Home of the Brave (Raine Stockton Dog Mysteries Book 9) (9 page)

I watched the sun turn the clouds to gold-tipped pink marshmallows while I told Miles about my adventures with the police dog Nike and her less-than-charming handler, and he found a way to make me laugh about it, as I knew he would. 

“I’ll be sure to take the long way to town from now on,” he said.  “I can tell already that is one team I definitely don’t want to run afoul of.”

“Yeah, well, if you do happen to run into her, be sure
not
to drop my name unless you want to end up in jail.  I have a feeling I’m way down on her list of favorite people right now.”

“What?” he feigned shock.  “With your charm and tact?  I can’t imagine you alienating anybody.”

That’s what made me laugh.  And now that we were friends again, I asked casually, “So who is the other candidate for sheriff, anyway?  And why didn’t I know about him?”

“You’ve been a little over your head since we got back from the beach, sugar,” he replied.  “You told me yourself you haven’t read the paper in three weeks.  And given the size of this county’s paper, that’s just plain pathetic.”

He was right, of course.  I’d been out of town at dog shows two weekends in a row, and it always takes three days to catch up after a show.  Trying to run the kennel by myself had left me too exhausted to do anything but fall into bed after supper, and I’d barely had time for more than a cursory phone call to my aunt or my friends.  When we talked, it was not about politics.

“His name is Marshall Becker,” Miles went on, answering my question.  “He worked for the sheriff’s department here for five years, then moved to Nashville, where he was on the police force for twelve years.  I like him.  He’s got some progressive ideas.  You’re not really mad at me for supporting him, are you?”

Marshall Becker.  The name sounded familiar.  I’d have to get the details from Uncle Roe.  “No, I’m not mad.  But I thought you liked Buck.”

“I’ve got nothing against him.  Except for the way he treated my girl, of course.”

It took a minute to realize he was talking about me.  “Oh, come on, Miles, you wouldn’t really …”

“Of course not.  I don’t make political decisions for personal reasons.  The guy asked me for a campaign donation and I obliged, that’s all.”

“So if Buck asked for a donation, you’d give it to him, too?”

His silence was telling, and I was surprised.  Miles was the kind of man who knew the value of hedging his bets, and it wasn’t like him to take sides in a fight in which he had nothing to gain. My attention quickened.

I said, “Miles?  Is something going on I should know about?”

He sighed. “You want the truth, right?”

Now I was worried.  I said, “Right.”  Even though I wasn’t sure I meant it.

“The truth is,” he said, “I really, really don’t like your hair. But I’m pretty crazy about the rest of you, so let’s not get into a fight over politics, okay?”

I pulled a face.  “Get over the hair.  I don’t care whether you like it or not.”  A partial truth.  “And I don’t have a horse in this race.  As far as I’m concerned, if Buck loses this election it’s his own damn fault.”  I wasn’t ready to talk about the girlfriend he had brought on the force, but I wondered if Miles already knew.  “I’m just curious, that’s all. What set you against him?”

I had been vaguely aware of Cisco, nosing and pawing at something in the weeds a dozen or so feet away, which was hardly unusual for him.  Now he brought me his treasure, paws prancing, tail wagging.  I glanced at it, but it didn’t appear to be alive or dangerous, so I ignored him for the moment, focusing on Miles.

This time the silence was a little longer.  “Nothing against your boy,” he said at last, “but I’m not wild about the company he keeps. And he needs to know that if he’s in bed with Jeb Wilson he’d better watch his back.”

I frowned in confusion.  “What?”  Cisco edged between Mischief and me, demanding attention, and I put an arm around his shoulders, patting him absently.

“Baby, you’ve got a big day ahead teaching kids and dogs how to behave themselves.  Get some rest.  I’ll call you tomorrow.  And make sure Melanie wears sunscreen, will you?  She always forgets.”

“Yeah, okay,” I said, still uneasy.  I drew a breath for another question but he cut me off. 

“Sleep tight, sugar.  Don’t let the bears and wolves bite.”

