Murder Most Sweet

by Laura Jensen Walker

  Brady met me at the back door. “I was just coming to get you, Ted. Doc Johnson’s taking Gracie back to the vet clinic tonight.”

  “Why? What’s wrong? Is she worse?” I pushed past Brady, where I saw my barely moving dog cradled in the vet’s arms, an IV inserted in her front left leg. I stroked Gracie’s creamy head and stared into her dull, half-lidded eyes minus their usual bright spark. “Did someone poison her? Is she going to die?”

  “This sweet baby’s not going to die,” the vet said, “not if I have anything to say about it. Right, girl?” she cooed to my lethargic dog. Then Doc Johnson turned her attention to me. “I’m not positive because I need to run some tests, but it appears someone fed Gracie a sleeping pill.”

  “A sleeping pill?”

  “Probably to shut her up while they robbed your house,” Brady said, in his official capacity. “I’ll need you to go through each room and tell me if anything’s missing.”

  “I don’t give a damn if it is. I just want to make sure Gracie’s going to be all right.” I turned to the vet, pleading. “She is, isn’t she, Dr. Johnson?”

  “I think so. I hope so. That’s why I’m taking her back to the clinic—so I can give her some meds and monitor her closely through the night.” Her voice tightened with anger. “Animals can have severe reactions to human medications, but thanks to your heroic efforts and the sheriff’s, you saved Gracie tonight. However,” she added gently, “she’s not quite out of the woods yet. Sometimes there can be damage—such as lowered blood pressure, seizures, even kidney failure. I’m taking her to the clinic so I can do further tests, give her any additional medications she might need, and keep an eye on her.”

  “I’m coming too.” I continued to stroke Gracie’s fur, murmuring to her all the while.

  “That’s not necessary.”

  “It’s necessary to me.”

  “All right then, let’s go,” Doc Johnson said.

  “Hang on a second, Ted,” Brady said. “Your house was broken into. They could have stolen something valuable. I need you to walk through it with me, room by room, and let me know if anything’s missing.”

  “I can do that tomorrow.” I picked up my purse from where I had dropped it earlier at the sight of my sweet Gracie on the ground.

  “Okay, but there’s something else you need to know before you go.”

  “What?” I said, impatient to leave.

  Brady’s eyes bored into mine. “Annabelle Cooke lives in Calumet City, south of Chicago, with her husband and parents. None of them has seen her in several days.” His lips compressed into a tight line. “An hour ago her blue minivan was found here in town over by the high school with a flat tire, and no Annabelle. I have an APB out and we’re combing the area. We’ll find her.”

  “You’d better, because if I ever see that crazy woman again, I’ll strangle her with my bare hands.”

  Chapter Ten

  I wept with relief when Gracie woke me with a kiss on the nose early the next morning. I hugged her to me atop the rickety cot in the back room of the clinic where I had spent the night.

  “She dodged a bullet,” Doc Johnson said, ruffling Gracie’s fur. “We were lucky. The sleeping pill didn’t do any damage.” Her face darkened. “I’ll never understand humans who hurt animals and treat them as if they’re disposable.”

  “The more I know people, the more I love my dog,” I said. “It’s a cliché, but that’s because it’s true.”

  “Ya got that right, sister.” The vet high-fived me, then gave Gracie a dog biscuit and returned to the front office to see her first patient of the day.

  I shed the cotton jammies I’d slept in, courtesy of Char, who had brought them over last night along with my toothbrush and a change of clothes for today after Brady filled her in. Once I’d pulled on jeans, a sleeveless cotton blouse, and an Indian-print scarf, I group-texted Brady, Char, and Sharon to let them know Gracie was fine.

  “You ready to go home, Gracie-girl?”

  She released two excited yips and wagged her tail furiously.

  Kneeling down so that we were face-to-face and I was gazing into my Eskie’s dark velvety eyes fringed with white eyelashes, I stroked her cheek and said, “I’m so sorry someone hurt you, sweetheart. I promise you they will not get away with it. Mommy will keep you safe.”

