3 Panthers Play for Keeps (9 page)

Chapter Nineteen

I didn’t stay for dessert. And while Wallis would be peeved when she learned of it, I rejected the waiter’s offer to box up the rest of that good, aged meat. What I had swallowed would stay down. I’m tough that way. I was angry, rather than scared. Furious at the bait-and-switch the grizzled gangster had pulled to get me out here. But I had no desire to bring anything from that meal home with me.

Benazi got the message loud and clear. “I gather you wouldn’t care for a brandy?” He sounded a bit regretful, as if threatening me had been an unpleasant task that he’d hoped could be skimmed over, quickly forgotten. “A café filtre?”

“I believe you’ve said what you called me here to say.” I’d folded my napkin and replaced it on the table. If the waiter had any sense, he’d be bringing my coat. “And I’ve had more than my fill.”

“Please, Ms. Marlowe.” He raised his hand, as if to wave off my concerns. As if, even empty-handed, he wasn’t dangerous. “I didn’t mean to offend. I’m sorry if I did.”

I didn’t respond. I had to admit, I was still curious. Plus, I don’t like to be chased off. “Well, then.” I relaxed back in my seat and tried to figure out how to phrase my questions. “Tell me what you’re doing in town,” I said finally. I was too pissed to be polite. “Why were you watching me? And what’s your connection with the Haigens?” I wanted to ask why he was threatening me. What I had gotten too close to—or who. I didn’t think he’d answer those questions, though.

“And why do you think I know the Haigens?” That smile. As jolly as the grave.

“Come on.” It was my turn to growl. That was the easy one. To his credit, he chuckled, and I found myself relaxing.

“You really do have a sense for such things,” he said. “And, yes, you are right. I am acquainted with the Haigens. As you so astutely noted, I, like yourself, am particularly equipped to provide certain specialized services.”

He paused. I waited. The waiter hovered. He might be afraid to drop off the check, but I had no compunction about leaving whenever I wanted. This was Benazi’s party, and if he wanted to keep me here, he had to talk.

He came to the same conclusion. “The wealthy enjoy a different class of entertainment, at times,” he said, brushing off the poor server with another eloquent gesture. “A touch of the, shall we say, exotic?”

I nodded, as if I understood. I didn’t, not exactly. Don’t let it be girls, I found myself wishing. Or, hell, boys. I thought of Dierdre, buttoned up so tight, and it seemed possible. Richard was an enigma to me. I didn’t care about them, but I realized with a start that I didn’t want to think worse of Benazi either. For some reason, I still felt some kind of link to him. Some connection. At any rate, I was curious.

“So what new toy have you brought them recently?” I leaned in now, waiting for the big reveal. “And why are you warning me about it?”

“Because of what you do, Ms. Marlowe.” He smiled, his eyes as wide and innocent as they could ever be. “Because of who you are. And because, Ms. Marlowe, I care.”

Chapter Twenty

Cats can’t laugh, not without producing a fur ball anyway. And Wallis was way too dignified for an involuntary barf. She did, however, manage to convey an amused skepticism as I related the tale of my evening.

“And then you ate?”
She put her ears back a little with that, and I realized the obvious: she hadn’t been fed.

“It’s not just that
.”
She watched as I shredded a chicken leg onto a plate. Her ears had righted themselves, and she’d begun kneading the floor. I smiled, but averted my eyes. She wanted to be taken seriously, I could tell.
“It’s that you fed…willingly
.”

I paused, a piece of skin in my hand, and thought about that. A small chirp, the feline equivalent of her clearing her throat, brought me back to the task at hand, and only after I had placed the plate on the floor did I finish thinking through what she had said.

She was right, in a way. I hadn’t finished my steak, and now that I was home, I was regretting that I hadn’t taken the leftovers with me. However, I had gone willingly with Benazi.

“It was a public place.” I looked down at the back of her head. Wallis was digging into the chicken, and I found my own mouth watering as she savored the roasted meat. “Besides, I was curious.”

“So you don’t…
”
A pause as Wallis savored a particularly toothsome bit.
“You don’t fear him. Not really
.”

“I don’t know.” I leaned back on the counter to consider. “I didn’t going in, but…” As best I could, I let her know my mixed emotions, replaying in my mind what had happened as I approached the restaurant. That strange sense that he could see me, out in the dark.

“Rather feline, don’t you think?”
She was looking up at me now and licking her chops.

“You just like him because he likes cats.” Wallis had been much more comfortable with Benazi’s adoption of the white Persian than I had been. Then again, I suspected him in the death of a human witness. He’d always been kind to animals.

Which brought me back to my original question: What had Benazi been telling me? If he wasn’t a threat to me—and I rather respected Wallis’ take on that, if for no other reason than that his demeanor had continued courtly, even as I grumbled off into the night—then what? He could have been warning me. Something was definitely off in the Haigen household—something besides a problem with the help, and now more than ever I was convinced that Mariela’s death had its roots in the big house.

