CHAPTER 7
C
assidy’s apartment complex had rules about owning dogs. They required pet owners to notify the management association—in writing—within thirty days after acquiring a pet. For Cassidy, however, the thirty-day grace period had ended two years ago, and she still hadn’t found the time to fill out the necessary paperwork.
This, to say the least, made Max’s potty-time interesting. Cassidy wore a disguise when she took him outside, or kept to the low foot traffic areas. But that night, after her Days of Our Lives marathon, Max had given her a desperate look that meant one thing: take me to go potty.
Cassidy leashed Max, walked him down the pathway to the far rear of the complex, then proceeded to beg him to do his business.
“Buddy, please. Pick a spot and go, like a good boy.”
But Max gave her a fleeting glance on his way to destroy an offending twig the landscapers had the nerve to leave behind. His muscled body lunged and pulled the leash taut, but just as Cassidy felt her arm tug, threatening to separate at the shoulder, Max stopped and looked back at her as if to say: “Hurry, Mom! We can’t let it get away!”
With a smile, Cassidy allowed her golden buddy to indulge in his desires, and the two of them rushed over, where he pounced on the twig and chomped it into little pieces, tail wagging fervently.
“I love you, Max.”
He wagged all the more, then began to roll in who-knew-what, putting that soft, protective double coat to the test. Cassidy’s heart often swelled with happiness when they spent this kind of time together, but...
“Please, poop,” she whispered, starting to feel uneasy out in the darkness.
A slow, metallic scraping came from behind, and Cassidy spun around to scan the shadowy surroundings.
Nothing.
A light breeze tickled along her skin, sending a chill up her spine. Something just wasn’t right.
Although the concealing cover of nighttime made it easier to take Max outside without being noticed, Cassidy’s worry over being gang raped at knifepoint or abducted by a serial killer was now shoved to the forefront of her mind.
Again, she scanned the apartment complex grounds, trying to maintain her usual façade of indifference, but no matter which direction she turned, her skin crawled with the unnerving sensation of being watched.
A few quiet minutes passed without incident, and Cassidy began to relax. If someone wanted to attack her and drag her into a grove of trees or bushes to mutilate her body, he would have done it by now. Maybe a figment of her overactive imagination or, maybe it was one of her stupid, perverted neighbors watching her through his window.
But a low rustling close behind her shattered the new sense of calm.
Cassidy froze. “What was that?” she whispered to Max and clicked on the flashlight hidden in her jacket pocket. She spun around, hoping to blind the stalker, but the only things visible were a rickety rocking chair and a palm frond the came crashing to the ground.
“Crap! Hurry up, Max. Poop, so we can get out of here.” Poop or no poop, they needed to pack it up—STAT. “Come on, boy. Let’s get inside.”
On their brisk walk back toward the apartment, Cassidy regarded Max, the most laid back dog in the world, as he trotted beside her, his large brown eyes full of love and devotion, his tongue lolling, and his thick, washcloth-like ears perked up. Goldens sometimes defended their owners in near-impossible circumstances—even against bears—but Cassidy was sure Max didn’t have it in him. Bless his little heart... his teeth hadn’t been used for anything other than eating his kibble and chewing on his favorite toys, and most days she was all right with that. Tonight, though, she could have used a sidekick who’d at least growl, even if it was just to clear his throat.
Snap!
Cassidy cringed and picked up the pace, thoroughly regretting her decision to potty Max at the farthest and darkest end of the complex. Max, of course, was more than eager to comply with the increased speed, but now seemed aware of her unsettled mood and tried to lick her legs while they sprinted for home.
Another snap, closer this time. Serial killers, monsters, poltergeists—they all flashed through Cassidy’s mind, compounding her fear and drastically raising her heart rate. Cassidy’s mother had instilled into her a fear of strangers at a very early age; bedtime stories from Virgie were less about royalty falling in love and living happily ever after, and more about how to avoid being captured alive.
It’d be foolish to lead the would-be attacker to her apartment, so she began to zigzag around the complex, Max in tow. Her pace continued to increase, as did the frantic glances over her shoulder with a desperate need to glimpse the one who followed her.
