Paws For Death

by Susan Union

  Easier said than done.

  The village’s real estate offices, every third storefront it seemed, were shuttered, but a dim glow from inside seeped through the cracks of the office Randi stood in front of. She eyeballed the flyers posted in the window like a skittish horse. Two million dollars, three, four, five. What the hell do people do for a living to come up with that type of money?

  She rubbed her shoulder, still tender to the touch, and the base of her head, too. Luke had tried to drag her to the emergency room when they got back to the barn to untack, but she kept going on about Barbra putting the burrs in her saddle pad to the point where he walked away.

  The whole thing had put her in such a funk that, after going home to feed Shane, she’d snapped on his leash and hiked all the way from her bungalow into town. A long trek in the dark along unlit winding roads. If Luke thought falling on top of a rock could do her damage, how about one of those six thousand pound Hummers the people in this town liked to drive? Mobile fortresses that would crush her like a bug and hardly notice the bump under the tires. That’d show him.

  She put a hand above her eyebrows. It was cold and helped her throbbing head. She glanced at the flyers again. One thing was for sure, Barbra wasn’t after Luke for his money. She had plenty of her own. Rumor was her sugar-daddy husband died of a stroke shortly after they were married, leaving Barbra his fifty-acre Saddlebred farm, along with thirty head of prize-winning horses and a full staff to care for them. Talk about a nice severance package. Luke’s place was modest in comparison.

  The moon was new, and without the help of streetlamps, Randi could hardly see her dragging feet. Shane seemed tired too, his trot now a lumbering walk, but even if she didn’t have her dog by her side she would have felt fairly safe. The almost constant presence of the roving Rancho del Zorro patrol was a deterrent to crime, and most residents had the number of the patrol on speed dial.

  Other than the one phone number that tied them all together, Randi didn’t have much in common with the people in these parts. They tended to either be fifty-plus or, if part of the younger set, the nouveau riche, dot-commers, etc., they had small children and nannies to care for them. Young, working singles were as rare as snow in Rancho del Zorro.

  She craned her neck. Time to be getting home, but she wasn’t looking forward to the walk. Tree branches framed the sky and the silhouette of a large bird huddled close to the trunk. The wild things in abundance here—hawks, owls, coyotes, deer, fox—never frightened her. Far from it; they made her feel at home. That, and the vet-tech job she loved, kept her from admitting defeat and running back to Colorado with her tail between her legs.

  Sprinkles of laughter came from a half-open, ivy-covered casement window belonging to a restaurant called Le Papillon. How appropriate. Another reminder of her runaway mother and her little dog.

  Nine o’clock was late for dinner in Randi’s world and the entrees listed on the encased outdoor menu were way out of her price range anyway. Not that she wanted to eat baby cows and force-fed ducks. French people, for all their chic-ness, weren’t particular about what went in their mouths.

  Alcohol, however, had international appeal. Especially since she’d given up on the idea of her mother slipping off for a few hours of privacy. It had been hours since Randi had come home to a vacant house.

  She tied Shane to a pole near the entry and pushed the door open. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust. Candles and dim lights only. High-pitched cackles alternated with low guffaws as half a dozen people huddled on cushy leather barstools. Women busting out of skin-tight dresses and men in suits. Away from the others, at the end of the bar, sat a man who blended seamlessly into the shadows.

  His gaze met hers and an involuntary shudder rippled through her. Steve Copeland, in the flesh. Dressed in pressed slacks and a button-down topped by a crew-neck sweater, he looked different than he had at the massage tent. She had to admit, he cleaned up good.

  The stool to his right sat empty. He curled his finger, motioning for her to come to him. A brazenly arrogant move. She half-turned, mentally already out the door but something made her stop. If she ran away, she’d learn nothing. Better to “buck up” for the sake of finding her mother.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Randi held out her hand and offered Copeland her name in case he’d forgotten. What she really wanted to do was slap that smug look off his face. Damn manners, always getting in the way of a good time.

