Bone Yard (Raine Stockton Dog Mystery) Read online

  I nodded, settling deeper into the curve of his shoulder. I thought about what he had said, and about other things, until I couldn’t think any longer. I just wanted to be quiet. “It’s nice of you to stay,” I admitted after a time.

  “Yes, it is,” he agreed.

  “Of course, I know you’re only being nice to me to try to get me to stop suing you.”

  A corner of his lips quirked dryly. “Right. That’s it.” He reached behind me, caught the edge of an afghan that was draped across the back of the sofa, and spread it over both of us. “Get some sleep,” he advised, settling down comfortably into the cushions. “It’s going to be light in a couple of hours and you can start looking again.”

  I was too tired to argue. I thought I was too tired to sleep, but I was wrong. I leaned back against the sofa, closed my eyes, and the next thing I knew the telephone was jarring me out of a sound sleep.

  ___________

  SEVEN

  I bolted up and immediately bounced back against Cisco’s weight. I pushed him aside and he barked with excitement, always ready for an adventure, scrambling after me as I stumbled toward the kitchen. I snatched up the phone in the middle of the fourth ring.

  “Raine, it’s Sonny.”

  “Anything?” I demanded, still not completely awake. “Did you find her?”

  A gray dawn pressed against the window panes, barely shaping the shadows of furniture and countertops. Sonny had animals—dogs, sheep, chickens, and other assorted domestic and wild life, and she was always up early. She answered, “No, I’m sorry. I probably shouldn’t have called so early, but I thought you’d want to know. I had a dream about Majesty.”

  Behind me, Miles turned on the light and made his way across the kitchen to refill the coffee pot. I blinked in the light and tried not to hold my breath. My fingers tightened on the telephone. “She isn’t…” I could hardly say it. “She’s not dead, is she?” Miles put the coffee pot aside and turned toward me.“That’s not what--- that’s not why”—

  “No,” she said quickly, “heavens, no. In fact, what I dreamed was that she was having the time of her life.”

  I sagged against the wall, “Oh, thank goodness.”

  Miles turned back to making coffee.

  “She was sitting in front of a fire watching television and eating chicken pot pie and mashed potatoes. And she had a pink bow in her hair.”

  I repeated blankly, “Mashed potatoes?”

  “It was a dream, Raine,” Sonny explained patiently. “Dreams are symbolic.I think it meant that she’s fine—not cold or hungry or scared, and that she’ll be home soon, sitting in front of the fire.”

  I released a weary breath, but I wasn’t nearly as reassured as Sonny had probably meant for me to be. “Thanks, Sonny, for calling,” I said, “and for trying to make me feel better. I’ll call when I know something.”

  I let the dogs out into the run, making sure the gate was securely latched, and once again walked the perimeter of the house, calling for Majesty, before I went back inside. The rain had stopped, and as the sky began to lighten I could see that the brisk wind was beginning to blow the last scraps of clouds away.The only thing worse than rain for a tracking dog was wind, but I had no choice. As soon as it was light enough to see, Cisco and I would try again to pick up the trail of my missing dog.

  The coffee was ready when I returned to the kitchen, and I found a package of Aunt Mart’s blueberry muffins in the freezer, all nicely wrapped and sealed. While they reheated in the microwave, I fed the dogs. My heart twisted when I automatically took down Majesty’s dish, and then realized I would not be needing it that morning.

  I arranged the muffins in a basket while Miles poured orange juice and the three dogs gulped down their breakfasts; a cozy domestic scene except for the fact that my eyes kept straying anxiously to the window, willing daylight to come faster.

  “I didn’t know you could cook,” Miles said as we settled at the table.

  “I can’t.” I nibbled disinterestedly at a muffin. “My aunt made these.”

  He looked a little relieved, and helped himself to two muffins. “The aunt who’s married to the sheriff?”

  “Former sheriff.” I put down my half-eaten muffin. “I think I’ll go change. It will be light enough to start looking again in a few minutes. I might even be able to see pawprints.”

