Hair of the Dog (2 page)

“Have you been taking care of Sadie?”

“She's been gone. Ran away the night of the fire. I put up flyers everywhere.”

“Well, I know you're happy to see her. And I know her owner will be relieved.” Elaine bent over to untie the scarf-leash.

“Uh, look, it's not a good idea that I take her if you're thinking of handing her off to me. Politics, and all that. My boss put her owner in jail. I'm not sure my getting involved would go over very well—you know, looking like I was doing him a favor. Sort of aiding and abetting the enemy. You haven't met Dixie.”

“And Dixie is?”

“A kennel owner and co-owner of this.” A half-turn toward the building in back and a sweep of her arm took in the Daytona Beach Kennel Club and Poker Room. “She's about as high up as you can get and likes to throw her weight around. But please don't get me wrong—she's done a lot for the track. She brought in a full-time vet, a grounds expert who keeps the track in superb condition. She turned the restaurant around…she's pretty much kept us in business.”

“Sounds like she's the insured party.”

“She is.”

“So, tell me about Sadie's owner. You sounded skeptical when you mentioned he was in jail.”

“I am skeptical—but you didn't hear that here. He's a dear sweet man who lives for his dog and the dogs he cares for. He's, um, maybe a little slow—he does fine as long as his life doesn't get complicated. But the morning of the fire? He didn't just run off, he saved almost every dog and then stayed around to calm them and feed them. He even broke up fights and muzzled the more aggressive ones. Now, does that sound like someone who has just committed murder?”

“No, it doesn't. Does this man have a name?”

“Fucher Crumm.”

“Future Crumb?”

“Pronounced Foo-cher—spelled F-u-c-h-e-r. It's German, I think. And the last name is with two m's, in case you're thinking a ‘b'. Everyone misspells both names. In fact, it's misspelled on his birth certificate. He showed me once. Seems his mother in the throes of labor yelled out, ‘make way for the fucher,' and the nurse in attendance jotted down
the future
thinking it was a comment on this new addition to the family tree.”

“That is a cross to bear. I wouldn't enjoy correcting my name all the time. Is he well liked?”

“Yeah. At least he should be. Just about everyone around here owes him money.”

“I wouldn't think he'd make enough in maintenance to be generous to others.”

“Oh, he doesn't. He got a big-buck settlement after the accident.”

“Something happened here at the track?”

“Well, I hate to gossip but it's all been in the papers. Fucher used to drink. A lot. One afternoon a couple years ago he was walking home from a bar and got hit by a City truck—in a crosswalk. Lawyers proved the driver was texting so Fucher cleared over six hundred thousand dollars after paying off the lawyers. When his lawyer handed him a check, he asked if he could just have it all in twenties.”

Elaine tried to imagine how big a stack of money that would be. Six hundred thousand in twenties. No wonder he was popular.

“He probably doesn't have much of it left. He bought a new bike and moved to a nice apartment and bought a race dog. That's something to show for the money, I guess. But that's about all.”

“Fucher owns a track dog?”

“Yeah, he put him out with me for training. He's twenty months but a comer. Nero's Song. Sadie's pup. Sadie was an expensive brood bitch in her heyday. Then she started having seizures. She was a Scottish import—never raced but passed on some top notch bloodlines. Fucher paid big bucks for Nero—a full fifty thousand.”

“I had no idea dogs could be so expensive.”

“Fifty thousand is pretty much top of the line. You can pay anywhere from five to fifty thousand and have a track-worthy dog.”

“Will you race him here?”

“No, this is just an intermediate track. With his bloodlines and promise, we'll start him in the Miami area—at an ‘A' track.”

“When will that be?”

“I'm not sure, but we're not that far away.”

Elaine leaned down to give Sadie a pat. “I feel like I'm in the midst of doggy-royalty.”

“You sort of are.”

“So what are you thinking of doing with Sadie?”

