A Bloodhound to Die for Read online

  A

  BLOODHOUND

  TO DIE FOR

  VIRGINIA LANIER

  This book is for ShaRee Russo,

  who anticipated my every need and performed miracles …

  Dogs are not our whole life,

  but they make our lives whole.

  —ROGER CARAS

  Table of Contents

  1 “Smile as You’re Being Gutted”

  August 23, Friday, 11:10 A.M.

  2 “Beware of Greeks Bearing Gifts”

  August 23, Friday, 12:30 P.M.

  3 “A Promise to Remember”

  August 23, Friday, l:30 P.M.

  4 “Blood Will Flow Like Wine”

  August 23, Friday, 8:30 P.M.

  5 “Would She or Wouldn’t She?”

  August 23, Friday, 9:20 P.M.

  6 “Looking for Someone to Blame”

  August 24, Saturday, 8:30 A.M.

  7 “A Visit with Jimmy Joe”

  August 25, Sunday, 2:30 P.M.

  8 “A Broken Promise”

  August 25, Sunday, 7:00 P.M.

  9 “Second Guessing”

  August 25, Sunday, 8:30 P.M.

  10 “Saying Good-bye”

  August 26, Monday, 8:00 A.M.

  11 “Comforting the Survivors”

  August 26, Monday, 12:20 P.M.

  12 “A Puzzling Incident”

  August 27, Tuesday, 8:l5 A.M.

  13 “A Stroll in the Swamp”

  August 27, Tuesday, Noon

  14 “Gulliver’s Nose at Work”

  August 27, Tuesday, 1:35 P.M.

  15 “Shit Happens”

  August 27, Tuesday, 4:00 P.M.

  16 “A Less Than Perfect Rescue”

  August 27, Tuesday, 7:30 P.M.

  17 “Cheating the Grim Reaper”

  August 27, Tuesday, 9:00 P.M.

  18 “The Rescue”

  August 27, Tuesday, 10:00 P.M.

  19 “The Day After”

  August 28, Wednesday, 8:00 A.M.

  20 “A Week After”

  September 4, Wednesday, 8:00 A.M.

  21 “You Can’t Choose Your Relatives …”

  September 4, Wednesday, 9:00 A.M.

  22 “…But at Least You Can Choose Your Friends”

  September 4, Wednesday, 10:30 A.M.

  23 “Once More…with Feeling”

  September 4, Wednesday, 11:00 A.M.

  24 “Hide and Seek”

  September 4, Wednesday, Noon

  25 “Where, Oh Where Has Bobby Lee Gone?”

  September 4, Wednesday, 1:20 P.M.

  26 “A Little Help from My Friends”

  September 4, Wednesday, 7:00 P.M.

  27 “Operation Recover Bobby Lee: Rough Beginnings”

  September 6, Friday, 1:00 P.M.

  28 “Operation Recover Bobby Lee: The Setup”

  September 6, Friday, 2:00 P.M.

  29 “Operation Recover Bobby Lee: The Search”

  September 6, Friday, 3:15 P.M.

  30 “Operation Recover Bobby Lee: The Rescue”

  September 6, Friday, 8:00 P.M.

  Epilogue “And Finally, a Toast”

  September 20, Friday, 7:00 P.M.

  About the Author

  Praise for a Bloodhound to Die for and Virginia Lanier’s

  Also by Virginia Lanier

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  1

  “Smile as You’re Being Gutted”

  August 23, Friday, 11:10 A.M.

  Jasmine Jones halloed from the office and I yelled back that I was in the bedroom. When she entered, I held up a bra that had seen better days.

  “Think this will last awhile longer?”

  I had upended three drawers from my bureau, making a large messy pile in the middle of my bed. The empties were aligned alongside, waiting to be refilled with meticulously folded and correctly sorted bits of lingerie.

  Jasmine fingered the frayed elastic straps and rubbed her long graceful fingers over the small safety pin that secured one strap I had failed to notice. I mentally braced for the lecture on slovenliness that was sure to come. She walked to my small wastebasket and dropped the bra inside without saying a word.

