Death by Chocolate Lab (Lucky Paws Petsitting Mystery)

by Bethany Blake

  Not that I had a key. Yet.

  But, no offense to him, Steve hadn’t been a very original guy. I was pretty sure he’d have one of those fake hollow rocks near his porch or a key stashed under his doormat.

  All at once, my van lurched in a strange, somewhat alarming way. It was too late to turn back, though. Leaning forward, the better to see the lonely rural road, I patted the steering wheel and urged, “Keep going! You can do it!” We were almost to Steve’s house but were approaching an intimidating rise, steep enough possibly to overwhelm an engine that sometimes failed while we were going downhill. “Come on!”

  Someone else was coming over the hill, too, from the other side. I could see headlights starting to glow in the humid, misty air.

  Then, as the VW began to wheeze upward, the other car came roaring past, moving way too quickly for the narrow road.

  I saw the vehicle for only a moment, but I was pretty sure it wasn’t technically a car. It was a Jeep. Kind of like the one that I’d seen at the farm the night of Steve’s murder.

  Was that a coincidence?

  I didn’t have time to wonder right then.

  The VW thankfully crested the rise, and I saw the sign for Blue Ribbon K9 Academy just in time to make the turn onto the long driveway that led to Steve’s house and his adjacent warehouse-like training facility.

  Unfortunately, as I’d feared, the van’s cobbled-together engine chose that exact moment to give up the ghost.

  Chapter 13

  I really regretted baiting my mother with my comments about my worthless cell phone, because clearly karma was at work. I was stuck in the forest with no way to call for help.

  Could my mother sense that I was suffering payback from the universe?

  Was she laughing over dessert with Detective Black as she reeled him in to buy a five-bedroom and marry Piper as part of the deal?

  “Come on, guys,” I said, urging Socrates and Artie to move faster down the long path that connected the main road to Steve’s house. It was pitch black, and the property was heavily wooded. I swore I heard stuff rustling in the underbrush with every step we took.

  “We are to learn about fear, not escape from it,” I reminded myself and the dogs softly, quoting Jiddhu Krishnamurti.

  I believed, in theory, that the Indian philosopher was correct. We shouldn’t run away from fear.

  But as something that sounded bear sized moved in the trees, and I recalled how Steve had looked lying lifeless in the tunnel, I might’ve picked up the pace just a little.

  Okay, I yelled, “Run, guys!” Then I tore off like a bat out of heck, sprinting as fast as I could in my flip-flops until I stumbled right up onto the porch of Steve’s dark log-cabin home.

  Breathing hard, I lifted the doormat with shaking fingers.

  The dogs joined me, their toenails tapping the wooden floor. Socrates hadn’t hurried at all. He was the last to arrive.

  “Don’t laugh at me!” I told him, feeling under the mat. “Something is out there!”

  Unfortunately, while I was convinced that the woods were filled with dangerous creatures, my hunch about the doormat was proven wrong. There was nothing beneath it except dirt. A lot of dirt.

  Straightening and swiping my fingers on my jeans, I spied a suspicious-looking flowerpot. I couldn’t imagine Steve planting flowers.

  I lifted it, and a few moments later, Artie, Socrates, and I were in.

  And I was screaming way too loudly for someone on an investigative mission.

  Chapter 14

  “What type of person puts a nine-foot-tall taxidermied grizzly bear smack in the middle of a dark foyer?” I asked the dogs once I could breathe again. I rested one hand against my still heaving chest. “Who does that?”

  Socrates made a sound that was very reminiscent of a snorted laugh. He hadn’t for a moment believed the bear was alive, like I had. He trotted past me and Artie, who had also gotten spun up at the sight of a huge predator looming over all of us, with its front legs outstretched and its jaws gaping.

  As my eyes adjusted to the gloomy interior of Steve’s house, I got even madder when I realized that Steve had hung a jacket on one of the bear’s paws. It was bad enough that he had probably killed the majestic creature, then mounted it as a trophy. He didn’t have to diminish the animal, too, by treating it like furniture.

  “Really, Steve?” I muttered, snatching away the jacket and tossing it onto a bench.

