We walked toward the living room. Jax began to whine quietly.
“It’s okay, boy,” I whispered.
Just as it had at Burke’s house, the violence of murder lingered like a dark, rank phantom.
I tried to push the uneasy feeling away, filling my head with a vast, white calm. But as we entered the room, my stomach roiled. Swallowing hard, I paused and tried to combat the sudden dizziness. It was too much, too fast.
I was going to need more time. Charlie would be back any minute. Presumably to resume his cheerful babbling. There was no way I could stay focused and steer Jax’s thoughts with Sir Chats-a-Lot around. Not through such a violent, emotional memory.
We’d have to come back. Which meant I needed a way in.
I pulled Jax back around to the kitchen. Dark granite topped the rustic-chic cabinets. I scanned the countertops for a set of keys or a garage door opener. Napkins, a few paper plates, the odd bit of confetti. I saw a flat, shallow bowl sitting near the fridge and rifled through it. Junk mail, a pen, notepaper, random bits of unidentifiable stuff. No keys.
I started opening drawers systematically. I’d only gotten through two when I heard the front door open.
Crap. I grabbed the dog food bowls and pulled the pen and notepad out of the catchall. I started scribbling a list. Food. Bowls. Toys. Bed. I put big checks next to Food and Bowls. Yep, that’s me. Miss Organization. I turned to Charlie, hoping he wouldn’t suspect I’d been rifling through drawers.
“I figured I’d make a list.” I tore off the paper and held it up. As if he needed a visual to go with the word list.
He was looking at me in an odd way. Not suspicious, but not as friendly as he’d been. Probably wondering why I hadn’t followed him to Bluebell. This would have been a good time to make my exit, but I still needed a way back into the house. I’d have to find a key or unlock a window.
“Have you seen a dog bed anywhere?”
“Yeah, there’s one in the bedroom. I’ll show you.”
I set the bowls down in the foyer to pick up on the way out. They clattered loudly against the marble floor.
Jax and I followed Charlie down the hall and into the master suite. And it was a suite. The room was huge. The décor was oversized and masculine. Hemingway-esque tropical. Rich earth tones dominated the palette of the large area rug and draperies. A king-size bed, the headboard of which almost touched the ceiling, dominated the wall in front of me. It looked like a fine antique, with large columns and heavy carving. On the far right wall, potted palms accented a set of French doors. They led outside. Maybe, if I could get Charlie to turn his back for a minute, I could unlock one.
As I tried to think of a way to manage that, Jax pulled at his leash. He wanted to go in the opposite direction. Through an archway to my left, there was a small, private study. One wall was lined with bookshelves, the other with football trophies. A desk and chair sat in the center.
“A library?”
“I know.” Charlie’s voice had regained its lighthearted air. “Who would have thought a football player could read.”
Jax was dragging me into the study—sniffing the floor and the air with anticipation. There was something in this room he wanted. “What is it, boy?”
We walked around the desk and Jax found his prize. A well-used length of knotted rope. Jax picked it up and pressed it into my hand. Tug! Get it!
“You want to play tug-of-war?” I grabbed the toy to indulge him for a second. As he growled and shook the toy, I saw into his memories.
Bringing the toy to Mark while he was at the desk working at the computer. Mark saying, “Aus!” Jax dropping the toy. Mark tossing the toy into the bedroom. Jax bringing it back to start the game again.
“Aus!” I said the German command. Jax let go immediately.
“Cool,” Charlie said from behind me. “I’ve heard some of these guard dogs are trained in German, like the K9s.”
“A lot of them come from the same kennels overseas.” I wasn’t sure what to make of this knowledge. If Jax was trained in German, why had he been listening to me? Because of our mental connection? I filed the subject away to be examined later. There was a more pressing question on my mind.
“Where’s Mark’s computer? Did you guys take it?”
Charlie gave me a startled look. “Yeah, how did you know?”
