3 Panthers Play for Keeps (12 page)
Read 3 Panthers Play for Keeps Online
Authors: Clea Simon
She wasn’t, and I took that as good news. I’m not above a little primping, and I’ll confess, I had fluffed my hair a bit, tucked in my shirt, as I made my way up to Laurel Kroft’s door. If she’d been there, I’d already have an edge—our friendly neighborhood detective doesn’t like to be stood up, especially when he’s on the job. I’d already decided that I’d be gracious. A nod and a smile to Creighton. A soft aside about trust. Then I’d take Spot, as if for our regular training session. Maybe I’d even throw in something about how I’d changed my schedule, because of the circumstances. That might be pushing it though. Jim knew I was reliable. Predictable? No, that I never wanted.
But there was no sign of her fancy SUV when I’d parked, and when I rang the bell it was Jim who answered, looking a little red in the face and ruffled.
“Hoping for someone else, Jim?” I only brushed him slightly as I walked past. Wallis couldn’t have done it better. “I did tell you I’d come by.”
“You did.” He wasn’t going to thank me, so I let it go. Instead, I walked over to where Spot sat on his rug. He’d looked up with more longing than my sometime-lover, and so he got the caress as I knelt by his side.
“Want to go out?” I cradled his heavy jaw in my hands. Silently, as I stared into those dark eyes, other questions formed:
“What’s going on here? What happened?”
“I don’t think you should leave, Pru.” Creighton was standing behind me. I stood and turned toward him.
“Don’t worry, Jim. I’m not leaving.” He hadn’t backed away, and we were close. I’m tall, almost as tall as he is, but I made myself focus on his eyes. “Not while you want me here.”
He looked down then, and took a step back. Pity.
“I’m on a case, Pru.” He rubbed his hand over his face, and I realized then how tired he was. “That girl was dumped.”
“I know.” I did. “I’m sorry.” I slumped against one of Laurel Kroft’s uncomfortable-looking chairs, no longer on the attack. But something was bothering me. Something Wallis had said. “Jim, how sure are you really that the cause of death was an animal mauling?”
He looked up, eyes tired. “I thought you were the one saying that the whole thing might have been an animal attack? That a wild cat must have moved her?”
I shook my head. “Something about the wounds.” It was hard to think. Creighton’s presence didn’t make it easier. “Cougars don’t—” I stopped, unsure of what exactly was bothering me. “Just seems wrong somehow.” It was the best I could manage, but I could feel Creighton’s eyes on me. He’d heard me stop myself.
“Hey,” I said, after a moment’s pause, “I really should take this dog out. Just for a minute.” I was trying to change the subject. It was also true.
Creighton waited a split second before he nodded, and Spot thumped his tail on his mat. I was back in a moment with his lead. At my nod, he stood, and I snapped it on. Creighton was watching us, but his mind was elsewhere, I could tell.
“Jim, I’ll be back as soon as Spot has relieved himself.” He nodded. “We’ll talk, okay?”
I needed to work fast, but it was hard to stop thinking about the man inside the house as I walked Spot down to the street. On one level, I believed him: I had a too vivid memory of what had happened to Mariela Gomez to wish her forgotten. At the same time, I didn’t understand why Creighton was so distressed about Laurel Kroft. Well, I had some ideas, but not ones that I liked. As far as I was concerned, the pretty shrink could take care of herself.
“She thought so
.”
The voice came so strong and so clear, I stopped short.
“Spot?” I looked down. He was sniffing a tree trunk, which he proceeded to water. “Are you talking about Lauren?”
I pictured my rival, focusing on her honey-blonde hair, on that golden shearling coat. I tried to keep my own mixed emotions out of my mind, but some of them must have leached through. What I got back was confused and a little frightened.
“I’m sorry, Spot.” I knelt by his side, putting my hand on the velvety spot right behind his ears. “Let’s try again.” I closed my eyes. Creighton, if he were watching us, wouldn’t likely see that. He’d only see me, the trainer, kneeling beside the dog. Something normal, in other words.
“My job
.” He pushed his head against my hand.
“Let me work
.”
“I’m sorry.” This was a dog who wanted to be exercised. Who needed to keep occupied. Laurel had clearly been leaving him alone too long. At least, she had today. “When did she leave?” I visualized that blonde hair, again. This time, from the back, walking out. Walking through the front door.
“My job. I wanted to do my job
.” Yes, of course, he had wanted to go with her. Unless…
“Are you saying she needed you?” A soft whimper. I wasn’t being clear. “Laurel needed you to do your job…with her?”
A little more pressure on my hand, the canine equivalent of a head butt. I cursed Laurel Kroft silently. She’d not only left this dog alone, but she’d gone off to do something that he felt he should be doing with her.
Had she gone to the Haigens? Spot was smart enough to pick up Richard Haigen’s increasing disability. It was possible. It also fit with what I had suspected—that Laurel knew something more than she’d told me or Jim.
