A Box Full of Trouble

by Carolyn Haines

  Now, as Layla packed, and Abby tried to help—between hugging Layla—Trouble scouted the room, meowing his approval and watching over the two women.

  The doorbell rang and Abby ran to answer it, hoping it was Victor. She knew without doubt that her attraction was far more than physical—she was in love with him. Now she saw him for the genuinely kind, brave, and loyal friend to Layla that he had been. And she knew he would be as kind, brave, and loyal to her.

  Just as she reached for the door knob, Trouble meowed and tapped at Abby’s ankle. She laughed and looked out the peephole. “It’s Victor,” she told Trouble, stooping down to give him a big pat before opening the door.

  Victor step inside, one hand holding a plastic bag of water with two black mollies swimming around, the other a potted hydrangea. He set the plant down on the floor and placed the bag with the tropical fish near the aquarium. Then he grabbed and hugged Abby, finishing off the embrace by twirling her around the room in his arms. He laughed and stroked her hair.

  “I love you.” Victor grinned, his face more handsome and relaxed than Abby had ever seen it be before.

  “I love you back.” She leaned against him and felt like she had finally found her place in the world as he pulled her face to his and kissed her.

  * * *

  Abby and Victor’s embrace deepens, as if they’ve forgotten Layla is in the other room. These two will be fine now. So will Layla.

  My job is done here, though I might stick around for the wedding. After that, I want to find my way home to Tammy’s house in Alabama.

  As I’m imagining ways to get back home, the doorbell rings again.

  Victor and Abby don’t even break their embrace.

  After the third time the bell rings, Layla comes out of the guest room, glances at Victor and Abby, and tosses out, “Get a room.” But she’s laughing as she glances out the peep hole.

  “Now what?”

  Layla opens the door and Lucas Kelly steps in. “Um, I’ve got kind of a problem and need a good detective. I wonder if I can borrow Trouble?”

  I guess I’m not going home just yet, and I rub against Lucas and purr.

  Acknowledgments

  I thank Carolyn Haines, Rebecca Barrett, Janet Kerley, Barbara Nicolazzo, and Sally McDonald for their excellent input, their skills and talents, and their most generous editorial assistance on Trouble in Tallahassee. In the midst of their busy lives, they gave me their time and made Trouble in Tallahassee a far better book.

  About the Author

  Claire Hamner Matturro admits she used to be a dog person. But then she rescued a black kitten and there was no going back. She’s been a journalist in Alabama, a lawyer in Florida, an organic blueberry farmer in Georgia, and taught at Florida State University College of Law and as a visiting professor of legal writing one long, snowy winter at the University of Oregon. She now lives with her husband and two rescued cats in Florida, where it doesn’t snow. Her books are: Skinny-Dipping (a BookSense pick, Romantic Times’ Best First Mystery, and nominated for a Barry Award); Wildcat Wine (nominated for a Georgia Writer of the Year Award); Bone Valley and Sweetheart Deal (winner of Romantic Times’ Award for Most Humorous Mystery), all published by William Morrow. She remains active in writers’ groups and contributes regularly to Southern Literary Review.

  www.clairematturro.com

  Chapter One

  August is - by far - not the most congenial of months in central Alabama. Invariably, a thunderstorm, brewed by climbing afternoon temperatures and typically quite fierce, will mar the washed out blue of the summer sky. And, as a matter of interest, I do believe that is thunder I hear rumbling in the distance. A soaking is not my preferred method of hygiene by any means, but the late afternoon breeze carries the faint but unmistakable scent of a fast-approaching storm. What I wouldn’t give for a dark and brooding English day.

  Nevertheless, here I am at the base of the courthouse steps, sweltering in the heat rising from the sidewalk, and here I’ll remain until I enter the next phase of my assignment.

