Full Blast

by Janet Evanovich

  And that made her think of Max. She wondered when she would see him again. At the same time, she questioned why she had allowed herself to become so involved. She knew very little about the man except that he was a gazillionaire who owned a whole slew of companies and had dated his share of celebrities. She knew he’d once been married, but that it hadn’t worked out, and it was probably one of the reasons he wasn’t in a hurry to marry again.

  What she didn’t know was how she felt about their situation. After an engagement gone badly, Jamie had pretty much decided marriage wasn’t in the cards for her, at least not in the near future. But now she was beginning to have second thoughts, and it was all because of Max. Knowing herself as she did, she was aware that she wasn’t cut out for the short-term flings Max was accustomed to. She wanted more.

  Damn. She had tried so hard not to fall for him. She had fought her growing attraction to him every step of the way, only to realize that she was beginning to entertain thoughts of a possible future with him.

  As she saw it, she had two choices. She could try to get the man out of her system and wonder for the rest of her life if anything would have become of them or she could continue to wait.

  Neither option sounded particularly appealing.

  CHAPTER THREE

  HAPPY PAWS VETERINARY CLINIC WAS DECORATED with vinyl chairs and floors, obviously to make it easier to clean up after nervous cats and dogs. Which explained the strong disinfectant smell, Jamie thought upon entering the reception area shortly after lunch. Some furry friend had either suffered a sudden loss of bladder control or heaved up a helping of meat chunks. From somewhere in back, a cacophony of barking persisted.

  As Jamie waited for the receptionist to get off the telephone, she studied the large bulletin board that served as a lost-and-found center. Another bulletin board listed a variety of puppies and kittens to sell or give away.

  She thought of adding Fleas’s name to the list. Owning a pet was more trouble than she’d thought. Only, she couldn’t think of a person who’d want to take on a dog with emotional problems and missing hair.

  When the receptionist hung up the phone, she smiled at Jamie. “Oh, you’re Fleas’s mommy, aren’t you?” the woman said in a voice that sounded too small and squeaky for someone who appeared to be at least one hundred pounds overweight.

  “That’s me,” Jamie said.

  “Hold on one sec, hon, and I’ll get him.”

  Fleas did not look happy to see Jamie, but then the sagging brown skin and folds along the hound’s face and jowls gave him a perpetual look of sadness and discontent. This time it seemed to be mixed with outright annoyance.

  Oh, great, she thought. He’s pouting.

  “Okeydokey,” the receptionist said. “His heartworm test was negative, so you can give him his first dose today, then he has to take one every month. You’ll need to mark your calendar.”

  “He won’t eat it,” Jamie said dully. “Unless I can hide it in his ice cream.”

  The woman laughed as though it were the funniest thing she’d ever heard. “Oh, dogs love them,” she insisted. “It comes in a meatlike treat.”

  “Can I put it between a hamburger bun with cheese on top?”

  More laughter. Which was rather annoying for Jamie since she was serious.

  “And then there’s the flea preventive. You’ll want to apply it once a month. It’ll be easier to remember if you do it at the same time you give him his monthly heartworm medicine. I gave you a six-month supply of each. That’s what people usually request.” She hesitated and looked about the room as if to make sure nobody was listening. “Have you ever owned a pet, hon?” she whispered.

  Was it that obvious? Jamie wondered. “This is my first, um, experience.”

  “There’s a booklet inside his goody bag. It’ll give you all sorts of information. And you can call us if you run into problems.”

  Jamie pulled out her checkbook and pen. “How much do I owe?”

  “Well, now, let’s see.” The woman pulled up the information on the computer. “He had a full exam, we clipped his toenails, took blood for the heartworm test, performed the surgery—” She looked up. “We expressed his anal glands. I have to tell you, it wasn’t pretty. Our technician had to go home for the rest of the day.” She burst into giggles. “Just kidding.”

  Fleas sank to the floor and covered both eyes with his paws.

  Jamie tightened her grip on the pen as she prepared to write the check. This was going to be bad.

  “Oh, and there was a charge for anesthesia, of course, and his nerve pills.”

