Deadly Dozen: 12 Mysteries/Thrillers (88 page)

CHAPTER FOUR

Another Indian summer morning streamed through the curtains. Lorne jumped out of bed before Tony pounced on her as he usually did first thing.

“Do you want to go in the garden, boy?” she asked Henry. The spritely dog was already halfway down the stairs before she’d stepped off the first step. She opened the kitchen door and held onto his collar. “No chasing the chickens, you hear me? We need their eggs for breakfast, and if you keep chasing them, they’ll give up laying.”

Henry whined a little before she set him free. Lorne watched the dog immediately run after the black cockerel that had his chest puffed out and was in the middle of his dawn alarm call. The cockerel half ran and half flew across the yard and leapt over the chicken-wired enclosure where the other birds were pecking around disinterested, before Henry had the chance to sink his teeth in to his rump.

Lorne laughed, then stretched. She walked through the back door and filled the kettle, ready for her morning cup of coffee.

A few minutes later, a sleepy Tony joined her in the kitchen. He snuck up behind her and enveloped her in his strong arms. “Morning, Mrs. Warner.”

She turned to face him. It didn’t matter how many times she heard the name—it still sent a tiny ripple of excitement through her. “Morning, Mr. Warner. Sleep well?”

He screwed up his nose and tilted his head from side to side. “So-so. The leg was giving me jip during the night.”

The doctor had told them that despite Tony’s leg being amputated at the knee, it wasn’t uncommon to still have sensations where the missing limb used to be.

“Sorry to hear that, love. I wonder how long that’s going to take to wear off.” She placed her arms around the back of his neck.

He kissed the top of her forehead. “Not sure. Never mind. Hey, what’s on the agenda today?”

That was Tony all over—never one to wallow in self-pity, always keen to move the conversation away from his disability.

Lorne traced a finger down his cheek. “I thought I’d spend some time with Hercules today. I put him in the stable last night. I’d like to get him used to being in the paddock as soon as possible, but I’m not sure what his reaction is going to be.”

“Poor sod. He’s probably never seen daylight before. I nearly thumped his owner yesterday when he was offloading him. As he walked him around the side of the trailer, he whacked the poor bugger in the side with a stick—at least, I think he did. I followed them round. I heard the thwack but couldn’t be a hundred percent sure what had happened. You don’t have to be Einstein to figure it out though, do you?”

“What? You should’ve told me.”

“What and risk you being done for assault?”

Lorne, smiled. “It would’ve been worth it. Anyway, I doubt an assault on an animal abuser would have any legs in court, if you’ll pardon the pun. I hope Hercules settles in okay. If not, I’ve heard of this woman in Maidstone who’s a kind of horse whisperer.”

Tony groaned and turned his attention to making the coffee.

She swiped him on the arm. “Hey, what’s wrong with that?”

“Your father warned me about your fascination with whisperers. Henry was brought up under Cesar Millan’s guidance, wasn’t he?”

Lorne pulled a face and poked her tongue out at him. “Yes, he was, and he’s a perfect specimen of a well-balanced, well-behaved dog despite all the negative media Cesar has had recently.”

“Try telling that to the cockerel he just tried plucking,” Tony said, laughing.

As if on cue, Henry pushed open the back door, stood in the doorway, and barked at Tony.

Lorne swiped her husband’s head for the second time that morning and said out of the corner of her mouth, “Shhh… He’s perceptive. He understands every word you say.”

“He does, huh? Hey boy, supercalifragilisticexpialidocious!”

Lorne watched with amusement as the dog cocked his head, turned, and walked back out into the yard. “You’re wicked. What’s he ever done to you?”

“I know, but I love winding him up. Getting back to today’s duties, what do you have planned for me today?”

“I thought you and Dad could make a start cutting down some of the trees in the far field. The wood will need to be stacked for a year or two before we can use it on the fire, but that’ll save you a job, next spring.”

Tony contemplated the task for a short while. “Ahh, I get it. Typical Lorne, always thinking ahead. You mean it’ll be less work to do if and when the PI business gets going.”

She chuckled. “There was a reason why you were an MI6 agent. There’s no fooling you, is there, mister?”

Tony gave her his best schoolboy grin as her father joined them.

“Coffee, Dad?”

“Please, love. So I’m going to be adding woodcutter to my C.V., am I?”

