Missing In Conard County. Rachel LeeЧитать онлайн книгу.
severe winter storm to move into Conard County, Wyoming, in the next two days, so animal control officer Allan Carstairs was out hunting for strays. By nightfall, the temperatures would be dropping rapidly, and while the storm itself wasn’t moving fast, the cold was stampeding down on them. Subzero temperatures weren’t good for animals that were used to warm homes and not used to dealing with Arctic weather. Al had seen cats with badly frostbitten paws and ears, and he would never forget the dog that needed a leg amputated. Nor would he ever forget the animals he had found frozen to death.
So when the weather was about to turn dangerous, he roamed the area outside town looking for strays, as well as a family of felines that a trucker had reported dropped by the roadside. A lot of people let their cats roam free, and any cat that didn’t sense the changing weather as a reason to get home would be looking at trouble, even death. Then there were the dogs. The leash law didn’t always keep them from escaping and having so much fun racing the countryside that they often didn’t seem to realize danger was closing in.
At that moment he already had three annoyed cats in cages and a miniature schnauzer that appeared to be sad because he couldn’t keep chasing a prairie dog.
Then he spied Misty. A beautiful golden retriever with a distinctive prance to her step, she seemed to be running in circles about a hundred yards inside the fence line of the Harris family ranch. He was surprised to see her so far out here. The Avilas had always been careful owners who tried not to let Misty slip her leash, but she was an accomplished escape artist. With the weather turning so bitter, perhaps one of the kids had let her out in the backyard without watching and she’d burrowed under the fence. Regardless, at the times she proved to be Houdini’s reincarnation, Al usually picked her up within or near the city limits.
Al pulled his van onto the shoulder, grabbed a slipknot leash and climbed out. Misty had never been a problem to round up, so he expected her to come immediately when he called. Just after he slid off the seat and his feet hit the ground, he felt a light weight land on his shoulder and hang on. Regis, he thought, and smiled.
He closed the vehicle door so the animals would stay warm and gave thanks that the wind hadn’t really started yet. Just the faintest of breezes to chill the air, and a tang that hinted at coming snow.
For the first time ever, Misty wasn’t in a cooperative mood. As she raced around, she tossed some kind of toy in the air, and although she occasionally glanced at him when he called her, she kept right on playing, pausing only occasionally to paw at the ground before returning to her private game of catch.
“Hey, Misty,” Al called. “Come on. Don’t be a pain. Seriously.”
Just then a sheriff’s SUV pulled onto the opposite shoulder of the road. It bore a rack of lights and Conard County Sheriff painted in green on the tan background. K-9, Keep Your Distance was also labeled on the side. By that, before she even climbed out, Al knew it was Kelly Noveno.
She had apparently taken in the situation before she pulled over to approach him, and grinned as she climbed out. “Having a problem, Al?”
He had to grin back. Kelly was a wildly attractive woman to his way of thinking, but what he most liked about her was her sunny nature and readiness to tease. He also liked her dog, a Belgian Malinois named Bugle for his slightly strange bark. Kelly left Bugle in her vehicle, however, and sauntered toward Al, her khaki uniform and jacket looking scarcely heavy enough to withstand the chilling air. “Misty giving you trouble?”
“She’s in a mood, all right,” Al agreed. Apparently, Kelly had had her own run-ins with the dog.
Kelly whistled, but Misty barely spared her a glance as she tossed her toy in the air and caught it.
“What in the world is she playing with?” Kelly asked.
“I’ve been wondering. Rawhide bone? Heck, she knows I wouldn’t take that away from her.”
Kelly chuckled. “She’s teasing you.” Then she turned to look at Al. “What in the dickens is that on your shoulder?”
Al didn’t even have to glance. “That’s Regis.”
“That’s a squirrel! You can’t keep them for pets.”
“I don’t. Regis decides for himself. Sometimes he likes to ride shotgun. What can I tell you, Kelly? The squirrel has a mind of his own.”
Al felt her staring but heck, what could he do about it? He’d rescued Regis as an abandoned baby, fed the animal until it was strong enough to take off into the woods and live the squirrel life. Except Regis kept coming back to visit.
“Now I’ve seen everything,” Kelly muttered. “Someday I want to hear this story.”
While Al wouldn’t have minded spending the next day or two chatting with Kelly, there was still business to attend to. “Misty, get your butt over here now.” This time there was an edge of impatience to his voice and Misty didn’t miss it. She froze, looked at him, then came trotting over with her toy.
Al squatted down, ready to reward the dog with a good scratch and rub, but as Misty drew closer something inside him began to feel as chilly as the day.
“Kelly?”
“That’s not rawhide,” she said too quietly.
Al didn’t answer. He waited until Misty snaked through the fence and came to a halt before him, dropping her toy and looking at him with a proud grin.
Al reached out, scratching her neck automatically as he looked down at the “present” she’d placed before him.
“Tell me that’s not human,” he said.
“I can’t,” Kelly answered, her voice unusually taut.
Their eyes met and Al knew they were both thinking of the same thing: the three high school girls who’d gone missing nearly a month ago.
“I’ll get an evidence bag while you put the dog in your van,” Kelly said. But he noted she walked to her SUV with a leaden step. All her natural vivacity had seeped away. She’d be calling for help, he thought, to try to learn where the dog found the bone. Before they were even certain.
“Yeah,” Al said, speaking to the icy air. “Yeah.” Then he stood, slipping the loose leash around Misty and leading her to the back of his truck.
“God,” he told the dog, “I hope it’s from a deer.”
But he was very afraid it was not.
Day 1
Kelly Noveno rolled over in her bed with a groan, wishing she could knock the ringing phone off the hook and go back to sleep. Being a sheriff’s deputy, she knew she couldn’t do that even though she’d worked graveyard.
The night shifts ended in the wee hours with her being too wound up to sleep immediately. Inevitably while she worked she drank far too much coffee, and by the time she reached her snug little house near the edge of Conard City, she was wider awake than an owl. She unwound with recorded TV or music, and often didn’t fall asleep until late morning.
Thus, no one should bother her this early. She’d made that much clear to the dispatcher. She and her dog, Bugle, must be allowed to sleep.
Right then Bugle, who was lying beside her on her rumpled queen-size bed, lifted his head and made a sound somewhere between a groan and a yawn.
“Yeah, me, too, boy.” Except that as she pushed herself upright, she caught sight of the digital clock. Three in the afternoon was hardly early. If she were on shift tonight, she’d be getting up soon anyway.
“Hell,” she muttered and stood in her red flannel pajamas, shoving her feet into warm slippers. “It’s getting cold, Bugle.” Even inside. The heat must be straining to keep up.
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