LUCY BURDETTE: About a month ago, Debs sent us a video of a comedienne. What with Covid and lots of other bad things happening in the world, we needed cheering up. (It’s rated R, but you can watch it here if you want.) We all got a good laugh at the end when the performer is interacting with the audience, and says to one guy, "it’s always the dog walker who finds the body isn’t it?"
Several of us realized we do already have dog walkers discovering dead guys, and several others of us plan to include that in a future scene. We thought you’d get a giggle out of reading these...
From A Dish to Die For, Lucy Burdette, coming 8/2022:
But as I got closer, I could see that inside the shallow hole he’d dug, he’d uncovered a piece of denim. And then, oh good gravy, what looked like the fingers on a man’s hand. He took hold of the loose denim and shook it hard, growling. Then I noticed that some of the sand around the right of the man’s head had been stained dark. The color of blood. My heart began to pound and my knees felt wobbly. But I needed to appear calm if I wanted a chance of getting him away from his prize.
“Good boy, Ziggeroo,” I said, squatting down to his level, hoping to lure him over before he destroyed what surely looked like a crime scene.
From Never Tell A Lie, Hallie Ephron
Ivy patted Phoebe’s head and tried to calm the dog’s trembling. She couldn’t remember ever seeing the Phoebe alone outside. Where was Mrs. Bindel? She pulled Phoebe to Mrs. Bindel’s front door, rang the bell, and waited. No answer. She knocked. Still nothing.
Maybe Mrs. Bindel was in the backyard. Ivy carried the dog off the front porch. They were halfway around the house when the dog barked, squirmed free, and took off yelping. Ivy followed. Behind the house Mrs. Bindel’s forsythia, quince, and rhododendron bushes were clipped into tight spheres. Ivy ducked under the old-fashioned clothesline strung across mown grass from which no dandelion would dare rear its head.
Phoebe grunt-snorted to the poured-concrete steps by Mrs. Bindel’s back door and sank down in the grass, snuffling. Mrs. Bindel lay there, looking small and fragile, her head resting on the bottom step.
Ivy rushed over to the stricken figure.
From Kissed a Sad Goodbye, Deborah Crombie
Sheba’s yip of impatience ended his reverie. He moved on obligingly and soon she had her anticipated freedom, running full tilt off the lead. George followed after her at his own pace, along the Rope Walk between the Mudchute and Millwall Park, then huffed a bit as they climbed to the Mudchute plateau. There Sheba disappeared from view as she followed the rabbit trails though the thick grass, but he stayed to the narrow path that followed the boundaries of the park. The dog always seemed to know where he was even when she couldn’t see him, and she wouldn’t stray far.
When he reached the gate that led down to the ASDA supermarket, he glanced at his watch. Half-past nine‑‑his mates would most likely be gone. The sun had moved higher in the sky and he was sweating freely‑‑the thought of something cold to drink, even on his own, was tempting. But the longer he tarried, the hotter it would be going home.
Mopping his head with his handkerchief, he went on. Here the brambles encroached on the path, catching at his trouser legs, and he stopped for a moment to unhook a particularly tenacious thorn from his trainer laces. As he knelt he heard Sheba whimper.
He frowned as he finished retying his shoelace. It seemed an odd sound for Sheba to make here, where her normal repertoire consisted of excited barks and yips‑‑could she be hurt? Unease gripped him as he stood quickly and looked ahead. The sound had come from further down the path, he was sure of that.
“Sheba!” he called, and he heard the quaver of alarm in his voice.
This time the sound was more clear, ahead and to the right. George hurried on, his heart pounding, and rounded a gentle curve.
The woman lay on her back in the tall grass to the right of the path. Her eyes were closed, and the spread of her long red-gold hair mingled with the white-flowering bindweed. Sheba, crouching beside her, looked up at George expectantly.
She was beautiful. For an instant he thought she was sleeping, even hesitantly said, “Miss . . .”
Then a fly lit on the still white hand resting on the breast of her jacket, and he knew.
From Julia Spencer-Fleming, A FOUNTAIN FILLED WITH BLOOD--Clare's guest dogs find a body...
Rhys Bowen: I’ve just introduced two puppies into the Royal Spyness books. I can see a body discovery in their future! (Readers, this is Lucy. I could not persuade her to quickly bang out that scene for us so I could include it in today's blog.)
Hank Ryan: I have a dog that plays a role in the new book--which MAY be called THE HOUSE GUEST--but I can't let you use it because it is a spoiler.
Okay Red readers, can you remember other dog-walking murder finders?
