Double Dog Dare (The Raine Stockton Dog Mystery Series)

by Ball, Donna

  “I’m not surprised.”

  “You said this afternoon you’d known Alex Barry for years and he was not a nice person. So why did you hire him?”

  He chuckled softly. “Honey, if I only did business with nice people I’d be in business by myself. He’s good at what he does, that’s why.”

  “Do you think he’s capable of murder?”

  He hesitated just a fraction of a second too long. “I think anyone’s capable of murder, given the right circumstances.”

  Funny. That’s what my ex-husband, the current sheriff of Hanover County, always said.

  “But,” I pointed out, peering up at him, “you think he’s involved in his wife’s death. You thought so even when it was still being called an accident.”

  He hesitated for only a moment before admitting, “Honey, I’ve dived those caves and believe me, they are one of the least likely spots in the world for a deadly accident. Tourists play there, for God’s sake. As for the body disappearing…” I could feel his shrug. “It could happen, I guess, but I don’t think I’ve ever heard of it in all the time I’ve been coming here.”

  “Apparently the police agree with you,” I murmured.

  We stopped for Cisco to sniff a pile of seaweed, and Miles blew out a breath. “This,” he said, “is exactly what I didn’t want. Vacation, remember? Enough about me. Let’s talk about you.”

  And with that he took Cisco’s leash, turned me in his arms, and we didn’t talk about anything at all for a very long time. There is definitely something about a star-tossed tropical night on the beach with a man who knows how to put that night to its best use that can drive all thoughts of crime, criminals and murder plots out of a girl’s head.

  We walked back to the house with fingers entwined, my head resting on Miles’s shoulder, and Cisco meandering along a few feet ahead of us. “Snorkeling tomorrow?” Miles murmured into my hair.

  “Hmm. Sounds great.”

  “We’ll have to stop in town to pick up a life vest for Cisco.”

  If anyone ever wonders what I see in Miles—and there are days when I wonder that myself, a lot—there’s the answer. Not the canine life vest for a family sailing trip. But because he considered Cisco family. Simple.

  We were halfway up the steps when I stopped. “Oh, Miles. I left my shoes on the beach.” I might not have worried about them, but they were brand new, and my favorite.

  Miles handed Cisco’s leash to me. “Go on up, I’ll get them. Remember the code?”

  “Unless it’s after midnight,” I responded, and checked my watch just to be sure as he started down the stairs.

  As soon as we started up the stairs again Cisco’s ears swiveled forward and he bounded to the end of the leash. Since that was his usual greeting behavior, I assumed Melanie must still be up, waiting for us by the pool. If I had thought about it I would have noticed the lights were off in the house and remembered that both Melanie and Rita had announced their intentions of going straight to bed before we left, but all I did was speak sharply to Cisco for pulling and draw him back to my side. He stayed there, though with obvious reluctance, the rest of the climb up the stairs.

  The landscape lighting provided plenty of illumination, but the keypad at the gate was also backlit, which made it easy to punch in the first three digits of the date. And then, for absolutely no reason, Cisco started to growl. I looked down at him, wondering what kind of island wildlife had scurried across the shadows to spook him, and then realized that anything that would scare Cisco was probably not something I wanted to meet in my bare feet. I gave his leash another wind around my hand and turned quickly back to the keypad. Abruptly, Cisco’s growl escalated into a series of quick, throaty barks. That was when the whole world went dark.

  I whirled around just as Cisco leapt to the end of his leash, almost pulling me off my feet in the process. I cried, “Hey!” and stumbled forward— into something solid. Something that pushed back. Cisco was escalating into a frenzy of excited barking and leaping; I flailed for balance and crashed backward into the gate. I heard Miles call, “Raine? You okay?” and I hauled Cisco back to me with both hands. I could have sworn I saw a shadow disappear into the deeper shadows of the dune a few feet away in that split second before the lights came back on, and then Miles was there, steadying me on my feet again.

  I demanded, “Did you push me?”

  “What?”

  I peered into the shadows of the dunes that led toward the beach, but saw nothing. “I thought someone was here. Cisco started barking, and then I bumped into something…”

  Almost before I finished speaking, Miles had punched in the key code, pushed Cisco and me through the gate, and thrust my shoes at me. “Stay here,” he commanded.

  “Hey!”

