Bound thrall book 4, p.31
Hiding Crimes (A Sam Mason K-9 Dog Mystery Book 10), page 31
HIDING CRIMES
A SAM MASON K-9 DOG MYSTERY BOOK 10
L. A. DOBBS
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Also by L. A. Dobbs
About the Author
CHAPTER ONE
Wyatt Davis stepped onto his porch, coffee in hand, ready to start the day.
The air was crisp, carrying the scent of damp earth and pine. The morning was quiet, save for the rhythmic tap of a woodpecker somewhere in the trees. Sunlight slanted through the branches, still weak, not yet warm.
His Dodge Charger sat at the edge of the gravel driveway, streaked with dirt from the last rain. Hopefully, it would start today.
It had been acting up—stalling, slow to turn over. He’d mentioned it to Sam a few days ago, and Sam had laughed, told him to get rid of the thing before it left him stranded. Wyatt had shrugged it off, but the truth was, he liked knowing his car was there when he needed it. He liked being able to get up and go.
Now, standing on the porch, he hesitated. Something was off.
It took him a second to place it.
The trunk.
It wasn’t latched all the way.
His stomach tightened. He always locked his car. Always.
Setting his coffee on the railing, he stepped off the porch. Gravel crunched under his boots as he walked toward the car, hands sliding into his jacket pockets. Maybe he hadn’t shut it properly last night. Maybe the latch had loosened somehow.
A breeze rolled through the trees, and something shifted in the air. Faint at first. A hint of something metallic.
Then it hit him.
Blood.
Wyatt’s jaw flexed. He exhaled slowly through his nose, keeping his steps steady as he reached the car. His fingers found the trunk lid. Hesitated.
Then he lifted it.
The smell thickened instantly.
His eyes locked on the inside of the trunk, his breath stalling.
A shoe. A pant leg. Unmoving.
His pulse slammed into his throat. His brain took half a second to catch up.
A body. He caught a glimpse of dark denim. A wrinkled shirt.
Wyatt slammed the trunk shut.
His phone rang.
The sound cut through the silence like a gunshot.
Sam.
He pulled the phone from his pocket, exhaled slow, answered.
“I know you said your car is giving you trouble,” Sam’s voice was easy, casual. I’m rolling past your place, heading to deal with Nettie Deardorff. I could really use someone with me. Want me to grab you?"
Wyatt’s fingers tightened around the phone. His pulse was still hammering, but his voice came out even.
"Yeah." He swallowed. "Give me a minute."
He hung up and stared at the car.
Someone had been here.
Someone had put that body in his trunk.
And they wanted him to find it.
CHAPTER TWO
Sam pulled up to Wyatt's place, where the officer waited at his usual spot at the end of the driveway. The morning sun filtered through the pine trees, casting long shadows across the gravel. He’d picked Wyatt up a few times since his car had started acting up. Sam didn’t mind, it was a chance to check in with one of his officers before the day began.
But something felt different this morning.
The passenger door opened before the Tahoe fully stopped. Lucy, curled up in the back seat, lifted her head as Wyatt climbed in. She immediately stretched forward, pressing her nose against his shoulder with an unusual whine. Sam had grown used to Lucy's morning greetings - usually a happy bark followed by attempts to lick whoever was closest. This quiet concern was new.
Wyatt gave her a distracted pat, his attention fixed on his phone screen. Through the windshield, Sam saw nothing but forest. No houses, no power lines, just the rutted track of Wyatt’s driveway swallowed by pines.
"Something important?" Sam asked, pulling back onto the road. The Tahoe's tires crunched over gravel before finding asphalt. A light mist still hung in the air, typical for spring mornings in White Rock. It would burn off by mid-morning, but for now it gave the town an ethereal quality.
"Messaging my mom," Wyatt replied, fingers moving across the screen. "She's been sick. Nothing serious."
Lucy pushed her head further into Wyatt's arm, her ears forward and alert. She'd been extra protective of Wyatt since his hospital stay, but this felt different. Sam had learned to trust Lucy's instincts - those instincts had saved their lives more than once.
"That's rough," Sam said, steering them past Brewed Awakening, where Jo would be picking up their usual morning coffee. The familiar scent of fresh-brewed coffee drifted through the Tahoe's vents. "She okay?"
"She'll be fine."
Sam let that settle as they drove through town. The morning fog still clung to the fields along Old Mill Road, and the spring air carried the scent of fresh-cut grass. They passed Harry Woolsten's house, where the retired chief was already out in his workshop. His wife's campaign to keep him busy seemed to be working - he'd taken up woodworking lately, though Sam had his doubts about the birdhouses Harry kept giving everyone at the station.
Lucy stayed pressed against Wyatt's shoulder, her usual playful morning demeanor replaced by something more watchful. She'd been like this once before, Sam remembered - the day they'd found that witness hiding in the old mill. She'd known something was wrong before any of them.
"She's been glued to you since you got in," Sam observed, turning onto River Road. The pavement here was still rough from winter damage, making the Tahoe bounce slightly.
Wyatt finally looked up from his phone. "Huh?"
