Free Haunted (A Bishop/SCU Novel Book 15) by Kay Hooper Page A

had good reason to be.”
    He took a chance. “And you? How do you feel about the paranormal?”
    “Not really an opinion one way or the other. I haven’t experienced anything like that myself.” Her tone didn’t change, nor did her pleasant but unrevealing expression.
    Deacon took another chance. “Haven’t you?”
    The jingle of the bell at the coffee shop door sounded before she could reply, and Trinity Nichols turned her head as a middle-aged man came in and then held the door for a black dog to enter as well. The man sent her a grin.
    “He obviously wanted in, Sheriff.”
    “It’s okay, Jack.”
    He waved a hand, then made his way to the counter to place his order.
    The dog came straight through the shop and sat down at Trinity’s side, uttering an odd little sound between a sigh and a sneeze.
    Deacon studied him. Gleaming black, medium-sized but muscled, stocky, with very alert and almost eerily intelligent brown eyes. Nobody had cropped his ears, so they stood up almost all the way but with soft tips folded down, lending his wide face a sweeter expression than might otherwise have existed. Because the dog was unmistakably one of that unique mix of breeds commonly recognized as a pit bull.
    A pit bull staring back at Deacon.
    “Yours?” he asked the sheriff.
    “He seems to think so.”
    Deacon kept his brows up questioningly.
    “We don’t have strays around here to speak of,” she said. “Or abandoned pets. Good people who care, mostly. Good and longstanding laws and ordinances prevent backyard breeders, and the few licensed breeders in the county are good ones. Everybody else spays and neuters their pets, mandatory, even the cats; part of my job is to make sure the citizens comply, and the fines if they don’t are pretty stiff and handed out without exception.
    “My grandfather was an animal lover, and he believed it was part of his job to make sure people took care of their pets and livestock. Got pretty hot on the subject if he found out otherwise; neglect, abuse, even carelessness wasn’t tolerated. Since he was sheriff, and since those were tougher days with fewer . . . constraints . . . on law enforcement, people listened and did what he demanded. Even the mayor and board of commissioners did. Until it simply became . . . the way of things. My father shared his views on the subject, and so do I. We’ve never even needed an animal control officer or shelter.”
    “And yet this guy was a stray? Maybe he got separated from his people while they were traveling.”
    She looked at the dog a moment, then returned her gaze to Deacon. “Well, I thought that might be, so I did the usual things. Ad in the papers all through the region; fliers put up; online posts where people from all over go to look at lost, found, or adoptable pets; phone calls to the three vet clinics in the county and fliers up in those offices. Even followed one lead supposedly to a suspected dogfighting ring about fifteen miles outside town.”
    “And found?”
    “They weren’t fighting dogs, they were cooking meth. Damn near blew the house up before we could get the whole thing shut down and the idiots doing the cooking safely locked away.”
    Deacon considered. “A lot more money in meth than in dogfighting, especially in a place this isolated.”
    “Yes, thank goodness.”
    He lifted his brows at her.
    “People making idiots of themselves and risking their own lives for money or whatever to do it is a choice. A stupid choice, but a choice. Abusing animals for
entertainment
or money is unconscionable and torture in my book.”
    In Deacon’s book as well. “Okay.” He looked at the dog again, then back at her. “Well, he certainly doesn’t look like he’s been in a fighting ring. And I imagine you’d know fast enough if one existed.”
    “I would.”
    He didn’t question that. “So you had this . . . misplaced dog.”
    She nodded. “Even notified the ranger service in case a hiker or camper along the