  Copeland gathered her fingers in his. Like the first time they met, she wouldn’t call it a handshake, more like a fondle. In addition, the softness of his skin surprised her. He obviously wasn’t a hammer-and-nail, get greasy under the car type of guy, and she caught a distinct whiff of clove cigarettes when he exhaled. She’d forgotten all about those things. Didn’t know anybody smoked them anymore.

  Copeland gestured at the empty stool. “Don’t be silly. I know who you are. I never forget a pretty face. Have a seat.”

  There wasn’t much space. She twisted so their knees wouldn’t touch.

  “What can I get for you?” His Jamaican accent was thick. Probably liked it that way, found it charming and made no attempt to lose it.

  “What’re you having?

  “Campari and soda.”

  Le Papillon cocktails had to cost more than she had in her wallet, and she didn’t want to be indebted to Copeland, but a drink was what she’d come here for in the first place, before she considered the cost. “A greyhound, with salt please.”

  Copeland signaled the bartender. “A salty dog with Grey Goose, and another Campari for me.” He swiveled on the stool, knees bumping hers. “What brings you out tonight?”

  She shrugged. “Needed a walk. Fresh air.”

  “You live close by?”

  “Kind of.” She peered out the window, checking on Shane. He’d curled himself into a husky-donut on the sidewalk. He cracked one eye at her to let her know the situation wasn’t ideal, but he’d deal with it—for now.

  The bartender slid two glasses across the well-aged wood. Randi licked the rim and took a drink. The alcohol hit fast on an empty stomach. Her gaze wandered the line-up of people along the bar. Why couldn’t she switch places with one of them and be chatting about whether or not to buy a Rolls or a Bugati? A third home in Switzerland, or how about the Caymans?

  Instead, she was stuck trying to pull information about her missing mother and her dead friend from a guy who thought way too much of himself.

  Copeland smiled. “Makes you feel healthier, doesn’t it?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Grapefruit juice in your booze. At least you’re getting your vitamin C.”

  “Yeah…sure. Tell me, why are you trying to frame my mother for Gina’s death? Why did you lie to the cops?”

  “Excuse me?”

  Was he mocking her? “You told the police my mother killed Gina.”

  “Most people are murdered by someone they know. Were you aware of that?”

  “So what? My mother didn’t murder Gina. They were best friends. What, exactly, did you say to the cops? And why?”

  Copeland rolled up his sleeve. “I’m not at liberty to discuss what transpired between the police and myself.”

  “Bullshit.” She drained a good portion of her drink.

  Copeland handed her a hard stare, all traces of friendliness gone. He tipped forward to retrieve his wallet from his back pocket. “I came out tonight to relieve my stress, not add to it.”

  She focused on the bottles lining the shelves behind the bar and took a deep breath. She’d gotten this far. It’d be stupid to blow it by losing her temper. Not much to be done about the situation until she found her mother anyway. “You’re right.”

  “Damn straight I am.”

  “I’m a little stressed myself.”

  He breathed in. “Yeah?”

  “Definitely.” She laughed to show she could still be friendly and charming in the face of disaster. “Forgive me?”

  Cope
land tucked his wallet back into place. Crisis averted.

  “Tell me about Zoom,” she said. “How’s he doing?” Forget he stole him, at least for now.

  “Zoom is magnificent. He’s bringing sexy back.”

  Sexy back? “What do you mean by that?”

  “He fits in quite well with Blast and the rest of my dogs.”

  “Sounds like you’re planning on keeping him.”

  Copeland ignored her and hooked his hands around his knee. “So, daughter of Lee Ann Sterling, tell me about yourself.”

  Over her irritation, her favorite college meet-up joke sprang to mind: Enough about me, let’s talk about you. What you do think about me? Definitely fit with Copeland’s ego.

  “Do you have a boyfriend?”

