Caddy's motor was tuned to be as quiet as a kitten. Neither Dad nor I would have awakened to the soft purr of the car being eased out onto the road. Last night, the full moon washed the countryside in shades of blue and there certainly was enough light to see all the way down the driveway without headlights. Yes, it could have happened like that. Everybody from Caleb to the pilots and ground crew, and certainly the gang at Roxanne's, knew I kept the Caddy in an unlocked barn. Had it started out as a lark that ended up tragically wrong? Two people. The police would have to be looking for two people, one to drive out to the ranch and the other to leave with my car. It may not even have been premeditated, Patience on a toot with some boyfriend, neither of them sober, stealing my car for a joyride that went terribly bad? It held as much water as any other theory.
Locking the truck, more because of my own edgy nerves than from habit, I stood on the porch and examined the possibilities. During the summer season, our movements were very predictable—me upstairs to bed by eight or nine every night for a much-needed six hours of sleep; downstairs in the TV room my dad snoring through reruns and late night talk shows. Neither of us would have heard a thing. Though any number of people know our habits, still, I would be shocked to think that any of them were the sort to pin a murder on me.
I opened the front door and was greeted by sharp high-pitched barking. Tiny nails skittered across the wood floor of the foyer, and with a toothy snarl, a small brown dog launched itself at my leg. I kicked out, trying to dislodge its hold on my pant leg, then realized that this slathering miniature Cujo was really a tiny Chihuahua and I knew him—not that we were ever on speaking terms.
"Spike? Spike. Let go now, that's a nice doggy." He growled, working his teeth deeper into the material.
How on earth had this hateful dog come to be at our house? Caleb! He had made a special trip all the way out here to interview my dad. A courtesy call, he said. That he managed to drop off Patience's psychotic Chihuahua must have slipped his mind. I shook my pant leg, then leaned down to work open his jaws. "Stop it, you stupid mutt. Let go of my—ouch!"
He let go long enough to snap at my hand, then latched onto the leg again.
We danced around like this for another couple of minutes while I tried to dislodge him without waking my dad. Damn thing wouldn't let go.
"Come sneaking into the house this late at night gets him all riled up. He doesn't like it." My dad, shotgun in the crook of his elbow, barked a command and Spike suddenly let go and ran to his side.
"Neither do I. Little bugger bit a hole in my pants," I said. "Why would Caleb bring this mutt out here?"
"Caleb said we could use an alarm system, and since I don't like the idea of feeding a German shepherd, Spike here has got himself a new home."
"Noah, that damn dog hates everyone. He's got mental problems."
"You don't know what you're talking about. Nicest little dog I've ever met, minds me really well, and he loves Juanita's cooking. Besides, he ran right out to greet you, didn't he?"
"Sure he did," I said, holding up my bleeding thumb.
I couldn't imagine why Caleb would stiff us with Patience McBride's hellhound, but since my dad liked him, I'd let it go until tomorrow.
Noah cleared his throat. "Caleb says you're off the hook with the police, so where've you been?"
The answers to that would take most of the night, and I was tired beyond words. "I was at Roxanne's."
"Well, Caleb called a couple of times. You got that cell phone, why don't you answer it?"
"Because right now, I don't want to talk to him."
He hefted the shotgun over his shoulder and, pointing at the dog, said, "Well, leave me out of your squabbles, will you? Me and Spike got the security covered, so you get some sleep. I'll start the ground crew tomorrow."
As if I could sleep. I got a beer and a can of tuna. Standing
Locking the truck, more because of my own edgy nerves than from habit, I stood on the porch and examined the possibilities. During the summer season, our movements were very predictable—me upstairs to bed by eight or nine every night for a much-needed six hours of sleep; downstairs in the TV room my dad snoring through reruns and late night talk shows. Neither of us would have heard a thing. Though any number of people know our habits, still, I would be shocked to think that any of them were the sort to pin a murder on me.
I opened the front door and was greeted by sharp high-pitched barking. Tiny nails skittered across the wood floor of the foyer, and with a toothy snarl, a small brown dog launched itself at my leg. I kicked out, trying to dislodge its hold on my pant leg, then realized that this slathering miniature Cujo was really a tiny Chihuahua and I knew him—not that we were ever on speaking terms.
"Spike? Spike. Let go now, that's a nice doggy." He growled, working his teeth deeper into the material.
How on earth had this hateful dog come to be at our house? Caleb! He had made a special trip all the way out here to interview my dad. A courtesy call, he said. That he managed to drop off Patience's psychotic Chihuahua must have slipped his mind. I shook my pant leg, then leaned down to work open his jaws. "Stop it, you stupid mutt. Let go of my—ouch!"
He let go long enough to snap at my hand, then latched onto the leg again.
We danced around like this for another couple of minutes while I tried to dislodge him without waking my dad. Damn thing wouldn't let go.
"Come sneaking into the house this late at night gets him all riled up. He doesn't like it." My dad, shotgun in the crook of his elbow, barked a command and Spike suddenly let go and ran to his side.
"Neither do I. Little bugger bit a hole in my pants," I said. "Why would Caleb bring this mutt out here?"
"Caleb said we could use an alarm system, and since I don't like the idea of feeding a German shepherd, Spike here has got himself a new home."
"Noah, that damn dog hates everyone. He's got mental problems."
"You don't know what you're talking about. Nicest little dog I've ever met, minds me really well, and he loves Juanita's cooking. Besides, he ran right out to greet you, didn't he?"
"Sure he did," I said, holding up my bleeding thumb.
I couldn't imagine why Caleb would stiff us with Patience McBride's hellhound, but since my dad liked him, I'd let it go until tomorrow.
Noah cleared his throat. "Caleb says you're off the hook with the police, so where've you been?"
The answers to that would take most of the night, and I was tired beyond words. "I was at Roxanne's."
"Well, Caleb called a couple of times. You got that cell phone, why don't you answer it?"
"Because right now, I don't want to talk to him."
He hefted the shotgun over his shoulder and, pointing at the dog, said, "Well, leave me out of your squabbles, will you? Me and Spike got the security covered, so you get some sleep. I'll start the ground crew tomorrow."
As if I could sleep. I got a beer and a can of tuna. Standing
Similar Books
