Dance of the Bones

Over the years, Brandon had enjoyed watching Dan Pardee work with and train his dogs—-first Bozo and later Hulk. Brandon had always been fascinated to see how each dog magically became an extension of Dan himself. Over time, Brandon had become acquainted with the simple but useful commands Dan used—-find, quiet, get him, wait, off, leave it. He also remembered the dogs’ joyous barks after successfully executing one of those commands.

Tonight Brandon worried that a spontaneous bark might warn Henry Rojas that Brandon and Bozo were outside—-that they were onto him.

Bozo was already on the ground and shivering with anticipation when Brandon brought out the scrap of material that was Lani’s bikini. He held it up to the dog’s nose.

“Quiet,” he ordered first. Then, a moment later, he added, “Find.”

Brandon had no way of knowing if the swimsuit had been laundered. At the very least, it would have been rinsed out. Would there be enough of Lani’s scent present for the dog to get a reading? The only way to find out for sure was to try. Brandon and Bozo set out at a brisk pace, with Brandon hoping that they looked like nothing more threatening than a man and his dog out for a late--evening walk.

Looking down at Bozo, Brandon was gratified to see that the dog was on full alert. His ears and tail were up, his head swinging from side to side. Brandon was lost in thought when Bozo made a sudden jerk to the right and lunged up an empty driveway. Taken by surprise, Brandon almost fell on his face as the charging dog dragged him toward a closed garage door. While the dog stood with his nose pressed to the lit crack under the door, Brandon leaned down and whispered in his ear, “Good dog, Bozo. Good find.”

Then, hauling back on the leash, Brandon dragged the dog away from the door and far enough down the driveway that he was able to glimpse the house number. Bozo wasn’t ready to quit, but eventually he stopped fighting the leash.

“Here’s the deal,” Brandon found himself whispering to the dog as they walked back around the block to the car. “I’m worried Henry will try to take off before Dan gets here, so we’re going to create a deterrent. In a pissing match between a parked Escalade and a Ford Fusion, the F car loses every time, and my Caddy isn’t going anywhere. Get in.”

Without turning on the lights, Brandon drove the SUV around the corner and parked it at an odd angle in the middle of the driveway in a way he hoped would effectively block both sides of the garage.

Bozo was ready to get out again, but Brandon reasoned they were better off staying inside the vehicle for the time being. They’d be safer, for one thing, and if a resident happened to drive by, they’d be much less visible.

Then, phone in hand, he sent a text to Todd Hatcher:

Parked in front of 5850 S. Calle de Justicia. Dog says Lani is inside the garage. Can you give me any info on residence. Text. Do NOT call.

Finished with that, he sent a text to Dan Pardee as well:

Address is 5850 S. Calle de Justicia. Bozo says Lani is here. Blocking the driveway so he can’t get out. Waiting for you to show up before making a move. If he tries to leave before that, all bets are off.

In the time it had taken Brandon to key in the text to Dan, a reply came back from Todd:

Owner of that address is Miss Jane Dobson, age 69. Retired schoolteacher. Drives a 2006 Acura, AZ: License 583--AMV. Sending driver’s license photo next.

The photo that appeared a moment later showed a perfectly ordinary--looking woman, maybe a few years younger than Brandon and Diana.

“So what’s Henry Rojas’s relationship with Ms. Dobson?” Brandon asked, amused by the fact that he was once again conversing with Bozo, who thumped his tail in reply. Dan’s replying text arrived at the same time.

On I--10. GPS says I’m five minutes out. Wait for me.