Kiss of Death

by Meryl Sawyer

  “Just a second,” Trish said. “I hope your dog is on flea medication.”

  “Absolutely,” Miranda assured the woman before Whitney could. “Lexi’s on the Program.”

  Whitney gave her dog a pill on the first day of every month. It protected Lexi against fleas and ticks for thirty days.

  “Good.” Trish studied Whitney for a moment. “Do you intend to bring your dog—”

  “Her name’s Lexi. I find dogs walk better and enjoy themselves more if they have a companion.”

  Trish considered this information, then nodded thoughtfully. They followed her inside to a living room with a floating stairway that led to the second level. A sweeping expanse of glass showcased a mesmerizing view of the ocean. Through the doors that opened onto the deck, Whitney could smell the briny scent of the sea and hear the thunderous crash of the surf on the rocks just beyond the house. The water shimmered in the midday sun, but in the distance a band of dark, ominous clouds sulked along the horizon.

  In the center of the living-room ceiling, a mammoth chandelier of glass orbs tinkled in the breeze drifting in from the ocean. They sat on a pearl-gray leather sofa with accent pillows of dark charcoal in a nubby material that was scratchy to the touch. Perfectly behaved, the dogs settled at their feet. Automatically, Whitney reached down and stroked Lexi’s smooth head.

  “I understand you’re divorced,” Trish said, as if Whitney had a contagious disease.

  “Yes. It was final two months ago.”

  Trish offered her a thin-lipped smile. “Trust me. You’re better off without the bastard. I dumped mine seventeen years ago.”

  Whitney nodded and wished her heart was as hard as Trish’s seemed to be. The serrated blade of pain went through her despite her best efforts to brace herself. Would she ever recover from Ryan’s betrayal?

  “I hope you took the jerk to the cleaners,” Trish continued.

  Actually, all Whitney had to show for nine years of marriage was an aging SUV and Lexi. Ryan had given up the Grand Cherokee easily but he’d fought hard to keep their house and a worthless piece of property out in the boonies.

  “Whitney plans to open a dog spa in a year or so, when she’s saved enough money,” Miranda said. It was obvious to Whitney that her cousin wanted to steer the conversation away from Whitney’s divorce. She knew how touchy Whitney was when it came to Ryan Fordham.

  “Really?” Trish was clearly astonished. “There are already several in the area. Competition will be stiff.”

  “Mine will be different,” Whitney replied. Why did Miranda have to mention it? She wasn’t positive just what she was going to do. She’d worked for a software firm until a month ago, when they’d outsourced her job to India. With so many changes hitting her all at once, Whitney wasn’t certain exactly what plans to make. She’d mentioned the spa as a possibility— not a sure thing.

  “She’s going to be using organic products to groom animals and feature holistic treatments like acupuncture,” Miranda volunteered in her upbeat voice.

  “I see,” Trish replied with an undertone of indifference.

  “Whitney’s great with animals,” Miranda said, filling the awkward silence.

  “You’re living locally?” Trish asked Whitney.

  “I’ve moved into Miranda’s place in Torrey Pines. She won’t be needing it now that—”

  “I’m getting married,” Miranda interrupted, every syllable charged with excitement.

  “Really?” Trish cocked one eyebrow. “You never mentioned being engaged.”

  “We’ve been together a long time. We just decided to make it official.”

  “This is what I have for Brandy’s schedule.” Whitney wanted to move the topic to a more professional level. There was something in Trish Bowrather’s expression that said she disapproved of Miranda’s plans. What business was it of hers? Clearly, she’d had a miserable experience, but that didn’t mean Miranda couldn’t have a successful marriage.

  Whitney went through a list of activities that Miranda had given her, which included a walk each morning, a weekly visit to the Dog Spaw for grooming and a massage, a biweekly trip to the Bark Park where he could “socialize” with other dogs, a standing appointment each month with the vet for a checkup whether Brandy was ill or not and a monthly appointment with a canine dentist.

