While she did that, I headed into the bedroom and stripped out of my clothes, which also had to soak. By the time I had changed into new clothes, and left the old ones in the utility sink in the laundry room, the dog had managed to roll in the water and get wet everywhere. I had to lift her out and wrap her in a towel—which she didn’t like; she barked at me—and then dry her with the hair dryer, which she liked less. By the time she was mostly dry, I was wet again, and had to change clothes for the second time that day. By now I had caught on to the fact that life with a dog was likely to keep me in a perpetual state of disarray, so I compromised by putting on a pair of jeans and a colorful tunic. Hopefully there was nothing too bad the dog could do to it in the next few hours.
That done, Edwina and I headed back downstairs to the garage. I put her in the backseat—which lasted about two minutes before she figured out how to jump over the console to the front—and we drove to the office. It didn’t take more than five minutes, but by the time we got there, I was already exhausted from keeping the dog off my lap and telling her not to drool on the windows.
I carried her inside and put her on the sofa in the lobby. “Do you know anything about dogs?”
“Not much,” Rachel said, eyeing Edwina. “I’m really more of a cat person.”
Me, too. Or if I had to choose, I’d probably say I liked cats better than dogs. Not that I’d had much experience with either. But dogs seemed like a lot of work. “What about Zachary?”
“He isn’t here,” Rachel said.
I had noticed the absence of his car in the lot. “I told him to go check out the university this morning. See if he could find the girl from yesterday and get an identity on her. He should be back soon.” I’d told him I’d relieve him in the afternoon.
Unless he’d found the girl and had struck up a conversation with her. Then he might not be back until dinnertime.
“Where did the dog come from?” Rachel asked. Edwina had jumped down from the couch and was investigating the corners of the office.
“Her name is Edwina. Mendoza gave her to me.”
Rachel got a funny look on her face. “Not what I’d call a romantic gift.”
Me, either. However—
I shook my head. “Not a gift. And not romantic. We’re dog-sitting the witness to a murder. Edwina’s owner was shot last night. Mrs. Grimshaw. In the house next door to Steven Morton’s mistress. Or whatever she is.”
Rachel arched her brows. “That’s interesting.”
Was it? “How so?”
“I’m not sure,” Rachel admitted, “but it seems coincidental, doesn’t it? Yesterday you followed Steven over there, and last night the woman next door was shot?”
Maybe so. But— “I’m sure a coincidence is all it is. Even if Steven is having an affair with the girl, why would either of them kill Mrs. Grimshaw because of it?”
“She called the police,” Rachel said.
“On me. It had nothing to do with them.”
“They wouldn’t know that,” Rachel pointed out. “There you were, looking very official in your black SUV. Official enough that Mrs. Grimshaw calls the police to report you. And here’s Mendoza, in his cop car. He talks to you, and he talks to Mrs. Grimshaw, and then Steven leaves and you follow him.”
I nodded. “But why would they worry about any of it? Sleeping around isn’t a crime. Mrs. Grimshaw can call anyone she wants. If all they’re doing is cheating on Diana, there’s nothing I or anyone else can do about it.”
“Steven might not think about it that way,” Rachel said. “He might have recognized you and figured you were spying on him for Mrs. Morton.”
“But if so, wouldn’t he shoot me and not Mrs. Grimshaw?”
Unpleasant idea. It gave me a little frisson of fear down the back of my spine. It wasn’t that long ago that I’d found myself facing the business end of a pistol. I had no desire to repeat the experience.
Rachel shrugged. “Maybe he didn’t recognize you. Maybe he recognized Detective Mendoza and thought the detective would tell Diana.”
“Same question,” I said. “Why shoot Mrs. Grimshaw and not Mendoza?”
“Maybe he’s planning to shoot Mendoza. Maybe Mrs. Grimshaw was just the beginning.”
It had a crazy, overblown sort of logic. “Maybe I should call Mendoza,” I said.
Rachel nodded. “I think you should.”
