A Bloodhound to Die for (27 page)

I sharply commanded Gulliver to be silent and still. At first, he resisted, still wriggling, still trying to open his jaws. He was strong, certainly strong enough to break from me under normal circumstances, but these weren’t normal circumstances. I was about to find Bobby Lee, I knew, and that gave me more strength than I’d ever had before.

In hissing tones, I repeated the commands to Gulliver until finally he submitted. I let go of him at last. Then I tied his lead securely to a cypress tree.

I didn’t want to risk the sound of Hank on the radio, his voice possibly carrying to Jimmy Joe or his parents. So far, I’d seen no motion in the Lane house. Possibly they weren’t home. Possibly I hadn’t been spied yet. I turned my head to the left side of my chest where Hank had taped the voice wiring. Was he still listening for me?

“Home base, this is Odysseus. I’ve found Jimmy Joe,” I said sotto voce. “He’s hidden out in an underground still behind his parents’ house. I believe the entrance to the still is through an old henhouse. Move in slowly and carefully. Gulliver is secured to a tree behind the Lane house.”

I paused just a second before finishing with the words I knew Hank would hate to hear.

“I’m going in to the underground still. This is Odysseus, over and out.”

I dropped to my knees, and began crawling toward the henhouse.

  
30
“Operation Recover Bobby Lee: The Rescue”

A
lthough the old henhouse was swept clean, the place still held a faint smell of chicken shit. Now that I was inside the structure, I felt confident that the Lanes—if they were home—wouldn’t be able to see me from their house. If only Gulliver would remain quiet, I would probably go undetected for a while, long enough to get inside the underground still and confront Jimmy Joe … and find Bobby Lee. I did not think about what I would do if I got inside and Bobby Lee was not there. The possibility was simply unbearable.

I slipped my backpack off as quietly as possible. Probably much of the floor of this henhouse was also the roof of the underground still and I surely didn’t want to alert Jimmy Joe to an intruder’s presence.

I felt in the bag and retrieved the flashlight. I
decided against taking the walkie-talkie—the sight of a radio transmitter would alert Jimmy Joe to the fact that I wasn’t working entirely alone. I picked up the smaller of the two guns, and felt its weight in my hand while I also weighed the possibilities. If I went in unarmed, how would I defend myself should Jimmy Joe get violent? But if I went in armed—and there was no way to conceal the gun in this jumpsuit, and in removing the jumpsuit I was sure to make noise that would alert Jimmy Joe—I faced the possibility that Jimmy Joe might overreact out of fear and harm Bobby Lee.

Also, with a gun, I faced the very real possibility that my anger with Jimmy Joe—surging now just below the surface of my calm, objective thoughts—would get the better of me and I’d shoot him on sight for having taken Bobby Lee. I’d been forced twice in my life to kill a man. I didn’t relish a third killing and the inevitable guilt—no matter how justified or inevitable the killing might be—that would follow, along with torturous nightmares.

But what, a voice inside me murmured insidiously, if he’s hurt Bobby Lee? What if you get inside and find Bobby Lee injured, maimed, neglected—or worse?

A cold answer snapped back. Then I won’t need a gun to kill Jimmy Joe. Bare hands and fury would do.

I decided to leave the gun.

I picked up the flashlight, held its beam just an inch or so over the floor, so that its light only illuminated a
few square inches and couldn’t be seen outside the old henhouse. My aim was to find the trapdoor that would surely lead down to the underground still.

I moved slowly, feeling along the boards, thankful that they were relatively clean except for old bits of stray dust, some dried leaves that had blown in, and the occasional spider and mice droppings. Spiders and mice didn’t bother me. And if a splinter rammed into my hand, I’d just have to hold back any yelp of pain.

I moved first along the walls, deciding I’d circle inward, forcing myself to go slowly, which now that I knew, deep in my heart, that I was only feet away from Bobby Lee, was very difficult. But I couldn’t risk alarming Jimmy Joe that someone was coming in this way and have him scurry through the tunnel that I guessed connected the old underground still and his parents’ house. I knew that if he ran, he’d take Bobby Lee with him.