  She put a hand on his arm and gazed at him with her best doe-eyed look. “Before we get to me, let’s talk about you.” In her twenty-nine years, she’d never met a man who couldn’t be manipulated through his ego. “Sweeping agility competitions, you’re all the buzz out there. I hear you and Blast operate on a level above everyone else. You two are close to perfection.” She was taking a risk, laying it on so thick, but Copeland seemed to be lapping it up just fine.

  “Blast is a great dog, but he’s getting on in years. Besides, there are a lot of talented teams out there. We’re just one of many.” His look of superiority belied his modest words.

  “How many dogs do you have?”

  “Just the three right now.”

  Is he counting Zoom? “What kind?”

  “Blast is a Border collie, but I also run an Aussie and a Belgian Tervuren, but my Terv is a novice. She also has epilepsy.”

  Not counting Zoom. Good sign. “Carolyn has a Tervuren.”

  Copeland scowled. “Hers is inbred.”

  And his is epileptic. “Aren’t they all? At least a little?”

  “I take the utmost care when picking my dogs. No questionable breeders for me.”

  “Don’t you think most real dog people are the same way?”

  “Actually, no. Some believe the end justifies the means. You work for a vet. I’m sure I’m not telling you anything you don’t know.”

  “How’d you know? That I work for a vet, that is.” She hadn’t told him.

  “Your mother.”

  So they did have some sort of relationship. Again, why had her mother kept it from her?

  “You vet people charge too much. Highway robbery.”

  “Our clinic is primarily large animal. Horses, mainly.”

  “I get it. The bigger the animal, the bigger the injury, the bigger the bill?”

  “Sometimes it works that way.” She shifted on the cushy leather stool. “According to my vet agility dogs are quite the athletes. Any of your dogs have problems?” Copeland seemed like the type to push a dog beyond its physical limitations in order to get results.

  “What business is it of yours? You going to treat them for free?”

  Now it was her turn to ignore him. “You made the U.S. team. Technically, you represent all U.S. citizens.”

  Copeland’s eyes grew hard. “I would have beat Gina anyway.”

  Touchy subject. “The paper said you were engaged. What’d you have? A love/hate relationship?”

  His smile surprised her. “That’s actually a fairly accurate way to put it.”

  She stared into her drink. Copeland was stonewalling her. She was no closer to figuring out if he killed Gina or knew where her mother was than when she walked through the door. Not time to be hanging out the P.I. shingle yet. She’d done nothing that would impress Kinsey Millhone. She checked the window. Shane still lay curled in a ball on the sidewalk. “You planning on keeping Zoom and grooming him for greatness? Can’t you buy a fast dog and train it?”

  “Gina wanted me to have Zoom.”

  “Really? You two talked about it? Gina said, ‘Steve, if I happen to drop dead on the agility field, will you take care of Zoom for me?’” So much for détente…just add alcohol.

  “You have quite a way with words.”

  “Look, I don’t mean to be so testy, but it’s been a long day and I’m pooped. My mother packed her bags and took off without a word, one of my least favorite people tried to kill my dog with a shovel and I got bucked off on what was supposed to be a relaxing trail ride.”

  She could have been reading a grocery list for all the emotion Copeland showed over her predicament.

  “That’s your excuse for attacking my moral character?”

  “Again, I apologize.” God, she hated brown-nosing.

  “Your mother will be back.”

  “How do you know?”

  “We’re kindred spirits, she and I.”

  Not him too…“Great. You and my mother and Dylan Dainsworth. One big happy kindred family.”

  “Dainsworth?” Copeland looked annoyed. “That guy’s a con artist.”

  “Tell me what happened with you and my mother. The truth, please.”

  “She’s a very special woman.”

  “And you took advantage of her ‘specialness’?”

  “Let’s just say she had a different idea of what our little get-together meant.”

  Randi’s stomach churned. “Why’d she do it then? One too many?”

  “Her last boyfriend burned her good.”

  “Jordan?”

  “Yeah. He slept around on her. I think she wanted to get back at him.”

  “How fortuitous for you.”

  He shrugged. “She needed it.”

  “I can’t believe you just said that to me.”