“She doesn’t…She wants out
.” The words I was hearing were making no sense. Whatever Spot was trying to communicate was beyond his ability to translate. I leaned forward, putting my forehead against Spot’s warm fur.
The improved contact paid off. I saw the gold of Laurel’s hair, or maybe her coat—that sheepskin must have made quite an impression on the shepherd mix. I sensed urgency. Well, she’d blown off Creighton. Me as well, so something had been pressing.
I closed my eyes, waiting for the rest. A visual. Some sense of who else was involved, but all I got was that need to push, to break out. Something had to happen. Something was waiting. And that’s when I felt it, like a wave breaking over a seawall, as golden and lush as Laurel’s blonde locks. Only it wasn’t warm. It wasn’t comforting. There was something wild in the rush and the charge. And something very like fear.
“Pru?” Creighton was standing in the door. I’d been squatting here for several minutes, my thighs as well as the tone of his voice let me know.
“Hold your horses,” I barked back. I’d been locked into something with Spot, and I hadn’t yet plumbed the depths. “We’re coming.”
I looked down at the dog. He looked up, eyes wide and trusting. He’d been scared, scared and strangely exhilarated. He’d also been worried about Laurel; that was a big part of his fear. But the anger? The jealousy? There was too much I didn’t understand, but maybe my attempt had done some good. His big tail swiped a few happy wags as I signaled him to stand and follow me. A burden shared is a burden halved, they say. The fact that I had no idea what the service dog had laid on me didn’t make me feel any better, though. With a shrug and a smile, one for me, one for Spot, I led him back inside.
“I erased it,” I told Creighton for what had to be the third time. “I’m sorry, Jim. I just wasn’t thinking.” I hadn’t been, although in retrospect it had been a smart move. “I did call Laurel a few times, and I gather she called me back while I was with Doc Sharpe in County. She left me a message, but there wasn’t anything of substance in it, and I erased it. I don’t know what else I can tell you.”
Jim Creighton has the bluest eyes. Light. Clear. More true than a robin’s egg. More blue, even, than the newish paint job on my GTO. Yet, despite their cool color, they can be surprisingly warm—the blue spark revealing the heat inside the cop exterior. I’m a dark girl, in more ways than one, but I’d grown fond of those eyes. Susceptible, even, when they looked at me a certain way, the skin crinkling around them in a wicked smile.
They weren’t smiling now, and I was reminded just how cold blue can be. Cold and maybe a little sad. Jim Creighton was disappointed in me, and I felt a twinge of something that might be called regret.
“What?” I heard the snark in my voice. I don’t like feeling vulnerable. “You think if you stare at me long enough, I’ll change my story?” He opened his mouth to speak. I felt a wave of dread. This was it. Something final. Something bad. “So your new girl stood you up, is that it? And you’ve got to blame someone, so you’re looking at me.”
It wasn’t pretty, and it wasn’t smart. Wallis could have told me that I’d lose it at some point. From the look on Creighton’s face, I just had.
“You think that’s what this is about, Pru? Really?” There was no softness in his voice. No sympathy. “You think that everything I do revolves around…” He closed his mouth, the muscles in his jaw working. Usually, I see that, I want to get close. Not right now. “This side of you worries me,” he said finally. “Professionally.”
“Wait, what?” This wasn’t what I’d expected. “You think I did something out of—what—jealousy?” I could hear my voice ramping up, the pitch climbing. “You think I’ve got her tied up in my attic? Wanna check it out?”
For a moment, there, I saw a flash of a smile. Jim knew my shambling old house well by now. He knew my attic, too. A hot flush climbed to my face as I remembered the day he’d helped me reshingle a northside eave, and how we’d celebrated in an impromptu manner while waiting for the plaster inside to dry. That was back when we still talked and laughed during our nights together. Before our trysts became both silent and single-minded.
“I’m not trying to drag you back.” Now it was my pride that was hurt, as much as anything. I’ve never been good at talking, and I seemed to have lost whatever knack I’d once had. “I didn’t mean…” It was hopeless. I waved off the rest of the sentence.
His face softened. “I don’t believe you’ve intended harm to Laurel. To Dr. Kroft.” I kept my face neutral as he corrected himself. That slip said it all. “I do know you well enough to know you’re hiding something from me, Pru. Trust me on that.”
We were standing, back in the blond-on-blond living room. He’d had me crate Spot, which wasn’t necessary. Then again, maybe it was just as well. I was still getting those strange signals from Spot, and I could sense his intense curiosity about our little drama. Neither of us needed the distraction.
“I’m not hiding anything.” My voice broke as I said it, and I looked to Spot.
“Go?”
Yeah, well, I’d have loved to. He must have caught some of that, because he whined, ever so softly. Jim, meanwhile, was picking up on other signals.
