Bark M for Murder Page 4

  God, here I am, she thought, no ID, no money, no notion of where I am or where I’m going and feeling worse by the minute. Not to mention scared, she added. She’d never felt so lost, so out of control. Well, tough noogies, A.J. Suck it up. You’ve got the dog—or more accurately, it had her. He must belong somewhere and wherever that was, she was going with him.

  The road turned out to be two lanes, with gullies for shoulders, another rock-embedded bank on its far side and beyond that woods, darker than a coal mine. No signs on the road, at least none visible, just a sharp curve ahead. Beyond that, who knew?

  The dog had scrambled up that rise and disappeared into the trees as if he wore night vision goggles.

  “Slow down,” she yelled. “Please, dog! Heel, dammit!”

  He returned. She wasn’t sure whether he’d responded to “please.”

  “heel” or “dammit.” All that mattered was that he’d come back, and to her surprise and relief, remained at her side with no further encouragement.

  From that point time became meaningless, along with direction and distance. There was only the lashing rain, the howl of the wind in her ears, and the weight of her clothes as they became more and more soaked. The smell of the woods clogged her nostrils, the air a musty, moldy miasma. The temperature wrapped her in a frigid embrace, making her teeth chatter. Was this fall or winter? As hard as she tried, she couldn’t remember. If this rain changed to snow…

  Enough, A.J. Gotta keep going. Pushing her discomfort, ailments, and questions to some rear corner of her mind, she thought only of survival, which consisted, for the time being at least, of putting one foot in front of the other, with one hand on the shepherd’s head. She couldn’t see him, had to trust him to escort her between trees.

  After an eternity of slogging and stumbling over roots and other invisible obstructions, the darkness lost some of its opacity, melding into a slate gray, the rain becoming visible. The trees thinned out and they were finally free of the suffocating forest. The dog gave a full-throated bark and raced away into the murk.

  “Wait! Where are you going? Heel!”

  A.J. trudged faster, blinking as her eyes adjusted. A new aroma perfumed the night. Woodsmoke? The dog reappeared, tongue lolling, tail whipping in overdrive. He pranced a few steps farther, pranced back, clearly urging her to follow. She plodded after him, then stopped, disbelieving, when she made out a pale golden square that seemed to levitate in the gloom. A window! Civilization! Tears of relief blurred her vision and she squeegeed them away with a forefinger. A log cabin took shape, smoke drifting from its chimney. It was a beautiful sight. She prayed someone was home who would let her use a phone.

  The dog sounded again, darted up onto the porch and pawed at the door. It opened, a figure silhouetted against the warm glow behind him, tall and male, all A.J. could tell at this distance. As she got closer, she could make out dark hair, lots of it, a long-sleeved shirt and broad shoulders, jeans hugging long legs.

  The man spotted her, opened the screen door and stepped out, fists on his hips. A.J. experienced a moment of hesitation, not at all reassured by the vibrations he emitted. This was not a happy camper. Would he turn away, shut her out? Or invite her in and… She squelched that thought, only to have fear kick in and bring it to the surface again. She was alone, cold, sick, in no shape to defend herself if she needed to. Jesus, had she gone from a bad situation to a worse one?

  Moving to the edge of the porch, the man stood unmoving. His silence screamed in her ears. Finally, he scowled at the shepherd and said, “Well, hell, Duke, what have you dragged home this time?”

  Chapter 2

  In spite of strains of “Dueling Banjos” twanging faintly in her ears, A.J. bristled. “I am not a ‘what,”“ she responded crabbily, ”I’m a who. And I’m sorry to disturb you, but there’s been an accident. I’d appreciate it if I could use a phone to call for help.“

  The man peered through the gloom at her, his body language registering surprise, as if he hadn’t realized she was a female. With her hair plastered to her head by the rain and her bulky coat, slacks, and shoes clotted with mud and grime, she probably resembled an androgynous lump, certainly far from her feminine best, which just might be in her favor.

  Or perhaps it was the race thing. He might not be able to make out her features, but her caffe latte complexion made no secret of her African American roots. Since he was still in silhouette, she couldn’t be sure, but from the halo of unruly curls framing his head and short ponytail brushing his collar, whatever he was, she doubted he was black. Well, if he was a bigot, he wouldn’t be the first she’d had to deal with. Given the straits she was in, a woman alone in the middle of God knows where, a bigot might be the best she’d confront.

  “Are you hurt?” he asked, moving to the edge of the porch.

  “Just bumps and bruises. I’m more concerned about the driver. He, or she, might have fallen into the water.”

  “Shit!” He scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Well, you’d better come on in.”

  It wasn’t the warmest welcome she’d ever received, but she’d take it. A.J. followed him into a combination foyer and mudroom, and deposited her coat on a hook. Drawn by the warmth of the massive fireplace to her left, she made a beeline for it, taking in her surroundings as surreptitiously as she could. Aromas assailed her, woodsmoke, lemon oil, and candle wax courtesy of the three fat candles in hurricane lamps on the mantel. What had looked to be a basic one-room cabin from the outside proved that appearances were definitely deceiving.

