Let Loose, page 5
One dog slammed against the back of my rig’s front seat, sending another scrabbling against the dash.
I closed my eyes and tried not to think about what state the interior of my Jeep would be in by the time I’d unloaded my unwelcome guests.
It didn’t work. I could still feel the stress of potential property damage swirling inside me. What I needed was something to take my mind off my troubles. Like some light reading.
After one last glance out the window to check for human life, I flipped open the clipboard and settled in for a little me time.
The reading was a bit dry. I’d give it at most three stars at Amazon and only then because of the mention of my new hairdresser, Carol. Apparently Carol’s husband had had two snowmobiles stolen recently and Carol had made a statement about the last time they had been parked in their driveway. Actually, now that I read it more carefully, I was mentioned too. Not by name, but by appointment. The snowmobiles in question had disappeared the night after my new do and Carol had listed everyone who had been at her house. Ethel and “friend” were listed. I had to be that friend.
In truth, it was a little insulting that Carol hadn’t remembered my name. I mean how many blue dye jobs did she do a week?
Mentally lowering the review from three stars to two, I lifted the page to see what followed.
A rap on the door startled me into dropping the clipboard onto the floor.
George Pearson, police officer and friend who I’d thought was out sick, jerked his head to the side, warning me that someone less friendlike was coming. I tossed the clipboard onto the driver’s side floor instead and opened my door.
Stone, with the stealth of a snake, was already waiting. “I see you’re keeping busy, Lucy.”
I licked my lips and concentrated on not looking back at the car I’d just vacated. “Best I can,” I replied with my strongest Southern Missouri accent. A lot of people here found my semi-drawl charming. Stone apparently wasn’t one of them.
He hmphed. “Chuck got your statement?” he asked.
I smiled, nodded, and pretended total reverence.
He stared at me for a good two minutes longer than was polite. My right eye started to twitch, but I held my smile.
After another thirty seconds of me thinking I was going to explode and say or do something that would convince him that I needed to be hauled in, cuffed and fed nothing but crackers and water for the next five day, he turned away and stalked to his car.
Unsure if this meant I was safe, I glanced at George.
“You’re good,” he offered. “For now.”
That was less than reassuring, but it was better than being told that I had to hang out in the arctic while Stone did whatever it was he did when not biting the heads off of innocent antique store owners.
I almost got to my Jeep before remembering why I’d been at the campground in this decidedly not camping-friendly weather.
Dogs. A team of them.
Damn.
I trotted back the direction from whence I’d come.
Stone was out of his car, talking to Chuck. I pretended not to notice either of them and instead directed my attention to George.
“I have a bit of a situation.”
“A situation?”
“Yes...” Howls cut off my plea. I let out a breath. “That.” I filled George in on what I’d already told Chuck, about trying to return the team to Red when I’d found his body.
George nodded his head and rubbed his chin. “That does sound like a situation all right.”
I waited, expecting him to offer some solution.
Finally, he continued, “Guess I can call the Humane Society. They’ve worked with us in the past.”
Yes, the Humane Society. That would be perfect.
“It’s Thursday. They’re closed on Thursdays. Won’t be open until tomorrow. Of course, we can call the director, but they’re still dealing with those puggles they got from that puppy mill case. I don’t know that she’ll be able to find a foster to take them all that soon.”
I, of course, despised anything puppy mill and supported all the good work our local humane society did, but...
“There are eight of them, George. Seven in my car right now.” Doing God knew what to the upholstery.
George didn’t, however, seem to be paying attention to me. His attention had moved back to the bridge that led to the campground. “What about that one? She yours too?”
“None of them are mine—” Martin and the female who seemed to think she was in charge picked their way across the rut-covered bridge.
Martin. He could surely take the dogs. I waved George off and charged forward.
A quick conversation with Martin uncovered a new problem.
“I offered. That detective... Stone? said no.”
“What?” How could Stone say no? How could Stone even know that there was something to say no to?
Martin didn’t have any more information than that Stone was once again determined to make my life hell. My interpretation, not Martin’s.
I turned to trudge back to George. He was getting out of one of the police cars as I approached. I didn’t give him a chance to tell me whatever he seemed ready to say, but jumped in with my complaint regarding Stone’s idiotic refusal to let a sled dog person take Red’s dogs.
“The dogs are evidence and Stone wants them in the care of the Humane Society, not...” George glanced at Martin. “...someone we don’t know.”
His tone stopped me. Ominous. Well, as ominous as George could get. I slid my gaze to Martin, but quickly shook off any concern brought on by the possibility that Stone might suspect the musher of something. Stone almost certainly did. Stone suspected everyone, me most of all. I was pretty sure every crime that crossed his desk he did a quick check to see where I’d been at the time. It was just part of the charm that was Helena’s lovely Detective Stone.
Putting that aside, I turned back to George. “Then...”
He waved his hand. “Already radioed it in and someone called her.”
I glanced at his car. He was fast.