But Cassidy couldn’t take the suspense any longer and, against her better judgment, she whipped around to confront the unknown. “Okay, this isn’t funny! Show yourself, or I’ll sic Cujo on you!”
Again, she searched the dark surroundings with her flashlight. Nothing. Wind chimes tinkled and tree limbs creaked in the night’s breeze, and Cassidy tightened her grip on Max’s leash, heart pounding. Then, without waiting any longer, she tugged on Max’s lead and ran on shaky legs for her apartment, Max loping on her heels.
She sprinted across the courtyard, more than just her own footfalls echoing in the night. Someone else was in hot pursuit, and they were coming up fast.
Struggling with the strong urge to turn around and confront the monster again, Cassidy pushed her legs to move faster. She could still make it to the door—a slim chance, but there, nonetheless. Breaths ragged, she dug into her pants pocket to wrestle out the keys. Even if she was overtaken before she could get into her apartment, she would still use the keys to scratch at or poke out the attacker’s eyes. Time to put those bedtime story lessons to good use.
Cassidy’s apartment couldn’t have been more than thirty feet away, though it might as well have been a mile. With her pursuer’s footfalls closing the small gap between them, she had to do something—and fast. Fighting back tears and a near-crippling fear, she halted and spun around again to face the enemy, but fell backwards and crashed to the ground as Max’s forward momentum yanked her off balance. She smacked her head on the grassy area next to the sidewalk and groaned. Trying to remain conscious as she struggled to sit up, her vision swirled, causing a sudden wave of nausea. The pain in her head intensified and she winced. Before she knew it, she’d fallen back to the ground, where she waited for the end to come.
Yet the imminent attack never happened.
Cassidy lay perfectly still, her panicky breaths filling the silence. She opened one eye, and then the other. Max sat next to her, his big goofy face hovering inches above her own. A drop of doggie saliva plopped onto her forehead, and once he’d seen her eyes were open, he showered her with quick, sloppy, wet kisses.
But the greeting was short-lived. Cassidy pushed Max aside, sat up, and scanned her surroundings.
“Max,” she said, fear returning, “that couldn’t have been my imagination. I know I heard someone following us.”
“Following you?” said a deep male voice from behind. “Hardly.”
Cassidy flinched, and Max left her side, bounding over to greet the stranger. She climbed to her feet and, pressing her hand to the back of her throbbing head, glowered with as much animosity as she could muster at the shadowy outline of a man. His identity obscured by standing in front of the one lamppost found in the entire courtyard.
“If you come any closer,” she said, “I’ll kick your ass.” And she shifted to the infamous crane pose from The Karate Kid. “Krav Maga, asshole. I’m your worst nightmare.”
The man snickered.
“Who the hell are you, and why were you following me?” Her throat so tight, she didn't recognize her own voice.
“Hey, lady, chill out. What makes you think I was following you? I was coming home late from work and saw you lying down in the middle of the courtyard. I came over to make sure you were okay.”
Cassidy cocked a
hip. “Trespassing is a crime here in Miami, but maybe you weren’t aware of that since you’re an idiot.”
“I live here. Maybe you’re the one who’s trespassing.”
“Oh okay, right, nice comeback. You’re what, eight years old? Grow up and get out of my face. C’mon, Max.”
But Max had other ideas. Already the stranger had bent down to pet him, and it took all of two seconds for them to start playing together like life-long friends.
“What a handsome dog you have! What’s his name?”
“Max, and I don’t recall giving you permission to touch him.” She stepped forward, grabbed the leash, and the man’s face came into view. She tugged at Max, who refused to leave the attention of his new friend.
“He’s certainly a big boy to live in such a small apartment.”
“Seriously? This conversation ceased to be interesting before it ever began.” She shifted, and the glare of the lamplight hid behind the man’s head. She’d met this guy before. “What are you doing here so late. You some kind of pervert or something?”
