Dogs Don't Lie Page 3

  “What?”

  “Nothing.” Not able to control my reaction, I smiled and gestured. “Nice look.”

  “Oh, yeah.” He chuckled. “Well, after last time, I figured suits and loafers may not be the best idea here.”

  “You’re new in the area?”

  “Yes. I was working in Portland until … until I started here almost a month ago.” He grinned. “I rarely needed to traverse mucky fields, scale fences, or jump muddy ditches there.”

  “Well, it’s a nice look.” Heat flooded my cheeks. “And much more practical.”

  “Thanks.”

  I didn’t see the house until we passed the barn. Four more vehicles, two unmarked, were parked just below a large front deck. I followed Ben up the steps.

  “Wait here.” Ben pointed toward a grouping of chairs around an empty metal fire pit. “Captain Granger, my boss, doesn’t want to upset the family with, um, what you do. He’s not quite sure he believes, but he can’t explain how you were able to help us earlier. He’s willing to try this. His main concern is not turning this into a media free-for-all with reports of the sheriff’s department using psychics and ghost whisperers.”

  “But I’m not either of those.”

  “I know and he knows. I think.” He held up his hands. “We just want to keep this quiet.”

  “Okay. I prefer my name and what I do stays out of the news, too.” A frown tightened my forehead. “How did you find out about the cat?”

  A silhouette appeared at the open front door.

  “I’ll explain later.” Ben took my arm, leading me to the closest chair. “I’ll be right back.”

  Sitting, I listened to muted voices coming from inside and caught snippets of conversations. Interior illumination painted off-kilter squares and rectangles of muted amber light on the decking outside the windows and the open door. Above me, bright stars covered the dark night sky peeking between tall stands of pines and broad oaks. A cool breeze hurried dry yellow leaves skittering across redwood planks.

  A slight rhythmic clicking sounded on the deck. At my left, a dog emerged from the shadows, glanced in my direction, and angled her path straight toward me. She trotted over and sat down at my feet, staring up at me with big brown eyes.

  “Hello.” I held my hand an inch or so from her long nose. “Corgi-terrier mix. Nice.”

  A quick lick followed a perfunctory sniff.

  “Yeah. Lots going on. I guess someone you know died.” Smoothing the soft fur on her head, I moved my fingers back to scratch behind warm, small pricked ears. “It’ll be okay.”

  Sometimes the images come without my asking.

  A dark close space. Musty scent of damp soil. The dirt on her belly cool. Napping until yelling from above wakes her. Another noise. Sharp. Loud. Scrambling back, she stares out through a small rectangle of light.

  Her fear enveloped me like a thick fog.

  More noise. More yelling. Close. Something small darts through the rectangle, blocking out the light for a second—the cat. It settles beside her, watching. They stay quiet.

  Legs block the light again. Two men. Dragging another man. Worn brown boots and faded jeans. Long dark hair and an unkempt beard. Dust drifting in the dry air. Cat turns and disappears into the dark background. They drag the man through the backyard and then a gate. Into the brush, the woods. Different noise. Boom. Boom. Boom. Running legs. Car noise. Gone.

  Quiet. Dark. Stay. Safe.

  No cat. Alone.

  Sun down. Sun up. Crawling out from the safe dark into cool morning sunshine. House quiet. Bowls. Cool water. Good food.

  Alone.

  My heart pounded in my chest. Whatever had happened, happened there, in the house, and this dog was present. Well, she was under the house but able to see enough to give me a clear picture. I moved to a seat for two and invited the dog to sit with me. She hurried over and jumped up, snuggling in next to me. Taking several deep breaths, I petted her. Long slow strokes calmed me more than her. I brought a picture to my mind. Where? An image of the man with the brown hair and beard, being dragged into the brush behind the house. Little miss corgi following the path they took.

  Images flooded my mind.

  Panting. Sun hot. Buzzing bees. Snap at the flies. A narrow path under the brush. Not far. Sniffing. Squirrels. Rabbits. No brush. No man. Dirt. Sticky like mud. Dark. Dig. Nothing. Sniff. Sneeze.

