The short drive to a residential neighborhood passed in silence. They rounded a corner and came in sight of a gnarled oak in front of a house. A large dog prowled the base of the tree. The animal’s snarls raised the hackles on the back of Matt’s neck. His gaze found a slender figure standing on one branch and clinging to another higher up. As the squad car pulled over to the curb about a block away, the dog leaped toward the woman and nearly nabbed her heels.
Matt’s fists clenched. “How are we going to lure that beast away from her without getting our own throats torn out?”
“No problem.” Art sent him a sly grin. He grabbed one of the rifles in the rack behind their heads.
Matt’s eyes widened. “Are you trying to get in trouble with the animal rights groups?”
“Tranquilizer gun.” The chief winked. “In these mountains, we never know what kind of critter we’ll have to take down and cart back to the wild. There’s a cage under the topper.”
He stepped out of the pickup, and Matt followed on nervous feet. The Abbottsville police chief better be a good shot.
“Am I glad to see you!” Kelly’s voice wafted to them.
The Doberman answered with a spate of growls and a lunge against the tree. The animal didn’t have a glance to spare the approaching men. Matt focused on the dog and stayed close to Art. The chief motioned them to a halt about two thirds of the way between the pickup and the tree. He lifted the rifle to his shoulder and narrowed his gaze across the sight.
“Don’t hit Kelly.” Matt’s imagination toyed with a vision of her struck by a tranquilizer dart and tumbling from the tree into the dog’s eager jaws. He shuddered.
Art sent him a disgusted look, then went back to perfecting his aim. Suddenly, the dog froze and stared in a direction across the street from them. Matt held his breath as the chief’s finger tensed on the trigger.
“Don’t shoot!” A stocky figure darted between them and the tree.
Art grunted and lowered the rifle. “Greg Milton. Brutus is their family pet. Some pet!”
“At least someone can nab the critter without you having to take a potshot.”
Cursing in snarls almost as scary as his dog’s, Greg grabbed the Doberman’s collar and began dragging the animal across the street toward a high fence. Matt followed Art as they trotted toward the scene.
“Hold it right there,” Art said to Greg.
The teenager threw the chief a hard look—half defiance, half fear. His knuckles were white around his dog’s collar. The animal had ceased raging and now stood docilely, tongue lolling. If Matt didn’t know better, he’d think Brutus oozed an air of pleased satisfaction.
Matt continued toward the tree where Kelly clung.
“Remember what I told you the last time Brutus took after someone?” The chief’s voice followed him. “This dog is too dangerous to live in town. Put him in the truck. We’ll have to notify the…”
The words were swept away on the wind as Matt approached the oak. Pale-faced, Kelly was trying to let herself down to a lower branch, but either a foot or a hand kept slipping. Matt reached the tree, and her grip slid again. She toppled forward. Matt reached up. Her slender figure hit him full force and knocked him flat backward onto the hard ground, forcing every ounce of oxygen from his chest. Their startled gazes met and locked. If her mouth opened any wider, she could swallow an egg. Air rushed into Matt’s lungs, and he puffed out a chuckle.
Kelly’s cheeks went from white to red. She rolled away and scrambled to her feet. “What are you doing here?”
“Hello to you, too.” Matt rose.
She drew herself up stiff. “I owe you my thanks again.”
His heart sank. He’d rather have her anger than her grudging gratitude.
Her attention left him for something beyond his shoulder. “Poor Greg.” Her expression softened and saddened. “He loves that ornery dog. They’re a matched pair of troubled souls.”
Matt turned to see Greg race away from the police chief’s truck. The kid tore through the opening in the fence, shut the clattering gate and disappeared through the side door of the ramshackle house. Art came around from the rear of the truck, where renewed snarls sounded, and headed toward the fence. Matt trotted across the street to meet him. He was as curious as the chief to investigate why the gate had come open. Kelly’s footsteps pattered behind him. They met at the fence and stared down at the closed gate latch.
“What is that?” Kelly pointed toward a box built into the mechanism.