"Lucy," Sam nodded toward the dog. Through the rearview mirror, he could see her pressed against Wyatt's shoulder, ears still forward. "Won't leave you alone."
"Guess she missed me." Wyatt shrugged, setting his phone face-down on his thigh.
"She's got good instincts," Sam said lightly, then changed the subject. "Anyway, brace yourself. Nettie Deardorff called again."
Some of the tension eased from Wyatt's shoulders. "Already?"
"Yep." Sam took the turn onto Old Mill Road, where the morning fog created halos around the streetlights that hadn't yet switched off. "Apparently, Henrietta's been chasing Bitsy around the yard."
"Henrietta?"
"The chicken."
Wyatt turned to face him. "You're telling me a goat is afraid of a chicken?"
"That's what Nettie says. Called three times this morning already. Says Bitsy won't come out from behind the tractor, and Henrietta's strutting around like she owns the place."
"That makes no sense."
"Does anything with those two?" Sam chuckled, remembering all the calls they'd had to Nettie's place. The time Bitsy had gotten stuck in the kitchen after figuring out how to use the doggy door. The great escape when both animals had somehow worked together to open the gate, only to be found grazing in a neighbors flower garden.
A small smile crossed Wyatt's face. "Will those two ever get along?"
"If they did, I'd be out of a job." Sam grinned, steering the Tahoe onto Nettie's long driveway. The gravel here was fresh, probably from where the spring rains had washed out the old surface. "Though I have to admit, this is a new one. Usually it's Bitsy causing the trouble."
Lucy huffed and settled deeper against Wyatt's side, her tail giving a slow wag. Wyatt reached back to scratch her ears, but his other hand drifted back to his phone, though he didn't pick it up.
The driveway curved past Nettie's old barn, its red paint faded to a soft pink in places. Sam could see fresh tracks in the gravel - probably from Nettie's nephew Tommy, who'd taken to checking on her each morning since her hip surgery. Good kid, that one. Kept an eye on things without making his aunt feel like she needed watching.
Sam let the silence stretch for a moment, then said, "Hey."
"Yeah?"
"You know you can tell me if something's wrong, right?"
Their eyes met briefly before Wyatt looked away. "I know."
The Tahoe rolled to a stop in Nettie's yard. Through the windshield, they could see an angry chicken chasing a very distressed goat in circles around an old oak tree. The scene might have been funny if not for Nettie standing on her porch, hands on her hips, looking thoroughly done with both animals.
But as Sam watched Wyatt reach for the door handle, he couldn't shake the feeling that this peaceful spring morning was just the calm before a storm. A feeling that only deepened when Lucy let out another low whine, her eyes fixed not on the chaos in front of them, but on something, or someone, in the tree line beyond.
CHAPTER THREE
"That chicken's possessed, I tell you!" Nettie's voice cut through the morning air before Wyatt even got out of the Tahoe. "Look at those eyes!"
Wyatt forced himself to focus on the scene in front of him. Nettie stood on her porch, hands planted on her hips, while Rita leaned against the fence. Between them, Henrietta the chicken scratched at the dirt, looking about as threatening as a dandelion.
His phone felt heavy in his pocket.
Lucy pressed against his shoulder from the backseat, her warm breath tickling his ear. She hadn't left his side since he'd gotten in the car, and the usual playful energy in her tail had been replaced by something more watchful.
"You're telling me," Sam said from the driver's seat, "that Bitsy - a full-grown goat - is afraid of a chicken?"
"That bird's got plans," Nettie insisted. "Evil plans."
Wyatt's fingers twitched toward his phone. He needed to check... something. The thought slipped away before he could grab it.
"She's not evil," Rita cut in. "She's just French."
"Same difference!"
The absurdity of the situation should have made him laugh. Instead, his chest felt tight, like someone had wrapped a wire around his ribs and was slowly twisting.
Lucy whined softly.
"You gonna get out?" Sam asked.
Wyatt blinked. Right. He was here for a reason. Do the job. Act normal.
The spring air hit his face as he stepped out. Bitsy the goat stood near the old oak tree, chewing grass with the air of someone trying very hard to look unbothered. Henrietta strutted past, and Bitsy's ears twitched.
"Finally," Nettie huffed. "Been waiting all morning while that demon bird terrorizes my baby."
His phone buzzed.
The world narrowed to that single vibration against his leg. His fingers moved without conscious thought, pulling out the device.
Unknown Number: Did you like my gift?
The words blurred. Sharpened. Blurred again.
"You okay there, son?" Nettie's voice seemed to come from very far away. "Looking a mite pale."
"Fine," he managed. "Just tired."
Lucy pressed against his leg, her usual morning greeting replaced by something more urgent. More protective.
"Look," Nettie continued, "I need something done about that bird. She's plotting something, I can tell."
"She's a chicken," Rita sighed. "Not a criminal mastermind."
Wyatt needed to leave. Now.
"Hey Sam," he kept his voice carefully steady. "Mind dropping me at the rental place after this?"
Sam turned to study him, and Wyatt felt the weight of his chief's scrutiny. After everything they'd been through, Sam had developed an uncanny ability to read his officers. "Your mom ok?"
