Under the Dog Star: A Rachel Goddard Mystery #4 (Rachel Goddard Mysteries) Read online

  “You don’t know what you’re doing,” Tom told him. “I want you and your sister to come to headquarters and listen to that tape. I want you to talk to Dr. Lauter too. You need to accept what’s really happened here. And you ought to be looking after your mother and the rest of your family instead of stirring up trouble.”

  Without giving Ethan a chance to answer, Tom shoved open the French doors and strode back inside.

  Vicky sat on the living room couch, taking a cup of tea from Rayanne Stuckey. “Thor’s fallen asleep,” Vicky told Tom. “Dr. Goddard said she’d wait for you out in front. I’ll call if I think of anything else you ought to know. And I promise I’ll try to talk some sense into Ethan and Soo.”

  ***

  On her way to her Range Rover Rachel kicked at the fallen leaves, sending a flurry of red and gold into the air. “Idiots.” At least Tom had picked the right word to describe them. “Ignorant, stupid—”

  She stopped herself, hating the sound of her own words. Calm down. Get a grip. Tom would handle it. He was better with people like that than she could ever hope to be.

  Rachel leaned against her SUV, her face tilted toward the sun. Her SUV and Tom’s cruiser were the only vehicles in the parking circle. The family cars undoubtedly occupied the outsized garage attached to the house, and none of the men on the patio had parked this close to the Halls’ impressive house. All those dented cars and rusted trucks she’d seen on the shoulder of the main road must belong to them.

  Bright leaves fell like a light rain from the trees and settled on the paved parking area. Except for the ridiculously large garage, the Halls’ property reminded Rachel of the house where she’d grown up in Northern Virginia, the woods she had roamed on her solitary explorations. At home the foliage would just be starting to change color, the September nights would still be warm and humid, and the trees wouldn’t be bare until early December. Autumn, the season when the world dies, she thought. Here in the mountains, it came too soon.

  She straightened as Tom approached. “I really do wish you wouldn’t be so damned bossy,” she said. Then she registered his troubled expression. “What’s wrong?”

  He reached into his pants pockets and pulled out two plastic bags containing tape and rope. “These were on Thor’s muzzle and neck when he showed up. And his collar was missing.”

  Rachel frowned. “Then he wasn’t out in the woods by himself all night. Somebody had him.”

  “Maybe the same person who sicked his dog on Hall.”

  “Somebody used a dog to kill Dr. Hall, then stole his dog? Why would they want Thor?”

  “I don’t know what the connection to Hall is, I don’t know why he was murdered, but I’ve seen dogs restrained this way, tied up with their muzzles taped. I could be way off, but I’m wondering if Thor ended up in the hands of people running dogfights. Maybe they planned to use him as a bait dog, to train the fighters.”

  “A bait—” For a second Rachel felt too sick to speak. “Tom. All those pet dogs that have disappeared—Do you think—”

  “It’s starting to make sense. If that’s why they were stolen, a lot of them are probably dead already.”

  “But I haven’t heard anything about dogfighting in Mason County.” Rachel didn’t want this to be true. She wanted Tom, sensible Tom who always carefully examined the evidence before making up his mind, to admit he’d jumped to an irrational conclusion. “And wouldn’t you have known about it?”

  Tom shook his head. “It’s illegal, it’s carefully hidden. It always takes a while before we hear about it.”

  “It’s happened before?”

  “Oh, yeah. Dogfighting’s like some damned fungus we can’t get rid of. We put a stop to it, arrest the people responsible, rescue the dogs, and a couple of years later it pops up again—usually with the same people involved.”

  “When did all this happen?” Rachel asked. “Why don’t I know about it?”

  “The last time was right before you moved here. The time before that was a year earlier. My dad broke up a dogfighting operation a week before he died. In all the years he was chief deputy, he must have raided a couple dozen dogfights.”

  Rachel drew a shaky breath. “This is awful. But what are you saying, exactly? That the people involved in dogfighting wanted Dr. Hall dead? Why?”

  “I have no idea right now. I don’t know what connection somebody like Hall might have to the kind of people who run dogfights. I only know one thing for sure—Hall was killed by a vicious dog that was under the control of a human being.”

  “But the feral dogs are a completely separate issue, aren’t they?”