  “Okay, thanks.” I patted her head, adding another image of my own. Her leading me to the digging place.

  Jumping down, she landed on the deck, wiggled, and spun, her stubby tail wagging furiously.

  Standing, I looked toward the door. Quiet conversations trickled out into the cool night air. Should I tell Ben? Well, yes, but he’s busy and besides, it won’t hurt to check it out first. It may be nothing. I pulled my phone from my pocket and opened the flashlight app. “I’ll be careful. I won’t disturb anything.” I followed her around the side of the house, onto the long back deck, and down the stairs into the yard. She led me across thick damp grass, where she slipped through a small hole in the six-foot chain-link fence and disappeared in tall yellow weeds and dense brush.

  “Wait,” I called in a hoarse whisper.

  The weeds shook and she reappeared, staring up at me.

  My gaze traveled the fence line, searching for … “There it is.” I stepped to the gate, lifted the latch, and tugged, but it only opened a few inches before getting stuck on clumped, uneven ground.

  She yapped, her stumpy tail wagging in excitement.

  “Shhh.” I put a finger to my lips. “Quiet, little missy.”

  Settling down, she sat. Her tail still wagged, jiggling her furry body up to her ears.

  “I’m right behind you. Just don’t go too far ahead.” I squeezed through the barely open gate, keeping the light focused on my little guide. She navigated her way beneath the dense weeds and bushes, nose to the ground.

  My path was not so straightforward. Stepping over the lowest patches of dry brush and dragging my feet through the taller bunches, I knew my legs would be a scratched-up, itchy mess by the end of this, despite my jeans.

  The small clearing appeared in a ring of pines and small cedars. She ambled into the center and teased at the thin surface of dry needles with one paw.

  Moving inside the brush-free area, I shined my light at the ground. Nothing—at least not that I could see. Thin light bathed the area in front of me, as I crept toward the center.

  Corgi girl dug with more enthusiasm, both paws tearing at the loose soil, dirt flying behind her. She’d stop, stick her nose into her work, snort, chuff, and continue. Her snorting turned to a soft growl as she tugged at something she’d unearthed.

  “Whoa, stop. Come here.” I clapped my hands to get her attention. Backing up, I knelt at the edge of the circle, my meager light directed toward the bundled cloth she’d unearthed. “Come here. Come on. Good girl.”

  She let go of her prize and tottered over, snuffling and sneezing, her nose covered in dirt.

  “Good girl,” I repeated and wiped her face, cleaning dust from around her eyes and off her cool, moist nose. “What did you find?”

  Turning, she sat beside me, and we both stared at the wad of light-colored cloth peeking from the soil. My pulse jumped to a faster tempo. I hope that’s not another body.

  A low growl started deep in her chest. She turned her head to watch behind us.

  “What is it?” I listened. Shining my light behind, around, and to the far side of the circle, I stopped on two yellow eyes glaring at me from under low limbs.

  Her growling rose, and she let out a high-pitched rapid-fire burst of barks.

  Brush rustled behind me.

  We both stood up and spun at the same time. Between her under my feet and the loose soil, I dropped my phone, the light blinking out, and I almost fell.

&
nbsp; Except Ben caught me.

  Chapter 5

  “What are you doing out here?” Ben set me back on my feet and glanced at the dog circling his legs, her tail wagging. “And who is this?” Not waiting for an answer, he let go of my arms. He pulled a flashlight from his pocket and shined the narrow beam around the cleared area, stopping on the twisted wad of cloth. “What is that? How …” Hunching down, he squinted, angling the beam. He picked up my phone and handed it to me.

  From behind us a male voice called, “Ben, you okay? Did you find her?”

  “Yes. We’re here,” he shouted. “About thirty feet in. Send in a crew with an evidence kit.” Standing, he took my arm and turned me toward the house. “Let’s get you and your little friend out of here.”

  Before we’d gone ten feet, a uniformed officer pushed through the brush. “What is it?”

  “Maybe nothing. Better check it out, though. Looks like a piece of clothing buried in a clearing.” He gestured over his shoulder. “Keep straight. Another twenty feet.”