“Trainers here don't have the room with their other dogs—I mean even if they wanted to risk the wrath of witch-lady.” Melody paused, “I could ask Fred Manson. He's in charge of maintenance but he's like Fucher's mentor—keeps an eye on him—a real father-figure, I suppose is the best description. But I know he lives in an apartment that doesn't take dogs. I'm not kidding—I'm stuck on this one. It would mean the world to Fucher if you'd take her.” She held out a leash.

“Me? I don't think—”

“Please? It would give me time to find a permanent home, that is, if Fucher isn't out soon. Think about it. There aren't a lot of options. We can't take her to a shelter and risk possible euthanasia.”

Euthanasia sounded a little melodramatic but probably was a possibility. “You know, Dan and I may not be here very long. Sounds like the case is pretty straightforward—answers already in place.”

“Any amount of time would be a gift.” The hand that held the leash was still extended toward Elaine. “Please?”

One more glance at the liquid brown eyes, and Elaine knew she'd been had. She took the leash and snapped it in place and removed her scarf. “Okay, but we'll stay in touch. Close touch.”

“Do you think you could do one last favor?”

“What's that?” Elaine was a little leery. It was bad enough she was going to have to explain all this to Dan and had somehow, in all innocence, acquired a live animal to take care of when she'd only wanted to go for a walk.

“Could you contact Fucher and tell him you have Sadie?”

“I don't know the man. Wouldn't that information be better coming from you?”

But Elaine didn't give Melody a chance to use politics again. “No, I can see that it wouldn't. Okay, tell me how I can reach him.”

***

“We're going where?” Dan glanced at the dog on the backseat and then at Elaine.

“Volusia County Correctional Center.”

“A jail?” Why had this not appeared at the top of his “fun things to do in Daytona” list for the afternoon? But he listened quietly to the tale of Fucher Crumm and agreed with her that the poor man was probably frantic over his pet. He turned and looked at Sadie who was doing a pretty good “doggy in the window” act—head hanging slightly, eyes imploring, finally with a sigh putting her head on her paws. Resignation. A doggy take on “oh woe is me.” But he could see how Elaine was suckered in. For that matter, wasn't he?

“Inside, right now, someone must have mentioned his name. Fucher's worked here for years.”

“Yeah. I heard his name a lot. Everyone's talking about the fire and the kennel owner who was found dead. And, I gotta say, with a fair amount of disbelief. Not that anyone was coming right out and saying they didn't think he could start a fire, let alone kill. Everyone I spoke with was pretty tight-lipped. But they are emphasizing all the good things this man does. It's just that somebody wields real behind-the-scenes power.”

“Melody mentioned a woman who's part owner. Seemed very afraid of crossing her—even thought taking care of Sadie would brand her a traitor.”

“I think I know who she's talking about. I have a meeting tomorrow with Dixie Halifax. Pretty much the head honcho, from what I can see. All I know is she's the one who's insured.”

“I don't envy you your job.”

“Yeah, and it doesn't make things any easier that this kennel owner, Jackson Sanchez, the guy who was killed, didn't think Fucher should be handling dogs—thought his handicap kept him from making good decisions about their care. It seemed he'd made a stink about it. Reported some medicine mix-up to the track veterinarian.”

“Interesting. I got the idea Fucher was well accepted. Or at least relied upon.”

Elaine quickly relayed the story of the six hundred thousand dollars all in twenties.

A low whistle, “That would make anyone popular.”

“Was Fucher's job in danger?”

“I kinda got that idea. I don't think any action had been taken—maybe more of a threat—but I guess this Fucher was pretty distraught. I'd like to be able to throw my opinion in the mix, size up Fucher myself. And I need a first-hand account of the fire for UL&C. I'll try and set up an interview for a later date. So, I guess a visit to the jail isn't a bad idea.”

Chapter Three

“Sadie, Sadie, Sadie…” The rhythm was soothing. “Sadie, Sadie, Sadie.” Fucher blew his nose but didn't stop rocking. He sat on the edge of the bottom bunk bed and kept his eyes tight closed. Where was she? Why hadn't someone called him? Why couldn't he go home? She could be sick or injured. She'd wonder why he wasn't there. “Help me, help me, help me…”

He couldn't imagine how she'd gotten out. Outside the entire compound. That didn't seem possible. He always took her to the track. She'd trot along beside his bicycle or ride in the cart he pulled behind. On the days when Fred picked him up, she rode up front in the truck's cab. She was never away from him. Never. Until now.

