Home of the Brave (Raine Stockton Dog Mysteries Book 9) Page 3

  “It would mean a lot if you’d give Jo a chance, Raine.” He opened the door for me. “She doesn’t have any friends in town, and you’ll like her once you get to know her. And, hey.” He gave me the smile that had melted a thousand hearts. “Like your hair.”

  And that, right there, was why he was going to win this election.

  I had to work to keep my expression sour as I stepped out into the hallway, and I have to admit my internal disposition was a lot more mellow than it had been when I’d arrived. Almost as if on cue, Deputy Jolene came around the corner, her canine partner at her side. I decided to rise to the occasion, mostly because, I’ll confess it, I was still fascinated by her amazing dog.

  “Hey,” I said. I stepped forward with my hand extended. “I’m Raine. I guess we got off to a bad start, but welcome to town. You’ve got a great dog.”

  She stared at me as though I was something she was deciding whether or not to scrape off her shoe, and, in confusion, I dropped my hand. I turned my attention instead to the dog. “Hey, big fella,” I said, leaning into him.

  “Don’t pet my dog,” she barked sharply, and both she and the dog took a unified step backward. “He’s working.”

  I felt like an idiot. How many times had I given that exact same lecture to school children and civic groups? You don’t engage a working dog. I could actually feel my cheeks go hot, and I was about to mumble a clumsy apology when Buck touched my shoulder. “Let’s go,” he said.

  There were a couple of dozen things swirling around in my head, ready to be spoken to him when we were alone, and I really, really wish I’d gotten a chance to say at least three of them. But as we reached the reception desk, Annabelle stopped us with, “Hey, Buck.”

  He paused, looking as reluctant as I was to slow down. “What?”

  She looked disturbed and uncertain. “The state police just called. They found Jessie’s car.”

  He was interested. “Yeah? Where?”

  “Out on Crooked Branch Road, at the bottom of a gully.”

  Now even I was interested. Unless I was mistaken, that was in the middle of the National Forest, and far out of the Hanover County Sheriff’s Department’s jurisdiction.

  Buck muttered, “Damn kids.” Then, “Guess you’d better call Jessie, so he can start an insurance claim. I’ll get the paperwork together. How bad was the damage?”

  She looked increasingly uncomfortable. “Pretty bad,” she admitted. “The state police said it was set on fire. Burned to a crisp. And Buck.” Her pale blue eyes looked magnified behind the glasses as she looked up at him. “There was a body inside. They’re calling it homicide.”

  Chapter Three

  Hanover County, North Carolina, is one of those peaceful little Smoky Mountain communities that most people think exist only in the imaginations of screenwriters. We’re two hours from the nearest mall, half an hour from the nearest big box store; right smack in the middle of some of the most spectacular scenery God ever put on this earth. Roaring waterfalls drop hundreds of feet off of sheer mountain cliffs into deep rock gorges. Trout flicker like silver ribbons in clear, wide riverbeds. You can hike half a day without seeing another human being and suddenly break out of a forest glade to find yourself looking down at the clouds. It is what many people call paradise, and I am one of them.

  That’s not to say, of course, that we are completely immune to the problems and vices of modern society. A lot of those vices are brought here by people who come here looking to escape them. According to Buck, ninety percent of the crimes in Hanover County are committed by outsiders against outsiders. The other ten percent are what you’d expect in a small, undereducated and mostly under-employed mountain community—drug-related property crimes, domestic disputes, Internet porn, the occasional crime of passion or impulse. Still, according to Buck again, Hanover County has one of the lowest crime rates in the state, and an almost one hundred percent solve rate—mostly because it’s pretty hard to get away with anything when everyone knows you, your mama, your second cousin and who you spend your time with when you’re not at home. For the most part, Hanover County is a quiet, peaceful place where few people bother to lock their doors and you wave at everyone you pass on the street. It is not the kind of place where people set cars on fire with other people inside.

  I said quickly, “Anyone we know?”