  I’ve had company for quite some time, though the broad shouldered man has not shifted his position since he stepped from the silver embellished, dark pickup truck, sliding equally dark sunglasses into place all in one smooth move. The only interest I’ve seen him exhibit was toward the motorcycle rider who sat rather conspicuously upon his bike across the street for some time. And even that interest waned when the gentleman – and little though I like to judge by appearances, I use the term gentleman sparingly – donned his helmet and went on his way.

  There is something about his demeanor that refutes idleness and I’ve given him more than a fair share of side looks in the hour or so since his arrival. I do so again, in time to see him push away from his seemingly somnolent position against the hood of the truck. Forewarned, I turn and am rewarded for my patience at last. There, decidedly less fresh than when I watched her arrive at nine on the dot this morning, is my target. At some point, those rich tresses escaped their smooth upsweep and now tumble into dark curls. Earlier, I’d judged her hair to be ebony but the strands hold the late afternoon sun just enough to prove them dark brown instead.

  She looks more like her photographs now than when I first laid eyes upon her. That could be due to the diminished strain upon her face, a lessening which mayhap signals a favorable change in her circumstances. I certainly hope so. The differences are subtle and likely difficult for human eyes to discern, though quite evident to a feline as observant as myself. There is a distinct decline of trepidation in those wide, expressive eyes, a slight easing of the tension along her jawline. And, I must say, it is a remarkably firm jawline for, if my research is as impeccable as ever, a woman of forty-nine years maturity.

  I see no evidence, now, of this morning’s dread and anger when she was confronted on these very steps by her ‘significant other’ as I believe the ridiculous phrase to be in current vernacular. They had a somewhat heated exchange as he insisted she would lose the battle ahead and suggested vehemently that she ‘cut her losses’ and sign the papers he waved in her face. If I’m any judge of circumstances and people – and I believe myself to be quite astute – he was wrong.

  It was apparent to me that the man was already near desperation. If I surmise her victory correctly, he will be even more desperate and very likely dangerous as well. My role could turn – as it so often does – to protector as much as investigator.

  So now I must find my way to this ‘working’ horse ranch she is purported to own and manage with a certain flair for the unusual. I must say that such an outdoor and very physical lifestyle could contribute to the supple lines hinted at by the slim fitting skirt she wears with a tucked-in blouse. Her lightly tanned arms, as well as the calves of her legs, are nicely shaped so that would fit as well. Yet, there is also a certain elegance about her light movements on black stiletto heels as she descends toward me, an elegance that could well suit a boardroom career. I should know, as I’ve breached that world in the line of my profession as well. A definite contradiction, so we shall see. She may, perhaps, be merely the owner with an entourage at her beck and call in the stables and paddocks and a well-fitted home gym where she spends her days in air conditioned comfort while others labor on her behalf. But I think not.

  And, there now, she is close enough for me to bring into play my Sherlockian skills in order to catch her attention. If I have misjudged her, the proverbial goose – mine! – may well be cooked.

  * * *

  Avery started in surprise as a solid black feline leapt lightly onto the step just below her feet. Her inclination to give a moment of attention to the striking creature was outweighed by the knowledge that Craig would soon be emerging from the courthouse behind her. A Craig wrapped in the fury of his defeat.

  With that knowledge pressing in on her, Avery sidestepped rather than stopping as she normally would have to let her fingers glide through the gleaming onyx fur. The cat surprised her, yet again, with a move that placed him f
irmly in her path. The movement was so precise it seemed almost intentional. Despite her haste and the remnants of dread that gripped her still, Avery allowed herself to smile and stooped to stroke the animal. “What a beauty you are,” she murmured, as the cat arched in appreciation against her caress. The expensive leather collar and sleek condition of the cat’s coat told her plainly that this was someone’s beloved pet. If that had not been the case, she would gladly have taken him home with her.

  Green eyes regarded her calmly but the sound of voices – angry male voices – had Avery quickly straightening her back. The thud of heavy footsteps warned her it was too late to turn her back and exit gracefully. She would look cowardly if she did so now and Avery was not a coward. Knowing how fiercely Craig hated cats, she ignored all precautions about handling unknown animals, particularly a breed known for its disdain and intolerance of clumsy humans. Without a second thought, she scooped the cat up in her arms. She had a quick vision of Craig booting the innocent creature out of his path, if for no other reason than having seen Avery pet the animal.

