Red Sky at Night: Dog Leader Mysteries

By Deborah Taylor-French

Nevada is a hotheaded twelve-year-old girl who dreams of rescuing and training dogs. Her grandmother, mentors Nevada to help her understand dogs needs. One night, Nevadas happy life alters when the sky burns red.

Nevada races to save a family, their sheep, and barn cats from a wildfire. Although her father worries over her recklessness, shes hailed a hero in her small town of Eagle Creek, California. Local ranchers are not yet aware that they will soon depend on Nevada to stop a serial arsonist and his greedy plans.

After her school is torched and the damage blamed on students, Nevadaalong with her best friends and canine palshunt the arsonist to stop him before he sets off a firestorm.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: May 26, 2018
• ISBN: 9781532039713

Deborah Taylor-French

Deborah Taylor-French writes mysteries featuring dogs, positive dog leadership, and animal rescue. Deborah serves as Author Support Facilitator for Redwood Writers, the largest branch of the California Writers Club. Learn more at https://.dogleadermysteries.com

Book preview

MAP OF EAGLE CREEK

01.jpeg

Chapter 1

NIGHT QUESTIONS

Thursday, September 14

B ranches stuttered against my window. Leaves and acorns flew against the house like frightened creatures wanting to get in.

Night brought deer, raccoons, foxes, and coyotes from the hills into town. An animal cry lingered, insistent, wavering. Next, a drawn-out howl snapped me awake. I sat up.

No. Not here.

Three warning barks had me running downstairs. In the family room, my dog Henry sat staring out the french doors.

Henry. He didn’t budge. His nose was pressed against a glass pane, and his stretched neck showed alert interest. A slight quiver started in his legs and rippled his chest.

Thrill or danger? I paused, trying to hear what he heard. Henry? A raccoon, coyote, or bobcat? Henry would know.

One of his ears flicked my way. His open mouth huffed faint rainbows on the darkened glass. A medium-size dog with a black-and-silver coat, Henry was ready to go. His keeshond instincts made him a perfect watchdog.

When a howl came from somewhere outside, Henry howled back.

Shush, I whispered. Don’t wake Dad. When I sat on the little rug, Henry trotted over. He licked my face, clearing messy waves from my eyes. Molly, my mom, would be mad to see the tangles, leaves, and straw. Molly wouldn’t let me be. She wanted me to be her, like her.

Henry, I said, I’d like to go out too, but Dad wouldn’t like it. Not now, almost midnight. Twining my fingers into Henry’s thick, furry mane, I scratched his neck. After I rubbed the soft, downy spot between his ears, I headed back to bed, expecting him to be right behind me.

Another animal cry, and Henry dashed back to the french doors, yelping and scratching at the doormat. I unlocked and then swung the doors wide. Henry dashed over the deck and down the steps. I rushed after. Couldn’t let him face off with a raccoon or something worse.

A gust raised my hair toward the stars. I twisted a hunk of hair from my eyes. For a moment, I was nearly blind. I froze and listened. It was just the wind hissing in the black oak.

White petals on a climbing rose glowed like tiny moons. I stared at them until my eyes focused and my dog quit yelping. A few stars shone in the dark sky. For a few seconds, my toes rippled in the deep, cool grass. Eyes shut, I listened, drawing the last howl into myself like filling my lungs with cool air.

But Henry knew where to go. Snorting, he shoved his muzzle under some wood. The wooden gate … the side gate to Officer Lucy’s?

My eyes widened. Rocket.

In a flash, I opened the gate. A big, dark shadow moved inside the kennel. Behind the chain-link fence, Officer Lucy’s German shepherd, Rocket, whirled and squalled. She slunk in and out of her doghouse. I’d never seen her in such constant motion. Rocket worked as half of a K-9 team with Officer Lucy. But the Eagle Creek police patrol car wasn’t in the driveway.

What’s wrong? I asked Rocket. Night shadows shifted in the wind. Feeling lonely? But Rocket didn’t usually fuss. I rubbed my bare arms for warmth.

Henry barked, a series of louder-than-usual barks. A breeze ruffled his black-and-silver fur; he too seemed to be listening with pricked ears like Rocket. Henry strutted stiff, springy steps alongside the kennel, prancing as if pulling a sled. Rocket paced too, taking one long stride for every three of his.

What’s going on? The dogs paraded back and forth, side by side, with the kennel fence between them. I’ve got to figure this out.

An official notice that I knew by heart was fixed to Rocket’s kennel, under a small light. Hoping my voice would be calming for the dogs, I read the notice aloud: Nevada C. Cimino has permission to exercise and care for K-9 officer Rocket by permission of the Eagle Creek chief of police, W. B. McBay, and Officer L. L. McBay.

I have permission, but that doesn’t mean I can do anything I want. Would Officer Lucy be upset if I took Rocket to my house? I need to see what’s wrong. Did she need a vet?

Rocket planted all fours, making eye contact with me. She seemed to want something. The black-and-tan shepherd sprang, rippling and ringing the metal fence, and howled. Finally, she let out a groan, limping sideways.

