he doesn’t like reporters,” Bucks said, removing a stick of gum from a pack in his pocket and folding it into his mouth. “And he’s got a good reason, since a reporter ruined his family.”
Ruined his family? Ironic, since a reporter had saved hers, though her sister didn’t see it that way. She straightened her shoulders. “Well, how about you, Officer Bucks? I’m actually just here to write a story about how crime has affected local businesses. Would you be willing to answer a few questions? Just for background information?”
“No, ma’am,” he said with a grin. “I would not. Enjoy your stay in Desert Valley.” With a tip of his hat, he returned to his car, smacking his gum.
“I’m going to be in town writing a story whether you cooperate or not,” she called to him.
Bucks gave her a sardonic salute, eased into his driver’s seat and pulled away.
She stared after them. Both officers clearly did not want a reporter poking around, but that wasn’t anything new. They could throw up all the roadblocks they wanted. There was a story here, bigger than the failing businesses in Desert Valley, and she was going to find out what it was, with or without police cooperation. Sure, she’d write the business piece, but it wouldn’t hurt to keep her ears open for something more significant. Instincts prickling, she got back into her car and drove the rest of the way to Desert Valley.
* * *
James turned onto the narrow paved road, allowing his breathing to return to normal. So she was a reporter. So what? He’d met plenty of them recently. Only natural that journalists would start flocking around where there was a potential for a juicy story. Reporters. They were all the same, vultures who reworked the facts to suit their fancy, like the one who’d smeared his brother in the papers, condemning him in the public eye for a rape he didn’t commit. He realized his jaw was clenched as usual whenever he thought about his brother. Take a breath.
Madison was doing her job, and he was going to do his. Deep down in his gut, he knew the real reason he was upset was that he’d been enjoying her company, chatting easily about cooking and canines, while something had been poking at him. Her red hair and easy smile reminded him of his teen crush, Paige, a girl who had fractured his family, a viper he had let into the nest. That was a long time ago.
A movement in the shadows beside the road made him tense. James’s pulse ticked up. Was it the dog they’d been searching for? Marco, the police K-9 German shepherd puppy, had gone missing from the training yard the night Veronica Earnshaw was murdered. How in the world could a puppy stay lost for so long? A few weeks ago, a witness had reported seeing someone on a bicycle pick up what looked like a small dog and ride off with it. But it was dark, and the witness couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman on the bike or even if the little dog was definitely the missing puppy—easy to spot with a circular mark on his head. A ground squirrel raced out from behind some bushes and dashed across the street. Not Marco.
He continued up the road, passing a row of small houses on his way into town. He was surprised when Charlie Greer raced down his driveway, arms flailing, white hair mussed.
“Someone’s busted into my yard,” Charlie said, his plaid shirt stained with axle grease. “Gone now, though.”
James got out, Hawk following.
The baying of several dogs caught Hawk’s attention, and he lumbered over to the fenced front yard, adding his own noise to the mix, tail wagging. James smiled as Hawk shoved his big nose through the fence to greet the dogs, including a German shepherd puppy named Stormy that Charlie had acquired recently.
“How’s your new dog getting along?”
Charlie’s face softened, and he looked years younger. “Swimmingly, but that ain’t what I wanted to tell you.”
James dutifully followed Charlie to his backyard, which was surrounded by a sturdy wooden fence.
“Found it just now when I got home.” The bolt on the gate had been cut through, and someone had entered the yard. The back door to the house was still shut up tight. There was no sign the intruder had gone any farther. James tensed. What would induce someone to break into Charlie’s backyard? The man lived modestly, fixing cars when he could to supplement his Social Security benefits. There was not much on the premises that could be fenced or sold. “Why didn’t the dogs raise a ruckus?”
“Probably did,” Charlie said. “I was out buying some spark plugs. Musta just happened because the dogs were milling around, and most of ’em hadn’t gotten out yet through the busted gate. I put ’em in the side yard, and then I saw you.”
James nodded. “I’ll take a look in the woods. Stay here.”
He called to Hawk and let the dog sniff around where the person must have been standing to cut the bolt. Hawk nosed eagerly, electrified to be starting off on a possible search. With no scent item to track, it would be up to the dog to catch any odor particles left in the air or soil. Unlikely that he’d find anything, but Hawk was always eager to try.
He clipped Hawk to a fifteen-foot lead, and they took off into the thick canopy of pines. Hawk stuck to a narrow trail that bisected the woods, paralleling a dry creek bed. They hiked for about ten minutes. James was ready to call off the search when suddenly, the dog stiffened, let loose with an ear-splitting howl and plunged ahead. James put a hand on his gun and followed, fending off the slap of low branches. He couldn’t imagine that anyone would be hiding in these woods, but he’d learned one thing in the long hours of training with Hawk and the deceased Veronica Earnshaw: trust the dog. With noses that could detect scent a thousand times better than humans, bloodhounds were master trackers. Truly, Hawk was a nose with a dog attached.
Hawk let out another spine-jarring howl.
James saw the heavy branch being swung at his head a second before it hit him. He was able to raise an arm to fend off the blow, but it sent him off balance, and he fell hard on his back. There was a sound of running feet. Hawk darted after the fleeing figure for a few yards, then turned and raced back at his fallen handler’s command. James heard a car engine, his hopes for a capture vanishing.
Hawk shoved his wrinkled jowls close and slurped a fat pink tongue over James’s forehead.
James sat up. Hawk continued to lick him until he waved him off.
“All right, you big lug. I’m okay. I just fell. That’s all.” He got to his feet, brushing pine needles from his uniform pants.
As he and Hawk trekked back to Greer’s place, he wondered who would be brazen enough to break into his yard in broad daylight.
The striking reporter’s words came back to him.
What is going on in this town?
Madison continued to fume as she squeezed her car into a curbside space along the main street. On her way here she’d stopped at the K-9 training center just to get a visual in her mind of where the grisly Earnshaw shooting had taken place. Twenty minutes was all she allowed herself. The center was larger than she’d pictured, a white stucco building with two outdoor training yards and no dogs in sight. What had she expected to find? She wasn’t sure. Stick to the story you’re supposed to be writing, Mads. Get that done first, and then see what else you can unearth.
In