  Flashlights bobbed ahead as more officers approached.

  Back on the deck, my little friend darted away and into the open front door.

  A woman knelt and scratched the dog’s neck. “Ariel. Are you being a good girl?”

  Glancing at me, Ben frowned. His face smoothed, and he asked, “Mrs. Whedon, the woods beyond the backyard … Is that part of your property?”

  Ariel in her arms, Mrs. Whedon straightened. “That’s public land, I think.” She tipped her head. “Why do you ask?”

  “Just curious.”

  During their conversation, I took a moment to look around. It was a spacious two-story log home, decorated by someone with a taste for refined items and the budget to go with it. Across from the entry, a family portrait hung on the wall—a man, a woman, and two teenage children, a boy and a girl. The woman stood before me holding a wiggling Ariel. She looked pretty much the same, right down to her short, perfectly styled, light-brown hair.

  But the man … He had pale blond hair and was clean shaven. Unless he’d dyed his hair almost black, and the same with a six-month beard growth, this wasn’t who was dragged into the woods. It didn’t mean the man in the picture wasn’t dead. It just meant he wasn’t whom the dog, and the cat, saw that day. So when did that happen, and who was it?

  Ben introduced me. “Mrs. Whedon, this is Dr. Collins. She consults sometimes on cases.”

  “Hello, Mrs. Whedon. I’m so sorry for your loss.” Possibilities crashed against each other inside my mind. Could her husband be alive? Could he be the murderer? Is there more than one? Murderers and bodies?

  “Thank you, Dr. Collins. And thanks for helping.”

  “Detective Jacobson, why don’t you take Dr. Collins into the kitchen and brief her.” This had to be Captain Granger, Ben’s boss. He stared at me with steely eyes, his forehead bunching under short cropped gray hair.

  “Yes, Captain.” Ben nodded to me. “This way, Dr. Collins.”

  As soon as we reached the quiet of the kitchen, Ben opened his mouth to talk, but I cut him off. “Can you find out when the picture in the foyer was taken?”

  “Yes. I mean, I already know.” Ben frowned. “Why?”

  “How long before Mr. Whedon disappeared did they have it made?”

  Ben’s frown deepened and he leaned forward. “About a month. It was the picture they used for Mr. Whedon’s missing case file.”

  Biting my lip, I turned toward the kitchen window overlooking the backyard and forest beyond.

  “Kallie, what is it?”

  “Ariel showed me something.” I spun. “An unconscious man with dark, almost black hair and a full beard was being dragged across the lawn, past the fence, and into the woods by two other men.”

  “But Mr. Whedon was blond, no beard … and his body, or one with his ID, was found miles from here.”

  “Exactly.”

  “That would mean …” Ben’s attention snapped to the kitchen window. “Who did the dog see, and when? Before or after Mr. Whedon’s disappearance?” His focus shifted to me. “Can you find out?”

  “Maybe. I’d need some time with Ariel—a lot of time. If we’re talking over a year ago, I can’t pin it down to an exact day. Maybe the season.”

  “How can you be sure the dog saw anything?” Ben rubbed at his forehead. “I mean, maybe she’s confused about what she saw, or wrong, or—”

  “Dogs don’t lie. They can’t. It’s against an animal’s nature to purposefully deceive. And why would they? For what reason? Only humans—”

  “Okay. I get it. But—”

  “I know what I saw.” I leaned toward Ben, my jaw set. “The man in the picture was not the same one who was dragged through the yard.”

  Captain Granger walked in. “What’s going on out back?”

  The kitchen door flew open. An officer rushed in holding a plastic evidence bag with the dirty cloth from the clearing inside. “Captain,” he panted. “We found this buried in the woods, just behind the house. Can’t be sure, but it looks like old dried blood on a man’s shirt.” He handed Granger the bag. “We’re setting up a perimeter and calling in the CSU, in case there’s more.”

  Glancing at me and then Ben, Granger sighed. “You want to tell me what’s going on, Ben?”