  But the gate slammed with me on the wrong side of it, and Miles moved cautiously into the dunes. I saw the beam of a flashlight, and realized he had activated the flashlight app on his phone. I put Cisco in a sit stay and started re-entering the key code, but by the time I finished the flashlight beam was returning to me. I opened the gate for Miles.

  There was a small line between his brows but he did not look overly concerned as he turned off the phone. “I didn’t see anyone,” he said. “The sand was scuffed up but people have been all over this property the past couple of days, tending the grounds and cleaning the pool…are you sure you saw someone?”

  “No,” I admitted. “It was pitch-black. I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face. It’s just that Cisco was pretty excited, and I could have sworn somebody bumped into me.”

  Cisco was snuffling at something on the ground, and I bent quickly to pick it up before he could. It was just a bag of hot dog treats that I must have dropped that afternoon. I tossed it into the trash can by the gate that was designated for beach trash. “What about the lights?”

  “Power failure,” he said. “We get them all the time here. The generator kicks in after ten seconds. Still, maybe I’d better—”

  There was a sudden commotion in the bushes a few feet away and we both spun toward it. Cisco gave a whoop of alarm and then burst into startled barking as a big white bird whirred up from the ground and soared away. Both Miles and I laughed in relief.

  “Well, there’s your intruder,” Miles said.

  I knelt to comfort Cisco, who looked both disappointed and mildly embarrassed. “Guess so,” I said, rubbing Cisco’s neck briskly. “Good boy, though. You’re on the job.” I stood. “I hope we didn’t wake everybody in the neighborhood.”

  “Honey, everybody in this neighborhood except us is just now getting dressed for dinner.” He crooked his finger under my chin and tilted my face upwards for a kiss. “I, on the other hand, prefer an early bedtime.”

  I liked the way his eyes gleamed when he said that, and I settled happily into the crook of his arm as we started back toward the house.

  ~*~

  I awoke the next morning to the whooshing of the ocean outside my window, a gentle yellow sunlight pressing against my closed eyelids, and the weight of a warm body next to mine. For a moment I thought it must be a delicious dream and I tried to settle back into sleep, and then I felt the pressure of someone’s gaze, watching me. I cracked open one eye cautiously.

  Melanie sat cross-legged on the bed beside me, wearing her swimsuit and a Batman tee shirt, her expression impatient. “Hey,” she said.

  I responded, “Hey,” and turned over on my back, plumping the pillows beneath my head.

  “Dad said to tell you he took Cisco for a run on the beach.”

  I yawned. “That’s nice.”

  “Grandma’s making crepes for breakfast, with croissants from the bakery in town.”

  Crepes? Now I was awake.

  “And there’s a woman downstairs looking for Dad. I thought you’d want to know.”

  I sat up, pushing back my hair. “Do you know who she is?”

  “Nope.” She slid off the bed and stood up. “I’ll keep an eye on her for you, but if I we
re you I wouldn’t waste any time. See you at the pool.”

  I was dressed and downstairs less than five minutes later.

  I found Rita and Melanie sitting at the table beneath the shade pavilion by the pool. The table was set with colorful crockery and glasses of juice, a silver carafe of coffee and something wonderful-smelling beneath a domed platter. With them was a woman in a crisp white shirt, cropped designer jeans and bright red stiletto heels. She was one of those women who proved the adage that “forty was the new thirty”, with expensively groomed butterscotch colored hair that brushed her shoulders, salon-maintained nails, and flawlessly applied makeup. Melanie, as promised, was watching the newcomer as though she expected her to try to steal the silver.

  I approached the table and said, in my usual cheerful fashion, “Good morning, everyone.” Okay, perhaps my tone was more guarded than cheerful, but my intentions were good.

  The strange woman turned around at the sound of my voice. Rita, looking a little flustered, said, “Raine, Good morning. Susan, this is our friend Raine Stockton. Raine, this is Susan Barry.”

  Her smile was weak and distracted, and when I moved forward to offer my hand I noticed she barely glanced at me. I was getting used to that from the women in Miles’s past. Her fingers were cold and boney, but her grip was firm as she shook my hand.

  “You’re Alex Barry’s sister,” I said, puzzled by what she was doing here.

  “Also,” she said with a faintly apologetic smile, “Miles’s ex wife.”

