'Me too. But it’s getting greener the closer we come to the mountains.”
“A little.'
The Killing Game – Eve Duncan 02
Page 157 of 286
Where was the turnoff? The directions in the Internet ad had been precise, but all she’d seen had been— There it was!
A wooden sign with an arrow and a single name painted on it. Patrick.
She turned left onto a bumpy dirt road. One more mile should bring her to the ranch.
'Patrick?'
'That’s the name of the person who’s going to help us. Sarah Patrick. She trains dogs for a living.'
Jane’s face lit with a smile. 'Dogs?'
It was the first time she smiled since she’d left her friend Mike. 'These are working dogs, Jane.
Not pets.'
'What kind of work?'
'Obedience training. But I researched and found a few stories about her in the local newspapers. She also does search and rescue work. She and her dog were at the Oklahoma City bombing a few years ago, in Tegucigalpa after Hurricane Mitch, and in Iran after the earthquake last year.'
'What did they do there?'
'They tried to find survivors buried in the rubble.' She paused. 'And later they searched for the bodies of the dead. Evidently Ms. Patrick’s dog has a very good nose.'
'He smelled the bodies?'
'That’s what cadaver dogs are trained to do. They’re pretty smart. The Atlanta PD uses them occasionally.'
'And that’s what you want him to do? Find that woman Dom killed?' Eve nodded. 'Look, there’s the ranch.'
If it could be called a ranch. A log cabin, several spacious wire pen enclosures, and a large corral that was equipped with apparatus that could have belonged in a child’s playground. An old Jeep with faded, chipped green paint was parked on one side of the cabin.
'No dogs.' Jane said, disappointed. 'The pens are empty. She must not be a very good trainer if nobody wants to hire her.'
Eve parked in front of the cabin. 'Don’t jump to conclusions. Maybe this is a slow time for her.
Every business has its—'
The Killing Game – Eve Duncan 02
Page 158 of 286
The door swung open and a woman dressed in tan shorts and a plaid shirt came out of the cabin. 'You lost?'
'Sarah Patrick?'
The woman nodded. 'Don’t tell me. You’re from Publishers Clearing House. Where are my flowers and the six- foot check?'
Eve blinked.
'I guess you’re not.' Sarah Patrick sighed. 'Too bad. The cash would probably have corrupted me, but I could have used the flowers. I can’t grow anything out here. The soil’s too sandy.'
Smiling, she stepped closer and looked in the window at Jane. 'But kids are as good as flowers.
My name’s Sarah, what’s yours?'
'Jane.'
'It’s a hot day. Come inside and have some lemonade, Jane.' Her glance shifted to Eve. 'You, too, I suppose. Unless you’re from the IRS. Then I’ll set my dog on you.'
Eve smiled. 'I’m Eve Duncan. You’re safe. I came to offer you a job.”
“No one’s safe from the IRS. I make barely enough money to support myself and Monty, but I’m self-employed, so my tax returns always get noticed. They never understand when I claim Monty as a dependent.'
Eve followed Sarah Patrick into the house. 'Monty?”
“That’s Monty.' The woman nodded toward the fireplace. A golden retriever lying full-length on the floor lifted his head, yawned, and wagged his tail.
'Lazy beast.' Sarah went to the refrigerator. 'We just came back from a five-mile run and I’m not in a state of collapse.'
'You don’t have all that hair,' Jane said indignantly as she went down to her knees beside the dog. 'He got hot.'
Monty looked up at her with mournful eyes and then licked her hand. Jane was melting, Eve saw in surprise. She turned to Sarah. 'He’s beautiful, but I can see how you’d have trouble with the IRS.'