“And there’s good news. They had a new foster sign up three days ago. They haven’t had time to check out the foster’s house for final approval, but they will put a rush on it. Until then, she said they would support anyone we felt was responsible enough to care for the dogs because she is flat out of options.”
“But—”
He held out one finger. “You like dogs.”
He held out a second. “You have a big yard.”
I opened my mouth to rebut.
He cut me off. “With a fence. You know the breed.”
“They’re huskies,” I objected. Really, George had known me long enough to know I didn’t take lightly to people mixing up the northern breeds. And these weren’t even Siberian huskies. They were Alaskan huskies, and sled dogs. Dogs that lived to run, whereas my particular northern breed lived to sleep and eat and be waited on. There was really no similarity at all.
“And you are an upstanding member of the community who values the importance of both the law and the efforts of charitable organizations such as the Humane Society.” He said the last with a grin.
My eyes narrowed. “Have you been talking to Phyllis?”
His grin widened. “I didn’t have to. I saw the ad in today’s paper.”
Ad? Damn Phyllis, and Betty too. The jazz queen designed all of my advertising. She had to have known about this. I gritted my teeth and tried not to show the dark thoughts swirling through my brain.
“Anyway. You are approved and the dogs are all yours to take care of until the Humane Society can set up a different foster.” He smacked me on the back as if I’d just won the lottery and walked off.
George was big, but apparently, when it was in his best interest, he was fast too. He was well out of my arm’s reach before I could spin around and make a grab for him.
“Red dead. I can’t believe it.” Martin stopped beside me and held out the female husky’s leash.
I stared at the familiar strip of brown leather for a couple of seconds, but faced with Martin’s shaken expression, I could think of no good way to refuse my fate.
His gaze flickered. “I offered to take the dogs. It would be tough. I already have my own team to take care of and they’re shutting down the campground, at least until the police get done investigating.”
I hadn’t thought about them closing the campground. I wondered what that might mean for the race. However, with Red’s body still lying in the snow, it seemed callous to ask. Instead, I followed up with Martin’s personal situation. “I thought you’d found a hotel. Did that fall through? Were you staying here too?”
He shook his head. “No. I got a room at the Sleep Inn. There’s a snowmobile trail that leads from there to here. That’s how I got here today.”
“On a snowmobile?”
“The motel owner has one he rents out.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and watched as Stone and George walked back across the bridge to the campground. The coroner had arrived. I guessed they were getting ready to move Red.
An uncomfortable quiet settled over us.
As the coroner and police disappeared from view, I swallowed. “What about your dogs?”
He moved his head to the side. “I left them in my truck. A dog box, like Red’s. When I’m at the Inn though, the owner’s okay with me having them in the room.”
A team of sled dogs in a hotel room. There weren’t many places that would be okay with that, but this was Montana, and from what I’d seen of the Sleep Inn on the outside, I doubted a little dog hair was going to be much of an issue.
Still, even the Sleep Inn might have issue with two sled dog teams taking up residence - even if Stone would go for it.
Resolved to my fate, I wrapped the leash around my hand.
“Do you need anything? Food? Their gear?”
Uh, yes and yes. I hadn’t even thought about what I was going to feed all of these dogs. “And names.” I just realized I didn’t know the dogs’ names. How horrible was that?
Martin’s lips curved into a smile. “This is Fluff.”
“Fluff? Like Fluffy?” I looked down at the dog I’d termed head bitch in charge. With a name like Fluff, it was no wonder she had an attitude. All the other sled dogs probably snickered at her behind their paws. With a new sense of sympathy, I ran a finger down the back of her head.
“In case you hadn’t figured it out, she’s Red’s main lead.”
Stone had walked to the end of the bridge and was watching us through mirrored sunglasses. I twisted a bit in the snow.
Martin glanced at the detective, and then said, “I can ask him about getting the dogs’ supplies if you like and bring them by later.”
I accepted with an appreciative smile.
At my Jeep, Martin helped me shove Fluff inside, while naming each of the other dogs. There was Finik, a second lead who Red had only brought along because the Silver Trail was an eight-dog team race.
“Fluff prefers to solo lead,” he explained.
I glanced at Fluff who had just shoulder=checked Finik out of her path. “Shocking.”
The rest of the team were Gent, a point dog; Daisy, another point dog; Inuk and Winny, both team dogs; and finally the two big guys: Zef and Cash.
“They’re a great team,” Martin said, a bit of envy sounding in his voice.
“What will happen to them?” I asked. “Once the police decide they aren’t ‘evidence’ I mean.”
Martin shook his head. “Red didn’t have any kids. The dogs were his family. His ex-wife might try to take them. According to Red, she tried during the divorce, more to hurt him than because she wanted the dogs. Then there’s the money she could get for them too.”
“Really?” I couldn’t imagine selling Kiska, but I knew working dogs - hunters and those trained to do other jobs like guard dogs - were sometimes sold to new owners. It made sense that sled dogs would be too, as barbaric as it seemed to me.
“Fluff is probably worth a couple of thousand.” Martin shook his head. “Although anyone who’s met her knows she’s worth way more than that, just in personality.”