  I knew that Piper was more pragmatic about animals than me. She saw the circle of life and death every day at her hospital, and she had no problem with people hunting if they ate the meat. But had she really approved of Steve’s use of a bear as a coatrack?

  I took another deep breath and reminded myself that there was nothing I could do for the grizzly. I was there to help a dog.

  Yet, even as I called softly for Axis, I knew that the retriever wasn’t there. He would’ve already come running to greet me, Socrates, and Artie. And once the sound of my screams and Artie’s barking had subsided, it was obvious that no one living—human or animal—was inside the house.

  The place had that too-still, oppressively hushed feeling.

  So where was Axis?

  Had the police or some friend of Steve’s taken him?

  Or was the dog really missing?

  I started fumbling along the wall for a light switch, then recalled the Jeep that had passed me on the road.

  I knew it was unlikely, but if that vehicle belonged to the killer, maybe he or she had been here—and might return. And so I decided that, although I wasn’t particularly fond of spooking around in the dark, it was a better choice than lighting up the house and signaling that someone was inside.

  As my eyes adjusted, the dogs and I moved farther into the room, which was actually fairly well lit by moonlight streaming through two massive triangular windows at the top of the ski lodge–like, A-frame structure.

  “There’s gotta be a landline here,” I whispered, walking around a huge sectional that dominated the open, soaring great room. From what I could tell, everything in the place screamed “single guy,” from the bear to the big couch to the ginormous TV and a tacky, nearly life-size painting of a regal elk, which Steve probably would’ve liked to have killed and mounted, too.

  Had my sister’s ex been trying to compensate for something small with all the oversize furniture?

  For a second, I almost laughed; then I recalled that Steve had been murdered, and that shouldn’t happen to anyone. Not to a bear, an elk, or a person, no matter how dislikable. “Sorry,” I said out loud to Steve and the whole universe, so I wouldn’t suffer from more bad karma.

  I really needed the universe to give me a break, in the form of a telephone, so I could call . . .

  All at once, just as I found a phone and answering-machine combo on an end table with legs made of antlers, I stopped short.

  Who, exactly, did I intend to contact?

  Rule-following Piper would seriously disapprove of my sneaking into Steve’s house, especially since I’d achieved nothing. She might even refuse to come get me.

  Moxie didn’t have a car, and her Vespa scooter was worthless in any situation more than two miles from town.

  My mother would answer her cell, but what if she was still with Detective Black? She’d blab everything, and I’d probably get arrested.

  Or, worse yet, she’d rush over here and come bursting through the door in her high heels and matchy outfit from Talbots to haul my butt home. I’d definitely get that lecture on responsibility I’d avoided earlier, and it would be delivered while I was trapped in her Lexus sedan.

  No. I was not calling Maeve Templeton.

  I picked up the receiver and started to dial Dylan, then hung up before his phone could ring. I’d already leaned on him once that day, and I didn’t need him to start thinking I was some sort of damsel in distress.

  “Why didn’t I get AAA, like Piper is always nagging about?” I muttered to Socrates, who had jumped up onto th
e couch, the better to watch me grapple with my dilemma. Artie had disappeared into the kitchen, probably in search of food. I could hear him snuffling, like maybe he’d found something. I put the phone back into its cradle. “Why don’t I ever listen to my sister?”

  Socrates cocked his wrinkly head, as if to say, “Really? AAA? You are not the kind of girl who plans ahead like that.”

  Obviously, he was right.

  I certainly hadn’t planned for what happened next: I heard footsteps on the porch, and a second later the front door opened to let somebody else inside the big, dark, isolated house with me.

  Chapter 15

  “You can stand up, Ms. Templeton,” a familiar voice informed me as I crouched, only half concealed, by the antler table. My effort to hide was also hampered by the fact that Socrates was still sitting in plain view and Artie was dancing around me, yipping and licking my face. “In fact, please get up,” the person added. “Now.”

  Was I relieved or dismayed to realize that I’d been joined by Detective Jonathan Black, who switched on the small light in the foyer?

