Bug Man Suspense 3-in-1 Bundle (107 page)

When Kathryn extended her hand, all three dogs began to growl. She drew back.

Alena snapped her fingers once and the dogs fell silent.

Kathryn forced a smile. “I used to have a dog. What kind are they?”

“What kind of person are you?”

“Excuse me?”

“It doesn't matter what ‘kind' they are—the only thing that matters is what's inside of you.” She smoothed the front of her dress and smiled at Nick. “I'm really glad you called.”

Nick looked down at her dress. “Can you work in that?”

Her face dropped. “If I have to. Why? What's the hurry?”

“Nick is always in a hurry,” Kathryn explained.

“I know that,” Alena said. “I've worked with Nick before.”

Kathryn turned to Nick. “You two know each other?”

“Alena has a place up in northern Virginia,” he said. “She trains dogs there—cadaver dogs, narcotics dogs, search-and-rescue dogs . . . She's the best I've ever seen.”

Alena grinned. “And Nick is the best bug man there is.”

As the adults conversed, Callie stared at the dogs in fascination; the largest dog seemed to hold her entranced. The dog was taller than she was, even seated. Callie's eyes were at the same level as the dog's thick snout. As the little girl stared she suddenly started forward, raising both hands and reaching for the dog's soft fur.

Kathryn grabbed her daughter's arm and pulled her back. “Be careful, Callie.”

Alena glared at her. “Why does she need to be careful?”

“Your dog is very big,” Kathryn said.

“You're pretty big. You don't hear me warning my dogs, do you?”

“He looks a little scary.”

“To you or to her? I thought you said you owned a dog.”

“Did you ever have a daughter?”

Nick interrupted. “Look, we can chat all day, but we're losing our daylight. Can we get to work?”

Both women were glaring at him now.

“Please?”

9

A
lena walked beside Nick across the grassy clearing to the workers' cottage while Kathryn held Callie's hand and walked a short distance behind them.

“I'm really glad you called, Nick,” Alena said. “It's been a long time.”

“I'm glad you were available on short notice,” Nick said. “Not much going on?”

“I had to reschedule some things, but I was glad to do it for you.”

“I'll make sure the Sampson County guys know you went to some trouble—they might throw a few extra bucks your way.”

Alena shook her head. “So what are we looking for here?”

“Drugs. There was a murder here a few days ago and the police think it might have been drug-related.”

“Who was the victim?”

“Kathryn's husband.”

Alena glanced back over her shoulder. “She's not married?”

“Not anymore.”

Alena paused. “It's tough to lose someone like that—someone you're really close to. It can take a long time to get over it.”

“Not this guy. He walked out on her a year ago.”

“Terrific,” she mumbled.

They arrived at the workers' cottage and Nick tried the knob; it was locked. They turned and waited for Kathryn and Callie to catch up. The dogs were lined up behind them three abreast.

Nick looked at the largest dog. “Hey, big fella—remember me?” He held out the back of his hand and the dog made a rumbling growl. “He remembers.”

Alena snapped her fingers and made a dividing motion with both hands. The dogs moved aside and sat down.

Kathryn took out a key and opened the lock. She looked down at the three dogs seated on either side of the door. “Which one is the drug dog?”

“The little one,” Alena said.

“Can that little dog smell?”

Alena narrowed her eyes. “Can your little girl talk?”

“Of course she can talk. What's that supposed to—”

Nick stepped between them and opened the door. “Why don't we all go inside?”

They entered the small cottage—first Nick, then Kathryn and Callie, then Alena. The house was not much larger than a trailer, and it was laid out like a one-bedroom efficiency, with a kitchenette and table directly in front of the door and a queen-sized bed immediately to the right.

Kathryn shuddered. “I haven't been in this place in months.”

The cottage was a shambles. There were pots still on the stove and dishes piled in the sink. On the table was a cereal bowl half-filled with curdled milk and a juice glass lying on its side. There were articles of clothing strewn around the floor and the covers were thrown back from the bed.

“Your husband lived out here?” Alena asked.

“Whenever he stopped by.” Kathryn started to gather a stack of old newspapers from the table but stopped and looked at Nick. “Maybe I shouldn't touch anything.”

“It doesn't matter,” Nick said. “Detective Massino said his forensic people were done with the place. I wouldn't waste any time cleaning up, though.” He turned to Alena. “Let's get started.”

Alena stepped to the open doorway and snapped her fingers; all three dogs came to attention. She pointed to the smallest dog and drew an imaginary line into the house. The little dog trotted silently into the kitchen and sat down. She looked at the other two dogs for a moment, then motioned as if she were tossing a horseshoe; they turned and trotted off into the yard.

“Break time already?” Nick asked.

“It was a long drive down here. They told me they needed to stretch their legs.”

Kathryn looked at Alena. “They
told
you that?”

“That's right.”

“They . . . talk to you?”

“Is there something wrong with that?”

“You never seem to talk to them.”

“Why should I?”

“Well . . . how do they know what you want them to do?”

“They know.”

“How?”

“Dogs are good at reading body language and facial expressions. That's why you can look at one the wrong way and he might bite you—maybe you told him something he didn't want to hear.”