“If that’s all right, Dad. There’s not a lot else to do today. Although that could change at any moment, the rate the rescue calls have been coming in lately. I’m off to take a shower.” She handed her father a mug of coffee and set off up the stairs.

When she came out of the bathroom, Tony was sitting on the end of the bed waiting for her. “What’s the next step regarding the business, then? The PI business, I mean.”

After towel-drying her shoulder-length hair, she threw the towel in the Ali-baba basket in the corner and joined her husband on the bed. “Run an ad in the local paper, I suppose. Pete used to have a connection with a guy at the local rag. I’ll see if I can track him down.” Mentioning her former partner’s name filled her with a moment’s sadness.

Tony rested his hand on her bare leg, where her towelling robe had separated. “You okay?”

She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “Yeah, I’m fine. I know it’s silly, but sometimes I swear I can feel him around me. Hear his laughter when something disastrous happens. Is that crazy?”

“Yes and no. You two were very close. While I wouldn’t admit it to everyone, I think my ex-colleagues—you know, the ones that have been killed in the line of duty—have helped me out in certain situations in the past.”

“Really?” Lorne had never expected to hear such a confession leave her husband’s lips. She no longer felt silly, feeling the way she did about Pete’s sustained involvement in her life.

“Not sure I would’ve made it out of Afghanistan if I hadn’t had a divine intervention or two.”

“You’re probably right. That must have been an horrendous time. I’m so glad you’re not putting your life on the line any longer.”

Tony stood up and smiled down at her. “I take it you haven’t seen me handling—or mishandling—a chainsaw yet?”

Lorne laughed as he disappeared into the bathroom.

Once dressed, Lorne fed Henry his first meal of the day, then set off to feed the other inmates, as she liked to call them. The dogs in the kennels welcomed her with wagging tails and lots of excited barks. One by one, she took them out of the kennels and let them run around the exercise compound Tony and Lorne created so the dogs could stretch their legs a few times each day, rather than be cooped up in their kennels hour upon hour with little human contact.

Lorne’s favourite was a big brute of a black and tan German shepherd. Blackie had been with them a little over a month, after her father found him wandering the streets. The dog had been skin and bones, looked like he hadn’t had a meal in weeks, let alone a decent one. The vet had put Blackie at a three on the chart of malnourishment, with one being at death’s door.

She had taken Blackie back for a check-up last week, and the vet had been both delighted and astonished by the dog’s remarkable progress. It hadn’t taken much to get the dog back in shape—two meals a day, and a groom or two from Charlie, when she was around.

Lorne knew the dog wouldn’t be around for long. She already had a few enquiries about him but if she’d learnt anything from rescuing dogs from Sheila, her mentor who ran P.U.P.S., it was how important it was to make sure a proper home visit was carried out before rehoming a dog. Fences needed to be secure, gardens free of suspect obstacles—and an owner’s lifestyle was also taken into consideration before Lorne handed over one of her dogs. If all the criteria weren’t fully met, then there was the likelihood of the dogs being returned to her, and that wouldn’t be fair to the animals.

She’d just finished exercising all the dogs—and could hear the drone of the chainsaw working in the distant fields—when a car pulled up in the back yard. Tony had placed a sign at the front of the property for customers to come round back. There was always one of them around doing one chore or another.

The car was a flashy MR2 sports car. Out stepped a tall blonde woman, dressed in designer jeans tucked into high-heeled cowboy boots. She pushed her sunglasses into her hair and looked around her. Was that disgust on her face?

Warily, Lorne approached the woman with an outstretched hand. “Hi, I’m Lorne. Can I help you?”

The woman looked down her nose at Lorne’s hand and refused to shake it. “I’m looking for the owner.”

Wiping her hands on the back of her jeans, Lorne said, “You’ve found her.”

The woman’s whole demeanour changed. Her expression softened into an embarrassed smile, and her uptight tone changed into one she probably used on a sick old relative. “Please, forgive my rudeness. It’s been a tense week.”

Lorne’s detective antenna shot up and started probing the air for more juicy titbits. “That’s okay.” She held her arms out to the side and looked down at her messy clothes. “Sorry, it goes with the territory, I’m afraid. You should’ve been around here yesterday, when my husband tried to have a bath in some mud, and muggins here had to rescue him.”