Okay, girl. Easy now, I said, going to help. But two things happened at once. The instant I raised the metal latch, Rocket hit the gate, swinging it wide. I got knocked back and landed hard. But Rocket had already shot out like a racehorse. In seconds, the police dog left Oak Circle. Under a streetlight, she made a left turn into the dark with Henry on her heels. She’d never bolted before.

Wait! I cried, sprinting in pursuit. Henry passed through the pool of streetlight. Then both dogs vanished. I heard barking as they galloped beyond the dead-end street onto a long drive.

Ow! My bare feet hit driveway gravel. I bent over, rubbed my soles.

Barking exploded from uphill.

With a jerk, I saw the night sky. A single tree above flamed out like a scream. Red sky at night? The hillside. The Kassidy farm.

"Fire! I shouted. Maeve!"

Dogs usually run from fire, naturally afraid, but both Rocket and Henry were running toward it. For a second, I couldn’t breathe. Flames devoured a tall pine as I wavered. Breathing was so hard. Every part of me seemed erased, flattened, crushed.

In two seconds, a row of eucalyptus trees flared to blazing towers. Sparks fed on dry grass, whooshing eastward toward Maeve’s farm.

I bolted after the dogs, legs and arms pumping. In no time, I was on the back porch beating the door. "Fire! Fire! Wake up! Get out!" Their kitchen door didn’t have a doorbell, so I pounded until my fist hurt. Nonstop.

The house lights flicked on.

Behind, the trapped sheep bleated pitifully. I dodged between two trucks and a car. Sheep jostled against the gate bars. I threw my body at the top bar, and my feet found another bar to perch on. Pulling the latch pin, I clung like a tick on a dog and swung backward while the whole herd ran out. Rocket and Henry charged helter-skelter, flowing round the sheep. The whole mass of animals bolted down the dark driveway.

Leave the sheep alone, I yelled at Henry, but he was beyond hearing.

A row of blue gum eucalyptus shot vertical flames—fifty feet high. On the crest of the highest hill, the wind gusted, causing the fire to riddle a row of eucalyptus. The sheep shed, with its lone pine, stood on the farm’s upper side. The northern section of pasture sparked and ignited. Oaks and open grassland blazed.

From where I watched, the sheep shed seemed not more than six hundred feet from the big tractor barn. Little fingers of flame crept onward toward the barn.

A door banged. Maeve’s family stumbled out. An expression of shock hit their faces—eyes widened, brows raised, mouths opened.

In the shed’s shadow, I was temporarily invisible. Maeve leaned on her mama. Nobody moved for a hellish moment. Then Maeve’s brother, Rory, in his papa’s arms, reached out, hollering, Big, big, big fire. The family rushed back inside.

I waited for them to come out again. Why? Why are they taking so long?

Then I heard something.

Meow.

I looked up and around the farm for help. For a split second, I thought I saw a truck on the hill above … a dark pickup on the ridge. But then another cat cried out.

My bare feet felt as if they’d sprouted roots. My hands gripped the gate. I couldn’t leave the barn cats. I jumped into the dirt and straw. That was when I saw the water faucet. Before I could think, I seized the heavy farm hose. Uncoiling it, I wrapped a couple of loops over my neck and under one arm. I cranked the knob full blast, water spewing everywhere.

Grand liked to say, You always have a choice. Right now, I wanted a choice. Hoped. I hoped I had one. I inched up the two-by-four ladder nailed to the shed. I’d climbed it so many times I could do it blindfolded, which was good, because I couldn’t see much between the smoke, my watering eyes, and the darkness. With the wildfire uphill on the other side, shadow clung to this side of the sheep shed.

Soon, I was fighting with all my strength. It was no easy thing dragging a heavy hose. At last, I made it to the roof. Got belly down and crawled, fingers and toes clawing between the split wood shakes. Splinters needled my hands. My pajama pants ripped as I wriggled upward, wedging the bulky hose between the roof and my body.

Someone shouted, Everybody in the truck.

"Look—on the roof, Mama. Nevada." That was Maeve.

Hey, Nevada, get down, demanded her mama.

Twisting to see, I lost my grip. Slid. The hose drenched any part of me that was not already soaked, T-shirt and all. No way would I get down now. Three cats slept inside. Huntress, Mojo, and Spookie must be frozen in terror.

Climbing the roof went painfully slow. When I was done lugging the hose, I fixed the loops, draped them over the peak, then slung one leg over. Mounted as if on horseback, I looked uphill again. From here, the wildfire whooped and crackled. The flickering blaze sent twisting red-and-yellow fire gasping toward the shed. Impossible. But true. The far pasture, between the hills and the farm, now writhed with wildfire.

I knew every trail uphill. Every shady spot deer slept in, every branch hawks perched on, and every lookout point. All of it turned fiery red. Burnt trees fell like dead leaves.

The hose, powered by surging water, jerked in my hands. The wind whipped splats into my eyes. I blinked over and over. Water drummed on wood. I twisted, splattering every inch of roof, dowsing ruby embers before they could ignite.