  “It was me, sir.” I stepped forward. “I was sitting outside when the Whedons’ dog, Ariel, came over to me.” Taking in a deep breath, I continued. “She showed me, from her point of view under the house, or the deck, a man with long brown hair, almost black, and a scraggly beard being dragged by two men—I couldn’t see their faces—beyond the fence.”

  “A man with long dark hair and a scruffy beard.” He took in a slow, deep breath and crossed his arms. His attention snapped back to Ben. “And this is how you found”—he held the bag out—“this?”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  Handing it back to the officer, Granger turned on me. “How do I explain this to Mrs. Whedon? Or the courts, if it comes to that?”

  “Tell them the truth.” I bit my lip, frowning at him. “I find that works best. Besides, I didn’t seek you out. I’m not asking for money. I’m certainly not looking for publicity. In fact, in the future, I’d rather you keep my name out of this altogether.”

  “Okay.” Granger nodded, his head bobbing to a slow rhythm only he heard. “O—kay.” He shifted his attention to Ben. “I thought you brought her here to, uh, talk with the cat? You never mentioned a dog.”

  “I didn’t know about the dog.” Ben stuffed his hands in his pockets. “And it seems the cat isn’t here.”

  “It’s gone?”

  “No.” I recalled the glowing eyes on the far side of the clearing. “The cat was out back with Ariel and me.”

  “Sounds like you two have a cat to find.” Granger gestured to the door. “I’ll be with Mrs. Whedon.” He shook his head and grunted. “Telling the truth.”

  Ben and I followed the officer, stopping at the top of the steps to the lawn.

  “Well, where do we start searching?”

  “For a cat?” I glanced at him, knowing an expression of skepticism crossed my face. “One doesn’t usually go looking for a cat. You wait for the cat to seek you out.”

  “Great.”

  I took two steps down and sat, patting the spot next to me. “Relax. The cat showed herself once. She’ll come around again—maybe.”

  Sighing, Ben joined me. “That’s encouraging.” He stared up at a swatch of night sky visible at the tops of pine, cedar, and fir trees.

  “Bet you don’t see stars like this in Portland.”

  He took in a deep breath and then chuckled. “No. And it doesn’t smell quite like this either.”

  Inhaling the mingling scents of the trees, decaying leaves, and damp soil, I nodded. “While we’re waiting, tell me why you think the c
at knows something important to start with.”

  “Mrs. Whedon said the cat is—was—her husband’s. Said it never left him. So when she returned late Sunday evening after a weekend trip with the kids to her mother’s in Newport, her husband and the cat were gone. His car was still in the garage. There was no note, no phone messages—nothing. The cat showed up the following Tuesday full of burs and foxtails. By then Mrs. Whedon had contacted the police.” He pulled his gaze from the sky and turned to me. “I thought …” he shrugged. “The cat might have … Wow. I don’t even know how to phrase this. Witnessed something?”

  “That works.” Arms on my knees, I stared at the night sky. “If an animal chooses to share with me, I can see images and pictures—like a video. Sometimes the connection is so strong I can hear, feel, smell, and even taste what they do, or did at the time. I guess it depends how vivid the recollection is and how much time has passed for them.” I frowned, biting at my lip. “That’s what troubles me about Ariel’s, uh, memories. I sensed everything crystal clear.”

  “Is that common? I mean, to get such clear … visions?”

  “Sometimes. If it’s a recent event or traumatic.” I tipped my head. “It could be Ariel—the kind of dog she is. She has corgi in her, and some terrier. Smart dogs. I’ve found border collies and poodles will practically have full conversations with me. They’re so smart it’s scary.” I grinned. “You have to watch what you say around them.”

  “What about cats?”

  “Cats are smart, too. But they’re different than most other animals.”

  “As in?”

  I smiled. “They do things on their schedule, not ours.”

  “That doesn’t sound promising.”

  A small warm body rubbed against my back. Faint purring transferred across my skin like a vibrating motor. “We have company.”

  Twisting his upper body with a quick left and then right, Ben startled the cat, sending her racing to the far side of the deck.

  The cat glared at Ben, her yellow eyes glowing and her back arched.

  “Don’t spend a lot of time around cats, do you?”