“Hey, you in there.” The guard banged a baton on the bars of his cell. “You got company.” The guard unlocked the cell door and stepped inside.

“Did they find Sadie?” Fucher jumped up hitting his head on the upper bunk. “Is it Mel or Fred? Did they come to get me?”

“Take it easy, cowboy. I don't know anything about this Sadie. An' I don't know who's visiting, but I'm gonna take you to the visitors' area. Gotta wear these.” The guard indicated the ankle shackles in his hand and not so kindly pushed Fucher back down on the bed's edge.

“Stick those tootsies straight out.”

Fucher held both feet in the air and waited while the guard clipped the bracelets in place.

They were too tight and hurt—rubbed his skin leaving bright red lines around his ankles. Fucher pulled himself upright and took a step. It wasn't easy to walk with his feet bound together. He tried to hurry but stumbled. Once the guard just let him fall. But it was okay. He could hop and go pretty fast. It had to be news about Sadie. Maybe Melody had brought Sadie to see him. Or Fred. Sadie'd be okay with them. But he didn't think they'd let a dog in. Still, Sadie would've gone back to the track and everybody knew her there. He bet Melody or Fred had found her. She'd be safe. Melody would take care of her. He'd give Mel some money for food. Yes, yes, Mel would know what to do. He tried to jump faster.

“This is it.” The guard indicated a door on his right.

Fucher looked through the glass partition. The room was small with only a metal table and four chairs. And two strangers—a man and some lady he'd never seen before. So, it wasn't about Sadie and Fred. No one had found her. He couldn't hold back the sobs or the wailing. The guard had opened the door but Fucher braced himself against the casing and wouldn't budge. “Sadie, Sadie, Sadie…” He banged his head sideways against the metal door jamb in the cement block wall until the guard roughly jerked him back.

“Mr. Crumm, we have Sadie. Sadie is fine.” Elaine stood, took a step forward. “I took video for you to see. Here.” She held up her phone. “Come join us. We have lots to talk about.” Elaine pulled a Kleenex from her pocket and held it out. “We're going to take care of Sadie for you but we need to know what she eats.”

Elaine studied the thin, blond-haired man in the orange jumpsuit. Burr haircut, scraggly beard, watery blue eyes. Was he thirty yet? He seemed young, vulnerable, and scared to death. There was just something so terribly wrong with the picture. Did he even understand why he was there? Elaine moved a chair out from the table. “Come sit with us. My name is Elaine. I really want you to see the video.”

Fucher hiccoughed loudly and stopped wailing, yet still hung back. “I don't know you. How'd you get Sadie?”

“I know you don't know us. I found Sadie at the track this afternoon. Melody told me where to find you. We want to help.” Again, Elaine extended her hand, palm up.

Reluctantly, Fucher stepped into the room and shuffled to the chair.

“This is my fiancé, Dan Mahoney. Dan is going to be working at the track investigating the fire.”

Fucher glanced at Dan before leaning toward Elaine and dropping his voice to a whisper. “Is he a cop?”

Dan leaned forward, “No, Fucher, I'm not with the police. I work for an insurance company. Here, look at Elaine's video.” It had taken some arm-twisting and a really compassionate warden to bring a phone into the jail. But he could see why the official had listened to him. It would be expensive to put Fucher on a twenty-four-hour watch when knowing his dog was well taken care of negated any worry of his injuring himself. It was nice to see law enforcement that cared.

Fucher gingerly took the phone and was immediately engrossed. At first he frowned; then, laughed and touched the screen with his finger. “She's pretty. I love her.”

“I know you do. That's why we want to take good care of her for you. We're here to get your help,” Elaine added.

“She's in the car right now. When we leave, I'll go down first and walk her around the parking lot. Maybe the guard will let you watch us from a window up here.”

