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“I know how you feel, Ham; I feel the same way, though I didn’t know Chet well nor Hank at all. I’m going to bust a gut clearing this one.”
“You got all the help you need?”
“I think so.”
“Can you trust the help?”
“I don’t know about that yet. I’ve hardly had time to form impressions of these people.”
“Chet had a secretary, Jane. He trusted her, I think, from the way he talked about her.”
“Right, she’s been a big help, got me off to a good start.”
“What about this guy who wanted your job?”
“Hurd Wallace. I don’t know about him yet. He’s a hard one to read, a real cold fish.”
“You watch your back, you hear?”
“I will, Ham.”
“I’m going to let you get some rest now.”
“Thanks, I’m bushed.”
“I love you.”
“You, too.” She hung up, surprised. Ham was not one for expressions of affection. She fell back onto the bed, and Daisy came and nuzzled her hand.
“Oh, Daisy.” She sighed. “I could really use a beer.” She struggled to sit up before she fell asleep in her clothes. She watched, puzzled, as Daisy went into the kitchen, looked around, went to the refrigerator, took the door handle in her teeth and opened the door. She stuck her muzzle inside and came out with a bottle of Heineken, holding it by the neck in her teeth, then she brought it to Holly and placed it in her hand.
Holly stared dumbly at the dog. “Wow,” she said, half to herself. “You want a job, Daisy?”
CHAPTER
9
H olly lay in a deep sleep, dreaming of nothing in particular. She was in her office and the phone rang, but before she could answer it there came a sound that didn’t belong. She listened, and it came again, a short, urgent, nearly inaudible, plaintive grunt. She opened her eyes and looked around her. Daisy sat by her bed, an expression of concern on her face. She made the noise again, then stuck her nose under Holly’s arm and lifted it off the bed.
Holly laughed. “And what do you want, Daisy? To go out?”
She looked at the clock, which read seven A.M. “Oh, good thing you woke me. I forgot to set the alarm.” She wondered if that was why Daisy had awakened her, but dismissed the thought. “I’ll bet you’re hungry, aren’t you?”
Daisy emitted a low, gruff woof that had an affirmative ring to it.
“Okay, okay.” Holly got out of bed, threw on a robe and fed and watered Daisy, then let her out of the trailer and stood in the door and watched. The dog ranged around the little clearing, her nose to the ground one minute, in the air the next. Then she disappeared behind a bush and a minute later came bounding back to the trailer.
“You’re a real lady, aren’t you? Very discreet,” Holly laughed, rubbing the top of her head. “Well, today, your, ah, sister is coming to take you to Atlanta, and you’re going to have some very nice kids to play with.” She felt a pang as she said it; she was finding Daisy good company. She took a quick shower, dressed in her uniform—in trousers, this time—and had breakfast, listening to the local news on the radio. She was pleased to hear her press release read on the air and to hear the mention of the reward for information.
At eight, she put Daisy into her Jeep and drove to the station, this time taking her inside on a leash. She had to stop half a dozen times on the way to her office for people to say hello to Daisy and pet her—a very popular dog. In her office, she told Daisy to lie down, and her instruction was immediately complied with. A moment later, Holly was startled to hear a deep growl from the dog, and she looked up to find Hurd Wallace standing in the doorway.
“Daisy! Quiet!” she commanded, and the dog put her head on the floor again and was quiet.
“We’ve made an arrest in the chief’s shooting,” Wallace said.
“What? When? Who?”
“Last night we had a call from a citizen who said he’d seen an old van parked near the spot where the shooting took place. One of our patrolmen knew the van. It belonged to two people, a man and a woman, who have been squatting on a piece of vacant land between the highway and the river, very near where the chief was shot. He went to the campsite and found these two sitting in front of a fire. The man was cleaning a weapon; it was the chief’s Beretta.”
