Woof at the Door

by Laura Morrigan

  “Really?” I understood what Emma was saying. Eric Ruby might make the list of suspects.

  “I’m going to talk to him later. See what I can find out. I’ll let you know if he has anything interesting to say.”

  “See if he knew anything about Mark’s new girlfriend.” I had no doubt that Emma would get him talking. Knowing Emma, she’d come home with more inside scoop than the cops would find out in a month.

  I heard Emma say, “Alec! Get these boxes out of the way. We have all the linens we need.”

  “I’ll let you go, Em.”

  “Okay. It’s going to be a late one. There’s plenty of leftover spaghetti in the fridge. If you decide to take another one of those pills, do it after you’re in bed.”

  “Yes, Mommy.” I said the sarcastic retort the same way I’d done for most of my life. And true to tradition, Emma answered with, “Don’t you take that tone with me, young lady.”

  After I hung up, I thought about the note. “Jaguar tag,” I said aloud.

  I must have decided something about it was important to make Emma write it down. But what?

  I closed my eyes and tried to think. Jaguar tag. Like a vanity license plate? I’d seen them around. But Jax wouldn’t have been able to see the killer’s car tags.

  I heated up some spaghetti, and with Moss and Jax both trailing behind me like I was the pied piper, I settled into the chair in front of the computer.

  Tech stuff is not my forte, but I know the basics. I Googled jaguar tag and got over five million results. Mostly websites about the car.

  “Okay, maybe in images?” I tried but fared worse. Aside from an adorable photo of a black jaguar cub that made me smile, I got nothing useful.

  I looked at Jax who, predictably, had stretched out by the doorway. “What the hell does jaguar tag mean?”

  He blinked, without so much as a flicker of recognition. I closed my eyes and pictured the Jaguars logo. I offered the image to Jax mentally. Nothing.

  “Well, you’re a big help.”

  I continued futzing around on the computer for what seemed like days but came up with zip.

  On a whim I did a search for German K9 commands and found a list with pronunciations. I remembered some of them, but couldn’t resist trying a few out.

  “Jax. Sitz!” He sat.

  “Steh.” He stood—eyes locked on me as if I were the only being in the universe.

  I looked back at the screen and picked another command. “Sprechen!”

  He let out a chorus of barks.

  “Cool.” I squinted at the screen. “Zie Brav.”

  Jax, good boy. He panted happily.

  “And bilingual, too.” I guess he was trilingual, if you counted canine. I printed the webpage with the commands and looked at Moss.

  “Now what?”

  He offered no suggestions—too busy staring at my empty spaghetti bowl with a longing I can only describe as desperate.

  “Here.” I set the bowl on the floor so he could cleanse it of every remaining molecule of food.

  I stared at the computer and sighed. Not the most productive endeavor.

  I thought about redoubling my efforts but knew I was just stalling. The little clock at the bottom of the screen showed it was nearing 9 p.m. Time to pull out the ninja suit and grab a flashlight.

  Before I got up, I did one last search. It was easy to find a photo of Mark’s teammate, Eric Ruby.

  I studied his headshot. Brown hair and eyes, handsome chiseled features, slightly crooked nose. If Jax came through and showed me the killer, at least I’d be able to recognize everyone on my list.

  I went into my bedroom and changed into dark jeans and a navy blue T-shirt. In the kitchen, I found a tiny flashlight in the junk drawer and turned it on. Dim, but that was good. I wanted to be as stealthy as possible, and the Maglite I kept in Bluebell was too big and too bright.

  “Okay, Jax. Showtime.”

  By the time we pulled up to the guard booth, I had moved past feeling nervous and had reached a strange state of detached calm.

  The paunchy guard remembered me and motioned me through with a nod. He didn’t even glance in the backseat, where Jax was lying on the floorboard. I smiled and waved and then waited patiently for the gate to open.

  Jax sat up and whined as we neared his old home.

  “I know, boy. But we can’t go in yet.”

