Death Takes a Ride (The Cate Kinkaid Files Book #3): A Novel

by Lorena McCourtney

  “And you have no idea how this guy in the ski mask could have known about the money?”

  “All I can think is maybe Kane told whoever he owed money to that he was getting it here tonight. And then that person blabbed it to someone else. Still sounds like Candy to me. She’s a big mouth, and no telling what kind of scumbag friends she has.”

  No lost love between Halliday and Blakely’s ex-wife, obviously.

  As if he’d heard Cate’s unspoken thoughts, he made a rueful lift of shoulder. “Sorry. I get a little hot under the collar about Candy. She did everything she could to alienate Kane’s kids and break up his relationship with them. And grabbed every asset she could get hold of in the divorce. She works for some politician there in Salem. Though she’s probably trying to snag him as a husband. But he’d better watch out. Candy may look like a trophy wife, but she’s more like a poison pill in spike heels.”

  “Have you and Mr. Blakely been partners for a long time?” Cate asked.

  “About five years. We’re not much alike, but we’ve been friends since way back in high school, when we were both running our old cars in the local drag races.”

  Cate saw the gleam of the Corvette under the outside lights that had now been turned on, the workaday SUV a dull hulk beside it. “He’s a little more on the flashy side?” she guessed.

  Halliday smiled at the way she phrased it. “Yeah, I guess you could say that. But it makes for a good balance in our business. Me on the stodgy side. Kane flashy. He’s great at the promotion part of the business, meeting people and getting publicity. Last month he led a parade over on the coast in a ’57 Thunderbird we restored, and he’s won a lot of prizes with our restorations at car shows.” He waved a hand toward the shelf of trophies. “Me, I’d rather hide under the hood and work on an old engine than get out in public.”

  A motorcycle turned from the street into the parking area. Cate recognized it immediately. She was momentarily surprised. She’d assumed Mitch would bring his SUV. She should have asked him to. But she knew she shouldn’t be surprised that he was on the Purple Rocket. He loved roaring around on that big two-wheeled machine. Sometimes it was hard to know where Mitch fit on a stodgy-to-flashy scale.

  “It looks as if my ride’s here,” Cate said.

  Then she hesitated. Her murder cases had slipped under Uncle Joe’s radar a couple of times, but he was still adamant that Belmont Investigations did not do murders. Yet this wasn’t murder, she rationalized. Blakely wasn’t dead, and Halliday had acted in self-defense when he shot the gunman.

  “If I could be of any help …” She fished a business card out of her purse and handed it to him.

  “You’re a private investigator?” Halliday said the words in that same astonished tone most people used when they discovered 30-year-old, 5′4″, redheaded Cate was a PI.

  “Assistant private investigator,” Cate corrected, as honesty always made her do. The thought occurred to her that once she was fully licensed, she could carry a gun. Did she want to? Sometimes carrying a weapon sounded like a good idea, but right now she suspected she’d be even more of a basket case than Halliday if she actually had to shoot someone.

  “So if I can be of any assistance, give me a call,” Cate said. She saw Mitch dismounting the motorcycle and opening the trunk behind the seats to get her helmet. “I’ll put Clancy out in the warehouse for the night.”

  “No! I don’t want him out there getting into everything and leaving smelly dog piles all over the place.” Halliday spoke with a vehemence that suggested he put Clancy in the same undesirable category as Blakely’s ex-wife Candy. “I don’t know why Kane hauls that animal everywhere with him. Put him out in the Corvette.”

  “Well, uh, okay.”

  Clancy looked up at her—although he didn’t have to look all that far up—as if he knew he was about to be further abandoned. But what else could she do with him?

  She grabbed his studded collar and opened the door.

  And immediately wished she hadn’t gotten such a good grip.

  4

  She belly-skidded across the concrete walkway fronting the building, hitting a couple of stray rocks as she went, but she finally managed to let go of Clancy’s collar before he dragged her into the gravel. She looked up to see the dog barreling across the parking lot, although not to the Corvette. Instead he aimed straight for the Purple Rocket. A flying leap landed him on the seat. Mitch, Cate’s helmet in hand, stared in astonishment for a moment before dropping the helmet and running to Cate.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Do I look okay?” she grumbled as Mitch helped her to her feet. She felt as if the surface of the concrete were imprinted on her body. She brushed her knees and the front of her clothes. “But yeah, I’m okay.”

