Woof at the Door (22 page)

He sighed. “Nah. My wife’s allergic.”

“Too bad.”

Straightening reluctantly, he said, “It is. I love dogs.” He turned his attention
back to me. “So what kind of stuff do you need?”

And just like that, the way was cleared. Never underestimate the power of puppy-dog
eyes.

Charlie retrieved his metal CSU case and we walked to the house. As we entered the
courtyard, I felt a sudden wave of anxiety from Jax. He was no longer just anxious
to be inside his old home. He was nervous.

I tried to reassure him.
It’s okay, boy. I’m here. Everything is okay.

As Charlie unlocked the door, he turned to me with a thoughtful smile. “Hey, I’ve
heard there are some dogs that people aren’t allergic to. Is that true?”

“Some breeds shed less. So, they aren’t as bad.”

“We always had Labs growing up. They shed like crazy.”

We paused in the foyer, and I smiled and nodded as Charlie talked. I had to get rid
of him to have any chance of accomplishing my task. There was no way I’d be able to
guide Jax through his memories with Charlie chattering at me like an excited squirrel.

“I had this one dog, Zeus, a chocolate, and he was the biggest, craziest Lab. He would
climb over our fence like it was nothing. I had to have him pull me on my skateboard
around the neighborhood just to wear him out.”

He shook his head, remembering the hyper Zeus.

“Labs can be energetic,” I said, praying he’d get a phone call or a sudden urge to
use the restroom.

“My wife would never want a Lab. Even if she didn’t have allergies.”

I moved toward the kitchen, Charlie shadowing me like one of the faithful Labs from
his youth. The room was large, well appointed, and dirty. Though some of the party
stuff was gone—taken to the Crime Lab, I assumed—there seemed to be a layer of dust
on everything. I spotted two large stainless bowls on the floor and walked over to
pick them up. They gave me an idea. Maybe if I gave Charlie a job, I could shake him
for a few minutes.

“So what breed do you recommend?” he asked me.

We were back to hypoallergenic dogs. “Poodle, or schnauzer,” I said as I opened the
pantry door. “Both shed less and are smart and trainable. And they come in a variety
of sizes.”

“Cool.”

It only took a second to find what I was looking for. A giant bag of dog food. I grabbed
it and tugged with my good arm, sliding it out into the kitchen with difficulty. Jax
started sniffing the bag with interest. This was his favorite flavor.

Dinner
.

“If I can get it in the car, you can have a big bowl later,” I told Jax.

“Oh, here,” Charlie said. “I’ll get it.”

Bingo. “Thank you so much.”

He hoisted the bag onto his shoulder, and I followed him to the foyer to open the
front door. I shut it quietly behind him. I thought about locking him out but that
wouldn’t help—he had a key.

“Okay, down to business.” I wouldn’t have long. But all I needed was the killer’s
face. With that, I could work backward to find evidence. One step at a time.
Focus.
I steadied myself, blanking my mind the way I had the first time I’d been here. No
Technicolor expectoration for me today.

We walked toward the living room. Jax began to whine quietly.

“It’s okay, boy,” I whispered.

Just as it had at Burke’s house, the violence of murder lingered like a dark, rank
phantom.

I tried to push the uneasy feeling away, filling my head with a vast, white calm.
But as we entered the room, my stomach roiled. Swallowing hard, I paused and tried
to combat the sudden dizziness. It was too much, too fast.

I was going to need more time. Charlie would be back any minute. Presumably to resume
his cheerful babbling. There was no way I could stay focused and steer Jax’s thoughts
with Sir Chats-a-Lot around. Not through such a violent, emotional memory.

We’d have to come back. Which meant I needed a way in.

I pulled Jax back around to the kitchen. Dark granite topped the rustic-chic cabinets.
I scanned the countertops for a set of keys or a garage door opener. Napkins, a few
paper plates, the odd bit of confetti. I saw a flat, shallow bowl sitting near the
fridge and rifled through it. Junk mail, a pen, notepaper, random bits of unidentifiable
stuff. No keys.

I started opening drawers systematically. I’d only gotten through two when I heard
the front door open.

Crap
. I grabbed the dog food bowls and pulled the pen and notepad out of the catchall.
I started scribbling a list. Food. Bowls. Toys. Bed. I put big checks next to Food
and Bowls. Yep, that’s me. Miss Organization. I turned to Charlie, hoping he wouldn’t
suspect I’d been rifling through drawers.

“I figured I’d make a list.” I tore off the paper and held it up. As if he needed
a visual to go with the word
list
.