I had tried to get him to tell me more, to explain what he had been doing there, and what he meant by the Haigens’ taste for the exotic. Standing in my own kitchen, with Wallis’ eyes on me, the answer came to me. Mariela. When she’d first donned that silk blouse, she would have been beautiful. With her thick black hair and café au lait skin, she could qualify as exotic, as well. Richard Haigen might be going blind, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t want his last sights to be of a woman noticeably younger than his beleaguered wife, and, of course, sight would be the least of the senses he might indulge. Was murder the exotic thrill he now craved? Or was her death an accident, and her mutilation an attempt to cover up some horrible game gone wrong?

It was possible. Add in his anger—at his wife, at the world—and the idea gained credence.

With a sigh of relief, I realized another thing. No matter what I thought of Benazi, I doubted he had been involved with obtaining Mariela for the Haigens. I’d seen the young woman both times I’d been out at the house, and her duties—at that point—had seemed fairly standard, if somewhat demeaning. Benazi was strictly high-end. So what had brought him out to that sterile house?

By this point, Wallis had left the room. I followed her into the living room, to find her staring pointedly at the fireplace. It was cold enough and I still had logs left, and so I built a fire and poured myself a bourbon. Maker’s Mark was my only other company as the evening wore on, however, and I let the logs burn down to embers, watching the shadows fade into the night as the room grew dark.

There really was no need for comment, and for once, Wallis didn’t intrude into my thoughts. We sat there in a companionable silence, and I found myself watching the glow turn to ash, contemplating how little any of us—two- or four-legged—really understood each other.

Chapter Twenty-one

“You’re up bright and early.” With so many questions rattling around my head and no Creighton to distract me, I’d slept badly. Wallis picked up on my snarky tone as I walked into the kitchen and acknowledged it—barely—with a flick of her tail. “Want some breakfast?”

It was a peace offering, but she took it, jumping down from the sill to brush ever so slightly against my bare legs. I waited a moment to enjoy the soft touch of her fur, before fetching the eggs and butter. Once the pan was warming up, I started my coffee. I knew I’d been out of line.

“I miss him, too
.” Her voice reached me as I fetched my mug, but by the time I turned, she was facing away from me again. Wallis puts a premium on dignity. All cats do.

“Thanks.” It couldn’t hurt to acknowledge the courtesy. There really wasn’t anything else to say.

“Not to
say,
perhaps
.”
She’d come back over as I gave the eggs one last scramble.
“Doesn’t mean you just have to roll over
.”

I placed her plate on the floor. “We’ve had this discussion, Wallis.”

“More than one way to dispose of a rival…
” Her thought trailed off into a reverie of butter.

“You’re thinking of Mariela, aren’t you?” No answer. She didn’t need to. I’d wondered that myself, though in the light of day the idea that the young woman had been murdered by the overbearing millionaire seemed increasingly slim. For starters, he would have to have intended—from the start—to make it look like an animal attack. The mutilation I had seen had been the cause of death, Creighton had said. Not postmortem. That ruled out a sudden act of passion. Although I didn’t have any reason to trust our county coroner—he was basically a country GP—I figured he had the basics right. But how could it have been done? And why?

“Rival
.” Wallis’ word stuck with me. If I was looking for a motive for the young woman’s death, I could see Dierdre Haigen having one. I didn’t doubt that her husband could be cruel. He may have cheated on her. He seemed the type. But he was also rapidly growing more dependent and, if anything would give her the upper hand, his blindness would. Why would she kill a rival when in a few months, the younger woman’s youth and beauty would be worth a lot less than her committed caring? When, soon, he would be essentially in her control?

Unless, of course, she didn’t want to become her husband’s caretaker. Maybe she and Raul…No, none of it added up to a mauled body in the woods.

“Are you going to eat those?”
Wallis was staring at me, but her thoughts were on my breakfast.

“Yes, I am.” Last night’s steak had been interrupted, just as my exploration of the Haigen grounds had been. Laurel Kroft had been out there, though, and she knew more than she’d said. Creighton had seen it, too. He’d be questioning her, I had no doubt. I didn’t want to think about what means he might resort to to get the truth out of her. Better to think of my own methods.

Pouring my coffee into a travel mug, I scraped the last of my eggs onto Wallis’ dish. Thoughts of Laurel with Creighton had soured my stomach, and Wallis likes her food. It’s the only appetite she has left to indulge. I don’t think that was why she was purring, though, as I got ready to start my day.

First, there was Growler. In the year since I’d been walking him, his person—if old lady Horlick counted as human—had started using me more often. That wasn’t out of concern for the bichon’s health, I was pretty sure. More likely, she was hoping to put me on a leash. Gossip was like oxygen to her. Or, more likely, nicotine. And while I never gave her anything intentionally, the fact that I had been in the middle of some small-town scrimmages made her want to hang onto me. At least, that’s what I figured her interest was. Until Growler had made that comment about the old bag losing her man, I’d not given any thought to any other possible desires.

