Chasing Can Be Murder (16 page)

Scuzz leant forward in his seat, expression chagrined. “I apologize again, Katrina. If discussing that night distresses you, we shall not bring the subject up again. Instead, would you like to talk about your greyhounds?”

I shrugged. “If you want.”

“Well then, tell me, do any of your dogs have a better than average chance of winning next Thursday night?”

Several large butterflies chased the little one around in my stomach. I felt sick. Was Scuzz really only making conversation or was there something sinister behind these questions?

“Okay, let’s reverse question time.” Hands on hips, I stood up and faced him. “Where were you at the time my friend, Matthew Turner, was murdered?”

Scuzz blinked. A small frown creasing between his eyes. “Excuse me?”

“Were you anywhere near this house the night Matt was murdered?”

“Of course not. I was in—”

Before he could finish, a screech of brakes reverberated from outside. Gravel spat and sprayed and bounced off the front of the house causing Scuzz to shoot to his feet, fists balled into lethal weapons.

“What the hell was that?”

I watched his lips set into a snarl as he went into fighting mode, eyes two steel traps, fists curled. Oh crap, what if it was Ben, returning to check that I hadn’t been cut into morsel-sized pieces by the giant biker? The image of Scuzz sticking his fist down Ben’s throat and ripping out his entrails brought me out in a cold sweat. Intent on preventing carnage, I pushed in front of the snarling biker and darted toward the front door.

“Scuzz! Stay!” I barked in the tone of voice I use on recalcitrant greyhounds and cold callers who decide to ring at mealtimes. “Don’t move until I see who it is.”

Amazingly, Scuzz stayed. However, the look he gave me seemed to say,
be it on your own head, Katrina!
With fumbling fingers I undid the three bolts, turned on the outside light, and warily poked my head through the open doorway.

No Ben.

Instead, a dark colored car, lights off, was hurling itself, kamikaze style, out through my gateway.

And sitting on my front porch was a large bunch of flowers.

All dead.

In the eerie glow from the single-bulb porch light they reminded me of flowers left on a grave until they’d become dry and brittle. As dead as the person whose remembrance they’d originally commemorated.

I took three rubbery steps forward and felt a sour burning spasm jam my stomach muscles. The flowers were tied together with what looked like a dog’s tail. Blood still leaked from the stump and where the tail was knotted, a large roofing nail kept the wet ends from slipping through.

Battling nausea, I bent to extricate an envelope from inside the graveyard offering. The printed letters tangoed elusively in front of my eyes. Sweat trickled between my breasts and gathered under my armpits. I forced my eyes to read the name on the front of the envelope and when I did the Chicken Tandoori I’d eaten for dinner began to flap its wings.

“On second thought, Scuzz,” I croaked through a throat that had more gravel in it than a quarry. “I—I think I’ll be happy to retain you as my bodyguard.”

15

“How are you feeling now, Katrina?” Scuzz unlocked my fingers so he could close them around a mug of steaming coffee. “Is there anything else I can get you? Toasted sandwich? More blankets?” He lifted one rogue eyebrow. “A plane ticket to Las Vegas?”

From my seat at the kitchen table wrapped in a wooly tartan blanket, I looked up and shook my head, although the plane ticket to Las Vegas sounded tempting. I’d even welcome a plane ticket to the middle of Siberia at the moment. Clutching the mug, I felt the heat from the coffee gradually seep through the china and warm my fingers. As for the rest of me—I didn’t think I’d ever be warm again.

Scuzz dragged out the chair next to me and sat down, his large hands wrapped around a slab of six-month-old Christmas cake he must have unearthed in the pantry. After devouring the cake in three bites, he stood up and went hunting for more. Hey, Scuzz was welcome to eat every crumb of food in the house as long as he continued his bodyguard duties. Although I’d probably need to go grocery shopping before that offer became an incentive. The fact that I hadn’t fully trusted my leather-clad guardian angel had quickly dissipated the moment I’d seen the protective snarl on the big guy’s face when he thought I was being attacked.

When he finished eating the second slab of cake, I passed him a napkin from the holder on the table and watched him pat delicately at the crumbs in his beard.
Some biker!
If Scuzz was dressed in a dark suit, white shirt and tie and sported a more conservative haircut and no facial hair, he’d be perfect to play the part of the butler in an Agatha Christie movie. And yet it was his explicit biker persona that made me feel safe. Hell, if Jake hadn’t lent me his seven foot cousin, I’d be crouched under the bed gnawing at my fingernails and reciting the Lord’s Prayer right now.

