I groaned. My stomach did a triumphant back flip. The painkillers must have been working their magic because, at that moment, I felt no pain. My world was constructed entirely of garlic bread.
“Hey! Save some for me, horker.”
I looked down at the baguette. Roughly half of it was missing. I tried to chew enough so that speech was possible. “Sa-wee.”
Emma nodded, understanding the grumbled apology. “Here. Go sit down.” She handed me a plate. “Do you want some wine?”
I swallowed the chunk of bread. “Better not.” I was already feeling a bit loopy. Hugh must have given me gorilla-strength codeine.
I tried to think through the fog that was rapidly robbing me of coherent thought. Jax had expressed overwhelming emotions along with the memory, which was why I blacked out. The strongest had been rage and . . .
“Betrayal.”
“Do what?” Emma glanced at me from where she sat across the table. Her fork twirled in the mound of spaghetti on her plate.
“Jax knew the murderer. Well enough to feel betrayed by what happened.”
“Okay, so . . . who was close to Mark Richardson, and was also someone Jax would trust?”
“Jennifer Weston. LaBryce. The UPS guy, for all I know.”
I couldn’t help but think of Mark’s mother. It was true that she had asked me to report back to her. Maybe she wanted to know what Jax had seen to make sure he hadn’t told me Mark was killed by his own mother.
As much as I wanted to believe Miz Gardenia was guilty of more than being an entitled bitch, I couldn’t come up with the why. Why would she kill her own son?
LaBryce’s motive was now in question as far as I was concerned. And I wasn’t sure about Alexander Burke. Did he know Mark well enough to be trusted by Jax?
Jennifer Weston had a motive, too. If losing Mark meant getting booted off the money train, that would be motivation, on top of the possibility of him abusing her.
And what about a new girlfriend? Would Jax have taken to someone he’d only just met? Round and round my thoughts went. I blinked down at my plate and realized I hadn’t eaten anything. But I felt full. Must have been all the bread. As I stared at the plate, I got the odd feeling of weightlessness. The plate seemed to float away from me, or maybe I was floating away from it, like a balloon.
I heard Jax’s nails click click click on floor and Moss’s dog tags jingle. The sounds were muted yet amplified.
Emma was talking.
I didn’t understand her. My eyes wouldn’t work right. The last thing I remember was trying to speak. I’d thought of something important. I could remember. I had to remember . . .
CHAPTER 16
I’d had a rough morning. Aside from having to roust myself from a drug-induced stupor, I’d also spent over an hour trying to persuade a ferret named Boudreaux to show me where he’d hidden his owner’s diamond ring. Boudreaux, who was fond of pilfering anything shiny, did not want to give up his stash. Finally, I negotiated a trade. The ring in exchange for a ball of tinfoil.
Believe it or not, the strangest part of my morning hadn’t been my parley with a domestic weasel. It was the cryptic note Emma had left me. It read:
G, you made me write this down. Jaguar tag xo Em
I had called to ask her what the hell it meant, but she hadn’t answered. Emma was doing a big shindig that night and was always super busy on event day, or E-Day, as she called it.
My stomach grumbled. I checked my phone to see if she’d called back as I pulled Bluebell into the long line at the Wendy’s drive-through. I’d missed two calls, neither from Emma. The first was from Sonja. I glanced at the creeping line of cars ahead of me. I had plenty of time to call her back.
“Well, you were right about Demon,” she said.
“He was injured?”
“No, but he was in pain. Abscessed tooth.”
That would explain his sudden change in temperament. “You guys extract it?”
“This morning. And he’s already back to being everyone’s friend.”
I felt an unexpected wave of relief. I believed in my heart that LaBryce was innocent, but knowing that I was right about the mastiff did a lot to boost my confidence. “That’s great, Sonja.”
“You saved his life.” Her words made me smile.
“Just doing what I do.”
After we’d made plans to do lunch the next week and said our good-byes, I indulged in a little back-patting. I’d saved a dog. My interpretation that he had been hurting was correct. Ha! I blew a mental raspberry at the niggling doubt regarding the timeline with Charm and LaBryce.