  No question about it. Brandy was a gold mine. Miranda charged per visit and tacked on a mileage fee. It would be like taking care of three dogs. From what she could see, Brandy wouldn’t give her any problems.

  “That is correct,” Trish said when she’d finished going over the schedule. “Just remember to check his paws when you pick him up at the Dog Spaw. Sometimes they forget to lacquer his claws. We want Brandy to look his best.” She petted the dog’s head. “Don’t we, boy?”

  The dog thumped his tail. It seemed obvious that no matter how snippy Trish Bowrather was, she genuinely cared about her dog. And she’d been through a divorce. Whitney wouldn’t go so far as to say she liked her, but Trish wasn’t as bad as she’d first thought.

  “Brandy has standing appointments. They don’t mind if you’re a few minutes late, but for his morning walk, I need you here at nine sharp. He must be back by nine-thirty. I take Brandy to the gallery with me. We open at ten.”

  “I understand. I won’t be late,” Whitney assured her.

  “If you are, I’ll find someone else.”

  Trish gave her a few more instructions before walking them to the front door. “Tomorrow, promptly at nine,” Trish again reminded Whitney as they left.

  Miranda waited until they were in Whitney’s SUV before saying, “See what I mean? The woman’s a bitch, but Brandy is a love and Trish pays on the minute.”

  “I think I can handle it.” Whitney thought for a moment. “Did you see all that expensive art and stuff? It makes me nervous to have a key and the code for her alarm system.”

  Miranda patted her arm reassuringly. “That’s why I’m bonded. The insurer has transferred the policy to your name. Since I started Marshall’s Pet Concierge, I’ve only had one problem. A woman’s ring was missing after I’d spent the weekend at her home dogsitting.”

  Whitney groaned inwardly. Picking up animals at so many expensive homes when the owners were gone made her wary. Her cousin’s company—now hers—was insured, but still…

  “My insurance company paid the woman for her missing emerald ring,” Miranda said. “Know what happened then?”

  Whitney regretted not knowing the story. She wished they’d been closer after Miranda had unexpectedly come to live with her family, but their personalities had been too different. Then Whitney had married Ryan. He hadn’t cared for Miranda. Whitney had been stupid enough to allow her husband to drive her away from her only living relative.

  “She found the ring?”

  “No,” Miranda replied with the smile Whitney remembered fondly from childhood, when she’d thought her older cousin hung the moon and envied the string of broken hearts that trailed behind Miranda like a comet. “A year later she reported another robbery. She claimed some expensive paintings had been stolen from her home. The insurance company became suspicious, and their investigator proved she’d never purchased them. During the investigation, he discovered she’d never owned an emerald ring, either.”

  Whitney shuddered. “Wow. Did your insurer get the money back?”

  Miranda waved her hand. “Are you kidding? She’d long since spent it, but my rates had gone up because I had a claim against me. They refunded my overpayments and reduced my rate back to where it had been.”

  “We live in a litigious society. People love to sue and file insurance claims.” Whitney thought a minute. “What about Jasper’s house? Is that covered?”

  Not only was Whitney taking over her cousin’s pet concierge business, she had moved into Miranda’s tiny caretaker’s cottage behind a mansion in Torrey Pines, an upscale suburb just north of San Diego. Her cousin had been receiving free rent in exchange for taking care
of a small dog and watching the main house. The owner had died, but his dog was still there. The executor had agreed to pay for the animal’s care until a relative came for the dog later this month.

  “You’re covered by their home owner’s insurance. Why are you so worried?”

  “I wander around a lot in that big old house because I can never find Jasper and he doesn’t come when I call.”

  “Forget calling for him,” Miranda advised. “Look for him in the dog run on the side yard or under the coffee table in the living room.”

  “Yesterday I bumped into a credenza, searching for him. I nearly knocked over some antique that’s probably worth more than I’ll make in a year.”

  “Don’t worry about it. Jasper will get used to you. He hid from me in the beginning. He’s lonely and confused. He’s probably waiting for his master to come home.”

  How sad, Whitney thought. She remembered the first days after she and Ryan had split up. She’d wandered around their tomb of a house, waiting for the door to open and her husband to return.