I looked back at the desk. Hoping there would be a telltale dust outline or other evidence to point out. Nope. Then I remembered seeing something when I’d bent to get the rope for Jax.
“I noticed a power backup and connection cords under the desk,” I said casually. “Can you guys really look at everything on his computer? Even the erased stuff?”
“Yeah. Most of the time. You wouldn’t believe the stuff people keep on their computers. They don’t even encrypt it. Not that it would matter.”
“Really?”
“It might take longer to get into, but our computer guy would decode it eventually. One time, we were going after this pedophile. He was really careful, never had anything on his PC. We went over the computer a thousand times. It turns out he kept everything on an online server. I went back to the guy’s house just to look around the office one last time. I found a bill for the server; he’d written his user name and password on it.”
“So you caught him?”
“We did. Gotta love stupid criminals.” He was back in the groove, chatting away. And I wondered if I could use it to my advantage.
“Kai said you didn’t have much physical evidence. That’s got to be frustrating.”
“We have a pile of physical evidence. None of it’s relevant.”
“Because of the party?”
Charlie set his case on the floor of the study. “Yeah. But we did get a break last night.”
“With the computer?”
“We glue-fumed the keyboard and it was wiped clean.”
I nodded. Though I had no idea what glue-fuming was. Charlie was working on the assumption I was in the know—I didn’t want to blow the illusion by asking too many questions. I assumed he meant that there were no fingerprints on the keyboard.
“So, the killer touched the computer and wiped his prints off. And you came back to see if he was as careful everywhere in here?”
“Yep. I’m going to go over the desk again.”
“I hope you find something.” I was really hoping he’d get started working and I’d have my chance to covertly unlock the door. But that was not to be.
Charlie pointed into the bedroom. “The dog bed is over there.” We walked back into the main part of the suite and I spotted a round, fleece-covered dog bed in the far corner near the French doors. “Hey look. There’s your bed, Jax.”
Jax walked toward it, and I wondered if I could get Charlie to carry it to Bluebell for me. Probably not, unless he was sure I followed him.
To get to the dog bed, I had to pass the doors leading outside. The handles were wrought iron levers. I didn’t see a lock. All around the handles, black smudges and dust coated the door. I’d seen the same thing in the kitchen. I paused to scrutinize the dust.
Fingerprint powder. “Man, this stuff is messy.”
“Yeah. It gets everywhere.”
I looked down at the floor. There was a small pile of dark dust on the light stone. But of more interest to me was the little latch anchoring the bottom of the door to the tile. I could reach down and pull it up, unlocking the door, if Charlie weren’t standing over my shoulder.
I needed a diversion.
Like Westley in The Princess Bride, I made a quick list of my assets. I still held the rope toy. The dog bed was only a few feet away. And I had Jax.
No holocaust cloak, damn.
I turned my back to the door and saw that Jax had plopped onto the dog bed. Perfect.
“Awww. Look at him,” I said. “Poor baby. He thinks he’s staying.”
Charlie’s attention was on Jax.
Jax, stay. I urged him not to move with my mind while I said aloud, “Come on, Jax. We’ve got to go.” Stay!
Confused, he wiggled a little in the bed. Stay?
Yes! Stay! “Let’s go, buddy.” Stay! I tried to remember the German command. Platz! I wasn’t sure if that meant “down” or “stay,” but it worked. Jax was no longer unsure. He had an order.
I pulled on the leash, thinking, Platz! Platz! Platz! Jax didn’t move. Good boy!
I looked at Charlie. “This is so sad. I don’t want to yell at him.”
Charlie took the bait and squatted down. “Come on, big guy!” He clapped his hands. “Come see Charlie.”
Jax didn’t budge.
Good boy! You are so smart! I joined Charlie on the floor, positioning myself as close to the door as possible. The latch was within reach. I turned to Charlie.
