Downton Tabby (6 page)

“No matter what, you’ve always got to be aware and be prepared,” she intoned in a low serious voice, like it was the Southern Girl’s Code of Honor or something. And maybe it was. I have to tell you, Mama Kat never went anywhere without a can of hairspray and a tube of lipstick.

“Got it.” There was no point in arguing. I’d already mentioned a couple of times the fact there was a dead guy.

“Okay, honey-bun, you take care and don’t be talking on camera without freshening up a bit. Love you. Bye.”

And she was gone.

I poured another cup of coffee and went to get ready for the day. I heard my mama’s voice in my head as I dressed, but I still chose jeans and a casual top. My profession often requires me to chase an uncooperative canine, or crouch down and get eye to eye with a determined doggie. It wasn’t that I’d lost all my fashion sense, I still enjoyed getting duded up for a night out, and surely I should get major points for the stylish Jenny Packham I’d worn last night. But during the day my selections were based on practicality and comfort. I pulled on my favorite True Religion jeans and a navy Donna Karan asymmetrical top. Fun, fashionable, but still functional.

Okay, I confess I did a quick check of my makeup before I left. And all right, full confession, I threw an extra lipstick in my bag.

MY FIRST STOP of the day was a couple who’d adopted a young beagle after the loss of their longtime family dog who had also been a beagle. So Nick and Bonnie Humphries were familiar with the breed. Beagles are fun and loving companions but can also be stubborn and difficult to train. Although it had been a while since they’d had a young dog, I didn’t get the impression that they were unrealistic in what was required to train a beagle.

I was pretty darn sure a dark-colored SUV had been on my tail all the way to the Humphries home. Malone had said the police were watching my house, but he hadn’t mentioned anything about them following me. With a sense of unease, I stopped before turning in and waited. But the SUV didn’t hesitate; it drove right on by.

I parked in the driveway and reviewed my notes. The issue was that Rosie was howling. Now, howling is not unusual for a beagle, but Rosie was howling so loudly when they took her for walks sometimes people would come out of their houses to see what was going on. Bonnie said she thought some concerned citizens actually thought they might be abusing the dog. Nothing could be further from the truth; the two always took great care of Rosie.

I grabbed my bag and climbed the steps to the wraparound porch. The house was a well-kept California cottage-style home. I admired the big Lilac Godetia plant that spilled over onto the decking. My friend Diana had introduced me to the lavender-shaded blooms, though she called the plant Farewell-to-Spring. Seeing the flowers reminded me: she and I were due for a lunch. She’d undoubtedly also seen the morning news, but unlike Mama Kat would be less worried about my fashion sense and more concerned about my mental state. I should call her and let her know I was okay.

“Good morning.” Bonnie answered the door immediately. Nick stood just inside, Rosie at his side.

“How are you and how is Rosie?” I asked the two.

“We’re doing well and Rosie is improving,” Bonnie answered.

“That’s great.” I smiled and waited for Bonnie to go on. Rosie patiently sat beside Nick, her eyes watching me intently. I’d be willing to bet she remembered I was the lady with the homemade dog treats.

“We saw you on the news this morning.” Nick stepped forward.

Why had it not occurred to me that if my mother in Texas had seen the television spot, all of my clients would have seen it as well? I could understand they’d be curious, but still I hated the idea of talking about it.

“A sad situation,” I said. “I hope the police find out what happened.”

I asked if we could get Rosie’s leash and take a walk around the neighborhood while we discussed what they’d been working on. I kept the conversation directed to Rosie’s behavior. I also kept an eye out for the dark-colored vehicle, and thought I spotted the back of it once turning the corner. But when we reached the cross-street there was no dark SUV in sight.

After the walk and talking a little bit more with Bonnie and Nick, it seemed to me Rosie was simply doing what beagles do. They’re bred to use their noses to track. Rosie was a good detective. She was tracking and finding and letting them know. I suggested some in-the-yard games where Rosie could use her extra-sensitive nose to find things. Also, I suggested a few things to keep her on track during walks.