That made me smile. “’Nite, Miles.”

I put the phone away and finally turned my attention to Cisco’s treasure. By this time he had stretched out on the ground with his find between his paws, preparing for a nice long chew, and he wasn’t nearly as excited about sharing with me as he had been earlier.  I took the prize anyway.  It was an athletic sock, oddly enough still fairly close to white, and for a moment I thought some camper had lost it.  Then I realized it was too big to belong to a child, and I wondered if for some reason Reggie had taken off his shoes and socks this afternoon, maybe to swim in the lake after finishing the grass.  At any rate, it was not something I wanted to hold onto, so I tossed it back in the general direction from which Cisco had taken it, hoping it would land near its mate.

Naturally, Cisco wanted to chase, but I brought him up short, standing and calling all the dogs to my side.  It was getting dark, and I was not quite as comfortable being here alone as I had been a few moments ago.  “Come on, guys,” I said, and my eyes darted quickly toward the wood line, “let’s go.”

Besides, Miles was right.  We all had a big day tomorrow.

Chapter
Ten

I
was up with the first trill of birdsong the next morning, flinging aside the downy warmth of my sleeping bag and springing from my cot with barely a stretch to mark the passage of an absolutely blissful night’s sleep.  I love camping.  I love the smell of the woods and the sound of gurgling streams, the cool damp taste of mountain nights and the gentle music of tree frogs and crickets.  I never sleep more soundly than when I am out in the woods, even when the woods are complemented by indoor plumbing and electricity.

The last dormitory dog had not quieted down until shortly after midnight, and at this barely dawn hour none of them had stirred yet.  I didn’t dare take my own crew up the hill to the exercise area and risk waking the whole camp, so after they gobbled their breakfast I took them for a quick run in the opposite direction, back toward the lake.  Morning clouds were rising over the deep blue mountains in tendrils and wisps, and as the sun slowly painted the sky pink and azure, we saw a deer darting through the woods.  I kept a tight hold on Cisco’s leash; disaster averted.  I fell into an easy rhythm, losing myself in the crunch of my running shoes on hard-packed dirt, the sound of my breath and the counterpoint of the dogs’ panting.  The air was cool and earthy, scented by the lingering wood smoke smell from last night’s barbecue, and a heavy dew dripped from branches overhead.  There is nothing sweeter, more ripe with possibilities and joyous, explosive life, than the stillness of a mountain morning.

That was what I was thinking—or perhaps something equally as poetic—when my reverie was suddenly shattered by Cisco’s abrupt and, as far as I could tell, completely uncalled-for barking fit.  He stopped about ten feet ahead of me on his long leash, feet planted, ears forward, tail curved over his back, gaze fixed on something beyond the lake, barking furiously.  I almost tumbled head-over-heels in my effort to keep from skidding into him.  He barked, the Aussies joined in—even though I could swear they had no idea what they were barking at—and, because I’m no fool and I know that well-socialized dogs like mine don’t bark at nothing, I stopped to scrutinize my surroundings. The Aussies circled, barking at nothing at all, but Cisco remained firm, his deep-throated bark and focused gaze insisting that all was not as it should be.  I could not have heard anything above the cacophony even if there had been something to hear.  My breath was coming hard and my heart was going perhaps a beat or two faster than its normal running rhythm.  I could feel my scalp prickle with alarm as I scanned the wood line, the lake, the horizon beyond, and I saw absolutely nothing out of the ordinary.  Until, abruptly, the center of the lake erupted like a water spout.

A bass, easily ten pounds, exploded out of the water, snatched a bug from the air, and dropped back again, leaving a cascade of ripples in its wake.  I laughed out loud with relief and delight, tugged on Cisco’s leash, and commanded, “Dogs!  Quiet!”

It was too late, of course.  As we jogged back up the trail toward the camp, I could hear the voices of the dormitory dogs happily joining in the morning chorus, and I winced with silent apology to the sleeping campers.  On the other hand, it was almost six o’clock.  Time for them to get up anyway.

