Under the Dog Star: A Rachel Goddard Mystery #4 (Rachel Goddard Mysteries) (13 page)

“That sounds sinister. What bothered your mother so much?”

“Oh, man. I’m crazy to be telling you any of this. I don’t want you involved.”

“If you stop now, I’m going to kick you,” Rachel said. “I want to know the background on those kids.”

Tom sighed, hesitated, then continued. “Mom felt the same way you do—David and Marcy were pretty little things Vicky Hall wanted to own but she didn’t care much about them as people. She thought they were beautiful, she wanted them, and her husband made sure she got them.”

“After their mother died, right?”

“Yeah, but the Halls were trying to get them even before that. There were rumors going around that they offered Jewel Riggs a lot of money for them.”

“What? They tried to
buy
them?” Rachel’s voice rose in outrage, and Tom made a hushing motion with his hands.

“Let me tell you the whole story. David and Marcy’s mother—Jewel—was an addict. She was in rehab a couple of times, but she couldn’t stay clean. Even after Marcy was born addicted, Jewel couldn’t straighten herself out and do what was right for the kids. She kept landing in the emergency room, usually with David and Marcy in tow.”

“God, how awful,” Rachel said. Tom saw tears moisten her eyes, but in a second she’d blinked them away. “Is that where Mrs. Hall first saw Marcy and David? At the hospital?”

“Yeah. Vicky was the ER administrator. She got Social Services involved, and the kids were taken away from Jewel a couple of times, but she got them back when she was clean again. Then the Halls got the idea of adopting them—rescuing them—and they started pressuring Jewel to give up her parental rights.”

“Didn’t their father have anything to say about it?”

“Raymond wasn’t around at the time. He was never really in the picture. They never got married—her parents were dead set against her marrying a black man—and he was in and out of Jewel’s life because he couldn’t find work here. As far as I know, he never supported the kids.”

“But their mother wouldn’t give them to the Halls, not even for money?”

“No. Both times after she was in rehab she tried to stay clean and take care of them. But in the end she died of an overdose. Then the Halls went to court to get the kids.”

“What about their relatives? Grandparents?”

“Jake and Maddy Riggs kept the kids when Jewel was in rehab,” Tom said, “but they didn’t want them because they were half black.”

“Oh, gee, that’s nice.” Rachel drummed her fingers on the table as a complex mix of anger, sorrow, and pity played across her face.

“Believe me, if you knew them, you wouldn’t want the kids to be with them.”
I’m going to regret telling her all this,
Tom thought. Rachel would jump right into the Hall family’s mess if he didn’t stop her. And he was seldom able to stop her from doing anything. “Their uncle was at the Hall house yesterday. Leo Riggs. He was with Ethan at the shelter last night, too.”

“That lowlife is their uncle?”

“Yeah, and he was totally in favor of the adoption. From what I heard, he thought the kids really lucked out when the Halls adopted them.”
And Leo lucked out too.
Tom had heard that the Halls provided the money to set up Leo’s car repair shop at the time of the adoption. Tom’s mother had always contended that the Riggses sold the kids to the Halls.

“So,” Rachel said, “the Halls went to a lot of trouble to take two kids away from their biological family, maybe for very good reasons, but then they refused to give them the love they deserved. I will never understand why people do things like that.”

Tom wondered if Rachel was thinking of the Halls or her own family. Marcy had struck a chord with her, and she probably saw herself in the child. He hated the thought of her old wounds being opened up again. If the Halls’ dog hadn’t been injured, Rachel would never have become involved. “I can’t explain it,” he said. “Don’t let this eat away at you. Try to put it out of your mind. Okay?”

She didn’t answer, and Tom supposed that was the right response to his suggestion that she do the impossible.

He dropped his napkin on the table and motioned for the waitress to bring the check. “Whatever’s going on in that family, it’ll have to wait. I need to get back to the hospital and talk to some more of Hall’s employees, but first I want to follow up on the dogfighting angle. If Hall’s dog was being held by somebody in a dogfighting operation, that’s the key to finding his killer.”