“I have an idea. Here.” I held out the rope toy. “You pull that end and shake it. I’ll keep hold of this one. Maybe if he sees us having fun, he’ll want to play, too.”
It was silly. But Charlie was a dog lover, and bless his heart, he was game. He even made growling noises, God love him.
Thankfully, I knew the German command for “come.” Jax, hier! Tug! Get it! He launched himself off the bed like it had caught fire. I shifted out of the way and let go of the toy. Jax barreled into Charlie, bowling him over.
I scooted to the door and popped the latch with a quick flick.
Charlie was laughing and wrestling with Jax. Not even a little upset that he’d been flattened. I smiled. Dog people are awesome.
CHAPTER 17
I was being followed.
I’d gotten the feeling as I left Mark’s subdivision. That prickling uneasiness that puts the senses on alert. After glancing in the rearview mirror a few times, I managed to shake the feeling, telling myself I had imagined it. Now, I knew my instincts had been right.
I had been caught up worrying about my impending breaking-and-entering venture—going over all the ways to get busted—and almost missed my turn. I had to shoot over two lanes of traffic, much to the irritation of my fellow motorists. One man I’d cut off shot me a rude hand gesture, and I had turned to give him a vapid smile and pageant wave when I spotted the dark sedan.
It had been behind me at the Wendy’s drive-through.
Being unschooled in counterspy tactics, I had no idea how to lose a tail. Though judging from the way the sedan had also nearly missed the turn, making sudden changes in direction seemed to be a good idea.
One thing I didn’t want to do was lead whoever it was to my sister’s.
“Okay, so now what?” I could see the sedan in my mirror. It had dropped back a couple of cars. I thought about driving over the median; after all, Bluebell could handle it. But I had to remember Jax was lying in the backseat. I wasn’t going to risk hurting him by trying some stupid evasive maneuver.
My heart had started pumping hard and fast. Who would be following me? Why? The longer I drove knowing I was being tailed, the more my adrenaline urged me to act. Traffic stopped at a red light. I took the chance to turn in the seat and stare at the sedan, which was three cars behind me. The driver was too far away to see.
Jax let out a low growling bark. Guard.
I looked at Jax. “It’s okay. In fact, you know what? Screw it.” I shifted Bluebell into Park and got out. The light had turned green, and there were a few honks of protest. I ignored them. I walked straight toward the sedan.
I’d only made it to my rear bumper when I heard the squeal of tires. The driver had decided it was time to leave. The sedan lurched into traffic and rocketed past.
I glared at it as it sped away. Tinted windows.
I couldn’t tell if the driver was a man or a woman. Black, white, or purple.
Shaking, as much with anger as fear, I walked back to Bluebell. Checking my mirrors every other second, I headed home.
By the time I parked in front of the condo, paranoia had taken hold. I stuffed the rope toy in my purse and climbed out of Bluebell slowly, scanning the area around me like a commando on recon. I ordered Jax to stay with me, grabbed the dog bed, and left the bag of food for later.
My hyperawareness continued even after we entered the condo. I was ready for anything. If there was someone lurking in a corner, they were toast. I would kung fu them without hesitation.
Only the sight of Moss sitting outside, blithely watching the seagulls from the balcony, made me realize how far up the crazy tree I’d climbed.
I let out a shaky half laugh. Who could be lurking with Moss around?
I got Jax’s bed situated in my room, and after I took a couple of ibuprofen, I sat on the sofa in the living room and tried to relax.
I glanced at Moss. Though he was out of my “range,” I knew he’d heard us come home and had decided to stay outside—probably enjoying the way the dying sun seemed to spotlight the gulls. Their white undersides glowed pink, sparking like embers as they swooped down to settle by the shore.
Jax flopped onto the far corner of the rug and let out a deep sigh. He was tired.
“Me, too, buddy. But our night isn’t over yet.” I watched him close his eyes and wished I could do the same. But my nerves were too frazzled. So much so that when Moss clambered through the dog door with the grace and stealth of a drunken wildebeest, I nearly jumped out of my skin.