  “Nerve pills?”

  “You mentioned he had a bad case of separation anxiety. Don’t worry, Dr. Adams started him on a teensy-weensy dose, but it should take the edge off. Try giving it to Fleas with peanut butter. It’s easier that way.”

  Jamie looked at Fleas. The dog had serious emotional problems, including shell shock from his coon-hunting days.

  The woman behind the counter looked up from her computer. “Okeydokey, it comes to four hundred and eight dollars.”

  Jamie’s eyes almost popped out of her head. She looked at Fleas. “You realize I paid less than that for the truck.”

  Fleas rose up on his front legs and shook hard. His long ears flapped annoyingly. Finally, he sat back on his haunches and began to lick himself.

  Jamie cringed.

  POLICE CHIEF LAMAR TEVIS WAS WAITING FOR Jamie when she arrived back at the office, Fleas on her heels. The serious look on the man’s face told her something was wrong. He held his cap in his hands, and his sandy-colored hair was still flat from wearing it. Vera was on the telephone. She shrugged at Jamie as though she had no idea why the chief of police wanted to see her.

  “Hello, Lamar,” Jamie said. “May I help you?”

  He glanced at the bloodhound beside her. “Wow, that’s about the ugliest dog I’ve ever seen. Is he a stray?”

  “He belongs to me,” Jamie said.

  “Sorry, I didn’t know he was yours. How come he’s missing hair on his back?”

  “A raccoon attacked him.”

  “I didn’t know you liked to hunt coons. Why, me and my buddies—”

  “It happened before I, um, came into ownership.” Jamie saw that Lamar was still staring at her dog as though he were ugly. She hitched her head high. “Actually, he’s pure bloodhound. Comes from championship bloodline,” she added. It was a lie she told often.

  “No kidding. What’s his name?”

  This was the part Jamie hated most. “Fleas.”

  “Uh-oh.” Lamar stepped back.

  “He doesn’t actually have fleas, somebody just named him that. So what brings you to this neck of the woods, Lamar?”

  Lamar glanced at Vera, then back to Jamie. “Perhaps we should talk privately. No offense, Vera.”

  Vera hung up the telephone. “Like I won’t find out,” she said. “So you can just kiss my royal behind, Lamar.”

  “Spoken like a true Southern Baptist,” Lamar said with a chuckle.

  “Any word from Mike?” Jamie asked, wishing her editor would check in more often. He was probably sweet-talking one of the counter girls at Dairy Queen.

  “He called while you were out. Said he was working a hot story and would be in shortly. He wouldn’t give me the details, he was acting real secretive and all. You know how dramatic he gets.”

  Jamie nodded. “Pray for a decent headline.” She led Lamar inside her office and closed the door. He waited for Jamie to sit before he took the chair in front of her desk. Fleas plopped down beside Jamie’s feet and gave a huge sigh.

  “I guess you haven’t heard the news,” Lamar said. “Luanne Ritter was found murdered in her home late this morning. Suffered a fatal blow to her head,” he added.

  “Oh, my God!” Jamie said. Luanne Ritter owned Ritter’s Loan Company.

  “Yup. That’s where your editor has been all morning. At the murder scene,” he added. “I didn’t want to say anything in front
of Vera. Not until I gave you the news.”

  “Do you have a suspect?”

  “It’s too early to tell. Her neighbor, Elaine something-or-other—” He paused and reached for notes. “Elaine Brewer is her name. Anyway, she went over to Luanne’s house to borrow some coffee, knocked several times, but there was no answer. She found the door unlocked and almost tripped over Luanne’s body on the kitchen floor. Coroner said Luanne had been dead at least ten or twelve hours. Sounds a little suspicious to me,” he added.

  “Oh, yeah?”

  Lamar leaned closer. “Get this. The neighbor drinks decaf. Luanne drinks only regular coffee. I’d think after being neighbors for ten years this Brewer woman would have known. We’ve taken her in for questioning.”

  Jamie just looked at him. Lamar was a good honest man, but he wasn’t the smartest investigator she’d ever met. “This is unbelievable,” Jamie said.