  I wasn’t sure. Part of me would’ve preferred to face a murderer, especially when I rose up, dusted myself off, and saw the grim expression on his face.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked him, hoping he couldn’t see the faint flush of embarrassment on my cheeks. “Shouldn’t you be touring a five-bedroom colonial with my mother about now?”

  Detective Black checked his wristwatch. “It’s nearly eleven p.m. And I don’t like colonials.”

  I had no idea if he was joking about that last part.

  He frowned at the grizzly, as if he also thought it was in poor taste, then moved farther into the room. There was a lot of space between us in the big, open floor plan, but I stepped back, nearly tripping over Artie.

  “Shouldn’t I be asking what you’re doing here . . . in the dark?” he noted, glancing at Artie, then Socrates. “And do you always have dogs with you?”

  “Generally, yes,” I informed him. I crossed my arms over my chest. “Why wouldn’t I?”

  My response seemed to puzzle him, as usual. I’d seen that look on his face—the furrowed brow and the frown—a lot when he’d questioned me about the murder.

  Then I suddenly recalled how he’d addressed me by name before he’d even seen me, and I wondered if I’d been followed, which would’ve been uncalled for. I didn’t really think I was a suspect. At least, not one worth tracking at all hours of the night. And he was clearly off duty, still wearing his jeans and polo shirt.

  “How did you know I was here before you turned on the light?” I asked him suspiciously. He was walking farther into the house. Closer to me. He switched on another lamp, on an end table that matched the one I’d just hidden behind. I took a few steps back. Just because he was a police officer didn’t mean he couldn’t be a stalker—or a killer. “Detective” would actually be a pretty good cover for a murderer. “Seriously, I think you need to explain how you knew it was me.”

  The corners of his mouth finally twitched with amusement—at my expense, of course. “Even by moonlight, I recognized your basset hound, and the Chihuahua’s also distinctive, to put it mildly,” he said. “Not to mention the fact that your old VW is blocking the road to the house. The horse and the graffiti make it pretty memorable. And your name is right on the side.”

  “Oh.” I guessed I had left a few clues to indicate I was there. “It’s not a horse,” I advised him, jutting out my chin. “It’s a dog—like Artie. They are both slightly misshapen but totally lovable dogs.”

  Oh, gosh, did Detective Black grin when I said that. It transformed his whole face, and if he hadn’t been laughing at me, I probably would have smiled, too.

  Instead, I reminded him, “You still haven’t explained why you’re here.”

  He gave me another funny look. “I’m investigating a murder. Remember?”

  “It’s awfully late for investigating,” I noted. “You pointed out the time.”

  He began to walk around the room, studying everything from the rafters to the rugs. “Something is bothering me,” he said, seeming distracted. Socrates tracked the detective’s progress with his intelligent eyes, while Artie trotted right on his heels. “I wanted to check out the house one more time.” He returned his attention to me. “I really think you need to explain yourself now. Why you’re here, and why you parked so far away, which seems odd.”

  “I didn’t so much park as drift to an unexpected stop,” I said. “And I’m here because I’m worried about Steve’s dog, Axis.”

  Detective Black’s eyebrows arched. “There’s another dog?”

  “Yes,” I said. “A prizewinning chocolate Lab named Axis, sometimes known as Cookie Puss.”

  Detective Black reared back slightly. “Cookie Puss?”

  “Yes, I call him that. Because he has such a sweet face. Which is brown, like a cookie.”

  “Okay.” Detective Black stretched that one word out for about a mile.

  “Anyway, I think it’s odd that Axis is missing,” I continued. “He usually went everywhere with Steve. But I’m not sure he was at Winding Hill, Piper’s farm, last night. And if he was there when Steve was killed, he never would’ve left the body willingly. He would’ve stood guard.”

  I got even more concerned for Axis when I realized that if he’d been at the farm when Steve was murdered, he definitely would’ve stayed near the tunnel and barked to alert someone that Steve was in trouble. Unless someone had taken him—or silenced him.

