yards down the road.”
Satisfied with the job he was doing, Otis ran back to Natalie expecting a treat for a job well done, there was none. The two walked down the road, taking in the unexpected calm and beauty that existed in the country community. An old timer on a tractor rumbled toward her through a newly turned-over field, his shirt unbuttoned and removed from his shoulders but still tucked in, allowing it to blow in the breeze, flapping like a flag around his waist. His tanned arms, face and neck were a deep leathery brown, and his chest so white it hurt Guest’s eyes to look at him.
“Mornin' Depidy, what brings ya out ar way?” the old man yelled, exposing his tobacco stained teeth and trying to get himself heard over the sound of the tractor. He removed the bandana tied around his neck and mopped the sweat from his face, then returned the material to his wrinkled neck.
“Just interviewing some folks, trying to get some information about the break-ins we’ve had lately. You know anything about those?” she yelled back, straining her voice to be heard.
“What’s at yer saying? Can’t hear ya sa good,” he again bellered back at her.
Deputy Guest motioned for him to turn off the tractor, twisting her wrist as if turning a key, “Turn if off, will ya?”
“Oh, yup sure, no problem,” and the machine was silenced. “Didn’t catch what ya said dere, ya lookin’ fer break-ins?”
“Sort of. We’re trying to see if anybody has any information that could help us catch this guy that has been doing all the break-ins lately. We think he lives in the country so we’re going door to door doing some interviews. You know anything that might help us.”
He sat back, leaned over the side of the tractor and spat a wad of chew from his mouth, wiping the bit away from his chin with his sleeve that dangled at his side. Otis pulled to check out the stuff that landed on the earth but his master restrained him. As if in deep thought, the old guy looked up, squinting into the late morning sun, rubbed his chin, then spat again.
“I don’t reckon I kin hep ya, we ain’t had no trouble out hea, got good nabas and it’s pretty quiet most da time. Dats a fine animal ya got dere, what’s his name?”
“Oh yup, he’s a good boy alright, name is Otis.”
Instinctively the dog knew they were talking about him and he sat, cocked his head to one side, and let out a whine, before lying at Deputy Guest’s feet, ears up and alert.
“You don’t happen to know anybody round here that rides a motorcycle do ya? You know the type for riding off road, call ‘em dirt bikes?”
“I got mysef one a dem dere four wheelas, most farmers got one of dem fer changing pipes and such, but don’t know anybody got a dirt bike,” he said, spitting again to the ground, a couple of drops blown back by the wind, landed on his white belly, leaving a dark stain.
“Thanks for your time, I’ll let you get back to work. If you think of anything or see someone on an old dirt bike, give us a call.”
“Sho will offica, have yersef a good un.”
The pair proceeded down the rutted dirt road, stopping at each house, asking the same questions and not getting any additional information. At the end of the lane she called in, gave an update to the dispatcher, and headed back to the unit. She did this a couple of more hours until she reached Range Road 232 where she parked the unit and released Otis from his cage at the rear. The K-9 ran to a dip in the road and lapped up a quick drink of water that had collected there. Guest was also starting to feel tired, hungry and thirsty.
“Okay boy, this is the last road before we head back for some chow.”
He ran to her side, knowing exactly what she had said. There only appeared to be a handful of homes down the rural road but it was hard to say, some of the homes were tucked away in concealed locations, with years of tree and foliage growth to hide the structures. The first home they encountered was well maintained with a grass front yard that was trimmed, a circular driveway with a Toyota SUV parked before the entry, and a swing set on the side of the house, with a few bikes leaning up alongside the garage door. She could see farm equipment, a tractor, and various other tools of the trade, stored and well cared for, beyond the backyard in the barn area.
The owners were in their thirties and were happy to talk with the Deputy while the children played with Otis in the yard. They had little to report, the people of the lane had lived there for years and they were friendly with all of them. There was one guy, about their age, that lived on his own, a few houses down, that stayed to himself. His parents passed away a number of years ago and left the farm to him. They knew he’d sold the farm and just kept the house and a few acres, must have made pretty good money on the farm, though, because they didn’t think he worked.
“Have you noticed anything unusual with him the past couple of weeks,” the officer inquired.
“No, everybody here just minds their own business, can’t even remember the last time I talked to him. I’ve seen him come and go a little bit in his van but that’s about it.”
“Do you know if he owns a motorcycle?”
“Can’t say that he does, but I could be wrong. Almost everybody's got a quad though, like those over there,” he said, pointing to some knobby tired, four wheeled vehicles, sitting on a trailer on the side of the lot.
“So I’ve heard,” she replied.
“Could you give me his name so I can follow through on some of this?” she asked.
“Sure, it’s Lester…a, honey, what is his last name? It’s slipped my mind,” he said, speaking to his wife.
“Cummings,” his wife said.
“Yeah, that’s it, Cummings, Lester Cummings. Nice enough guy, just likes to be left alone. I heard him doing a bunch of shooting the other day, over by the river. Think he’s got a range over there. His dad was quite a shot.”
“Thanks, you’ve been helpful, hope you enjoy the rest of your day. Come on Otis, let’s get a move on.”
There was no one home at the next place, but the neighbors had indicated that they were a retired couple that leased out their land and spent a lot of time visiting their extended family. Another quarter of a mile down the road the pair came to a section of the ditch bank that was particularly overgrown, a mailbox stood at the end of the dirt drive, weeds as tall as the support. Well before reaching the drive, Otis jerked free of the leash and charged the mailbox, barking and growling, going crazy with the scent around the site.
“What you got boy?” the handler said, taking the leash and leading him down the drive to the small country home. Otis continued smelling the ground before them, weaving side to side, yipping, and straining the leather strap that Deputy Guest had wrapped around her hand. An older model, silver van, sat at the end of the drive, next to the side of the house. The grass in the front area had turned to seed, and what had survived, was long, and interspersed with dandelions and other weeds. Otis sniffed his way around the van and returned to Natalie at the front door.
Lester had heard the commotion coming up the drive and closed the bookshelf, putting his 9mm in the back waistband of his pants, a light jacket hiding it from view. From the bathroom, he peered through the narrow opening in the curtains, to see the officer approaching the front door. If they had anything on him they would have responded in force, not a lone officer with a canine. He stood, sure she couldn’t tell he was watching her, and waited to see what she would do. The dog was acting more overly excited than Lester would have liked to see, he’d never hurt a dog before and didn’t know if he had the will to do it. The doorbell rang. Lester saw it coming as she raised her hand to the bell, but it still startled him when the buzzer sounded in the hallway outside the bathroom. He ignored it, both the second and third time she rang it as well.
She finally gave up and he could see her moving to the side of the home. He couldn’t let her near the barn but he was sure he’d closed it when he’d stashed the bike after his hell-bent ride. He moved to the back of the house and found a vantage point where he could see what she was up to. The dog led her down the trail, away from the barn, but to the fishing shed and the gun range. When she was out of sight, he pulled the gun from his pants, slid the action back, taking a shell from the magazine and loading it into the chamber, then returned it to the small of his back.
He exited the back door and trotted down the path to the shed.
“Hey, can I help you? What’s up?” he shouted, making them aware of his arrival. “Is there something I can help you with? This is private property back here.”
Deputy Guest saw him approaching and took a firm grip on Otis, with the quick release just under her thumb. “Mr. Cummings?” Otis growled and barked at the stranger.