  This was no backwoods shack. Not only were there several rooms, there was more than one level. There was also a permanence about it, as if it was lived in year-round, with all the amenities of home—a fully outfitted kitchen, and a loft above it that overlooked the lower floor. Glancing up at it set off a throbbing at the back of her head and she squeezed her eyes shut against the pain, which oddly enough resulted in something totally unexpected. An image of less than a second’s duration flashed behind her eyelids: the interior beyond the French doors up there. She was certain that if she climbed the steps to the loft and opened those doors, she’d find pale green walls, a high-standing double bed with a brass head- and footboard, a folding step stool at one side. In fact everything, even on this lower floor—the worn but comfortable-looking sofa and easy chairs, the mismatched occasional tables—all of it was oddly familiar, as if she’d been here before. She was certain she hadn’t been. Had she?

  Despite all the homey touches, the only thing she didn’t see was a phone. There had to be one somewhere. After she called the local police, she’d find out about getting a cab. How she’d pay for it… The question dribbled away. She couldn’t seem to hold on to any one thought for very long. What the hell was the matter with her?

  The man had disappeared through a door beside the fireplace but the three-second glance she’d gotten of him had stuck, even if not much else seemed to. He reminded her of an ad for Brawny paper towels, the epitome of a woodsman, tall, broad-shouldered, flannel shirt with sleeves rolled back to expose well-muscled forearms, faded jeans hugging a taut backside. Not exactly a handsome face, although she knew women who would kill for those cheekbones.

  Reappearing with a pair of beach towels, he tossed one at her, then swiveled toward the dog. But too late. The big shepherd was in midshake, spraying water from his thick coat in all directions. He’d done it outside on the porch but clearly hadn’t completed the task to his satisfaction.

  “Damn it, Duke! I already mopped once today!” Dropping to one knee, her host swaddled the dog, rubbing him briskly. The shepherd, to A.J.“s surprise, wasn’t as big as he’d appeared back at the car. A rip in his right ear gave him a rakish air. He was a smiler, tongue lolling, eyes bright, enjoying the terry cloth massage, until the man started on its front right quarters. The shepherd yipped in pain and added a whine for good measure.

  “What’s the problem, boy?” Examining the area that had prompted the dog’s protest, his owner made
soothing sounds, his large hands moving over the shoulder. “Swollen. We’d better let Rory take a look at you soon’s we can.”

  Blotting the rain from her hair, A.J. glanced around, more and more puzzled by her surroundings and a sense that she’d seen them before. Doors flanked a fireplace almost tall enough for her to step into, its surround a rich, red brick. Furniture was spare, worn but serviceable. Books and magazines were everywhere, on the coffee and end tables and crammed in a ceiling-to-floor bookcase behind the sofa. Why did it all feel so familiar?

  A granite-topped island with stools separated the kitchen from a dining area. Whoever the man was, he liked his creature comforts. The kitchen appliances looked new, and a microwave was mounted over a gas range. And still, not a phone in sight.

  “I’d better call the locals,” she said. “If you’ll point me to your phone…”

  “Well, that’s a problem,” the man said, examining the dog’s paws.

  “Why?” Then it occurred to her. “Please don’t tell me the storm’s knocked it out.”

  “Probably would have if I had one, but I don’t.”

  A.J. got the impression he was almost proud of the fact. Incredulous, she gaped at him. “No phone? Not even a cellular?”

  “Not even a cellular. And before you ask,” he added pointedly, looking up at her, “that’s the way I want it.”

  Considering how isolated this place seemed to be, she floundered for a rational explanation. “But… but what if you had an emergency? What if you needed help or something?”

  “I’d handle it.” Giving the dog one final pat, he rose to face her with no apology. Except when he was focused on Duke, a scowl was apparently a permanent expression. “I came up here to get away from everything and everybody. ”Everything‘ includes phones, pagers, and any other means of communication.“ The scowl became a glare. ”’Everybody‘ is self-explanatory, and includes drop-in visitors. You look familiar. Who are you, anyway?“

  “Call me A.J.,” she said, still distracted. “But the driver might be lying out there hurt. I’ve got to do something. Is there a neighbor close by with a phone?”

  “Probably not. The closest cabin is a half mile from here and as far as I know, it’s empty this time of year. I’m Jake Walker. Duke, you’ve met. And I might as well tell you there’s no point in your worrying about the driver. He either managed to walk away under his own steam or he’s dead.”

  Appalled by how heartless he sounded, A.J. wondered what kind of monster she’d stumbled across. “How can you say that? He or she may be hurt, needing help.”

  Jake shook his head, adamant. “Not a chance, or Duke would be raising hell to go back out there. The fact that he’s acting like he’s in for the night means that you were the only one around worth the effort.”

  “Worth the effort?” Outrage intensified A.J.“s headache. ”What’s that supposed to mean?“

  “It means,” he said, hand extended for her towel, “that you were the only one he could help. Duke’s a retired search-and-rescue dog, although he hasn’t caught on to the retired part yet. We’re still working on that. If someone else had been injured and immobile, he’d have come rousted me. Since he didn’t, that means either the driver wasn’t in the vicinity when Duke got there or he was already dead. You, he could help.”