“I’ll go do that right now. Keep an eye on—” I looked around. “Where is she?”
“She went that way,” Rachel said, jerking her thumb down the hallway toward the offices.
“And you didn’t think to mention it?”
I scurried down the hallway after the dog.
She wasn’t in my office. She wasn’t in the spare room, where Farley and David had kept their files. She wasn’t in the bathroom or the kitchen. I finally tracked her down in Zachary’s office. At first I didn’t think she was there, either, but then I heard a snuffling, wet sort of noise, and followed it to find her hidden in the space under Zachary’s desk, flat nose buried in a pizza box. The wet, snuffling noise was the sound of her licking at the grease and cheese stuck to the bottom of the box.
It looked like the Michelangelo’s box from last night. Maybe Zachary had brought in the leftovers to have for lunch. Hopefully the dog hadn’t eaten them.
I disposed of the box in the kitchen, and took the dog into my office, where I dropped her on the sofa. “Take a nap.”
She gave me a look.
“Or you can just stay there. As long as you’re quiet and don’t get into any trouble.”
Fat chance, her expression said. She was kind of cute, in an annoyingly pop-eyed, flat-nosed way. Or she would be, if I were in the market for a dog. As it was, she would probably end up going to Mrs. Grimshaw’s next of kin. She must have been married at some point—or she’d be Miss or Ms. Grimshaw, not Mrs.—so there might be a child or children who’d inherit everything, including the dog.
Maybe the murder had nothing at all to do with Steven and the girl next door. Maybe Mrs. Grimshaw was obscenely wealthy, or even moderately wealthy, and her next of kin had killed her for the inheritance. It happens.
Nonetheless, I called Mendoza. Just in case it wasn’t the next of kin and someone had it in for him.
Or me.
The phone rang a couple of times, and then he answered. “Mrs. Kelly.”
He obviously had my name and number programmed in his cell phone. I wondered whether I should feel encouraged by that, or whether he did it for all his suspects. I wasn’t a suspect this time—at least I couldn’t think of a reason why I would be—but I had been one not too long ago.
“Detective,” I said. “I just wanted to update you.” And hopefully get an update in return. “The dog is clean. She’s here at the office with me. I’ve had to change my clothes twice.”
I could hear amusement in his voice. “Am I supposed to feel sorry for you?”
“She’s a pain in my butt. How long do I have to keep her?”
“Not sure,” Mendoza said. “I haven’t done anything about notifying next of kin yet. I’m not sure who next of kin is. But by the end of the day I should know whether one of Mrs. Grimshaw’s relatives will be willing to take the dog or whether it’ll have to go to the pound.”
The pound? I glanced across the room at the little thing, sniffing the crevices of the sofa, snuffling in the folds of leather. “I don’t feel great about that.”
“It’s life,” Mendoza said. “If the relatives don’t want the dog, and we can’t find someone else willing to take it, it’ll end up at the pound. Someone might see it and adopt it.”
And someone might not. It wasn’t a puppy. I have very little experience with or knowledge of dogs, but I could tell it was fully grown. It even had a few gray hairs among the black and white on the snout and batty ears. Most people don’t like to adopt older dogs.
“I’ll keep it for now. Her. Although I’m not sure I can bring myself to call it Edwina.”
“Call it anything you want,” Mendoza said. “Who’s going to know the difference?”
The dog might. But before I could say so, I heard a sound in the background, on his end of the phone, not mine, and then he came back. “I have to go.”
“Just one more thing.”
“The ME just showed up to take the body. I don’t have time for chit-chat.”
I could understand that. “I just wanted to tell you to be careful. Just in case Mrs. Grimshaw was shot because of what happened yesterday.”
“What happened yesterday?” Mendoza said.
“She called you. And reported me.”
“Unless you shot her,” Mendoza said, “I doubt it applies. Goodbye, Mrs. Kelly.”