  “Do you want me to---”

  The phone rang, and I dashed for it.

  “You won’t believe who was sitting on my porch bright and early this morning,” said my Aunt Mart cheerily. “That pretty little collie of yours!”

  “Majesty?” I gasped, my eyes going wide with relief and incredulity. “Majesty is there?”

  “Having bacon and eggs in my kitchen as we speak. Turkey bacon, of course,” she hastened to assure me. “And a bowl of oatmeal, no salt, sugar or cream. She loves oatmeal.”

  I covered the receiver and told Miles. “She’s okay! My aunt found her!”

  He grinned and toasted me with a muffin.

  “How in the world do you suppose she got over here?” Aunt Mart was saying. “It’s got to be a good five miles.”

  I said, “She’s been missing since last night. I’ve been worried sick. Aunt Mart, you hold on to her just as tight as you can. Don’t let her out of your sight. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

  “Oh,” she sounded disappointed. “ You don’t really have to rush over here, do you, honey? Don’t you want to leave her with me for a little while? It would be a treat to have the company.”

  I hesitated. “Well, I suppose Uncle Roe could bring her with him when he comes over this morning.”

  “I don’t think he’s planning on coming to your house today,” she said. “He said something about driving over to talk to the sheriff in Bullard County this morning.”

  Buck is going to love that, I thought. I almost asked to speak to my uncle, to share my theory about where those bodies in the mass grave in Bullard County might have come from, but thought better of it.Now that my anxiety over Majesty was gone, I was starting to think better of a lot of things.

  “You’ve got enough going on over there without worrying about this pretty little thing,” Aunt Mart was saying. “Why don’t you just leave her with me for awhile? We’ll be fine.”

  As anxious as I was to see Majesty for myself, I knew how much my aunt adored her, and it seemed suddenly selfish of me to say no. Besides, I did have some other things to take care of.

  I made arrangements to pick Majesty up later that afternoon, Aunt Mart assured me there was no hurry, and I hung up the telephone feeling as though the weight of the world had been lifted from my shoulders. I turned to face Miles, smiling broadly. “Hey,” I said.

  “Hey, yourself.” He popped the last bite of a muffin into his mouth. “All’s well that ends well, huh?”

  “How long are you in town for?”

  “A couple of days. Why?”

  “Maybe I’ll take you to dinner, if I get a chance. But,” I felt compelled to add, because I never knew how my day was going to turn out, “don’t count on it.”

  He finished his coffee and rose to take his dishes to the sink. “Believe me, with you, I never do.”

  The barking of the Aussies signaled the arrival of a vehicle making its way around my drive. Cisco tore his yearning gaze away from the muffin on my plate, his ears pricking high and his head swiveling toward the front of the house. He scrambled down the hallway toward the front door seconds before a peremptory knock was followed by the opening of the door and a familiar voice called, “Raine, it’s Buck.” Then, “Hey big fellow.”

  Now that my appetite was back, I snatched up my muffin before Cisco could return and finished it in two bites with a gulp of coffee. Buck came into the kitchen with Cisco bouncing happily at his heels.“There was a report that you called in last night,” Buck began, and stopped short when he saw Miles.

  “It’s okay,” I informed Buck, oblivious. “Aunt Mart found her.”
<
br />   Buck looked from Miles to me, a line appearing between his brows. “What?”

  “I don’t think that’s the call he’s interested in, hon,” Miles said. “Morning, officer.”

  Buck nodded stiffly to him, and Miles said to me, “I’m going to go home and get some sleep. I’ll call you later.”

  He bent to kiss my cheek, but at the last minute I turned my head so that his lips met mine instead. I don’t know exactly why I did that; maybe it was because Buck was standing there, maybe there was a nobler reason. But I know Miles looked as surprised as Buck did.

  I smiled at him. “Thanks,” I told him. “I mean that.”

