Page 21 of Black Dog

When Helm returned, Crandall accepted the folded blanket. Holding it slightly away from his body, he said, “Dolmen. Track.”

Dol snapped to attention, jerked his head toward Crandall and looked at the man like he was trying to see through his brain. He then sniffed the blanket, sneezed, and looked accusingly at Helm.

Crandall laughed and talked to Dol like he’d be understood. “Aye. The young king’s scent is heady. But he’s no’ the one we’re after.” Crandall presented the blanket again. “Blackie.” He walked away from the little crowd anxiously watching, thinking Dol might understand that Helm was not the target. “Blackie.”

Dolmen sniffed the blanket again, put his head down to the ground, and began to move quickly; not a run or a trot, but at a fast pace considering that he was sniffing everything as he went.

Dol headed straight down the hill toward the curve of the lane below where Blackie had been taken. He froze when he reached the point where Blackie had been shot with tranquilizer, sniffed all around then, to everyone’s astonishment, raised his nose to the sky and howled.

Crandall looked at Ram. “Do no’ know what it means, but if I had to guess, I’d say somethin’ happened here.”

Ram looked from the footprints at his feet to the road and, without a word to anyone in the party, began walking the rest of the way down the hill to the lane.

The lane that ran in front of the Hawking property got little traffic as it was relatively remote and normally only used by a handful of locals. Being Yule, it got even less use than usual. Only two other vehicles had passed that day and both were headed east.

The old Ford Transit van was the only vehicle to have disturbed the new snow. The other highly unusual thing about it was that there were a lot of footprints around the tracks in addition to the pair of prints leading from the road to the place marked by Dolmen Blacknell and back again.

“Motherfucker,” Ram murmured.

“I heard that,” Elora whispered. “Are you seeing what I’m seeing?”

“Depends on what you’re seein’ I guess.”

“This vehicle was coming from there.” She pointed toward the west. “Nobody comes from there but neighbors. The lane ends at the Widow Sweeney’s place.”

Ram looked back over his shoulder. “Litha, you got anythin’?”

He had to wait for her to sneeze before she could answer. “Sorry, no.”

“Song. You got anythin’?”

“Maybe. Flashes of two men.” Song came close enough to speak to Ram and Elora in quieter tones. “Can no’ be certain, but I believe they put Blackie in the back of a white van.” She pointed to the ground. “Right here.”

Ram nodded. “Have everyone stay here. We’ll be back in a minute.”

“Where are you goin’?” Song asked.

“Up the road,” Ram answered. To Elora, he said, “You up for a mornin’ jog?”

Her reply was to begin following the tire tracks to their origin, going slow enough that Rammel could keep up.

The end of the lane was only a half mile away. In six minutes they were standing in front of the Widow Sweeney’s house where the tracks originated. Ram and Elora looked at each other.

The door opened to Mav Sweeney’s smiling face within a minute of Elora’s knock. “Happy Yule,” she said. “Come in. Come in.”

“Happy Yule, Mav,” Elora replied. “Thank you. We’ll be just a minute.”

“Well, you’re welcome to sit and have tea,” she said as Ram and Elora stepped in.

Ram closed the door behind himself as Elora said, “It’s lovely of you to offer, but we just need to ask if you had company?”

“Aye.” Mav beamed. “My son, Charlie, and his friend were here last night. He lives over in Derry.”

“How nice.”

“Why do you ask?”

Elora glanced at Ram, who seemed content to allow her to field that question. “We were just out for a walk and noticed the recent tire tracks. We thought we’d just look in on you and make sure you’re well.”

---