Woof at the Door (14 page)

All because I was afraid.

On an impulse that shocked me as much as it did him, I leaned into Hugh, stretched
up onto my toes, and bussed a kiss on his cheek. “Thanks for caring.”

I stepped back and watched his stunned look morph into a slow grin. It dawned on me
that I might have given him the wrong impression.

Crap!

Without comment, I turned away and walked out of the room.

• • •

I didn’t have time to drive back to Burke’s house before Jax’s appointment. But I
planned on stopping by later if I could. With or without Hugh. Thinking about him
made me want to bang my head against a wall.

Why couldn’t I have a fraction of insight when it came to people? I’d wanted to apologize
for how unfair I’d acted—instead I’d managed to come on to him.

“Brilliant, Grace,” I said to myself as I climbed into Bluebell.

The dogs greeted me with curiosity as I slid behind the wheel. They could smell every
animal Hugh had been near during the day and sniffed and snuffled with interest at
my shoulder—the only part of me available from where they stood in the backseat.

“Okay, okay, enough.”

Bird . . . bear . . . musk . . .
The thoughts zipped from one to the other.

“Sit. Go.” I waved my hand and tried to disregard the excited buzz of their minds.
It can be distracting to drive with so much noise. I could shield my mind when I had
to, but it took so much concentration I was nearly incapable of doing anything else.

Emma had tried to get me to sit in when her
Sensei
taught meditation and focusing techniques, but I didn’t think I’d be into it. Every
time I tried to meditate, I just kept thinking of things I could be doing instead.

Oh, well, I had to rely on my own methods. Like a mother with rowdy kids, I just tuned
out Moss and Jax as I headed down Main Street.

When we finally pulled into the shady parking lot of the Humane Society, I was feeling
a little worn out. Too many things going on at the same time. Not that I wasn’t used
to running around a lot with my job. But the personal revelations were starting to
wear on me. I was tired mentally. It was only three o’clock, and I was ready to call
it a day. Usually, I went for a good book to escape, but right then I wanted to watch
TV with a bag of Zapp’s chips and a beer. Let my mind check out for a while.

But that was not to be. I had to get Jax evaluated and then go take care of a client
with a peeved Persian. I led the dogs to the back of the large brick building. I knocked
hard on the metal door with the toe of my tennis shoe and stepped back. Jax and Moss
sat obediently as they waited for the door to open.

The afternoon sun was relentlessly strong, even in the shade. The dogs panted loudly,
and I could feel a sheen of sweat begin to form under my clothes. Finally, the door
was pushed open, and we were greeted by cool air-conditioning and a tall, smiling
black woman.

Sonja Brown, blessed with high cheekbones, burnished ebony skin, and a build that
was somehow both willowy and strong, was striking. And that was before you added the
gigantic gold disk earrings and alarmingly turquoise scrubs. An animal behaviorist
with the Humane Society, Sonja was down to earth, solid, upbeat, and dependable. She
was one of my few friends, and had a knack for evaluating aggression in dogs.

“Hey, girl!” Sonja’s smile was wide and toothy, with a gap in the front that lent
her a youthful, mischievous air. She ushered us inside and knelt down to allow Moss
to nudge under her chin affectionately. “
Monsieur
Moss, I guess you’re expecting a treat?”

“Only because every time he sees you, he gets fed.” I shook my head but couldn’t help
grinning. “It doesn’t help to spoil him. He’s hard enough to live with.”

Sonja stroked Moss’s head, her hand a dark contrast to his snowy fur. “Anytime you
get tired of him, he can always come home with me.” She reached into her scrub pocket
and pulled out a dog bone. Moss took it gently and then trotted off to the corner
of the room to enjoy his snack.

Sonja’s gaze slid over and came to rest on Jax. He returned her gaze with mild curiosity.
“Is this your newest refugee?”

I grinned and patted the dog’s head. “Yeah, I think he’s going to be fine; at least
he is with me. I was hoping you could run a few tests on him. See how he reacts to
a stranger.”

“Has he shown signs of aggression?”

“Only when I first got him. I’m not sure if his hostility is a passing thing, but
I need to find out what his weaknesses are so I can work on them.”

Sonja nodded and walked over to the counter and started opening a can of moist dog
food. “So, how’s the consulting business?”

“Good. The number of people out there who need help understanding their pets is huge.
I’m always shocked at people’s ignorance.” I leaned against the counter to watch Sonja
scoop a couple of spoonfuls of wet food into a red plastic bowl.

“Well, we can’t all have your talent.”

