Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 121020 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 605(@200wpm)___ 484(@250wpm)___ 403(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121020 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 605(@200wpm)___ 484(@250wpm)___ 403(@300wpm)
The list of appealing qualities grows.
Saves neglected animals, check.
Helps injured people, check.
Incredible kisser, even while unconscious. Check, check.
Gary moves out of the way to watch Tyler measure the grinds. “You got some good-lookin’ dogs there.”
“Thank you,” Tyler says smoothly. “They come from strong lines of distance runners.” A practiced response that he’s probably given countless times.
“Oh, no doubt! Winning that big Finnish race, now makin’ good time in the Iditarod as a rookie. There’s talk you might win this. Wouldn’t that be something? It’s been decades since a rookie won.” Gary’s voice brims with approval. “You planning on breeding any of those dogs for sale? ’Cause I know of a few people already askin’.”
“I’m considering it. To the right people.” Tyler sets the brewer, collects his plate, and shifts back to his spot beside me.
Gary’s momentarily distracted by a question from the other volunteer, and I’m guessing that’s fine with Tyler because he doesn’t seem overly interested in continuing that conversation.
I’ve finally swallowed my pancakes. “I didn’t think you were serious about breeding them.” I thought he said that in a moment of spite.
“I wasn’t. But I also was.” He carves into his sausage link. “The idea’s growing on me.”
“Hey, you’re out near Fishhook, aren’t you?” Gary suddenly asks. “Near the Hatchetts?”
“Right beside them,” Tyler confirms, his tone flat as he mumbles, “unfortunately.”
I give him a gentle elbow followed by a warning look. “Behave,” I whisper. Gary’s wife and Bonnie volunteer together at the Trapper’s Crossing Christmas party and talk often.
His heated gaze flitters to my lips before it flips back. “Or what?”
My mouth goes dry as I search for a suitable answer.
“Well then, you best be careful with those dogs of yours. There’s a thief in your area.”
Gary’s caution grabs my attention. “What do you mean? Someone’s stealing sled dogs?”
“I guess you didn’t hear the crazy story Jody Snyder was tellin’ back at the hotel during registration.” Gary dumps Coffee-Mate to his cup and stirs. “His uncle had a dog stolen right out of his kennel.”
“Jody Snyder.” That name rings a bell. “His uncle is Zed Snyder.” A two-time Iditarod champion and well known in the community. Last I heard, he’d retired from racing and was doing tourist excursions.
“That’s the one.”
Beside me, Tyler chews quietly, seemingly indifferent to this concerning story.
“What happened?”
“Well, accordin’ to Jody, Zed fed ’em their evenin’ meal and they were all there when he went to bed. The next morning, he was short one.”
“Maybe it broke off its chain?”
“No, ma’am. The chain was fine. The collar was hangin’ off it, as if she slipped out. And the door to the enclosure was sittin’ open to make it look like Zed forgot to close it, but he says he didn’t forget to close that door. It looked like someone tried to cover their tracks, scrapin’ their boot prints out of the snow with a shovel. But the trail led up to her house. He swears someone came right in and took her.”
This is troubling. “Why her?”
“Not sure. She was up there in years, but she’s produced some nice racers. Tom Scalding and Kerry Rice both have sled dogs from Zed.”
I know both mushers. They’ve finished in the top ten in the Iditarod previously.
“She was a pup from one of Zed’s favorite lead dogs. A pretty blonde with one blue eye and one brown.”
An eerie prickle of familiarity trickles down my spine.
Beside me, Tyler shifts in his boots.
“Where’d you say Zed lives again?”
“Out his way—” He juts his chin toward Tyler, who seems intently focused on his plate of food. “Near Fishhook, on the Wasilla side.”
I concentrate on my breathing as I process this information. If Nymeria is the dog they’re talking about, that means Zed Snyder, a world-class musher back in the day, did that to her.
But Tyler’s story doesn’t line up with Gary’s. Did someone steal the dog and let it loose in the woods? Or was Tyler lying to me? Did he slip onto Zed’s property and take the dog right from beneath Zed’s nose while he slept?
And what about all the other dogs? “Wouldn’t Zed have heard the commotion?”
“That’s what I said! ’Cause no one’s walking into my kennel at night without stirring up a heck of a lot of noise. But he takes his hearing aids out at night. Didn’t hear a damn thing.” Gary waggles his index finger in the air. “Either this person knew that, or they got some big brass balls to be strollin’ into a man’s kennel.”
“Strange that I haven’t seen anything in the newspaper about it. Seems like a story the community would jump on,” Tyler says casually. Too casually. “He must have reported it, right?”
Gary frowns. “You know, now that you mention it, I’m stunned I didn’t read about it in the paper. Jody said his uncle was talkin’ about retirin’ her soon, but a man’s property is his property, no matter what, so why wouldn’t he go to the cops?”