“Pru.” He’d stepped closer to me, took my arm. Spot whined again, a little louder, and I felt my eyes begin to sting. “Come on.”
It was pity. Pity or—I had a flash of Wallis, her green eyes glittering—tactics. I couldn’t let myself forget: Creighton was a cop. I was a suspect. I stepped back.
“Forget it, Jim.” I pushed my hair back from my face. Blinked to clear my sight. “Look, if you want to charge me or anything, you know where to find me. Otherwise, I should take Spot here.” The dog stood at the mention of his name. “Letting him out to pee is not the same as giving him exercise. And I’ve got a job to do, too.”
Laurel Kroft would come back at some point, and I had no desire to witness their reunion. I didn’t even want to question her anymore, but I’d make myself go through with that, as soon as she surfaced. Right now, I just wanted out.
“What the hell…” I was driving too fast, and I knew it. Spot, seated beside me, was looking at me instead of the scenery, and I could tell he was trying to make sense of the confused jumble of emotions in my head.
I hit a curve and leaned into it. Second nature for me, but when I heard his claws scrambling for traction on the leather I made myself slow down. No sense in taking out my mood on the one creature innocent of sparking it. Besides, I should be using the drive to for some prep work.
“Sorry, Spot.” I glanced over. Those dark doggy eyes had so much soul. “I know, you didn’t ask for this.” He settled in, and I kept talking. I’d been the one to bring him to Laurel. I’d gotten him involved in all of this. Some of the confusion I had picked up had to be from his divided loyalty. Here I was, training him to devote himself solely to one person. And now I was battling with his caregiver in one of the most basic competitions there could be. “You’ve never fought over a mate, have you?”
Nothing. He’d been neutered as a puppy. I knew that. Still, both Growler and Wallis had taught me not to confuse desire with the ability to procreate. Besides, he had already referenced what I was feeling once before.
“You know ‘jealousy,’” I said now. If I could get it all out, I’d feel better. On top of everything else, I didn’t need to screw up this pooch, too. “You told me…”
I went back to what Wallis had said after Spot and I had found Mariela. “She’s jealous,” Wallis had noted, once I was home. I had assumed my tabby was referring to the killer, that she had been channeling Spot’s impressions, translating them into something easier for me to understand. She had done that for me before, and it seemed to fit the scenario. Mariela had been young and pretty, especially dressed in something other than her maid’s outfit. In retrospect, though, maybe I had it wrong. Maybe Wallis had been talking about Laurel, picking up her negative feelings about the command I had over Spot—or over Creighton. Or maybe she’d been talking about me. Wallis loves me, as much as she is able. She’s also pretty unsentimental about how she views the world, quite capable of referring to me in the third person by saying, “she’s jealous.” That would be her way of softening the blow.
Poor Spot. No wonder he had no idea what was going on. Only, of course, that Laurel was missing.
“What happened?” I had come full circle. “What can you tell me, Spot? Where did she go?”
I reached over to give his broad back a companionable pet and felt him adjust in the seat in response. I left my hand there, and asked again. It didn’t matter. I got the same mix of urgency and confusion, a rising tension. We were driving past the preservation land now, and the air had to be redolent of wildlife—not to mention memories. I didn’t need Spot to remind me of Mariela, or to make me believe that the pretty girl’s death had sparked Laurel’s disappearance. The question remained—where did she go?
We, at any rate, were headed to the Haigens. I wanted to get back to those outbuildings, and I wanted Spot’s good nose with me. If Laurel had been back around there, he would pick up on it. Hell, if anything else was going on there, his strong hound instincts would probably let me know. Because, let’s be honest, Mariela worked in the house of a wealthy man and his beleaguered wife. If anyone was going to be jealous, it very well might be Dierdre Haigen. Though what Laurel Kroft had to do with the brittle brunette, I didn’t know.
I was nearing the turnoff now for the Haigens. I’d let my speed creep back up, more from pleasure in the open road than from anger at this point. The drive had relaxed me, Spot’s quiet company the balm I needed. Therefore, it was a jolt when I saw him, pulling out and speeding by me. The red Maserati. I didn’t know why I’d thought he’d have left town. I still didn’t really know why he was here. But Gregor—excuse me, “Bill”—Benazi had just pulled out of the exit that lead from the Haigens’ estate. He’d passed me going fifty, at least, accelerating fast as he turned onto the highway.
I didn’t know if he’d seen me. I’d only been alerted by the fire-engine color of his car. I’d seen his face as he raced past though, and it stuck with me as I watched him disappear into my rearview. He was, as I’d noted before, a handsome man, the cragginess of age only adding to his character. Just now, though, he didn’t look suave and he certainly didn’t look kind. The snapshot in my mind showed a mouth set in a tight, thin line. A furrowed brow that bore down like thunder, and eyes that could have sparked lightning. He was the one accelerating, and I pitied the trooper who tried to pull him over. What had driven the dapper gangster into a rage?