Woof at the Door (18 page)

I’d barely made it onto Beach Boulevard before my phone rang.

“Ms. Wilde, this is Aaron Stein.” The Richardsons’ lawyer. Great.

“Yes?”

“I was asked, by my client, to check in with you. Regarding the matter you spoke about
yesterday.”

“Well, it’s nice to know Gardenia is as patient as she is kind.”

If he picked up on my thinly veiled sarcasm, he didn’t let on, commenting with only
a mild “Indeed.”

“Here’s an idea. Maybe your boss should keep her garters on and stop pushing people.
I’ll call her when I have something to say.” I flipped my phone closed and spent the
next few minutes impugning Gardenia Richardson under my breath.

By the time I reached Burke’s house, I had calmed down, but not so much to make me
think twice about pounding on his door extra hard with the toe of my shoe when he
didn’t answer.

Irritated, I marched back to Bluebell. I climbed in and rifled around for a pen. Finally
finding a discarded envelope in my door’s side pocket, I started to write Burke a
nice but firm note requesting he contact me. As I scribbled, I noticed a group of
young gangster wannabes watching me from the yard across the street.

I’ve been around predators long enough to know when I was being sized up as prey.
The tallest thug—a tall, muscled, black guy wearing a wife-beater and pants so baggy
he had to grasp the front of them to keep them from collapsing to his ankles—ogled
me with a hostile smirk. A second, smaller, hoodlum took a slow drag from his cigarette
and muttered something to the rest. They all glanced at him, and I knew who was alpha
of the hostile little pack.

He flicked his cigarette and started forward.

Crap
.

The driver’s door to Bluebell was still open. The dogs, sensing my unease, stood at
attention in the backseat. Of course, I could have just shut the door and driven away.
But I’m not easily intimidated and I tend to be foolishly stubborn when it comes to
standing my ground.

Oh, and I had two lethal weapons at my command.

Never turning my back to the thugs, I slid out of the seat, shut my door, and opened
the back.

Moss. Jax. Come
.

I hadn’t really needed to summon them. Both canines readily leapt from the truck and
moved to flank me.

With my sunglasses shading my eyes, I was able to watch the thugs’ reaction without
locking anyone in a stare-down. Not only was there a stop in forward motion, but the
lead thug muttered an expletive as his eyes widened.

Lead Hoodlum’s gaze never left Moss as he slipped backward through the gate and eased
it closed. Maybe his animal instinct was still acute enough to know when he was on
the wrong end of the evolutionary chain, or maybe he just didn’t think one white girl
was worth the trouble I obviously brought with me, but he backed off.

Moss moved a step forward, lowered his head a fraction, and I knew he was giving the
hoodlums his “go ahead . . . make my day” stare.

As if they were trying to harmonize, both canines uttered deep growls.

The thugs coolly retreated and didn’t look at me again.

I clipped the leashes on the dogs and led them around Bluebell toward Burke’s house.

Guard
. Jax didn’t like turning away from the obvious threat, but I wanted to stuff the
note in the door and get out of there, so I pulled him with me, with both the lead
and my mind.

It’s okay. Leave it
. I tried to calm him, but he was uneasy. I decided to leave my note in the side door
that led into the house from the carport. I figured Burke used that entrance more—and
was it closer.

With part one of my brain telling Jax we’d be leaving soon and another asking Moss
to keep an eye on the thugs, I was having a hard time sliding the folded note into
the crack of the door.

If only I had sticky notes like Mr. Cavan-ass.

I tried the door handle, thinking there might be some give if I pushed it . . .

Unlocked.

In this neighborhood?

I stood staring as the door swung in.

“Mr. Burke?”

Moss, stay
. For once, he did as I asked. My wolf-dog sat, gaze directed across the street, his
eyes locked on the thugs. I kept Jax with me as I stepped inside.

Oddly, Jax’s anxiety seemed to fade as he sniffed around the tiny kitchen.

Mine didn’t.

The cabinet doors hung open, revealing sparse, if any, contents. The counters were
littered with newspapers, cups, plates, and other kitchen gadgets. At first, I thought
that Burke had been robbed—which would explain the door being unlocked, but then I
noticed the cardboard box. It had
KITCHEN
written on the side in bold, block letters.

Alexander Burke was moving.

I took another few steps into the kitchen. “Hello?”

There was no answer, no movement or noise at all. My heart started to thud hard in
my chest. The feeling of wrongness and disquiet pressed down like a lead cloak.

