Hounded by Death

By Barbara M. Hodges

Spirits talk to Dakota Lee. They have since she was twelve years old. Now an adult, she is happy with her life as the owner of, Sugar Babies, a small bakery in the quiet town of Santa Mesa, California. Dakota has accepted her gift for the most part and learned to deal with the sometimes demanding spirits.
An early morning run leads to a gruesome discovery. A dead man slumped in his car, and a panicked basset hound pacing beside it.
The dead man is Detective Rod Kane. After a prickly interview with Kane's partner, Detective Blake Scott, Dakota is ready to put the disturbing event behind her.
When she sees the basset hound in the park the next morning everything changes. Coaxing the hound to her, she hears a man's voice consoling the dog. Seeing no one else around, Dakota knows it is a spirit and asks what the man needs.
Detective Rod Kane has refused this dead mother's offer to join her in the beyond. He can't. Not until he finds out who killed him.
He is startled that Dakota can hear him. Nonetheless, she is his answer. When Dakota asks, "What do you need?"
His answer is "Give JB a home and help me find my killer."

• Language: English
• Publisher: Barbara M. Hodges
• Release date: Nov 27, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463960875

Barbara M. Hodges

Barbara M. Hodges is the author or co/author of 13 works of fiction. She lives on the central coast of California with her husband Jeff and two rescue basset hounds, Heidi and Monty. Barbara is involved with basset hound rescue and you will find a rescued basset hound in all of her books. Barbara is the president of her local chapter of Sisters In Crime and a member of Public Safety Writers Association.

Book preview

Chapter One

Dakota Lee was twelve years old when the spirits first started talking to her.

She never called them ghosts. Her native American father had corrected her the first time she had done so. To us the word ghosts means evil, Kota. Not so spirits. Our people believe spirits are all around us.

She could call them fantômes, like her French momma, but she'd given up on French things at thirteen when her mère had walked out the door and out of their lives.

Eleven years ago, on her twenty-first birthday, she'd looked her mom up on the internet, found her and even composed an email. When it came time to press send she'd turned off the computer, stood and walked away. Eight years without a word. Why should she be the one to reach out now?

Dakota frowned. It was easier to think about dad and our people. They were the Chumash tribe. From old photos, Dakota knew she looked like her paternal great-grandmother, Topanga, with her dark hair and eyes, honey colored skin and high cheekbones, but it was from her maternal grandmother, Aimee, that she had inherited her physic ability. Her dad had filled her in about Grand-mère Aimee when she'd told him of her first encounter with an upset spirit. He'd assured her she wasn't crazy, that it was a rare gift she'd inherited and she'd learn to embrace her abilities. Embrace was a strong word, but she had learned to control her gift and the spirits that came along with it, for the most part. Her father had been right. None of the spirits Dakota had encountered in the past twenty years had ever been evil. Some had been exasperating, but never evil.

She took another sip of her coffee. This week had been a peaceful one. Not once had a discontented spirit demand she do something for them. In fact, they'd hardly spoken to her at all. Dakota stared out the kitchen window. She hoped everything was okay in the netherworld. She smiled. That's what she called the realm where the spirits lived. It seemed to fit and the spirits had never told her differently.

She turned back to the Santa Mesa Times and flipped the page. A German Shepherd dog, posted by the local animal shelter, stared back at her. Maybe she should adopt a dog. She'd always had one. Her last dog, Austin, a shaggy little guy, went to the Rainbow Bridge right before she bought her bakery, Sugar Babies. But would it be fair to the dog? Owning her own business kept her away from home most nights. True, she did have an assistant at now, so she didn't have to be there as much anymore. She could even have a social life, date, maybe dabble in a romance. Dakota snorted. She and love didn't seem to get along well. That was okay. She liked herself and she had her friends and her bakery.

She glanced at the clock. Ten p.m.. She needed to get moving if she wanted to get her run in before it was time to head to Sugar Babies. Tim was off tonight and she had an order of twelve dozen glazed doughnuts for a six a.m. pickup.

Dakota pushed the newspaper aside and picked up her cell phone. The weather app showed it was still 75 degrees outside. No need to change her clothes, her shorts and t-shirt would work fine.

At her front door she stretched for her mandatory ten minutes, then set off at a slow jog.

A full moon glowed in the blue-black sky and stars sprinkled the cloudless expanse.

At the barred entrance to the county park, she jogged in place and considered; should she cut through? The moon provided plenty of light to see by and it would cut her time by ten minutes. Nope, no cheating. She'd stuck to her New Year's resolution for six months. She wasn't quitting now. Doing my full three miles. It's buttermilk bars tonight and God knows I'll have to eat at least one. Dakota jogged on.