I shrugged. “At least it pays well.” Not wanting to talk about my talents, I changed
the subject. “I’ve saved enough for a down payment on a house.”

“That’s good. Soon you’ll be able to keep all the strays you find.”

I huffed out a laugh. “I hope you’re wrong. Or I’ll end up with a zoo.”

“Oh, you will, believe me. I keep adding to my crew, and my place only has two bedrooms.
Evan says he’ll divorce me if I bring any more critters home.” Sonja chuckled as she
moved to set the bowl in the middle of the room.

“He gets just as attached as you do.” I knew her husband, Evan, had as big a soft
spot for animals as Sonja.

“He just likes to talk big. I brought a kitten home last week that needed to be fed
every few hours. Guess who got up at two in the morning to feed it?” Sonja glanced
at me as she walked over to a cupboard.

I watched her rummage around in the cabinet and found myself wondering what it would
be like to have someone like Evan to share my life with. Someone who understood. My
mind jumped to thoughts of Kai and Hugh. Could one of them be that person for me?
The notion of
that special someone
had been missing from my life for so long . . . I hardly knew what to do with it.

“Here we go.” Sonja’s voice snapped me out of my thoughts. She had found what she
was looking for—a fake human hand on the end of a stick. “Ready?”

I nodded. I knew this test well. Sonja was going to see how Jax reacted to the fake
hand trying to take away the food.

When Sonja signaled, I unclipped his leash and stepped to the other side of the room.
Jax watched me for a moment and then went to investigate the bowl of food.

I was careful to keep my mind blank.

As Jax began to eat the moist dog food, Sonja reached in with the hand on the stick
and pulled the bowl away. Jax followed the bowl, trying to eat and walk at the same
time.

I let out a relieved sigh. He didn’t snap at the fake hand or even growl.

Sonja praised the dog and looked up at me. “Passed that one better than my dachshund.
Do you want to try an aggression test?”

“That would be great.”

I pulled up a metal chair and sat holding Jax’s collar firmly with one hand. I knew
the faux attack she was about to launch might jog the memory of Mark’s murder loose.
I had to prepare for that. I pressed all thought that could influence him out of my
head, and left the gates open to receive even the slightest recall.

When I was ready, I nodded at Sonja.

Sonja stood a few feet away and began yelling at me and the dog. “You’re an ugly stupid
woman and so is your mutt dog!”

Jax whined softly and looked up to me for guidance. I was careful to stay as neutral
as possible.

Sonja took a step forward and started yelling again, this time adding erratic arm
movements. “Ugly, ugly mutt dog!”

This time Jax reacted with a low warning growl.

It was no less than I had expected. After all, Jax was a trained guard dog.

Sonja shrugged. “I wouldn’t say that’s too bad, especially for a Dobie. Where’re you
going to try to place him?”

“I’m not sure yet. There’s a family member who’s expressed interest, a man, but I
haven’t talked to him yet.” I needed to. I made a mental note to call Bo Bishop as
soon as I could.

“Kids?”

“I don’t know. I’ll call him later today and find out if there are any other animals
or children in the home.”

“I really don’t think Jax will be any trouble.” Sonja folded her arms and lapsed into
a thoughtful silence. “While you’re here, you mind taking a look at one of my problem
cases?”

“Sure.” I leashed Jax and led him to where Moss was licking minuscule crumbs off the
floor.

I tied the ends of their leashes together loosely and looked pointedly first at one,
then the other.

“Stay.”

Jax immediately sat, ready to comply. Moss cocked his head and began negotiations.
Treat?

No.

Treat?

If you don’t move a single inch.
I turned to follow Sonja, who had started toward the door that led to the rest of
the clinic. I shot a quick glance over my shoulder before leaving the room. “I mean
it, Moss. Stay.”

Sonja chuckled. “You know he always listens to you.”

“Yeah, right.” I followed Sonja until we reached an area filled with a number of narrow
concrete runs. We stopped in front of one occupied by a large mastiff-type dog.

“This is Demon.” Sonja raised both her hands before I could comment on the name. “That’s
what was on his tags. And he answers to it.”

“That’ll help with adopting him out.” People came up with the dumbest names.

Sonja turned her attention to the dog. “He was abandoned in an empty house. He was
really aggressive in the beginning but started improving quickly and passed all the
evaluations. Then yesterday, he tried to bite my hand off when I went to take him
for a walk.”

I looked down at the hulking brown dog. He returned my stare with an almost imperceptible
growl. It was hard to interpret his thoughts. He seemed afraid. But there was something
else . . . pain?

“Was he injured when you brought him in?”

