipped the lukewarm coffee. “Thanks, Hero. Too little, too late.”

Sonny looked up at me. “He says the snake came, and she died.”

I frowned uneasily, and because I never knew how to respond to comments like that, I changed the subject by retrieving the knotted rope from the floor and tossing it gently across the floor. Hero trotted politely after it, and Cisco, watching him, growled lowly. I said sharply to Cisco, “Stop!”

Sonny chuckled. “Cisco says he wishes Hero would just go home.”

“I don’t need an animal communicator to figure that out,” I said. “The guy from the service dog agency is supposed to be here Friday afternoon. But I’m going to miss Hero. And it’s such a shame to think of retiring a great dog like that.”

“All he wants to do is work,” Sonny agreed.

Hero dropped the rope toy into Sonny’s lap and looked at her adoringly. She scratched his chin. “I’m going to miss him too. Maybe,” she suggested, “I could bring him home with me for a few hours before he goes and let him run with Mystery. She says she likes him almost as much as Cisco.”

Cisco growled again, very softly, and Sonny did not help by laughing. “Don’t worry, Cisco, no one is trying to take your place. Why is he so insecure?” she asked me.

I made an unpleasant face that was meant to be funny but which came across, I suspect, as rather sad. “He comes from a broken home.”

The telephone rang again and I stretched to answer it.

“Raine, hey.” It was Rick, my boss at the forest service. “How’s your uncle?”

“He’s coming home next week. They think he’s going to be fine.”

“Great news. Modern medicine is really something. Used to be people didn’t survive something like that. Do you think he’ll stay on as sheriff?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted. This was a subject on which, for obvious political reasons, I wasn’t free to speculate. “The doctor says he’ll be out of work for six weeks, though.”

“Shame.” Rick allowed a respectful silence. Then, as usual, life went on. “Listen, the reason I’m calling is one of the guys found a stray dog out in the woods, looks like it got away from some camper. No collar or ID, and it’s kind of a mess, but it seems friendly enough. Hate to think it might be some kid’s pet. I know you’ve got enough on your plate right now, but if you could come by and look at it . . .”

What he really meant was, “If you could come by, pick it up, spring for the vet bills and board it until some unsuspecting soul can be conned into giving it a good home . . .” But what could I say? This is what I
do
.

And life goes on.

I sighed. “Okay, Rick. Hold on to it for a little while longer. I’ll head on up that way as soon as I check to see if Aunt Mart needs anything.”

He said, “Thanks, Raine. You tell your uncle we all send our best up here, okay?”

“I will, Rick, thanks. See you in a bit.”

Sonny was gathering up her things as I hung up.

“Stray dog,” I explained, “found on forest service land. I’m going to go pick him up.”

“Go on ahead,” Sonny said. “I just stopped by to see if I could do anything for you. I’ll be happy to take the stray if you need me to.”

“Thanks, but I’ve got plenty of room. The kennels are practically empty. That’s why Maude could spare the time to go sit with Aunt Mart at the hospital while I took telephone duty. I appreciate it, though.”

Sonny swung her shawl around her shoulders and said, “Call me if you need me.” She bent down to pet Hero’s head. “See you later, big fellow.” She hesitated, and then looked up at me.

“He says,” she relayed, almost apologetically, “to watch out for snakes.”

I took Cisco with me for the ride to the ranger station. The truth is, the minute I opened the door he dashed through it and was waiting for me with his paws on the door handle of the SUV before I left the front porch. Generally I would not have tolerated that kind of behavior. All my dogs know they are supposed to wait at an open door before being released to cross through it, and everyone but Cisco usually does that. Today I was simply too tired to be a good dog trainer. Besides, I wanted the company.

The rain had lifted, leaving the bite of the passing cold front in the air and a blanket of wispy clouds over the blue shoulders of the mountains. Only a few brave orange and red leaves clung to the limbs of the trees I saw on my way up the mountain, and even the colorful carpet on the forest floor was beginning to look dull.