Dan told himself he'd make that happen even if he had to go over the guard's head again. A little extra insurance that Fucher would know that Sadie was well. He might be stretching the compassion thing a little, but Dan didn't think so.

“I'd like that. I think she'll know I'm looking at her.” Fucher, now relaxed, leaned back in the chair. “Did you get her something to eat?”

“On the way over we stopped for a McDonalds cheeseburger.” Elaine watched as Fucher frowned.

“That's not good food for a dog.”

“I didn't let her eat the bun.” Elaine hoped that bit of news got them back in his good graces.

“That's better, but she needs raw meat and kibble. She'll even eat a raw carrot.”

Elaine took a pen and pad out of her purse. “What kind of kibble and raw meat?” She wasn't sure about a carrot-eating dog but it wouldn't hurt to try her. She made a note of raw carrots.

“Regular beef stew meat. I get it at Sam's. And I feed Natural Balance kibble. She likes the duck or venison best. Sometimes for her coat I get her the fish one—it has Salmon. She weighs sixty-three pounds so she gets one cup of raw meat and five cups of kibble every day. No treats. Unless it's a carrot.”

He probably took better care of Sadie than himself, Elaine thought. That dog was his whole life. She couldn't believe she'd tried to dodge bringing this much joy to someone.

“You know, I have lots of her food at home. You could go there and get everything. And her eye drops—she's allergic to grass. And she'd really like her bed. And—”

“Whoa. I'm not sure we can take everything but it would be good to get her food and medicine.” Dan had visions of a hotel room overrun with dog toys and beds and food…and allergic to grass? What a little doggy princess. He briefly thought of Simon's good German ruggedness. Now that was a dog.

“They took my keys but you can ask Mrs. Carter. She's my landlady and she can let you in. An' Mel has a key and so does Fred. They're my friends.”

Elaine wrote down his address. Thank God for GPS. She had no idea where his townhouse was located and Fucher's directions left a lot to be desired. He didn't remember a lot of the streets and tried to fill in with landmarks. A telephone pole with lots of advertisements stapled onto it didn't seem trustworthy, but neither did “that coffee place that wasn't Starbucks close to a corner across from a firehouse that wasn't really a firehouse but had a fire truck out in front.”

Finally, she had everything that would help. Dan left after setting up an appointment for the following afternoon to talk about the fire. Promising more pictures of Sadie probably got him a second visit. That and the fact Fucher would get to see Sadie in the flesh two days in a row.

The guard shushed him, but seeing Fucher jumping up and down, calling out for Sadie, even though the window was well fortified and protected by a maze of metal bars, was heartwarming. Elaine picked up her purse and keys at the first guard station and turnstile, then followed the Exit signs to the lobby. She couldn't help but shiver as each heavy steel door slammed shut behind her. Incarceration. A world she was glad to leave.

***

Elaine quickly filled Mrs. Carson in on how Sadie had been found.

“Sadie! Oh my, you gave us quite a scare, girl. You've been out on the streets all by yourself this whole time.''

The woman making over Sadie hadn't taken the warnings about sunscreen seriously. Wrinkles and a deep tan signaled a lot of beach time and premature aging. Her age was difficult to determine, but Elaine guessed somewhere south of fifty.

“It was just so kind of you to go by the jail. There's no way that dear boy should be in there. I knew his mother; she worked for me. I have the ten units here—all townhouses but there's a lot of maintenance. Fucher paints, picks up the parking lot, and keeps the shrubs trimmed. All this in addition to his regular job at the track. That boy never stops. He's such a good worker, but so was his mother. She just passed this last Christmas. Oh my, I guess it's been almost a year now. Fucher took it so hard. I don't know what he would have done if he hadn't had Sadie.”

“Mrs. Carson, is he current on his rent?” Elaine wasn't sure why she asked but how awful it would be if he lost his home, too. He certainly wasn't bringing in a salary where he was.