Her best friend Lela said it was a crime for someone who looked like Dakota to own a bakery. Cher look-alikes didn't own bakeries. Bakery owners were gray-haired, short and plump. Dakota snorted. Lela considered herself a modern woman, but in many ways she was as cliché as they came.

Dakota turned the corner and headed up a hill.

So what if she owned a bakery? She'd always loved to bake and was tired of people telling her what she should be doing, just because of her looks. She snorted, a very un-lady like sound that her mère had always hated. Good grief, when she was ten she'd even let her mom talk her into taking a modeling course. Dakota laughed. Modeling? Not for her. Way too much upkeep.

She slowed at the top of the hill, checked the street, then jogged across.

Dakota had always thought her tom-boy ways were a disappointment to her mother. Her dad said no, but she always felt he wanted to add more. Something like, Nope, you've never disappointed your mother, but I sure have. She guessed she'd have to take his word for it.

She slowed to a fast walk. Her dad had been a Santa Mesa Police Officer. Twenty-three years he'd been on the job. A heart attack stole him away from her a year ago last month. I miss you Dad. Sugar Babies is doing great. I know you never doubted me, or it, for a minute.

A newer black Toyota slowed beside her and she felt for the mace in the pocket of her shorts. Santa Mesa's crime statistics were low, but a girl couldn't be too careful. The mace was a compromise she' d come to with her dad. He'd taught her to shoot when she was ten and she had a .38 Special tucked away in a nightstand at home, but she'd refused to jog with the gun, so mace it was.

Dakota glanced at the driver, a young guy who held a cell phone pressed to his ear. She shook her head. Well, at least he'd slowed down to take the call.

The Toyota sped away.

Dakota turned and jogged toward home. Time for a hot shower, then off to Sugar Babies.

Chapter Two

Hey, Detective Flattop.

Rod Kane looked up at Blake's call. Rod had been lost in a mental review of the night, a profitable ten hour shift in his mind, but the captain hadn't seen it that way. Rod knew when he returned to the station and saw Captain Hawkins, aka, Hawk, still there, that he and Blake would be called on for an update. The captain didn't hang around until ten thirty at night without a reason. Rod got it. The newly promoted Hawkins wanted results, but results required a framework of time, and they weren't there yet.

His partner reached him, and the two walked down the three steps leading into the parking garage. The Hawk lean on you? Blake asked.

Yeah, where were you?

Had to answer a text.

Must have been a long text. Who was it this time? Bridgett or Barbie?

Blake grinned. Don't know any Barbies.

Rod snorted. They're all Barbie dolls. When you going to date someone with an IQ higher than their bra size?

Blake didn't answer, but then he didn't need to. Rod knew why Blake hopped from woman to woman. Her name was Amanda. Bad news from day one. When she drove away in a rich lawyer's red Jag, Blake had lost all faith in love.

What did Hawk say? Blake asked.

He sat there, listened, then nodded his head and asked when we were going to nail Ian McConnell.

And you said?

Rod grinned. The definitive non-committal, soon.

Blake laughed. He offer up any additional bodies for our other cases?

Still the same one, Clarkson, Rod said.

Hell, no. The kid doesn't have the right mind for undercover. He's a good cop, but he'd crack in three days.

A lady came in from the garage's side entrance. She glanced at them as she walked by. They smiled, but she lowered her head and quickened her pace.

Rod shrugged. Hawk knows how I feel.

We've almost got McConnell, Blake said. You've played Runt just right. He's ready to spout like Vesuvius. We sure as hell don't have time to babysit.

Rod nodded. He’d thought tonight Runt would crack. They’d been so close. If McConnell hadn't arrived....

The woman suddenly turned. Why are you following me? She waved a cell phone at them. I'll dial 9-1-1. A police officer will be here in less than a minute.

Rod and Blake stopped.

Lady— Blake said.

You just stay away from me. The woman opened a door of a silver Lexus and scrambled inside.

They both stood in silence as she started the engine, backed up and sped away.

Blake glanced at Rod. You think it's our fashion choice?

They were both still in their Stiletto and Raptor street guises and wore dirty jeans, faded t-shirts and bleached-out army jackets. Blake's shaggy blonde hair should have seen a barber two weeks ago, and the three days of beard growth didn't help either of them.

Don't think it would have done any good to tell her we are cops. I'm sure it's my angelic appearance, Rod said. He knew he looked as far from an angel as a bear looked from a butterfly. His black flat top, pale-blue eyes, crooked nose, and scar above his right eyebrow didn't scream nice boy. He smiled. But, then, I'm not a nice boy. I’m the Raptor. He glanced at Blake. Raptor and Stiletto. One hell of a team.