Promising to check in with the couple in a week to follow up on Rosie’s progress, I packed up. Back at my car, I glanced around again before getting in, but the dark SUV I thought had been following me when I’d arrived was nowhere in sight. It had probably been a product of my over-active imagination.

I didn’t have another client until afternoon so I took the opportunity to call the police and ask if it would be possible for me to collect some of Toria’s things from Cash and Jake’s house. I had cat food and feline treats, but I thought it might make things easier for her if she had some of her own things.

I was put through to Detective Malone who thankfully didn’t give me any grief. He said he would have an officer meet me there. I didn’t know how long I would have Toria, but I wasn’t handing her over to animal control. I truly believed Cash would be back for his cat. After all he’d cared enough to call and make sure she was alright.

The beautiful tabby seemed to be okay at my house. She and Dogbert had come to an understanding yesterday, and Thelma and Louise had decided they would tolerate her. In fact, my new furry resident seemed to be much more of a cuddler than my two felines. Last night she and Dogbert had competed for lap time.

I swung by my house to pick up Toria. I thought taking her with me might be a good idea. That way if I had trouble picking favorite toys or treats, she could weigh in with her opinion.

As I made my way to Cash and Jake’s house, I was sure I spotted the dark-colored SUV again in my rearview mirror. I couldn’t tell if the color was dark blue or black, and, in truth, I couldn’t be sure it was the same vehicle I’d seen earlier. I slowed down and reached for my cell phone, but when I looked again it was gone.

I pulled up in front of the house and parked. I felt my stomach muscles clench. The storybook exterior belied the tragedy that had happened within its walls.

Cash’s red Tesla still sat out front, the sleek car gleaming in the sunlight. A Laguna Beach blue and white was parked beside it, and a uniformed officer got out as soon as I parked. As promised, Malone had sent an officer to meet me and let me into the house. It was just my luck it was young and earnest Officer Hostas. We’d met before under some interesting circumstances in the course a previous investigation. His set jaw told me he remembered me.

Officer Serious unlocked the door and held it so I could step inside. I set Toria’s carrier on the floor in the entryway, and Officer Hostas chatted with her while I walked through. He seemed to like the cat better than he liked me.

I looked around. Needless to say, the day of the murder I hadn’t really stopped to admire the opulent interior. The first room I walked into was a wonderful airy room with large, solid pieces of furniture that seemed at once both expensive and comfortable. It reminded me of a Victorian drawing room but for the lived-in look of computers, magazines, and empty snack-food bags scattered about. Thinking a cupboard where the full bags of snacks were kept might also be a promising place for cat food, I moved on to the kitchen.

The table was still stacked with electronics. I wondered what on earth the two techies had been working on that required what looked, to me at least, to be enough computer gear to power a town.

A pantry off the kitchen area held bachelor staples: jars of salsa, bags of chips, and meals-in-a-box. However, the bottom shelf was dedicated to special cat food, deluxe cat treats, and feline vitamin supplements. I picked them up and carried them back the living room placing them by my bag. I was sure there were kitty toys somewhere else in the house.

Officer Hostas had taken Toria from the carrier and was holding her. I didn’t blame him; the friendly feline was hard to resist. He petted her head, and she leaned against his chest, sending him adoring looks. I could hear her purring from across the room.

“I’m going to go through here and see if I can find her toys.” I indicated a wide opening that looked like it led to a combination family/theater room which was a couple of steps down.

“That’s fine,” he responded. “The house has been cleared. Crime-scene team is completely done.”

As I stepped down into the family room, I caught my foot on a cord. Bang! A stack of equipment fell, and the loud noise echoed through the house. I dashed back to the living room.

Startled, Toria leapt from Officer Hostas’s arms leaving a stripe of red angry scratches.

He let go of her, and the cat pushed off his midsection and shot across the room, a grey streak of fur. Up the stairs she went in a matter of seconds. We followed on her heels, er, paws, but she was too fast.

At the landing she hesitated and turned to look at us, her worried green eyes round with fear. Then she scampered up the rest of the stairs, her short legs and wide low-to-the-ground body gone in a flash.

Once at the top, I looked both ways but didn’t spot her. Super. Most of the rooms’ doors were open, so who knew where the little minx had gone?

