A Bloodhound to Die for Read Online Free PDF Page A
Author: Virginia Lanier
School starts next week.”
“That explains it. I’ll be there ASAP.”
“What do you think is gonna happen? Give me a clue, here.”
“I think that blood is going to flow like wine. Don’t storm the room. I want to try to talk to Sara.” I hung up.
I turned to see two faces staring my way and two motionless bodies in the dim light.
“It seems that your gossipmonger was wrong on one point, Susan. It’s obvious that Sara is now aware of what is being bandied about.”
“She has the bloodhound with her?” Susan sounded as if she couldn’t believe her ears.
“Of course,” I said calmly. “Sherlock is family.”
“I’m going with you,” Jasmine stated.
“So am I!” Susan said, looking defiant.
“All right. Jasmine, get the car. I have to change. Bring my rescue suit.”
Susan followed me into the bedroom. I pulled on jeans and a T-shirt.
“Why are you wearing your rescue suit? You told me that it isn’t bulletproof.”
“It isn’t bulletproof, but it will help to slow down the pellets. I just hope the gun is loaded with bird shot and not double aught for big game.”
“What’s the difference?”
“Simple. Life or death. Life maybe, if you’re shot with bird shot from twenty feet, death if it’s double aught. It also depends on the pattern that the gun discharges, but any round at point-blank range would be deadly.”
“Why are you doing this? It’s not your job. Let one of Hank’s men, or Hank, do it. It’s asinine to volunteer!”
“I’ll try not to stand too close,” I said dryly. “I know what you are thinking, that I’m doing it because I’m a hotdogger showing off. It’s not true. Think it through. Hank is the most sensitive man in the entire department in regard to women’s needs. But do you really believe that Sara is going to listen to any man, hand over her shotgun, and give up?”
“I don’t know. What makes you think that you can do it better?”
“Because I’ve been there, done that, dammit! I like to think that Sara is a friend and just might listen. I hand-fed Sherlock a bottle four times a day for two weeks, when his mother didn’t have enough milk for him. I want to try to get him out of that room alive.”
Jasmine blew the horn at the gate and Susan and I ran for the car. The three miles to the school passed quickly. I admired Jasmine’s driving. She was twenty-fiveyears old before she learned to drive. She had asked me to teach her, and I’m so thankful that I turned her down. We had a budding friendship, and teaching a friend is dangerous to the relationship. Hank had taken over and she was a smooth, competent driver. She could even back the car quickly without weaving all over the road, which is more than I can say about some people I know.
The block surrounding the school was in chaos. Lights were pouring out every window, people were crowded on the lawn, and cars were parked and abandoned everywhere.
“Leave it here,” I told Jasmine. “Just leave the keys inside and double-park. We’ll have to hoof it.”
We cut across the administration building’s parking lot, down the south alley, and on to the back lawn, where I could see several of the local police trying to hold the impatient crowd back.
Every mother and father who didn’t have a teenager in tow, or had no idea where that teenager was, was demanding to know if his or hers was being held hostage. The officers trying to keep the parents under control had no idea who was in there or what was happening.
I was saying, “Excuse me,” continually to cut through the crowd. Susan and Jasmine were trying to ease by in my wake.
I had bad luck and ran into sweaty, beer-belly Floyd Graham, one of Balsa City’s finest. He hatesmy guts. He was one of Bubba’s drinking buddies, meeting behind Buford Sr.’s barn from the age of twelve. He pushed a stiff arm into my chest and stopped me on a dime.
“Hold it right there, gal. Where you think you’re going?”
His body odor plus his
“That explains it. I’ll be there ASAP.”
“What do you think is gonna happen? Give me a clue, here.”
“I think that blood is going to flow like wine. Don’t storm the room. I want to try to talk to Sara.” I hung up.
I turned to see two faces staring my way and two motionless bodies in the dim light.
“It seems that your gossipmonger was wrong on one point, Susan. It’s obvious that Sara is now aware of what is being bandied about.”
“She has the bloodhound with her?” Susan sounded as if she couldn’t believe her ears.
“Of course,” I said calmly. “Sherlock is family.”
“I’m going with you,” Jasmine stated.
“So am I!” Susan said, looking defiant.
“All right. Jasmine, get the car. I have to change. Bring my rescue suit.”
Susan followed me into the bedroom. I pulled on jeans and a T-shirt.
“Why are you wearing your rescue suit? You told me that it isn’t bulletproof.”
“It isn’t bulletproof, but it will help to slow down the pellets. I just hope the gun is loaded with bird shot and not double aught for big game.”
“What’s the difference?”
“Simple. Life or death. Life maybe, if you’re shot with bird shot from twenty feet, death if it’s double aught. It also depends on the pattern that the gun discharges, but any round at point-blank range would be deadly.”
“Why are you doing this? It’s not your job. Let one of Hank’s men, or Hank, do it. It’s asinine to volunteer!”
“I’ll try not to stand too close,” I said dryly. “I know what you are thinking, that I’m doing it because I’m a hotdogger showing off. It’s not true. Think it through. Hank is the most sensitive man in the entire department in regard to women’s needs. But do you really believe that Sara is going to listen to any man, hand over her shotgun, and give up?”
“I don’t know. What makes you think that you can do it better?”
“Because I’ve been there, done that, dammit! I like to think that Sara is a friend and just might listen. I hand-fed Sherlock a bottle four times a day for two weeks, when his mother didn’t have enough milk for him. I want to try to get him out of that room alive.”
Jasmine blew the horn at the gate and Susan and I ran for the car. The three miles to the school passed quickly. I admired Jasmine’s driving. She was twenty-fiveyears old before she learned to drive. She had asked me to teach her, and I’m so thankful that I turned her down. We had a budding friendship, and teaching a friend is dangerous to the relationship. Hank had taken over and she was a smooth, competent driver. She could even back the car quickly without weaving all over the road, which is more than I can say about some people I know.
The block surrounding the school was in chaos. Lights were pouring out every window, people were crowded on the lawn, and cars were parked and abandoned everywhere.
“Leave it here,” I told Jasmine. “Just leave the keys inside and double-park. We’ll have to hoof it.”
We cut across the administration building’s parking lot, down the south alley, and on to the back lawn, where I could see several of the local police trying to hold the impatient crowd back.
Every mother and father who didn’t have a teenager in tow, or had no idea where that teenager was, was demanding to know if his or hers was being held hostage. The officers trying to keep the parents under control had no idea who was in there or what was happening.
I was saying, “Excuse me,” continually to cut through the crowd. Susan and Jasmine were trying to ease by in my wake.
I had bad luck and ran into sweaty, beer-belly Floyd Graham, one of Balsa City’s finest. He hatesmy guts. He was one of Bubba’s drinking buddies, meeting behind Buford Sr.’s barn from the age of twelve. He pushed a stiff arm into my chest and stopped me on a dime.
“Hold it right there, gal. Where you think you’re going?”
His body odor plus his