Most lost or trapped people ended up in remote areas where there were no other people, so it didn’t matter whether Grace could distinguish one person’s individual scent from another. She was trained to simply find human scent. But in this case there had been dozens of people roaming through the woods already looking for Mrs. Hamlet. They would have left human scent everywhere. And unlike trailing dogs or tracking dogs, Grace had never been trained specifically to take in an individual’s scent off a personal item and then go find that same person.
However, she was trained for scent discrimination. That’s how she had become a celebrity over the summer when she was able to track down illegal drugs hidden in anything from jars of peanut butter to a drug mule’s stomach. And recently Creed had been working with her to recognize the scents of different illnesses, including viruses and cancer.
Still, he warned Vance that he wasn’t sure she’d be able to do what they were asking here. In order to specifically find Mrs. Hamlet, Grace would need to know definitively what the woman smelled like, independent of everyone else around her, and then understand that she needed to go find that scent despite the downpours, fog, and wind that could have taken Mrs. Hamlet’s scent far away from where the woman ended up.
When he glanced back at Charlene she was staring at him. So was the rest of the group, waiting, expecting, hoping.
“Is your mother right-or left-handed?”
“What the hell does that have to do with anything?” Lonnie asked.
Charlene looked back and forth between the two men.
“When a person’s lost”—Creed kept his tone calm—“they tend to move in the same direction of whichever hand is dominant. Right-handed people usually go to the right. Left-handed to the left.”
“Even if they don’t know their right from their left?” Lonnie questioned him, and Creed could tell the man had already decided this was a waste of time.
“It’s an involuntary reaction, so memory or thought doesn’t necessarily affect it. Because they’re always going in the same direction, sometimes they end up going in circles.”
“She’s right-handed,” Charlene said.
Everyone continued to stare at Creed, periodically looking down at Grace or glancing at Lonnie. Creed was used to it. People were either skeptical, like Lonnie, or they expected to see a magic act and were waiting for it to begin.
“I’ll need to take Grace inside your house. Is there a chair or perhaps even your mother’s bed that hasn’t been disturbed since she was last in it?”
“Sure thing.”
Charlene started to walk toward the house, but Creed reached out and stopped her.
“I’m sorry, but you won’t be able to go with us.”
“What the hell?” Lonnie asked again, and this time he stepped in front of his sister, as if challenging Creed.
Now Creed could feel the others’ suspicions, too. Even Vance shot him a look.
He tried to explain to Charlene. “I’m afraid if you come with us, it’ll confuse her. You live in the house, too. Your scent is all over the place. I need Grace to be focused on your mother’s scent only.”
“Right,” Lonnie said. “How do we know to trust this guy?”
“Lonnie!” Charlene’s cheeks flushed. “Mr. Creed is here because I asked Mr. Vance to bring him here.” To Creed she said, “I am so sorry.”
“I can’t promise this is going to work,” Creed told her. “But Grace has made some amazing finds.”
Charlene looked down at the Jack Russell as if seeing her for the first time. She squatted down and offered Grace her hand, then petted her.
When she stood back up she said, “The recliner in the living room is Mother’s. The quilt that she uses to cover her legs is still bunched up in the seat. Upstairs, her bedroom is the first on the right.”
He nodded, then called to Grace. The entire distance to the front door he could feel their eyes on him. Grace pranced beside him, happy to find a couple of puddles to splash through.
Creed’s head began to throb and his chest ached, reminding him of his tumble not even twenty-four hours earlier. He hated when families were on-site. Fifty percent of the time he would disappoint them. He hoped this wasn’t one of those times.
29.
This is a totally inappropriate process for recovering a body,” Dr. Gunther scolded the four guardsmen who stood towering over her, heads bowed though they had no control over those details.
O’Dell was impressed and mildly amused that this small woman—the word “elfish” came to mind—could reduce these lean, tough soldiers with the command of her voice and her presence, despite her lack of physical stature.
“Even if Mr. Creed’s dog alerts to the exact spot,” Dr. Gunther continued, “how are Agent O’Dell and I supposed to retrieve the remains? Surely we’re not expected to wade into those floodwaters and fish them out?”