The only other call I had to return was to Bo Bishop. When I got his voice mail, I let him know that Jax was doing well. I hung up and reminded myself that he should be added to the list of suspects. Jax would have trusted him, too.
I finally placed my order and inched forward in line. Thinking back to the night before, I went over my list of suspects. So far, it was pretty short. Jennifer Weston, Bo Bishop, and my favorite, Gardenia Richardson. Who else would have Jax’s trust? The governor, Buck Richardson, most likely.
“Who else?” I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel. Most people were murdered by those close to them. Had Mark been seeing someone new like LaBryce had thought?
I was idling in line, contemplating this idea, wondering what the heck jaguar tag meant, and waiting on my order of biggie fries, when my phone rang. I glanced at the number. Hugh.
“I was in a stupor ’til eleven this morning, thanks to you,” I said.
“You should have broken the pill in half.” Hugh’s easy laugh seemed to reach though the phone, coaxing my lips into a smile.
“That would have been nice to know last night,” I said as the kid at the window handed me my order.
“I was going to mention it, but I became distracted by your sudden loss of consciousness.”
I winced at the reminder. Nothing says self-sufficient like fainting into a man’s arms. The embarrassment and confusion I’d felt had made me a teensy bit irritable. I had climbed into Bluebell with a few harsh I’m fine’s and hadn’t bothered to thank him for keeping me from cracking my head on the pavement. Ah, well, better late . . .
“I appreciate you being there, Hugh, and not making a fuss.” He’d let me leave, grudgingly, with a promise to text him, instead of trying to drag me to the hospital.
“I’ve been around you enough to know—when you’re set on a course, there’s no point in trying to alter it. I was calling to see if you might want to catch some lunch.”
“Too late. I’m hardening my arteries as we speak.” I tacked a sorry onto the end, because I was.
“Another time.”
“Sure. How’s the giraffe?” I asked as I turned toward the condo.
“Good. He won’t walk over the spot where the wire was left, though. It’s funny what animals remember.”
As Hugh said the words, I felt an idea begin to take hold. “I’ve got to run, Hugh. Traffic.”
He said something else before saying good-bye, but my mind had already shifted gears. I knew what I needed to do, and I wasn’t sure why I hadn’t thought of it before.
I had to take Jax back to his house. Back to the crime scene.
• • •
By the time I’d gone to the condo to grab Jax and doubled back into town, it was past two o’clock. I pulled to a stop at the gated entrance to Mark Richardson’s neighborhood. The elderly rent-a-cop at the little guard booth eyed me and my less-than-sleek Suburban with open disparagement.
Sunday, I had been here as a police consultant. Now . . . not so much. I would just have to wing it.
Clearing my throat as I cranked down my window, I smiled at the portly man. “Hi, I’m Grace Wilde. I’m a volunteer with the Doberman for a Day progr
am.” I handed him one of my new spiffy business cards.
Frowning, the guard glanced at the business card and then at Jax. “Who are you visiting?”
Good question. “Let me check . . .” I beamed him what I hoped was an Emma-worthy schmooze-smile, and started to riffle through the papers in the seat next to me. I had heard the reporters talking to a neighbor the day I had come to the crime scene. What was his name? It was something Hispanic. Martinez? I picked up a piece of paper and squinted at it. I let out a little self-deprecating chuckle. “I can never read my own handwriting. Uh . . . I think it says Hernandez? On Saint Johns Street?”
“Menendez?” he asked helpfully.
I smiled again. “That must be it. I wrote the code for the gate down, too, but I can’t make it out either.” I shrugged sheepishly.
“They expecting you?”
“They’re expecting him.” I hooked a thumb toward Jax.
The man glanced toward the backseat.
Don’t call to check. Please don’t call.
