Death, Taxes, and a Shotgun Wedding

by Diane Kelly

  Henry was much craftier than Anne. He knew not to hide in the same place twice. We peeked under and behind every piece of furniture but saw no sign of the cat. We pulled back the shower curtains and draperies for the second time that night. No Henry. We even peered into every cabinet and closet, though how he would have opened the doors and closed them again behind him was beyond my imagination.

  Nick frowned. “He didn’t disappear into thin air. He’s not David Copperfield.”

  Time to bring out the big guns. Or, in this case, cat treats. I retrieved a canister of his favorite Salmon Surprise treats from the pantry. “Here, Henry!” I shook the can. Cha-cha-cha-cha-cha. “Here, boy! I’ve got your treats!”

  Nick and I stood stock-still in silence, listening for any sign of life coming from anywhere in the town house. All we could hear were Anne’s pathetic mews.

  I tried the can again. Cha-cha-cha.

  Nothing.

  Nick’s patience had run out. “If he doesn’t show his furry face in ten seconds, I’m going to start ripping out the walls.”

  “Let’s make one more round.” What else could we do?

  I circled around the kitchen once more, this time trying things I hadn’t before. I opened the refrigerator. Nope, no Henry in here. I opened the cabinet under the sink and moved the cleaning supplies around to see if he was hiding in the darkness behind them. Nope. Finally, I approached the trash can. It was one of those tall models with a swing top that closed on its own. Could he have jumped inside?

  I pushed the door open to peer inside. The darn cat cowered on top of food wrappers and scraps and wads of used aluminum foil.

  HISSSSSSS! Henry whipped out a paw and went for my eye.

  Instinctively, I jerked my head back. Just in time, too. His claw raked across my jaw. “Jesus, cat!” I cried, letting go, the lid swinging closed again.

  Nick marched over, yanked off the lid, and grabbed Henry by the scruff of his neck. He held the cat up in front of his face and looked him in the eye. “Cut the crap, cat!”

  Henry hung there helplessly, doing his best to swipe at Nick with his paws but unable to get into proper position.

  Nick took the cat over to his carrier and stuffed him inside. Henry turned around and yowled. Yowwwwl! I want a lawyer! We’ll file a writ of habeas corpus! If he’d had a tin can, he would’ve dragged it back and forth across the bars.

  Henry kept up the ruckus all the way to Bonnie’s house, while Annie finally gave up her mewing and lay quietly at the back of her carrier, waiting to see what fate awaited her.

  I had to wonder, too, what fate awaited me. Would I make it to my wedding day and live happily ever after? Or would Nick and our guests be attending my funeral instead?

  chapter seven

  Bedtime Story

  The sun was setting when we arrived at Bonnie’s house. While my cats and I waited in my car, Daffodil trotted along after Nick as he hurried inside to let his mother know she had unannounced houseguests. A minute or so later, the garage door rolled up. Nick backed his mother’s car out and I pulled mine in. After maneuvering her car onto the other side of the driveway, he pulled his pickup into the garage next to me and jabbed the button to close the garage door. We’d been extremely careful on the way over and were virtually certain we hadn’t been trailed, but just in case anyone came looking for us we wanted our vehicles hidden so it wouldn’t be obvious we were here.

  As the door came down, I saw the bottom half of a black-and-white Dallas PD squad car roll by. Looked like they’d already gotten the message about our new hideout and were keeping an eye on things. Good.

  Nick and I each grabbed a cat carrier.

  Bonnie stepped out into the garage, her forehead furrowed in fear. “Hey, Tara. How you holding up?”

  “I’ll feel better when we catch whoever it is that’s sending me the death threats.”

  “Got any suspects?” she asked.

  Nick snorted. “A dozen or more.”

  Bonnie gasped. “Good Lord! That many?”

  I shrugged. “I’ve managed to piss off a lot of people since I joined the IRS.”

  “I suppose that means you’ve been doing your job.”

  She got that right. Seizing people’s assets and bank accounts doesn’t exactly endear you to them.

  She reached for the clothes I’d draped over my backseat and the small suitcase containing my makeup, hair dryer, and rollers. “I’ll get your clothes and overnight bag.”

