Downton Tabby

by Sparkle Abbey

  Sam selected wine, and we took recommendations for our entrees from the waiter who struck the perfect balance between attentive but unobtrusive. Once we’d ordered, Sam asked about Jake, and I described the scene I’d found when I’d arrived.

  When I’d finished he reached over and covered my hand with his. “Caro, hrisu mou, that must have been awful.” Sam occasionally lapsed into his native Greek. Sometimes I asked for translation, other times not. You know, it had been truly awful, and I was glad to finally share with someone else how horrible it had been.

  As we turned our conversation to other things I felt myself relax. I asked Sam about his grandmother and how his new role in the company was working out. We discussed his upcoming business trip to the Bay Area.

  I explained about my failed coffeepot and the new one I’d purchased this afternoon. Sam laughed out loud when I described my visit to Betty’s cottage and the challenge the combination of one senior and one soon-to-be huge dog presented. I asked about Sam’s dog Mac. Border Collies are one of my favorite breeds, and Mac is one of my favorite Border Collies. We made plans to get Mac and Dogbert together for a beach playdate in a couple of days.

  When my phone rang, I picked it up to turn the sound off. If it was a client, it could wait. If it was my mama with more family reunion plans, she could wait.

  I glanced at the number.

  Okay, this was the one call that couldn’t wait. A sense of relief washed over me. It was Graham Cash.

  “Excuse me,” I said to Sam, and quickly pushed the button.

  “Boy, am I glad to hear from you.” I wasn’t going to waste time with hello.

  “I’m not supposed to be making phone calls.” His voice was barely above a whisper. “If they find out, I’m dead meat.”

  What? Had Cash been kidnapped?

  “Wait a minute.” I pressed the phone to my ear. “Where are you?”

  “I can’t say,” he spoke quickly. “I got your message about Jake not picking up Toria, and I just wanted to make sure kitty’s okay.”

  “No problem there. She’s fine, but—”

  Cash cut me off. “Oh, good. Gotta go.”

  “But—” The phone was dead. I looked at it. Looked at Sam. Looked back at the phone. I felt panic rise in my throat at the implications of Cash’s call.

  “Caro, what is it? Is something wrong?” Sam’s deep-brown eyes searched my face. “Your family?”

  “No, nothing like that.” I shook my head. “That was Graham Cash and he couldn’t talk. He wanted to check on his cat.”

  “It’s good that you heard from him, right?” The furrow in his forehead deepened with concern.

  “Yes and no. We now know he’s not dead but he sounded like he might be being held against his will.” I didn’t even question the fact that I used “we” as if it were partly my investigation. “Sam, excuse me for a second, I’ve got to let Detective Malone know about the call.”

  I stepped outside to call Malone, but my call, of course, went to voice mail. It wasn’t that I expected the homicide detective to work 24/7, but it seemed I always got his voice mail. I left a message to let him know I’d heard from Cash and repeated the call as I remembered it, then returned to the table.

  Our dinner had arrived, but the luscious food, the quietly chic ambiance, the carefully selected wine, were wasted on me. All I could think about was the phone call from Cash.

  I picked at my food, the tension back, my appetite gone.

  “Ready to go?” Sam clearly sensed my distraction and to his considerable credit understood.

  I nodded, and he signaled for the check.

  The drive back to my place was quiet. Sam’s light-blue Ferrari hummed down Coast Highway hugging the roadway gently on the turns, and we let the quiet settle between us. I appreciated time to simply enjoy the view (both of the Pacific and of Sam) and tried to push aside the picture of Jake Wylie I couldn’t seem to get out of my head.

  SAM PULLED INTO my driveway, turned off the engine, and came around the car to open my door. The sky was a beautiful shade of deep peach and cranberry, and the waning sunset cast shadows on the facade of my house. Maybe that’s why I didn’t immediately see the guy sitting on my front step.

  As we walked to the door, a figure stood, and I felt Sam’s arm around my waist tense.

  The man stepped forward.