  While Buck said at the same time, “Any ID?” He gave me an annoyed look that was probably meant to remind me not to interfere as he stepped forward to take the message slip Annabelle held out.

  “Nothing yet. I think they were hoping you could help. Here’s the investigator’s number.”

  I said, “Any missing person reports?” Generally, I would know if there were, since Cisco and I would most likely be called in to track them down. But not everyone who went missing was on foot, and not everyone who went missing was reported.

  Buck shook his head absently, not looking up from the message slip. “Not lately. I guess I’d better get on this.” He glanced around. “Jo, will you …”

  She was front and center in a single stride, Deputy Nike a shadow at her side. Her expression was stern and her posture rigid. “Sir, request permission to be assigned to this case.”

  Buck replied patiently, “There is no case, Deputy. This is out of our jurisdiction.”

  She insisted, “Begging your pardon, sir, but the crime originated in our jurisdiction, and the prime suspect resides in this county …”

  “Prime suspect?” I could not keep the amused incredulity out of my voice. “Jessie Connor?”

  Even Buck’s lips twitched with amusement as he explained, “Jessie is eighty-four years old and uses a walker to cross the street. The only reason he even keeps that car is so that his son can drive him back and forth to the doctor. Don’t make assumptions.”

  I added, “Even if he could find somebody he wanted to kill, he wouldn’t have the strength to do it, much less lift the body into a car and set it on fire.”

  Her chin lifted stubbornly, ignoring me. “Nonetheless, we should interview him.”

  “No we shouldn’t,” Buck corrected her. “The state police should. It’s their case. I will send somebody out to talk to him about his car, though. Meanwhile, you can drive Miss Stockton back to her vehicle.” He turned back toward his office. “And, by the way, you and Deputy Nike are on Public Education Duty this weekend. Raine’ll bring you up to speed.”

  I shot him an outraged look but he didn’t catch it. He said over his shoulder, “Annabelle, tell Wyn to check with me when she gets in, will you?”

  Wyn. That would be the woman he had left me for.

  Once, before Buck had been appointed sheriff, she had been an excellent deputy and a pretty good friend, but after the affair was uncovered it had seemed only appropriate that Wyn leave the Hanover County Sheriff’s Department. Now it would seem she was back, and working for the very man she was sleeping with. That was great. Just great.

  Like I said, we have our share of vices here in Paradise, and a good many of them are homegrown. This, no doubt, was what Buck had wanted to talk to me about.

  I stared at his retreating back and saw his step hesitate as I said, in as neutral a tone as possible, “Wyn is back on the force?”

  For a moment I thought he wouldn’t answer, wouldn’t even turn around. But he gave me a glance that was tight and unreadable, and he said, “Let’s do this later, okay?”

  I replied, “I take it back. You’re not a good politician. You’re an idiot.” I turned to Jolene, no longer in the least bit intimidated by her or her dog. “Can we go now? I’ve got a business to run.”

  Her gaze shifted toward Buck and her nostrils flared with a breath, but it wouldn’t take a genius to figure out that this was definitely not a good time for whatever it was she was about to say. She shifted her resentful gaze back to me and jerked her head toward the door. I was already striding toward it. Both of us heard Buck’s office door slam before we left the building.

  I sta
rted to get into the passenger seat of the police unit, but as soon as I opened the door, Nike, the big beautiful brute, edged me out. I ended up sitting in the back like a prisoner and I could have sworn there was the ghost of a coolly triumphant smile on Jolene’s lips as she opened the door for me. Well, what did I expect? With the day I was having, it seemed only right that I should take backseat to a dog.

  I pressed my head back against the seat and closed my eyes, deliberately ignoring my surroundings, my driver and her canine partner. I couldn’t have been more surprised when, after we’d been driving a few minutes, she actually spoke to me.

  “Tell me about this Jessie Connor,” she said.

  I opened my eyes slowly and met hers in the rearview mirror. They were dark and piercing and accustomed to being obeyed; the kind of eyes you probably didn’t want to have boring a hole through you from the other side of an interrogation table. What she no doubt saw in my eyes was resentment, pure and simple. “Why are you asking me?”