He hung up without giving me the chance to explain what Rachel had said. I resisted the temptation to stick my tongue out at the phone, and merely put it down on the desk. Over on the sofa, the dog turned in a circle, twice, and settled down in the corner of the pillows with her snout on her back legs and an almost human-sounding sigh.
I decided then and there that she would go to the pound over my dead body. If Mrs. Grimshaw’s relatives didn’t want her, I’d figure something else out.
Out front, the door opened and closed. “Morning, Rachel,” Zachary’s voice said.
“It’s afternoon,” Rachel answered. “Good of you to join us.”
“Gina said to spend the morning at the university.” His voice got louder as he passed her and came down the hallway toward the offices. A second later, his head appeared around the door jamb to my office. “Morning, boss.”
“Afternoon,” I said. Over on the sofa, the dog uncoiled enough to lift its head and inspect Zachary. He must have passed, because there was no growling. However, Edwina didn’t fall in instant love the way she had with Mendoza, either.
Zachary looked at her. “We have a dog?”
“Temporarily.” I told him what had happened. “Mendoza said if one of Mrs. Grimshaw’s relatives doesn’t want her, she’ll end up at the pound.”
“Or she can stay here,” Zachary said, “and guard the place.”
I guess she could. Not that she looked very guard-like. Or sounded it, either.
I tried to imagine myself saying, “Down, Edwina!” and failed.
“I think she may have eaten your lunch,” I told Zachary. “I found her in your office earlier with her nose in a pizza box. If there was anything left in it, it’s probably in her stomach by now.”
“Oh.” He flushed. “That’s all right. But we should probably get her some real dog food. I don’t think pizza is good for her.”
Probably not. “I should drive back to Mrs. Grimshaw’s house and see what’s there. There must be a leash and some food, at least.” Unless Mrs. Grimshaw hadn’t actually walked her dog, but had merely let it wander in the yard to do its business and get exercise. But even so, she had to have fed it. “Mendoza dumped her on me so fast I didn’t think to ask for anything she might need.”
“I’ll watch her while you go,” Zachary said. “I have a report to write. And that internet search to do.”
“What happened at the university this morning?”
He shook his head. “Nothing. I walked around for a couple of hours, and looked for the girl. I didn’t see her. Eventually, I decided to go look for Steven Morton, but he wasn’t in his office. So I came back here.”
“He wasn’t at work today?”
Normally that wouldn’t strike me as strange at all. I wouldn’t think anything of it. Maybe he didn’t have any classes this morning. Or any appointments. Maybe he’d taken the opportunity to sleep in and make love to his wife.
Or maybe he’d left home early and gone to make love to his mistress instead.
“He wasn’t at work when I looked for him,” Zachary said.
Except when I’d been there earlier, the house had looked empty. And then there was the murder next door.
Yes, it was definitely worth mentioning that Steven wasn’t where he was supposed to be this morning.
“I need to talk to Mendoza,” I said, pushing my chair back.
Zachary nodded. “We’ll hold down the fort. Does the dog need to go out?”
Edwina had decided he was no threat and had gone back to sleep, curled into a circle. She snored gently. Although when she heard the word ‘out,’ she raised her head to look at him.
“It’s probably best to wait until we have a leash to put her on,” I said. “I’d hate to have her run away. She isn’t familiar with this neighborhood, and we don’t have a fenced yard.”
Zachary nodded. “If she gets desperate, I’ll see about finding a piece of string I can tie to her collar.”
That would work. I grabbed my purse from the hook by the door. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“We’ll be fine,” Zachary said and glanced at the dog. “Won’t we?”
Edwina lowered her head and rested her snout on her legs.
I walked out.
* * *
Like yesterday, it was a short drive from Music Row to Crieve Hall. Fifteen minutes later, I pulled to a stop outside Mrs. Grimshaw’s house.
Or more accurately, I pulled into the driveway next door, where Steven’s car had been parked yesterday, because Mrs. Grimshaw’s driveway was full.