“They actually did what I said for once.” Art snapped his fingers. “I told the Miltons they had to figure out a better locking system than a chain and padlock that they forgot to fasten half the time. This one’s electronic. To open the gate, you have to punch in a code, but it locks automatically as soon as you shut it.”
Kelly shook her head. “Someone must not have shut the gate firmly when they came through last.”
“Negligence, any way you slice it.” The chief scowled. “I’ve given Greg the lecture. I’d better have a talk with his dad. The kid says Nick’s at home, but his mom’s at the grocery store.”
“Count me out.” Kelly waved. “That guy gives me the creeps.” She walked away.
Matt eyed Kelly going one direction and Art the opposite. He’d like to walk Kelly to her car, but she might think that was intrusive overprotectiveness. On the other hand, he’d love to meet this Nick character and gauge the guy’s creep level for himself. Matt caught up with Art, and since the chief didn’t order him to get lost, he considered himself invited for the interview.
They reached the sagging front stoop as the garage door rattled upward. A rust-bucket van roared backward down the driveway. Greg was at the wheel. The teenager seemed oblivious to their presence. He reached the street and gunned away.
Art sighed. “I’m going to end up arresting that kid someday. Just like his father. Nick’s an ex-con who can’t seem to stay on the right side of the jailhouse bars.”
Repeated banging on the door drew no response. Art tried the doorknob, and it turned. Matt followed the chief into a dark, dank hallway. He inhaled and grimaced. The place smelled like air freshener striving feebly to mask the odor of dirty gym socks. From a room to the right, gurgling snores mingled with the blare of a television.
Art led the way around the corner. Matt halted beside him.
A brute with the build of a professional wrestler gone to seed lay sprawled on a ratty couch. He sported bristle on slab cheeks, one beefy arm cradled a mostly empty fifth of whiskey, and loud snores flapped a pair of blubber lips. Matt gave thanks that Kelly had opted not to join them on the expedition. The sight of this guy clad in a ripped and dirty undershirt and stained jeans was enough to ruin his appetite for a week.
“Wasted effort,” Art growled. “I’ll have to come back later.”
Matt scanned the room. Someone had tried to make the place a little homey with knickknacks on shelves and pictures on the walls. Chelsea? It must be like nailing ice cream to a fence post to keep this place halfway clean while married to a slob. Round bottle stains marred the top of a cheap coffee table where a couple of remote-control boxes rested.
Without hesitation, Matt followed Art into the clean, cold air outdoors. They climbed into the pickup to a spate of growls from the crate in the rear.
Matt glanced toward the sound. “What’s going to happen to Brutus?”
Art started the vehicle. “Someone from the Humane Society will evaluate the animal and determine if he’s a candidate for a rehabilitation program. If so, he’ll eventually be relocated with a fit owner.”
“Sounds good to me. I wouldn’t wish the conditions in that household on any animal, much less the people.” Matt shook his head as snapshots of the ramshackle living room panned through his memory. His heart stalled as realization dawned. He slapped himself on the brow.
“What?” Art shot him a questioning look.
“Did you notice the brand names on those remote controls sitting on the co
ffee table?”
The chief pursed his lips. “Can’t say I paid any attention.”
“What was the brand name on the gate lock?”
Art’s eyes narrowed. “Are you saying that the brand on one of the remotes matches the one on the gate lock?”
“You’re no slouch in the deduction business.”
“Apparently, I’m a slouch in the observation business.” The chief struck the steering wheel with the heel of his palm.
“One of those two—Greg or Nick—could have seen Kelly coming up the street and opened that gate on purpose. It might not have been one of them carelessly neglecting to latch the gate.”
“But there’s no way on the planet to prove it either way.”
“Nope.” Matt’s jaw steeled. “What motive would either of them have for turning their dog loose on Kelly?”
“Nick would do it for fun.”
“But a person needs to be awake to push a button.”
“That leaves Greg, and I have no idea why the kid would pull a stunt like that. He knew he’d lose the dog if there was another incident.”