“Pervert? What are you talking about?” The man stood up and crossed his arms over his chest. “You must have bumped your head pretty hard when you fell. I live here, just like you do.”
Cassidy rolled her eyes. “Well, if you weren’t the one chasing me, how’d you know I hit my head? Yeah, I’ll wait for your smart comeback.” A few seconds passed. “Nothing? Why am I not surprised?”
“You met me by the pool yesterday. Why are you surprised to see me?”
“I didn’t recognize you right away—mostly because I don’t find you that interesting. Plus, you’re wearing all of your clothes this time. And, I doubt the apartment association pays you to be here in the middle of the night to clean the damned pool. Now, either you get out of my way, or I’ll tell your boss you’ve been lurking around here at night, harassing women.”
The man paused for a moment, then said, “Since you’re on such good terms with the apartment association, have you informed them that Max lives here?”
Cassidy grimaced. “Of course I’ve notified them. You don’t know me.” Maybe it was time to wear a disguise at night, as well. It would give her an excuse to do more shopping, anyway. Being fashion-forward was essential, no matter what the circumstances.
“Don’t worry about it. I won’t tell on you.”
“Why would you be working in the middle of the night? The pool can be cleaned during the day, and quite frankly, I find you creepy.” A moment of silence passed. “Please, don’t take that personally.”
“I told you, I’m not working. I live here. And just so we’re clear, I think you have a really cute dog, but he doesn't hold a candle to his owner.”
Cassidy stifled a smile.
“My name is Cruz,” he said, and offered his hand.
Cassidy could almost feel her hand enveloped by his large, strong one, but couldn’t bring herself to touch a stranger without gloves. So, she put her hand into her jacket pocket. Maybe this is why I’m still alone, she thought.
“Well,” she said, “next time, please try to remember that stalking is illegal in all fifty states.”
Cruz smiled. “I’ll try to remember that. You have yourself a good night.”
Cassidy smiled back. “You, too,” she replied, tossing a wave over her shoulder.
This time, Max followed along like a good boy, and once they’d made it back to her apartment, Cassidy leaned heavily against her front door and slid down to the floor.
“Why am I such a bitch?” she said to Max as he half-crawled into her lap to cover her in kisses. “If I could manage to be nicer to people, I’d probably have more friends.” I’m going to blame my mother for this one. Cassidy chuckled as Max renewed his vigorous affection. Soon, her neck and face were expertly cleaned and moisturized as only a golden retriever could manage, and with every lick, Cassidy’s fear of germs and the anxiety from the evening faded away.
CHAPTER 8
H
ope you’ve come up with a good excuse for why we’re late again,” JJ said.
“Dottie’s not going to care if we’re late,” Cassidy said. “As long as we show up, dote over her annoying parrot, and tell her how she’s our favorite patient, she’ll be fine.”
“That’ll be easy; she is our favorite patient.”
Cassidy couldn’t have agreed more. Dottie McFarland was the best patient any therapist could hope to have. Plus, she had a live-in caregiver who did a fantastic job of keeping her safe and well cared for, even if Juanita was obsessed with daytime soap operas. Granted, Cassidy enjoyed a torrid tale of intrigue and backstabbing, too, having spent last Saturday evening mainlining Days of Our Lives. But Juanita... she took it to a whole different level, one that no one quite understood. No one, that is, except for JJ.
“Please, whatever you do,” Cassidy said, “don’t talk to Juanita about her soap operas. I can’t take another full hour of listening to you two argue over which cheating spouse should contract the next fatal illness, only to be saved moments before death by a mysterious doctor and his experimental procedure that leaves the character alive yet suffering from amnesia and horrifying night terrors.” She shook her head. “It’s just all too much.”
“You’re ridiculous. Where do you come up with this stuff?”
Cassidy clapped her hand to her chest with a mock-pout. “That hurts, you know.”
JJ smirked. “Okay, fine. We’re there to work. I think I get carried away sometimes because I really like Dottie and Juanita; they’re the highlight of my day.”
“I agree. All right, we’re here... 9:22 on the dot.” Less than thirty minutes late, not bad.