  She licked my nose. It’s okay, Mom. It’s not your fault.

  Then I PM’d Brady and told him I was on my way home and he could come do the search of my house.

  * * *

  I had barely gotten home and started feeding Gracie her breakfast when there was a knock at the back door.

  “That was fast,” I said, opening the door with the cardboard taped over the broken pane. Instead of the expected Brady, however, Tavish Bentley stood on my doorstep, concern etching his fine features.

  “Sharon told me what happened,” he said. “I’m so sorry. How is your dog?”

  Gracie trotted over, tail wagging.

  Tavish knelt down and held out the back of his hand to her. “Hello, girl, aren’t you a beauty?”

  Gracie preened and promptly licked Tavish’s hand, which he then used to stroke the back of her neck.

  “You have quite a way with the ladies,” I said.

  He delivered a slow smile full of promise that made my stomach flutter. “Hopefully not only the four-footed ones.”

  “Am I interrupting something?” Brady towered over Tavish’s kneeling form in the doorway.

  Tavish stood up. “Morning, Sheriff. Have you located Annabelle yet?”

  “Not yet, but my deputy’s still searching. We’ll find her. Now if you’ll excuse us, Teddie and I need to do a search of her house to see if anything’s missing after last night’s break-in.”

  I stared at my old friend. Why was he being so rude to Tavish?

  He’s doing the protective-big-brother thing, silly. Think about it—none of these problems happened until Tavish came to town.

  Gracie started doing her flop-bott routine on the kitchen rug.

  “I need to take Gracie out first. You’ll have to wait a few minutes.”

  Brady sighed. “Okay, but please hurry up. I don’t have all day.”

  “Someone got out of the wrong side of bed this morning.”

  “I could take her for a walk while you and the sheriff do your search,” Tavish interjected.

  When Gracie heard the w-word from Tavish’s mouth, she scooted over to him and gave a short Yes, please bark.

  I hesitated, not sure I wanted to let my sweet girl out of my sight after last night’s trauma.

  Tavish offered me a steady, reassuring gaze. “She’ll be safe. I promise to guard her with my life.”

  “Are you sure it won’t be too much trouble?”

  “No trouble at all. As I said last night, I’m really missing my dogs, so this will give me the fix I need.”

  “Okay, thanks.” I grabbed Gracie’s leash from her basket and clipped it on her collar, giving my impatient dog—who was now doing her potty dance—a hug. “You be a good girl now.”

  She looked up at me as if to say, Yeah, Mom. Fine. Whatever. Now I really gotta go.

  “Taking her around the block should do the trick—although she may get greedy and want more.”

  “Not a problem. I could stand a little exercise, especially after all the cookies and pastries I’ve been eating since I arrived.” Tavish patted his nonexistent belly.

  Gracie strained at the leash and bounded down the back step, Tavish following. “I think the lady’s in a bit of a hurry,” he said.

  “If you have any problems, just call.”

  He gave me a thumbs-up and trotted after Gracie.

  When I turned around, Brady was frowning at me.

  “What?”

  “Do you really think it’s a good idea to get involved with that guy?”

  “I thought you liked him.”

  “He’s okay, but you have to admit his arrival has brought a rash of bad things with it
—beginning with the first murder in our town’s history.”

  “That’s not his fault.”

  “Isn’t it?”

  “Seriously?”

  Brady held up his hand and began counting off on his fingers, beginning with his thumb: “The dead woman is his ex-fiancée.” Index finger: “The drunk and disorderly guy you brought to his knees is his ex-fiancée’s ex-boyfriend.” Middle finger: “His crazed stalker-fan verbally assaulted you in a restaurant and then later physically attacked you in the street.” Ring finger: “And now someone—most likely that same crazy stalker who’s on the loose somewhere in our town—has broken into your house and nearly killed your dog.”

  I shuddered at his last words.

  “And that’s all in the space of only a few days. I just don’t think it’s safe for you to be around Tavish Bentley,” Brady said. “In fact, I think the sooner he leaves town, the better. Then maybe all this trouble will leave also.”