  Lamar glanced up quickly. He looked defensive. “You don’t think I’m making this up, do you? The murder, I mean? My men will vouch for me. Your editor, too.”

  Jamie blinked. “What I meant was it’s hard to believe someone just murdered Luanne in cold blood.”

  “I have the body to prove it. I can take you over to the morgue if you want to see for yourself.”

  Jamie did a mental eye-roll. “Let’s start over, Lamar. What can I do for you?”

  Lamar reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a small section of newspaper. He unfolded it and handed it to Jamie. “This was on Luanne’s night table. Nobody knows about it except the responding officer and me. I’d like to keep it that way for now.” He pretended to zip his lips. “Get my drift?”

  Jamie found herself looking at a copy of her personals section that had been cut out of the newspaper. She glanced at Lamar. “You’re not thinking my personals section had something to do with Luanne’s murder?”

  “There may be nothing to it, but I thought you should know.” He leaned back in his chair and crossed one leg over the other. Fleas sat up and began to scratch. Lamar watched, an uneasy expression on his face. “Luanne wasn’t very popular in this town,” he went on, “what with her line of work. Way I heard, she could lean pretty hard on someone if they were late on their loan payment.”

  Jamie shook her head as she continued staring at the ads. Her hands trembled. “It has to be business related, Lamar. I think this—” She paused and held up the section of newspaper. “This is just a coincidence.”

  “Could be. I’ve sealed her place of business, and we’re planning a full investigation. Like I said, I don’t want this ad stuff getting out. I just wanted to make you aware.” He took it from her, refolded it, and stuffed it into his pocket. “Also, I need your help.”

  Jamie knew where he was headed. “You know I can’t give you the names of those who’ve submitted an ad without a court order.”

  “No judge is going to give me an order to look into every name on your list,” he said. “All I’m asking is that you keep an eye out for anything that looks suspicious. In case we have some kook on our hands.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “I do have one other question. Did Luanne run an ad?”

  “No.”

  Lamar shifted in his seat. “She had a message on her answering machine from a man regarding an ad. Said he’d call her back. Unfortunately, Luanne didn’t have caller ID, and the tape must’ve been old because the voices weren’t that clear.”

  “She must’ve answered his ad.”

  “She had another call from a fellow who claimed he was a man of God, said he wanted to meet with her immediately. He didn’t leave his telephone number, told her he’d call back. Once again, it was hard to make out the message.”

  “Wonder why he didn’t leave his name,” Jamie pondered aloud.

  “We also found religious literature stuffed inside her mailbox so he obviously knew where she lived.”

  “Was there any indication of forced entry?”

  “No. Luanne opened the door for the person who killed her, so whoever it was must’ve not presented a threat. She might have opened the door for a preacher. This is all speculation, of course.”

  Jamie nodded. She thought of Agnes Aimsley’s grandson, Brent Walker, then pushed it aside. Brent might be a bit on the kooky side, he might even leave religious material in Luanne’s mailbox, but he wasn’t a murderer. But she kept quiet, knowing how quickly Lamar could get sidetracked.

  “By the way,” Lamar said. “Where’s Max Holt?”

  Jamie would have loved nothing more than to say, “Geez, last time I saw Max he had my skirt shoved to my waist and his hands on my thighs.” Instead, she shrugged. “Who knows? He’s a busy man.”

  “He’s your partner.”

  “Max is my silent partner, Lamar. I run the newspaper.”

  “Max is good at this sort of thing. Investigative work,” he added.

  Jamie was not surprised by the remark. Lamar had witnessed firsthand just how good Max was when he’d almost single-handedly discovered who was involved in the town’s corruption, which had bled taxpayers of their dollars for years. “You thinking of hiring him on as a deputy?” she asked, grinning, if for no other reason than to lighten the mood.

  Lamar grinned back. “I tried, but he turned down the job. I reckon he has bigger fish to fry.”

  Despite her attempt at flippancy, Jamie could feel her stomach knotting. “Lamar, tell me you don’t really think Luanne’s murder is connected to my personals section, because if you think it is, I’ll stop running the ads immediately.”