Which is probably what the flower-delivery-guy expected.

I took a sip of coffee, rubbed tense fingers over my aching forehead and re-read the words staring up at me from the sheet of paper on the kitchen table.

Big Mistake must lose—or else!

Exactly like in a mystery novel the words had been cut from colored magazines.I clutched the coffee mug to my chest. It wasn’t merely the race-fixing that had me running scared, it was the reality of the
or else
!

When Scuzz gave me an encouraging wink, I attempted a smile in return. But nothing happened. Some unknown force seemed to be freezing the muscles that instigated the task of lifting the corners of my mouth upwards. I shivered. Even the blanket and the heat from my
Cheap as Chips
fan-heater blasting hot air at me from under the table had little effect.

What poor cat or dog had lost its tail and its life so the sick mind behind that deadly package could emphasize his message? Thank God all my animals were safe. Tater and Lucky were both asleep in the lounge and the security system in my kennel-house hadn’t been disturbed.

Of course I should let the police know about this latest development in the saga. But first…I’d ring Tanya.

Coffee cup in one hand, threatening note in the other, I shuffled into the lounge room, trailing my blanket behind me and curled up on an armchair. As though he didn’t want to let me out of his sight, Scuzz followed.

I picked up the phone, dialed Tanya’s number and waited to hear her welcoming voice. I figured my best friend would be more sympathetic than the police. Sympathy I needed. Questions and innuendos about being alone in the house with a testosterone-loaded biker, I didn’t need.

“Yeah. Wattcha want?”

Crap…it was
Devil’s Spawn
!

“Hi, Erin,” I muttered, forcing my words through clenched teeth. “Can I talk to your Mum?”

“Nope.”

I scowled. Bit my already bruised bottom lip. “Stop messing around and get your mother on the phone. This is important.”

“Why does your voice sound funny, Kat? Is the scary guy there? Is he standing beside you with a knife? Is he going to stick it in your throat?” She paused, evidently relishing the picture this scenario evoked. Her voice upped its level of excitement. “Hey, can I come over and watch?”

“Erin…
please
…be a good girl and go get Tanya for me.”

“You just said please, so something
must
be up! This is
sooo
cool.”

I quickly fought down an overwhelming urge to slam my head against the wall. Instead, I dragged out my pleasant
jam-with-cream-on-top
voice. “Erin. Darling. If Tanya is not on the phone in exactly thirty seconds I am coming over to cut all your hair off.” I paused to let my threat sink in. “And—I won’t cut your hair with scissors. I’ll use blunt gardening shears.”

“Oh, didn’t I tell you? Mum caught a plane to Melbourne an hour ago ’cause Granny fell down the stairs and broke her leg.”

“No…you
didn’t
tell me,” I growled into the phone. This kid had perfected the technique for yanking my chain from a very early age.

Don’t let her get to you
, I told myself,
you’re already chief suspect in one murder case
. Before continuing, I deliberately sucked in a deep breath, picked up my coffee mug and swigged several mouthfuls of caffeine.

“Sorry to hear about your Gran,” I commiserated. “So, who’s looking after you while your mother’s away?”

“Dunno why everyone thinks I need looking after. I’m eleven—not two. I can take care of myself.”

“Who. Is. Looking. After. You?”

I could almost hear her sulky bottom lip go
thunk
as it hit the floor.

“Well,” she said, letting loose a dramatic
why-me?
sigh. “Dad is. I guess. But his car broke down. I told him I’d be okay on my own, but he’s sending this guy he met in the pub to pick me up.”

Typical Dan
. “How well does he know this guy he met in the pub?”

I could hear the blasé shrug in her answering tone. “How should I know? Hey, there’s someone knocking on the front door. That must be Dad’s friend, now. See ya, Kat.”

“Erin—”

Too late. All I could hear was the smug purr of the dial tone.

Growling deep in my throat, I slammed the receiver back on its base.

“Well?” Scuzz raised both be-ringed eyebrows in query.

“Tanya’s in Melbourne. Her mother fell down the stairs and broke her leg.”

“So, are you going to ring the police now?”

