They had been thrown together as M.E. and sheriff long before George had married Joanna’s mother, and afterward as well. Rather than appreciating George’s close working relationship with her daughter, Eleanor Lathrop had been jealous of it, but she’d been even more jealous of George’s job itself. Now that he was retired, the two of them were able to spend time off by themselves, traveling in the used Newell Coach they’d purchased. It was clear enough that this new Eleanor was happier and more contented than the mother Joanna had known all her life. It didn’t seem fair, however, that Eleanor’s new-found happiness came with the unfortunate trade-off that left Joanna working with Dr. Guy Machett.
Despite Joanna’s confidence about her own ability to locate the crime scene, she was forced to make two false starts after leaving Bowie before she finally pulled up at the wrought-iron gate that marked the main entrance to Action Trail Adventures. She stopped her Crown Victoria and rolled down her window. The entry gate was wide open. Just beyond her window stood a post equipped with both a telephone receiver and a keypad. On the first section of barbed-wire fence to the right of the gate was a hand-painted sign that read PRIVATE PROPERTY. AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY. CALL FOR ADMITTANCE. The fence post nearest the gate held the tangled remains of what might have been a surveillance camera. Fifty yards or so away from the gate sat a decrepit, dusty Airstream trailer with an equally disreputable F-150 pickup parked nearby.
“Looks like somebody tore that camera out by its roots,” someone said.
Joanna turned away from the trailer in time to see Natalie Wilson walking toward her. The ACO wasn’t any bigger than Joanna’s own five-foot-one frame, but she was tough as nails. Natalie had spent a couple of years on the professional rodeo circuit and had applied to work for Animal Control after turning in her spurs and saddle. Next to her, walking docilely on a leash, was an enormous dog-a Doberman, apparently. Once they were within a few feet of the car, the dog spotted Joanna through the window. He lunged at her, barking. Remembering what Ernie had said about the dead man’s vicious dog keeping investigators at bay, Joanna drew back in alarm.
“Quiet, Miller,” Natalie ordered, yanking back on the leash. “Sit!”
Without a moment’s hesitation the dog complied. He stopped barking and sat, still keeping a close eye on Joanna. It was enough of a threat that she made no move to open the door.
“This is the dead guy’s dog?” she asked.
Natalie nodded. “That’s right.”
“Ernie told me he’s dangerous. What’s he doing out of your truck? Shouldn’t he be on his way to the pound?”
“I called Jeannine and asked about that,” Natalie answered. “She checked. Miller’s not a stray. His tags and shots are all current and in order, and this is where he lives. Since he hasn’t set foot outside the property line, we’ve got no call to take him into custody. Jeannine said for me to stay here with him. We’re hoping one of the dead guy’s relatives will come forward and take him.”
“But Ernie said-”
“That Miller was vicious?” Natalie asked. “That’s a laugh. The poor thing was scared to death. He was also hungry and thirsty. Not only that, someone had killed his owner and taken a potshot at him as well. Fortunately the bullet only grazed the top of his shoulder. He should probably see a vet, but Jeannine is hoping that whoever takes him will handle that.”
Looking closer, Joanna could see a bloody mark that sliced across the top of the dog’s back. And she had to agree that right that moment, the dog didn’t seem the least bit vicious.
“That’s his name?” Joanna asked. “Miller?”
Natalie nodded. “Funny name for a dog, but he was wearing a name tag along with his dog tag. He’s a two- year-old Doberman mix. And he’s not vicious. All he was doing was trying to protect his owner. If that had happened to me, I’d probably turn vicious, too. You’re a good dog, aren’t you, Miller,” Natalie added gently, speaking to the dog. “You’re a very good boy.”
Miller responded by looking at her and wagging his stub of a tail the tiniest bit.
Joanna had learned that in the topsy-turvy world of Animal Control, the animals’ names often took precedence over those of any humans involved.
“If we know the dog’s name,” Joanna said, “and if you’ve seen his tags, does that mean we know the victim’s name as well?”
“Attwood,” Natalie answered. “Lester Attwood. At least that’s what Jeannine says anyway, and the address Attwood listed as his home address in our records matches up to this one.”
“You called that over to Detective Carpenter?”
“Just a few minutes ago,” Natalie agreed with a nod. “He said he’s on his way. For me to wait here.”
Looking off to the east, Joanna saw a cloud of light tan dust billowing skyward. A few minutes later, Ernie arrived, driving the new four-wheel-drive Yukon that had finally replaced the aging Econoline van her detectives had used for years. Ernie parked next to Joanna’s patrol car, then rolled down his window and glared out through it first at the dog and then at Natalie.
“What the hell?” he muttered. “That dog is a holy terror. Why’d you let him out?”
Miller, who seemed to be as happy to see Ernie as Ernie was to see him, made a very believable lunge at the idling SUV.
“No!” Natalie ordered. “Leave it. Sit.”
Once again Miller obeyed Natalie’s command. He sat while Natalie returned Ernie’s look, glare for glare. “Just because he doesn’t like you,” she told the detective, “doesn’t mean the dog is vicious. Maybe he’s got good sense.”
“Just keep him away from me,” Ernie said. “I don’t trust him.” With that, he turned to Joanna. “Want to go see the crime scene?”
Joanna nodded. “Should I follow you?”
Ernie shook his head. “Not unless you want that Crown Vic of yours to be stuck up to its hubcaps. We’re talking world-class sand here, boss.”
A new Yukon was on order for Joanna as well and was due to be delivered in two weeks, but that wouldn’t help today. Without a word Joanna exited her vehicle.
“What about the dog?” Natalie asked. “Have you done anything about finding out who’s going to take him?”
That was always an ACO’s straightforward concern-what would become of the animal? As a homicide detective, Ernie’s concerns and possible courses of action were far more complicated.
“Thanks to you, we may finally have a lead on our victim’s ID, and I appreciate that,” he said, “I really do. Now that we think we know the man’s name, our next job is to verify that-to find someone who can identify the body. After that we have to locate and notify his next of kin. That’s a lot to worry about without even thinking about that dog. Got it?”
“Got it.” Natalie’s brisk reply hinted that she wasn’t backing down. “Got it loud and clear.” With that, she tugged on Miller’s leash. “Come on, boy,” she told the dog. “Let’s go for a walk.” She didn’t say “far away from this jerk,” but she might as well have. Her meaning was abundantly clear.
Natalie Wilson turned on her heel and marched away with Miller walking placidly beside her.
“Where on earth did Jeannine Phillips find that piece of work?” Ernie Carpenter wanted to know.
“I believe she fell off the rodeo circuit,” Joanna replied. “She used to be a barrel racer.”
“Figures,” Ernie said disapprovingly. “Women like that are always a handful.”
That parting remark might have been a lot funnier if Joanna hadn’t taken it so personally. Not only did she suspect it was absolutely true, there was something else that bothered her. Her very own daughter, fourteen-year- old Jenny, had her own heart set on the world of rodeo. Being sheriff was hard work, but it was easier for Joanna to discuss murder and mayhem than it was to consider her daughter’s plans for the future.
“Come on,” Joanna said, climbing into the Yukon’s passenger seat, where she immediately fastened her seat belt. “Let’s go take a look at that dead body.”
CHAPTER 3
As they drove away from the gate,Joanna was still thinking about Jenny and her rodeo-riding ambitions when