Finally, he nodded and handed my card back. I rolled forward and stopped, waiting for the gate to slowly begin to swing open. Just a few feet ahead was the keypad Kai had mentioned. It was mounted on its own little brick pillar, a simple number pad with a perforated circle below it. A speaker. Kai had said the entrance was only manned until midnight. After that, anyone coming in had to use the keypad. So the killer had either called and was buzzed in or had a code.
I didn’t see a camera anywhere near the keypad. I looked back over my shoulder toward the booth. High in the eaves a small camera was mounted, aimed right at me.
Fighting the urge to smile and wave, I faced forward and watched the gate shudder and bounce its way open.
As I guided Bluebell down the curving street, I lamented the fact that the camera wasn’t mounted near the keypad so the driver’s face would be visible. If it had been, LaBryce would be cleared.
I figured the camera must be aimed to capture evidence such as the license plate and the make of the vehicle.
A realization hit me.
If I had any chance of helping LaBryce, Jax would have to show me more than the killer’s face. I couldn’t go to Kai, or Jake even, just to point a finger. I’d have to have evidence of some kind.
The idea was so daunting I actually thought about turning around. Tucking my tail and running away. It wasn’t my fault LaBryce had made himself look guilty. And why should I do the police’s jobs for them? I had tried to tell Kai the truth. Moss was the one who’d messed that up.
Okay, I was being pathetic.
“Why not make it official, Grace, and get an ice cream cake that has ‘Poor You’ written on it? Get some balloons, too, and make it a proper pity party.”
I straightened as we rounded the corner and caught sight of Mark Richardson’s place. Time to grow a backbone.
Jax had come to attention, staring out over the lawn at his old house. He wanted to get out and go inside. Home.
I parked in the driveway and stared at the faux villa.
Home. He let out a high, brief whine.
“I know, boy. Give me a second.” Though I’d recovered from my bout of self-pity, I still didn’t have a plan. Sitting in the driveway thinking, “Now what?” wasn’t going to get me anywhere, so I opened my door and hopped out.
Midday in midsummer. Even though clouds had rolled in to blot out the sun, I could still feel heat radiating off the concrete under my feet.
Sweating, I surveyed the house—the wrought iron gate, the arched front door beyond, the stained wooden garage doors—all appeared to be locked up tight. Of course.
I knew there was a backyard. There had to be a way into it. Not that I expected a back door to be unlocked, but at least I could get Jax to where he’d been the night of the murder. “Okay, the backyard it is.”
I let Jax out of Bluebell, secured his leash, and started toward the house.
Jax wanted to go straight through the front courtyard. I knew from the stir of his memories that this was the way Mark had taken him in and out for walks.
After letting him sniff around for a second, I guided him past the entry, onto the lawn. We walked over the thick carpet of grass, past some sort of large-leafed greenery, and finally rounded the corner of the house.
A stucco wall, the same dusty cream color as the house, stretched across our path to the neighbor’s yard. Right in the center was a smaller version of the front gate. I strolled toward it, trying to look natural as I jiggled the latch.
Locked. Damn.
I thought about trying to scale the six-foot wall. I could probably manage it, using the gate as a ladder. But then what? I needed Jax with me.
“Okay, plan B.” I led Jax back around the side of the house. Just as we rounded the corner, a van with the sheriff’s office logo and CRIME SCENE UNIT written down the side pulled into the driveway.
Crap.
Kai would know I was here. Bluebell might as well have been a beacon blinking my name. All I could do was play the hand I was dealt.
The driver’s door to the van swung open, and a compact man with a round face and spiky black hair stepped out.
I let out the breath I’d been holding and smiled.
When he saw me walking toward him with Jax, he paused. His expression was blank. I couldn’t see his eyes behind his sunglasses, so I wasn’t sure what had stopped him, me or the dog.
I smiled and tried to act casual. “Hey. Charlie, right?”
“Yeah. Charlie Yamada. And you’re the animal lady.” He finally smiled. “I knew I’d seen this car before.”
He hadn’t called for backup, or made the sign of the cross, so I assumed Kai hadn’t spread the word about me yet.