Damn, it's still eighty degrees out here. You wanna grab a beer? Blake asked.

Their usual watering hole was The Blue Dog, the local cop bar, and it would be jumping right now. Santa Mesa was different than a lot of bigger cities. In most large cities detectives didn't hang with uniform cops, but here, all they had was The Blue Dog, so everybody got along just fine.

Nope. Gotta get home. I plan to get a run in before I hit the sack. Rod opened the Toyota’s door, climbed inside. Tomorrow.

Blake waved, then continued on to his 1968 sky-blue Camaro.

Chapter Three

Jewell stretched upon the bed. The clock radio read ten thirty a.m.. She flipped on the beside lamp, looked around, admired the all white furnishings trimmed with gold. The condo was where she met with her higher paying tricks, but Daddy-D had let her stay the entire month, and not one trick in all that time. It looked as if she'd finally made head bitch status.

She frowned. Those girls better not be slacking off just 'cause she wasn't there to keep them in line. No, they were smart. They knew when they had it good. She laughed softly. Besides they were all half in love with Daddy-D. Each of the silly bitches thought Daddy loved them, but Jewell knew the only one Daddy-D loved was her. She wouldn't be in this bed, right here, right now, if he didn't.

She stretched again. She could get used to this.

Jewell heard a soft snoring. She smiled at the basset hound curled beside her, then reached to caress the hound’s tan and white mottled ears. Lace ears, Daddy-D had told her. Only special bassets had them. That was Daddy for you. He'd heard about lace ears and had looked all over 'til he'd found a breeder who'd had a basset with them. Everything Daddy owned had to be special. She traced a design with her finger. They did sort of look like lace. Pretty.

The basset hound stared up at her with his soulful brown eyes.

Daddy's coming for you tomorrow. She couldn't believe the dog had been with her for a week. Jewell sighed. She hadn't had a dog since she was a kid. She'd forgotten how much company they could be. Maybe Daddy would let him stay for good. Let's take a look. Roll over, she said, not expecting much.

The hound immediately rolled onto his back.

Well, who taught you that? Jewell examined his white stomach. Nice. You can't see a thing.

She opened the door of the nightstand and pulled out the small black light. She flipped off the bedside lamp, turned on the black light, then shone the beam on the hound's stomach. There, glowing green, was the word, rbrthdates.

Ultraviolet ink. Daddy-D will love this.

He knew about the tattoo, her idea, but not about the invisible ink. Her real daddy had been a tattoo artist. He'd given her an ultimatum when she turned twelve, learn how to ink, or learn how to make a man happy. She'd chosen ink, but at sixteen her daddy had wanted her to make him happy, so she'd hit the road. Five years ago. The last three she'd been with Daddy-D.

Jewell sighed. She sure as hell knew how to make a man happy now. She wondered if her daddy would be proud of her.

Her cell phone rang. The caller ID read Daddy-D. Mornin', Daddy.

How's my dog?

Jewell sat up straighter in the bed. He's fine.

Hoped to get by to see you last night, but had to pick up some new merchandise.

New girls. That surprised her. Daddy had been laying low since Deidre and Janie had been arrested for getting a bit rough with their tricks. They hadn't hurt the assholes that much. Jewell punched her pillow. What were they supposed to do? Just take the beating 'til they passed out? She knew what really pissed Daddy off was having to bail them out. Daddy-D had been discreetly warned to lay low for awhile. These new ones must be special.

You need any help unpacking?

No, Willy and Chrissy can handle things. You just get yourself and my dog ready.

We'll both be ready, Daddy.

The call ended.

Jewell glanced at the basset. You’re one lucky hound. Daddy-D loves dogs. He treats them a hell of a lot better than he does his girls. You're gonna live like a king. He'll never raise his hand to you. She frowned at the fading bruise on her thigh, then shrugged and stood. You want to go out?

The basset hound scrambled to his feet and jumped off the bed.

We need to give you a name. Maybe Daddy'll let me name you.

She led the way downstairs, then to the glass patio door. Make it quick. I gotta go to the bathroom myself. Be right back for you.

Jewell came out of the bathroom just in time to hear the back gate slam. What the...?

She ran into the backyard and saw a gust of wind grab the gate and slam it against the side of the house again. Who'd left the damn gate unlocked?

Dog, she called. Here, dog.

A loud bark came from the front of the house.

Damn it to hell. Jewell ran toward the barking hound.

