A Bloodhound to Die for by Virginia Lanier

formidable threat to my animals and me. Defense was not enough; we would also have to go to offense.
    Wayne and Donnie Ray rushed in with a hasty knock and questioning expressions, Jasmine right behind them.
    “Well, we have problems.” I explained about Jimmy Joe’s visit.
    “Hank is coming out and bringing a photograph. Run off copies and make sure all the trainers have a copy to study. Jasmine is going to call the security people and get our fences and alarms back. I don’t know how long it will take them to reinstall the equipment, but until it’s in place, we’ll have to set up night watches. I don’t think we have to worry about him in the daytime, just at night. He’s a wanted man. We do, however, have to be vigilant at all times. Any questions?”
    A subdued Wayne and Donnie Ray left to resume work and Jasmine took my address book back to the bedroom to call United Security.
    Bobby Lee awoke and edged closer to lean against my leg. I spoke softly as I caressed his ears.
    “Some watchdog you are, greeting the enemy and giving him the grand tour.”
    Bloodhounds are so gentle and loving. My heart swelled with love as I fretted for his safety and that of all the animals under my roof.
    Jasmine returned and handed me my address book.
    “I lucked out and got to speak to one of the installers. He started to give me a date for a week from now, but I told him that if it was installed by tomorrow at six P.M. you would pay the installer a personal bonus of a hundred bucks. He jumped on it and promised to deliver. Was that all right?”
    “Good thinking. We’re spread too thin already. We can’t afford losing sleep for a week.”

   13
“A Stroll in the Swamp”
August 27, Tuesday, Noon
    W hen Hank arrived, he entered quickly, and wasn’t smiling. He handed me Jimmy Joe’s mug shot and spoke tersely.
    “Borrow your phone? We have a call out. I have to get details.”
    “When it rains, it pours,” I mumbled, and sat waiting quietly while he spoke with the dispatcher.
    Jasmine signed that she was making lunch and disappeared. I could hear Hank’s side of the conversation and recognized the name and knew where we were going.
    Hiram Burton, seventy-seven, and his wife, Beulah, seventy-three, lived in a small isolated farmhouse about ten miles out of Balsa City on one of the many dirt roads that wound around the edge of the Okefenokee Swamp.
    He was the sole caregiver of his wife of fifty-five years, who suffered from dementia first caused by a stroke, ten years in the past, then a gentle slide into feeblemindedness and chronic confusion caused by the worsening dementia. Her body still worked, but her mind was gone. He bathed her, fed her, and watched her constantly.
    Their kids begged him to place her in a nursing home but he wouldn’t hear of it. She wandered off occasionally even though he was ever vigilant. Last year we were called in and I found her a short way from the house, sitting peacefully on a creek bank staring at the water.
    I hoped it would be a repeat performance. I admired Hiram; he firmly practiced and believed his marriage vows from all those many years ago. Till death do us part.
    I stuck my head in the kitchen and saw that Jasmine had sliced ham and was assembling sandwiches. I picked up one with mustard and Swiss cheese.
    “I’m taking Gulliver. It’s a seventy-three-year-old female who wanders mindlessly away from home. Who do you wish to use?”
    She stared over my shoulder, considering.
    “Ramona, I think.”
    I nodded acceptance because I had just taken a large bite of the sandwich and headed to the bedroom since Hank was still on the phone. I called Donnie Ray, and when he answered told him to load up my van withGulliver and Ramona, that Jasmine and I would travel together.
    When I came back to the kitchen with extra socks, another pair of shoes, and a bandanna, Jasmine had left to change clothes and Hank was sitting at the kitchen table eating a sandwich and drinking iced