  I had decided that parking in Mark’s driveway would be too conspicuous, so I cruised past his house, hoping to find a spot between two houses, with the theory that each resident would assume I was visiting their neighbor.

  The problem was that the lots in this upscale ’hood were spacious. Walkways leading from the sidewalk to the front door were positioned hundreds of feet apart. There was no way to park Bluebell in an ambiguous spot. I’d gone a couple of blocks up and turned when I saw a solution.

  A huge white house on the corner was shining like a beacon. Lights blazed inside and out. Cars lined the street on both sides. A party.

  “God loves me.” I parked as far from the streetlight as I could and realized I had hit a snag.

  Not wanting to leave Jax tied up in the front yard while I went around—I was afraid he’d start barking or be seen—I had planned to park close to Mark’s, quickly walk to the side gate, hop over, zip through the house, open the front door, and stroll out casually to walk back and get Jax.

  But now I had driven two blocks up and one away from where I needed to be. It would take a while to get to Mark’s and back. Longer out in the open where I could be seen.

  “Damn.” I sat and weighed the pros and cons of parking close, making for a quick entrance and, more important, a quick getaway, or concealed with other cars. The longer I sat, the more the decision eluded me.

  “Come on, Grace. You gonna fish or cut bait?” My grandmother would ask me this whenever I was dragging my feet.

  I turned to Jax. “I’ll be back in a minute, okay? Be good.”

  Jax, good boy.

  Yes, you are. I left the shelter of Bluebell with that jovial thought and strolled toward Mark’s house. The air was thick and quiet. Katydids hummed their summer symphony. I tried not to look suspicious, just a girl out for a walk on a warm evening.

  In blue jeans.

  By the time I reached Mark’s, the jeans were damp and sticking to my legs like cling wrap. I walked straight to the side gate and, pausing only a moment to choose my toeholds in the swirls of wrought iron, began my climb.

  It was not as easy as I had hoped. My jeans, which were on the tight side to begin with, did not yield to my knees—or my hips, for that matter. Grunting and puffing like a pregnant rhino, I struggled to scramble quietly to the top of the gate.

  Muttering profanities and insulting Mark Richardson’s taste in fencing products, I grimaced as a decorative spike threatened to skewer me in my moneymaker

  Vlad the Impaler was your inspiration, huh, Mark?

  Proving, once again, that my mother should have chosen another name for me, I finally managed to tumble over in one sweaty piece. I guess Queen-of-All-Stupid-Ideas Wilde didn’t have the same ring.

  Breathing hard, I tiptoed to the French doors and prayed Charlie had not decided to do a security check before leaving earlier. I grasped the handle, pressed the lever, and pushed. The door swung in.

  I stood for a moment at the threshold. Compared to the moonlit backyard, the interior of the house seemed like a black hole. Vast, lightless, and enigmatic. Forcing myself to move, I stepped inside and pulled the penlight out of my pocket.

  Clicking it on, I did a quick sweep to get my bearings. I pulled the door closed behind me and, because I wasn’t going back out that way, crouched down and engaged the lock. At some point in the last few seconds, I’d lost the grip I had on my nerves.
Maybe it was being locked in, or the odd shadows brought to life by my tiny light, but as I straightened, I had a very real sense that I wasn’t alone.

  I stood completely still and listened. Nothing. I reached out with my other sense and found the source of the “presence.” I breathed out a sigh. Birds. Right outside. Either roosting in the shrubs or maybe nesting in a birdhouse.

  “Get a grip, Grace.” If I was so wired I was honing in on every critter within my bubble, I was going to drive myself crazy. With a straighter spine and renewed hold on my nerves, I started toward the door that led to the hall. Once there, I turned off the light. I didn’t need it, and I was afraid someone might notice the beam as it danced around.

  I reached the end of the hall and froze. My heart lurched. I held my breath, straining to hear over its erratic thrum. Just when I was about to berate myself again for being a gutless ninny, I heard it.