The crate I use for transporting rescue dogs was in the back of the vehicle, and Cisco rode up front with me. Because—with the outstanding exception of Hero—Cisco was usually very good with other dogs, I took him inside the building with me when I reached the ranger station, although I took the precaution of keeping him on leash. I dropped the leash as soon as I realized there was no one inside but Rick, and let Cisco rush over to receive his petting.

“Well, if it isn’t Fred Astaire!” exclaimed Rick, rubbing Cisco’s back until his tail whipped back and forth so enthusiastically it looked as though he might take off into orbit. “Let’s see some moves, dude, let’s see some moves!”

I grimaced. It seemed as though a year had passed since the Pet Fair, instead of only a few days. “You heard about that, huh?”

He looked up at me, laughing. “Everybody’s heard about it,” he told me. “I understand you’ve got a few moves of your own. Not thinking about leaving us for the stage, are you?”

“Very funny. Where’s the dog?”

“Jimbo’s got him out back, trying to knock some of the mud off of him. He doesn’t look too bad, but he was out in the rainstorm. We didn’t have anything to feed him except half a tuna sandwich. Hope it doesn’t make him sick.”

“Since he’s riding in my car, me too.”

We talked for a few minutes about Uncle Roe and life in general, and I heard the back door open. I made a grab for Cisco’s leash, but too late. He gave a happy bark of greeting, and then bounded over to sniff and play-bow to the dog who had just accompanied Jimbo into the room. The dog returned a greeting of his own, and the two canines began circling each other and wiggling and dipping like old friends. There was a good reason for that.

I stared. The dog was wet, tangled and bedraggled, but unmistakable. “Oh, my God,” I exclaimed. “Ringo!”

“You don’t understand,” I insisted to Rick. “This dog is like—well, like Lassie, or somebody! His owner would no more just let him wander off than—than a jockey would forget to lock the stable door of a Triple Crown winner! And no way would Ringo leave her, not of his free will, anyway. Something has to have happened.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, Raine,” replied Rick, replacing the telephone receiver. “I’ve checked with every station up and down the way, and she didn’t check in with any of them. No unaccounted-for vehicles in the parking lots. You said she was an experienced hiker. She’s got to know enough to check in with the ranger station before she sets out.”

Jimbo came in from the back room. “I checked the access points to the Appalachian Trail, and nobody’s seen anyone matching her description, no cars in the parking lot. My guess is she changed her mind.”

“Then what was her dog doing running loose in the woods?” I insisted. “Where did you find him, again?”

“Sniffing around the picnic tables at the Number Three campsite,” Jimbo said. “But that doesn’t mean anything. He could have been traveling for days.”

I had to agree with him there. A domestic dog, lost and afraid, will always seek out places where people or other dogs have been, and he will travel great distances to do that. But it was at least a place to start.

I said, “She could be hurt on the trail somewhere. We can’t just leave her out there.”

Rick said, “You know as well as I do we can’t organize a search until someone files a missing-or-overdue report.”

“Well, I’m filing one!”

He sighed. “Raine, you don’t even know this person. There’s absolutely no evidence that she even went hiking. Maybe her plans changed. Maybe the rain scared her off. Wouldn’t be the first tourist to hightail it back to the city after one night in a wet sleeping bag.”

“She would
not
leave her dog!”

The two men exchanged a look. I focused my attention on Ringo, who, with the excitement of meeting a familiar dog now past, was lying by the door, his head tilted toward me expectantly, as though waiting for his ride home.

Rick said, “Tell you what we’ll do. Let’s call the radio station, put out an announcement. Ringo, did you say his name was? If she’s in the area, chances are she’ll hear it and know where to find him. Meanwhile, we’ll keep an eye out along the trails, just in case you’re right. We already know she didn’t show up at either Beechum Falls or High Point station. Maybe she did change her route, or had somebody drive her car to a drop-off point for her. All I’m saying is that until we either have evidence that she actually
did
go hiking, or somebody reports her missing, there’s not a whole lot more we can do.”