What could the police do about the note? Some psycho wanted to stop Lofty from winning, which made me madder than a hen whose chicks had been gobbled up by a passing fox. The warning was on plain white paper and the letters cut out of a magazine. As for fingerprints—whoever did the artwork sure as hell would have worn gloves. And if I went to the police—who’s to say Lofty wouldn’t lose
his
tail or maybe his tail
and
his ears, in payback? Nope. Not worth the risk.

“Katrina?” Scuzz persisted and heaved himself off the sofa. “If you are not going to ring the police, at least let
me
help. I have connections.”

Hmm…biker connections? I took another sip of coffee before attempting to get my head around that one.

Too strong, no sugar, but what the hell...

The man-mountain’s dark eyes held mine. “When you opened the front door, did you see the number plate on the car?”

With an effort I forced the cobwebs from my mind and focused on Scuzz’s question. “All I saw was the shape of a car screaming through the gateway.”

“Was the vehicle a sedan, van, utility, SUV…?”

I sighed and shook my head. At the time I’d been too mesmerized by the bloody bouquet to notice anything else. “I
think
it was a van. But I’m not a hundred percent sure. It was dark.”

“Damn.” His scowl could have sent Genghis Kahn scurrying for cover. He looked up, must have seen the fear in my eyes, because his voice immediately gentled. “Hey, don’t worry, Katrina.” He laid his hands on my shoulder and squeezed. “The sick bastard was probably driving a stolen car with a bogus number plate anyway.”

“If I had my way I’d wrap his bogus number plate around his bogus head.” I banged my fist on the table, slopping coffee onto the offending note. “I can’t drug my dogs, Scuzz. It goes against all my principles.”

“Easy, my darling,” he crooned, continuing to knead the muscles in my shoulders.

“I can’t do anything that might hurt Lofty. He trusts me.” I sniffed, wiped my nose with the back of one hand.

“Come here.” Scuzz took me in a bear hug. Along with the comforting feel of soft leather nestled against my cheek, his hard safe muscles made me wish I could stay wrapped in his arms forever. Of course I had to finally come up for air and when I did he offered me a handkerchief the size of a tablecloth.

“Why me?”

Even to my own ears that whine sounded like one of Ben’s bimbos? Especially the blonde ones with the big hair who bleated
why me
every time they broke a fingernail. Still, with a madman looking to break not only my fingernail but possibly an entire set of fingers, I guess whining was permissible.

“I do not know why he’s fixated on you, Kat. But I can promise you one thing—this monster will not get near you while
I’m
around.”

I stood on tip-toe and kissed him on the cheek. “Thanks, Scuzz.”

“Thank
you
.” He winked and sat down. “Now, why don’t you give that sappy boyfriend of yours a call? See what he suggests.”

“Boyfriend?”

“The cowboy. The one with the boots and the hat and jeans that fit like a glove.”

“Ben’s not my boyfriend.” I sighed. “He’s just a good mate.”

“Oh.” Scuzz lifted a quirky eyebrow. “Well, do you know your good mate’s telephone number?”

“Does the sun set in the west?” I said and picked up the phone and dialed Ben’s number.

16

Finally Ben’s answering-machine kicked in. It advised me that he, Benjamin Taylor, was in the shower and to leave a message after the beep.

“Ben. It’s Kat. I—”

He picked up before I finished, his surly
Yeah
making my stomach twist in apprehension.

“Ben, I need to talk to you.”

“So… talk.”

Damn…he sounded grumpy. Probably still upset over Scuzz humiliating him. Or was he jealous because he imagined the giant biker and I were into something a little more intimate than the mutual admiration of his black-and-silver Harley?

In your dreams, McKinley…

“Sorry if I’ve caught you in the shower,” I told him. “I did try ringing Tanya but
Devil’s Spawn
reckons her Mum’s in Melbourne. She says her Gran had an accident—fell down the stairs and broke he leg.”

Ben didn’t answer so I snatched a breath and plunged onwards, spurred on by the murderer’s blood-stained threat staring up at me from the coffee table. Mismatched letters cut from a magazine.

“It’s just—”

“Kat, I know you regard me as a mate,” Ben broke in, his words tight and clipped. “But if you plan on discussing a blow by blow description of what happened in bed between you and that gorilla—leave it until Tanya gets back.
She
might be interested in your sex life.
I’m
not.”