“What if he was the intruder at the clinic? A dead Kelly wouldn’t be able to remember anything that would incriminate him. I saw the young man had a black eye.”
“From his dad, most likely.” Art shook his head. “Can’t tell you how many times Family Services has tried to intervene in that household, but as soon as someone from the outside tries to come in, they clan up tighter than the Clampetts.”
Matt cocked a brow at the police chief. “Maybe the shiner is from Kelly’s elbow. She connected with her attacker.”
Art frowned, then nodded. “It’s a good theory. Leaves a few questions open…like why he broke into the clinic at all. There’s nothing missing but that package of biological samples.”
Matt opened his mouth, closed it and then shook his head. He needed to find a way to keep a close eye on Kelly. She’d suffered two attacks in as many days, and her business had been trashed. Now her sister’s restaurant was under investigation for the poisoning of patrons. Could the real target of these activities be Kelly and her family? But why? If so, Kelly might not be safe anywhere.
“Brenda, we need to talk about this.” Kelly spoke into the phone receiver while she paced around her living room. It was Sunday afternoon—two full days after the restaurant closing—and her sister still wouldn’t open up about it.
“I can’t, Kell,” Brenda answered. “You know me. I need space to process shocks.”
Kelly remembered—vividly—the days of silence from Brenda after their parents died. And again two and a half years later, shortly after Felice was born, when her sister learned she had breast cancer.
“The authorities will finish their investigation, and my staff and I will be cleared,” Brenda said. “A few days at home will give me extra time to spend with Felice. I’ve been feeling neglectful of her lately.”
“A few days—” Kelly bit off her words. If her sister wanted to live in denial that this could be the end of Brenda’s Kitchen, she wasn’t going to bust her bubble. Not now, anyway. “I’m here for you if you need anything. Two years my elder doesn’t mean you have to be the strong big sister all the time.”
Brenda’s soft chuckle eased a measure of Kelly’s tension. Since being treed by Brutus yesterday, she’d been jumpy as a bird at a cat convention, as their dad used to say. It was as if she was waiting for the next terrible thing to happen. But she wasn’t about to lay her problems all on her sister. She hadn’t bothered to mention the incident with the Miltons’ dog.
“I know you’re there for me, Kell,” her sister said. “You always have been.”
Memories of the long and frightening cancer battle passed through Kelly’s mind. “Ditto, Bren.” She had to trust they would emerge victorious from this trial, too.
Kelly’s doorbell sounded, and a shiver ran down her back. What was the matter with her? She needed to get control of herself. Pronto.
“Guess I’ll let you go,” she said. “Someone’s at my door.”
“Maybe it’s that cute neighbor of yours.” Brenda giggled.
“Not funny. He’s the guy who shut you down. Remember?”
“No, sister dear. Whoever put mistletoe in something I served at my restaurant is the one who shut me down. Matt was doing his job. Protecting people.”
Kelly sighed. Brenda was right, but it was easier to be angry with big, solid Matt than a nameless, faceless crook. Besides, a strong dose of resentment immunized her heart against stirrings of interest she didn’t want to feel.
The bell rang again.
“I’m coming!” She trotted to the hallway and flung open the door.
A generic greeting died on her lips as she stared into Matt’s blue eyes and dangerously dimpled smile. Sunlight haloed his tall form.
“Hi,” he said. “Do you feel like decorating?”
Kelly blinked. Her attention dropped to his arms, which cradled a stack of boxes labeled lights and garland.
A laugh parted her lips. “Did you buy out the store?”
“Pretty much.” His grin—and the dimples—deepened. “How about it?”
“Let me get my jacket.”
A minute later, she joined Matt in the yard where he was unpacking a string of lights. Ben barked a greeting and rose to all fours from a sitting position. Matt pointed a finger at the Saint Bernard and issued a command. The dog lowered its haunches to the ground, tail wagging in the dusting of fresh snow, which had fallen overnight.
“I’m impressed.” Kelly laughed. “Have you been taking him to obedience school?”