  Miles looked at me for a moment, then smiled back. “Anytime,” he answered softly. Then, not to be outdone, he gave me a wink and a light, playful slap on the rear. “Later,” he said. And with a brief pause to ruffle Cisco’s ears, he left.

  Because Buck seemed to be having trouble finding words, I explained to him about last night’s intruder. “We didn’t go near the site,” I assured him. “The rain’s probably washed away the footprints anyway. There were tire tracks on the logging road behind the house, looked like a big SUV or an F-10 pickup to me. I figure he parked behind the house and walked in across the back field. The plywood over the opening was moved and the tape was broken. It looks like he was trying to get to the grave.”

  “Damn,” Buck said, his lips tight. “The state police are not going to be happy about this. They’re going to want to talk to you.”

  “They’d better make it quick. I’ve got things to do.” Then I said, “There’s something else.” Briefly, I explained to him my theory about the connection between the Petersonville Crematory scandal and the skeletons that had been found in Bullard County.

  Buck and I had known each other too long for him to doubt my reasoning, and when I finished he was thoughtful. “That might not be as farfetched as it sounds. The remains from Bullard have been locked up at the state lab all these years, waiting for some reason for somebody to go in and try to identify them. They wouldn’t have been at the front of anybody’s mind when the story broke about the crematorium, and it was in another state. No reason for anybody to make the connection.”

  “Uncle Roe is going to meet with the Sheriff in Bullard today,” I said. “Maybe you could give him a call.”

  “You mean you haven’t already?” Buck’s tone was a little sharp.

  I regarded him patiently. “He’s not the sheriff anymore.”

  Buck’s jaw knotted briefly, and relaxed. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

  “He’s just trying to help.”

  “I know that, Raine, and it’s not that I don’t appreciate it.” Buck’s tone was tight with frustration. “But even my own men don’t know who’s in charge when he’s around. It’s hard enough trying to run the department in his shadow without him looking over my shoulder every minute, too.”

  I didn’t know what to say to that.

  He blew out a breath. “Well, hell, I guess I’d better get out there and look around, then give the state police a call. Even if you’re right about the Petersonville crematorium connection to the mass grave in Bullard ,” he added, “it’s got nothing to do with whoever is buried in your back yard. We’ve still got an open case.”

  “How do you know? Yesterday you were so sure there was a connection to Bullard.”

  He lifted a shoulder in an uncomfortable shrug. “Yesterday I was just being stubborn. Last night we got a preliminary forensics report on the bones we recovered. They belong to a male in his mid- thirties who was buried without a coffin forty or fifty years ago. The scrap of fabric we found with the bones was most likely a wool blanket used to wrap the body. And the dirt on the bones was the same kind of mountain loam we have here, so wherever he was moved from, it wasn’t far.”

  I don’t know why I was surprised. I guess I was hoping otherwise.

  “The picture I’m getting is of a man that was murdered back in your father’s time, and buried out in the woods somewhere. How the skeleton ended up here, or why, or even when, is what we need to find out.”

  “And who,” I murmured, thinking.

  “Right. Who.” At the back door he paused, looked back at me with what he no doubt intended to be a casual expression, and said, “So. You and Young….” He gave an awkward jerk of this head toward the direction in which Miles had exited. “Are you two…?”

  I met his gaze steadily, let the silence go on until I thought he had suffered enough, and replied politely, “None of your business.”

  He shifted his gaze, and I could see him swallow. “Keep the dogs in, will you?” was all he said as he left.

  He never once asked about Majesty.

