The Kill by Jan Neuharth Page B

corner of Margaret’s eye and she turned to see a shiny black Hummer growl toward them. “Speak of the devil, looks like the Jenners have arrived. See you all later.”
    “I’ll figure out a way to pay you back for this,” Smitty said, wagging his finger at her.
    Margaret smiled. “Don’t count on it.” She scanned the racecourse. “Now if I can just find where Duchess has run off to, we can get on our way.”
    “She’s probably in the pond,” Manning said, sipping his coffee.
    “No doubt.” Margaret turned in the direction of the pond, calling, “Duchess! Come on, girl.” She stared at the embankment that hid the pond, expecting to see the Lab bound into view, wet ears flopping as she ran toward them. But the only movement on the knoll was a swirl of orange leaves tossed about by the breeze. She called louder, “Duchess!”
    Still no dog.
    A germ of fear wormed its way down Margaret’s spine and she cupped both hands around her mouth. “Duchess!”
    “That’s not like her,” Manning said. “Let me try.”
    He set his coffee cup on the tailgate, placed two fingers on his tongue, and trumpeted a shrill whistle.
    Nothing.
    Manning shrugged a shoulder. “Wonder where she went off to?”
    Margaret tramped down the slope toward the pond. “Duchess! Come on, girl. Duchess!”
    “Hey, hold on,” Manning said, following her. “What’s the rush?”
    Margaret lengthened her stride. “I’m worried something might have happened to Duchess. She always comes when I call her.”
    The toe of her boot caught on a clump of bottlebrush grass, and Manning grabbed her elbow as she pitched forward. “Whoa. Be careful you don’t fall and break something.”
    She accepted Manning’s steadying grip on her arm as they navigated the grassy dips and bumps. When they reached the rise that offered a clear view of the pond, Margaret stopped. A pair of Canada geese took flight and she scanned the grassy undergrowth at the pond’s edge. There was no sign of Duchess. A few ripples radiated near the lily pads, but the rest of the pond’s surface was smooth as glass.
    Margaret shot a glance at Manning and saw he was chewing on the inside of his lip. That meant he was worried. “I don’t like it,” she said. “I don’t like it one bit.”
    He puffed his cheeks and blew out a breath. “Let’s not jump to conclusions. We’re not near a road. What could happen to her here? There’s no reason to suspect anything other than she ran off chasing a rabbit.”
    “There was no reason to suspect that anything would happen to Richard here either, but it did,” she snapped.
    Manning opened his mouth, then clamped it shut with a shake of his head. He turned away. “Duchess!” His low baritone rumbled in his throat. He tilted his head and listened for a moment, then blew a piercing whistle. “Come on, Duchess!”
    Margaret held her hand to her ear and strained to listen. Had she heard a bark? A pair of crows glided overhead, their raucous caws drowning out all other sounds. “Goddamned birds,” she muttered, eyeing them as they swept down to land on the railing of the stewards’ stand.
    Then she heard it again, clearer this time. It was a dog barking. “Did you hear that?” she asked.
    “Yeah.”
    The barking grew louder, more insistent, and the pair of crows scattered from their perch.
    Manning’s arm shot forward. “There, look!” He pointed at the stewards’ stand. “She’s barking at the crows.”
    “Oh, thank God.” Margaret clasped one hand to her chest. “Duchess, get over here!”
    The Lab twirled around and looked at them.
    “Come on.”
    Duchess lowered her head, grabbed something with her mouth, and ran toward them.
    “That dog’s just too smart.” Margaret shook her head. “I encouraged her to chase the crows yesterday and she must have decided that’s her new role.”
    Manning smiled. “Feel better?”
    “I feel foolish, that’s how I feel. I overreacted. I’m on edge because of what