  It had been frighteningly lonely. She could only imagine how a poor animal must feel. He wouldn’t understand that his owner had died and was never going to walk him, play with him or pet him again.

  “You might try bringing Jasper to the cottage to stay at night,” Miranda said. “I didn’t because I was over at Rick’s so much, and he doesn’t like dogs.”

  Never trust a man who doesn’t like dogs, Whitney thought. She wanted to warn Miranda about Rick, but considering the mess she’d made of her marriage, how could she criticize?

  “ALL SET TO LEAVE?” Whitney asked when they’d completed their pet rounds and had returned to the cottage Whitney was taking over from Miranda. They’d brought Da Vinci, a Chihuahua, with them to stay while the dog’s owners were in Las Vegas. The little dog was accustomed to being carried everywhere. Whitney had him in one arm and a tote with his food and toys in her free hand.

  The wind had kicked up and voluminous clouds with leaden underbellies hovered overhead. Rain had been predicted for several days, but the fronts had blown over, leaving the ground dry during a drought that could lead to another drastic fire season.

  “I have a few more things to store in the garage, then everything else will be at Rick’s. Our flight to Fiji isn’t until ten.” Miranda’s laugh sounded a little giddy. “When I come back, I’ll be Mrs. Broderick Babcock.”

  Whitney mustered a smile. She wished she were comfortable cautioning her cousin about this man. She’d never met the attorney, but his reputation as a legal shark was well known. They were keeping the wedding a secret so his clients wouldn’t panic because he wasn’t ten minutes away.

  The whole situation seemed a little odd to Whitney, but she told herself that this was another man—like Ryan—who put his career first. And like her ex-husband, the man Miranda was so anxious to marry didn’t seem to care to meet Miranda’s closest relative.

  It was after dark by the time Whitney helped Miranda move the last of her things into the single-car garage behind the cottage. It was small and narrow compared to modern garages. The estate had been built in the 1920s when caretakers were lucky to have a car. Miranda’s older-model Volvo was parked in the carport, which had been constructed sometime after the small garage had been built. It was time to send her cousin off, but Whitney needed to find the words to express her feelings first.

  “Thanks for all you’ve done. I really appreciate it. I don’t know what—”

  “Don’t be silly. You would have done the same for me.” Miranda hugged her tight and held on for so long that it embarrassed Whitney a bit. She hadn’t realized how much Miranda cared about her. Finally Miranda released her and opened the door to her car.

  “I still want to repay you the money you spent on Mom.”

  “I told you before. I don’t need it. Besides,” Miranda added with a smile that seemed a bit melancholy, “I owed it to your mother. She took me in when no one else would. It’s the least I can do.” Miranda kissed Whitney’s cheek and hugged her again. “Take care.”

  “Be happy,” she called to the trail of exhaust Miranda’s car left in the moist air that held the promise of rain. For some reason the silence sent a chill through her. It was probably just the oncoming storm, but a vague sense of dread kept her from moving.

  You’re just upset about all the changes in your life, she told herself. No, it was more than her husband’s betrayal and the loss of her job that bothered Whitney. Despite the way Miranda made light of the situation, there was a lot unsaid and unsettled between them. And it was Whitney’s fault.

  She slowly returned to the small cottage with Lexi and Da Vinci. Boxes of her things were piled everywhere. Even though she’d spent several nights here, Whitney had unpacked only what was absolutely necessary.

  The cottage consisted of a small sitting room with a kitchenette off to one side and a tiny bedroom with a bath. It wasn’t much compared to the large home she’d shared with Ryan but she didn’t mind. She changed out of her clothes and into a filmy Victoria’s Secret nightie. She preferred their cotton nightshirts and had several. She couldn’t remember where she’d packed them, so she’d put on the sexy nightgown Ryan had given her last Valentine’s Day. When she found her nightshirts, she’d throw the darn thing away.

  The telephone rang, startling Whitney. It must be a client needing a dog walked or something. She wended her way through the stacks of boxes just as the answering machine clicked on.