The woman laughed. “Glad I missed that particular episode of ‘down on the farm.’ I’m Fiona Carter, by the way. I saw an advert in the Kent Advertiser about this place. I’m after a dog.”

“I see. I’m afraid we don’t have any small dogs lodging with us at the moment,” Lorne replied, thinking the woman was after one of those furry rats, draped in a diamond-studied collar, which top models carry around in their handbags—their very expensive handbags.

Fiona rolled her eyes in amusement. “I’m after the opposite, actually. I need a guard dog type, not a yapper. Do you have any here?”

Lorne studied the woman, then her car. “You know I have to carry out home checks? To make sure the owners and the dogs are a perfect match.”

“I appreciate that.” The woman followed her gaze. “Ah, I know the car doesn’t seem very practical. I room with a couple of girlfriends, and nine times out of ten, there’s always someone at home, so the dog would be walked every day.”

Lorne nodded. Still trying to dissuade the woman who didn’t look in the least like a dog lover, she said, “He’ll need access to a garden. Large dogs need equally large gardens to exercise in. Do you have one of those?”

“Yep, we live in a flat which has its own garden. The other tenants don’t have access to it, so that shouldn’t be a problem.”

“I take it the garden is secure?”

Fiona nodded firmly. “It is. Can I take a look at the dogs?”

Happy that the woman didn’t appear to be put off by Lorne’s excuses why she shouldn’t have a dog, she said, “Of course. I’m so sorry. I used to be a detective, and it’s hard to ditch the interrogation mode. I think I have just the dog for you. How do you feel about GSDs?”

They headed towards the kennels.

Frowning, Fiona asked, “GSDs? You’ve lost me.”

“Sorry. German shepherds. Some people have an aversion to them. Blackie is as soft as they come.”

The women’s frown deepened, and Lorne couldn’t help wondering why. “Something wrong?”

“Not exactly. Umm… I was after a guard dog, really. The more ferocious the better.”

“To be honest, I doubt you’d be able to cope with a proper guard dog. They’re mostly undomesticated and don’t tend to make good house pets.” Lorne carried on walking in the direction of the kennels, and the woman followed her. She was dying to know why the woman was interested in getting a guard dog, but she fought hard not to ask the obvious question. Maybe she would ask if the option of a home check ever arose.

The decibels flew off the scale when the two women entered the row of thermostatically controlled, heated indoor kennels. “Sorry. I suppose I should supply ear muffs for my visitors.”

Fiona waved a hand in front of her as her eyes sought out Blackie, who was standing in the middle of his six-foot-square kennel, barking at them.

“Blackie, meet Fiona Carter. I’ll get him out, and you can get more acquainted with him in the compound.”

Although Fiona smiled at her, Lorne suspected the woman was slightly apprehensive of the dog.

Retrieving the lead off the rack at the end of the kennel, Lorne told her, “Please, don’t worry. He’s a gentle giant, you’ll see. Have you ever owned a dog before?”

“Years ago. My parents always had labs when we were growing up.”

“The breeds are very different. Blackie came to us about a month ago. Painfully thin and covered in a sticky stuff that resembled tar. My dad found him wandering around near the rubbish bins at the local supermarket, scavenging for food.”

Fiona gasped. “But that’s awful. Look at him. He’s beautiful.”

“He is now, thanks to the love and care he’s received here. I’d hate for Blackie to go backwards. It’s important that anyone taking him on recognises the pitfalls of having a large breed.”

Fiona nodded and looked at Lorne. “You’ve done a remarkable job with him. If I take him home with me, I can assure you the girls would love him as much as me. He’d be spoilt rotten.”

Lorne cringed at Fiona’s last sentence. Why did everyone who took in a rescue dog think they had to spoil it? “A word of warning: It’s just as easy to kill dogs through kindness as through abuse. Many people feel the need to give their dogs human food—you know, the odd digestive biscuit or two. They don’t seem to appreciate how damaging that can be to their pets.”

Fiona nodded her understanding and repeated her assurance, “I can assure you, if I take Blackie on, he’ll be treated as a dog and given only dog food and dog treats.”

Lorne opened the kennel and attached the lead to Blackie’s collar. Fiona followed Lorne and the dog outside. Once Blackie was unleashed, he went up to Fiona and sniffed first her boots, then her jeans, his tail wagging the whole time he investigated his prospective new mistress.