He shrugged, the movement feeling mechanical. "Yeah. She just needs me to pick up some medicine."
The lie tasted bitter on his tongue. Sam hade been a good boss. Wyatt looked up to him and he trusted Wyatt. The guilt of lying to him now felt like a physical weight.
Henrietta chose that moment to hop onto the lower rail and puff out her feathers like she owned the neighborhood.
Nettie pointed. “See? Posture of a tyrant.”
“She’s not a tyrant.” Rita folded her arms. “She’s a rescue. She was bred for show. She struts.”
“Bitsy is a lady,” Nettie shot back. “And that bird keeps dive-bombing her dignity.”
Bitsy took two delicate steps away from the fence. Henrietta followed, head bobbing. Bitsy froze.
Lucy let out a soft huff beside Wyatt, like she agreed this was ridiculous and also unacceptable.
Wyatt forced his mind into work mode. “Alright. Let’s handle this like grown adults supervising farm animals.”
“That’s why we called you,” Nettie said. “Animal diplomacy.”
Rita rolled her eyes but the edge had dulled.
Wyatt crouched by the fence line, scanning the yard. The smell of damp earth and feed sat heavy in the air. “Okay. Options.”
“Option one,” Nettie said, “you arrest her.”
“Wyatt,” Rita warned.
He held up a hand. “Option one is we create space. Chickens chase what they think they can boss. Goats don’t like surprises. We set up a visual barrier along this stretch—hay bales, a tarp, even an old sheet.”
“I have an old Patriots sheet,” Nettie said instantly.
“Of course you do.”
“Hey, it was a good season.”
Rita’s mouth twitched despite herself.
“Option two,” Wyatt went on, “we give Henrietta a new job. Scratch box on your side of the yard with treats. Keep her busy. Make Bitsy boring.”
“Bribery,” Nettie said, impressed.
“Enrichment,” Rita corrected.
Lucy nudged Wyatt’s knee. He scratched her ears, quick and automatic.
Rita shifted closer to the gate. “I can move Henrietta’s feeder away from the oak. That’s where Bitsy likes to nap.”
“And I can stop yelling ‘demon’ at breakfast,” Nettie said, grudging.
“That would help.”
Henrietta fluttered down and pecked the ground near a dandelion. Bitsy watched her like she was a ticking clock.
Wyatt straightened. “We’ll start with the easy fix. Move the feeder. Toss a handful of scratch over there.” He pointed to the far corner, away from the path Bitsy used.
Rita nodded and went to fetch a tin.
Nettie leaned in, lowering her voice like she was about to confess a felony. “Rita thinks I’m dramatic.”
“I think you’re both stubborn.”
She cackled. “Fair.”
Rita returned and scattered feed. Henrietta hustled after it, single-minded and suddenly unthreatening.
Bitsy took a tentative step, then another.
“Well I’ll be,” Nettie said.
Rita lifted her chin, victorious. “French or not, she’s food-motivated.”
Nettie sighed, then gave Rita a quick side hug that looked like it surprised them both. “Alright. I’ll try the sheet and the scratch box.”
“And I’ll stop calling her a tiny Napoleon.”
“Progress all around,” Sam said from behind Wyatt.
Wyatt hadn’t heard him walk up. The clack of gravel under boots had been swallowed by his buzzing nerves.
Sam surveyed the yard, then Wyatt. “So we solved the Great Chicken War of Stillwater?”
“Diplomacy,” Wyatt said.
Nettie planted a hand on Wyatt’s arm. “Thank you, young man, for saving my goat from poultry terrorism—”
“I didn’t—”
“—I am baking you a fruitcake.”
Wyatt blinked. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I want to.”
Nettie ignored her. “Extra cherries. The good ones. You can’t stop me.”
Sam laughed once, short and surprised.
Wyatt managed a thin smile, then headed back to the Tahoe with Lucy at his heel.
He shut the door and the world narrowed again.
His hand went to his phone.
Another check. Another breath held.
Unknown Number: Did you like my gift?
No new messages. Still those words. Still the trunk waiting like a bad dream.
Sam watched him over the steering wheel. “Your mom doing alright?”
Wyatt swallowed. “She’s… she needs her meds. Can we stop by the pharmacy and then maybe you could drop me back at my place? I have some parts to fix my car with.”
“You should take the rest of the day,” Sam said. “Be with her.”
Wyatt opened his mouth to argue.
Sam cut him off. “That’s me being a decent boss. And that’s me not wanting you half-distracted out there.”
Sam glanced at Lucy. “She agrees.”
Lucy sat tall and alert, as if she’d been deputized.
Wyatt nodded once. “Okay.”
“Good. We’ll handle the rest.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Wyatt had to tell another lie at the pharmacy. He jogged inside like he was in a rush, leaned on the counter, asked about a refill that didn’t exist. Came out with a small paper bag of random junk—gum, mints, a bottle of water—shoved deep into his jacket pocket. If Sam had looked, he would’ve seen there was no prescription slip, no label.
Luckily, Sam didn’t look.