  He has a point, the logical part of my nature said. If Tavish leaves, crazy Annabelle will likely leave too, and then Gracie will be safe. Wouldn’t it be better to end whatever this is now before someone else gets hurt? It’s not as if you’re in love or anything—you’ve only had one date, after all.

  I really like him, though, I argued with myself. It’s been a long time since I’ve liked someone like this. He really likes me too, and we have a lot in common.

  Do you love him like Gracie—your best friend and devoted companion you nearly lost?

  Of course not. I sighed. I guess Brady’s right. It would be better for everyone if Tavish left town. Soon. Before anyone else gets hurt. Even though none of this is his fault, his departure will allow things to go back to normal—boring, but normal. And safe.

  “I thought you said you didn’t have all day,” I snapped at Brady. “Can we do this already?”

  “Now who got up on the wrong side of the bed?”

  We began our search in the kitchen. I opened cupboards and drawers, even the refrigerator, but nothing seemed missing or out of place—aside from the broken windowpane. Then we moved into the dining room and living room. Same story. Everything was fine and accounted for, including all my electronics—TV, DVD player, and laptop—the last still sitting on the ottoman where I had last left it. I headed down the hall to the bathroom.

  “Do you have any opioids?” Brady asked. “Painkillers like Vicodin, maybe? Druggies have been known to break in and steal those from bathrooms.”

  “Well, they’d be out of luck. The only painkillers I have here are Tylenol and ibuprofen.”

  After giving my bathroom the all clear, we did a cursory search of the guest bedroom, but everything was still in place, including the vintage record player and my collection of old albums from the seventies and eighties, with a few Sinatra and Judy Garland classics from their heyday tossed in. No one sings like Judy.

  At last, we entered my bedroom.

  “Aha!” Brady said, surveying the half-open drawers and clothes strewn everywhere. “Now we’re getting somewhere. The burglar really made a mess in here. Be sure to check carefully and let me know what’s missing.”

  “No burglar did that, unless you consider Char and Sharon thieves.”

  “Huh?”

  “They came over to help me get ready for my date with Tavish last night—making me try on several outfits before they at last deemed one satisfactory enough for that crucial first date. We didn’t have time to put things away before we left on our stealth mission, and obviously when I got home and found Gracie on the floor, that was the last thing on my mind.”

  I began picking up discarded dresses and skirts and putting them back on hangers, my back to Brady.

  His phone buzzed with a text.

  “Ted?” Brady said in a strained voice. “Are you missing any scarves?”

  “Why?”

  “Could you check, please?”

  “Okay.” I went to my scarf rack and sorted through the myriad colored silks and cottons. “That’s odd. The red-and-white polka-dotted one I had on yesterday is missing.” I turned to him. “Do you think crazy Annabelle stole it?”

  Brady had a strange expression on his face.

  “What? What’s going on? Oh my God! Is it Gracie?” I grabbed the phone from his hands.

  “No, Ted. Don’t.”

  Too late. Annabelle Cooke stared vacantly back at me from the phone screen, my missing red scarf wrapped tightly around her neck.

  Chapter Eleven

  Another woman strangled with one of my scarves. What the heck is going on?

  Oh. My. Gosh. Had Tavish snapped and murdered his crazy stalker? His words from the restaurant echoed in my head. “I could kill her for doing that to you.”

  Absolutely not, my inner voice of reason said. If he did, he certainly would not use your scarf as the murder weapon. Unless … he’s trying to deflect the focus from himself onto you. Maybe he’s been playing you this whole time just to get close to you and make you the fall guy for his serial killer proclivities.

  “Ted? You with me?” Brady’s voice interrupted my wild imaginings. “You want to give me my phone back?”

  My eyes slid to the picture again. I shuddered before surrendering the phone, recalling Kristi’s same vacant stare.

  “Let’s have a glass of water and sit down.” Brady led me out of the bedroom and down the hall. His phone blared out Aerosmith’s “Dream On.”

  “Hey, Augie, what’s up?”