Sonja shook her head. “He was emaciated and weak. But the vet didn’t find anything
other than that.”

Nodding, I reached for the latch on the chain-link gate. “I don’t think he’s going
to be aggressive—”

No sooner had the words passed my lips than the dog lunged, snarling at us. I snatched
my hand away from the latch.

“See, it’s weird.” Sonja shook her head. “Even you can’t get him.”

It
was
weird. It served as a reminder that I was not always right about animals—an unsettling
thought considering the situation with Jax.

“You sure he’s not injured?” My phone rang. I glanced at the display; the number was
blocked.

“Hello?”

“Grace Wilde?” a man asked.

“Yes?”

“My name is Aaron Stein. I represent the governor and his family. Do you have a moment?”

The Richardsons’ lawyer? “Sure.”

“I’m actually calling on behalf of Mrs. Richardson. She would like to meet with you,
today, if that’s possible.”

Meet with me? “Does she have some questions about Jax? I’m happy to call—”

“She’d like to speak to you in person.”

I wasn’t sure what to say. I couldn’t turn down a grieving mother just because I was
busy and tired and really wanted this day to be over.

“I can come by now. But I can’t bring Jax, he’s in quarantine.”

“Of course.” He gave me directions to the family hunting lodge, which was at least
a thirty-minute drive south.

I scribbled down the information and turned to Sonja. “Hey, I’ve got to ask a favor.
Can you keep these guys here for a while? I’ve got to go down to Mandarin and I don’t
want to drag them with me.” Technically, I wasn’t supposed to let Jax out of my control
but rules are made to be broken, and Sonja was more than capable of handling him.

“I can put them both in my office.”

“Thanks.”

We started toward her office and she paused in the main kennel area. Puppies yipped.
Dogs of various sizes barked or whined with wagging tails.

“Oh—and don’t forget about Bark and Bowl tonight.”

“Bark and Bowl?”

“You know, like rock and roll? Bark and Bowl.”

“Uh-huh.”

Sonja was always coming up with new themes to try out for adoption events. Sometimes
they worked—other times . . .

“So, what’s the gimmick? You’re giving away dog bowls with every adoptee?”

Sonja shoved her hands on her hips. “Who cares about getting a dog bowl? I’m talking
about bowl-
ing
.”

“Like at a bowling alley—and you expect me to come to this?”

“Of course.” She flashed a grin, which caused the gap in her teeth to wink at me.
“You match people with pets better than anyone. It’s like you’re psychic or something.”

Or something,
I thought.

“But why bowling?” I narrowed my eyes as a thought occurred. “Have you been brainstorming
with Emma?”

“Please. We can’t afford to hire your sister.” Sonja waved away the idea then turned
and continued toward her office.

“When has that stopped you?” I muttered as I followed.

Emma had counseled Sonja on the ins and outs of event planning in the past. I dreaded
the day they finally managed to coordinate a real function. There would be costumes
and glitter and, quite possibly, a dunking booth.

“You better get going. Bark and Bowl starts at five.”

I opened my mouth to protest but the words died in my throat as I watched her lead
Jax and Moss into her office.

“Okay, but I’m not wearing those shoes.”

CHAPTER 10

The drive to Mandarin was quiet. Without the dual canine brains humming in my head,
I could relax and think.

As I cruised along winding roads, past new subdivisions and old farmsteads, I let
my mind drift. Despite the number of things I had tap dancing around in my brain—like,
what the governor’s wife could want to ask me that required that I drive halfway to
St. Augustine—one issue kept resurfacing.

The mastiff, Demon. I played the incident over and over.

“What did I miss?”

Something. Why would a dog who was progressing so quickly make a one eighty? I’d felt
no aggression from him. Wariness, a tinge of pain, but nothing to make me think he’d
launch an attack. It nagged at me.

Because I’d been wrong.

I relied on my interpretation of an animal’s thoughts and feelings, and from time
to time, I was off. It happened. Not often, but enough to make me wonder what else
I could be wrong about.

I thought about Charm. The jaguar had told me clearly what had happened the night
of the murder, but what if I was misinterpreting the timeline? What if LaBryce had
come home drunk and passed out two nights before Mark Richardson was killed? Animals
don’t see time as a linear thing, past is past, now is now. My interpretation labeled
how far back the memories went. Usually chronology wasn’t really important.

This time it was.

I balked at the idea that LaBryce had killed Mark. Because he was my friend. I tried
to remove my bias and look at the possibilities.

I imagined LaBryce, angry over the magazine article, returning to Mark’s house. To
coldly murder his best friend after threatening to kill him? No. Even in his drunken
state, I didn’t think LaBryce would be that stupid.

