the pit of my stomach as I acknowledged there might be something more sinister about Liz’s disappearance than mere itchy feet.
Of course this meant I had to drive to Port Augusta and investigate. Not that there was any guarantee Liz was still there, but it was the last place she’d been seen. Scott implied something shady was going on at the greyhound track, so that’s where I’d start nosing around and asking questions. Plus, even though Liz didn’t think I was important enough to let me know we were now living in the same state, I guess it was up to me to set a bonfire under the Port Augusta police. So far, they didn’t seem like they were too fussed by her disappearance.
And as for ringing Ma to discuss Liz’s disappearance—I decided to put that unpleasant task off until I had more information.
Zorro, the dog clamped between my legs, let out a sharp bark and bounded forward, almost unseating me. I shook my head, tried to concentrate on straddling one bucking greyhound while attempting to calm the three barking, leaping, eager-to-get-going canines hooked to the chain wire fence beside me.
All eyes were on the runner. Jake.
I grit my teeth to stop from swearing. The manner in which my easy-going, dreadlocked, dude assistant was sauntering up the straight track which ran along the boundary of my property, I expected a snail to slither past him at any moment. And when he stopped and bent to pick something up from the ground—probably a half-squashed bug he thought needed saving—I let out a sigh. The dogs tied to the fence all wanted to gallop but I couldn’t let them off until Jake reached the other end of my 300 meter slipping track. And at the rate he was traveling—we’d still be slipping dogs come dinner time.
Finally, Jake turned and even from a distance of a hundred yards I could see his crazy extra-wide grin. “Hey, man!” he shouted and held his ‘find’ in the air, waving it like a prized Olympic medal. “I just found a four leafed clover with, like, one leaf torn off!”
“Good for you,” I yelled back clamping my knees more firmly around the torso of Zorro, the over-excited black youngster I struggled to hold. “Now, if you can tear yourself away from all that greenery, can you please get back to work? Otherwise, it’ll be night time before we finish.”
“Man, it’s my lucky day.” Jake tucked his four-leaf clover—minus one leaf—in the pocket of his T-shirt which proclaimed, ‘Zero Tolerance to Chemicals in Food’, and with leather dog leads flapping around his neck and shoulders, sprinted to the top of the track.
“Okay, Zorro, off you go.” I unfastened the dog’s collar and threw the lead on the ground behind me to free both hands. The black dog powered up the straight, every muscle straining and stretching to its limit. Boy could that youngster gallop. Couldn’t wait for him to start racing. When Jake caught Zorro and tied him to the fence I unhooked dog number two, Molly—a racing dog coming back from a spell—and repeated the process.
Suzie, Zorro’s hyperactive, white and black litter sister, screamed like she’d been ripped in half by a shark. My mobile rang. I let it go to message bank because Suzie had jumped so high in the air she’d come down with the lead wrapped around one leg. I unhooked her from the fence, told her she was as nutty as a Snickers bar, then let her go and grinned as she yipped and yapped the entire way up the straight. Suzie always reminded me of a dizzy blonde on speed.
Noting Suzie’s safe arrival at the other end of the track, I left Jake to cool the dogs down and return them to their kennels. If I didn’t collect Stanley from the vet soon, Dr. Terry Chapman, although a champion of GAP greyhounds, would be billing me for the dog’s board and lodgings.
An hour later, I pulled up outside the local veterinary clinic and drove into the car park. Due to Purple Pants’ demise my dogs were now relatively safe and Stanley, his
Of course this meant I had to drive to Port Augusta and investigate. Not that there was any guarantee Liz was still there, but it was the last place she’d been seen. Scott implied something shady was going on at the greyhound track, so that’s where I’d start nosing around and asking questions. Plus, even though Liz didn’t think I was important enough to let me know we were now living in the same state, I guess it was up to me to set a bonfire under the Port Augusta police. So far, they didn’t seem like they were too fussed by her disappearance.
And as for ringing Ma to discuss Liz’s disappearance—I decided to put that unpleasant task off until I had more information.
Zorro, the dog clamped between my legs, let out a sharp bark and bounded forward, almost unseating me. I shook my head, tried to concentrate on straddling one bucking greyhound while attempting to calm the three barking, leaping, eager-to-get-going canines hooked to the chain wire fence beside me.
All eyes were on the runner. Jake.
I grit my teeth to stop from swearing. The manner in which my easy-going, dreadlocked, dude assistant was sauntering up the straight track which ran along the boundary of my property, I expected a snail to slither past him at any moment. And when he stopped and bent to pick something up from the ground—probably a half-squashed bug he thought needed saving—I let out a sigh. The dogs tied to the fence all wanted to gallop but I couldn’t let them off until Jake reached the other end of my 300 meter slipping track. And at the rate he was traveling—we’d still be slipping dogs come dinner time.
Finally, Jake turned and even from a distance of a hundred yards I could see his crazy extra-wide grin. “Hey, man!” he shouted and held his ‘find’ in the air, waving it like a prized Olympic medal. “I just found a four leafed clover with, like, one leaf torn off!”
“Good for you,” I yelled back clamping my knees more firmly around the torso of Zorro, the over-excited black youngster I struggled to hold. “Now, if you can tear yourself away from all that greenery, can you please get back to work? Otherwise, it’ll be night time before we finish.”
“Man, it’s my lucky day.” Jake tucked his four-leaf clover—minus one leaf—in the pocket of his T-shirt which proclaimed, ‘Zero Tolerance to Chemicals in Food’, and with leather dog leads flapping around his neck and shoulders, sprinted to the top of the track.
“Okay, Zorro, off you go.” I unfastened the dog’s collar and threw the lead on the ground behind me to free both hands. The black dog powered up the straight, every muscle straining and stretching to its limit. Boy could that youngster gallop. Couldn’t wait for him to start racing. When Jake caught Zorro and tied him to the fence I unhooked dog number two, Molly—a racing dog coming back from a spell—and repeated the process.
Suzie, Zorro’s hyperactive, white and black litter sister, screamed like she’d been ripped in half by a shark. My mobile rang. I let it go to message bank because Suzie had jumped so high in the air she’d come down with the lead wrapped around one leg. I unhooked her from the fence, told her she was as nutty as a Snickers bar, then let her go and grinned as she yipped and yapped the entire way up the straight. Suzie always reminded me of a dizzy blonde on speed.
Noting Suzie’s safe arrival at the other end of the track, I left Jake to cool the dogs down and return them to their kennels. If I didn’t collect Stanley from the vet soon, Dr. Terry Chapman, although a champion of GAP greyhounds, would be billing me for the dog’s board and lodgings.
An hour later, I pulled up outside the local veterinary clinic and drove into the car park. Due to Purple Pants’ demise my dogs were now relatively safe and Stanley, his
Similar Books
