D is for Dachshund: The Dog Finders

By DS Holmes

The dog is okay, it's her master that's missing. Along with Heidi the dachshund, the Dog Finders are on the case in Germany, hunting for the dog's best friend in the land of Martin Luther and the Protestant Reformation. Dachshunds are smart and brave, originally bred to go underground after badgers. The main thing now is, for the sake of her human, Heidi's nose is on the job!

• Language: English
• Publisher: David Holmes
• Release date: May 30, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386722663

Book preview

Prologue

THE FIESTA OF APRIL in Seville, known as Feria de Abril, takes place about two weeks after Easter. Winter rains have tapered off and temperatures are mild, in the 60s and 70s. It is a good time to be alive.

Rodrigo and Samantha were seated outside one of the city’s most popular pastelerias, justifiably famous in the Province of Andalusia for its flavorful cakes. Both had healthy appetites and were on second helpings as a procession of horseback riders clopped by. Sitting at the Spaniard’s side, a large German Shepherd growled.

Easy Silver, Rodrigo said softly, you work around the horses at Don Miguel’s ranch. These animals are working in the city.

The blacks, grays, sorrels and palominos each carried a well-dressed man wearing a broad-brimmed sombrero with a flat crown, while a woman rode sidesaddle in a colorful flamenco-style dress.

Sami, a former Moroccan Goth girl, wore black faded jeans, running shoes and a bright red blouse that accented her long raven hair. Her olive complexion—the result of an American father and a Moroccan mother—was clear of blemishes. Her eyes, one blue, the other brown, were her most striking feature. The gold nose ring was gone, gold loop earrings remaining to balance out her round face. Replacing the familiar black lipstick was a shiny pink. Few would call her beautiful, but she was definitely pretty and impossible not to notice. Such was the originality of nineteen-year-old Samantha Zafzaf.

I’ll tell a story that’ll make you laugh, Rodrigo said.

Tell me, Sami encouraged.

A minister, a priest and a rabbi get to ask one question of God. First up, the Protestant asks about the likelihood of an ordained pastor ever being elected president of the USA. God says, ‘It’ll be okay, but it won’t happen in your lifetime.’ Next, the Catholic asks if a priest will ever be elected president of the United States. God says, ‘It’ll be okay, but you won’t be around to see it.’ Lastly, the rabbi asks if one of Jewish colleagues will ever be chosen to serve as president of the U.S. God says, ‘It’ll be okay, but it won’t happen in your lifetime. And it won’t in mine either.’

Sami burst out laughing. You made that up?

A recent twist on a joke by a British writer in one of his old books.

You know, there’s an element of truth in your story, she said seriously, one that’s not so funny. 

Rodrigo thought for a minute. Yeah, unfortunately anti-Semitism is still with us.

Almost a thousand years ago, a great Spanish-born Jewish physician named Moses Maimonides codified the Talmud. He fled persecution in Spain and found refuge in Islamic Morocco. How’s that for irony? She allowed a smile.

Tolerance, a lesson for the modern world.

Okay, changing the subject, I’ve less than six months left as a teenager, she told her thirtyish Spanish boyfriend. I’d like to dress up in a flamenco outfit. They’re gorgeous, so full of character with ruffled cloth below the waist and closely-pleated trim at the shoulders, elbows or wrists. She paused to sip from her glass of café con leche, then set aside the milky coffee. That decorative trim enhances the sense of movement in the polka-dot dresses. And look at the colors! Red with small pink dots, pink with large red dots, dark green with yellow dots. I’ll take the latter for my birthday.

Rodrigo raised his glass of coffee in a toast. You shall have it, my sweet girl. Don Miguel’s tailor employs a seamstress of great experience making dresses for the flamenco dancers of Seville. She will fit one for you.

Sami grinned. Sweet girl? Such unexpected words from my Charles Bronson look-alike.

Her fun was interrupted soon after the fiesta participants had passed. Rodrigo heard a commotion on the corner, opposite the vast Parque María Luisa. He swallowed the rest of his glass of hot coffee with milk and stood up to see what the problem was. A distraught middle-aged woman was waving her arms and shouting, though with the noise of fellow diners, but with the horses passing and traffic sounds, he couldn’t make out her words.

Excuse me, he told his Moroccan girlfriend, I’m going to ask that lady if she needs help.

She’s American, Sami said.

You can tell?

Black yoga pants have largely replaced jeans as women’s casual wear in the United States. She smiled. Not that there is anything wrong with wearing tight pants outdoors in Catholic Spain.

As usual, I will defer to your knowledge of various nationalities.

Sami shrugged. People are usually predictable.

Suddenly, the fur on Silver’s neck and back rose up and the dog stared across the busy street into the park.

Rodrigo caught sight of a running man, pushing through crowds into the Parque María Luisa. He looked like a young teenager in a black T-shirt and orange beanie. Rodrigo took hold of his dog’s leather leash and walked the dog to the corner where the lady was brushing off her knees.

I am Rodrigo de Lorca. May I be of assistance?

Oh, the woman said, a boy just stole my purse. Yanked it from my shoulder and shoved me down. All my money, my passport and smartphone...

You are an American tourist?

She nodded, took deep breaths. Should I call the police? she asked, a hand brushing strands of red hair from her eyes.

Not necessary. They will tie up your time with red tape and detain you for a trial after the thief is caught.

Then what should I do?

Allow my dog to sniff you.

I beg your pardon? she exclaimed.

With your scent he will recover the purse. Rodrigo pointed to the cake shop. Take a seat. Give me half-an-hour and your passport will be back in your hands.

I’m sorry, but can I trust you?

While we talk, the purse-snatcher is getting away.

I will do as you say, Senor de Lorca.

When the tourist had moved to the table that Rodrigo had occupied, the Spaniard waved to Sami. Take the path through the park below the Plaza de Espána. I will drive him toward the lake de los Patos.

He’ll have an accomplice, she called out. That’s how pickpockets work. One steals, then hands off the prize to another.

Either way, Silver’s got the scent, Rodrigo said and jogged with his dog through traffic, speeding the pace into  the loping stride he had assumed during years of training as a professional boxer.

Once into the city park, just below the Seville University’s distinctive building that had once served as the Royal Tobacco Factory where 10,000 women had been employed to roll leaves of tobacco into cigars—the inspiration for Bizet’s opera Carmen—Rodrigo slowed back to a jog and let the dog take the lead. Above the semicircular outdoor stadium of the Plaza de Espána and its interior moat, he spotted an orange beanie dodging onto a path between trees about fifty yards ahead and closing on Sami.

That’s when the switch took place and a second youth appeared on the main path, clad in sweatpants and a gray shirt, running from Sami’s position, purse in hand. She sprinted diagonally toward the boy, driving him into the park’s center with its pools and fountains.

Rodrigo unhooked the dog’s leash and raised his right arm. Bring him down, boy!

The dog barked once and sprang forward with remarkable speed, covering the distance in seconds before cutting through the shade-giving trees. Rodrigo ran after Silver, hearing the cries of fear from a young man and the sound of splashing water. When he caught up with his dog, Silver stood at the edge of the so-called Lake of the Ducks, fowl that abandoned the water with the appearance of the teen and a charging dog. The young man was up to his neck in dark water.

That’s when the purse-carrier appeared through a cut in the trees, near a fountain. Suddenly a jeans-clad leg struck out and the thief tumbled down onto his hands and knees. Sami