Shirley Murphy - Cat Playing Cupid

When at last Rock found Clyde hiding in the woods, he keened a sharp, quick series of barks and plowed into Clyde, leaping on him, yipping and whining. The two of them tussled roughly, Clyde laughing and Rock barking with pleasure. The word "Find" had become a red flag of fierce excitement, the lesson imprinted so sharply on his keen Weimaraner mind that it would never be forgotten.

That same afternoon, under Joe's direction, Rock had tracked Ryan with equal focus and joy. And just before supper he'd tracked Charlie. When he found her hiding in the hay barn, he was all over her-manners were on hold when it came to tracking, manners would be considered later, under different circumstances. Right now the key was enthusiasm and joy, and the team let Rock know he was the most wonderful dog the world had ever seen.

Ryan had been so thrilled with the performance that she had hugged Joe Grey, nearly smothering him, hardly knowing what to say to him. "If you weren't so valuable to the department, you could be a professional dog trainer. Except Detective Davis, for one, would rather you stayed on as snitch, forever."

"What?" he said, shocked. "She doesn't know! What did she say?"

"She doesn't know," Ryan said, laughing, teasing him. "But after Christmas, after you three helped nail the man who killed that little girl's father, Juana said she didn't care who the phantom detectives were, she just hoped they'd be on the job until hell froze over."

Joe smiled hugely, couldn't stop smiling. He watched Ryan stroke Rock as the big dog leaned happily against her. "He's ready for tomorrow," he'd told her. "More than ready."

She'd hugged him again, and kissed his ear. "This is a miracle, Joe. And Dad thinks our test is going to bomb." And she and Joe Grey grinned at each other. This time, this one time, Mike Flannery would have egg on his face.

S O IT WASthat early this morning, before daylight, before Mike and Ryan set out, Clyde and Joe had driven up to the ruins where Clyde walked a circuitous, wandering path that ended at last within the grotto beside the unknown grave. There, with a stick, Clyde had uncovered one bony hand so that Rock, and then Mike, couldn't miss the body.

Joe, losing himself among the fallen walls, had stayed well away from Clyde's trail so as not to lay his own scent and divert Rock. As the sky began to lighten, stained by the brilliant sunrise, Clyde could just see the tomcat atop a far wall, a gray shadow, rearing up for a moment to watch Ryan's red truck make its way up the narrow dirt road.

Quickly Clyde scattered a few leaves over the skeletal hand, then settled down on the mossy bench with a book, waiting for Rock to find him.

But he didn't read much, he was too interested in the drama about to unfold. In the cool little grotto surrounded by overgrown jasmine vines and camellia bushes entangled with the weeds, he listened to the truck pull in among the fallen walls. Standing concealed among the shadows, he watched Ryan and Mike swing out, Ryan holding Rock on a short lead. They were perhaps a third of a mile away. Clyde watched Ryan open a plastic bag containing one of his own dirty socks and present it to the Weimaraner. She would be saying, "Find Clyde. Find Clyde now ."

He watched Rock sniff the sock, then sniff the ground, then stare up at Ryan. Rock circled, and circled wider, pulling her along-and suddenly, his short tail wagging madly, he took off fast, his nose to the ground, forcing Ryan to run; as the big dog sped along the scent, Clyde could hear Ryan's occasional encouragement, hear Rock's faint huffing, and hear pebbles being dislodged as Rock scrambled among the fallen walls.

He'd catch it tonight, he thought, grinning, for the rough route he'd laid, for every one of Ryan's scratches and bruises. He watched the two disappear and reappear beyond tangled walls and fallen trees and then among the sheltering wings of the house itself, watched Mike following at some distance, an incredulous frown on his face, a hard look of disbelief-as if sure that his daughter was scamming him.

Clyde could still see Joe among the far rubble, observing the unfolding drama from atop a pile of broken concrete, his gray coat barely visible as he watched Rock's sure and steady progress. Clyde found it hard to believe that that lovely woman leaning back on the lead, that beautiful, lithe woman with the short, dark hair, her lovely green eyes lifting up to him once, that beautiful woman in the faded jeans curving so enticingly over her tight little butt was his wife. That tough, gentle woman speaking so softly to Rock and with such contained excitement as the big dog pulled her along between the fallen walls and dead trees.

He watched the Weimaraner make a sharp turn around the broken gate just as he, himself, had done earlier, then circle the remains of a collapsed toolshed, then wind twice through the tangled, half-dead fruit orchard-and head straight for the grotto. Rock's nose was up now, air scenting Clyde, as sure and skilled as any seasoned tracker-then suddenly Rock saw him. Jerking the lead from Ryan's willing hand, he streaked for the grotto, leaped on Clyde, barking and roughhousing. Ryan hurried in, Mike behind her, saying exactly what they'd expected.

"You've been training him! This is no test, you two! This is a seasoned tracker. This is a scam! The bet's off, my girl."

"How could I train him?" Ryan said indignantly. "When have I had the time? We've been on our honeymoon, in case you hadn't noticed. You've had the dog all week." She sat down beside Clyde on the bench, hugging and praising Rock, then looked up at her dad again. "The bet's not off. I've had no time to train him."

Mike looked at his daughter patiently. He knew he'd been scammed but he didn't know how.

Ryan smiled and shrugged, looking blank. She daren't look at Clyde, she knew they'd both laugh and they couldn't afford to do that. This was not a joke that could be told later, this was a secret they must keep forever, that they could never share.

And it was then, as she pummeled Rock and looked up secretly at Clyde, that the dog swung suddenly away from her, scenting eagerly toward the bushes. She grabbed his collar.

"What?" she said softly. "What is it?"

Rock was at full alert, huffing in deep breaths.

Snapping on his lead again, keeping the big dog close, she let him pull her. Rock was on perfect point, steady and intent, his attention focused on a few small, frail bones barely visible beneath the rotting leaves.

RYAN KNELT BESIDERock, holding him while Mike pulled aside the overgrown bushes. "What do you have, boy?" she said softly, trying to sound puzzled. "What's there?"

But when Mike, parting the overgrown camellia branches, saw the small dark bones of the fleshless hand he grabbed Ryan's shoulder, pulled her and Rock back so they would disturb nothing more.

"What the hell?" Clyde said, moving up beside them, looking down at the frail hand then looking up at Mike as if his father-in-law could explain this. "He's found…Someone's buried here?"

"Apparently," Mike said, frowning at Clyde. He looked at Ryan for a long moment without expression, and she felt her heart sink. He knew something was going on, her dad could smell a scam a mile away. Why had she thought they could pull this off?

But they had to make him believe this was an innocent discovery, they had no choice. "Could this be a family grave?" she said, looking beneath the branches as if for a grave marker or tombstone. But again Mike pulled her back. "Let the department look, Ryan."

"I didn't think…," she said, and stood with her fist to her mouth, as if embarrassed that she might have disturbed evidence, and distressed by the grisly discovery. She watched Mike flip open his cell phone to call the department, listened to his short discussion with Dallas when Mabel had patched him through.