Free A Bloodhound to Die for by Virginia Lanier Page A

return. I undressed, crawled under the sheet, and prepared to spend a long time before I slept. I went out like a light. I awoke once during the night from the nightmare that visited at least once a week.
    Bubba was moving toward me in slow motion, his bat poised to clobber Jasmine. I pushed her away lightly and she floated out of my vision as I slowly fired six rounds into his torso. Bubba clutched me in his fatal fall and the copious flow of his blood covered me like a soggy blanket.
    I awoke in a cold sweat and trembling from fear. I exchanged yellow-colored sheets for white ones with blue sprigs of summer flowers and pink shorty pajamas for light green. I lay back down to rest, knowing sleep would be impossible. I drifted off near dawn.

   10
“Saying Good-bye”
August 26, Monday, 8:00 A.M
.
    I slept in this morning. After the late night
and
an unwelcome nightmare, I felt quite peaked. After three cups of coffee and a bowl of cornflakes with a banana, I began to feel somewhat human again.
    I read the paper with my coffee. If I hadn’t been informed last evening about the “Great Escape” I could have easily missed the short two-paragraph report on page three. Fred’s front and second pages were devoted to the tragedy of three of our townspeople shot and killed in a high-school history room. The funeral announcements were heavily outlined in black, with pictures directly above each notice. The ghouls would be disappointed with the coverage. Fred had avoided any mention of how or where they died, nothing about a shotgun or gore, and had affixed no blame. This wasfor the local families who could clip the articles and have them Xeroxed and encased in plastic for the family albums.
    I dreaded funerals and today I had three to attend. Leon Kirkland’s parents refused to let Sara be buried next to Leon and also wouldn’t let her be a part of his service. Sara would be buried in her parents’ plot and her funeral would be at eleven A.M. Leon’s funeral was at one P.M., and Norma Jean Tramore, a widow of six months, would be buried beside her husband, Randy. Who would have thought that they would both die in the same year?
    The phone rang before I finished the paper. A female voice asked for Jo Beth Sidden.
    “This is she speaking.”
    She asked me to hold for Warden Sikes, Monroe Prison. Aha! Jimmy Joe had been found within the wire and I was gonna get an apology, or he was still missing and the warden wanted me to find him. Either way, it was payback time. I’d met Sikes during past searches. He seemed to be a nice, polite person and had admired the bloodhounds.
    “Ms. Sidden, Warden Sikes. How are you?”
    “I’m fine, sir.”
    “I want to apologize for the misunderstanding last night. Captain Jenkins just transferred here this spring and he wasn’t aware that you did our searches for missing prisoners. He was, ah, a trifle hasty securing the search warrant, without my permission.The incident would not have happened had I been here.”
    “I accept your explanation, sir.”
    “Has Sheriff Cribbs notified you that we are now ready for you to search for this prisoner?”
    “No, sir.”
    “We have scoured the grounds with no success. It’s obvious that he has freed himself and we have no idea how he did it. How many men do you need to go with you and when can we expect you?”
    “I won’t be available for a search for Jimmy Joe Lane.”
    “Did I hear you correctly? Did you say you wouldn’t search for him?”
    “That’s correct.”
    His tone of voice was sharper and he sounded surprised.
    “May I ask why?”
    “For several reasons. Just be assured that I won’t be able to help you.”
    “It is my understanding that you signed a contract that still has three or more years to run. Is this correct?”
    “Perfectly correct.”
    I was going to make him work for every answer that I gave him and volunteer no additional information. His voice was now cool and had a crisp snap.
    “Will you explain your