I pressed my hand over my pounding heart and sucked in a breath.
Moss walked to where I sat and sniffed my face. Scared?
“Yes, boy, I was scared. But I’m okay.” I slid down to the floor and wrapped my arm around his back. “Someone followed me today. It upset me.”
In Moss’s solid presence, I could think a little more rationally. I leaned my head on his side and replayed the event. My dog picked up on the emotions I’d experienced. I had felt as if I was being tracked. Hunted. He didn’t like it.
Moss growled. So low, it was little more than a rumbling exhale. Jax sat up, instantly alert. It’s okay. I forced a slow breath, and Jax settled back to nap. Moss stayed on guard.
Where? Moss always wanted to know the identity and location of the enemy.
“I don’t know who it was or what they wanted,” I said. It helped to sort through my thoughts out loud, and Moss was a good listener.
“Maybe they wanted to find out where I live.” I tried to figure out the reason. To keep tabs on me? Know when I was coming or going? Again, the question was why?
I lifted my head and looked at Moss. “What have I got that anyone cares about?”
I glanced over at Jax and understanding swept over me. “The frigging reporter.”
When I had gone to meet with Gardenia Richardson, I’d seen a young man in a sedan watching me as I’d gone through the gate. And hadn’t Wes said something about a reporter at the Times digging into the Richardsons’ past?
Oddly, this made me feel much better. Sooner or later, he’d see that I was just caring for Mark’s dog and move on to juicer scoops. At least, I hoped he would. What if he started asking around and came to the same conclusion Gardenia had? What if a reporter knew about my ability?
That terrifying idea was cut off by my cell phone’s sudden eruption into song. It was Emma.
“Hey, Grace. Sorry it’s taken so long to call you back.” In the background, I could hear people talking and what sounded like glasses and plates clinking as tables were set.
“I know you have a lot to do.”
“I’ve hit a lull. The calm before the storm.” She sounded happy and energized. My sister, the true extrovert, loved the action and controlled chaos of her job. I would never understand it, but then again, I can’t even plan dinner.
>
“Em, I got your note. Jaguar tag?”
“I have no idea what it means. You made me promise to write it down.”
“Did I say why?”
“You were speaking in tongues. But I think it was something Jax saw.”
“Huh.” Dogs don’t see well. Or rather, they don’t see like people. I have to interpret some visual cues and translate them. Maybe my drugged brain had made a connection I’d missed. “Okay. I’ll see if I can’t figure it out.”
“How’s the shoulder?”
“Better. It twinges every once in a while. I’m going to ice it in a minute.”
“Hey, I almost forgot. I saw Gardenia Richardson a few minutes ago. She asked me to be sure I told you hello.” There was a pause. “Do you know her?”
“I met her yesterday.” I felt myself cringing, waiting for the barrage of questions.
“Where?”
“At her house in Mandarin. She wanted an update on Jax.”
“In person?”
“Look, it’s a long story. I’ll tell you when you get home. Okay?”
“Okay,” she said slowly. “Grace, listen, Gardenia Richardson is . . . she’s not as nice as she seems.”
No kidding. I tried to change the subject. “So what’s the event tonight anyway?”
“A bachelor auction.”
“Like in Indecent Proposal?” I never really got that movie. Woody Harrelson . . . Robert Redford . . . and a million bucks? What was the big dilemma?
“Yep. Mark was supposed to be one of the bachelors. So was LaBryce.”
This must have been the “charity thing” LaBryce had talked about, where he and Mark had planned to have their first argument. “Is that why Mrs. Richardson was there?”
“She wanted me to understand that just because Mark was not here—it didn’t mean we could skip his charity. I had to scramble to find a substitute.”
“Who’s taking his place?”
“One of the other Jaguars—Eric Ruby. He and Mark were pretty close, according to Mrs. Richardson.”
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