High in Trial (13 page)

Usually that tone of voice, which I admit shouldn’t be used in crowded rooms or after
midnight in public places, is enough to bring Cisco to a screeching halt and cause
any other dog to snap to attention. In fact, Flame did whip her head around to look
at me, her ears going down guiltily. Cisco fixed his gaze on the wood line and barked.

I gave the leash a quick sharp tug, just to get his attention, and finally he looked
at me. “Cisco, heel!”

He looked at the trees and back at me with an expression that suggested he thought
he might have misunderstood. Flame whined. I said firmly, “Wrong.” And tugged the
leash again. Reluctantly, Cisco came to heel.

“Maybe if you’d mentioned the bacon,” Miles murmured.

“I’ll meet you at the car,” I told him.

He went right and I went left, and as we crossed the parking lot toward the office,
it took all my focus to keep the dogs’ attention on me rather than the steady stream
of canines headed out for their morning walk. As we came under the portico, I heard
someone call hello, and I turned to see Aggie and Ginny with Gunny coming toward us.
I waited for them.

Gunny was a gorgeous, high-stepping golden retriever who looked happy to greet the
world this morning, and Cisco was equally as happy to greet him. This was where all
of our Canine Good Citizen training came in handy, and we had plenty, since Cisco
had failed the CGC test twice. Flame was no problem, tucking herself into a shy sit
and half hiding behind my legs, but Cisco could barely contain himself, licking his
lips and pounding his tail on the concrete, until Ginny and Gunny reached us and I
gave him a quiet “say hello” command.

“He has such good manners!” exclaimed Ginny, and I managed not to roll my eyes as
I watched the two dogs sniff and circle each other.

Aggie was only a few steps behind. “Who is that you have there?”

“It’s Flame,” I told her. “We found her running loose this morning. Have either of
you seen Marcie? She must be going crazy with worry.”

Ginny shook her head and spoke softly to Flame as she reached to pet her. “Poor thing.
She’s a mess.”

Aggie pursed her lips. “I know it’s not nice to say, but don’t you think it’s a little
strange, almost tit for tat, that after Neil’s dog got loose yesterday it should be
Flame who’s running around loose this morning?”

Of course I did, but it
wasn’t
nice to say. I said, “You don’t happen to know what room she’s in, do you?”

Aggie shook her head, and Ginny straightened up from petting Flame. “I wonder if that
was Bryte we heard barking this morning. If she went out looking for Flame, she could
have left Bryte in the room alone.”

“It sounded like it was on the other side of the building, though,” Aggie said. “I
didn’t hear it when we came out just now.”

I said, “I’m just going to run in and ask the front desk to ring her room. Do you
mind holding Flame for me?” I passed the leash to Aggie, and Gunny lost interest in
Cisco and began sniffing Flame. Flame, who’d had a hard morning, lifted a corner of
her lip in warning. Aggie took a step backward, nudging Flame out of range, and Ginny
did the same with Gunny. I love being around professional dog people. “I’ll just be
a minute,” I said. “Cisco, with me.”

Cisco got his share of oohs and ahhs from the few non-dog people who were in the lobby
and indulgent smiles from the other competitors who were walking through with their
cups of coffee on the way to the trial site. He was awfully cute, I had to admit,
now that he was out of the path of distraction and had nothing to think about but
walking in perfect heel position with his head held high, his coat shimmering, and
a winning grin on his face. Somebody said, “He looks just like that dog in the television
commercial!” and I wanted to reply, “Which one?” Because as the whole of Madison Avenue
knows, if you want to sell anything from a car to underwear, all you have to do is
get a good shot of a golden retriever in the ad.

The only person who didn’t look happy to see us was the desk clerk, and I remembered
too late that the hotel had a policy about dogs in the lobby. However, her disapproving
scowl immediately evaporated when I introduced myself and she typed in my room number.

“Oh, Miss Stockton, I hope everything is okay this morning,” she said. “The night
manager left a message that you were not to be disturbed, but she wanted you to know
that the hotel is thoroughly investigating your complaint, and the head of security
will be happy to sit down and talk with you whenever you wish.”

I wasn’t entirely sure what “thoroughly investigating my complaint” consisted of,
but I appreciated the gesture. And since all’s well that ends well, I said, “I may
take you up on that later, but right now I was hoping you could ring a guest’s room
for me. She’s lost her dog and I want her to know I’ve found it. Her name is Marcie
Wilbanks.”

Once again the desk clerk tapped a rapid series of keys. “I’ll be happy to do that,
Miss Stockton, but we’ve already left several messages. We had some complaints about
her dog barking during the night. I don’t think she’s in her room.”

Nonetheless, she picked up the receiver, dialed the number, and waited politely while
it rang. Eventually, she gave me an apologetic shrug and hung up. “If you’d like to
leave a message, I’ll be sure she gets it.”

She gave me a pad and paper, and I wrote my name, room number, and cell phone on it,
along with a brief message telling her I was taking Flame with me to the trial site
and she could pick her up at our campsite
in
the livestock barn. I wished it had turned out differently, though. I didn’t like
to be responsible for someone else’s dog when I already had my hands full with Cisco,
especially considering the way Neil acted yesterday. He was just as likely to accuse
me of stealing the dog as to thank me for rescuing her.

When I left the office and didn’t find Ginny and Aggie waiting outside with Flame,
I was at first relieved. Marcie must have returned, after all, and the runaway dog
was no longer my problem. I should’ve known better, particularly when the first thing
Cisco did upon leaving the building was swivel his head toward the left and stop so
abruptly I almost tripped over him. When I looked around I saw several people with
dogs were gathered at the edge of the parking lot. Aggie and Ginny were among them.
Flame was not.

