Spunky Bumpkin: COUNTRY COUSIN MYSTERIES, #3

1

Iwas a soggy, sobbing mess. I’d known I shouldn’t let Hal talk me into watching a movie about a boy and his dog. That never ended well for the dog.

Hollyweird just loved making pet lovers miserable.

On the screen, the eighteen-year-old gave his sad-eyed dog, which had been at his side since he was a small boy, a negligent wave and walked out the door, heading off to college and new excitement…without his faithful canine companion.

The dog sank dejectedly to the boy’s bed, nose on paws and liquid brown eyes sad enough to make a serial killer sob, and I broke down into loud, inconsolable sobbing of my own.

Hal looked alarmed. He tried to move closer to wrap an arm around my shoulders, but Caphy was having none of it. If there was consoling to do, she’d be the dog to do it.

After all, it had been the human male who’d gotten me into the mess, it would take a pibl to ease me out of it.

She’d jumped up onto the couch between us at the start of the movie, draping her heavy form across my lap as if she’d known we needed to store up a good dose of canine comfort, and she wasn’t letting anybody near me as I completely fell apart.

She’d even given LaLee a low growl, the hair on her back rising to reinforce the warning.

I wrapped my arms around her and buried my face in her sweet-smelling fur, sobbing uncontrollably.

Hal’s big, warm hand found my shoulder and patted ineffectually. He clicked off the movie, and the room fell silent except for my sniffling and the occasional hiccupping sob.

I could feel Hal’s regret like a vibration on the air.

I finally stopped crying and lifted my head, running the heel of my hand across my cheeks to sop up some of the copious moisture there.

Hal wordlessly handed me his pristine handkerchief.

Thank you, I said in a tear-clogged voice. Sorry.

He shook his head, squeezing my shoulder, which was the only part of my body Caphy was allowing him to touch. It’s my fault. You tried to warn me.

I gave a watery laugh. I did.

A deep rumble sounded behind me, and I turned my head to see LaLee had moved closer. She sat like a Sphinx on the back of the couch, her pretty blue gaze locked onto mine. Hey, girl. The cat reached out a paw and touched my cheek, not even releasing her claws as she did.

It was a huge concession for her and I deeply appreciated it.

I smiled, sniffling loudly. Thanks, LaLee.

Hal got up to get me some water, and I lay my head back, feeling drained from my cry-athon as well as from the deep sadness spurred inside me by the movie. I’d never understand why people liked to watch sad movies. All they did was drain me of energy and leave me feeling depressed.

My phone rang, making me jump. I glanced at the old-fashioned wall clock above the TV. Eleven o’clock at night. Who in the world would be calling me?

Then I realized it might be my mom and jumped on my cell phone without looking at the ID.

Hello?

Joey. His voice was raw, broken, and I sat immediately upright. Arno? What’s wrong?

Hal came in carrying my glass of water and looked a question at me. I shook my head to let him know I had no idea.

Silence was the only response Arno gave me.

My mind formed a picture of the Deputy lying broken in a ditch somewhere. I gently shoved Caphy off my lap and stood. Arno, talk to me. Are you okay?

She… Arno took a deep, trembling breath, clearly struggling to say what needed to be said.

I slipped into the flip-flops I’d kicked nearly under the couch. Tell me where you are. Hal and I will come to you.

Another short silence broke on the sound of Arno clearing his throat. Twenty-five Sixteen Antler’s Way. Hurry.

We’ll be there in five minutes. Arno?

I waited for him to respond. Yeah?

Whatever it is, it’s going to be all right. Okay?

He took a shuddering breath. I’m not so sure about that, Joey.

My heart pounded against my ribs. I’d never heard my friend sound so broken. I looked at Hal and he must have seen the worry in my eyes. He nodded, pulling his keys from his pocket. Come on. I’ll drive.

Caphy jumped down from the couch and trotted along behind us as we headed for the front door.

Hal’s dark blue SUV waited in the drive at the base of the steps, a dark bulk in the yellow illumination of my porch light. I let Caphy into the back seat and climbed in front as the big car started up with a throaty rumble.

Hal put it into gear and shot around the circle and into the driveway, big tires sending gravel up in a spray as he pulled out onto Goat’s Hollow Road. Where am I going?

Head into Deer Hollow. He’s on Antler’s Way. I thought about the short road that jutted off Main Street at the edge of town. It was a residential street, a strange mix of nice homes, broken-down clapboard houses, and a couple of double-wide trailers.

There was something else about the street that niggled, but for the life of me, I couldn’t think what it was. He sounded terrible, Hal.

My handsome PI reached across the space between us and clasped my icy hand in his big warm grip. Arno’s a strong, capable guy, Joey. Whatever’s going on, he’ll be fine.

I nodded, clinging to his assurances even though I knew he was just trying to make me feel better. I’d learned when my parents’ plane had gone down that kind words and gentle reassurances could sometimes be a bulwark against total devastation.

As if she could read my mind, Caphy whined softly, settling her heavy head onto my shoulder.

I smiled. Thanks, girl. I turned my head and kissed the soft warmth of her wide muzzle.

Did Arno tell you what’s going on? Hal asked as we shot past the sign announcing the Deer Hollow city limits.