“Hey, Growler.” I broached the subject once I had freed my charge from his noxious human. “What’s the story with old smoke-teeth?” I used the name he’d given her with a certain relish. After all, she’d been the one to saddle him with the cutsey-poo Bitsy.

“The story?”
He looked up at me, a bit peeved. I should have waited. He’d just gotten to the birch on the corner, and the thaw had released a winter’s worth of scents.

“Sorry.” I didn’t think he heard that often enough. “I was wondering about what you’d said, that she’d ‘lost him.’” I paused, unable to tell if he was ignoring me or if I wasn’t getting through. “Did she have a relationship with someone? A man?”

A short bark let me know he’d heard. And that he was amused.
“If you can call it that!”
For a tiny, neutered animal, Growler was very conscious of his masculinity.
“Yes. They sit together
.”

I pondered that as we walked on. If we think the ways of our domestic animals are strange, imagine how they feel about us. Sitting could mean almost anything. Did they dine together? Did she babysit some old codger, maybe someone who didn’t have the wherewithal to escape her tar-stained clutches?

“Yes, that’s it. They hold things
.” Of course, Growler had been monitoring my thoughts. He’d also stopped walking and was staring up at me. And so I tried to blank out my mind and simply accept what he wanted to show me. I looked into his black button eyes and got an image of…

Feet. Well, yes, to Growler, most human activity was too high up to observe in detail. But another sharp bark brought me out of myself, and I realized I was getting more. There were feet, four pairs of them. But they weren’t holding weight; the people were seated. Close together, at a small table.

“They play
cards
together?” It was my tone. It was all wrong. Scornful and a little amused. I knew it as soon as the words were out of my mouth, but by then it was too late. Growler was walking again, tugging on the leash as he made the rest of his rounds. Even as I apologized, he pulled me forward, exerting just enough pressure to remind me that I was, after all, the servant here, the one hired to do his bidding. By the time he squatted to crap in the middle of the sidewalk, I was as repentant as I’d ever been. I cleaned up his mess without a word of reproach, and let him set the pace the rest of the way back.

Before we turned up the Horlick walk, however, I had to try again.

“Growler, I’m sorry. You know I am.” An appeal to his pride couldn’t hurt, I figured. Acknowledging that he could read me better than I could him was the kind of admission he’d usually get a kick out of. “I simply don’t understand.”

He trotted ahead of me, looking for all the world like a happy pet. When the door opened ahead of us, I realized what he already knew: Tracy Horlick had been peeking out her window. Whether she was simply waiting for our return or had been hoping to catch me in some bizarre behavior was immaterial. She was sharp enough to recognize that I didn’t quite fit into our small town. I didn’t need her guessing at anything else.

“It’s about time.” She stood in the door, ignoring the lead I held out to her. “I thought, maybe, since you’ve been spending so much time alone, you’d tried to steal my dog.”

I’m taller than she is, but she was in the doorway, while I was standing two steps down. It was a power play, expressing dominance. I smiled back up at her, refusing to answer even as she let out a cloud of smoke and took Growler’s lead. I forced myself not to blink as it hit me full-on and Growler, still silent, walked past her into the house. It was a petty victory, and she’d probably make me pay for it later. I didn’t care. I have my limits.

“I hear we’re both spending some more time on our own.” I couldn’t resist.

She blinked and drew back. I’d scored.

“I don’t know where you get your information.” Her eyes, already heavy lidded, narrowed like a snake’s, and she hissed. “Or maybe I do, considering…”

I held my smile and waited.

“You are a cold one.” She stepped back, unwilling to give me more. It didn’t matter. Something about her response, watching me. Studying my face. She had clued me in: The feet? They were seated around a card table. The “he” who had gone missing? Probably just a bridge partner. Knowing what I did of the old lady, I doubted there was anything more tender going on. Maybe they had signals arranged. I could easily see her cheating. That had to be it, though. Some old man had changed his seat, sick of her domineering ways or the stale scent of unfiltered Marlboros.

I could take some satisfaction in knowing that I’d gotten to her, but that was it. I was musing on her final comment as the door closed, and had turned to walk away when I heard a sharp yelp.

That shook me. Tracy Horlick was a horror. She certainly wasn’t above taking out her frustrations on her dog, and if I’d made her mood worse, I was just as responsible for his pain.

“No! No! No!”
I almost stormed the door, some latent instinct fighting with my common sense. Anything I did now to intervene would only make things worse for the little guy.
“Stupid lady!”

I paused, frozen in place. Yes, Growler was barking, but he wasn’t addressing Tracy Horlick. He was talking to me, the one who could understand him, only his voice—as well as those clipped cries—were fading. I heard the old lady muttering to herself, and could easily imagine the scene inside as she dragged him by his lead down the hall.

“Growler?”
I put everything I had into the question, leaning my head against Tracy Horlick’s front door. If anyone passed by, they’d have something to talk about. I didn’t care.
“What is it? Are you okay?”

“Stupid lady, getting her angry
.”
The answer came with the scrabble of claws as an inside door closed.
“Look at the shoes, walker lady! The shoes! Shoes! Shoes
.”