  As Brady and his deputy conferred in the background, I focused on the two murdered women—one young and beautiful, the other not so much. On the surface, they seemed like total opposites. They did have one thing in common, however: a mutual desire for Tavish. A desire he didn’t return. Would that be reason enough to kill them? I recalled the other voice I had heard in the restroom. Could that have been Annabelle? Were Annabelle and Kristi fighting over Tavish?

  I considered the facts. Tavish had broken off his engagement to Kristi only a few days ago—a breakup she obviously hadn’t accepted, or why else show up at his signing? To save face, maybe? Particularly to her friends? The former couple had argued behind the bookstore, as both Wilma Sorensen and Courtney Peterson had observed. Courtney, however, had seen Tavish go back inside, leaving behind an angry but still very much alive Kristi. Who was to say that Tavish hadn’t doubled back a few minutes later when the prying eyes were otherwise engaged and done the dirty deed?

  Really? Now you’ve turned against Tavish too, my conscience nagged me. I thought you liked him.

  I do. I’m just trying to take the facts into account. We have never had a murder in Lake Potawatomi’s history, and now in the space of less than a week, we’ve had two. It’s only logical to consider the common denominator. Even if it is a common denominator I don’t like seeing.

  Brady ended his call with Augie. He poured me a glass of water, and we sat down at the kitchen table. As I drained my glass, he pulled out his notebook.

  “I’m sorry, Ted, but I need to ask you a few questions.”

  “Ask away.”

  He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “Do you remember what you said last night about Annabelle?”

  “About Annabelle? No. What?”

  “You said if you ever saw her again, you’d strangle her with your bare hands.”

  “Good thing my scarf was found around her neck then.” I waggled my fingers. “That puts these lily-white hands in the clear.”

  But Brady missed the waggling, intent as he was on his notebook and fulfilling his sheriff role. “When was the last time you saw Annabelle Cooke?”

  “Yesterday morning, when she attacked me in front of Andersen’s.”

  He scratched a note in his pad. “And last night when you left here with Doc Johnson, did you stay at the vet’s all night, or did you go out at any time?”

  “Out? Where?”

  “I don’t know. For a walk? To the store?”

  “Nope. All the stores in town close by seven. You know tha
t.”

  He nodded, still bent over his notebook. “So you didn’t cross paths with Annabelle anytime last night or this morning?”

  Why is he asking me that? I already told him yesterday morning was the last time I saw her. Wait … My jaw dropped like Macaulay Culkin’s in Home Alone. Does he suspect me of murder? “Are you serious? Brady Wells, look at me.”

  He raised his head reluctantly.

  I stared at him. “We’ve been friends for years. You know me. Your girlfriend is my best friend. Do you honestly think I killed that woman? Why? What in the world would be my motive?”

  “Revenge for nearly killing Gracie,” he said in his detached sheriff-doing-his-job voice.

  “Seriously?”

  “You’d be surprised what people will do when someone they love is hurt or threatened.”

  Gracie announced her return with two short barks.

  Saved by the bark. I jumped up from the table, scooped up my fur baby, and snuggled her to my chest as I unclipped her leash.

  “We enjoyed our walkies.” Tavish grinned and chucked Gracie beneath her chin. “This girl was full of energy, so I let her take the lead. She got so excited at one point, she was hopping down the street on her hind legs.” He shook his head. “Quite extraordinary. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “She’s an extraordinary dog,” I said, nuzzling Gracie close.

  Tavish continued, “We wound up in a lovely park by the lake, where we met some of her canine pals. Everyone there seemed to know Gracie, both four-footed and two-footed.”

  “That’s life in a small town,” Brady said. “Everybody knows each other.”

  “Or thinks they do,” I said in a clipped tone.

  Tavish’s eyes swiveled from Brady’s to mine, his forehead creasing. “Is something wrong?”

  “You could say that,” Brady muttered.

  I set a squirming Gracie down on the checkered linoleum. “They found Annabelle.”

  “Brilliant. Is she in jail?”

  Brady shook his head.

  “Whyever not?” Tavish said, sounding remarkably like Downton Abbey’s Lord Grantham.

  “Because she’s dead.”