  _______________

  EIGHT

  Annie Mae’s funeral was scheduled for 10:00 a.m., followed by a graveyard service and, in the tradition of rural bereavements, by a gathering of family and friends at the home of the deceased for food, coffee and comfort. For the second day in a row I put on a skirt and makeup, fluffed up my hair, and took my wool coat out of the closet. I gave Cisco a good brushing, polished his teeth and nails, and buckled on his distinctive Therapy Dog vest. Another thing they teach you in Therapy Dog training is that sometimes people just need to talk. And often they will confide to a dog-- or a dog’s handler—things they wouldn’t tell their best friend

  Before I left, I called Sonny and Maude to let them know the good news about Majesty. “You were right,” I told Sonny, “she was safe and secure the whole time—or most of it anyway. I’m not sure how happy she was after being out in the rain all night, but Aunt Mart is spoiling her now. What I can’t figure out is how she got all the way over there. I mean, she’s been there plenty of times, but she’s never walked there. I’ll tell you one thing, though, when I get her back, I’m going to make sure she feels wanted. You were right, she needs a job. Mischief and Magic have agility and obedience, they don’t need to learn herding too. Majesty is going to get the herding lessons. That can be her job.”

  Sonny was silent for a long moment. “Raine,” she said gently, “I don’t think Majesty wants to be a herding dog. I think she just wants to be important.”

  Sometimes Sonny really frustrates me.

  After I told Maude that Majesty had been located safe and sound in the last place I would have thought to look , and after we spent a few moments marveling over the ways of dogs and sharing stories about some of the even more remarkable feats they had performed, I got around to what someone who is not a dog lover might have thought was the more important business. My father had sat on the bench in Hanover County for almost fifty years, and Maude had been his clerk for thirty of them. She was in charge of all of his records and archives and was familiar with most of the cases he had heard even before she came to clerk for him. It did not take her very long, after I asked her about domestic cases from the seventies, to reach the same conclusions I had.

  The state police lieutenant arrived just as I was wrapping the basket of blueberry muffins to take to the Potts’ house. There weren’t many left, but it’s the thought that counts, and the pawprint bow I added to the cellophane wrapping—both of which were rescued from a prize Cisco and I had won at a dog-show raffle--- made it look much more like a gift than breakfast leftovers. The lieutenant had his pen and notepad out when I opened the door.

  “Miss Stockton, I’d like to ask you a few questions about the incident last night.”

  I glanced at my watch. It was eleven-fifteen, precisely twenty-four hours after I had first called in the report. I figured it could wait a little longer. Buck, who was standing beside him on the back porch, read my mind and gave a noncommittal lift of his eyebrows.

  I said, “I’m sorry, but I’m late for a funeral. You’ll have to see me after I get back. A dear friend of mine died.” I clicked my tongue for Cisco, who was resting his beautifully groomed golden body on the braided rug by the pantry. Cisco trotted over , wriggling happily as he greeted Buck, then
turned to the lieutenant, who took a quick step backward. I snapped on Cisco’s leash.

  “You’re taking a dog to a funeral?” said the lieutenant skeptically.

  “He was a friend of the deceased,” I informed him coolly, and turned to Buck. “If you want some ideas about who might have gone missing in the seventies,” I said, “you should call Maude.”

  I called Cisco to heel, picked up the basket of muffins, and made my way to the car.

  **************

  The Potts property, like most of the land around here, is a sprawling acreage that has been in the family for generations and has been unarable for most of that time. The thin rocky soil is good for scrub pine and goats and not much else, and the family gave up trying to make a living farming shortly after the first world war. It is halfway up the same mountain that shelters my own family home, which means the main value it has these days is as part of the resort development under construction by none other than Miles Young. As I drove up the twisty gravel road that bisected the property, I could see the surveyor’s marks were already in place, and trees had been taped for cutting. I knew that in a case like this there really was little choice, and Miles paid top dollar, but it still made me sad.

  Cisco’s eager panting fogged up the window as we climbed higher, and his nose left smear marks on the glass. There were six or seven cars already parked in front of the plain little farm house when I drove up, and smoke was coming from the steel chimney pipe that slanted out of the tin roof. I pulled the collar of my coat up against the wind as I got out of the car and retrieved the basket of muffins. In response to my command, Cisco sprang out of the backseat and fell into step beside me. I went up the steps, held aside the screen door, and knocked lightly.