“I was going to put her in the back of our van,” Aggie said with a shake of her head,
“while we loaded the cooler and crate, and she slipped her collar. She took off toward
the woods like a crazy thing.”

Sarah was there with Brinkley. “At least she’s not running through the brush with
a lead on. It’s a wonder she didn’t choke herself the first time.”

“Someone should call Neil,” someone else said. “After all, it’s his dog. Partly, anyway.
Does anyone have his number?”

“The trial secretary might,” said Ginny. “She’s already at the site, though, setting
up.” She glanced at her mother. “We should get going, too.”

And even as I started to quickly agree that yes, someone should definitely call Neil—that
was exactly what someone should do, because Cisco and I were entered in the first
event of the morning and we had to leave within the next fifteen minutes if we were
to have any chance of warming up before the run—I felt my heart sink to my toes. Brinkley
stood
less than five feet from Cisco, yet Cisco was completely ignoring him. Cisco sniffed
the ground, and then the air, his tail up, his expression intense, his whole body
leaning toward the wood line. He was working, and not even Brinkley could tempt him
away from his quarry.

Resignedly, I held out my hand for Flame’s leash. “I think Cisco can track her. We
can try, anyway. If we find her I’ll bring her with me to the trial.”

Aggie and I exchanged cell phone numbers so that we could keep in touch about Marcie,
and she promised to call me if she was able to find out how to reach Neil.
I looped the leash around my neck and released the brake on Cisco’s expandable leash.
I brushed the ground with my fingers. “Cisco, track.”

The ground was still damp enough to hold a strong scent and Cisco took off eagerly.
I had to trot to keep up for the first few dozen yards, which was okay because that
would probably be the only warm-up either of us would have that day, assuming we even
made it in time for our first run. As we reached the part of the field where other
dogs had crossed, however, Cisco slowed down, taking his time to distinguish between
older and more recent scent trails. I pulled out my phone and dialed Miles.

“You’re late,” he answered.

“Sorry.” I was still breathing hard from the run. “A slight delay.”

“Are you okay? You sound winded.”

“I am. The dog got away again.”

“Then you won’t mind if I eat your bear claw.”

“Miles,” I said, “you don’t have to stay. You should go back to your meeting. My schedule
is all screwed up anyway and there’s no point in you coming out to the fairgrounds
again today. You should go do your thing and I’ll see you tonight.”

“Are you trying to get rid of me?”

“Kind of. I feel bad about making you drive back this morning.”

We’d reached the far end of the field and Cisco, twenty feet ahead, plowed into the
brush. Shielding my face against flapping branches with my arm, I gamely followed
him.

“You didn’t make me do anything. But that does remind me. What’s the story with the
random creep playing games?”

“Hold on,” I said.

“No chance. I’m not going anywhere until…”

I took the phone away from my ear and concentrated on keeping my balance as I struggled
after Cisco through the piney woods and undergrowth. I thought I heard a scuffling
in the distance and a movement in the undergrowth. I called out, just in case, “Marcie?”
There was no reply, so I tried instead, “Flame! Here, girl!”

I heard a muffled voice from the phone in my hand and I spoke into it. “Seriously,
Miles. Hold on. I think I’ve got her.”

He said something, but it was drowned out by the sound of Cisco’s sharp bark. The
leash had gone slack in my hand.

“Weird,” I murmured. Cisco had been trained to sit and bark when he found his search
object, but the search object was generally static—an injured victim or an inanimate
object. A runaway border collie wasn’t the kind of target he would give the “find”
signal for, unless… unless the dog was injured and unable to move. “Oh, no,” I said
and started to run.

“Where are you?” Miles demanded. “I’m coming that way.”

My breath hissed and gasped into the receiver as I clambered over fallen saplings
and broken rocks to where Cisco, half-disguised by the shadow of foliage, sat and
barked again. I managed, “Wait, it’s okay.” And then I sucked in my breath, stumbling
to a stop.

“Oh God,” I whispered.

“Raine? Raine, are you okay?”

I couldn’t answer. Cisco was sitting, as he’d been trained to do, looking anxious
and alert beside Flame. Flame was lying down, head between her paws, staring fixedly
at something half-concealed in the undergrowth. That something was a woman’s leg.

I moved slowly forward, one step and two, and then sank to my knees when they would
no longer support me. For the longest time all I could do was stare at the Golden
Retriever Club of America sweatshirt, streaked with blood and loamy earth, matted
with crushed leaves. Gently, I reached forward and pushed a clump of tangled hair
away from a face that was so swollen and disfigured it was barely recognizable. I
felt for a pulse with shaking fingers but knew already it was pointless.

“Miles,” I said hoarsely, “hang up and call 9-1-1. It’s Marcie. I think… I think she’s
dead.”

~*~

TWELVE

Five hours before the shooting

B
uck stopped by the office at change of shift, as was his habit. Even on his rare Saturdays
off—of which this was not one—he liked to get a report from the night shift and check
for bulletins or updates that might have come in on the computer overnight. This time
of year things were pretty quiet around the county; the kids were still in school
and the tourists hadn’t started getting lost in the woods or running their cars off
a cliff, and if anything major had happened while he was away someone would have called.
Still, he liked to check.

“Four DUIs, two domestics, one B and E,” reported Ham Broker, his night Charge Officer.
“Turns out it was the complainant’s son, trying to sneak back into the house after
curfew. Syd Evans ran his car into a tree over on Blue Moon Trail, but he’s okay.
The man’s blind as a bat after dark. We’re going to have to do something before he
hurts himself.”

“Sounds like a light night for a Friday,” Buck said. He glanced through the duty log
on the way to his office. He called good morning to the guys who were filling their
coffee cups and good night to the ones who were just leaving.

“You know what else we need to do,” Ham said, following him.