  Returning to my side, she put her hands on her hips and studied my expression.

  Jasmine is beautiful. Flawless skin a rich shade of chocolate, a regal Nefertiti neck, ebony hair, short and casually curled, and a slender body with all the curves in the right places.

  My name is Jo Beth Sidden. Jasmine is my employee and friend and lives just across the driveway in a garage apartment. I’m an inch taller at five-seven and always looked dumpy beside her until recently. The trauma of a murder trial coupled with having to turn my prize bloodhound Bobby Lee against me finally gave me the willowy silhouette I craved, but this still wasn’t enough to make us equal. My mousy, medium-brown hair, short and impossibly curly from birth, and my pale complexion spattered with faint brown freckles across my nose just couldn’t compete when in her presence.

  “What happened this morning?” she demanded.

  “Nothing much. Went shopping for some new clothes. All of you have been fussing at me to buy some new clothes for weeks. Since most of them have been altered to some degree, they make me look as if I’m wearing a croker sack. So I went to spend some serious money at Estelle’s Boutique out in the South Gate Mall. At least that’s where I was gonna start.”

  I saw her quick survey to see if she had missed a pile of plastic bags and candy-apple-red striped boxes.

  “No, I didn’t buy anything, because I was shown the front door and told to leave and to never, ever, return.”

  I heard her quick intake of breath and saw her bewilderment.

  “Why?”

  “You’re aware that I know Balsa City citizens’ genealogy better than most. I grew up here. Family connections take a lifetime to study and are taught to the young as if they are school lessons. I just didn’t think. I’ll know better next time. I completely forgot that Estelle is married to my ex Bubba’s second cousin, once removed.”

  “Second cousin, once removed?” she marveled. “Give me a break. I’ve never heard of such nonsense!”

  “I’m surprised that you’re surprised. You were raised here too. Doesn’t the black community support its relatives the very same way?”

  I knew better than to use the term African American. She gave me an acrimonious smile.

  “Not exactly. Some of us go to great lengths to avoid acknowledging, or even thinking about blood ties.”

  My gut clenched. I had struck a nerve. I found out last year purely by chance that Jasmine’s mother was alive and well and resided less than four miles from here. She had never let her mother’s name pass her lips. I had assumed incorrectly that she was dead.

  I knew that Jasmine had worked the streets as a prostitute from the time she was twelve until she was nineteen. Hank Cribbs, now sheriff of Dunston County, was a lieutenant back then. He had arrested her and tried to get her off the streets many times before she changed her occupation. When I met her, she was running a small barbecue joint in Shantytown.

  “God, I’m sorry, Jasmine. I spoke without thinking.”

  Her smile was fleeting. “I’m glad you didn’t act as if you were unaware of my mother’s existence. I know that Granny Rose would have mentioned my mother when you visited with her a while back. I kept waiting for you to ask me about her, but you never did.”

  “I was trying to be tactful, dammit, and I’ll have to admit I was hurt that you hadn’t confided in me. I thought we shared secrets. Granny Rose said that you would tell me about her when the time was right.”

  “I guess the time is right.
I feel like telling you about her. Are you sure you want to hear this?”

  “Absolutely. I’m all ears.” I patted the side of the bed across from me and grabbed up the pile of lingerie, moving it between us. “We can sort and fold while we talk.”

  “First, I want to hear what Estelle said to you. Finish telling me what happened.”

  “I was in a dressing room getting ready to try on a couple of outfits when her salesperson informed her of my presence. Thank God I still had my own clothes on. She came in quickly and manhandled me out into the store, then gave me the bum’s rush to the front door. I bet she would have done the same even if I had been in the altogether.”

  “You really think so?”

  “You bet. All the way to the front door she was screaming at me that I had murdered a member of her family, she didn’t need any of my blood money, and it made her ill just seeing me walking around free after a jury had found me guilty.”

  The member of her family was Bubba, who had beaten me up repeatedly during our ill-fated marriage, then stalked me mercilessly after our divorce.

