Meadow chuckled. “He works at a feed store. I don’t think alfalfa sprouts would taste quite the same.”
Jeff grinned.
“That was really good police work,” Meadow told Gil. “Gosh, the way you took that guy down was awesome! I had an instructor at the academy who could do it like that. I never could,” she confessed. “I’m too clumsy.”
“I’ve been in law enforcement since high school,” Gil confessed. “And I did a tour of duty in the Army where I was an MP. I guess I’m used to violent people.”
“Good thing,” Meadow commented, “because I really thought he was going to come over the table at me.” She moved restively. It had brought back painful memories. “Thanks for saving me,” she added.
“You’d have done okay,” Gil told her. “You don’t learn how to do a job unless they let you do it, mistakes and all,” he said seriously. “Your bosses did you no favor by sticking you behind a desk.”
She smiled warmly. “Thanks. But they did have just cause,” she told him. “I have two left feet. Balance issues.”
“Ever seen a doctor about them?” Jeff asked.
“Not really. I had a concussion, but it was mild.”
“I saw this show about head injuries in football players,” Jeff replied. “It showed graphically what happens to them over time. It was sobering. Even a slight head injury can do permanent damage.”
“There was that wrestler, you remember him, who killed some people, and they said he had the brain of an eighty-year-old from all the years of being in the ring,” Gil commented. “Tragic case.”
“That’s why football players wear helmets,” Jeff said.
“Yes, but the injuries happen in spite of helmets,” Gil returned. “And wrestlers don’t wear helmets.”
“I used to love to watch the Rock onMonday Night Raw,” Meadow confessed. “Now I watch him in movies instead.”
“Race to Witch Mountainwas one of my favorites,” Gil said.
“Oh, mine’sCentral Intelligence,” Jeff added. “Nobody like the Rock. He’s got a heart the size of a mountain to go with all that talent.”
“And he’s dishy,” Meadow added with a grin.
They just laughed.
* * *
Meadow couldn’t find the second bad check suspect, although she did trace him to a local motel. He was registered there weekly and had gone away for the weekend. Meadow told Jeff she’d try again on Monday, and he said that was fine but Gil or one of the other deputies would go with her. Just in case. She didn’t argue. It might not be politically correct, but having a tough man for backup didn’t bother her pride one bit. Not after she’d almost been killed by a suspect.
She went home weary and eager for a quick meal and bed. But when she got there, in driving sleet, she couldn’t find her dog.
She went all around the house, calling Snow over and over again. Her voice echoed down the hills, but the dog didn’t answer.
She knew that a nearby neighbor trapped animals in the woods. It worried her that Snow might have followed a rabbit or squirrel and been caught in a trap. There were bears in the forest, wolves, God knew what else. On the way home, she’d passed a huge elk carcass just off the road. It looked as though it had just been killed. It had probably been hit by one of the huge semitrucks that passed through on the highway.
That brought another possible tragedy to mind. She got into her car and drove up and down the road until she was satisfied that Snow wasn’t lying, hurt, just off the highway. But that didn’t solve the problem of where she was.
Then she thought of Dal Blake. If Snow had gone to his house . . .
She pulled out her cell phone and called him. The phone rang and rang. She was about to give up when he answered it, curtly, as if it had irritated him to be interrupted.
“It’s Meadow Dawson,” she began.
“Your dog isn’t here,” he said shortly.
“Oh.”
There was a question in a soft, feminine voice.