Sparks scattered fire through the dry pasture. Too soon, the blaze arrived at the tractor barn far from the house yet close to the shed.

I soaked every pine branch and roof shingle.

The wind changed. Bad luck. The wind tossed fire my way. A sea of smoke made me cough. Shockingly, the big tractor barn burned until its roof collapsed. That barn wood fed the blaze. Jets of flame surged two stories high. Burning bits of wood soared and floated toward the only thing that stood between the fire and me: the pine tree. Once the tree caught fire, the sheep shed would be lost.

A strangling chorus of meows came from inside the shed—the barn cats.

A spear of burning wood hit some pine needles, setting them ablaze. Leaning forward, I aimed and put them out. My arms, neck, and back ached. I swung the hose higher, hoping to soak more branches. At the base of the tree, aiming another hose at the pine, stood Maeve’s mama. She waved her free arm. "Down. Now. Get down!"

But I couldn’t.

Maeve’s papa said, Kids, get in.

"Please," Maeve howled. I acted as if I did not hear.

Out the truck window, Maeve and Rory both cried out. The wildfire drowned out their calls. Maeve’s papa got in the truck and drove them away.

The wind turned back, sending the blaze uphill. The flames slanted back from the tree, sheep shed, and house. Somewhere sirens shrieked. Cool winds soothed my roasted cheeks. Everything I saw turned strangely liquid as if I were underwater. Tears ran from my eyes. I wiped them with the back of my arm, but they didn’t stop. Not sad tears. Mad tears. Mad at the fire. Mad at I don’t know what.

Red flare, yellow flashes … bright lights spun below. My heart thudded … They’re here. They’re here. The fire trucks. Moments later, a crew dowsed the tree, the shed, the pasture beyond the farmhouse. At least three trucks arrived faster than I could talk.

Hey there. A firefighter waved. "Get down."

I let the whooshing hose slide. It fell. More splinters stabbed my hands and feet. Near the low roof’s edge, I crouched before plunging into darkness. Landing on all fours hurt. I rolled once after the shock of impact shuddered through me, all thoughts wiped from my mind. The wailing of the dragonish fire had turned me deaf. Blackness. No sound. Nothing.

Out of nowhere, hands hauled me from the muck. The ladder and hose side of the sheep shed remained in shadow, except for wavy orange reflections in the red paint of a fire truck. Firmly, Maeve’s mama clutched my shoulders. She steered me through a maze of fire trucks and firefighters. Blurry silhouettes of yellow walked by. Waves of water hit the sheep shed, the pine tree, and the farmhouse. When we reached the top of the driveway, I looked back.

Wait. The dogs, I cried. Henry, come. Rocket, come. I didn’t see them, so I whistled, willing them to come. The effort bent me in half with a fit of coughing.

Finally, both dogs dashed from behind a fire truck and loped over to me. They rubbed against my wet, torn pajama legs. The dogs, Maeve’s mama, and I left the farm. As I hobbled beyond the gravel drive, I said, Henry, heel. Then the dogs never left my side.

When we turned the corner to Oak Circle, I blurted, Oh no.

All the lights upstairs and down were on in my house. Even the porch light was on. I swallowed, nodding. Okay. Maeve’s mama, Tracy, opened the low gate to my front yard. Our house loomed, oddly taller than any on the block. A trick of the light? Maeve’s mama helped me up the steps. I couldn’t stop shivering. Tracy turned. That’s a nasty cough, Nevada. You all right? Blinking, I struggled to focus. Tracy took my arm and helped me limp up the steps. Before she could ring or knock, the front door opened. I kept my gaze level.

Dad appeared in rumpled flannels. I looked from his chest to his mouth to his eyes. How much trouble was I in?

Chapter 2

BIG MISTAKE

Friday, September 15

D ad’s forehead dented in a line. Then his face drained of color. My God! Nevada California, how’d you get soaking wet?

He was standing with no hint of a smile, his forehead pinched between his eyes. The top of his head brushed the doorframe. Tell me, please—what happened?

Dad stepped outside and noticed Tracy. What’s going on?

Ed, there’s a fire, Tracy said. Must get back.

Dad’s eyes flashed wide. A fire? No, Tracy, not your place. His hand flew to his mouth. I heard sirens. Hop in the Mazda.

Thanks, but no. I expect three Kentwood fire engines and more teams. Tracy turned to go. Over her shoulder, she called, Doug went to find our sheep. He’ll drop the kids soon.

I shivered so hard that my teeth chattered.

"We’ll be here. Go." Dad rubbed my back and arms. The friction felt like tiny fires igniting. Moths swallowed our porch light in flickering shadows as Dad’s face changed from pinched to a moving puzzle with missing pieces. For a minute, I coughed hard.

Rocket and Henry pushed past us into the house. A strong stench of smoke wafted from their fur. With Dad’s help, I hobbled inside. He fetched me a kitchen towel.

I’m bigger than this, I protested, but I accepted it to wipe my face and hair.

Nevada, what happened? Why did—when did you leave? His expression twisted from curious to worried. "Saw your empty bed, so I hunted all over the house. Even walked outside, thinking you