  “Thanks, Bonnie.” I went to the trunk and retrieved the oversized suitcase in which I’d stashed my guns.

  Inside, she showed me to one of her two spare rooms. “I thought this room would be the best for you. Your cats can watch the birds in the backyard from the window.”

  “They’ll enjoy that.” How sweet of her to think of them. She’d be a doting grandmother someday.

  “Nick,” she said, turning to her son, “you and Daffodil can take the room across the hall.”

  While Bonnie opened the closet and set about hanging my clothes on the rod inside, I plopped the big suitcase on the bed, unzipped it, and pulled out the guns, laying them on the bedspread.

  When Bonnie turned around, she gasped for a second time. “My goodness! I’ve never seen so many guns!”

  Heck, this was nothing. When my dad and brothers got together to go hunting, they carried a virtual arsenal. If there was ever a zombie apocalypse, they’d be prepared. “You know how to handle a gun, right?” I asked Bonnie.

  “I do,” she replied. “My husband made sure of it when we lived out in the country. We didn’t get much crime out there, but every once in a while someone would come around looking for trouble. Being that far out, it could take the sheriff some time to get to you if you needed help.” She let the rest remain unsaid, the rest being that people out in the country had to be prepared to defend themselves.

  I picked up the shotgun and held it out to her. “Keep this handy. Just in case.”

  She took it from me, as well the box of shells I handed her next. She raised the gun. “Do you really think I’ll need this?”

  “Honestly, Bonnie. I don’t know what to think. Nobody followed us here, but if whoever wants me dead is determined to find me they might come here looking for me.” A twinge of guilt puckered my gut. “I don’t want to put you at risk. Nick, either. Tomorrow night I’ll go stay at a hotel.”

  “You’ll do no such thing!” she said with more force than I would have thought her capable of. “It would be too easy for someone to get to you there. Besides, I’d like to help. This house?” She gestured around. “I can turn it into a fortress.”

  Tears welled up in my eyes. What had I done to deserve a future mother-in-law like her? One who would risk her own life to keep me safe? I reached out and took hold of her hand, giving it an affectionate and appreciative squeeze. “You’re the best, Bonnie. I feel lucky to have you in my life.”

  She offered a soft smile. “Right back at ya’, hon.”

  With that, she left the room to let me finish unpacking.

  Once Nick and I both unpacked and settled in, I left the cats sniffing their way around the bedroom and joined Nick and his mother at the kitchen table. One glance at the front windows told me Nick had made sure the curtains were closed so nobody could get a glimpse of us inside.

  Bonnie poured me a glass of her homemade peach sangria. She seemed to know without asking that I needed one desperately right now. She set the glass in front of me, slid into the adjacent chair, and shook her head. “I can’t believe someone would threaten a bride. Don’t they know a girl who’s about to get married is nervous enough already?”

  Nick grunted. “I don’t think they took Tara’s feelings into account, Mom.”

  She ignored his barb, realizing he was on edge, too, and was taking it out on her. “You two are welcome to stay here as long as you like. I’m glad to have the company.” Daffodil stepped over and laid her head on Bonnie’s thigh. Bonnie ruffled her ears. “You can help me in
the garden, pretty girl,” she told the dog. “It’s time to plant the winter vegetables.”

  Daffy wagged her tail. She’d be happy to help, especially with the digging.

  After the ten o’clock news, we headed off to bed. Bonnie turned down the hall to the right, while Nick and I turned left. “First dibs on the bathroom!” I called, elbowing him aside and scurrying down the hall.

  “Is this what it’s like to have siblings?” Nick called after me.

  “Yep! You gotta move fast!”

  When I finished in the bathroom a few minutes later, I stepped to the open door of Nick’s bedroom. He lay on the bed wearing a pair of lounge pants and nothing else. Tamping down the desire he always seemed to spark in me, I rapped on the door frame. “Bathroom’s all yours.”

  I returned to my bedroom and changed into my pajamas. Flopping down on the bed, I retrieved my phone and ran through my contacts until I came to the listing for my brother Trace. I jabbed the button to call him.