  ~*~

  FIVE

  Melanie put down the croissant she had been about to bite into and stared at the woman with renewed interest. “Whoa,” she said. “I didn’t see that coming.”

  Ditto that.

  “I was just apologizing to Rita for barging in on your breakfast,” she said while I just stood there feeling, and probably looking, like an idiot. “I hoped to catch Miles for just a minute before he left on his run. I should have called first.”

  I was finally able to move my gaze away from her and toward Rita, who looked just as uncomfortable, and probably even more confused, than I was. She said, “Coffee, Raine?”

  I managed to find my way to a chair at the table without tripping over my own feet, and I sat down, accepting the cup of coffee Rita passed to me. Melanie said to Susan curiously, “So which one are you?”

  Susan responded politely, “I’m sorry?”

  “Wife,” Melanie clarified. “Which wife?”

  “Second,” Susan replied.

  Melanie nodded sagely. “I’m his only child. He doesn’t talk much about the other wives.”

  Susan took a breath, and got to her feet. “I’m sorry,” she said, “I shouldn’t have come. It’s been a dreadful few days. Tell Miles I was by, will you? She reached into her tiny clutch purse and took out a card. “Here’s my number.”

  Rita reached for the card uncertainly, clearly torn between curiosity, the good manners that should insist Susan join us for breakfast, and relief that she was leaving. I had an uneasy feeling that good manners were about to win out when the day was saved by the sound of scrabbling claws on teak. A wet golden retriever bounded around the corner, tongue lolling happily, leaving a trail of damp sand and paw prints behind. I drew a breath for another one of those magical emergency “halt!” commands before his excitement over seeing a stranger ruined Susan’s designer jeans—not to mention our breakfast—but before I could get the syllable out, Susan exclaimed, “Cocoa!”

  For a moment she looked oddly nonplussed, even disbelieving, then she bent to greet him, arms open. Of course Cisco galloped right to her, grinning with delight at the prospect of being showered with the affection he so richly deserved. The next words, even though they were accompanied by affectionate pats and ear rubs, were probably not what he expected. “Cocoa, you bad dog! Where have you been? Do you know how worried we were? How did you get here, anyway?”

  I stood up, scraping my chair on the deck. “Um, that’s not Cocoa,” I said.

  She looked at me as though she wanted to argue, but by this time I had discovered that Rita had also made sausages, and I commanded clearly, “Cisco, come.”

  Never in his life had that command not been followed, at some point, by a treat, so for Cisco the choice between the pleasant stranger with nice pats and the woman who held the sausage was a no-brainer. He raced toward me and skidded to a sit with his toes touching mine. Then, because I couldn’t resist showing off, I said simply, “Finish.” And Cisco flipped his rear quarters around in a semi-circle to sit at my left side. I fed Cisco the sausage, piece by piece.

  Melanie grinned. There was definitely a note of superiority in her tone as she said to Susan, “I’ll bet Cocoa can’t do that.”

  But our moment of triumph was short-lived. Miles came around the corner then, his shoulders and short, spiky hair still gleaming with droplets of water, a towel around his neck. He was wearing running shorts but no shoes, and I presumed he had stopped at the beach shower to rinse off before coming to greet us, sending Cisco ahead. He stopped when he saw Susan, and the confusion on her face melted into relief when she saw him. She said simply, “Miles.” The word was like a sigh.

  After a moment in which whatever emotions he might be experiencing were masked by the sun in his mirror-gray eyes, he came forward, took her hands, and kissed her cheek. He said, “Hi, Susan. I heard you were here. I was sorry to hear about Rachelle.”

  She nodded mutely, and it seemed to me she held onto his hands a moment longer than necessary. “It’s been a nightmare,” she said. “I still can’t believe it. And now the police are questioning Alex, and the press is camped outside the gate…”

  Miles gave her an understanding nod and managed to extricate his hands, gesturing her toward the table. “Come have some coffee. Have you met everyone?”

  She said, “Yes. But I can’t stay.” Her voice was tight, her expression urgent. “Miles, I need a favor.”

  Melanie demanded suspiciously, “How do you know Cocoa?”

  She managed a brief smile for the sake of the daughter of the man from whom she was about to ask a favor. “There’s only one golden retriever on the beach,” she said, “or at least I thought there was. Cocoa is—was—Rachelle’s dog.” She squeezed her eyes closed and gave her head a tiny shake. Her voice was almost inaudible as she said, “That’s hard to say. It doesn’t seem real.”