  The creek of a gate—outside in the courtyard. I started to peek around the corner when I heard a click and the sound of the front door swinging open.

  Crap.

  I scuttled backward, turned, and slunk back down the hallway. There wasn’t enough time for me to make it all the way across the bedroom and out the door so I ducked into the office. I pressed my back against the wall and held my breath.

  Someone entered the bedroom. Whoever it was didn’t flip on the overhead light. I could hear rustling and a click. Dim, golden light poured into the study from the bedroom.

  I blinked, trying to banish my night vision. I could feel my heart hammering hard against my ribs. My breaths were quick and irregular. One of the lamps on the bedside table had been turned on. At that moment, I realized that the person in the other room had to know Mark and his house very well to accomplish this in the complete darkness.

  My suspect list flashed through my mind. I reached out with my left hand and grasped the central column of one of the many trophies on the shelf next to me. Lifting it silently, I took great pleasure in feeling the solid weight of it in my hand. Facing off against a possible killer had not been on my agenda. But at least I was no longer unarmed.

  Hyperalert, I could hear each whisper of movement in the other room. Each footstep. A sigh.

  There were a few moments of stillness. Then footsteps coming closer.

  A figure passed under the archway, walking right past my meager hiding place without even breaking stride. I had a hold of the trophy, even though I now recognized the figure moving to stand on the other side of the desk. A drawer was opened. Then another. Each was searched with quick, frantic movements.

  I could hear hushed curses.

  I had been pressed against the wall that held a light switch. I crouched slightly, ready to leap out of the way if there happened to be a reason. Like a gun. With the back of my hand, I flipped on the light and said, “Jennifer.”

  She shrieked. Her eyes were wide as a screech owl’s. She blinked at me in stunned silence. The switch I had hit had turned on the bookcase light. The rest of the room was still in shadows. I could only see one of Jennifer’s hands. I divided my focus between her obscured hand and her face. One of them would tell me her intentions.

  “What are you looking for?” I was glad to hear my voice sounded calm—casual, even.

  “I—I was . . .” She trailed off. Her brows came together. “You’re the woman from the bathroom. At the sheriff’s office.”

  “I have Jax.”

  “Jax?” She looked completely thrown by this comment, which was good. If Jennifer had killed Mark, she was capable of killing me. Keeping her off balance could help me get away.

  Not that I had an exit strategy.

  The crackle of a police radio solved my problem. Or at least one problem.

  “Sheriff’s office!” a man’s voice announced from the foyer.

  Looks like I’m going to jail. I glanced at Jennifer; it was clear she was thinking the same thing.

  “We’re back here!” I called out, like a hostess inviting a late guest to join the rest of the party. I hoped that by sounding cheerful I also sounded innocent.

  I set the trophy back on the shelf and, like a fool, stepped out into the bedroom. The young patrolman jerked his gun out of its holster and pointed it right at my chest.

  “Hands! Let me see your hands!” he yelled.

  My hands were already up. I didn’t move. I didn’t breathe. I was pretty sure my heart had stopped.

  The officer maneuvered around so that Jennifer was also in his line of sight. But the gun remained aimed at me.

  His eyes were so wide, I thought they might actually pop out of his head. His gaze jumped from me to Jennifer and around the room randomly. He looked more than a little crazy. Crazy people with guns scare me. When I’m scared, I do stupid things.

  I lowered my hands and smiled. “Hey. I remember you!” I did. He was the officer who had led me into the crime scene. “I’m Grace. I came to get the Dobie, remember?”

  “Don’t move! Do you hear me?”

  He was screaming, so I was pretty sure the whole neighborhood could hear him.

  I froze. So much for the hail-fellow-well-met technique.

  His radio sputtered to life, and he seemed to relax a fraction. He grabbed the radio with his left hand and spoke in the police jargon I could never understand.

  The light in the foyer flipped on and I saw the silhouette of a man approach. “Parsons, holster your weapon. Now.”