No. He was struggling to say anything. I frowned. That was the thing that scared me the most. He’d sounded so completely devastated. I couldn’t imagine what would take Arno Willager to his knees like that. Hal was right. Arno was strong and capable. I’d rarely seen even the smallest crack in his armor. There were only a few things that had the potential to devastate the deputy that way. Maybe only one.

And at that moment, I had a flash of intuition. I knew why the address sounded so familiar.

Arno’s mother lived there.

Hal slowed and turned the SUV onto Antler’s Way. The entire street was only two city blocks long and ended in a cul-de-sac. Straight ahead, in the center of the cul-de-sac, was a worn-down double-wide trailer with a separate two-car garage. Lights flashed into the night from three Sheriff’s vehicles that looked like they’d pulled up and skidded to an abrupt stop. I half expected to see deputies squatting behind car doors with guns drawn.

Hal and I jumped from the SUV, leaving Caphy in the car until I knew what was going on.

She whined unhappily, her big paws slamming against the glass of the side window as we jogged toward the spot where Arno stood, head lowered and hands on his hips.

He was alone in a quiet spot in the night. An island of false calm in a sea of roiling activity. I knew as soon as he lifted his head, his eyes boring into mine, that he was about as far from calm as he could get.

What’s going on? I asked gently.

His gaze slid to the pickup truck I hadn’t noticed off to the side. I followed his line of sight and frowned when I saw her. Mrs. Willager stared out at us, her gaze filled with the calm her son couldn’t seem to find.

Your mother? Is she okay? Do you need us to take her to the hospital?

Arno shook his head, a single, violent jerk. I need you to take Spunky to the vet.

I blinked a few times, completely taken aback by his strange request. Excuse me?

Arno scrubbed a hand over his chin, the bristly sound breaking through the silence of the night. She’s… He frowned. I think someone’s poisoned her. He jerked his head toward the grass beneath a large tree.

Arno’s coat covered something in that spot, a fringe of golden tail sticking out from underneath it. I hurried over and dropped to my knees beside the dog. Spunky’s eyes were open, and her muzzle was painted in yellow foam. She whined softly as I ran my hand over her wide head. What’s wrong, girl?

A large form moved up behind me, and I looked up at Hal, tears burning my eyes. She’s really sick.

He nodded, touching my shoulder. Let me grab her, Joey. We need to get her to Doc Beetle.

Arno showed up behind Hal as I straightened, sniffling. I already called him. He’s expecting you, he said.

Hal scooped up the big golden retriever as if she weighed nothing and headed for his car.

I looked toward the broken-down garage, where Arno’s gaze seemed stuck, his face devoid of its usual healthy color. Someone was lying on the broken concrete in front of the rickety structure. The deputies had covered the body with what looked like a painting tarp, but two large boots stuck out from one end.

I looked back at Arno. Is he the one who poisoned her?

Arno closed his eyes for a beat, then nodded. Probably. He opened his eyes again and fixed them on me. It looks like she killed him, Joey.

She? I asked as horror bloomed in my chest. Spunky?

He gave a short bark of laughter that had no humor in it. No. My mom. It looks to me like he poisoned her dog, and she stabbed him with a kitchen knife.

2

There was a really good chance that Doc Beetle was over a hundred years old. I remembered him being old and bent when I was a little girl, and that was a couple of decades ago. Doc ran bony, gnarled hands over the big retriever’s heaving sides and spoke soft words of encouragement as he took her temperature.

It was a measure of her misery that she didn’t even perk an ear when he slid the thermometer into her rear regions. Caphy always jumped a little and cast an accusing glare over her shoulder when he did it to her.

Pressed against my leg with a worried expression on her face, my pibl whined softly in commiseration for her new friend.

Is she going to be all right? I asked the cranky old vet.

He slid a glare of his own up to my face, his brown eyes looking like accusatory pebbles in his small, wizened face.

I chewed the inside of my lip, fearful of the sweet dog’s condition, but even more fearful of annoying the veterinarian.

He read the thermometer and frowned, sighing softly. She’ll need to stay here. He filled two needles from the bottles he kept in a cabinet above the sink and injected her with the contents.

Spunky didn’t even twitch. She lay there panting and listless, her tongue an unhealthy light pink. Moving more quickly than seemed possible given his near-fossilized state, the doc shaved a spot on the retriever’s front leg and squirted alcohol onto the area. He inserted an IV, taping it around her leg and then coiling the remaining line as he glanced at Hal. Can I trouble you to carry the old girl for me?

Of course, Doc. Hal gently scooped her up, making it look easy even as his biceps bulged from her weight.

This way, Doc Beetle instructed.

We followed him through a door I’d never gone through and into a room with a narrow bed for a human and a large bed with bumpers for the patient. Doc Beetle pointed to the dog bed. Lay her down there. I’ll hook this up and we’ll get fluids running through her.

I stood in the doorway, twining my fingers and feeling helpless. Doc Beetle… I finally asked.

He skimmed me another look, only slightly less hostile. I don’t know, Joey, he said to my unasked question. Our goal right now is to get her through the night. He glanced at a big, round clock on the wall, the numbers oversized as if to accommodate his older-than-dirt eyesight. What’s left of it…

I glanced at the clock too, amazed to see that it was already after midnight. You’ll call?

I’ll call the dog’s owner. He hooked an IV bag over the pole situated next to the bed, frowning.

Hal