“Not yet.” Matt handed her one end of the string of lights. “But we’re working on a few things at home. Maybe you can recommend a school for him. For us, really. I need tips on training him.”
“You’d have to drive to Sevierville to participate in formal schooling. Once you enroll, it’s a strict commitment to attend every class. With your type of work, that might be a challenge.”
He grimaced. “I’m a dog owner. I need to man up to the responsibility. Where do you want these?” He held up his end of the lights.
“Around my door, I think. The nails to hook the wires are already there. Ben couldn’t dislodge those.”
“Not for lack of trying.” Matt chuckled.
They started fastening the lights while Ben played tag with his shadow, carefree barks enlivening the air. Kelly smiled and joined Matt in humming “Joy to the World.”
“Maybe I could help you with the training at home,” she told him.
“Would you?”
“Sure.” Kelly’s face warmed. He stared at her like he was thrilled to his socks. Why did she make the offer? She’d have to spend more time with him and Ben. Well, the dog was adorable. She averted her gaze.
Okay, so was the owner.
They finished outlining the doorway with Christmas lights, and Matt stepped back, surveying their handiwork. “What next?”
“How about restoring order to the crèche?” Ben hadn’t been able to demolish the plastic figures, but he’d done a good job of scattering the scene.
The next hour passed in lighthearted banter and snatches of song as they replaced every strand and string of decoration that Ben had destroyed. All but the wreath. Kelly somberly contemplated the bare spot on her door.
“I got you a new one.” Matt trotted up beside her.
He held out a fresh pine garland. “It’s not mistletoe. I couldn’t find one of those. I’m not happy that you lost an heirloom because of my dog.”
Her eyes unexpectedly misted. “That’s okay. I’m not too fond of mistletoe right now.” She hung the fresh-smelling pine boughs on the nail in her door panel. “It looks awesome.”
“Thanks for being such a good sport.”
Kelly studied the toes of her boots. “I was a brat. Could be baby sister syndrome…or a bad day.” Or maybe because she found him too attractive and fought the feeling with everything in her, but she wasn’
t about to verbalize that option. She lifted her head and met his gentle gaze. No resentment on his face, just sympathy and understanding.
Ben scampered up and sat at Matt’s feet, the animal’s soft gaze a mirror image of its master’s.
She lifted her hands in surrender. Who could resist those pairs of guileless eyes? “Come on in. Ben, too. Let me reward your generosity and hard work with a cup of hot cocoa.”
Matt’s lethal grin beamed down on her and sent her heart into gymnastic contortions.
“I can’t think of anything I’d like better.”
A short time later, they sat in opposite easy chairs in Kelly’s small living room, cradling steaming mugs of cocoa topped with fluffy, white marshmallows. Ben sprawled on his side and fell asleep on the carpet between them. Puppy snores punctuated light conversation and laughter. Matt’s gaze drifted here and there around the room. What was he looking for?
“Did you find it?” she asked.
“What?” He blinked at her.
“You keep looking around. Are you one of those white-glove-test guys?” She chuckled. “I confess. I haven’t dusted in about a week. Not on my list of priorities.”
“You caught me.” Matt’s face reddened. “I wasn’t checking out your housekeeping. Just looking for the picture of the boyfriend that’s got to be around somewhere?”
Kelly’s insides tensed. “Why do you think I need a boyfriend?”
“I didn’t say you need a boyfriend.” He set his mug on a side table and clasped his hands together, elbows on knees. His gaze turned earnest. “The guys around here must be crazy if they’re not trampling each other for an opportunity to get to know you better.”
Her stomach went hollow, and butterflies flittered around the cavity. This must be what dismay and pleasure felt like at the same time. “I believe I’ve just been complimented, but I haven’t been in the market for male companionship for a while. I got burned pretty badly almost one year ago to this day.”
Matt’s gaze dropped. “Aww. You don’t owe me an explanation. I just—”
Season of Danger: Silent Night, Deadly NightMistletoe Mayhem Page 14