  “You seem to know everything.” Her gaze was on the road now. “Or think you do.”

  “Way to get somebody on your side,” I muttered. I looked deliberately out the window.

  She said, “I guess you people get a lot of bodies in burned-out cars around here.”

  I really didn’t like the way she said “you people.” And I definitely didn’t like the way she kept pushing.

  I said, “Listen, I don’t know where you’re from or how you got here. Maybe you miss the excitement of the big city. Maybe you just like playing hero-cop. But you can make things a lot easier on yourself if you’ll just settle down and pay attention to the way things are done around here. Your boss told you to back off. If I were you, I’d do it.”

  If I’d had a little milk and sugar I could have made ice cream, the atmosphere in the car was that cold. I could practically hear her counting to ten. She said, “Trenton, New Jersey. That’s where I’m from. I got here via Afghanistan. So don’t you worry, I know how to take orders. I also know a thing or two about gangland murders and organized crime. So maybe your ex needs to learn to take help when it’s offered and deploy his resources more effectively.”

  Gangland murders? Organized crime? Was this woman for real?

  “Wow,” I said, big-eyed. “We are lucky to have you. I sure hope the state police don’t try to steal you away, because they don’t know anything about organized crime. Gee, I wonder if somebody should tell them to look into Jessie’s connection with the mob?”

  By this time we were approaching my car, and I could tell I was coming very close to stepping over the line—not that that had ever stopped me before. “In the meantime, though,” I said as she pulled her vehicle off the road behind mine, “I think you’ll find Buck is pretty smart about deploying his resources effectively. For example …” I smiled and opened the car door. “You’ve been assigned to a kids’ camp this weekend. See you there!” I waved gaily to her as I got out of the car.

  The only thing I regret is that I couldn’t see the expression on her face as she drove away.

  Chapter Four

  I live with my three dogs in a big old farmhouse with a white columned porch at the foot of a mountain on the edge of the Nantahala Forest. A few dozen steps from my back door is Dog Daze Boarding and Training, on the site of what once was my grandparents’ horse barn. Thanks to a recent remodel, I can now house twenty dogs in air-conditioned and radiant-heated comfort, with indoor training rooms and a state of the art grooming center. Next weekend every kennel would be full, but today only half a dozen dogs were waiting for their moms and dads to take them home. I screeched into the driveway barely three minutes before the first arrival.

  Cisco, who had been in charge of the office while I was gone, bounded to the door on freshly trimmed fuzzy golden paws the minute he heard my car. I saw his grinning face in the top pane of the door window as I hurried up, but he dropped to all fours the minute I caught his eye because he knew he was not allowed to jump on the door. A cacophony of barking greeted me as soon as I opened the door, and Cisco, happily clutching a stuffed squirrel between his teeth, wiggled up to greet me, plumed tail waving like a flag. Mischief and Magic, the Aussies, scratched at the doors of their crates on the opposite side of the room, and when I let them out they pummeled me with bouncing paws and sloppy kisses. I dropped to my knees and gave them all hugs, inhaling their freshly washed scent and rubbing my face against their silky fur. This was always the best part about coming home.

  I ushered my dogs into the play yard and returned breathlessly to the front desk just as the bell rang announcing the first pickup. The next hour was a blur of collecting dogs and dog belongings, happy reunions, cheerful good-byes, posting payments and cleaning kennels. When the last car pulled away with an excited poodle barking out of the back window, I flipped off the lights, locked the door and raced to the house. I stripped off my damp clothes, changed into fresh shorts and a tee shirt, and ran my fingers through my now dry, curly, cropped hair. It sprang back as though I’d just walked out of the salon, and I grinned at myself in the mirror. After a distinctly unpromising start to the day, all it took was some wagging tails and a good haircut to get my mood back on track.

