Page 29 of The Killing Plains

Colly squeezed hand sanitizer onto his palms and was rummaging in her purse for some food when she heard the drone of an engine. A motorcycle was approaching, ridden by a stocky man in a fringed leather vest. Attached to the bike was an old-fashioned sidecar, in which sat an enormous, fawn-colored pit bull, its jowls flapping as it grinned into the wind.

Colly located a battered package of pretzels. “Here you go, bud. Be back soon,” she said, and hurried to rejoin the others.

The motorcycle stopped beside Russ’s SUV.

“About time.” Russ sounded relieved.

“Who’s this?” Colly asked.

Russ didn’t answer. He was striding towards the newcomer, waving. Colly followed. By the time they reached the bike, the rider had removed his helmet, and Colly was startled to see that he was, in fact, not a man but a burly middle-aged white woman with silvery braids and a sunburned face.

“Sorry it took me a while,” she said in a gravelly smoker’s voice. “Had to get Momma out of the tub and wait for the home-health gal to show up.”

“Glad you made it.”

Russ introduced her as Earla Cobb, forensics specialist for the county. Earla shook Colly’s hand enthusiastically, then whistled. “C’mon, fat boy.”

The pit bull leapt out of the sidecar and made a beeline for Colly, tail wagging. Like his owner, he was barrel-shaped and slightly bow-legged. Colly, who’d had many unpleasant run-ins with pit bulls in her career, watched him warily, but he seemed friendly.

She scratched the dog’s ears. “What’s his name?”

“I just said—Fat Boy.” Earla pulled an evidence kit from the rear of the sidecar. “We over there?”

She nodded towards the fireworks stand, then, before anyone answered, plunged through the grass towards Avery, who was still glowering at the ground where the cap had been.

Russ and Colly followed. “She’s your evidence team?” Colly whispered.

“Earla knows what she’s doing.”

When they reached the stand, Earla was already surveying the area, while several yards away, Fat Boy paced and whined.

Russ explained the situation. “We need to know who took that cap, Earla.”

She grunted, staring intently at the ground. “Lemme see y’all’s feet.”

She examined and measured their footwear, then donned a pair of nitrile gloves and began to crawl across the dirt. After ten minutes, she stood and removed the gloves with a snap.

“Ground’s a mess—this damn Johnson grass mucking things up, and footprints crisscrossing everywhere. But I’m confident there’s a fourth set that ain’t any of y’all’s. Gonna take a while to make sense of it, though. Get along, little dogies—Momma needs some alone time. Gotta think. And smoke.”

Russ hesitated, then shrugged. “I’ll send someone to cut back the vegetation. Give me a holler when you’re done.”

“Yes, indeedy.”

Back at the vehicles, Avery got into the squad car and slammed the driver’s door.

“What’s her problem?” Colly asked.

“Probably pissed about missing out on the action.” Russ’s eyes drifted to the stand, where Earla was unpacking her kit.

“Should we be leaving her here alone?” Colly said quietly. “What if whoever took the cap’s still around? Might be dangerous.”

“If they try to mess with Earla, God help ’em.” Russ chuckled. “She’s a black belt in karate. Besides, Fat Boy’s a sweetheart, but if anyone attacked her, he’d rip their throat out.”

“Unless they had a gun.”

“I’m going to run across to Digby’s and chat with Tom Gunnell. I can keep an eye on things from there.” He paused, scratching his jaw. “Want to come?”

Colly declined. She needed to get Satchel home.

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