  “What’s with the dog and my bike?” he asked.

  “I have no idea.” Clancy waved his skinny tail lazily as they approached the bike. “His name is Clancy. They took his owner to the hospital. I was going to put him in the Corvette. I don’t know what he has in mind.”

  Cate grabbed Clancy’s collar again to pull him off the motorcycle. Clancy resisted. Cate felt like a mouse trying to pull an elephant. A somewhat worse-for-wear mouse.

  “You think maybe you could help here?” Cate suggested to Mitch.

  “Like how? Call in a bulldozer?” But Mitch went around to the far side of the motorcycle and pushed, first with his hands and then his shoulder. Clancy dug his toes in, as if he had about seventeen of them on each foot, but he finally landed on the ground. Cate dragged him to the Corvette.

  Locked.

  “I’ll go see if I can get a key.” She transferred her grip on Clancy’s collar to Mitch. Inside, a different officer was now talking to Halliday. Cate hesitated to interrupt, but she had to do something. She hoped neither Halliday nor the officer had seen the Two-Stooges-and-a-dog scene outside. Halliday shook his head when Cate asked about a key to the Corvette.

  “Kane probably had it on him. Or it was in that jacket they bagged up.”

  “I’ll have to put him in the warehouse, then.”

  Cate assumed Halliday wouldn’t object now that there was no choice, but he was already shaking his head when the officer backed him up.

  “I’m sorry, but the dog can’t remain here unattended while we’re working the crime scene.” The officer peered out the window. Sounding more like a baffled bystander than a law officer, he added, “Why is he sitting on that motorcycle?”

  Clancy had apparently gotten away from Mitch and again planted himself on the motorcycle seat. The brass studs on his collar gleamed under the yard light.

  “Kane has a big bike,” Halliday said. “He lets the dog ride in a special box he had made for it. Or sometimes the dog sits in front of him on the seat. He has goggles for it to wear. He says the dog loves it.”

  Great. A monster-sized mutt with a motorcycle fixation.

  Cate went back outside and reported the no-key situation and what both Halliday and the officer had said about the dog not staying on the premises.

  “Now I don’t know what to do. I can’t just dump him out here in the parking lot.”

  “What Clancy obviously has in mind is a bike ride,” Mitch said. He draped an arm over the dog. Although they had not been formally introduced, Clancy squeezed up against Mitch. Maybe motorcycle possession was sufficient recommendation for a new friend.

  “I guess I’ll have to take him home for the night,” Cate said reluctantly. “Halliday says Clancy likes riding on a motorcycle, and I don’t know what else to do with him.”

  “What’s Octavia going to think of a doggy visitor in her Kastle?” Mitch asked.

  “I guess we’ll see.”

  Mitch eyed dog and motorcycle. “How do you have in mind doing this?”

  “Mr. Halliday said Clancy’s owner had a box on his motorcycle for Clancy to ride in.”

  “Unless you have an instant Honey-I-Shrunk-the-Dog kit in your pocket, he’s never going to fit in the Pu
rple Rocket’s trunk.”

  “Then I guess he’ll just have to ride between us.”

  Mitch slid a foot over the bike. Clancy generously made room for him. Cate put on her helmet and clambered on behind the dog. He didn’t seem to mind being pancaked between them.

  “Remember, if anything goes wrong, this was your idea,” she warned the dog.

  A skinny tail whapped her leg.

  “Okay, here we go,” Mitch said.

  He cautiously eased across the parking lot and onto the main road. Clancy shifted on the seat to get a better view over Mitch’s shoulder. One big rear paw dug into Cate’s thigh. Mitch speeded up. Clancy turned his head, and a long wet tongue and a flapping metal license tag slapped the faceplate of her helmet. Then, despite the faceplate, she got a mouthful of dog hair.

  Oh, this was going to be a fun trip.

  At the corner, where Maxwell turned onto River Road, experienced bike-rider Clancy shifted his weight into the turn.