  My heart sank, not because I wanted a gun pointed at me, but because I recognized the voice. Kai stepped into the room, his eyes piercing me like two lasers.

  Crap.

  CHAPTER 18

  Kai crossed his arms over his chest and looked from me to Jennifer and then back at Officer Parsons. For some reason, he seemed as irritated with the patrolman as he was with me.

  “What’s going on, Parsons?”

  “I got a call that there was suspicious activity at this address.”

  “Where is your partner?”

  Parsons swallowed hard and looked a little flushed. “This is a side job, sir. I was hired by the community association to patrol the neighborhood from eleven thirty to three thirty.”

  “And you decided to investigate the call without waiting for backup?”

  “I . . .” The young patrolman had started shifting his weight from one foot to the other, as if the movement would help him evade Kai’s laser-like glare.

  “Do you like being a cop, Parsons?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You like being a living, breathing cop? With no bullet holes?”

  Parsons just stood there shifting back and forth. I actually felt sorry for the guy. Until I remembered he’d pointed his gun at me. Maybe he needed to learn a lesson.

  Kai said, “That was a question.”

  “Yes. Yes, sir.”

  “Then you make sure someone has your back. Always.”

  “I didn’t think there’d be anyone in the area, sir.”

  Good point. What was Kai doing here?

  “Parsons, don’t think. Just do. Call for backup every time.”

  “Yes, sir. I will, sir.”

  Kai shifted his ire to me and Jennifer. “Ms. Wilde, Ms. Weston. I’m sure you have an explanation for being here.”

  Because he assumed we were together, I decided to run with that. I only hoped Jennifer’s self-preservation instinct would jump on board. “We came to try and find Jax’s papers.”

  “Papers?”

  “His records of sale and registration. I have to have them before I can finalize the adoption.”

  “And you needed to get them at . . .” He glanced at his watch. “Midnight?”

  “That’s my fault,” Jennifer said. “My study group ran late. I told Grace I had the papers, but after we looked, I re
membered they were here. I still have a key, so we decided to run over and get them.”

  I glanced at my new ally. She motioned to the drawer she’d been rifling through. “I think they’re in here somewhere.”

  “You might be able to find them if you turned on a few more lights,” Kai said.

  Good point. Though I’d flipped on the bookcase light, the room was still very dim. The rest of the house was also suspiciously dark.

  “I didn’t want to see the . . .” Jennifer trailed off and seemed genuinely horrified at the idea of having to look at the gore splashed on the living room wall. Either she wasn’t the murderer, or she was a really good actress. Maybe she just didn’t want to be reminded of what she’d done.

  “We left the lights off in the rest of the house. I was getting ready to flip on a couple more when this officer burst in the front door and decided to point his gun at me. Which, by the way, I did not appreciate.”

  When in doubt, go on the offensive.

  Kai gave me a hard look. He didn’t buy it. But then again, he’d probably never believe anything I said.

  No one spoke for several seconds. Finally Jennifer said, “Now that I think about it, I remember Mark saying he kept all of Jax’s stuff in the file cabinet.” She turned and opened a drawer to the left of the desk and began flipping through the contents. “Here. Did you need all his veterinary records, too?”

  “Yeah. Thanks.”

  She walked around the desk and handed me the file. I guess Jennifer’s plan was to just assume we were off the hook. She looked at Kai expectantly. “Would you like me to lock up and set the alarm?”

  She shoots . . . she scores! Reminding Kai she had a key was the clincher.

  Kai shook his head. “We’ll handle it.”

  We made a hasty but casual exit. Just two gals ready to head home after a long day. Once we were outside, Jennifer quietly asked, “Where’s your car?”

  “River Way. Two streets over.”

  She nodded. “We’ll have to leave, then double back.”

  “Miss Wilde?” I froze at the sound of Kai’s voice. My fingers had just reached out to cup the door handle of Jennifer’s sporty BMW. I glanced back toward the house. Kai stood at the open gate to the courtyard. “Can I have a quick word?”