  “As far as I can see,” Tom said.

  “Why didn’t you tell those men what you’re thinking, so they’ll back off?”

  “Because some of them might be involved. If they’re not personally involved, they know people who are, and if they realize I’m suspicious, they’ll spread the word. Most of them live in Rocky Branch District, and that’s always where the fighting takes place.”

  “Oh, why doesn’t that surprise me?” The mention of Rocky Branch District was enough to make Rachel shudder. “I’m doing a rabies clinic out there tomorrow, you know.”

  “Yeah, and I’m sending a deputy along to make sure nothing happens to you. I’m also going with you tonight to look for the ferals. You made some enemies here today, Rachel.”

  “Me and my big mouth.”

  Tom almost smiled. “You and your good intentions.”

  “My good intentions and my big mouth.” That combination would be the end of her one day.

  Chapter Six

  Tom bumped along a one-lane dirt road that probably hadn’t been graded in a decade, looking for a mailbox with the name Porter on it. Marcy and David’s paternal grandparents—their real father’s parents—had a little farm in this remote corner of Mason County. Tom had known their son Raymond in high school, had played basketball with him, but they’d never been friendly enough for Tom to visit his home.

  Why weren’t we friends? Tom wondered now. In a county with a tiny minority population, Raymond stood out because he was black and Tom, with his dark Melungeon skin, might as well have been black. The bigoted basketball coach didn’t like having either of them on the team. Yet they had avoided each other when they weren’t on the court. Maybe they’d sensed that hanging out together would double the prejudice they had to deal with every day. Or, Tom admitted to himself for the first time, as a Melungeon he knew he had a better chance of fitting in and didn’t want a black friend to hold him back. Tom stuck with the team and became captain, but Raymond quit playing, got involved with Jewel Riggs, and started using drugs.

  The Porters’ silver mailbox, with neat black lettering, stood at the entrance to a gravel driveway. When Tom drove up to the white, one-story farmhouse, he found Lucinda Porter raking leaves into a pile in the yard. She paused and leaned on her rake, watching him approach. Like her cousin, Lily Barker, Lucinda stood tall and straight, with a dignified self-possession, but she lacked Mrs. Barker’s flair for fashion. Her baggy trousers and gray cardigan looked as if they’d been pulled from her husband’s closet to go with her flowered blouse.

  “Hello, Mrs. Porter,” Tom said as he approached her. “You probably don’t remember me, but we met a long time ago—”

  “I remember you, Tom.” Her face, as angular and lacking in softness as Mrs. Barker’s, remained solemn. “What brings you here?”

  “I was wondering if Raymond has been around lately.”

  Her eyes told him she knew exactly what he was getting at, but she would be polite and play out the game. “Raymond is in Richmond. He has a job there. He hasn’t been home to visit in several months.”

  Tom nodded. Dennis Murray had already checked out Raymond’s alibi for the time of Gordon Hall’s death, and it was solid. He’d been working late at his second job, as a valet parking attendant at a hotel. Did Raymond’s mother and father have something to do with Hall’s death? Tom couldn’t see
that happening, but he had to check it out.

  “This is a nice place.” He looked around, taking in the modest but perfectly maintained house, the late roses still blooming along the front porch. A stand of apple trees stretched away from the yard on one side, a fenced field occupied the other side of the property. He smiled when he saw the dozen or so sheep grazing in the field. “I raise sheep too. There always seems to be somebody willing to buy the wool.”

  Lucinda Porter gave him a small, patient smile. “I’m a weaver and a knitter.”

  The crunch of footsteps on gravel made both of them turn. Abel Porter, his face full of questions, walked briskly down the driveway toward them. “Tom Bridger, is that you?”

  “Yes, sir.” Tom stuck out his hand. “Good to see you again after all these years.”

  Abel frowned as he shook Tom’s hand. He stood next to his wife, and although he was a head shorter than she was, his attitude was that of a guardian, ready to shield her from whatever unpleasantness Tom had brought to their home. “Are you here about Dr. Hall’s death?”

  “It’s just routine,” Tom said. “I have to pin down the facts and—”

  “Facts like where our son was when it happened? Facts like whether we own a dog mean enough to kill a man?”