Maybe he wasn’t there to fight; maybe he just wanted to talk. Things got heated, and
without others there to break things up . . . But then there was the issue of the
missing gun. If he’d gone to Mark’s just to talk, he wouldn’t have carried his pistol.

I was so distracted by my musings that I almost missed the turn. I would have if it
hadn’t been for the news vans clustered along the narrow road. I eased past the crowd
with their sprouting satellite dishes and antenna and pulled to a stop at the gate.

A young male reporter sat in his car with his door open, ready to spring into action
at the first sign of the bereaved governor. He watched as I cranked down my window
and spoke to the security guard.

The gate opened, and I pulled through it. I glanced in my rearview mirror and saw
the reporter scribbling on his notepad. Was he taking my license number?

A sense of unease settled over me as I guided Bluebell down the long shady lane and
around a stand of gargantuan moss-draped live oaks. I didn’t like the idea of a reporter
checking up on me. I didn’t have anything to hide—nothing newsworthy anyway—but it
made me nervous all the same.

I rounded a turn and braked to a sudden stop. My anxiety amplified as I looked at
the house. No, not house—
estate
.

“
This
is a
hunting
lodge?” When the Richardsons’ lawyer had said it, like an idiot, I’d thought about
my uncle’s hunting camp. I had expected a large cabin. Something rustic, a place for
the guys to get together and pound a few beers.

I should have known better.

The antebellum mansion was a white titan. Sitting regally in front of the oaks, like
a queen holding court, her towering two-story columns glowed copper in the late afternoon
sun.

The landscaping around the house was just as grand. Pink shrub roses lined the front
of the porch, and large crape myrtles, heavy in bloom, dusted the driveway with tiny
fuchsia petals.

I swept my gaze over the sprawling grounds. The rolling lawn and ancient oaks whispered
old money.

Then it hit me.

As someone who spends more time with animals than people, I tend to ignore things
like politics. But I remembered, in that moment, that though Governor Buck Richardson
touted himself as a self-made man—a hardworking boy from a middle-class family—he
had one major connection.

Mrs. Gardenia Clarke Richardson.

The Clarke family name graced libraries, parks, and bridges. They had more than enough
money and contacts to win campaigns.

I parked and walked up the azalea and crape myrtle–lined brick path. When I reached
the heavy front door, it swung in before I could knock.

An elderly housekeeper stood square shouldered in front of me. The crisp white collar
of her uniform contrasted like a blade against her caramel-colored skin. I told her
my name, and she motioned me inside.

“Miss Gardenia will be with you in a minute.” She said
Miss
like
Miz.
Her voice was as rich and warm as freshly made fudge. “Wait here, please.” Her rubber-soled
black shoes squeaked on the polished white marble floor as she turned and walked down
the large entrance hall.

The ceiling in the foyer was at least twenty feet high. Large stained wooden pocket
doors flanked me on either side. At the end of the hall, a grand sweeping staircase
arced upward. I half expected to see Rhett Butler leaning against the smooth oak banister.
As a child, Emma and I would snuggle against our mother and watch
Gone with the Wind,
one of her favorite epics. She would have loved to see this place.

The soft hum of a feline brain caught my attention. So the Richardsons had a cat somewhere.
I looked around the foyer but didn’t see one.

“Kitty-kitty.”
Where are you?

The answer came from just inside the room to my right. I moved toward the heavy pocket
doors and they rumbled open. The housekeeper ushered me into a formal sitting room.
It was just as grand in scale as the foyer but infinitely more ornate. Everything
in the room seemed to be bathed in gilt.
Froufrou
was the word that popped into my head.

Mrs. Richardson sat on an antique damask settee. The hand in her lap grasped a dainty
white handkerchief; the other ran along the body of a beautiful silver Maine coon
cat, who was stretched out beside her. The animal watched me with cool intelligence,
and its long, plume-like tail flicked with curiosity. It had felt my mind reach out
to it a minute ago and now had the urge to come investigate. The only thing keeping
the cat on the settee was the constant stroke of his owner’s hand.

I shifted my attention back to Mrs. Richardson. Despite the shadows under her eyes,
she was still an attractive woman. Petite and slender, with expertly coiffed blond
hair that barely brushed the shoulders of her black satin blouse.

Standing behind her was a tall man in a dark, expensive-looking suit. The lawyer,
I assumed.

“Thank you for coming on such short notice.” Her soft voice was the epitome of Southern
gentility. She motioned to a set of chairs opposite her. “Please have a seat.”