  “What did you do?” Jasmine’s eyes were wide and expectant. She knew my usual response, because of my quick temper, would have been to mop up the floor with Estelle, while I was reading everyone within hearing range the riot act.

  “I smiled, wished her a nice day, and came home.”

  Frowning, Jasmine leaned forward and placed her hand on my forehead.

  “Do you feel feverish? Dizzy? You must be coming down with something.”

  “None of the above. I was simply trying to act mature and think before I leap.”

  “This doesn’t sound like the Jo Beth I know and serve. I can’t believe you’re gonna let her get away with saying those lies about you to your face in public!”

  “Mostly they weren’t lies, Jasmine. I killed Bubba. A jury of my peers in my hometown, where I have lived my entire thirty-three years, found me guilty. It was a technicality that set me free with the help of my lawyer and Judge Dalby pulling strings. The only statement that I could find fault with was the blood-money crack, which I don’t understand, but obviously she believes every word she said.”

  “How can you say that? You know you shot him in self-defense!”

  “In a way. Listen, let’s not argue. I’d much rather hear about your mother, okay?”

  “There’s not much to tell. My mother is a very religious person, the most religious I have ever met. I believed everything she preached and quoted from the Bible until I turned five. That was when my father went out for cigarettes and never came back.

  “I loved him so much. He was a happy-go-lucky soul, and always found time to play and joke with me. I needed his laughter. My mother seldom laughed. To her, being religious meant grim warnings of perdition and iron-willed determination that I would walk the straight and narrow path to redemption.” Jasmine settled back on the bed.

  “I really tried until my father left. I was a prim and proper religious little girl. I didn’t laugh and act silly as a child. Rage and sorrow took over when I realized that he was not coming back, and that all the prayers I prayed wouldn’t bring him home. Then I became a rebellious hellion, acting out and acting up. I screamed and threw fits and never flinched or cried when she tried to beat the devil out of my soul by whamming on my posterior.

  “When I started school, I skipped more days than I attended. I ran away about twice a week. Once I stayed with Granny Rose for a week, and my mother didn’t even bother to try and find me.” Jasmine sighed.

  “When I was twelve, a new preacher came to mother’s church. He had a concept about disobedient children that was very close to tough love. He encouraged her to toss me out on the street and make me fend for myself. She followed his advice, had the locks changed, and refused to feed or house me even on a cold night.

  “I became a prostitute to survive. I went back every once in a while, begging my mother to let me live with her again, but she never let me back in the house and has never forgiven me.

  “You know the rest of the story. Hank helped me to leave the streets and co-signed a loan so I could buy my little diner. I lived there like a nun, never leaving the place except to go to church. I was afraid the city police would arrest me. With my record, they could have picked me up on the church steps. I had been a Christian recluse for six years when I met you and accepted your job offer.”

  “My God, Jasmine. No wonder you never spoke of her, or forgave her. I would have done the same! What a terrible thing to do to your only child. She was wicked.”

  “You’re wrong, Jo Beth. I did forgive her. I couldn’t have become a Christian without forgiving her. I wanted her to forgive me, but she’s never answered my letters or my knocks on her door, although I keep trying.”

  “You’re still trying?” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

  “On the first Sunday in the month, after church.”

  “She’s a bitch! She doesn’t deserve any consideration, or an ounce of your love. Can’t you understand that?”

  “You’re wrong, Jo Beth. She’s blameless. She truly believes that I am beyond redemption. She keeps avoiding me to save her own soul and her beliefs.”

  “That’s bull!” I yelled in anger.

  “Have you ever argued religious tenets with your friends? Are you familiar with the scenario of the Chinese whore’s daughter?”

  “I argued religious issues long and hard in my early twenties, but not lately, and I haven’t ever heard that one.”

  “Once upon a time in a small and remote hamlet high in the mountains of China, there lived a woman who was the village whore. The entire population treated her with dignity, as her services were needed for the single men in the village who could not find a wife. No one ever traveled to or from other cities. It was a completely isolated community.

  “There wasn’t a church, and Christianity was unknown. In fact, they didn’t practice any type of religion. There were no radios, TVs, or communications with the outside world.

