heart leaped into my throat. He was celebrating that he was near his target. Bloodhounds run mute. They only bay when they know they have located the origin of the scent they’re seeking.
We raced over the open area, scrambling for purchase, his paws and my feet sliding in the shifting sand. He was baying continuously and I was yelling in excitement and praising him for his victory. He reached the end of his journey, and placed both paws on a man-made circular object, and continued his baying.
I fell to my knees and shrugged off my backpack.
My chest heaved from the exhausting run. Sweat was pouring from every pore. I had to cool down some before I tried to ease my constricted throat with liquid. I sat there gasping like a fish out of water. Ivanhoe finished his solo and dropped on his belly beside me. He was huffing, and puffing, as hard as I was.
“We both need to exercise more,” I wheezed.
I absently patted his shoulder as we both eyed the cistern. My mind had furnished the name while I was waiting for my breathing to ease. They were made years ago, to store water, or to contain a natural spring or hand-dug shallow well. It must be old. The solid mixture of concrete and crushed seashells had a dark patina, fading from black to light gray. The outside was pitted, and had spider cracks leading to where mortar had eroded and fallen away.
It was embedded in the sand, three feet above the ground, and three feet from side to side. The top looked heavy. I was in no hurry to try to slide the coverover far enough to inspect the contents.
Ding dong bell, Pussy’s in the well.
Throw Amelia in the ocean, the tide might wash her back to shore. Toss her in the trash, and she might be found. I didn’t know how garbage was handled on the island. Sorted and burned, buried, or Rand might airfreight it out. They couldn’t use an open landfill; the animals would be at risk. With the high water table here, she couldn’t have been killed and hidden in the brush either. In this heat the smell would draw scavengers, and buzzards circling the area would be a dead giveaway for the search party.
So Amelia was abducted, and tossed in an abandoned cistern which, I imagine, very few knew about. No one would lift the lid to look inside. She couldn’t have fallen in accidentally, then pulled the cover over her. Amelia hadn’t walked here. She was carried in someone’s arms. Ivanhoe had been taking the scent out of the air, not the ground.
Maybe she had been catnapped. A terrified cat can be a handful. They scratch and bite, and can seem to have supernatural powers to wiggle free if they don’t want to be held. Maybe she was killed accidentally, while someone was trying to spirit her away. That would account for no ransom demand. Anyone who knew Miz Cancannon would know that she wouldn’t pay ransom without positive proof that Amelia was still alive. That could prove tricky. How could someone prove that a cat was still alive without producing the cat?
Amelia was either abducted for ransom, or killed to make Miz Cancannon suffer. With her tight surveillanceand security, if she wasn’t blowing smoke, it had to be a servant, a resident of the island, lawyer, veterinarian, pilot, or niece. It could be a conspiracy. A stranger working with Rand. He could have flown someone in and flown him or her out. But if that was a correct scenario, why put Amelia in the well? She could have been dropped from the air anywhere on the mainland.
I was rested and was breathing normally. I had fed Ivanhoe deer jerky, given him water, and drunk myself. I had stalled long enough. It was going to be an unpleasant task, but if I could recover her body, I was taking Amelia back to Miz Cancannon. I wanted her to know for sure that her cat was dead by someone’s hand on the island, who possibly wanted payback. I disliked her, but it was only fair to warn her.
I pulled on my gloves and walked Ivanhoe over to a tree about twenty feet from the cistern and tied
We raced over the open area, scrambling for purchase, his paws and my feet sliding in the shifting sand. He was baying continuously and I was yelling in excitement and praising him for his victory. He reached the end of his journey, and placed both paws on a man-made circular object, and continued his baying.
I fell to my knees and shrugged off my backpack.
My chest heaved from the exhausting run. Sweat was pouring from every pore. I had to cool down some before I tried to ease my constricted throat with liquid. I sat there gasping like a fish out of water. Ivanhoe finished his solo and dropped on his belly beside me. He was huffing, and puffing, as hard as I was.
“We both need to exercise more,” I wheezed.
I absently patted his shoulder as we both eyed the cistern. My mind had furnished the name while I was waiting for my breathing to ease. They were made years ago, to store water, or to contain a natural spring or hand-dug shallow well. It must be old. The solid mixture of concrete and crushed seashells had a dark patina, fading from black to light gray. The outside was pitted, and had spider cracks leading to where mortar had eroded and fallen away.
It was embedded in the sand, three feet above the ground, and three feet from side to side. The top looked heavy. I was in no hurry to try to slide the coverover far enough to inspect the contents.
Ding dong bell, Pussy’s in the well.
Throw Amelia in the ocean, the tide might wash her back to shore. Toss her in the trash, and she might be found. I didn’t know how garbage was handled on the island. Sorted and burned, buried, or Rand might airfreight it out. They couldn’t use an open landfill; the animals would be at risk. With the high water table here, she couldn’t have been killed and hidden in the brush either. In this heat the smell would draw scavengers, and buzzards circling the area would be a dead giveaway for the search party.
So Amelia was abducted, and tossed in an abandoned cistern which, I imagine, very few knew about. No one would lift the lid to look inside. She couldn’t have fallen in accidentally, then pulled the cover over her. Amelia hadn’t walked here. She was carried in someone’s arms. Ivanhoe had been taking the scent out of the air, not the ground.
Maybe she had been catnapped. A terrified cat can be a handful. They scratch and bite, and can seem to have supernatural powers to wiggle free if they don’t want to be held. Maybe she was killed accidentally, while someone was trying to spirit her away. That would account for no ransom demand. Anyone who knew Miz Cancannon would know that she wouldn’t pay ransom without positive proof that Amelia was still alive. That could prove tricky. How could someone prove that a cat was still alive without producing the cat?
Amelia was either abducted for ransom, or killed to make Miz Cancannon suffer. With her tight surveillanceand security, if she wasn’t blowing smoke, it had to be a servant, a resident of the island, lawyer, veterinarian, pilot, or niece. It could be a conspiracy. A stranger working with Rand. He could have flown someone in and flown him or her out. But if that was a correct scenario, why put Amelia in the well? She could have been dropped from the air anywhere on the mainland.
I was rested and was breathing normally. I had fed Ivanhoe deer jerky, given him water, and drunk myself. I had stalled long enough. It was going to be an unpleasant task, but if I could recover her body, I was taking Amelia back to Miz Cancannon. I wanted her to know for sure that her cat was dead by someone’s hand on the island, who possibly wanted payback. I disliked her, but it was only fair to warn her.
I pulled on my gloves and walked Ivanhoe over to a tree about twenty feet from the cistern and tied
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