“But how do they learn your signals in the first place? Don't you have to—”

“Look, do you mind? Nick and I have work to do here, and you're slowing us down. I'm being paid to find drugs—lessons are extra.”

“Sorry.” Kathryn moved off to one side. “What's your dog's name? Am I allowed to ask that?”

“Ask him yourself—that's what I did.”

“The dog told you his name?”

Nick leaned over to her. “It's kind of complicated. I'll explain it to you later.”

Alena rubbed her hands together. “Okay—what are we looking for specifically?”

“Drugs in general,” Nick said. “No specific type. We think there was some kind of conflict just before the victim's death—we want to know if drugs were involved. Since he stayed out here when he visited, this is a good place to start.”

“Drugs in general?” Alena said. “We can do better than that. Ruckus is trained to distinguish between heroin, cocaine, and marijuana—we don't do meth because the ammonia burns his nose.”

“Let's just establish presence,” Nick said. “If we find drugs present, we'll go back and identify the type later.”

“You're the boss.” Alena got down on all fours in front of the little dog. She stared at its face until the little dog met her eyes—then she clapped once and broke into a wide-eyed grin. The dog became excited and began to bark; she held up one finger and it instantly stopped. Then, in one continuous motion, she cupped her hands around the little dog's sides, rolled onto her back, and pulled the dog up on top of her. The two of them began to play, rolling back and forth on the kitchen floor.

Kathryn turned to Nick with a doubtful look.

“Later,” Nick whispered.

Suddenly Alena jumped to her feet, snapped her fingers, and pointed at the ground; the dog immediately took up position beside her right foot. She waited for a moment, then snapped her fingers once more and made a broad sweeping motion, as if she were gesturing to the entire room. The dog jumped to its feet and started across the kitchen with its nose quivering just above the floor.

But the dog wandered less than three feet before it lay down again.

“Bingo?” Nick said.

“Bingo.”

“That was fast. Are you sure?”

“I'll double-check.” Alena walked to the other side of the kitchen, summoned the dog to her side, and repeated the process. Once again the dog took only a few steps before lying down.

“Will somebody please tell me what's going on?” Kathryn said. “Why does he keep lying down?”

“That's his
alert
,” Alena said. “A dog is trained to perform a specific behavior when it finds what you're looking for—something the trainer will recognize. Some dogs are trained to bark. I train mine to lie down—that's called a
passive
alert. Some people like quiet when they're working.”

Kathryn took the hint.

“Try the rest of the room,” Nick said.

Alena did. Each time she gave the dog the command to search, it alerted almost immediately. Alena pulled out a chair and touched the back of it, then the table. The dog leaped silently from the chair to the tabletop, where it immediately lay down again.

Nick wiped his fingers across the tabletop and looked at them. He pointed to the floor. “Look at all the places where the dog alerted. See that? It defines an area about eight feet in diameter around the table.”

“What does that mean?” Kathryn asked.

“It means either your husband was incredibly sloppy or there was definitely a conflict here. There must have been a large quantity of drugs present, enough to scatter around and leave a scent over this entire area—that's a pretty sure sign he was dealing. It means something else too.”

“What?”

“It means somebody came back and cleaned up later—somebody who didn't want anyone to know about the drugs.”

“Maybe they just wanted the drugs. Drugs are expensive.”

“If that's all they wanted they would have just grabbed what's on the table—but would they take the time to sweep up? Would you, if you had just shot a man?”

Kathryn suddenly looked around the room. “Where's Callie?”

Nick and Alena looked too—the girl was nowhere in sight.

Kathryn hurried to the door and looked out. Her eyes widened in horror; halfway across the clearing she saw Callie with her arms wrapped tightly around the huge dog's neck. “Callie! Get away from there!”

Alena stepped into the doorway beside her and looked. “She's fine. Leave her alone.”

“What? How can you be sure?”

“Because I trained him, okay? Phlegethon won't do anything unless I tell him to.” She snapped her fingers once and the dog became perfectly still; she turned her right hand palm-down and the dog dropped to the ground with Callie still hugging its neck.

The little girl swung her right leg up over the dog's haunches and pulled herself onto the middle of its back. She lay there, burying her face into the soft fur as if it were a bear rug.

“She likes him,” Alena said.

“It must be the fur,” Kathryn said. “Callie likes certain textures.”

Alena grinned. “Watch this.” She snapped her fingers again and turned her hand palm up this time; Phlegethon snapped to his feet as if Callie weighed no more than a handful of fleas. Alena wiggled one finger and the dog came bounding toward them with Callie hanging on by two handfuls of thick black fur.

“Make him stop!” Kathryn said.

“Why? She's having fun.”

“
Make him stop!
”

Alena made a quick “stop sign” gesture, and the dog skidded to a halt. Callie slid forward, flipped over the dog's head, and landed on her back on the ground. She lay there giggling and staring up into the sky.

Kathryn ran over to Callie and helped her to her feet. “You did that on purpose!” she shouted.

Alena shrugged. “You told me to make him stop.”

Kathryn stood up and glared at Alena. “Let me explain something to you, in case you're not bright enough to figure it out for yourself: I just lost a husband, okay? Somebody shot him in the back and left his dead body for me to find. See this little girl? She's the only thing I have left in the world, and it's my job to make sure she grows up—got it? So don't you come around here with your three-ring circus and start—”