  “Hey, Terror,” he said when he answered, using one of many nicknames he had for me, all insulting and derogatory. Tarable. Tarantula. Taradactyl.

  I responded in kind. “Hey, Trace-Trace-Stupid-Face.” Can’t you just feel the love?

  “What do you want?”

  “I can’t just call my brother to catch up?”

  “We catch up when you come to Mom and Dad’s.”

  It was true. We rarely had direct communication with each other unless I was visiting back home. Instead, each of us provided information to my mother, who acted as an information hub, passing on to each of us what she’d learned from the others. You’d think she might tire of this task, but she liked knowing what was going on in our lives. Of course I didn’t really want her to know what was going on in my life right now. It would only cause her worry, and I’d caused her enough of that already.

  “Want to help me move this weekend?” I asked Trace.

  He grunted. “No.”

  Brothers. Sheesh. “Okay, let me rephrase. Will you help me move this weekend?”

  “Mom said you weren’t moving into the new house for another three weeks.” Though he made a direct statement, his tone was questioning.

  “That was the original plan. But I need to get out of my current place earlier than expected.”

  “It’s only been on the market a few days,” he pointed out. “Did it sell already?”

  “No. Not yet. But my Realtor and I agreed that it’s best if I vacate.” I exhaled a long breath. “I’ve received death threats.”

  “Death threats?” He paused a moment. “You shitting me, sis?”

  “I shit you not, bro.” I gave him the details. “Someone tried to run me down with their pickup. If not for Daffodil pulling me out of the way I’d be roadkill. Then I got a wedding card at work that said ‘at death you will part.’ Someone left a brochure for a coffin at my front door today and wrote a note on it saying I should buy one because I’d need it soon.”

  “Whoa.”

  Whoa, indeed.

  “Moving out’s a good idea, then,” he agreed. “If you got murdered in your town house, it would negatively affect its value.”

  “If I got murdered, it would negatively affect my life.”

  “Yeah. That, too. But your town house is worth at least a hundred and fifty grand. Your life? I’d estimate it at three bucks and change.”

  Despite his jests, I knew Trace was worried about me and would come out to help. Still, he wasn’t about to miss an opportunity to get something out of me in return. “What’s in this for me?”

  “What do you want?”

  “The Cowboys have a preseason game on Sunday. Get us tickets.”

  The tickets would cost me an arm and a leg, but better a limb or two than my life, right? “Consider it done.”

  He agreed to come out on Saturday with both a flatbed trailer and our other brother. With that much muscle, they’d have me moved out in no time.

  “We need to get our story straight.” He asked the million-dollar question next. “You know Mom and Dad will insist on coming out to help, too. What are you going to tell them?”

  How much to tell my parents about the dangers of my job was an ongoing problem. While I didn’t like to lie to them or keep them in the dark, I didn’t like to worry them unnecessarily, either. “How about we say the Realtor thought the place would show better if it was vacant? After all, the smell of a cat box isn’t exactly conducive to a sale.” It wasn’t a lie. Both things were true. They just didn’t tell the whole story.

  “Works for me.” Before hanging up, he showed a rare emotion. “Be careful, little sister. If you were gone—” his voice broke just a bit—“I might miss you a little.”

  Emotion closed my throat. Before I could reply, my brother had hung up. Looked like he wanted to avoid a sappy exchange. It was just as well. I felt tears welling up in my eyes and blinked hard to force them back. I had to remain fearless and strong if I had any chance of getting through this.

  When Nick finished brushing his teeth in the bathroom, he poked his head through the door to my temporary quarters. Daffodil poked her head down below, too. “Good night, Tara.”

  “Aren’t you going to tell me a bedtime story?”

  “You want security services and entertainment?”

  I cocked my head, playing coy. “I’m willing to pay extra.”

  “It’ll cost you two kisses.”

  “Deal.” I puckered my lips.

  He came into the room, walked over, and took two kisses from me before sitting on the bed. Daffodil hopped up onto the bed, too. I cradled her furry face in my hands and gave her a kiss on the snout before running my hand down her back. I’d be forever in the dog’s debt. There weren’t enough fried baloney sandwiches in the world to repay her for saving me.