“Please, I'm Joan. Oh, let me tell you, he was smart to tie up this place for five full years. You know, when he got his accident money—I'm sure you've heard about that?” Elaine nodded. “Well, he paid me sixty thousand dollars. We drew up a contract and all. There's three years left on the lease.”

“That was looking ahead.”

“Every time he loaned anyone money or paid ahead for something, I made him draw up a contract. My brother's an attorney and he helped him. Now, let's go get this pretty girl's food. I know where the treats are.”

At the word “treats” Sadie wagged her tail so hard her entire body wiggled. And it was obvious she knew the way. Elaine had to hang onto the leash as Sadie took off to follow Joan.

“Here, you can do the honors.” She handed two door keys to Dan. “This one is for the door handle and this one for the deadbolt. I'm due for cataract surgery and have a terrible time with my aim at close range.”

Elaine had no idea what she thought Fucher's apartment would look like but it wasn't this. Granted the furnishings probably came from T.J. Maxx or Tuesday Morning, yet the place was bright and cheerful and actually tastefully done. A navy throw over a not-so-new couch sported several neon-colored, satin-covered pillows in green, pink, and blue. A wooden rocker had been refinished in bright yellow with grass-green accents. Another pillow in a luminous dark green finished the look. Geometric designs in the large floor rug of muted greens and yellows tied everything together. The place was inviting.

“Where did you say you were staying?” Joan was moving toward the kitchen.

“We didn't. Haven't gotten that far. Miss Sadie here sort of rearranged our priorities.” Dan patted the dog on the head. It'd take awhile to get used to the wasp “waist” and dainty feet. Compared to Simon she had the face of an anteater.

“Well, I don't know why I didn't think of this but I have a unit that's just freed up. End of Octoberfest, you know, for bikers. I always keep two or three units available for weekly rentals. Fully furnished, of course. This is a major tourist area. I make more money in the summer and during NASCAR and Bike Week than I do renting a unit on a yearly basis.”

“Sounds great. Let's take a look.” Dan caught Elaine's eye and an affirmative nod.

“Why not? It might be perfect for us.”

“It's only two doors down. You could even leave the bulk of Sadie's food here. No need to lug it around. You'd have to take her bed, though, and her dishes. I'll help. I know where everything is.” Joan picked up a dog toy. “I don't imagine you brought much with you? Household goods, that is. I keep small appliances in the garage—coffeemakers, toasters, microwaves, irons—well, you name it and I probably have it. We could get you fixed up in no time. Let's take a look.”

The rental unit had been recently painted in what Elaine was beginning to call seascape colors—seafoam green, seaglass blue, seastorm gray. It was clean and bright and the furniture, though a little dark, looked comfortable.

“You'll find dishes above the sink to your right. There's a washer/dryer in this hall closet.” The layout was dining room/living room combination, kitchen with wraparound counter, and half bath all on the bottom floor, and two bedrooms and a bath upstairs. Far more room than a hotel would provide. Elaine might have to work on overlooking the frolicking seahorse wallpaper in the upstairs bath. Still, in all, it was very doable.

“Not sure of the timeframe but let's say two weeks with an option on a couple more.” Dan wished he could be more exact, but that was another part of this job—a long weekend could turn into a month. He'd be haunted by one totally unplanned hospital stay in Wagon Mound, New Mexico, for years to come. That had added a few weeks to what was going to be a four-day investigation.

“Oh good, I just know this will work out. You're only three miles from the beach, you know. There's really lots to do. I have several pamphlets if I can put my hands on them. Let's get Sadie's stuff in here and then we'll go back to the office.”

Sadie's bed turned out to be a giant sofa without feet—billowing pillows made up the base and stuck up a foot in height around the edge. But it was a favorite. Sadie never left it the entire time they were loading up dog food and dishes.

“Okay, girl, time to get this to your new home.” Dan clipped the leash back on and picked up one corner of the cumbersome dog bed. “Good grief, do you have bricks in here?” There wasn't any picking it up, it was too big and too heavy. Elaine helped but the two of them more dragged than carried the monstrosity to its new home. Then, placing a water bowl and a dish of kibble beside it, Elaine called Sadie.