  “Hello, Carolina.” Geoffrey was still tall, dark, and handsome, if you’ll pardon the cliché. The suave masculinity remained, but the polished good looks that used to make me weak-kneed now did nothing for me at all.

  Sam stepped forward, essentially cutting between us. “You are?”

  “Geoffrey Carlisle.” He extended his hand. “I’m Carolina’s husband.”

  As he said my name his familiarity washed over me like an unwelcome caress. “Ex-husband,” I corrected.

  “Of course,” he said smoothly. “And you are?”

  “Sam Gallanos.” Sam shook Geoff’s hand.

  I liked that Sam didn’t have to add a tagline that claimed me like property. Still his posture said he’d step in if needed.

  “What are you doing here, Geoff?”

  “As I said when we talked, I was in the area.”

  Oh yeah, when we talked. That would be when he called and wanted to get together and I said no and hung up on him. The man lived in an alternate universe where everything revolved around him.

  I was working on forming all of that into a sentence that left no doubt he needed to be on his way, but didn’t make me sound like a complete crazy shrew, when another car pulled up. It was Detective Malone.

  He joined the group, his eyes sliding from Sam to Geoff to me.

  “Everything okay, Ms. Lamont?”

  There was nothing I’d learned in all those etiquette classes I’d had to attend in my pageant days that covered the rules on properly introducing your ex-husband to your current beau, and then to the local homicide detective. Nothing at all that covered proper form for that type of introduction.

  I opted for names only.

  “Detective Malone, Geoffrey Carlisle. Geoff, Judd Malone. And you already know Sam.”

  Geoff stared a hole right through me, his eyes accusing. I felt anxiousness rise up in me, though I knew he no longer had anything at all to do with me or my life.

  Suddenly it hit me. He thought I’d somehow called the police. Of course he did, because it’s always all about him.

  I looked away from Geoff, and my eyes landed on Sam. His expression said it all, and in that moment I think I fell in love with Sam just a little more. He didn’t have to say a word. Sam trusted me to handle the situation, and he had my back. If I needed him he was there. Solid and strong, but he believed in me enough to let me be strong on my own.

  I turned to Malone. “Do you have my house under surveillance?”

  He had the grace to look a little guilty but just barely. “We’re keeping an eye on things, in case Graham Cash decides to come for his cat.”

  “So that’s a yes.”

  He didn’t respond.

  “All I can tell you about his call is exactly what I told you in the message I left for you.” I pulled my cell from my evening bag. “The call was from his usual number, he said he couldn’t talk, ‘they’ would kill him, and he didn’t give me time to ask if he knew about Jake.”

  “You’re welcome to check my phone if you like.” I handed it to Malone.

  He looked at the call record and handed it back.

  “If that’s all?”

  “It is.” He nodded.

  “Then, gentlemen, I’m done. I’ve had a stressful day and I’m going in.”

  Malone stood arms crossed and stared at Geoffrey. Geoff finally caved and moved to leave, but as he passed by, he angled his body in front of me and paused.

  “I’ll phone you tomorrow,” he said quietly.

  I wasn’t going to dignify that volley with a response. I hoped my in-your-dreams glare left no doubts.

  Detective Mal
one still hadn’t moved.

  “If you hear from Graham Cash . . .”

  “I know, call you.”

  Malone headed back to his car.

  Sam walked me to the door and waited for me to use my key.

  “Call me if you need anything.” He kissed me and then tipped my head back to look into my eyes. “I have to say, Caro Lamont, you lead one helluva complicated life.”

  I slipped inside, locked the door, and leaned my forehead against it.

  Whoo boy. You ain’t just whistling Dixie.

  After all the testosterone had left the building, or in this case my front step, I greeted my menagerie and flipped on some lights. I changed into comfy yoga pants and made myself a cup of tea. I’d just parked myself in my favorite chair with a book when my phone trilled “Deep in the Heart of Texas.”

  Yeah, as if the day hadn’t already been stressful enough. The unique ring told me the caller was the one person in the world who knew how to push all my buttons.

  “Hello, Mama.”

  Now with some mothers it might be possible to delay a lengthy discussion by simply saying, “Mama, I’ve had a tough day. Can we talk later?”

