Free A Bloodhound to Die for by Virginia Lanier Page B

failure to fulfill this request for assistance?”
    “No, sir.”
    “What?”
    “No, sir, I will not explain.”
    “This is ridiculous. I’ll get back to you shortly!”
    I listened to silence and smiled. I gently replaced the receiver.
    When I entered the grooming room, Wayne informed me that Sara Kirkland’s parents had picked up Sherlock earlier.
    “Did they say why,” I quickly signed, “or leave a message?”
    “Mrs. Watson said she was taking him to the funeral.” Mrs. Watson was Sara’s mother.
    I groaned. “Did she mention if she was going to bring him back?” Wayne gave a negative shake of his head and looked questioningly at me to fill him in.
    “Beats me. Maybe I’ll get a chance to ask her today,” I said.
    I wanted to know what was in Sherlock’s future. I would be glad to buy him back.
    The relatives of Sara and Leon were feuding with each other instead of dealing with their grief. I was going to try to track down the vicious rumor that had destroyed their children’s lives. I just hoped that they wouldn’t fight over Sherlock. Sara’s parents were too old to work and train him; they were both in their early sixties. Sherlock had progressed well with his basic obedience training. He was alert and willing and would make an excellent search dog.
    I hated to think of what he would be like in a year if they decided to make him the family pet as a monumentto Sara’s memory. He would be overweight, wouldn’t have enough exercise, and would have lost his edge to learn and be trained even if they finally agreed to try. I made a mental note to myself to go visit them in a couple of weeks and try to explain what he needed.
    After a brief inspection of the kennel, I was walking back across the courtyard when a blue car nosed around the corner from the drive. It slowly pulled up to where I was heading to the back-porch sidewalk.
    I went around to the front of the car while a man unfolded long legs and stood up beside the opened door. He was very tall. I had to keep adjusting my vision upward until he finally finished straightening to his full height.
    He was over six feet, I would guess by five to six inches. He had broad shoulders and looked like a college basketball player twenty years down the road who had maintained his waistline but had lost the battle to keep his hair. His hairline had receded. What hair was left was dark and he had unusual light green eyes and was a total stranger. I stared at the eyes a tad too long. He gave me a small smile.
    “Everyone assumes they’re contacts, but they are inherited from a northern Celt and a Scottish lass, or maybe it’s the other way around. I’m not sure.”
    “They’re beautiful,” I blurted, feeling the color creep up my neck. “I’m Jo Beth Sidden. How can I help you?”
    “I’m Leland Kirkland, Leon’s oldest brother. Please call me Lee.”
    “I’m called Jo Beth. I’m so sorry for your loss.”
    “Thank you. You never expect your baby brother to die first. I understand you tried to get everyone out. I want to thank you for the ones you saved.”
    “I hoped to save all of them, but a slug who’s an agent for the GBI yanked me out prematurely and I didn’t get a chance to try.”
    “You did good. Mom saved the paper for me.”
    “You’re not local, then? You’re just here for the funeral?”
    Why don’t you ask the guy a few questions? I thought with irony. Jesus.
    “I live in Fox Grove. Know it?” I shook my head no. “It’s almost three hundred miles to the north, in the mountains. I visit Mom and Dad two or three times a year, now that they are getting older. Leon’s death just moved my scheduled visit up a few weeks.”
    “Leon was a couple of grades ahead of me in school and you said you’re the oldest brother. If you went to school here, I was probably running around barefoot and with pigtails.”
    “I’m sorry that I don’t remember you, just as you don’t remember me. Right?”
    I smiled. “Right.”
    “Mom