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FOUR
CROOKED CREEK
A scream pierced the air as Detective Ellie Reeves parked at the rustic cabin deep in the woods where the Rogers lived. She’d been here once before and knew the husband was a mean drunk.
Instincts on full alert, she eased from her vehicle, scanning the overgrown yard and front of the clapboard house.
The dog days of summer had brought scorching temperatures, drought and madness. Deputy Eastwood was working a domestic at the moment and Deputy Landrum had been called to shut down an out-of-control party of a group of inebriated coeds.
Suddenly two mixed pit bulls raced around the corner of the house, barking and snapping, a heavy-set man in overalls chasing them with a shotgun. A woman in a flowered housedress followed, screaming and slapping a dishcloth at the man.
“Don’t you dare shoot my boys!” she shouted.
“They got into my corn liquor again!” the man bellowed.
Ellie flipped on her siren to snag their attention and ducked behind her open door for cover. The woman skidded to a stop on the graveled drive. The man fired a bullet into the air.
The dogs raced around the side of the Jeep, barking and clawing at the ground, sending dust flying.
Ellie waited until they were behind her, put one hand on her weapon then eased her other hand up in the air. “Police,” she called out. “Put the gun down, sir. Now.”
He froze, chest heaving up and down. “I want them mad dogs gone.”
“They wouldn’t be mad if you wasn’t so damn mean to ’em,” the woman cried.
“Sir, the gun,” Ellie repeated firmly.
Another heartbeat passed before he slowly lowered it. The dogs crept nearer Ellie, and she slowly offered her hand, speaking softly, “Hey, guys, I’m not here to hurt you.” Though they looked fierce, they calmed as she soothed them. Their breed had gotten a bad rap. “It’s okay now, guys, it’s okay.”
She glanced at the woman. “What are their names, ma’am?”
“Dante and Roscoe.” She pushed her frizzy hair from her face and tilted her head toward her husband. “They ain’t bad dogs. He just got a temper.”
“Where do you keep them?” Ellie asked.
“We got a pen out back. But they must’ve got out.”
“Damn right they did,” the man snarled. “They need a good beating.”
The dogs bared their teeth at him, and he stiffened, jowls red with anger.
Ellie eased to a standing position, barely holding her temper. “Listen to me, Mr. Rogers, you are not going to beat these dogs. If I find out you’ve laid one hand on them, I’ll lock you up for animal cruelty.” She folded her arms. “Do you understand?”
He cursed and spat tobacco on the ground near her feet. “You can’t tell me what to do on my property. They’re my damn dogs and I’ll do what I want.”
Ellie was so mad she saw red. “Mrs. Rogers, please put the dogs away for now.”
The woman called them and they ran to her, nuzzling her legs.
Ellie strode toward the brute in the overalls. The stench of moonshine on his breath nearly knocked her over. “I am the police, sir, and where the law is concerned, I most certainly can tell you what to do. I meant what I said. If you touch them or your wife, I’ll be back to lock you up.” She hardened her voice. “And just so we’re clear, I will send someone regularly to check on your wife and the animals.” She’d take the dogs home herself if she had a fenced yard and didn’t work such crazy long hours.
The man kicked the dirt then cursed again and stomped back to the house. She heard the screen door slam shut and hoped she wouldn’t have to come back.
But she had a feeling she would.
Her phone rang as she climbed in her Jeep and started the engine. She connected.
“Detective Reeves,” her boss, Captain Hale, said. “Four-year-old little girl has gone missing at Widow Lake.”