  “The whore had a teenage daughter. When the daughter was old enough, the mother retired and passed on her customers to her. Question: When the daughter dies, does she go to heaven or hell?”

  “Are you sure they hadn’t been visited by any Jehovah’s Witnesses, ringing doorbells and handing out religious pamphlets?” I quickly threw up a hand before she could respond. “Just kidding.”

  I pondered the enigma. “She goes to heaven. She wasn’t aware that she was sinning; therefore she is without blame.”

  “You took the non-Christian approach. Frankly, that is the answer I lean toward, although it’s not the official doctrine of the Southern Christian churches, or at least it is not the correct answer for the church I attend. They believe the girl will go to hell and burn for eternity. I think their answer is weak and you could drive a truck through their logic.”

  “How do they justify their belief?”

  “God calls forth thousands of people each year to go forth and preach his gospel to the heathens and the uninformed. Missionaries. The Christians support and donate money for this purpose. It’s tough luck for the girl that they hadn’t as yet gotten to this remote village, but they’re working on it. The Bible clearly states that you must be born again. That means that she has to be saved to get into heaven. Case closed.”

  The phone rang before I could answer. It was Sheriff Hank Cribbs.

  “Hi, you busy?”

  “Nope. I’m available. What’s up?”

  “I’d like to come by and go over something with you. Sure I won’t be interrupting anything?”

  “Jasmine and I were only discussing a remote Chinese village, Christian dogma, and folding unmentionables.”

  “Say what?”

  “Being granted a visit isn’t too expensive. A large deep-pan pizza with double cheese and pepperoni, please. If you still like those disgusting anchovies, remember to have them added to only one-third of the pie.”

  “Salad?”

&
nbsp; “Jasmine and I will toss one here. Beer or iced tea?”

  “I’m on duty. See you in thirty minutes.”

  Jasmine left to make the salad. I slid the drawers with the folded clothes back into place. I picked up the wastebasket, quickly picked through the items that Jasmine had tossed, and rescued about half of them. I crammed them willy-nilly into the bottom drawer.

  2

  “Beware of Greeks Bearing Gifts”

  August 23, Friday, 12:30 P.M.

  Hank arrived as I was setting the table.

  “Pizza delivery!” he yelled, as he made his way through the office and stood momentarily framed in the kitchen doorway.

  Hank is quite a hunk and he’s well aware of this fact. As sheriff, he can wear anything he wishes but he wears the uniform of the department because he looks so good in the tailored light tan shirt and pants with a dark brown stripe down the leg. He’s tall, slim and trim, with dark, flashing eyes and coal black hair.

  Hank and I had an affair a while back that lasted a little longer than six weeks. We fought tooth and nail over every issue and found out that we couldn’t make it as a couple. We salvaged our friendship and the only time he quits speaking to me is when he knows I’ve circumvented the law or lied to him. He was a rock for me during my trial and sometimes I ache for what might have been. Even as I feel regret, I know that it’s ended finally and forever. He’s actively seeking a wife to be the mother of the children he desires.

  “You look spiffy,” I said, smiling.

  “Both of you are gorgeous, as you always are. I’m starved. Let’s eat.”

  Jasmine put the salad on the table and emptied the contents of the pizza box onto our plates. I poured the iced tea and when we were seated, I asked Jasmine to say grace.

  While we ate, Hank kept us entertained with a report on the latest screwup by his newest deputy.

  “I told the guy to park on the corner of First Street and Highway 301, and monitor the traffic. There’s been too much speeding going on. We’ve had two near misses out there recently, both of which could easily have produced a fatality. I told him to give it two hours and report back to me.

  “Two hours or so later, he came into my office and told me that I had been correct, he had seen many speeders. He had carefully listed the cars and their speeds. I didn’t believe he was serious until he handed me his notebook. His list began, ‘Ford Truck sixty-five MPH in a thirty-five-MPH zone, Chevy Blazer, seventy-one MPH in a thirty-five-MPH zone,’ et cetera.