“Grace Wilde. This is Jax. I was hoping to pick up a couple of his things.” I motioned to the dog. “I didn’t realize there wouldn’t be anyone here.”
“Nah. We released the scene earlier today. I just had to come check one last thing.” He turned his attention to Jax. “So you’re Richardson’s Dobie, huh? I’ve heard about you.” He looked back at me. “Can I pet him?”
“Sure.” Jax was relaxed and receptive. I gave him the mental thumbs-up to let him know this guy was okay. After a few pats, Jax started wagging his back end and smiling. His inner doggy radar was going off. Charlie Yamada was a dog person.
I had a feeling my luck with the CSU was about to change.
Jax was leaning against Charlie’s knees, and the man was petting him saying things like, “Aren’t you a handsome guy?” and “Bet you like to play, huh?”
Jax’s tongue lolled out of his mouth as he tilted his head to look back at me. Jax, good boy.
Yeah, you’re amazing. I shook my head and grinned. “Do you have a dog?” I asked Charlie.
He sighed. “Nah. My wife’s allergic.”
“Too bad.”
Straightening reluctantly, he said, “It is. I love dogs.” He turned his attention back to me. “So what kind of stuff do you need?”
And just like that, the way was cleared. Never underestimate the power of puppy-dog eyes.
Charlie retrieved his metal CSU case and we walked to the house. As we entered the courtyard, I felt a sudden wave of anxiety from Jax. He was no longer just anxious to be inside his old home. He was nervous.
I tried to reassure him. It’s okay, boy. I’m here. Everything is okay.
As Charlie unlocked the door, he turned to me with a thoughtful smile. “Hey, I’ve heard there are some dogs that people aren’t allergic to. Is that true?”
“Some breeds shed less. So, they aren’t as bad.”
“We always had Labs growing up. They shed like crazy.”
We paused in the foyer, and I smiled and nodded as Charlie talked. I had to get rid of him to have any chance o
f accomplishing my task. There was no way I’d be able to guide Jax through his memories with Charlie chattering at me like an excited squirrel.
“I had this one dog, Zeus, a chocolate, and he was the biggest, craziest Lab. He would climb over our fence like it was nothing. I had to have him pull me on my skateboard around the neighborhood just to wear him out.”
He shook his head, remembering the hyper Zeus.
“Labs can be energetic,” I said, praying he’d get a phone call or a sudden urge to use the restroom.
“My wife would never want a Lab. Even if she didn’t have allergies.”
I moved toward the kitchen, Charlie shadowing me like one of the faithful Labs from his youth. The room was large, well appointed, and dirty. Though some of the party stuff was gone—taken to the Crime Lab, I assumed—there seemed to be a layer of dust on everything. I spotted two large stainless bowls on the floor and walked over to pick them up. They gave me an idea. Maybe if I gave Charlie a job, I could shake him for a few minutes.
“So what breed do you recommend?” he asked me.
We were back to hypoallergenic dogs. “Poodle, or schnauzer,” I said as I opened the pantry door. “Both shed less and are smart and trainable. And they come in a variety of sizes.”
“Cool.”
It only took a second to find what I was looking for. A giant bag of dog food. I grabbed it and tugged with my good arm, sliding it out into the kitchen with difficulty. Jax started sniffing the bag with interest. This was his favorite flavor.
Dinner.
“If I can get it in the car, you can have a big bowl later,” I told Jax.
“Oh, here,” Charlie said. “I’ll get it.”
Bingo. “Thank you so much.”
He hoisted the bag onto his shoulder, and I followed him to the foyer to open the front door. I shut it quietly behind him. I thought about locking him out but that wouldn’t help—he had a key.
“Okay, down to business.” I wouldn’t have long. But all I needed was the killer’s face. With that, I could work backward to find evidence. One step at a time. Focus. I steadied myself, blanking my mind the way I had the first time I’d been here. No Technicolor expectoration for me today.
Woof at the Door Page 20
