Winter Rose

X. Bloodhounds

"What the hell do you think it means?" Lance spat, the letter clutched tightly in his hand. "It means he's hiding somewhere close and he's making sure Winter knows it, so he can continue to scare her to death—or worse!"

He shook the letter angrily in front of the officer, who leaned against his police car studying the barn on the hill, a cigarette propped delicately in his mouth.

"That boy hasn't been seen in over a month." The officer lifted his tired eyes to Lance's, probably wondering how all of this excitement had made its way out to his peaceful patrol in the countryside. "Not even a trace of 'em. Do you really think he could hide out here with all these animals roamin' about and not get sniffed out?"

"So, are you saying you think somebody else wrote it?" Mr. Rose asked. His eyes blazed as he studied the letter. His fingers drummed the officer's patrol car impatiently. "Enough is enough! We need to start getting some answers here!"

Sheldon stood beside them, his hands in his pockets. Winter quivered at his side, her complexion pale.

Winnie and I sat close enough to hear the conversation without bringing attention to ourselves. Together we made a handsome pair of canines. We'd filled out and nearly doubled in size in the past month. My black coat was glossy and my legs finally long enough to depend on for speed. I still looked like a clumsy puppy in a lot of ways, but I'd like to think I had a tougher edge. Winnie, on the other hand, was a stunning sight. She carried herself in a regal way that demanded attention. She couldn't hide her spirit, no matter what body she occupied. 

We'd finally gained the freedom to roam the refuge unsupervised. Our dog mother had given up on rounding us up, instead, she'd taken up Barnabas' role of chicken chaser and horse terrorizer. It suited her and us well. Although poor Earl was none too pleased about it.

"If it wasn't Jose, that leaves one of us three standing here. The only other person that comes around here is Dawson, the old veterinarian." Mr. Rose said.

The officer brushed his white mustache with the side of his finger and pushed himself off of the patrol car. "I'm just sayin' it's highly unlikely the kid has been hiding here for over a month without making contact with his family—or anyone."

"I'm sure he was just waiting for the right time." Lance said in a low voice, slapping the letter down on the hood of the patrol car. He turned, his eyes narrowing on Sheldon. "None of this happened until you came here," he said. " You were the one who brought that asshole here to begin with!"

My growl was cut short by Winnie's glare.

"And you were the one that brought him back that night!" Winter snapped, her dark eyes trained on her brother. "That night he killed Barnabas!"

The anger in Lance's eyes was instantly replaced with hurt at Winter's accusation. The five of them stood in silence, the wind whipping wildly around them, flapping their jackets like flags in the wind. It was still early in the morning, around eight o'clock. Inside the refuge, the other dogs barked eagerly, waiting to be fed and let outside. I gave Winnie a sideways glance, she looked away quickly, but not before I saw the sadness in her eyes.

The officer's eyes fell on us. He perked up, stamping his cigarette butt out on the ground. "You don't happen to have a dog that can track or hunt, do you?"

Winnie's ears straightened at the officer's question. This will be good, she projected, turning to look at me.

I guffawed. I don't know how to track scents. Do I look like a bloodhound to you?

Winnie tilted her head. You have the nose for it as well as I. A dog's sense of smell is a powerful tool. You just need to learn how to hone it.