The paramedics had taken their ambulance and left. As Mendoza had told them, there was nothing they could do for Mrs. G. But his gray sedan was still there. So was a white crime scene van from the Metropolitan Nashville Police Department. Behind it, a black-and-white squad car. And the most recent arrival, the hearse from the morgue. Just before it, wedged between the hearse and the squad car, a TV van from Channel Six, bristling with antennae, even more so than Mendoza’s car. A young anchor woman, blond and gorgeous in a power-red suit, was touching up her lipstick in the side mirror of the van, while a camera man was hauling a TV camera up on his shoulder.
As the front door opened and the staff from the ME’s office started wheeling the gurney out, they both straightened, and the young woman turned to the camera, teeth on display. She had a lot of them, and they were blindingly white. I could see her mouth start to move, although I was too far away to hear what she said.
And then Mendoza bounded out of the house and across the grass, waving the morgue people to a stop on his way past.
I couldn’t hear what he said either, but I didn’t have to. He was clearly unhappy about the camera being there. He expostulated with the camera operator, who kept filming until Mendoza got right in his face—or in the camera lens—and presumably threatened him with dire consequences if he didn’t cease and desist immediately.
The camera was lowered, and Mendoza waved to the morgue crew to continue. They came out of the house with a gurney topped by a black bag, and navigated the couple of steps down to ground level carefully. Once they were on the walkway, they put the gurney down and started wheeling it toward the morgue van.
The news anchor, meanwhile, was talking to Mendoza. Flirting, unless my eyes deceived me. It was a little difficult to see from this distance, but she was smiling, and flipping her hair, and putting her hand on his arm. It might just have been a typically feminine tactic to get her way, but I did get the impression that she enjoyed it.
It might even have worked. If she was trying to get permission to turn the camera back on, she got it. Not until the morgue van had tucked its sad burden out of sight, but once it started backing down the driveway and onto the street, he must have told her she could go back to filming, because the camera came back up. Mendoza must have even agreed to take a couple of questions, because he stayed there, in front of the camera, for a couple of minutes, and made nice. I could see his smile flash, and the young woman in red practically had to wipe drool off her chin.
Then he gave her a final, dazzling smile before walking back up the driveway and into the house. The young lady spent another minute finishing up the broadcast, and then she and the camera man piled into the news van and reversed
out of the driveway after the van from the morgue. I waited until they, too, had disappeared up the street before I made my way across Mrs. Grimshaw’s lawn to the front door.
Chapter 5
Mendoza did not look happy to see me, although he was polite as he blocked the door into the house. “Mrs. Kelly.”
“Detective,” I said, peering over his shoulder. I’m as tall as he is in heels. When I’m wearing heels, I’m as tall as Mendoza is without, I mean.
He shifted to block my view. “What can I do for you?”
I turned my attention from what was behind him to his face. Between you and me, it was no hardship. I was interested in what was going on inside the house, but Mendoza is just so pretty it’s no problem to look at him. “Two things. I need the dog’s food and leash. Unless you want me to go out and buy food and a leash for her. But I figure there is probably already some of that here, and it makes more sense that I just pick it up.”
Mendoza sighed. “That’s what you’re doing here?”
“That, and I wanted to tell you something.” I peered over his other shoulder.
He shifted again. “What’s that?”
I subsided. “Zachary just came back to the office. I sent him to the university this morning, to see if he could find the girl from next door.”
Mendoza nodded.
“She wasn’t there. Or if she was, he didn’t see her.”
“OK,” Mendoza said. “So maybe she’s not a student.”
“Maybe not. But Zachary said Steven wasn’t there either.”
“Maybe he took the morning off.”
Maybe he had. “I’m not saying there’s anything suspicious about it. He could be home with his wife.” Or next door with this girl. Although if he was, his car wasn’t parked in the driveway today. “It just occurred to me that one unusual incident might be connected to another.”
“First,” Mendoza said, “we don’t know that Steven’s absence is unusual. Maybe he always comes in late on Wednesdays.”
Stalking Steven Page 4