Together, they got out of the car and walked up to Dottie’s front door, where JJ pushed the doorbell. Cassidy realized she was holding her breath. The memory of an impaled Francine had managed to sneak out of that area in her mind where she so neatly suppressed traumatic events. She hoped today wouldn’t be a repeat of that day. Relief washed over her when Juanita opened the door.
“Hola!” Juanita said. She backed out of the doorway, welcoming them in with wide, sweeping arm gestures. She wore a pleasant blue-and-green flower-patterned dress that flattered her slightly overweight frame, which was much larger on the top than on the bottom. Cassidy loved how Juanita always had a beautiful flower tucked in her hair, and today’s was a red rose.
“Hola,” Cassidy and JJ said in unison. And with that, JJ had used up the last, and only, Spanish word he knew. Let the gesticulating begin!
He and Juanita gravitated toward the sitting room, where the TV blared the latest installment of a daytime soap opera. Within a few seconds, a heated debate ensued between them, hindered by their language barrier; wild gestures and intense facial expressions seemed to help relay their points to one another, but it was clear they didn’t see eye-to-eye on the direction of the show.
Looks like she'd be treating Dottie on her own again today. But, Cassidy found the one-on-one time with Dottie enjoyable. She strode into Dottie’s living room to find the elderly woman sitting and smiling as she watched her caregiver and JJ arguing in the other room.
“Good morning, Dottie. How’ve you been feeling since my last visit?”
“Oh, honey”—Dottie waved a gnarled hand—“I’ve been in such terrible pain. My left leg is swollen, and it’s really hard for me to get my shoe on without Juanita’s help.” She rubbed at the offending limb, her sweet tone and kind words in contrast to the dyed fire-engine red hair and the naughty sparkle in her eyes.
“I can see that. Your arthritis seems to be flared up. Look at how swollen your knee is. Are you doing the exercises I printed off for you?”
“Well... I try to, but not as regularly as I should, I suppose. Sometimes I just get sidetracked. Honey, when you get to be my age... I’m just lucky I remember my own name, let alone to do exercises.” And Dottie flashed her the mischievous smile of someone trying to get away with a little white lie.
Cassidy smirke
d. “Let’s not dwell on what you haven’t done. In fact, let’s start fresh today and see if the exercises make a difference tomorrow. Deal?” And she reached into her bag to pull out a new exercise program, a more condensed version that would be easier to remember and consistently follow.
Pulling on a pair of vinyl gloves, Cassidy knelt down in front of Dottie to examine her swollen legs. A gentle squeeze to each calf revealed Dottie’s edema had begun to pit, which would get worse if Dottie wasn’t diligent with her exercises.
“Have you talked to your doctor about wearing support stockings?”
Dottie sighed. “I’ve been avoiding that conversation. I hate the way those hose look. Makes me feel old.”
“There are some fashionable colors, you know. I’ve seen some very nice flesh-toned stockings, or black ones with white polka dots. You could class it up if you wanted to.” Cassidy smiled. She’d be just like Dottie when she got older, wanting to “class up” her compression stockings.
Dottie considered this for a moment, then said, “I guess I’ll talk to him when I have my next appointment.”
“Tell you what. I’ll text the home health nurse right now, and she can talk to the doctor for you. That way, it’ll happen quicker, without any fuss.” And she removed her gloves, sanitized her hands, and sent over a text.
“Oh, honey, will you please stretch my legs?” Dottie moaned, massaging the underside of one thigh. “They’ve been so achy down the back of them.”
“Of course.” And she donned a fresh pair of gloves, then stretched out each of Dottie’s legs. “Does that feel any better?”
Dottie nodded.
“Good. But before I leave today, I’ll show Juanita how to stretch you out. She can help you with this from now on.”
“Is that really necessary?”
“It is. If your hamstrings tighten up, it’ll get exponentially more difficult to walk, or to get out of bed or into the shower. Not to mention the back pain it’ll cause, as it's pulling your pelvis out of alignment.”
The Cure May Kill You: A Cassidy Hudson Mystery Page 5