I blew out a frustrated breath. I knew he was right. I said, “Okay. But you don’t mind if Cisco and I poke around a little, do you?”

Rick’s frown was skeptical. “After the rain? With no place to start? What for?”

I said, “Humor me.”

He shrugged. “Knock yourself out. But I don’t see how you can expect to get much done today. It’ll be going on dark in four hours.”

I slipped a loop leash over Ringo’s neck. “Call the radio station,” I said. “I’m going to take this guy home and start backtracking from the campsite.”

“Come on, Raine, don’t—”

“Not official,” I assured him, and opened the door. “It’s just a walk in the woods. I’ll be back in half an hour.”

Rick called after me, “Don’t you have enough to worry about?”

The thing was, he was right. But that was
exactly
why I had to follow through on this, why I couldn’t believe the obvious explanation—that Sandy Lanier had simply changed her mind about hiking or lost her dog. Before Uncle Roe’s heart attack I had had a theory that had seemed wild at the time. Now it didn’t seem so wild.

This was the kind of thing I would usually hash out with Buck. I could call for his input, his assistance, his cool head. I cannot describe the hollow stab of loneliness I felt in the pit of my stomach when I picked up my cell phone and realized I was no longer free to just dial his number.

Letty Cranston had said something about a
therapist.
Sandy Lanier said she was from Charleston, but her actual address might have been anywhere in the greater Charleston area. Hero
had
recognized her. And she had recognized Hero, when I told her his real name and his occupation. She had gone as white as a sheet when I told her Mickey White had been murdered.

And now she was missing.

I simply wasn’t willing to wait until I got home to confirm my hunch. So as soon as I got a signal I pulled off the road into a dirt driveway and rummaged through the console until I found the card Uncle Roe had given me. I dialed the cell phone number of Mickey White’s father.

He answered gruffly, “Kines.”

I said, “Mr. Kines, this is Raine Stockton from Dog Daze. I’m keeping your daughter’s service dog, remember?”

“Listen, I told you I would send you a check. These things take time, miss, and you’re on the list just like everybody else. But if you think you can just call up here and—”

I interrupted, “That’s not why I’m calling, Mr. Kines.”

“Well?” he demanded impatiently.

“I was wondering . . . Do you happen to know the name of your daughter’s physical therapist?”

Dead silence was my answer.

“Was her name Sandra Lanier?”

The silence was so long this time that I thought he might have hung up on me. And then he said, in a voice made all the more menacing by its softness, “What in the
hell
business is that of yours?”

I swallowed hard. In for a penny, in for a pound. “Was that who your son-in-law was having an affair with?”

“Who the hell are you, lady?” There was nothing soft about his tone now. I actually winced. “What do you mean, calling me on my cell phone making accusations like that? My daughter is dead, don’t you realize that? And that son-of-a-bitch husband of hers killed her!”

I said, “Sandy Lanier is missing, Mr. Kines. Just like your son-in-law was missing, before he was found dead facedown in a creek.” I took a breath, and a stab in the dark. “Do you know anything about buying and selling coins over the Internet?”

Dead silence. And then, “Who
are
you?”

“Nobody,” I said. “Just a girl with a dog.” And, heart pounding, I hung up.

My uncle would kill me if he knew what I had just done, and my Aunt Mart would kill me for telling him. And the truth was, even I couldn’t entirely believe I had done it. The part about Sandy Lanier being the woman with whom Leo White was having an affair was a complete stab in the dark, but could I have been
right
? And was it such a stretch to think that a man like Kines, with money and power and “friends in low places,” as Letty Cranston had said, might be involved in some almost-legal Internet scheme for buying and selling gold coins, and that he might have manipulated or threatened his son-in-law into taking the fall for him when the plan went bad?