A Touch of Dead by Charlaine Harris Page B

feel were satisfied by an occasional stint of working as a bartender.
    “That’ll be Annie,” I said, as the barking rose in intensity. “She’s his fourth.”
    “Wife? Or dog?”
    “Dog. Specifically, a Catahoula. The first one got hit by a truck, I think, and one got poisoned, and one got bit by a snake.”
    “Gosh, that is bad luck.”
    “Yeah, unless it’s not chance at all. Maybe someone’s making it happen.”
    “What are Catahoulas for?”
    “Hunting. Herding. Don’t get Terry started on the history of the breed, I’m begging you.”
    Terry’s trailer door opened, and Annie launched herself off the steps to find out if we were friends or foes. She gave us a good bark, and when we stayed still, she eventually remembered she knew me. Annie weighed about fifty pounds, I guess, a good-sized dog.
Catahoulas are not beautiful unless you love the breed. Annie was several shades of brown and red, and one shoulder was a solid color while her legs were another, though her rear half was covered with spots.
    “Sookie, did you come to pick out a puppy?” Terry called. “Annie, let them by.” Annie obediently backed up, keeping her eyes on us as we began approaching the trailer.
    “I came to look,” I said. “I brought my friend Amelia. She loves dogs.”
    Amelia was thinking she’d like to slap me upside the head because she was definitely a cat person.
    Annie’s puppies and Annie had made the small trailer quite doggy, though the odor wasn’t really unpleasant. Annie herself maintained a vigilant stance while we looked at the three pups Terry still had. Terry’s scarred hands were gentle as he handled the dogs. Annie had encountered several gentleman dogs on her unplanned excursion, and the puppies were diverse. They were adorable. Puppies just are. But they were sure distinctive. I picked up a bundle of short reddish fur with a white muzzle, and felt the puppy wiggle against me and snuffle my fingers. Gee, it was cute.

    “Terry,” I said, “have you been worried about Annie?”
    “Yeah,” he said. Since he was off base himself, Terry was very tolerant of other people’s quirks. “I got to thinking about the things that have happened to my dogs, and I began to wonder if someone was causing them all.”
    “Do you insure all your dogs with Greg Aubert?”
    “Naw, Diane at Liberty South insured the others. And see what happened to them? I decided to switch agents, and everyone says Greg is the luckiest son of a bitch in Renard Parish.”
    The puppy began chewing on my fingers. Ouch. Amelia was looking around her at the dingy trailer. It was clean enough, but the furniture arrangement was strictly utilitarian, like the furniture itself.
    “So, did you go through the files at Greg Aubert’s office?”
    “No, why would I do that?”
    Truthfully, I couldn’t think of a reason. Fortunately, Terry didn’t seem interested in why I wanted to know. “Sookie,” he said, “if anyone in the bar thinks about my dogs, knows anything about ’em, will you tell me?”
    Terry knew about me. It was one of those community
secrets that everyone knows but no one ever discusses. Until they need me.
    “Yes, Terry, I will.” It was a promise, and I shook his hand. Reluctantly, I set the puppy back in its improvised pen, and Annie checked it over anxiously to make sure it was in good order.
    We left soon after, none the wiser.
    “So, who’ve we got left?” Amelia said. “You don’t think the family did it, the vampire boyfriend is cleared, and Terry, the only other person on the scene, didn’t do it. Where do we look next?”
    “Don’t you have some magic that would give us a clue?” I asked. I pictured us throwing magic dust on the files to reveal fingerprints.
    “Uh. No.”
    “Then let’s just reason our way through it. Like they do in crime novels. They just talk about it.”
    “I’m game. Saves gas.”
    We got back to the house and sat across from each other at the kitchen table. Amelia brewed a