  Miles touched her shoulder in a light gesture of comfort. How many times had he done the same to me? He said to Melanie, “So that was the dog you met yesterday. It makes sense. The Barry estate is just a quarter mile down the beach.”

  “Anyway, Cocoa got away from his handler this morning and has the whole house in an uproar, as if it wasn’t already. He’s probably home by now. I’m sorry I thought he was your dog. I can’t believe how much they look alike.”

  Melanie rested a proprietorial hand on Cisco’s head. “Cisco isn’t my dog,” she told Susan in a tone that implied she was not only an interloper, but an ill-informed one as well. “My dog is named Pepper and she’s at home in Atlanta. Cisco is Raine’s dog.”

  Miles led Susan to the table with his hand still resting lightly on her shoulder. “Come sit down. Tell me what you need.”

  And that’s when I knew I didn’t want to be there anymore. I said, “I’d better get Cisco cleaned up before he gets sand all over everything.”

  But before I could reach for Cisco’s collar Melanie sprang up from the table and pushed in front of me. “I’ll do it!” she volunteered.

  I gave her a stern meaningful look but she replied with a big-eyed, Melanie Girl Spy tilt of her head toward the interloper, clearly indicating that I should not under any circumstances give up my ground. Since I was now trapped between Melanie and Cisco, there was no way I could.

  “You didn’t finish your breakfast,” Rita objected.

  “All done. Thank you, Grandma.” She reached for Cisco’s collar.

  “And?” prompted Miles.

  �
�And may I please be excused from the table?”

  Her grandmother murmured, “I suppose.” And, as she watched Miles seat his ex-wife next to the place that had been set for me, she looked as though she wished she, too, could ask to be excused. I knew the feeling.

  Nonetheless, I watched Melanie skip off with Cisco in tow and slid into the chair between Rita and Susan. Susan smiled at Miles. “I never pictured you as a father. You’re good at it.”

  Miles poured coffee for her, and then for himself. When he set the pot on the table again, I filled my own cup. He sat down and regarded Susan in a friendly, if cautious, manner. “It’s been a long time,” he said.

  I did dearly hope they were not about to start reminiscing. I grabbed the fruit bowl and plopped a spoonful of chopped mangoes and kiwis on my plate, then offered the bowl to Susan with a smile so saccharine it should have rotted my teeth. “Have some?”

  She replied with a brusque shake of her head and looked nervously at her coffee cup, fingering the handle. I helped myself to a generous serving of warm crepes dusted with cinnamon sugar from the domed platter. Miles seemed content to just watch Susan, patiently and without judgment, until she was ready to speak.

  How many times had he looked at me like that?

  Susan took a breath. “You know Alex and I have never been all that close,” she said. “But Rachelle…we got to be friends. I don’t know, I guess it was because we were both based in Los Angeles, and while Alex was flying off here and there on business we started hanging out.”

  Rita inquired pleasantly, “What do you do in Los Angeles, dear?”

  “I’m a television producer,” she answered, “for an entertainment news show. That’s how I got to know Rachelle, really. She did a guest segment on our show for Wolftown, and she wasn’t nearly as vapid and empty-headed as she’d seemed at the wedding. I liked her. She wasn’t what you’d expect. Not a spoiled rich kid, not one of those air-head actresses. She was young, but smart. She didn’t think she was a very good actress, and…” she made a small, wry expression with the corner of her lips, “the truth was, she wasn’t. But she wanted to get better. She took lessons, and even though she probably could have bought her way into any movie she wanted she wanted to pay her dues. So she took parts in low-budget films--you know, the kind where the heroine in the cat suit kicks zombie ass, or shoots down terrorist planes with shoulder-missiles, or gets thrown off tall buildings by a serial killer or stalked by a maniacal babysitter—and television sitcoms and bad pilots. She would have thought this…” she gave a small shake of her head, “was just another bad script. The tragedy is that she’d just gotten a part in a major film, the kind that was life-changing, according to her. She was so excited about it, and the thing she was proudest of was that she’d earned it, nobody had given it to her. I think she finally thought she was living up to the family legacy. We had lunch the day before she left and it was all she could talk about. She said it felt as though her whole life was starting over.”