  “I know Raymond was working at the time,” Tom said.

  “And we don’t own a dog anymore,” Lucinda said. “Our little border collie Sally died during the summer and we haven’t had the heart to get another one.”

  Tom stayed silent for a moment, looking from one to the other. Lucinda’s eyes might freeze him where he stood, but he sensed that Abel was simmering, holding back a scorching, bitter anger. “How long has it been since you saw your grandchildren?” he asked them.

  Lucinda made a choking sound in her throat and turned away with a hand over her mouth. Abel’s chin quivered. “We haven’t been allowed to see little David and Marcy since the Halls took them. They told us that if we went anywhere near them—our only grandchildren, our flesh and blood—if we got anywhere near them, they’d get a restraining order on us.”

  The threat of legal action sounded like overkill to Tom, but it also sounded like something Gordon Hall would have done. Hall had money and influence. The Porters, with nothing but a blood kinship to those children, wouldn’t have stood a chance.

  “How did you feel about the adoption?”

  Abel expelled a harsh laugh. “How we felt wasn’t important to anybody. We couldn’t fight the likes of the Halls.” He took a deep breath and released it. “And we told ourselves it was for the best. The Halls could give them a lot that we never could.”

  Except love, Tom thought. You could have given them love.

  “I’m sorry I bothered you folks,” he said. “Next time Raymond comes home, tell him to give me a call. I’d like to see him. Not about this business. Just to catch up.”

  Man, that sounded lame, he thought as he walked to his car. They’d never been friends. What would they have to catch up on?

  Lucinda called out behind him, “Are they safe? Our grandchildren? They’re not going to get hurt being in that house, are they?”

  Aw, god, Tom thought, picturing the terrified, nearly mute Marcy and her sullen brother. Their grandparents had no idea how much those kids had been hurt already.

  ***

  Margaret Thornwall, a dark-haired young woman in jeans and sweatshirt, stared at the missing dog posters on the waiting room wall while her exuberant white Pomeranians, Ramone and Emma, wound their leashes around her legs. “I saw these on the way in,” she told Rachel, “but it never occurred to me that somebody stole all these dogs. This just scares me to death.”

  “Don’t ever let them outside unless you’re with them, and it’s probably a good idea not to go far from the house when you take them out at night.” Rachel scratched Ramone and Emma’s heads. She had decided it was time to alert all her dog-owning clients to the danger that their pets could be snatched from their yards. Sometimes a little panic was a good thing, if it made people more careful.

  “I won’t let them out of my sight,” Mrs. Thornwall said. She unwound the leashes from her ankles and scooped up the tiny dogs. She left with one wriggling under each arm.

  As Mrs. Thornwall exited, Lily Barker entered with a cat carrier.

  “Good morning,” Rachel said. “Sorry I had to push your appointment back. I had an emergency outside the clinic.”

  “No apology is necessary.” Mrs. Barker’s striking face, with its strong angles and planes, seemed tight with tension.

  “Is something wrong with your kittens?” Rachel asked. “I thought this was a routine first visit for them.”

  Mrs. Barker’s brief smile looked forced. “Oh, yes, they seem to be in fine health.”

  Something was on the woman’s mind, but with Mrs. Barker Rachel believed it was best not to inquire further. She gestured toward an exam room. “Come on in. Let me take a look at them.”

  While Rachel examined the young cats, Mrs. Barker stood with her back rigid and her hands clasped together as if in prayer. Any minute, Rachel thought, Mrs. Barker was going to tell her something she didn’t want to hear, and it would have nothing to do with her pets. Rachel asked, “How are your other cats dealing with the new additions to the family?”

  “Oh, the girls simply dote on them. It’s quite heartwarming to see their mothering instincts coming to the fore.”

  Rachel injected vaccines into Anubis, a longhaired gray kitten with the face of a little lion, and got a screech of protest. The other kitten, Bastet, decided to beat a hasty retreat before she got stuck, and Rachel barely managed to catch the tiny brown-striped tiger as she dove off the table.

  Mrs. Barker’s smile seemed more natural now. “They are a handful. I’d forgotten what it’s like to have kittens around.”