Only later did I realize something else; we had not had a wood fire at the barbecue last night, and even if we had, I shouldn’t have been able to smell the smoke at the lake.

The camp cook served us cinnamon French toast with strawberries and maple syrup, hash browns and bacon while Margie went over the schedule.  The actual pint-sized campers would of course be served a more allergen-free/gluten-free/vegan-appropriate version of the meal.  I was profoundly grateful to be a grown-up as I helped myself to a second serving of French toast.

While we ate, Margie went over the day’s schedule, ending with, “Mr. Banks has already set up canopies in all of the fields for shade, and he’ll be going around on his ATV during the day delivering fresh water and dog treats. He’s even got a wagon hooked up in case anyone needs a ride back to the lodge, but let’s try to discourage the kids from abusing his hospitality, shall we?  I understand it rains here just about every afternoon …”  She glanced at me and I wrinkled my nose, nodding confirmation.  “So have a backup plan if your class gets interrupted by a downpour.”

Margie began to slide walkie-talkies across the table to us.  “Their range is pretty limited,” she explained.  “The nurse is on Channel One, vet tech on Two.  Seriously, friends, do not be afraid to press those buttons.  That’s what we’re paying them for, and the safety and comfort of our campers are our first priority. The other instructors’ channels are marked on the devices.”

I was studying my radio when she placed her hands atop the table and declared quietly, “Ladies and gentlemen, you are here because you are the best in your field.  I can’t begin to compensate you, or thank you, enough for your service. I hope you will take satisfaction in the fact that a whole new generation of dog lovers will go forward from here to spread our message of responsibility, equality and love.”

As a matter of fact, I did.

Eager to be reunited with their dogs, our early registration campers were up, breakfasted and out walking their dogs before the new registrants arrived.  I was happy to see Pepper had come through the night in good spirits, and was bouncing happily along beside Melanie as she walked along the path between the dormitories.  I was on my way to set up the agility field with Cisco by my side, and Pepper lost her impulse control when she saw him.  Melanie set her heels like I had taught her, waited until Pepper realized her mistake and came back to her side, and then rewarded her with a piece of bacon from breakfast.  Of course the kids had all been told to bring training treats from home, but Melanie knew the value of a high-value reward, and we all turned a blind eye to pilfering from the buffet for a good cause.

I put Cisco in a sit and watched with approval as Melanie walked Pepper over to us in a pretty close to perfect heel, guiding her with bacon and voice approval.  I would be very much surprised if she didn’t win a blue ribbon in the Puppies Under One Year Old group in the obedience trial on Sunday—if in fact she didn’t win Best in Show—but I didn’t say anything to her.  She was pretty full of herself already, and I hadn’t really had a chance to size up the competition.

I did say, “Good job, Pepper!  That’s hard to do with so many dogs around.”

Melanie grinned.  “Not really.  She’d rather have bacon.”

Cisco shifted his feet and licked his chops as the scent of bacon came closer, and I tightened my hand on his leash, reminding him he was in a sit.  “What group are you in?”

“B,” she said.  “I get Obedience with you this afternoon and agility in the morning.  I think I’ll blow off Junior Handling, though,” she added, “since I’m not going to show Pepper in conformation.”

As an instructor, I knew I should point out the value of every class, but when I thought about how many classes I’d blown off during my school years, I was afraid it might sound a bit hypocritical.  Particularly since I privately agreed with her.

I said, “Tell you what.  I’m on my way to set up the agility field. If you’d like to help, maybe we could take the dogs for a swim during the Junior Handling class.”  After all, I had promised Cisco a swim last night, and I did want to have a closer look around the shore before all the kids arrived.

“Sure!”  She released Pepper from her heel and kept her from lunging at Cisco by feeding her the rest of the bacon.  That kid was really sharp.  “What are we waiting for?  Pepper loves to swim!”

As we walked to the soccer field, she told me about the bone-shaped pool at Pepper’s day care in Atlanta, and how she had tried to talk her dad into putting something similar in their mountain house.