  “You okay back there?” Mitch asked.

  A flapping dog ear blocked Cate’s view. Another hind foot scraped her other thigh. Dog hair clogged her teeth. A tail whapped her ribs. “Yeah, we’re fine,” she muttered. Clancy added a wiggle and bark.

  Mitch drove slowly and cautiously. A sedan pulled around to pass. Cate saw pointing fingers and laughing faces. A pickup passed them. A guy rolled down the window to yell, “Who’s the good-looking one in the middle?”

  By the time they roared up the steep driveway to her house, Cate felt as if she, Clancy, and Mitch had been melded into some inseparable lump.

  “How do we get off?” she asked.

  Clancy solved that problem by squirming out from between them and jumping to the ground. Cate stumbled off the bike and removed her helmet. She spit out dog hair, wiped what she suspected was dog slobber off her neck, and brushed ineffectually at enough dog hair on her jacket to knit into a mutt suit of her own. Mitch’s back, she noted, was neat and tidy. His smooth jacket shed hair as if the leather had a Teflon coating.

  “I’ll come in and help you get him settled,” Mitch said.

  Cate’s house key was on the key ring she’d let Shirley have, so she had to go around back to retrieve the spare she kept hidden under a brick. Clancy loped along with her. In the backyard, she spotted movement along the far fence.

  Cate stopped short, imagination in overdrive after what had happened out at H&B. Burglar? Killer? Beside her, Clancy’s muscles bunched as he readied for attack.

  She grabbed his collar just in time as she saw what was moving by the fence. Not a killer. A skunk!

  Clancy was perfectly willing to give her another belly-skid across the yard to go after the skunk, but this time she managed to grab a patio post before he got in full gear. She yelled, and Mitch came running. He still had a tight hold on the dog when they went around front and Cate unlocked the door.

  Octavia met them in the foyer. Her white fur instantly bristled into porcupine spikes. She skidded into a turn, then apparently remembered this was her house, built especially for her, actually. She took a stiff-legged stance that practically shouted “C’mon, dog. Make my day!”

  Clancy, for all his size, plopped his hind end on the floor and looked up at Cate uncertainly.

  Octavia advanced a step and let out some warning yowls. She couldn’t hear herself because she was deaf, but that had never inhibited the volume of her yowls. Clancy stood up as if he might take Octavia up on her challenge after all. Octavia, apparently deciding she’d made her point and discretion was the better part of valor, made a dignified turn and then scooted up the padded pole that led to her private walkway near the ceiling.

  “I think you can let him go now,” Cate said.

  Mitch released the dog’s collar, but Clancy just sat there until Cate patted her thigh in invitation.

  “C’mon. We’ll see if we can find you something to eat.”

  In the kitchen, broad-minded Clancy gulped dry cat food. Then he explored the house at race-dog speed, around the coffee table, down the hall, through the laundry room and bathroom, before finally jumping on Octavia’s prized, pillowed window seat. He sniffed it thoroughly, turned around a couple of times, and curled into a shaggy ball. Octavia, from her walkway, hissed disapproval. Clancy rumbled matching disapproval.

  “I don’t think this is going to work,” Cate said.

  “It isn’t fair to expect Octavia to stay up there all night,” Mitch agreed.

  “I suppose I could lock Clancy out in Octavia’s play area. It’s screened in.”

  Mitch straightened the shade on a lamp Clancy had knocked askew. “It’s going to get cold out there tonight.” His glance flicked between Octavia, now prowling her walkway, and Clancy, still claiming the window seat. “I guess I could take him home with me for the night,” he finally said with all the enthusiasm of volunteering to walk the nearest plank into some bottomless sea.

  “They allow pets in the condo?”

  “I see other people with them. Mostly snuggly little lap-dog types.”

  “I imagine Clancy would be glad to snuggle in your lap, if that’s required.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of. The headline may read ‘Condo Resident Smothered by Hairy Animal of Unknown Origin.’ But I’ll have to go get the SUV to take him home in. I can’t carry him on the bike without you along to hold him on. Do you still feel like pizza?”