“Yeah.” I looked at the lead dog who was back in shot gun position. I hoped Kiska appreciated her charm. He wasn’t, that I’d ever noticed, dominant, but he was also used to doing whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. Somehow I thought Fluff might expect that to change.
Thoughts of how Fluff and Kiska might get along were jolting enough, but a realization shot through my head. “Wait, are you saying Red doesn’t have any family? He’s divorced with no kids?”
“That’s right.” Martin smiled back at me, obviously not getting the seriousness of what this meant.
“So, when the police lift the hold on releasing the dogs, who is going to get them?”
A frown pulled at Martin’s brows. “Well, plenty of people would probably want them. They are a winning team, but who will own them depends on whether Red left a will I guess or if he has some other relative I don’t know about.”
“Like a brother? He has to have a brother or sister, right?”
Martin shrugged. “If he did, he never mentioned them.” His smile returned. “Maybe you’ll get to keep them.”
Uh, yeah. Not what I was hoping for.
With that little shoe drop, he turned and trotted back to the bridge where Stone was still standing. I got in my rig hassle-free, thanks to the efforts of Fluff who seemed to have accepted her new role as car etiquette enforcer. By the time I rolled past the bridge, on my way to a neighbor’s drive where I could safely turn around, both men had disappeared, hopefully to load up whatever it would take to keep eight athletic dogs happy and nondestructive in my care.
On the trip back past, they were still missing. I lowered my shoulders in resolve and concentrated on the introductions ahead of me.
Kiska was a friendly dog. He wouldn’t mind sharing his home with a few new friends. Right?
Chapter 6
Kiska was not happy.
Let me amend that. I was not happy. Kiska was not happy. If my neighbors had any hearing capabilities left, they were not happy either.
I’d arrived home with no plans for my new wards besides keeping them separate from Kiska for as long as I could. Leaving Kiska inside, none the wiser to the interlopers gathered in his yard, I gathered up blankets, towels and even a pair of old sweatpants to make beds for the team in my semi-heated shed. I filled my best stainless steel mixing bowl set with food and water. And I spoke quietly to Fluff, filling her in on the rules of the land: No barking. No digging. No terrorizing of small woodland creatures.
Then, confident she’d got my message, I went back inside to... I wasn’t sure what I was going to do. Call for help was my first thought, but from whom?
I was mulling this over when a stainless steel mixing bowl went sailing past my front window like some warped flying saucer. It smacked into a tree and fell with a loud ping against a rock.
Kiska, lying on his bed, happily enjoying his reprieve from being forced outside as soon as I got home, lifted his head and frowned. I smiled nervously and babbled something about squirrels.
He lowered his head back to his pad, but kept one eye open, watching me.
Five seconds later, Zef and Cash bounded out of the shed, sliding past the window and landing in a snow drift. Daisy followed with a second stainless steel bowl gripped daintily in her mouth. Winny came out of nowhere, soaring through the air and landing on Winny with an umph.
I took that moment to look at Kiska, completely missing the rest of the team’s arrival. When I looked back, they were all there, bounding, wrestling, digging, snapping and cavorting with only the joy a snow dog can feel when finding him or herself alone with seven of his best buds in two feet of previously undisturbed snow.
Then Finik dropped to his haunches and began to howl. Within seconds, the entire team had joined in the song. And if that wasn’t enough to give up my secret, Fluff galloped to the window, rose up on her back legs, placed her front legs on the glass, and stared inside.
After a moment of husky joy, her gaze shifted to an accusing glare. I knew then the gig was up.
Sure enough, Kiska had decided to join me and was now staring out on the canine invasion with a mix of fascination and confusion on his face.
Fluff’s emotion was a lot easier to read. Deep disappointment, laced with a touch of disgust. I’d been holding out on her. There was another dog, one surely in need of her guidance, and I had not performed the necessary introductions.
Then Kiska began to talk, the team returned the greeting, and my phone began to ring.
It seemed my neighbors did have a breaking point.
o0o
After assuring my closest neighbors that I was not opening a kennel, puppy mill, or any other dog-related business, I took Kiska out on his leash.
The confinement seemed a bit unfair to him, but it gave me at least some feeling of control.
As probably easily predicted, Red’s team barreled toward us like bears to a tipped-over garbage can.
Fluff, however, was on duty. When Zef, Cash, and Daisy got too close, she lowered her head and brushed them aside. Gent, Winny and Inuk were even less of an issue; a strong glare got them to back off. And Finik, poor guy, kept completely out of the way, pretending interest in the previously discarded stainless steel bowls.
Kiska, happily unaware that he was being assessed and possibly possessed like a prized new toy, watched the proceedings with a grin and swaying tail.
Finally, after she was sure the other dogs knew their place in line - after her - Fluff went about sniffing Kiska down tail to snout and gauging his position in her world.
I waited stiffly, completely unsure what I would do if Fluff weighed Kiska’s measure and found him wanting.