Jax agreed.
Guard
.

Maybe he was just picking up on my unease, but his mind had suddenly become a tangle
of agitation. He wanted to go farther into the house to investigate. He wanted to
stay to protect me. He was troubled by the sudden uncertainty I felt.

“Shit.” I didn’t like sneaking around in someone else’s house. I really didn’t like
the feeling of dread that clutched my chest like the talons of a raptor.

Without meaning to, I had crossed the kitchen. My hand sat ready to push open the
swinging door that led to the rest of the house. I hesitated and started to back up,
but Jax had become focused on moving forward through the door. The desire was so intense,
I felt my arm react before I could stop it from shoving the door open.

The smell hit me first, stealing what was left of my breath.

Death.

I started to take a step back, get the hell out of Dodge, and call the cops, when
I saw him.

“Oh God.”

Alexander Burke was seated at a small, wooden desk. Part of his head was gone. His
remaining eye was rolled back. Cast up as if he was looking to heaven.

The window next to the desk was splattered with blood. In a part of my mind that had,
in self-defense, separated from reality, I noticed the bright light streaming in cast
an odd-patterned red tint to the room, like stained glass. On the floor near Burke’s
feet, a gun was spotlighted by the macabre beam.

Jax’s low whimper snatched me back from my stunned detachment. The dog’s dismay hit
me like a charging bull. My stomach clenched and roiled. Bile clogged my throat. I
was swamped by a wave of nausea.

Moss must have heard or felt the shocked cry that slipped from my throat, because
he was at my side ready to defend or assist. I slapped my hand over my mouth, turned,
and stumbled through the kitchen.

I’d barely made it outside before doubling over and upchucking all over Detective
Jake Nocera’s brown loafers.

“Jesus H. Christ!” He lurched back several steps.

Eyes watering, shaking and dizzy I struggled to breathe.

“Grace?” I heard Kai’s voice, felt a steady hand clasp my upper arm. My eyes still
closed, I focused on that one point—letting Kai’s firm hand be my anchor.

Slowly, I straightened and opened my eyes. I glanced at Jake, then turned to Kai.
His face was set and nearly unreadable. The only signs of worry, the slight pinch
between his brow and the question in his intense gaze.

“Alexander Burke has been murdered.”

CHAPTER 13

I should have known dropping the M-word was a bad idea. After I said it, I realized
my mistake. I should have said, “Alexander Burke is dead.” Instead, I had said “murdered,”
which is very different—especially to cops.

“How do you know he was murdered?” Kai asked for the second time. He was sitting on
the passenger side of Bluebell’s bench seat. I’d told him if he wanted to ask me questions,
he could do so just as easily out of the heat. So there we sat, me looking out at
the ever-increasing activity in and around Alexander Burke’s house, and Kai staring
at me the way a cat watches a mouse hole. Focused. Patient. Composed. Knowing his
prey would eventually emerge. Then he would have what he was after.

The air conditioner rattled as it struggled to pump out cool air. The dogs sat in
the backseat panting quietly.

It was actually Jax’s fault that I had announced Burke’s murder the way I did. After
all, it was his canine sense of smell and understanding of things humans cannot that
led me to that conclusion.

Death leaves a mark. Murder leaves a stain. An indelible tear in the fabric of a place
that is violent and raw. Dogs can sense it. I knew Burke had been murdered because
Jax knew. But I wasn’t about to tell Kai that.

I shrugged. “I don’t know. He was murdered, wasn’t he?”

Answering a question with a question doesn’t work with law enforcement. My attempted
deflection had the opposite effect. Kai’s face, already a blank mask, took on a harder
edge. He pinned me with his gaze but said nothing. The silence stretched out to fill
the space between us as thick and solid as Hadrian’s Wall.

I weighed my options. Kai knew I was holding out on him. He was clearly prepared to
pursue me like a bloodhound to get answers. I could either keep being vague and cagey,
which would probably only pique his interest, or I could come up with an explanation.

Well, when you can’t beat’um . . . lie.

“Okay. I’ll tell you why I think he was murdered. But you won’t believe me.”

Kai straightened. “I’m listening.”

“Jax knew Burke was murdered.”

“Jax.” That single word held a mountain of doubt.

“Just hear me out. There’s a theory out there that dogs can pick up on things that
linger after death.”

“You mean pheromones?”