  But not my mama. Katherine Lamont neé Montgomery was like a dog with a bone when an idea took hold of her. In the passionate throes of planning an event, nothing dissuaded her from talking to you when she wanted to talk to you.

  Her idea du jour was a big ole Texas barbecue combined with a Montgomery family reunion. I was very much afraid she and Barbara, Melinda’s mother, had cooked up the idea with the goal of patching up things between Mel and me. It was to be at the family homestead, the Montgomery Ranch, this summer. She tossed out some potential dates, and I told her I’d have to get back to her.

  I did mention the fact I’d found a dead body in the course of my day, but avoided most of the details. Especially details that might have her getting on a plane to make sure I was okay.

  She acknowledged that was an upsetting state of affairs. But once she’d confirmed I was okay and it didn’t involve anyone she knew, she was back to planning activities and menus. It’s not so much that Mama Kat is heartless or shallow, it’s just that she’s focused. At least that’s what I assured myself as she went on about brisket and potato salad.

  Finally, she wound down and I promised I would check the dates she’d given me and get back to her within a few days.

  With Mama off the phone, I wandered through my house picking up the remnants of the day. I picked up pillows my pet roommates had knocked off the couch, gathered papers to go into the recycling, set my useless coffeepot in the garage, and set the new one on the kitchen counter, too tired to deal with it right then.

  I washed my face, brushed my teeth, crawled into bed, and said a short prayer for Graham Cash, wherever he was. I hoped the young Brit was safe. In short order I was joined by both Dogbert and Toria. Dogbert settled in his usual spot against the back of my knees, and I cuddled the soft tabby against me.

  “We’ll sort this out tomorrow.” I patted her head. “I’m sure he hasn’t deserted you.”

  She purred, and Dogbert snuggled in agreement.

  Chapter Five

  THE NEXT MORNING I plugged in my brand new coffeemaker with high hopes. I’d intended to unpack it and give it a trial run last night, but after all the excitement on my front doorstep I just plain hadn’t had it in me. Once I’d gotten Mama off the phone, I’d been too darn tired to do much of anything.

  As I let the coffee brew, I flipped on the television and tuned it to the local news. There was an overnight house fire in Newport, a high-surf warning, something about a protest at Main Beach involving some housing project, and then the picture switched to the scene at Jake and Cash’s house yesterday.

  There was a clear shot of water-logged me as I tried to get to my car holding Toria’s cat carrier. I looked both ways as if looking for an escape route, and I guess I had been. Then the reporter (I couldn’t remember his name) asked, “So, Ms. Lamont, can you tell us what went on inside this house that brought paramedics, the police, and ultimately the crime-scene van here today.”

  “No, I can’t,” TV me replied.

  It seemed beyond callous to worry about your appearance at the scene of a murder, but I have to tell you I looked like I’d been chewed up, spit out, and stepped on. My lovely Akris crepe tunic was a dried mess of wrinkled white cotton, my hair was a tangled mess of red frizz that looked like something out of the Bride of Frankenstein, and I had more mascara on my cheeks than on my eyelashes. Thank God, my mama hadn’t seen the news clip or I’d never hear the end of it.

  I poured a cup of coffee, inhaling the soothing aroma, and mulled the crazy events of yesterday. It seemed like several days ago rather than just one. Who had killed Jake and why? And where was Cash?

  On auto-pilot I filled dog and cat dishes with food and water. Thelma and Louise came immediately to check their provisions for the day. Toria followed behind.

  My cell phone rang, and the distinctive ring gave away the caller’s identity. I sighed.

  “Hello again, Mama.”

  “Carolina, have you seen the news?” She was out of breath as if she’d been on a mile run and was about to faint.

  I assumed that meant the news clip had been picked up by at least one of the national networks. I imagined that would make Mr. TV Reporter happy. He’d seemed like someone that would matter to.

  Mama Kat didn’t wait for my answer. “My word, Caro, what happened to you? You look like something the cat dragged in.”

  “Mama, a man was dead. I didn’t have time to worry about how I looked.”