  A.J. digested the information and felt both relief and more than a smidgen of alarm, but was at a loss for the reason for the latter. “So you’re a cop? With aK-9unit?”

  “Well, maybe about the first, but no to the second.”

  “Maybe?” She backed up a step. “Either you’re a cop or you’re not.”

  “I’ve worn a badge for eighteen years. As for Duke, he’s not really mine, something else he hasn’t caught on to. I haven’t been able to convince him I’m not up for adoption. But I know him well enough to trust his instincts and his training. What exactly happened to you?”

  Somewhat mollified, A.J. edged closer to the roaring fire, and tried to rub the goose bumps away. “I don’t know. I came to in this car, in the back. I guess it must have skidded off the road and wound up nose down a couple of feet from a creek, or maybe a river, I couldn’t tell.”

  “Simpson’s Creek. It’s the only water around. Certainly deep enough to drown in, though. Go on.”

  “The driver’s door was open, so I don’t know whether he, or she, fell out or what. Considering how fast the current was, if they fell in, they’re a goner. But, honestly, Jake, the authorities need to know about the accident, so they can at least search for the body.”

  Jake gazed at her, eyes blacker than onyx in a deeply tanned complexion. His features were hard, angular, a face for Mount Rushmore. “Anything falling into Simpson’s Creek winds up in the same place, up against the bridge a mile or so south. I’ll go see if there’s any chance the phone in the next cabin’s still connected, but not until the lightning has let up some. The trees in this area have bull’s eyes painted on them, and I don’t intend to be out there if one of those bolts misses. What do you mean, he or she? Don’t you know who was driving?”

  “No.” She hesitated, hating to admit just how muddled she was. It made her feel even more vulnerable. “I can’t remember much of anything, who I was with or how I wound up in the car. Where am I, anyway?”

  Tossing both towels toward the door through which he’d left, he crossed to her, taking her chin in his hand and peering into her eyes. Startled by his invasion of her personal space, she tried to twist away but he held her fast, the scent of him, a combination of soap and woodsmoke, disconcerting her even further.

  “Your pupils don’t look right. What are you on?” The question was gruff, abrupt. He grabbed her forearm, pushed up her sleeve.

  Angered by his assumption, she yanked her arm from his grasp. “Nothing! I must have hit my head. It hurts like blazes.”

  “Be still.” He probed her scalp with a far more gentle touch than she might have expected, long fingers riffling through her hair yet barely touching her. Despite that, one spot above the nape of her neck exploded with pain when he reached it and she gasped.

  “Ow! That hurt!”

  Duke trotted over to lean against her leg and whimper in sympathy.

  He grunted. “Move, dog. You’ve got a goose egg back here, lady. Skin’s broken. Looks like it’s bled a lot, too.”

  A.J. started. “It has? I didn’t feel it.”

  “Shows what shape you’re in.” He took a deep breath, his expression one of exasperation and resignation. “Okay. Looks like I’m stuck with you, too, for the time being anyway. You need to get out of those clothes.” He fingered the sleeve of her sweater. “Is this washable?”

  She glanced down at the forest green weave and tried to remember. “I’m not sure.” And at that point, didn’t care. She was not one bit comfortable at the prospect of undressing. “If I stay by the fire, it’ll dry.”

  Jake snorted. “Yeah, maybe some time tomorrow. By then you’ll have pneumonia. Wait right here.” He started toward the door to the right of the fireplace.

  Fighting off panic, A.J. floundered for something she could say to delay him, her fingertips smoothing the tip of Duke’s good ear. He still leaned against her, bright eyes watching her anxiously. “You never answered my question. Where is this place?”

  “Nowhere.”

  Not in the mood for games, she gritted her teeth. “Well, what’s the closest town? For that matter, what state is this?”

  His lips twitched, a trace of humor adding a glint to his eyes, gone as rapidly as it had appeared. “Maryland. Western Maryland, to be precise. The closest town? Adamsville, I guess. But this, believe it or not, is Nowhere.”

  It was A.J.“s turn to scowl. ”Look, I need to know. Where am I?“

  “You heard me. Nowhere.” His lips stretched in what might have passed for a smile. Or it might have been a grimace. “It started out as Middle Noah, after the man who settled here a century ago, Noah Adams. It’s halfway up the mountain, which accounts for
the Middle. But there was nothing else around and so hard to get to, folks started calling it Middle of Nowhere and finally just plain Nowhere. Year-around population a couple of dozen, if that. You’re shivering. Get those shoes off and put them on the hearth.” He strode through the door on the right, nudging it closed behind him.

  Oh, this is just ducky, A.J. thought. Not only do I have no idea where I started from, where do I wind up? Nowhere. With a cop who looks like a smile would kill him. There was something else about him that bothered her, something she felt she should know, but couldn’t home in on it. At least his dog was friendly. It sat gazing up at her expectantly now, tail swishing a hundred eighty degree arc across the floor.