For once, I got lucky. I only had to crawl three-fourths of the way around the interior perimeter of the henhouse before I found the old trapdoor.

I moved quietly to a crouching position. I put one hand on the iron ring that served as a handle to the door, while shining my flashlight on the door.

I got myself into a ready position, and counted backward from ten.

On one, I sprang into action: I pulled the door open, scurried to the edge of the hole, and dropped through.

I landed on my feet, upright, in a small, six-foot-high
damp room that had been carved out of the earth and held steady by cinder blocks and cement.

Jimmy Joe stared at me from where he sat in an old chair next to a pile of still equipment, metal funnels, and buckets. He was reading a Bible by the light of a kerosene lamp. To the left of the pile of old still junk was a small opening that gaped into darkness.

And there was Bobby Lee, lying on the floor next to Jimmy Joe. He was alive, and staring at me too.

I sank to my knees with a whimper.

Bobby Lee whined and tried to move to me, but he couldn’t. A heavy chain was wrapped around his body and hooked to a heavy metal pot, the centerpiece of all the still junk. Bobby Lee had, at most, a two-foot range of motion.

I looked up at Jimmy Joe, anger mixing with my relief—and saw that in the few scant seconds I’d gazed at Bobby Lee, Jimmy Joe had pulled out a gun, which he was now training on me.

“Sorry about the chains around Bobby Lee,” Jimmy Joe said. “He kept trying to get away from me. But I’ve tried to feed and water him regular like, and keep him clean.”

I glanced at Bobby Lee, angrily slapping away tears that were coming to my eyes. Bobby Lee was clean, but I could tell he’d lost a few pounds.

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” Jimmy Joe went on. “But you can’t force a dog to eat. And I’m right sorry you got so sick. I just told Cousin Mona to give you a little bit of
the rubbing alcohol. I think she must not like you because she went kind of overboard.”

I glared at Jimmy Joe. “For someone who’s willing to conspire to poison someone and kidnap her dog, you sure are full of sorries.”

Jimmy Joe looked hurt, for all the world like a little boy whose hand’s been slapped for wandering a few times too many to the cookie jar. I took a risk and decided to build on his vulnerability.

“And now you’ve got a gun trained on me. Is that any way to treat someone you say you love?”

“But you won’t love me back,” Jimmy Joe said, his voice cracking the last word into two syllables. “And taking Bobby Lee was the only way I could think of to get you to me. Now that you’re here, you can see I meant no harm to Bobby Lee.” With his gun-free hand, Jimmy Joe reached over and scratched between Bobby Lee’s ears. Bobby Lee whined and strained toward me. “So maybe we could get married after all?” Jimmy Joe added hopefully. “You’d only have to see me whenever I escaped from prison, so you could still run your business, and I’m sure I could get Mama to calm down and accept you, sooner or later.”

I was exhausted. I was hurting. I just wanted Bobby Lee free. And I was angry. But somehow, Jimmy Joe’s completely naive comments made me want to laugh. What was it Mary had said about her distant cousin and his parents? They made up whatever reality they wanted to be true.

“Jimmy Joe,” I said, “don’t you see you’re not really in love with me? You don’t know me at all. And if you did, you probably wouldn’t like me all that much. I can be pretty bitchy, which is not what I think you want in a wife. It’s not how your mama acts, is it?”

Except, I thought, when she was shrieking obscenities at any woman she considered a harlot. But I surely wasn’t going to point that out.

A flicker of doubt crossed Jimmy Joe’s face. “No, my mama knows her place by Pa’s side. And that’s the kind of wife I want.”

“Well, Jimmy Joe, I hate to tell you this, but I’m a real women’s libber. I don’t think things would work out real well between us. I think you kind of decided what you want me to be like based on what you’ve read about me.” Although, I thought, I couldn’t imagine what he’d read about me that would give him any idea—even a basis for a fantasy—that I’d be a good choice for a traditional wife like his mama.

A faraway look came over Jimmy Joe’s face. “I was going mostly by your picture. That and the fact you like dogs.” He scratched Bobby Lee again. “Did I ever tell you I had a bloodhound as a kid?”