I eased down onto the dainty gilded chair.

“Would you like something to drink? Tea?”

“No, thank you, ma’am.”

The housekeeper, who had been hovering unobtrusively, took that as her cue to exit,
sliding the pocket doors closed behind her with a soft thump.

Quiet settled around us like a funeral shroud. As I sat in the hush of the overdecorated
room, across from Mrs. Richardson, I started feeling more and more uncomfortable.
Neither she nor the lawyer spoke; they both just looked at me. His expression was
blank. Hers held a mixture of interest and something else I couldn’t read.

“So, what can I do for you, Mrs. Richardson?”

“Please, call me Gardenia.”

“Okay.”

“Do you mind if I call you Grace? It’s a lovely name.”

“No, ma’am, that’s fine. Thank you.”

“This is Atticus.” She patted the Maine coon; his tufted ears twitched at the sound
of his name.

“He’s beautiful.” This was getting weird. She wanted me to meet her cat?

The little clock on the mantle dinged, announcing the time with a merry jingle. Three
o’clock. I’d already been there for almost ten minutes, and I still had no idea why
I’d been asked to come.

As I looked into Mrs. Richardson’s red-rimmed eyes, I knew I couldn’t demand that
she tell me. The woman had lost her son. Compassion and my Southern upbringing would
not allow me to press her. So I sat quietly and waited, clasping my hands together
so I wouldn’t fidget.

The longer the seconds ticked by, the more out of my element I felt. I didn’t drive
down here to sit and be scrutinized in silence. If there was a reason for my summons,
Miz
Gardenia needed to get to it.

“Did you want me to come here because you need help with Atticus?” I doubted that
was the case. The cat was the picture of feline bliss. Purring like an outboard motor.
The thrumming, rhythmic serenity was so strong it had started to make me want to doze.

“Atticus is fine. As far as I know.”

“Then you must have some questions about Jax. I’m happy to say he’s progressing very
well.”

“Good.” She turned her head toward the lawyer. “Aaron, would you give us a moment?”

The lawyer seemed to hesitate before leaving. For some reason, being alone with this
delicate, quiet woman was unsettling. I didn’t know what she wanted from me, but she
was after something.

“What do you call yourself, Grace?”

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“The term you use for what you are.”

I felt my senses sharpen, and my pulse quicken. My instincts warned that an attack
was coming. I agreed completely.

“What I am?”

“Dane Harrington told me you claimed that you have a psychic ability. But from how
he described it, I would think the word
telepathic
would be a better fit.”

I don’t think I ever really understood the term
blindsided
until that moment. The room seemed to tilt. I felt my fingers reach to curl around
the arms of the chair. “Excuse me?”

“I realize this is a bit of a surprise, and I regret bringing it up.” The cool indifference
in her voice contradicted the claim. She had no problem dropping a bombshell in my
lap. “I have to know. Did Jax see who killed my son?”

“I don’t . . .” My mind was suddenly filled with a whirl of questions and confusion.
She knew about Jax? Dane Harrington had told the governor’s wife about my ability?
Why? One question seemed to press forward, though it was irrelevant. For some reason
I had to ask.

“How did you know about me and Dane?”

She didn’t answer, waving her hand as if to wave off the question the way a person
brushed away a fly. I realized I was insignificant to this woman. My questions, my
feelings, meant nothing to her.

“When the police came and told us about Mark’s murder, one of my first questions was
about Jax. I’m sure you understand why. Mark loved that dog. The thought of Jax being
killed, too . . .” She stopped and dabbed at the corner of her eye. The shift from
callous to lachrymose was sudden and baffling.

Sniffing, she managed to say, “I was beside myself when the police told me Jax was
in quarantine.”

“I’m taking good care of him.” It was a stupid thing to say. But really, I wasn’t
exactly thinking straight.

“Yes. I learned quickly that you are the best. But that wasn’t enough. If Jax is not
considered safe, he’ll be euthanized. I can’t let that happen.” The superiority was
back, but now it was tinged with hostility. Her bloodshot eyes glinted. Her soft,
genteel voice sharp as a razor. “I thought the best way to ensure his protection would
be to offer some payment to you.”

I let that sink in. “A bribe?” Was this really happening? My brain was having a hard
time getting a grasp on the situation. The ping-ponging between steel magnolia and
moray eel was wigging me out.

“An incentive,” she corrected coldly. “Naturally, I had to learn as much about you
as I could. As I read your file, it became obvious that there was more to your way
with animals.”

File? I had a file? A flare of temper shot through me, cutting though the chaos of
my spinning thoughts.