  “Look…how old are you?”

  “Twenty-nine.”

  “You’re an adult. Act like one. To her credit, your mother didn’t know Gina and I were involved till after the fact.”

  “It conveniently slipped your mind?”

  “Things were rocky between Gina and me at the time.”

  “Covering your bases?”

  “It’s not a crime.”

  Randi wanted to wrap her hands around Copeland’s neck and squeeze as hard as she could. “How’d my mother find out?”

  “She saw a picture of Gina and me.” His voice grew cold. “The photo was in the bathroom.”

  “So we’re talking after the fact?”

  “Everyone’s gotta use the loo.”

  “What happened then?” Randi’s heart pounded at the base of her throat. Nobody had a right to treat her mother like a piece of meat, even if she offered it up.

  “She ran off. Never even said goodbye.”

  “The two of you didn’t speak until we came looking for Zoom and found you at the massage tent?”

  “That’s correct.”

  “Your little tryst happened in Oklahoma City? Right under Gina’s nose, but my mother didn’t know the two of you had a relationship until she saw the photo on the back of the toilet. That’s what you’re trying to tell me?”

  “It was by the sink.”

  “Where’s my mother now?”

  “I have no idea.”

  They couldn’t be that kindred, then. “Do you seriously think she would kill Gina?”

  Copeland drained his Campari. “Somebody did, and it sure as hell wasn’t me.”

  His smugness gave her the courage to try something on, like Cinderella’s slipper, just to see if it’d fit. “Mel said Gina was going back to her. She’d changed her mind about being with you.”

  Hearing the lie, Copeland’s hand constricted around his empty glass. He shifted on the stool and pinched the bridge of his nose with the other hand. “What’s your point?”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Two forty-five, Randi stared at the ceiling. Didn’t matter it was dark, she knew the plaster’s swirls and shapes by heart. From her top bunk she reached up and traced them with her fingertips. She saw three stars, an ice cream cone, and the one directly above her face resembling a certain part of the male anatomy—which brought to mind Steve Copeland. She’d accepted a ride home from Le Papillon in his shiny N
avigator because it was past eleven when they left the place and she wanted to get an early start at the agility trial, but despite her efforts to get in bed at a reasonable hour, Mr. Sandman was being stingy.

  Her bungalow was deathly still. The absence of her mother’s snoring and Jojo’s rustling was palpable, and the lifeless air kept Randi awake. From the first night on, Jojo had never seemed to be able to find a comfortable spot. All night she circled and scratched. Not only that, she had nightmares. Bad doggie dreams. Hollering that would melt to whimpers. Why? Thoughts of knocking a bar over a jump? Missing the contact on the A-frame? Having a knot of hair behind one of her giant ears?

  Right now, Randi would welcome the sound of the pipsqueak trying to destroy the comforter with her little toenails. Anything would be better than this blanket of silence. Shane couldn’t sleep either. He got up to shake himself, dog tags jingling, before he circled a ridiculous amount of times on his dog bed to finally flop down with a grunt.

  What’s my mom doing at this very moment? Sleeping in some cheap motel? Snuggled under the armpit of some guy she met at a bar? On the flip side, what if her mother wasn’t merely being selfish? What if she was in some darkened back alley, bound and gagged? Or in a big city morgue while the officials searched for her next of kin? Who would they seek out first? Her, or her father?

  Randi squeezed her eyes closed, a fantasy forming in her brain: At dawn’s light a pair of footsteps, heavy on the porch, followed by lighter ones and the dance of little paws. A man’s voice drones, in control of the situation. There’s a knock. She scrambles down the ladder and across the room, pulls the door wide and before her stands Luke. Beside him—her mother, contrite, clutching Luke’s elbow, Jojo at her feet. Jojo appears ruffled but unharmed. Luke grins. He winks and says, “Look what the cat dragged in.”

  Her eyes flew open. No footsteps, no knock, no Luke, no Mom. Only the croaking of frogs from Luke’s horse pond and the faraway cry of a coyote.