  Being a generally organized person, I had packed my duffel bag, sleeping gear and dog supplies that morning. I loaded them into the car while the dogs bounced eagerly back and forth behind the play yard fence, following my every move. They knew something was up. They had all received baths and trims that morning, because I don’t take my dogs anywhere unless they’re looking their very best, and now I was loading toys, backpacks and dog food into the car. This could only be good for them.

  By the time I heard the greeting tap of Miles’s horn and his Lexus pulled into my driveway, you’d never know that I’d spent almost an hour in police-dog custody and that, barely an hour ago, had had no hope of being ready on time. I strapped the last crate to the luggage rack, wiped my sweaty forehead as I hopped down from the running board, and waved. I can be incredibly focused when I have something pleasant to focus on, and I was looking forward to this weekend at least as much as Melanie was.

  Melanie sprang out of the passenger seat as soon as the SUV stopped moving, and raced around to the backseat to untether her own dog from her seat belt. “Hey, Raine!” she called as she did so. “We’re ready! I packed everything on the list! Can we go now?”

  I laughed, mostly because I remembered how it was to wait so long for something you wanted to do that the prospect of waiting even another minute seemed completely beyond imagination. “I’m ready too!” I greeted her. “Let’s go!”

  Melanie was a plump-cheeked ten-year-old with wild dark hair and big glasses; precocious and funny and bright, whose rock-solid ambition, for the moment at least, was to train drug dogs for the FBI. How could I not like her? Her dog, Pepper, was an eight-month-old mostly golden retriever with all the goofiness appropriate to her breed and age who was completely devoted to Melanie. Her father, Miles, was a good-looking, Caribbean-tanned man with cropped spiky hair, dreamy gray eyes and rock hard muscles, although how he stayed that way I couldn’t imagine because I’d never seen him lift anything heavier than a cell phone since I’d known him, and his favorite vegetable was the potato chip. Everything about him was expensive, from the way he smelled to the car he drove, although if I told him that he’d probably be surprised. He liked to think of himself as just an ordinary guy, though in fact he was one of the wealthiest men in the Southeast.

  Today he did look a bit more ordinary than usual, in a paint-spattered tee shirt and jeans and a baseball cap with a hardware store logo on it. He was building a new house—along with an entire multimillion-dollar resort community—atop the very mountain that shadowed my ancestral home, and he had a tendency to be a bit hands-on about the details. The house was supposed to have been ready for occupancy two weeks ago, and it probably would have been had Miles stayed out of the way. As it was, he and Melanie were living in a luxury mobile home on the propert
y—complete with jetted tubs, chef’s kitchen, and million-dollar views—while Miles repainted trim and refinished floors that were not quite up to his exacting standards.

  Pepper bounced out of the car on the end of Melanie’s leash. My dogs barked their greeting from behind the fence. Miles got out more slowly, staring at me.

  “Good God, Raine,” he said, “what did you do to your hair?”

  “Cut it,” I replied, brushing my fingers across my curls. And although the expression on his face should have rendered the question moot, I added, “Like it?”

  “I do!” volunteered Melanie, trotting toward me with Pepper springing and mouthing the leash beside her. “It’s cool! Can I cut my hair like that, Dad?”

  “You may not,” he returned, still staring at me as though I were some kind of alien creature he wasn’t sure he wanted to meet.

  “I think it’s cute,” Melanie insisted.

  “I don’t,” said her father, and Melanie gave him a light kick on the ankle, saving me the trouble of doing so. I probably wouldn’t have been so gentle.

  “Daaaad,” she said with a meaningful roll of her eyes toward me. “You don’t say that to a girl. Besides,” she added loyally, “it is cute. And a lot easier to keep up with around the dogs.” She gave an approving nod of her head. “I think I will get my hair cut.”

  Miles spared her a brief scowl. “Ask your mother.”

  That surprised me a little. Melanie’s mother lived in South America with her new husband, and Miles hardly ever mentioned her. Since he had full custody, he also never deferred to her in matters of child raising, and he had already vetoed the haircut. But because I was growing more and more annoyed with him, I did not comment.