  “Let’s see.” Nick looked up in thought, trying to come up with a plot, before turning his gaze back on me. “It was a dark and stormy night. Two knights fought each other for the hand of a pretty princess who worked as a tax collector for the king. The more handsome, smarter knight won, and the other one went back to his life of bushes and composted cow poop.”

  I rolled my eyes at his not-so-veiled reference to Brett, the landscape architect I’d been dating when I first met Nick.

  He chuckled and continued. “The knight and the princess got hitched and lived happily ever after. The end.”

  I harrumphed. “That story stunk. It lacked character development and plot twists. Besides, there wasn’t a single heaving bosom or throbbing loin.”

  Nick leaned in and nuzzled my neck, whispering, “I got your throbbing loin right here.”

  I pushed him back. “Your mom’s right down the hall.”

  He grunted and pulled back, frowning. “You don’t have to remind me.”

  chapter eight

  Pissed List

  With a final good-night kiss, Nick ventured back across the hall to his room, his dog in tow. I snuggled down into the bed and tried to settle my mind. Not easy to do with a death threat looming over me. I felt frustrated and fearful, like things were out of my control. I wasn’t a control freak, but I didn’t like this uncertainty, either. I didn’t like being forced out of my home. But there was nothing I could do about it. Not until—and unless—I figured out who was behind the threats.

  Yep, like I’d told the cop and Booth, I’d made quite a few enemies during my year-and-a-half tenure with the IRS. I had a propensity for pissing people off.

  My first big case had involved a man named Michael Gryder who’d operated a foreign-currency exchange scam. He’d duped investors out of their hard-earned savings with the help of a banker named Stan Shelton. Eddie and I had ended up in a shoot-out with Gryder at Shelton’s lake house. Both of them were behind bars now. Their young trophy wives, however, were not.

  Could Chelsea Gryder or Britney Shelton be the one threatening me? Maybe the two of them were even working together. They’d become close friends after they’d met through th
eir husbands. Of course those husbands were now ex-husbands. Maybe Chelsea and/or Britney was so angry that I’d put their sugar daddy behind bars, that I’d put an end to their charmed lives, they decided to put an end to my life, or at least to make me sweat. It was worth looking into.

  I’d also arrested a guy named Joe who’d been dealing drugs from his ice-cream truck. Was it possible someone related to him was after me? I had my doubts. Joe was not endearing in the least. I couldn’t imagine anyone caring enough about him to want to seek revenge against the woman who’d gotten him convicted. Still, I couldn’t rule him out.

  Another potential lead was Marcos Mendoza, a man who ran a cross-border crime ring. Nick had investigated the guy three years before I arrived at Criminal Investigations. While Nick had been working undercover in Mendoza’s business, he realized he’d been made. Mendoza had figured out that Nick was a fed. Before Mendoza could end his life, as he’d done with so many others, Nick made him a deal. He’d told Mendoza that he was for sale, that if the man paid him off Nick wouldn’t share the information he’d learned with the federal government and would instead take the payoff and flee to Mexico. Of course it had been a ruse Nick devised to save his own life. Nonetheless, Nick had been forced to live for three years in exile until, when I came along, the case was resurrected, and the two of us took Mendoza down together.

  Could Mendoza be behind this? Maybe his wife? She lived down in Mexico, though, with the couple’s daughter. Would she go to the trouble of coming to the U.S. to kill me? Or could the person who was after me be someone in the man’s extensive criminal network? It was possible. I’d not only put Mendoza in prison, but I’d also put away two of his goons who’d beaten up a man and his wife who operated a Czech bakery. The couple had been in debt to Mendoza’s loan-shark business. But if my would-be killer was related to the Mendoza case, why would the person wait over a year to come after me? Would the person delay all this time in order to avoid suspicion? Again, it was possible. Still, I didn’t think it was likely. Anger could fester and explode, sure. But grudges fizzled out quite often, too. Then again, Mendoza’s henchman had been linked to a former butcher at a slaughterhouse who was also a suspected hit man. There’d never been enough evidence to arrest the butcher. He might be wanting to skin me and hang me from a meat hook. But if so, I doubt he’d let me know beforehand. I’d put any Mendoza connection down as a loose “maybe.”