He was looking at me in an odd way. Not suspicious, but not as friendly as he’d been.
Probably wondering why I hadn’t followed him to Bluebell. This would have been a good
time to make my exit, but I still needed a way back into the house. I’d have to find
a key or unlock a window.

“Have you seen a dog bed anywhere?”

“Yeah, there’s one in the bedroom. I’ll show you.”

I set the bowls down in the foyer to pick up on the way out. They clattered loudly
against the marble floor.

Jax and I followed Charlie down the hall and into the master suite. And it was a suite.
The room was huge. The décor was oversized and masculine. Hemingway-esque tropical.
Rich earth tones dominated the palette of the large area rug and draperies. A king-size
bed, the headboard of which almost touched the ceiling, dominated the wall in front
of me. It looked like a fine antique, with large columns and heavy carving. On the
far right wall, potted palms accented a set of French doors. They led outside. Maybe,
if I could get Charlie to turn his back for a minute, I could unlock one.

As I tried to think of a way to manage that, Jax pulled at his leash. He wanted to
go in the opposite direction. Through an archway to my left, there was a small, private
study. One wall was lined with bookshelves, the other with football trophies. A desk
and chair sat in the center.

“A library?”

“I know.” Charlie’s voice had regained its lighthearted air. “Who would have thought
a football player could read.”

Jax was dragging me into the study—sniffing the floor and the air with anticipation.
There was something in this room he wanted. “What is it, boy?”

We walked around the desk and Jax found his prize. A well-used length of knotted rope.
Jax picked it up and pressed it into my hand.
Tug! Get it!

“You want to play tug-of-war?” I grabbed the toy to indulge him for a second. As he
growled and shook the toy, I saw into his memories.

Bringing the toy to Mark while he was at the desk working at the computer. Mark saying,
“Aus!”
Jax dropping the toy. Mark tossing the toy into the bedroom. Jax bringing it back
to start the game again.

“Aus!”
I said the German command. Jax let go immediately.

“Cool,” Charlie said from behind me. “I’ve heard some of these guard dogs are trained
in German, like the K9s.”

“A lot of them come from the same kennels overseas.” I wasn’t sure what to make of
this knowledge. If Jax was trained in German, why had he been listening to me? Because
of our mental connection? I filed the subject away to be examined later. There was
a more pressing question on my mind.

“Where’s Mark’s computer? Did you guys take it?”

Charlie gave me a startled look. “Yeah, how did you know?”

I looked back at the desk. Hoping there would be a telltale dust outline or other
evidence to point out. Nope. Then I remembered seeing something when I’d bent to get
the rope for Jax.

“I noticed a power backup and connection cords under the desk,” I said casually. “Can
you guys really look at everything on his computer? Even the erased stuff?”

“Yeah. Most of the time. You wouldn’t believe the stuff people keep on their computers.
They don’t even encrypt it. Not that it would matter.”

“Really?”

“It might take longer to get into, but our computer guy would decode it eventually.
One time, we were going after this pedophile. He was really careful, never had anything
on his PC. We went over the computer a thousand times. It turns out he kept everything
on an online server. I went back to the guy’s house just to look around the office
one last time. I found a bill for the server; he’d written his user name and password
on it.”

“So you caught him?”

“We did. Gotta love stupid criminals.” He was back in the groove, chatting away. And
I wondered if I could use it to my advantage.

“Kai said you didn’t have much physical evidence. That’s got to be frustrating.”

“We have a pile of physical evidence. None of it’s relevant.”

“Because of the party?”

Charlie set his case on the floor of the study. “Yeah. But we did get a break last
night.”

“With the computer?”

“We glue-fumed the keyboard and it was wiped clean.”

I nodded. Though I had no idea what glue-fuming was. Charlie was working on the assumption
I was in the know—I didn’t want to blow the illusion by asking too many questions.
I assumed he meant that there were no fingerprints on the keyboard.

“So, the killer touched the computer and wiped his prints off. And you came back to
see if he was as careful everywhere in here?”

“Yep. I’m going to go over the desk again.”

“I hope you find something.” I was really hoping he’d get started working and I’d
have my chance to covertly unlock the door. But that was not to be.

Charlie pointed into the bedroom. “The dog bed is over there.” We walked back into
the main part of the suite and I spotted a round, fleece-covered dog bed in the far
corner near the French doors. “Hey look. There’s your bed, Jax.”

