A Bloodhound to Die for (23 page)

I had to find Bobby Lee—even if it killed me. Bobby Lee was a bloodhound to die for.

And maybe, once I got my hands on Jimmy Joe, to kill for.

“Bobby Lee! Bobby Lee! Bobby Lee!”

Clutching his collar and lead so hard they cut into the palms of my hands, I got on my knees. I couldn’t get up any farther. But I walked on my knees up the path, repeatedly bleating his name, not caring a whit
that my knees were being torn up on the rough path, or that again my stomach felt as though it was being sent through a shredder.

W
hen I came to the second time, my vision was filled with whiteness. In the background, I could hear hushed sounds, low voices talking. Something like shoes tapping on a linoleum floor, then the sound fading quickly.

My whole body, particularly my stomach, felt sore. My head throbbed. Something was poking into the inside of my left wrist.

I tried to lift my right hand and was surprised that I could. Carefully, I patted the inside of my left wrist and felt a thin tube and bandaging. An IV. I was in the hospital.

I blinked at the whiteness, then stared at it, until finally I realized that I was simply looking at a curtain that had been pulled around my bed.

Bobby Lee.

I had to get out of here, find him… .

I tried to sit up. My stomach muscles spasmed painfully and I fell back on the bed.

I must have moaned, because abruptly the voices stopped. The curtain jerked open, and suddenly Hank was beside me, hovering over me, his hands curling gently over my left hand.

I pressed my eyes shut and felt wetness seep out from under my lids and down my cheek.

Bobby Lee.

This time, his name must have come out as a whisper, because I heard Hank say, “We’ll find him. Right now you just have to focus on getting better.”

“No.” I’d found my voice at last, but it was raspy and shaky. “Bobby Lee—Jimmy Joe took him—there was a note …”

“I know,” Hank said softly, patting my hand. “After a while, when I couldn’t get you on the walkie-talkie, I got worried. We sent out a search party and found you fairly quickly. Bobby Lee’s collar and lead and the note have all been collected as evidence.”

“I have to search for Jimmy Joe … it’s the only way …”

“Jo Beth, you have to give yourself time to heal first.”

“No! There is no time.” I opened my eyes and looked up at Hank. “I must find Bobby Lee. Even if it kills me.”

Hank frowned. “You’re lucky to be alive, Jo Beth.”

“My drink—I had a Frostee from the Quik-Mart—it was poisoned somehow—the woman there—”

“I know. We have her in custody. I’ll tell you about it later.”

I lifted my right hand, which still felt leaden and slow, and grabbed his arm. “Now. I want you to tell me now.”

Hank started to argue, then stopped. He shook his head and gave a quick laugh. “I should have known.
Even on the edge of death, Jo Beth, you’re as stubborn and demanding as hell.”

“That shouldn’t surprise you,” I said. “Now, tell.”

He sighed. “Fine. Here’s the synopsis, but save your questions for later. After we found you, you were muttering about Bobby Lee and that you’d been poisoned with your drink. You were able to tell me you thought it was the woman at the Quik-Mart. The emergency crew got you here and the staff pumped your stomach—not that there was much to pump out.”

“I don’t remember that.”

“Be glad,” Hank said abruptly. “There was a little bit of liquid left in the bottom of your cup. It had been dosed, all right, with isopropyl alcohol. Better known as rubbing alcohol.”

I moaned. “The woman at the Quik-Mart—”

“Believe me, I got her in for questioning. She’s Mona Estelle Lane, Jo Beth.”

Mona Estelle … the name rattled around in my head for a few minutes. It was familiar, but I couldn’t place it immediately. Then I remembered. That was one of the names from Little Bemis’s report. Mona Estelle was an unmarried cousin from Jimmy Joe’s father’s side.

“She doctored my drink while I was on the phone with Jimmy Joe. Did I tell you about that call?”

“No. You can tell me later—”

“Now. I’m telling you now.” As best I could, I explained to Hank about the call from Jimmy Joe that
I’d gotten while I was at the Quik-Mart the second time.

“Mona didn’t tell me about that,” Hank said, “but she did admit to putting the rubbing alcohol in your drink.”

“Jimmy Joe must have put her up to it, but how did he know I was there? Did she call him?”

“She didn’t say.” Hank paused. “Jo Beth, I’m guessing that he has all kinds of kin keeping an eye on you.”

I closed my eyes, trying to think, trying to put it all together. The Lanes—and friends who would help them—were numerous. Somehow, Jimmy Joe had learned about my call out to the Burtons’s place. That wouldn’t be hard—the Lanes lived close to the Burtons, at least close in Okefenokee swamp terms. Practically neighbors.

He’d probably planned on catching me while I was on the search for Beulah, but when I went into the Quik-Mart, I unwittingly gave him an even better chance. Mona Estelle would have given him a call while I was getting my Frostee. Jimmy Joe would have told her to doctor my drink with something that would make it easier to subdue me. And of course, among the tiny first aid and medicine section of the Quik-Mart would have been a few bottles of rubbing alcohol, commonly used to clean wounds.

But deadly if ingested. It would only take a little—maybe a teaspoon—to do serious damage. Between the fact that I had gulped my drink quickly and the fact
that I had been extremely upset about Jimmy Joe calling me at the Quik-Mart, I easily missed any off taste in my drink.

And because I’d ingested it quickly, and on a fairly empty stomach since it had been hours since breakfast and I’d skipped lunch, the alcohol had worked quickly, giving me an extreme reaction. In essence, the rubbing alcohol had poisoned me, as if I’d consumed a large quantity of drinking alcohol quickly.

I started pulling at the IV in my arm. “I’ve got to get out of here, start a search for Bobby Lee.”

Hank pulled my hand away, then held both my arms down against the bed.