  Rachel was beginning to hope she would get through this visit without hearing one of Mrs. Barker’s dire predictions or ominous warnings. Although Tom didn’t believe in her psychic abilities, and Rachel normally scoffed at woo-woo, the woman had been right too many times to be dismissed automatically.

  Mrs. Barker leaned forward, her intense gaze locked on Rachel, and Rachel knew she wasn’t going to escape the latest revelation after all.

  “I apologize for bringing this to you at your place of work,” Mrs. Barker said. “Normally I would not impose this way, with a matter of a personal nature. However, I was already scheduled to see you—”

  “Personal?” Rachel said, suddenly struggling to hold back a flood of apprehension. “For me? Or for Tom?”

  “The captain’s job entails certain risks,” Mrs. Barker said, “and he is fully aware of those risks. You, however, are too often driven by your emotions, and you are not as careful as you might be. Please forgive what may sound like a judgment, I don’t mean it that way at all, I am simply concerned about your safety. I implore you to take every precaution. Evil forces are at work in Mason County. They surround you, but you are unable to see them.”

  Oh, for pity’s sake. This was over the top. But Rachel couldn’t fight the deep unease this woman stirred up in her. “Are you talking about those people who don’t want me to help the feral dogs?” she said. “They might try to scare me, but would they actually hurt me because I’m helping abandoned pets?”

  Drawing a sharp breath, Mrs. Barker gave her a look that Rachel could only take as pity. She thinks I’m too stupid to take care of myself.

  “My dear,” Mrs. Barker said, “you are a strong young woman with a generous heart, quite admirable in many ways. But you are not invincible. Promise me, please, that you will be careful. That you will not be foolishly trusting.”

  Would I be foolish to trust you? Rachel made herself smile and answered, “Yes, I promise to be careful. I appreciate your concern, I really do. It’s good of you to warn me.”

  Mrs. Barker shook her head slightly, her pitying gaze unchanged. Obviously she knew when she was getting the brush-off, and Rachel felt a little
guilty. The life of a psychic in a doubting world couldn’t be easy.

  “I have done all I can.” Mrs. Barker lifted the carrier from the floor to the table. “Thank you for taking such good care of my pets.”

  They didn’t speak again while they wrestled the uncooperative kittens into the carrier. As Rachel opened the exam room door for Mrs. Barker, she felt compelled to say something conciliatory before letting her go. All she came up with was a restatement of what she’d already said. “I do appreciate your concern.”

  Mrs. Barker’s piercing gaze seemed to bore deep inside Rachel. When it was withdrawn and the woman walked out of the room, Rachel felt shaken and profoundly frightened without being able to name the cause of her fear.

  ***

  “There used to be a creek over there.” Tom raised his voice to a shout so Brandon could hear him over the roar of machinery above them. They paused in their trek up the broad bulldozed path as Tom pointed to the right. “And some houses.”

  “Man, what a mess,” Brandon shouted back.

  Tom had parked at the foot of what used to be a mountain. Now it was an open wound on the land where men used giant machines to scoop out ribbons of coal. Debris spilled down the slope in every direction. Red clay soil, boulders and stones, uprooted trees and wild rhododendrons had buried everything in their path. On the surrounding untouched hills, colorful autumn leaves fluttered in a breeze.

  The sight of the ravaged landscape, with the dragline towering over all of it like a monstrous praying mantis, made Tom clench his jaw in helpless anger. Mason County had little to offer beyond its beauty, and even that was being sliced away with every pass of the earthmovers and mining machines.

  Reaching the point where the scraped-bare land leveled off, Tom paused to catch his breath. This day felt endless, and he was so tired from a night without sleep that his body ached all over. Brandon, ten years younger, had been awake just as long but didn’t seem bothered by the lack of rest.

  Tom looked around for Wallace Green, the man who was angry because his wife had suffered in Dr. Gordon Hall’s hospital. This was a relatively small surface mining operation, with no more than a dozen men on site. A single dragline excavator, its crane reaching fifteen stories into the air, moved a massive bucket along an open coal seam, breaking up the black mineral and tearing it loose with the kind of racket Tom would expect from a fifty-car pileup at high speed. Eight or nine industrial trucks brimmed with coal, and several more sat ready to be filled. The trucks would carry the coal away to a tipple, where it would be washed and dumped into rail cars for transport out of the county.