Hostas was right behind me. I noticed the blood on his arm. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” He dabbed at it, but the skin around the line of scratches was beginning to swell.

“Are you allergic?”

“No, not that I know of.” His tone was abrupt.

“Well, in any case, let’s get this washed off and then we’ll find the runaway kitty.” I stepped to the next doorway. “Surely one of these leads to a bathroom.”

“I’m fine. There’s soap in the kitchen. I’ll rinse it off.” He glared at me as if I were to blame, and I guess indirectly I was. “Let me know when you’ve found the cat.”

“Will do.” I smiled weakly and turned back to the hallway.

I began a systematic search of the second floor. In each room, I looked under the beds and behind the curtains, calling Toria the whole time. The rooms, like the downstairs, were furnished with large, dark-wood furniture. Bedspreads were brocade but in deep, solid, masculine colors.

I finished one side of the hall and started down the other.

“Have you found the cat?” Hostas called from downstairs.

“No,” I yelled back.

I could hear Officer Hostas’s cell phone ring, and he answered. “No, we’re not quite done. The cat escaped and the pet shrink is looking for it. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” His irritated voice got closer as he climbed the stairs.

“You can go if you need to.” I poked my head out from the bedroom I was searching. “I’ll keep looking until I find her.”

I could tell he was torn. “There’s a protest at Main Beach that’s maxed our uniformed resources.”

“Go.” I tried hard to look responsible. “I’ll find the cat and lock up.”

“All right.” He’d wrapped a dish towel around his shredded arm. “Make sure the front door is locked. I’ll take the keys with me.”

Once he was gone I continued combing through the remaining rooms, still checking under beds and still calling Toria.

“Here, Toria. Here, kitty, kitty.” There was no sign of her at all. Maybe she’d somehow gone back downstairs. I stood in the hallway and listened.

Wait a minute. I could hear a faint meow. I moved quietly up and down the hallway attempting to figure out where the sound was coming from. It was slightly louder toward the far end of the hallway where there was another set of stairs. I slowly climbed the short flight, but once at the top could no longer hear the soft mewling.

At the top of the stairs was the turret room. I peered in, fascinated with the round tower-like room. Then I came back down, one step at a time. I stopped and listened on each step. And then back up, continuing to listen. I stepped inside the room. It was filled with all sorts of interesting gadgets, as well as a shiny telescope and shelves that should have held books but instead held more gadgets. There was a massive round computer desk in the center of the room.

“Toria? Here, kitty,” I called.

Finally in frustration I sat down at the desk and listened.

“Meow.” There. I could hear her.

I stood, and as I did the wall beside me soundlessly slid open.

Toria shot out of the open wall and leapt into the middle of the desk, sliding across the papers and scattering them on the floor. I opened my mouth to scream, but nothing came out.

Then a man stepped out of the open wall.

This time I did scream, the sound echoing in the high-ceilinged room.

“Who are you?” he demanded.

I could barely hear him over the sound of my heart pounding in my ears. He was skinny and not very tall, but his blond hair was wild and his face bright red which somehow made him seem more menacing. He held a small, black metal box.

“The question is who are you?” I shot back. Was I face to face with Jake’s murderer? I automatically felt my jeans pocket for my cell phone, but then, with a sinking feeling, remembered it was downstairs with my bag. I was really sorry I’d sent Officer Hostas on his way.

“I’m no one you need to concern yourself with.”

“This is a crime scene and there’s an officer downstairs,” I bluffed.

“No, there’s not.” He shook his shaggy head. “I saw him drive away.”

Toria walked back and forth on top of the desk and meowed at us as if mediating.

Well, good news, I guess. The cat was found.

“How did you get in that room?” I pointed at the wall that gaped open and the space I could see beyond. I also eased myself from behind the desk and closer to the door, hoping he didn’t notice my movement. I had no cell phone and no weapon. I would have to make a run for it.

“Stop,” he ordered, and I flinched. The guy didn’t seem to have a weapon, just that small box, but the image of Jake with the computer cord around his neck was burned into my memory.