Jax walked toward it, and I wondered if I could get Charlie to carry it to Bluebell
for me. Probably not, unless he was sure I followed him.

To get to the dog bed, I had to pass the doors leading outside. The handles were wrought
iron levers. I didn’t see a lock. All around the handles, black smudges and dust coated
the door. I’d seen the same thing in the kitchen. I paused to scrutinize the dust.

Fingerprint powder. “Man, this stuff is messy.”

“Yeah. It gets everywhere.”

I looked down at the floor. There was a small pile of dark dust on the light stone.
But of more interest to me was the little latch anchoring the bottom of the door to
the tile. I could reach down and pull it up, unlocking the door, if Charlie weren’t
standing over my shoulder.

I needed a diversion.

Like Westley in
The Princess Bride
, I made a quick list of my assets. I still held the rope toy. The dog bed was only
a few feet away. And I had Jax.

No holocaust cloak, damn
.

I turned my back to the door and saw that Jax had plopped onto the dog bed. Perfect.

“Awww. Look at him,” I said. “Poor baby. He thinks he’s staying.”

Charlie’s attention was on Jax.

Jax, stay.
I urged him not to move with my mind while I said aloud, “Come on, Jax. We’ve got
to go.”
Stay!

Confused, he wiggled a little in the bed.
Stay?

Yes! Stay!
“Let’s go, buddy.”
Stay!
I tried to remember the German command.
Platz!
I wasn’t sure if that meant “down” or “stay,” but it worked. Jax was no longer unsure.
He had an order.

I pulled on the leash, thinking,
Platz! Platz! Platz!
Jax didn’t move.
Good boy!

I looked at Charlie. “This is so sad. I don’t want to yell at him.”

Charlie took the bait and squatted down. “Come on, big guy!” He clapped his hands.
“Come see Charlie.”

Jax didn’t budge.

Good boy! You are so smart!
I joined Charlie on the floor, positioning myself as close to the door as possible.
The latch was within reach. I turned to Charlie.

“I have an idea. Here.” I held out the rope toy. “You pull that end and shake it.
I’ll keep hold of this one. Maybe if he sees us having fun, he’ll want to play, too.”

It was silly. But Charlie was a dog lover, and bless his heart, he was game. He even
made growling noises, God love him.

Thankfully, I knew the German command for “come.”
Jax, hier!
Tug! Get it!
He launched himself off the bed like it had caught fire. I shifted out of the way
and let go of the toy. Jax barreled into Charlie, bowling him over.

I scooted to the door and popped the latch with a quick flick.

Charlie was laughing and wrestling with Jax. Not even a little upset that he’d been
flattened. I smiled. Dog people are awesome.

CHAPTER 17

I was being followed.

I’d gotten the feeling as I left Mark’s subdivision. That prickling uneasiness that
puts the senses on alert. After glancing in the rearview mirror a few times, I managed
to shake the feeling, telling myself I had imagined it. Now, I knew my instincts had
been right.

I had been caught up worrying about my impending breaking-and-entering venture—going
over all the ways to get busted—and almost missed my turn. I had to shoot over two
lanes of traffic, much to the irritation of my fellow motorists. One man I’d cut off
shot me a rude hand gesture, and I had turned to give him a vapid smile and pageant
wave when I spotted the dark sedan.

It had been behind me at the Wendy’s drive-through.

Being unschooled in counterspy tactics, I had no idea how to lose a tail. Though judging
from the way the sedan had also nearly missed the turn, making sudden changes in direction
seemed to be a good idea.

One thing I didn’t want to do was lead whoever it was to my sister’s.

“Okay, so now what?” I could see the sedan in my mirror. It had dropped back a couple
of cars. I thought about driving over the median; after all, Bluebell could handle
it. But I had to remember Jax was lying in the backseat. I wasn’t going to risk hurting
him by trying some stupid evasive maneuver.

My heart had started pumping hard and fast. Who would be following me? Why? The longer
I drove knowing I was being tailed, the more my adrenaline urged me to act. Traffic
stopped at a red light. I took the chance to turn in the seat and stare at the sedan,
which was three cars behind me. The driver was too far away to see.

Jax let out a low growling bark.
Guard
.

I looked at Jax. “It’s okay. In fact, you know what? Screw it.” I shifted Bluebell
into Park and got out. The light had turned green, and there were a few honks of protest.
I ignored them. I walked straight toward the sedan.

I’d only made it to my rear bumper when I heard the squeal of tires. The driver had
decided it was time to leave. The sedan lurched into traffic and rocketed past.