  “Then we risk losing the killer if it’s connected. Are you going to help me?”

  “I’ll do what I can legally.”

  “That’s all I’m asking,” Lamar said. He left a few minutes later.

  Jamie reached for the telephone. It was time to call Max.

  MAX HOLT WAS IN THE BOARDROOM OF HOLT INdustries when he received Jamie’s call. He immediately excused himself and hurried into his private office. “What’s up, Swifty?”

  Jamie had not forgotten the sexy pitch of his voice, or the teasing lilt he often used with her. Just hearing his voice again did all sorts of soft and fuzzy things to her insides. And that reminded her of how little she knew about the man. He moved in mysterious circles, dined with royalty, and made business deals that ended up on the pages of the New York Times.

  “Max, do you have any idea what I had to go through to reach you?” Jamie said. “I had to bypass a receptionist, a secretary, and your personal assistant, all of whom insisted on knowing my business with you.”

  “What did you tell them?”

  “I said I had a small oil-rich country for sale and that you might be interested in buying it.”

  He chuckled. “Well, I’m glad you were able to reach me. What’s up?”

  Jamie wondered how he could sound so casual when every nerve ending in her body was tingling at the sound of his voice. She wondered if he’d thought about her these past weeks. “I have a problem on my hands,” she said. She told him about the personals section she had started, Luanne Ritter’s murder, and the fact Police Chief Lamar Tevis suspected the two might be connected. She figured, as her partner, Max should know. Okay, so maybe there was more to it than that. It was a good excuse to call him.

  “And here I thought you were calling to say you missed me,” Max said. “You and I have some unfinished business, you know.”

  Jamie felt a thrill of delight race up her backbone at the thought. They had come so close the last time. She shook her head, trying to push the image from her mind. “Max, this is serious,” she said, wondering how he could just pick up where they’d left off after three weeks of no word.

  “Does Lamar Tevis have proof the two are connected?”

  “No. But what if they are?”

  “Don’t assume the worst before we have time to look into the facts,” he said. “Listen, I’m driving down tomorrow for Frankie’s surprise birthday party. I can’t believe my brother
-in-law is reaching the big five-oh.”

  Jamie had received her invitation the week before. Jamie had met Frankie and his wife, Dee Dee, when they’d moved to Beaumont some ten years prior, after Frankie had retired from wrestling as Frankie-the-Assassin. They’d become fast friends, but it was hard to believe Max and Dee Dee were brother and sister. “Of course I’m going,” she said.

  “My schedule will be tight,” Max said, “but I can swing by your house and pick you up on the way.”

  Jamie took her time in answering. It was no surprise that Max would just assume she would attend the party with him. And on a Friday night of all nights when most reasonably attractive single women had dates. She almost preferred cutting her tongue out with her dull letter opener than telling Max she was dateless.

  Be cool, she told herself.

  “I, um, didn’t know you were coming, Max, so I sort of made other plans,” she said, then wanted to smack her own mouth. Her and her dumb pride, she thought. But Max had a way of bringing out the worst in her when it came to male-female stuff.

  “Oh, yeah?” He sounded more amused than annoyed. “Well, if we put our heads together I’m sure we can think of a way to ditch him. I have to get back to a meeting and wrap things up here so I can leave, but do me a favor. Wear that blue dress you wore the first night I met you.”

  Jamie heard a dial tone. She hung up. She felt something nudge her foot and glanced down at Fleas who was watching her. “Okay, so I made up that part about having a date,” she said. “Sometimes things just fall out of my mouth before I have time to think about them. Especially when it comes to that man,” she added.

  The dog thumped his tail against the floor.

  “It’s complicated with Max and me,” she went on. “I never know where I stand with him.” She couldn’t tell Fleas the truth, that she couldn’t get Max out of her mind, that she was just itching for the chance to be alone and naked with him. It wouldn’t be fair to discuss sex in front of the poor animal since he’d just been neutered. Not that she could imagine Fleas interested in chasing a female dog, since it would take effort on his part. And Fleas was allergic to effort.