Shepherd's Crook by Sheila Webster Boneham Read Free Book Online Page B

disappeared into the storage room. If you had told me a year earlier that I’d ever be happy to see Detective Hutchinson, I’d have said you were delusional. He had been one of the detectives assigned to the first murder investigation I was party to, and we had not hit it off at first. Not even close. I had been reminded in the interval that first impressions may be way off. Evan hadn’t come back, and one of the police officers went to find him. He was, after all, the first person to find Ray.
    I was in something of a daze when Hutchinson re-emerged from the storage room, calling back to whoever was in there, “Go ahead and take him down.” He stood in front of me, shoved his notebook into his breast pocket, and said, “That was rough.” I nodded. “Stay here, okay? I’ll be back.” And he walked away.
    The coroner, a tall, gray man with gray hair and a rumpled gray suit, stepped out of the room, followed by two EMTs guiding a gurney. Ray’s body was covered with a white sheet, but I still turned away as they loaded him into the ambulance. A police officer followed, a large plastic bag with writing on it dangling from one hand. It held a single cowboy boot. I have no idea how much time passed before I looked around and realized that everyone had cleared out and I was alone again.
    I told myself at first that I had to stay there, had to wait for Hutchinson, but a voice whispered, he’s a detective—he’ll find you . I walked around the end of the long building in time to see the ambulance turn out of the gate and onto the county road. A city police car and a sheriff’s department car were parked near the arena, and I could see men and women in uniforms talking to people in the spectator area. Some of the spectators were, of course, also competitors, and many had dogs by their sides. The general public was well represented, too, and all sorts of people, young and old, were exploring the vendor and information booths and watching the action.
    I caught sight of Evan talking to two men in dark suits behind one of the booths. As I watched, I wished I had my camera so that I could zoom in on them. The taller guy was so thin he seemed to swim in his jacket as he edged back and around, positioning himself slightly behind Evan. The heavier man was speaking, and I wondered whether the strain across his suit coat would pop the button that held the fabric over his belly. It was the same fat man I’d seen with Ray on Saturday. He raised his hand and poked Evan in the chest, and Evan stumbled back and raised his hands, palms out, toward the man. Don’t watch, Janet , whispered my prissier angel. Too bad you don’t have your camera, said my inner troublemaker. As the men walked toward the parking area, Evan pulled his baseball cap off and threw it on the ground. He bent over, hands on his knees, and stood that way for a few seconds before he picked up his cap and worked his way along the backs of the booths, away from the parking area.

thirteen
    I got Jay from his crate and set out to look for Bonnie. I called Giselle Swann, thinking she would help put the word out on the Internet, but had to leave a message. For once I wished I had a smartphone so I could post to social media myself. Who else could I count on? Sylvia Eckhorn, mother of twins and most energetic woman in the world, answered her phone from the cereal aisle of Costco. She promised to put the news on Facebook, Twitter, and a few other places. Someone somewhere would eventually see a black-and-white Sheltie on the loose. At least I hoped so.
    The morning events were delayed by a couple of hours, but aside from the ones trying to cop a view of the murder scene, people mostly went with the flow. Other than taping off the area around the room where Ray died and questioning me and Evan and a few other people, even the police saw the value in letting the day’s events continue. By early afternoon things were