I glared at it as it sped away. Tinted windows.

I couldn’t tell if the driver was a man or a woman. Black, white, or purple.

Shaking, as much with anger as fear, I walked back to Bluebell. Checking my mirrors
every other second, I headed home.

By the time I parked in front of the condo, paranoia had taken hold. I stuffed the
rope toy in my purse and climbed out of Bluebell slowly, scanning the area around
me like a commando on recon. I ordered Jax to stay with me, grabbed the dog bed, and
left the bag of food for later.

My hyperawareness continued even after we entered the condo. I was ready for anything.
If there was someone lurking in a corner, they were toast. I would kung fu them without
hesitation.

Only the sight of Moss sitting outside, blithely watching the seagulls from the balcony,
made me realize how far up the crazy tree I’d climbed.

I let out a shaky half laugh. Who could be lurking with Moss around?

I got Jax’s bed situated in my room, and after I took a couple of ibuprofen, I sat
on the sofa in the living room and tried to relax.

I glanced at Moss. Though he was out of my “range,” I knew he’d heard us come home
and had decided to stay outside—probably enjoying the way the dying sun seemed to
spotlight the gulls. Their white undersides glowed pink, sparking like embers as they
swooped down to settle by the shore.

Jax flopped onto the far corner of the rug and let out a deep sigh. He was tired.

“Me, too, buddy. But our night isn’t over yet.” I watched him close his eyes and wished
I could do the same. But my nerves were too frazzled. So much so that when Moss clambered
through the dog door with the grace and stealth of a drunken wildebeest, I nearly
jumped out of my skin.

I pressed my hand over my pounding heart and sucked in a breath.

Moss walked to where I sat and sniffed my face.
Scared?

“Yes, boy, I was scared. But I’m okay.” I slid down to the floor and wrapped my arm
around his back. “Someone followed me today. It upset me.”

In Moss’s solid presence, I could think a little more rationally. I leaned my head
on his side and replayed the event. My dog picked up on the emotions I’d experienced.
I had felt as if I was being tracked. Hunted. He didn’t like it.

Moss growled. So low, it was little more than a rumbling exhale. Jax sat up, instantly
alert.
It’s okay.
I forced a slow breath, and Jax settled back to nap. Moss stayed on guard.

Where?
Moss always wanted to know the identity and location of the enemy.

“I don’t know who it was or what they wanted,” I said. It helped to sort through my
thoughts out loud, and Moss was a good listener.

“Maybe they wanted to find out where I live.” I tried to figure out the reason. To
keep tabs on me? Know when I was coming or going? Again, the question was why?

I lifted my head and looked at Moss. “What have I got that anyone cares about?”

I glanced over at Jax and understanding swept over me. “The frigging reporter.”

When I had gone to meet with Gardenia Richardson, I’d seen a young man in a sedan
watching me as I’d gone through the gate. And hadn’t Wes said something about a reporter
at the
Times
digging into the Richardsons’ past?

Oddly, this made me feel much better. Sooner or later, he’d see that I was just caring
for Mark’s dog and move on to juicer scoops. At least, I hoped he would. What if he
started asking around and came to the same conclusion Gardenia had? What if a reporter
knew about my ability?

That terrifying idea was cut off by my cell phone’s sudden eruption into song. It
was Emma.

“Hey, Grace. Sorry it’s taken so long to call you back.” In the background, I could
hear people talking and what sounded like glasses and plates clinking as tables were
set.

“I know you have a lot to do.”

“I’ve hit a lull. The calm before the storm.” She sounded happy and energized. My
sister, the true extrovert, loved the action and controlled chaos of her job. I would
never understand it, but then again, I can’t even plan dinner.

“Em, I got your note.
Jaguar tag?
”

“I have no idea what it means. You made me promise to write it down.”

“Did I say why?”

“You were speaking in tongues. But I think it was something Jax saw.”

“Huh.” Dogs don’t see well. Or rather, they don’t see like people. I have to interpret
some visual cues and translate them. Maybe my drugged brain had made a connection
I’d missed. “Okay. I’ll see if I can’t figure it out.”

“How’s the shoulder?”

“Better. It twinges every once in a while. I’m going to ice it in a minute.”

“Hey, I almost forgot. I saw Gardenia Richardson a few minutes ago. She asked me to
be sure I told you hello.” There was a pause. “Do you know her?”

“I met her yesterday.” I felt myself cringing, waiting for the barrage of questions.

“Where?”