  “Whitney?”

  It couldn’t be Ryan’s voice, could it? She must be imagining this, the way she’d dreamed he’d come back to her—begging forgiveness. Saying he still loved her. In her dream, she would let him dangle before reluctantly agreeing to give him a second chance. Then she would wake up and realize nothing had changed. Her husband had left her for another woman.

  “Are you there? Pick up.”

  She’d once loved the man behind the voice too, too well. Her throat became as taut as a bowstring, making it difficult to swallow. Never give up so much of your heart—ever again.

  “Listen, babe. I need to talk to you.” The last voice she ever wanted to hear continued to come through the small black box. “It’s really important. Call me. You know the number.”

  His demanding tone irritated Whitney. Whatever was “really” important probably wouldn’t mean anything to her. No doubt it was something trivial, like Ryan’s lost college yearbook. He’d accused her of taking it, then he’d found it but hadn’t bothered to call. She’d rummaged through dozens of boxes for nothing. Whatever he wanted this time could wait until morning.

  CHAPTER TWO

  ADAM JERKED UPRIGHT in bed, his hand reaching for a gun that wasn’t there. Another explosion rocked the room.

  Run. Take cover.

  Heart battering his ribs like a fighter’s punches, he lurched to his feet, then remembered where he was. Home. Well, not home exactly but close enough for government work. He had just returned to the United States and was staying in his uncle’s house. His life wasn’t in danger. A thunderstorm had blown in—that’s all.

  He groped in the darkness for the lamp he remembered seeing on the nightstand. He turned the switch. Nothing. Aw, hell. The power must be out.

  Adam stood there, recalling his promise to his uncle. Should Calvin Hunter die, Adam would thoroughly investigate the circumstances, though his uncle had refused to give him any details. Now, just over two months later, Uncle Calvin was dead. The coroner’s report stated a massive coronary was the cause of death.

  Someone will try to kill me.

  His uncle’s words echoed through his head. Since being notified of his death, Adam had wondered if uncle Calvin had really died of natural causes. Heart problems did run in the family. Adam’s father and grandfather had both died of heart attacks.

  A jagged blast of lightning lanced through the bedroom, revealing the small dog cowering under the covers beside him. The rain pelted the windows—fast, loud and explosive�
��like machine gunfire. A sharp sense of danger racked his body. He sucked in a stabilizing breath and tried to get his bearings.

  What was that?

  It sounded like breaking glass downstairs. Was his imagination running wild? Since nearly being killed, Adam hadn’t been able to conquer this jumpy feeling. Trauma—mental and physical—did crazy things to your head. He could come undone in a heartbeat, he realized.

  Had he gone over some unseen edge?

  Adam fumbled in the dark until he found the jeans he’d slung over the foot of the bed and scrambled into them. He strained to catch another sound, but all he heard was the rata-tat of the rain pummeling the roof. Something like a cat’s whisker brushed the back of his neck. He felt the top of his bare spine, but nothing was there.

  The house had been broken into once already during his uncle’s funeral. According to the police, all that had been taken had been his uncle’s computer. The theft had fueled Adam’s suspicions. The house was full of valuables. Why had a laptop computer been taken while other things had been left behind? It was possible something had scared off the burglar, and now he had returned.

  Adam plunged into the darkness with a bone-chilling dread that must be a form of post traumatic stress. This was nothing. He’d been through worse and had lived to see another day.

  Don’t go down there! Are you nuts?

  Adam refused to listen to the voice in his head. Some unseen force propelled him forward. He groped his way in the dark, tiptoeing along the corridor and venturing down the sweeping staircase to the first floor. If a burglar had broken in, he intended to surprise him. This time he would be ready. He wouldn’t be trapped again.

  Adam halted at the bottom of the stairs and squinted into the darkness. He’d been so jet-lagged when he’d arrived that he’d hardly noticed the layout of the lower floor. He’d headed directly upstairs and settled into one of what appeared to be several guest bedrooms. He seemed to recall a large living room with a dining room opening through an archway off to one side.