  Cate hadn’t had anything to eat since lunch. Earlier, out there at H&B, she’d have said no way to food of any kind at any given point in the near future. Right now, she felt as if she shouldn’t be hungry, after what had happened. But she was. Mitch was surely hungry too. He often got so busy on a Computer Solutions Dudes project that he didn’t even bother with lunch.

  “Canadian bacon and sausage? With olives and sliced tomatoes?” she asked.

  “You got it. I’ll pick up some dog food too.”

  As soon as the Purple Rocket rolled down the driveway, Cate tossed the hairy jacket in the laundry room and used her cell phone to call Rebecca. She gave her aunt a minimal explanation about why she and Shirley had missed the Fit and Fabulous meeting at the church. Rebecca suggested that Cate talk to Uncle Joe about the shootings at H&B, but the landline phone in Cate’s office rang, and she excused herself to answer it.

  Actually, she was grateful for the interruption. She hadn’t placed the events at H&B into the category of a case, but she didn’t want to give Uncle Joe the opportunity to tell her to stay out of this. Halliday’s question kept jogging around in her head. How had that gunman known about the money?

  She picked up the phone. “Belmont Investigations. Assistant Investigator Cate Kinkaid speaking.”

  “Cate, this is Shirley. You’re a what?”

  “Assistant private investigator. But it’s my home phone too.”

  “Oh.” Shirley paused as if she had questions but apparently decided she hadn’t time for them. “I’m glad I found your number in a phone book here at the hospital. It finally hit me that I’d left you out there at H&B without any transportation.”

  “A friend came and got me. How’s Mr. Blakely doing?”

  “They won’t tell me much. You know how they are about privacy regulations. But I do know he hasn’t regained consciousness. I don’t think that’s good.”

  No, not good at all. “Mr. Halliday intended to come to the hospital, I think. Did he get there?”

  “Yeah. He’s really shook up about all this. He’s worried about Kane, but he also feels guilty about shooting that guy. I guess I’m not that bighearted. I’m just glad he did it. He and I would probably both be dead if he hadn’t.”

  “I think so.”

  “A couple of policemen were here too, and asked me all kinds of questions.”

  “They can get really nosy.”

  “Yeah, really nosy. But—” She broke off, as if not certain she wanted to go on, but finally she added, “But I got the funny feeling they think I might know something about the gunman. Maybe eve
n had something to do with the shootings. And I don’t know anything about anything!”

  Everybody, it seemed, put their own nervous spin on being questioned by the police. Cate kept silent about the fact that a similar thought about Shirley had slithered into her own head.

  “But what I called for, I can drive the car to your place and then call a cab to come back here to the hospital.”

  “You’re not going home?” Cate asked.

  “I want to be here with Kane. I don’t really know him very well, but … I feel as if someone should be here.”

  And maybe, if Blakely recovered, he’d be very grateful for Shirley’s caring concern. The situation strongly suggested that Shirley had feelings for him.

  “I don’t need the car tonight. You keep it there and bring it here in the morning. Then I’ll take you home from here. Do you usually use a bicycle to get to and from work?”

  “A bicycle? No, since my pickup broke down, I walk. A guy there at H&B is working on it. But if Jerry can’t fix it, maybe I will be riding a bicycle pretty soon.”

  Which meant the bicycle Cate had seen out there by the piles of tires near the warehouse didn’t belong to Shirley after all. Biking and hiking were popular around Eugene, and maybe crooks needed their exercise too. But surely a gunman intent on snatching $30,000 would have a higher-tech getaway plan than pedaling off into the night, wouldn’t he?

  “Does someone else who works there have a bicycle?”

  “Not that I know of. Why are you asking?”

  “Because I saw a bicycle leaning against that pile of tires when I parked back there by the employees’ door.”

  “I’ve never noticed one there. Somebody probably just dumped it to get rid of it. People are always dumping stuff there. I suggested to Mr. Halliday that the area ought to be fenced off, but he hasn’t done it.” Shirley asked for Cate’s address and said she’d be at the house in the morning. “Oh, I’m so jittery I forgot to ask about Clancy. Did you leave him in the warehouse?”

  “No. Mr. Halliday said he couldn’t stay there.”

  “That figures. He isn’t much of a dog person.”