  “I understand a man was dead, but my goodness, child, you have to think about how you present yourself. It appears there were a lot of people there and now it’s on the TV news everywhere.”

  I thought “everywhere” might be a gross exaggeration.

  “I was just trying to get to my car, Mama. I had no idea there would be this big crowd or a reporter with a camera. My concern was a man was dead.”

  “No matter what, you’ve always got to be aware and be prepared,” she intoned in a low serious voice, like it was the Southern Girl’s Code of Honor or something. And maybe it was. I have to tell you, Mama Kat never went anywhere without a can of hairspray and a tube of lipstick.

  “Got it.” There was no point in arguing. I’d already mentioned a couple of times the fact there was a dead guy.

  “Okay, honey-bun, you take care and don’t be talking on camera without freshening up a bit. Love you. Bye.”

  And she was gone.

  I poured another cup of coffee and went to get ready for the day. I heard my mama’s voice in my head as I dressed, but I still chose jeans and a casual top. My profession often requires me to chase an uncooperative canine, or crouch down and get eye to eye with a determined doggie. It wasn’t that I’d lost all my fashion sense, I still enjoyed getting duded up for a night out, and surely I should get major points for the stylish Jenny Packham I’d worn last night. But during the day my selections were based on practicality and comfort. I pulled on my favorite True Religion jeans and a navy Donna Karan asymmetrical top. Fun, fashionable, but still functional.

  Okay, I confess I did a quick check of my makeup before I left. And all right, full confession, I threw an extra lipstick in my bag.

  MY FIRST STOP of the day was a couple who’d adopted a young beagle after the loss of their longtime family dog who had also been a beagle. So Nick and Bonnie Humphries were familiar with the breed. Beagles are fun and loving companions but can also be stubborn and difficult to train. Although it had been a while since they’d had a young dog, I didn’t get the impression that they were unrealistic in what was required to train a beagle.

  I was pretty darn sure a dark-colored SUV had been on my tail all the way to the Humphries home. Malone had said the police were watching my house, but he hadn’t mentioned anything about them following me. With a sense of unease, I stopped before turning in and waited
. But the SUV didn’t hesitate; it drove right on by.

  I parked in the driveway and reviewed my notes. The issue was that Rosie was howling. Now, howling is not unusual for a beagle, but Rosie was howling so loudly when they took her for walks sometimes people would come out of their houses to see what was going on. Bonnie said she thought some concerned citizens actually thought they might be abusing the dog. Nothing could be further from the truth; the two always took great care of Rosie.

  I grabbed my bag and climbed the steps to the wraparound porch. The house was a well-kept California cottage-style home. I admired the big Lilac Godetia plant that spilled over onto the decking. My friend Diana had introduced me to the lavender-shaded blooms, though she called the plant Farewell-to-Spring. Seeing the flowers reminded me: she and I were due for a lunch. She’d undoubtedly also seen the morning news, but unlike Mama Kat would be less worried about my fashion sense and more concerned about my mental state. I should call her and let her know I was okay.

  “Good morning.” Bonnie answered the door immediately. Nick stood just inside, Rosie at his side.

  “How are you and how is Rosie?” I asked the two.

  “We’re doing well and Rosie is improving,” Bonnie answered.

  “That’s great.” I smiled and waited for Bonnie to go on. Rosie patiently sat beside Nick, her eyes watching me intently. I’d be willing to bet she remembered I was the lady with the homemade dog treats.

  “We saw you on the news this morning.” Nick stepped forward.

  Why had it not occurred to me that if my mother in Texas had seen the television spot, all of my clients would have seen it as well? I could understand they’d be curious, but still I hated the idea of talking about it.

  “A sad situation,” I said. “I hope the police find out what happened.”

  I asked if we could get Rosie’s leash and take a walk around the neighborhood while we discussed what they’d been working on. I kept the conversation directed to Rosie’s behavior. I also kept an eye out for the dark-colored vehicle, and thought I spotted the back of it once turning the corner. But when we reached the cross-street there was no dark SUV in sight.