“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?”
“Good question.” Tyler collects his remaining sausage in his fingers and tosses his plate in the bin on the way to the door. “Thank you for the hot meal. Much appreciated.”
“Oh, you’re so welcome, darlin’。” Karen beams. “Now you go on and get some more rest before you’re off again.”
I watch Tyler’s back until the door shuts behind him, my mind reeling with questions.
“He’s a quiet one, huh?” Gary sips his coffee. “Likes to keep things close to his chest.”