  Avery shifted to one side of the broad steps, giving plenty of room and silently willing Craig to take his venom elsewhere. Her ex came down the stairs, his attorney following close at his heels. Andrew Morgan appeared as irritated as Craig looked irate.

  Craig came to an abrupt halt just inches away and Avery resigned herself to enduring one last ugly scene. Ugly was the best word she could give to anything to do with Craig these days. She marveled at the change the last five years had wrought in the man she’d once believed in and trusted completely. The handsome, energetic man at the height of a successful career had been replaced by this gaunt caricature of a person with poorly cut hair and ill-fitting clothes. She recognized the expensive gray suit. She’d selected it for him, as she once had all of his clothing and, at the time, it had fit his muscular shoulders to a tee.

  “You won’t win,” he snarled at her.

  Avery said nothing, knowing nothing she said would make any difference. Reminding him of the fact that she had won would do no good and serve only to fuel his resentment.

  Andrew Morgan, once his closest friend and advisor and still his attorney, laid a hand on Craig’s shoulder. “Don’t do this, Craig. Let’s get that coffee now.”

  Craig ignored him, thrusting his face closer to Avery. She stood her ground, despite a tremor of alarm at the lack of control in his expression. She couldn’t let him see that it affected her. Her silence seemed to infuriate him even further. His pale face darkened with red blotches.

  “Don’t think this ends here.”

  “It has ended,” she said finally, quietly. “It’s done, Craig.”

  His harsh laugh had the cat tensing in her arms and she instinctively snuggled him more closely to her chest.

  “You stupid bitch! You would’ve been a hell of a lot smarter to take what I offered and gotten the hell out of Alabama. That ranch is mine, every acre, every horse.”

  She could see the hatred in his eyes where once she’d imagined she’d seen love. And she supposed Craig could see with equal clarity the emptiness she felt when she looked at him.

  “Over my dead body.” She kept her voice steady by sheer strength of will. Her exhaustion was bone-deep. “The judge gave you twenty-four hours to remove the rest of your belongings from the ranch. Carlee is welcome to continue on with me.”

  “Carlee is my daughter, just like that ranch is my property! Over your dead body?” he mimicked her words. His lips curled. “I hope you mean that … because that’s just what I’m going to step over to take back what you’ve stolen from me.”

  “Craig, what the hell ...” Andrew Morgan scrubbed a hand over his face in disgust.

  Shock and fury hit Avery in a tidal wave of heat. “I can and will defend what’s mine.” Her voice was hard with the reminder of all she’d been through, all he’d put her through. “You should listen to your attorney, Craig. He might just keep you out of jail.”

  “Don’t threaten me, you emasculating bitch.”

  Even more shocking than his threats, Craig grabbed her shoulders, his fingers digging in so hard she sucked in her breath. As bad, as nasty, as things had gotten between them, Craig had never laid hands on her – until now.

  In one, blurred moment, she felt rather than saw the cat swipe unsheathed claws at the hand on her shoulder.

  Craig howled and jerked away with a string of curses more vulgar than she’d ever heard from him. He flung drops of blood from his hand, staring at the gash in disbelief before lunging forward. Avery could not tell if she or the cat were his target.

  Andrew tried to restrain Craig but his ineffectual attempt proved unnecessary. Before Avery had time for real fear, she watched in amazement as a complete stranger stepped past her, effortlessly pulling Craig’s arm behind his back so hard that Craig’s features contorted with pain rather than anger.

  The man leaned in close and spoke with quiet effect. Avery wished she could hear the words that drained all resistance from Craig’s taut body. Craig glared in disbelief then jerked backward as the other man loosened his grip.