Tom handed the waitress a couple of bills, telling her to keep the change. “Be careful out in Rocky Branch District this afternoon,” he told Rachel. “I’ll have a deputy out there to look after you and Holly. I’d like to get through the rest of the day without worrying about you every minute.”

***

The dog they had captured the night before cringed in a corner of the enclosure when Rachel stooped next to the chain link fence. Holly hung back. Rachel was afraid the dog would feel threatened if both of them came close.

“Hey, boy,” she murmured. She stuck a sausage-flavored treat through the fence. “Look what I’ve got for you.”

The animal’s nose twitched as he picked up the strong aroma. Rachel found the smell revolting, but dogs loved the stuff.

“Wouldn’t you like to have this?” she coaxed.

Drool leaked from the dog’s mouth and plopped on the ground. He swallowed and inched closer, his eyes never leaving the enticing morsel in Rachel’s fingers.

“Come on, boy, come on over here and you can have it.”

A couple more steps. A high-pitched whine rose from his throat. When Rachel shifted slightly on her haunches, the dog jumped away again, hitting the fence behind him.

“Okay, sweetie,” Rachel crooned, “that’s enough for one day. You can have it. Come and get it.”

She dropped the treat through the fence and shuffled backward two or three feet. She didn’t want to spook him by suddenly rising to her full height.

The dog’s eyes shifted between Rachel and the treat on the ground and back again. Then he sprang forward, snatched the treat, and bolted for the doghouse at the rear of the enclosure. After he was safely hidden away, Rachel heard him munching noisily.

“Poor thing,” Holly said. They turned and walked back toward Rachel’s Range Rover. “He must be so lonesome and scared without all the other dogs.”

“We have to break their bond as a pack,” Rachel said, “and help them bond with people again. That connection is still there. We just have to bring it to the surface.”

“I know you’re right. I just—” Holly’s eyes filled with tears. “I feel so sorry for them. People have been so mean to them, I don’t know why they’d ever trust any of us again.”

Rachel touched her shoulder. “They will, Holly. We have to work with them and be patient. You need to be tough to do this kind of work.” She looked around, assessing the progress that had been made on construction. “We can only bring in as many dogs as you have room for.”

A dozen fenced dog runs, each with a covered section and a doghouse, stood ready for use. Behind them, a long shelter was being built to house dogs in cold weather, but only the framing and one wall had gone up so far. Rachel had asked for a one-day break in construction noise for the sake of the frightened dog, and the men were busy nearby, digging holes for the concrete footings of additional fenced enclosures.

“We’ll keep some in the house if we have to,” Holly said. “Just get all of them in here so we can take care of them.”

But would the dogs be safe here? “My big concern right now is security,” Rachel said. “Are you sure the guys your grandmother’s hiring will be reliable?”

Holly’s nod was emphatic. “They know they’d better be, or they’ll have to answer to Grandma. They won’t let that crazy bunch get in here again.”

Rachel didn’t like putting the shelter’s security in the hands of men from Rocky Branch District, but Holly’s grandmother knew everyone in that area and was probably a good judge of who could be trusted. With a few phone calls this morning she had rounded up a full crew of men who wanted the work and could start today. They weren’t professionals, though, and Rachel worried that someone would get hurt unnecessarily. But what alternative did they have on short notice? Every animal Rachel and Joe Dolan brought to the shelter would increase the chances of an attack on the place. The dogs and the people who cared for them would be in greater danger with every day—and night—that passed.

Chapter Thirteen

“Oh, man, look at that!” Brandon exclaimed, peering at the house through the cruiser’s windshield. “A real log cabin. I’ve never seen one before.”

At the end of the steep gravel road, Tom pulled into the clearing in front of the house and killed the engine. “Some people out in the big wide world believe all of us hillbillies live in log cabins.”

“I wouldn’t mind it,” Brandon said. “That is one cool house.”