“I think you mentioned it,” I said quietly. “But, Jimmy Joe, you have to admit that things just wouldn’t work out between us, so why don’t you—”

“But I also wanted that added to my ballad! About how I’d found the love of my life. There’s nothing in my ballad about romance and there needs to be, a love
all tragic because we’re kept apart.” Jimmy Joe’s words came quickly, frantically.

My God. That was what this was about? His fantasy wife, based on my picture, and another verse for his ballad?

He was as far off in a fantasy world beyond reasoning as Sara Kirkland had been, and I remembered uncomfortably how I’d been able to get her to let her hostages go, but then she’d killed the two people she thought had hurt her before turning the gun on herself. Now, Jimmy Joe had a gun and he was essentially holding Bobby Lee and me hostage because the fantasy world he wanted wasn’t coming true and, on some level, he knew that. I had failed in negotiating with Sara because I hadn’t been able to reassure her that she’d get whatever it was she wanted. I had never even been quite able to figure out what she did want.

I couldn’t fail this time, not if Bobby Lee and I were to survive. But at least this time I’d had a glimpse into the way Jimmy Joe perceived the world, and into what he wanted.

I licked my lips again. “Jimmy Joe,” I said quietly. “Your ballad could have a verse about how you loved a beautiful lady and her bloodhound from afar.” I had to be careful here, I knew. Ballads abound in which thwarted lovers kill their ladies. And Jimmy Joe was staring off with an otherworldly gaze. I wasn’t sure if he even heard me—or if he did, what effect my suggestion was having. “About how … how … you both
knew the beauty of a special bloodhound … and how through that bloodhound, you learned that your love was not meant to be.”

Jimmy Joe stared off. I didn’t dare glance at Bobby Lee because I knew I couldn’t trust myself not to suddenly become hysterically angry and undo the progress I thought—I hoped—I was slowly making with Jimmy Joe.

I wondered if Hank was hearing any of this, if the authorities were rushing now to the Lane house to try to recapture Jimmy Joe. I hoped to God they didn’t get here before Bobby Lee was freed and with me. I couldn’t calculate what Jimmy Joe might do if he thought I’d tricked him so he’d be recaptured. But so far, I hadn’t heard any sounds from outside that indicated movement or the arrival of reinforcements. I hadn’t even heard poor Gulliver bay.

Suddenly, Jimmy Joe looked at me, tears in his eyes. “Ma’am, that’s just so beautiful. And it’s true, isn’t it? That’ll make a good addition to my ballad.” He nodded, satisfied.

But I couldn’t be relieved yet. He was still holding the gun. And now he was looking at me appraisingly, the nonromantic, pragmatic aspect of Jimmy Joe kicking in.

“You didn’t come alone, did you?”

“Actually, yes, I did.”

“But you’re probably wired, or something.”

I swallowed hard. Nodded slowly. “I’m not sure if I’m transmitting now or not, though,” I said.

He sighed. “If I promise to leave you alone, will you promise not to search for me when I escape in the future?” He picked up the Bible he’d been reading, placed it on his lap, and put his gun-free hand on it.

I swallowed hard again, trying to guess what he wanted me to do. He pointed down at the Bible, then stared at me.

“Will you promise to leave both me and Bobby Lee alone, if I don’t help search for you on future escapes?”

He nodded. Then he said, “But if you break your promise, I can’t guarantee that I won’t come after you. And your bloodhound.”

I grinned—and Jimmy Joe showed good sense by recoiling at the sight, because my smile was everything but friendly. It was a warning. “And if you break your promise,” I said, “I can guarantee I will come after you. And I’ll make sure that when I find you, the material for the last verse of your ballad will be created.”

Jimmy Joe Lane stared at me for a long minute … then smiled back, and nodded his understanding. I scooted forward, closing the few feet between us, took a deep breath, and put my hand on top of his on the Bible.

We didn’t exactly exchange the vows his mama had hoped for, but we exchanged better ones. We’d leave each other alone henceforth. I’d get Bobby Lee—and my life—back. And Jimmy Joe would get his romantic verses added to his ballad.