  The stranger turned his back on Craig in dismissal. A cool, assessing gaze skimmed Avery and the cat. “Mrs. Danson.”

  Avery was vaguely aware of Craig stumbling past them, his attorney trailing behind.

  “Ms. Wilson,” she corrected automatically. She’d taken her own name back as soon as she’d filed for divorce more than two years earlier. For a moment, she stared at him. His eyes were hidden by dark, aviator style glasses but she could almost feel his gaze, one that seemed as feline as the animal in her arms, only far more predatory and dangerous, more in line with a panther than someone’s pet.

  “Ms. Wilson,” he returned, without a hint of a smile. “I’ve been waiting for you. We need to talk.”

  Instinctively, Avery took a step backward and shook her head. “No.”

  The man who had just come to her rescue lifted one dark brow and she flushed at her own rudeness but she was exhausted, stretched to the limit.

  “No,” she said again, but less forcefully. “But thank you for your help.”

  “I understand your caution but I’ve traveled a significant distance to meet with you.”

  “Who are you?” She felt completely bewildered by this turn of events. She was drained by hours of courtroom drama and knew she wasn’t at her best mentally. Even so, she knew she wasn’t expecting a visitor of any kind, particularly not one with the authoritative air of the man standing in front of her. “What do you want with me?”

  “This is not a sidewalk conversation.” His tone brooked no argument. “Listen, it’s late. You’ve got to eat. I need to talk with you and it may as well be over food.”

  Whoever he was, Avery, realized, whatever he wanted to talk with her about, he wasn’t going away until that happened.

  * * *

  Dirks waited patiently during her silent study of him. He was a patient man, a hard-won virtue he had not possessed in his early years. There was no doubt in his mind his appearance screamed career military even out of uniform. Buzz-cut hair, the deep brown edging toward gray. Navy polo tucked smoothly into pressed khakis. These days that persona, that image, infuriated and disgusted as often as it inspired. Since she had aligned her ranch with wounded veterans, he hoped at least for neutrality in that regard. He wondered if she sensed the concealed carry he wore, if the knowledge of its existence would make her even more skittish.

  He removed his sunglasses so that she could see his eyes. People often had a hard time trusting someone who wouldn’t show their eyes even if they didn’t realize the cause of their mistrust. He’d had extensive training in human behavior, training that came in handy more often than not.

  “I’m not selling my place, if that’s what you’re after. You won’t be the first buyer Craig has sent with an offer.”

  “I never laid eyes on your husband before today.” Not in person, at any rate.

  “I have animals to
care for at home.”

  “You also need to eat.” He suspected she’d missed more than one meal of late. A soft sigh seemed to release some of the tautness in her stance and he pressed that advantage. “And a moment to catch your breath before you have to tackle your next challenge.”

  The slow widening of her eyes revealed the moment she realized he knew far more about her than she did about him. “Who are you?”

  “Food,” he said firmly, taking her elbow but keeping a wary eye on the cat that had fended off Craig Danson so handily. The cat, however, seemed to sense no threat in him. And there was none, at least no physical threat. “There’s an open air restaurant just down the block. You’ll be surrounded by people and hopefully we can find an unobtrusive place for your cat.”

  At his words, she gave the cat one last stroke then placed him gently at her feet. “I’d love to have him but he’s not mine.” As if to prove her point, the cat wound once around her legs, then trotted gracefully up the steps and disappeared into the foliage.

  Straightening, she met his stare fully and Dirks felt a quick jolt of unexpected and unwanted attraction. Looking into those eyes was a little like looking into a forest, he thought. At first glance, a person would catch the myriad swirl of greens and browns with flecks of gold before their gaze adjusted sufficiently to perceive the depths buried below.

  Warning himself that she was an assignment, Dirks slid his hand under her elbow once more. He expected her to shrug him off. She didn’t, but she didn’t yield to his light pressure either. It was more as if she ignored or didn’t notice. Not being a ladies’ man by nature, the fact was more a curiosity to him than a disappointment.