“Pheromones and . . . other things.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know . . . stuff.” I felt a twinge of insecurity, but banished it with a
deep breath. I had to express this idea, but had to be careful not to say too much.
I couldn’t explain the feeling of violent wrongness that lingered after someone’s
life was ripped from them. I’d felt it only because Jax had. Science was something
Kai understood. So I tried to think of a scientific example.

“You can hear my voice and understand me. Why?”

Kai gazed at me, baffled, for a few moments then he finally said, “The vibrations
of your vocal cords produce sound waves, which are picked up by my inner ear.”

“And?”

“And your mouth forms words in a language that I understand.”

“But
why
does it work?”

He paused. “Because my brain has the ability to decipher the raw material that is
speech.” I watched as understanding slowly crept into his eyes. “So you’re saying
a dog’s brain can interpret some sort of lingering aura? The same way that we understand
voices as language?”

“That’s the idea.”

“But how?”

“I haven’t got a clue.”

Kai studied me for a moment, the way I’d come to understand meant he was dissecting
every word I said. Frowning, he asked, “But how did you know? Jax didn’t tell you,
‘Hey, that dead guy was murdered,’ right?”

Wrong.
“He did actually. His behavior told me.” Now I had to layer a pinch of extra BS into
my little story. “I’ve seen it before, with bloodhounds. They freak. Dead is dead.
But violent death . . . it affects dogs. So I saw the body, and because of Jax’s reaction,
I made the assumption.”

“Your conclusion was based on a different set of factors,” Kai muttered.

I didn’t follow that. I thought my factors couldn’t be that different from his. I
mean, Burke was dead. Part of his head was blown off. It seemed obvious to me.

“But there’s only one problem with that.”

“What?”

“If you’re right, then we’re wrong.”

“What do you mean?”

“There was a suicide note next to the body.”

“What?”

“Preliminary findings suggest Alexander Burke shot himself.”

“No.” I was shaking my head. It wasn’t possible. Burke had been murdered.

“The evidence disagrees.”

“Just because there’s a note?”

“A note. And gunshot residue on his hand.”

“So he fired the gun?”

“It looks like it.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“Maybe your theory is wrong. Or you misinterpreted Jax’s reaction.”

I didn’t believe that. Nothing else feels like murder. At least nothing I’d ever experienced.
A thought cut into my confusion. “Why were you and Jake here? Did someone call the
cops?”

“No.” His succinct answer and the way he glanced away from me spoke volumes. He and
Jake had come to Burke’s house for a specific purpose.

Now it was my turn to wait in silence.

He turned back toward me, and locked his gaze with mine. “We came here to search the
house.”

“For what?”

“Financial records. And LaBryce Walker’s gun.”

I remembered the glint of metal on the floor next to Burke’s body. Shining like a
jewel—LaBryce’s gun. “You found it.”

“We did.”

I closed my eyes and leaned my head back on the seat. LaBryce’s gun was next to the
body. And I, in all my stupidity, was insisting Burke was murdered. A thought occurred
to me. “Wait. You can’t think LaBryce did anything. He’s been in jail.”

“I can’t be sure of anything at this point. But I know the ME estimates time of death
to be between three and four days ago.”

“The same night Mark was killed?” Did he think LaBryce had killed Burke? “I see. So
when I tell you Burke was murdered, you consider it. But when I tell you LaBryce is
innocent, you ignore it. Convenient. Do you always manipulate the evidence to suit
your theories, or is this a special case?”

He stared at me as if I’d slapped him.

“I need to talk to LaBryce,” I said.

“About?”

“His pet jaguar is now my responsibility. I need to talk to him about Charm.” Kai’s
face was unreadable but his silence grated on my nerves. “Can I see him or not?”

“He’s being taken back to custody right now. I’ll go with you.”

“Don’t you need to stay here and look for clues?” I really wanted him out of my car.

“Burke’s not going anywhere.” He settled in and, by buckling his seat belt, all but
said I was not getting rid of him.

I stared at him for a moment and tried to figure out what he thought he could possibly
gain by keeping an eye on me. Did Kai think I had something to do with Burke’s death?
Was he hoping I’d fold under his scrutiny?

I put Bluebell in gear. “I have to drop off the dogs. Unless you want me to leave
them in your office.”

I’d meant the last as a sarcastic barb. Kai didn’t seem to get it. “Fine with me.
Let’s go.”