The basset hound stood on the opposite side of the street. His head came up when he saw her and his tail wagged. Stay right there. You hear me?

Jewell dashed into the street. The screech of brakes and the thud of the Ford pick-up that flipped her body into the air and ended her life, shattered the stillness of the morning.

*****

Diamond glanced into the backseat where the basset hound trembled.

It’s for the best, you dumb hound. I don't give a damn if the kids love you already. I should have said no when the cops called. That’s what I should have said. Sister or not. If Bud's, family hadn't been all staring at me, I would've.

She scanned the city park.

Those kids can't be that attached. You've only been here one damned day.

The area looked empty but soon it would fill with families and morning joggers.

One of them'll take you. Give you a good home.

The dog whined.

Just shut up. I could've taken you to the pound or out to the river. Diamond climbed from the Buick, opened the back door. Come on.

The basset hound shrank from her.

Get the hell out, you stupid dog.

The dog growled.

Oh no. You don't growl at me. Swearing beneath her breath, Diamond stomped around to the other back door and jerked it open.

The hound scrambled to the opposite side of the car.

Get out.

She grabbed the baseball bat from the floorboard and thrust it at the shivering dog.

With a yelp he jumped from the seat and raced toward the trees.

Good riddance to you. Too bad you got out and ran away.

Back home, Diamond cut her turkey sandwich in half. She glared at the kitchen's white Formica counter tops. When he proposed, Bud promised her granite counter tops and she wanted them, and all new stainless steel appliances too. Those ghastly red-and-white checkered curtains had to go, too. What was this, the damn 1950's? They'd been married six months and it was time for her new husband to live up to his promises. She sure as hell had kept up her end of the bargain. Bud left for work with a big smile on his face every morning.

This kitchen may have been fine for his momma, but it isn't fine for me. As she reached for the cold beer beside her sandwich, a voice came from behind her.

Where's my dog?

The quiet, honeyed words sent a delightful shiver down her back.

She spun around. A man stood there. He was as black as her daddy's heart, stood at least six-foot three and wore all white except for a black fedora with a red headband.

Who the hell are you? Get out of my house. She gave the order, but what she really wanted was to grab his hand and drag him to her bed.

The man took a step toward her and flashed gleaming white teeth. You're Diamond, right? Jewell's sister?

How did he know Jewell? Was he one of her tricks? She stared at him for a moment. Then it hit her. He’s Daddy-D. A badass, not to be crossed from what Jewell said. Diamond smiled. Well, she was a bit of a badass herself.

Diamond reached a hand behind her and grasped the handle of the knife that lay beside the sandwich. If he came another step closer she would cut him up good, just like she did her last husband.

You were Jewell’s man.

The police officers made a mistake. He flashed his white teeth again. The basset hound belongs to me. I don't want any problems. Just my dog.

She shrugged. Don't have him anymore.

He stared into her face for two heartbeats before saying, Where is he?

Diamond brought the knife around. Held it in front of her. Get out of my house, asshole.

The man's smile fled. His eyes narrowed, stared into hers. Not without my dog. It would be best if you told me where he is.

If I don't?

Oh, you will. If you tell me now, then maybe I won't kill you. The words were delivered in a matter-of-fact monotone. Nothing about them the least honeyed now.

Diamond laughed, waved the knife in front of him. In case you missed it, I've got this and I know how to use it. You wouldn't be the first I've carved into roasts.

Enough damned talk. Catch them off guard. It worked better that way.

She lunged toward him.

The handgun made little noise as Daddy-D fired it through the suit jacket's pocket.

A small hole erupted in Diamond's forehead.

She dropped to the floor.

He moved to her. Kicked her hard in the ribs. Damn it, bitch. Now I'll have to find the dog myself.

*****

Dominic looked up from the stock information he studied. A new tech start-up company, seemed a good buy. He'd call his broker tomorrow.

He settled back in his chair and let his gaze roam the room. Satisfaction rose from his gut as he ran his fingers across the golden oak of the desk. He had seen one like it in Congressman Heed's office and had to have his own. The same with the muted Turkish carpet and Monet reproductions. He nodded. It was what a true businessman's office should look like, and that's what he was, a businessman, not some lowlife, hustling pimp.

A knock sounded on the door and anger replaced his glow of pleasure. Who was being stupid? They all knew the house rules and number one was no uninvited visits to his office, ever. Yes.

Daddy-D, Chrissy's hesitant voice said. "I know you don't like to

Reviews for Hounded by Death

[Dawn Turner · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

This is a fun book. Love her inclusion of the basset hound!