  “That is curious,” Detective Black agreed. He resumed walking around, then paused in front of an ostentatious wood-and-glass case that was filled with books and trophies. Each trophy was topped with a golden dog. The books all looked like spy and thriller paperbacks, with the exception of one beautifully bound work. I was too far away to read the gold-embossed title on the leather spine, but the volume was thick. “Very interesting.”

  He might’ve been referring to my observations about Axis or the contents of the case.

  “So, are you going to help me look for Cookie Puss?” I asked. “I’m really worried about him.”

  Detective Black finally faced me again. “I’m a homicide detective, not a dogcatcher.”

  “I really think it might have something to do with the crime,” I argued. “It’s a weird coincidence, Axis going missing and Steve getting killed. Plus, what if Cookie Puss—”

  “Please call the dog Axis,” Detective Black interrupted. “Retrievers are working dogs, and some of them are warriors. They deserve respect.”

  The comment caused me to rear back with surprise.

  Did he perhaps like dogs, at least a little?

  “All right,” I agreed. I’d never meant to insult Axis’s dignity, the way I felt Steve had degraded the bear in his foyer. I just loved the dog’s sweet face. My shoulders slumped a little. And, let’s face it, I’d liked bothering Steve, too. But in the future, I would refer to Axis by his proper name. “What if Axis is in trouble?” I asked again.

  “I’m afraid Steve Beamus’s pet can’t be my priority right now,” Detective Black said. His mouth set in a grim line. I wasn’t sure why he had suddenly gotten so serious. “I’ll keep what you told me in mind, but there’s a good chance the dog is fine. He’s probably staying with one of Mr. Beamus’s friends or relatives. Who knows?”

  I knew. I could sense that something was odd. But I could also tell that I wasn’t going to get anywhere by arguing with a stubborn police officer.

  “Is your ride or a mechanic or a tow truck coming soon?” he added. “Because you are free to go at any time.”

  “I, um . . . I don’t have a ride or a tow,” I admitted. “I wasn’t sure how the dogs and I were getting home, before you came along.”

  He looked askance at me. “Before I . . . ?”

  “You are going to take us back to town, right?” I asked. “We can’t walk!”

  Detective Black didn’t seem convinced of that.


  “I’m wearing flip-flops,” I said, pointing at my feet. “And look at Socrates’s legs in proportion to his head. He’s built for thinking, not walking. Then there’s poor Artie. . . .”

  As I spoke, I realized that the one-eared Chihuahua would probably make it through the journey, while Socrates and I would get eaten by the live bear that I was certain lurked outside. Artie was a survivor.

  “Why not call your boyfriend?” Detective Black asked, interrupting my thoughts. He’d been examining a taxidermied squirrel—what clues might that hold?—but he met my gaze for a moment. His eyes were impossibly dark blue. “Can’t he come get you?”

  “I don’t have a boyfriend,” I said, confused.

  Was he making that assumption based on one hug I’d shared with Dylan?

  “Are you sure?” Detective Black asked. “Because Dylan Taggart seems awfully concerned about you. Enough that he approached me on the street and spent quite a bit of time trying to convince me that you wouldn’t hurt a flea.” He looked at the dogs. “Which isn’t exactly accurate, given that your pets are wearing flea collars.”

  The observation was funny, but my heart sank. “Dylan did what?” I groaned, digging my hand into my curls. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

  “I seldom joke,” Detective Black said, although his eyes were gleaming with ill-concealed amusement right then. He set down the squirrel, which he’d been holding the whole time, and a shadow crossed his face. “I am going to assume that his offer to buy me an organic chai latte while he pleaded your case was not a bribe on your behalf.”

  Once again, I couldn’t tell if he was being serious.

  “I really don’t want to call Dylan right now,” I grumbled. I was at once furious with Dylan, but grateful for his support. Our already complicated relationship had just gotten a little more complex. “His car is less reliable than mine,” I added. In fact, Dylan was living in Sylvan Creek only because his Subaru had broken down while he was en route to a beach in New Jersey. He’d taken a job with Piper to earn enough money to fix it and ended up sticking around for a while. “We’d probably wind up with two stranded vehicles blocking the road.”