• • •

The Police Memorial Building was busier in the middle of the day. Phones rang. People
walked around with fast-food bags and coffee mugs. My canine escorts and I received
some questioning looks, but we quickly deposited the dogs in Kai’s office.

“Lock the door,” I instructed as we walked out. Kai didn’t ask why, proving he was
smart.

He walked me to an interview room and asked me to wait. I sat at the table and drummed
my fingers on its smooth top. Time seemed to crawl by.

I looked around the small room and noticed a bubble on the ceiling. It held a camera,
I assumed. I realized, as I looked at it, why Kai had not objected to my request to
see LaBryce. The police couldn’t question him without his lawyer. But I could.

Kai was hoping LaBryce would let something slip while he was talking to me. Great.

I heard the door open, but I kept my gaze on the bubble for a second longer. “I hope
you’re paying attention,” I said to the camera.

My friend shuffled into the room. LaBryce is a big guy, but he seemed diminished somehow.
His face brightened some when he saw me and folded into a smile. “Hey, Grace.”

“Hey. How you doing?” I asked as he lowered himself into the chair across from me.

“Okay, I guess. My lawyer says the state attorney is messing with me. Stalling. They
charged me with endangerment or somethin’. ’Cuz Charm was out the other night. The
judge keeps blowing me off. Won’t let me ask for bond.”

I had a feeling I knew who was pulling that string. “You’re up against some power
players.”

“Yeah. The governor.”

I was thinking of his wife but, six of one . . . “I found Alexander.”

“Good. What’d that little shit have to say for himself?”

“Not much.”

LaBryce shook his head in disgust. “As soon as I can find someone else to take care
of Charm, I’m going to fire his ass.”

“He’s dead.”

LaBryce blinked at me as the words traveled from ear to brain. “What?”

“The cops think you killed him.”

“What?” He shook his head. “Nuh-uh. No way.”

“I know you didn’t do it.”

“What the . . . These jokers think I killed Mark
and
Alex?” He gaped at me, shocked. “I’ve been here. This is bullshit. I didn’t kill
anybody.”

“I know that. You’re not a murderer.” I reached across the table and covered one beefy
hand with both of mine.

After a long pause, I asked, “LaBryce, what happened to your gun?”

He lowered his eyes and shook his head.

“It wasn’t stolen, was it? Who’d you give it to?”

“Mark.”

“Why?”

“He said he needed it.”

“For what? Was he afraid of someone?” I squeezed his hand, though what I really wanted
to do was reach across the table and strangle him for not telling the cops the truth.
But who was I to throw stones?

After a few slow breaths, he looked up. “He said he was getting his own gun, but he
had to deal with the waiting period.”

“Why did he need a gun?” This seemed very significant to me and I shot a quick
are you getting this?
glance at the camera bubble.

“He said something about getting phone calls at night. Hang-ups.”

“No threats? Just hang-ups?”

“He just said they’d call and hang up. At, like, three in the morning.”

I thought about what Bo had said about a stalker and asked LaBryce what he knew.

“Mark never said anything about that. All he said was that he got calls, and one time,
something had spooked his dog, Jax. Someone outside sneaking around.” LaBryce let
out a loud snort, like a Grizzly. “I thought he wanted the gun to flash, you know,
to scare ’um off if they came back. It’s a big gun.”

“Why didn’t you tell the police?”

“I don’t know. I was afraid whoever killed Mark might have used my gun. How would
that look?”

“Bad. It all looks really bad, LaBryce.”

“I know. I’m stupid.”

“Not all the time.” I smiled. “But it’s not as if the police are looking at anyone
else.”

“No alibi. Except Charm. Makes me an easy target.”

I felt a pang. Guilt poking its accusatory finger right into my chest. “It doesn’t
help that you threatened to kill Mark in a room full of people the same night he was
murdered.”

A look passed over my friend’s smooth, dark face. Guilt? Shame? Did he feel bad that
his last words to his friend were filled with malice?

“It was a setup.”

“What was a setup?”

“The interview, the argument, all of it. For the hype.”

I had to let that sink in. “You mean you pretended to be mad and fight with Mark because
you wanted publicity?”

“Well, no. Yes. I mean, it was planned. I knew Mark was going to be interviewed. He
told me he was going to make it sound like we were rivals. Enemies. Then after a while,
we were going to come together and make up. But when I read the article, I’d been
drinking and I got mad for real. I wasn’t supposed to get in a fight with him until
the night of this charity thing that’s coming up. That was going to kick it off.”