“At her house in Mandarin. She wanted an update on Jax.”

“In person?”

“Look, it’s a long story. I’ll tell you when you get home. Okay?”

“Okay,” she said slowly. “Grace, listen, Gardenia Richardson is . . . she’s not as
nice as she seems.”

No kidding.
I tried to change the subject. “So what’s the event tonight anyway?”

“A bachelor auction.”

“Like in
Indecent Proposal
?” I never really got that movie. Woody Harrelson . . . Robert Redford . . . and a
million bucks? What was the big dilemma?

“Yep. Mark was supposed to be one of the bachelors. So was LaBryce.”

This must have been the “charity thing” LaBryce had talked about, where he and Mark
had planned to have their first argument. “Is that why Mrs. Richardson was there?”

“She wanted me to understand that just because Mark was not here—it didn’t mean we
could skip his charity. I had to scramble to find a substitute.”

“Who’s taking his place?”

“One of the other Jaguars—Eric Ruby. He and Mark were pretty close, according to Mrs.
Richardson.”

“Really?” I understood what Emma was saying. Eric Ruby might make the list of suspects.

“I’m going to talk to him later. See what I can find out. I’ll let you know if he
has anything interesting to say.”

“See if he knew anything about Mark’s new girlfriend.” I had no doubt that Emma would
get him talking. Knowing Emma, she’d come home with more inside scoop than the cops
would find out in a month.

I heard Emma say, “Alec! Get these boxes out of the way. We have all the linens we
need.”

“I’ll let you go, Em.”

“Okay. It’s going to be a late one. There’s plenty of leftover spaghetti in the fridge.
If you decide to take another one of those pills, do it after you’re in bed.”

“Yes, Mommy.” I said the sarcastic retort the same way I’d done for most of my life.
And true to tradition, Emma answered with, “Don’t you take that tone with me, young
lady.”

After I hung up, I thought about the note.
“Jaguar tag,”
I said aloud.

I must have decided something about it was important to make Emma write it down. But
what?

I closed my eyes and tried to think.
Jaguar tag
. Like a vanity license plate? I’d seen them around. But Jax wouldn’t have been able
to see the killer’s car tags.

I heated up some spaghetti, and with Moss and Jax both trailing behind me like I was
the pied piper, I settled into the chair in front of the computer.

Tech stuff is not my forte, but I know the basics. I Googled
jaguar tag
and got over five million results. Mostly websites about the car.

“Okay, maybe in images?” I tried but fared worse. Aside from an adorable photo of
a black jaguar cub that made me smile, I got nothing useful.

I looked at Jax who, predictably, had stretched out by the doorway. “What the hell
does
jaguar tag
mean?”

He blinked, without so much as a flicker of recognition. I closed my eyes and pictured
the Jaguars logo. I offered the image to Jax mentally. Nothing.

“Well, you’re a big help.”

I continued futzing around on the computer for what seemed like days but came up with
zip.

On a whim I did a search for German K9 commands and found a list with pronunciations.
I remembered some of them, but couldn’t resist trying a few out.

“Jax.
Sitz!
” He sat.

“Steh.”
He stood—eyes locked on me as if I were the only being in the universe.

I looked back at the screen and picked another command.
“Sprechen!”

He let out a chorus of barks.

“Cool.” I squinted at the screen.
“Zie Brav
.
”

Jax, good boy
. He panted happily.

“And bilingual, too.” I guess he was trilingual, if you counted canine. I printed
the webpage with the commands and looked at Moss.

“Now what?”

He offered no suggestions—too busy staring at my empty spaghetti bowl with a longing
I can only describe as desperate.

“Here.” I set the bowl on the floor so he could cleanse it of every remaining molecule
of food.

I stared at the computer and sighed. Not the most productive endeavor.

I thought about redoubling my efforts but knew I was just stalling. The little clock
at the bottom of the screen showed it was nearing 9 p.m. Time to pull out the ninja
suit and grab a flashlight.

Before I got up, I did one last search. It was easy to find a photo of Mark’s teammate,
Eric Ruby.

I studied his headshot. Brown hair and eyes, handsome chiseled features, slightly
crooked nose. If Jax came through and showed me the killer, at least I’d be able to
recognize everyone on my list.

I went into my bedroom and changed into dark jeans and a navy blue T-shirt. In the
kitchen, I found a tiny flashlight in the junk drawer and turned it on. Dim, but that
was good. I wanted to be as stealthy as possible, and the Maglite I kept in Bluebell
was too big and too bright.