“What are you doing?” I shrieked. “Didn’t you hear me? I have to get out of here! I have to go find Bobby Lee!”

“Jo Beth, stop! Ripping the IV out of your arm isn’t an option. It’s a glucose solution that you need to counteract the effects of the poisoning. You need it for at least another hour, and then you need several hours of rest and observation before you’re sent home. There’s nothing you can do right now, and if you try, you could end up making yourself even sicker. We almost lost you, Jo Beth. And I know you don’t want to die.”

I tried to jerk away from Hank. I tried to sit up, but I was too weak. “I don’t care if I die,” I screamed. “I have to find Bobby Lee. Don’t you get it?”

“Jo Beth, I do get it,” Hank was saying quietly. “But you have to understand a few important things before
you start ripping out your IV and running from the hospital. The only way you’re going to get Bobby Lee back is to calm down and let logic prevail. That should tell you that, number one, you can’t find Bobby Lee if you’re too sick to move—and for the time being, you are. And number two, you’ll remember that you can’t search for Jimmy Joe and Bobby Lee—no one can—until we find someone who has an article of clothing or other personal item from Jimmy Joe that we can use to give his scent to another bloodhound so you can track him.”

Hank’s words sank in. He was right. And then the absolute horror of the situation hit me. All those Lane relatives who adored Jimmy Joe. Who among them would possibly agree to help me find him … and Bobby Lee?

When I started sobbing, Hank let go of my arms, and pulled me to him, holding me gently. For once, I didn’t resist being comforted.

  
26
“A Little Help from My Friends”

A
t the sound of the knock on my bedroom door, I struggled to sit up a bit straighter—no easy feat considering that I had a breakfast tray over my lap and that I was still weak. I probably would be for several days.

I knew who was probably knocking at my bedroom door—Hank. He’d brought me home from the hospital, when the doctor finally said I was ready to be discharged, and insisted on staying to help me get cleaned up and settled in bed. Then he’d insisted on providing me with a bit of nourishment.

Now, even as I smoothed my hair back from my face, I told myself that, given our recent argument and Bobby Lee’s abduction, I shouldn’t give a damn about what Hank thought of my looks. But the truth was, I did.

I cleared my throat. “Come in,” I said.

I sounded a bit stronger than I had in the hospital, although not yet as strong as I would have liked.

The door creaked open and Hank walked in. He came over and sat on the edge of my bed and peered appraisingly at the contents of my tray.

“Hmm. I see you don’t like my cooking. How did I manage to screw up applesauce, chicken broth, and dry toast?”

I’d nibbled on the toast, had a spoonful or two of the applesauce, and sipped at the broth—all of which had seemed like a Herculean effort given my lingering queasiness. At least I’d gotten a prescription-strength dose of Tylenol before being discharged from the hospital, so the heavy throb of a headache was now just a dull ache.

“It was all fine, Hank. I’m just not quite up to eating much yet.”

Hank nodded, a suddenly serious and worried expression coming over his face. I gave him a light jab in the arm. “Hey, look at it this way,” I said, trying to be lighthearted. “Being nearly poisoned to death is a great way to make sure I don’t gain back weight.”

“I’ve always thought your appearance was great, Jo Beth. You know I like how you look—and feel—just fine.”

I turned away from him. I wasn’t ready for this conversation.

“Last time we were in this room, we shared cold pizza and beer,” I said, and immediately wanted to hit myself.

“And had a good time,” Hank said, taking my hand. “Look at me.”

I kept staring away.

“Jo Beth,” he said quietly, his voice a command. I don’t respond well to commands. But then he said my name again. “Jo Beth.” This time it was a plea. I looked at him.

“We could have good times again. I want us to. And not just now and again. I want you to be my wife, Jo Beth.”

I sucked my breath in, hard, at that.

He smiled. “I know. Not the best-timed or most romantic proposal in the world, given the circumstances. But dammit, I almost lost you today. You know how loss feels, especially now with Bobby Lee gone.”

Tears sprang into my eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Hank said. “But take how you’re feeling now. That’s how I felt when I thought I’d lost you permanently. At least when we were apart and I knew you were alive and healthy, I could get mad at you and even hate you at times because the hope of getting back together was there, way at the back of my mind, so deep I didn’t even know it. I almost lost that hope today because I almost lost you.”

“Hank—I—”

“No, wait, I’m not done. I want you to know something Hiram said to me this morning about Beulah. He said that during their decades together, he and Beulah didn’t always like each other. At times, they might
even have doubted their love for each other. But they never lost sight of the fact that as a couple, each one of them was a better individual than they would be apart. I think that’s us, Jo Beth. I can’t guarantee that we’ll always like each other or get along or not fight. But I think we’re better individuals together than when we’re apart.” He gently touched my cheek. “So what do you say, Jo Beth. Marry me?”

I closed my eyes, let myself give in to the sensation of spinning. So much had happened—so much that I needed time to think about. But I didn’t have much time. I had to find Bobby Lee—soon. And I had to give Hank an answer—an honest-to-God, final and true answer—soon.

I opened my eyes and looked at him. “Hank,” I said. “If I answer now,
I’ll
forever wonder—and so will you—if my answer was based on my emotion over losing Bobby Lee.”

“I know,” he whispered.

I put my hands to his cheeks, and tilted his head up. I smiled at him. “Your question deserves a truthful answer. I don’t want to answer from weakness. I want to answer from strength. Help me find Bobby Lee. And once we’ve found him, ask me again.” I took a deep breath. “And I will give you an answer that’s honest and true. And final.”

Hank took my hands from his cheeks, held them a long moment, and then kissed each and every fingertip—slowly, lingeringly. Ten tiny delicious kisses.

“I will, Jo Beth Sidden,” he said. “I will help you find Bobby Lee. And then I will ask you one last time to marry me.”