“It might be a little cooler in the winter than you’re used to. Speaking literally.” Burt Morgan’s cabin perched halfway up a mountainside that wasn’t served by electric or gas lines.

When Tom and Brandon stepped out of the car, two big mutts scrambled from under the porch, barking and growling. Tom’s hand went to his gun.

Morgan banged open his screen door, yelling, “Rambo! Bullet! Back off!”

The dogs stopped instantly. Whining, they retreated a few feet, but they never took their eyes off Tom and Brandon.

“Lay down, fleabags,” Morgan commanded.

The dogs flopped onto their bellies.

“Hey, Burt,” Tom said. He kept a wary eye on the dogs. “How have you been?”

“Like you give a shit,” Morgan replied, his tone almost amiable. He was in his late fifties, with close-cropped gray hair and a basketball of a belly under a brown flannel shirt. He jammed one fist into the pocket of his loose khaki pants. His other hand held a cigarette. “What can I do for you, Captain?”

Tom moved closer to the house. The dogs, apparently reassured by their owner’s acceptance of the visitors, lost interest in him and laid their heads on their paws. Brandon stayed in the background, scouting the property. The small clearing was just big enough for Morgan’s house, a wood shed next to it, and parking space for several vehicles. Tom had parked his cruiser next to Morgan’s old pickup. On the other side of the truck sat a blue Civic, several years old but shiny and spotless.

Tom rested one booted foot against the bottom step. Drawing on his cigarette, Morgan squinted down at him from the porch.

“I just wanted to check in with you,” Tom said. “See how you’re doing.”

“Uh huh. You Bridgers have always had a real strong interest in my welfare. What the hell’s that kid lookin’ for?” Morgan gestured toward Brandon. Ash dropped from his cigarette in a shower of sparks.

Tom glanced at Brandon, who had been prowling along the edge of the clearing, scanning the woods. “He’s just admiring the scenery. Those two the only dogs you’ve got here?”

“Only dogs I’ve got
anywhere
. I’m stayin’ out of the fights, if that’s what you’re snoopin’ around about. I don’t even go to ’em anymore. Lost my taste for it. But don’t go thankin’ yourself for that.” Morgan jerked a thumb back toward the house. “It was Sylvia’s doing.”

Tom shifted his gaze to the door and saw a plump, matronly blond woman standing behind the screen door. The owner of the Civic, no doubt. Sylvia was part of the Stuckey clan, a coal miner’s widow who worked the dinner shift at the Mountaineer.

“Yeah, I know you cleaned up your act,” Tom said. “But there’s always somebody waiting to step in. It was quiet for a while, but I think the fights are going on again. A lot of people’s pet dogs have been disappearing, and now Gordon Hall’s been killed by a dog.”

Morgan frowned. “You tyin’ that to the fights? I heard it was that wild pack that took Hall out.”

“The medical examiner says he was attacked by one dog. You know the rest of a pack wouldn’t stand by and watch.”

“Naw,” Morgan murmured. “That wouldn’t happen. Damn. And what’s this about people’s pets disappearin’? What’s that got to do with the fights?”

“I think it’s a real possibility that pet dogs are being stolen and used as bait to train the fighters.” Tom saw something in Morgan’s face, a dawning outrage, that made him think he’d stumbled onto a way to get his help. “Most of them are children’s pets.”

Morgan shook his head, scowling. “Man, that is low. I never woulda stooped to somethin’ like that. A kid’s pet, anybody’s pet, that’s off-limits.”

“Well,” Tom said, “not everybody has your standards. I need to put a stop to it, Burt. And I need your help. I’ll understand if you’re scared of these guys—”

“I never said I was scared of anybody. I’m sure as hell not afraid of scum that’d steal pets away from kids. Goddamn idiots is what they sound like, don’t know what the hell they’re doin’.” Morgan punctuated his statement by spitting at the ground. “I hope you catch the sons of bitches.”

“Do you know who’s organizing the fights now?”

“No idea. Like I said, I steer clear these days.”

“But nobody would be surprised if you started taking an interest in betting now and then.”