Chasing Can Be Murder Page 12

  I smiled wanly. “Hi.”

  “Good evening, ma’am. I am sorry to have caused you alarm.” The leather-clad Goliath held out one hand, each finger tattooed with a bright red-and-black eye. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Theodore Samuel Parkington the Third. But you may call me, Scuzz.”

  “I’m Katrina Tess McKinley—the One and Only. And you can call me, Kat.” I watched in awe as my hand disappeared inside his. It was like having your hand swallowed by a whale.

  “So…Katrina, where do you desire me to bed down for the night?”

  Bed down? Holy crap! Hadn’t thought that through. I don’t suppose I could expect a biker with a plum and two silver spoons in his mouth to kip on the old sofa in the kennel-house.

  Or could I?

  “Umm…well…”

  “If it is acceptable to you I’d like to camp here on your lounge room floor. I have my own bedding.”

  “Umm...well...”

  “Shall I fetch my accoutrements?”

  Accoutrements? Had this guy swallowed a Dictionary?

  “Er…right. Go for it!”

  Bemused, I watched Scuzz wheel his Harley into my lounge room with the same care and attention to placement as he would a priceless Da Vinci painting. Evidently satisfied his pride and joy was in the best position, he flipped his sleeping bag onto the floor, unzipped the front and spread a black satin sheet inside. After carefully smoothing the shiny satin with one beefy tattooed hand, he placed a pastel pink pillow on top.

  Was this guy for real?

  “Kat, I wonder if you have a hot-water bottle I could borrow? I seem to have misplaced mine. If I left it in Jake’s apartment, I may as well kiss it goodbye. They have probably cut it up to make letters on a protester’s slogan by now.”

  “I’ll see what I can find.”

  If Scuzz was Jake’s idea of a joke, I thought, as I marched into the kitchen, I’d slaughter him in the morning, then spread him on toast and feed him to the dogs.

  With one ear tuned in to Scuzz, who seemed to be having an in-depth conversation with my two adoring canines, I dug around in the kitchen drawers until I found an ancient hot-water bottle. Okay, it had a fluffy panda bear outer covering, but I couldn’t see that worrying a man who slept on black satin and rested his shaved head on a pastel pink pillow. Unable to restrain a grin, I tossed the water bottle onto the kitchen table, unearthed the matching stopper at the back of the drawer and filled my electric jug with water.

  And then the doorbell rang.

  Again.

  My house was busier than Rundle Mall on a Saturday morning.

  “Will you answer the door please, Scuzz?” I asked, endeavoring to keep my voice light. “If it’s the Avon lady calling, tell her I’m not interested. I’d need more than her special hand cream to make my hands smooth and silky.”

  Adrenalin sizzled and buzzed in my brain as I switched on the jug. If the killer had dropped in to break off more ears—he was in for a nasty surprise. Even if the knife strapped to Scuzz’s boot failed to prove a deterrent, the height, width and breadth of my newly acquired bodyguard certainly would.

  While waiting for the jug to boil, I scuttled across the kitchen lino, put my ear to the door and listened. Muffled voices drifted in from out front. What sounded like a quarrel and what could have been several loud thumps. Or Scuzz tearing the killer apart. I smiled as I wandered back to unplug the jug. Perhaps having the man in black leather around wasn’t such a bad idea after all. Ears alert for sounds of screaming, loud banging, or severed heads rolling across the polished wooden floorboards, I held the water bottle over the sink and filled it from the jug before screwing the stopper down tight.

  Okay, everything had gone silent.

  Time to face the fallout.

  Almost afraid of what I’d find, blood, guts, maybe even mangled body parts, I slipped the cover over the rubber bottle and sailed back into the lounge.

  The scene could have come from a family sit-com. Scuzz and the dogs were stretched out on the settee all eyes tuned in to the last few minutes of Dancing with the Stars.

  “Hey, what’s going on? Who was at the door?”

  “No one of interest.”

  “What do you mean no one of interest?”

  “Just some sappy guy in cowboy boots.” Scuzz’s eyes didn’t leave the television screen. “After securing him in a hammer lock I checked him for weapons, informed him you were currently upstairs changing into something more comfortable then told him to get lost.”

  Oh, God. “You didn’t?”

  Unrepentant, Scuzz looked up and nodded. “Afraid I did.”

  “I don’t suppose this sappy guy in cowboy boots was also wearing an akubra hat?”

  “Yes.”

  “And did his jeans fit like a glove?”

  “Well…I…can’t say I noticed.”

  “And did he have gorgeous black brown eyes with tiny flecks of buttercup yellow running through them?

  “Kat, I—”

  “And did he have cute little lines each side of his eyes when he smiled?”

  Scuzz shook his head. “Believe me when I say this guy did not,at any time, smile.”

  “He didn’t?”

  “No. And for a moment there, I had the feeling Cowboy Boots was contemplating punching my lights out, but instead, after informing me several times, in a rather impolite manner, that I did not know my birth father, he drove off in a huff.”

  Damn. I’d never hear the end of this. “Scuzz, you chased off the wrong guy.” I groaned. “That was my mate, Ben. He’s one of the good guys.”

  Scuzz removed the hot-water bottle from my hand, pushed himself off the settee and bent to tuck the bottle deep inside his bedroll. Then, displaying a rare litheness for a man his size, he moved towards me with the grace of a wild African lion until my eyes were level with the shiny metal tag in the middle of his jacket zipper. He was so close I could see the rise and fall of his chest. Smell his expensive cologne and the strangely comforting scent of engine oil. Feel the roughness of his fingers as he cupped my chin and forced my head back to meet his eyes.

  “While I am your bodyguard, Katrina,” he said his voice gentle, but firm. “No one enters this house without first producing police ID, a driver’s license andan original birth certificate.”

  Relief spread through me like melted toffee as the significance of this statement sunk in. And yet, I still wasn’t quite ready to trust him.

  Eyeing me with that unsettling look of the jungle, Scuzz brushed hair from my eyes and tucked a stray lock behind one ear. For such a big man his touch was soft. “My cousin informed me of the danger you face, Katrina.”

  The way his eyes devoured my lips, I wasn’t sure which danger he was referring to.

  “Jake has a big mouth.”

  “And youhave an exquisite mouth.” He dipped his head closer. For a moment I was tempted to stretch up to meet him. Then sanity intervened. I’d known Scuzz all of ten minutes. And look what happened last time I’d allowed a guy’s soft-talk to melt my defenses.

  I shook my head, placed both palms on his chest and pushed. It was like pushing against a ten ton truck. “Down boy,” I growled, knowing if Scuzz wanted to force himself on me there’d be nothing I could do about it.

  He stepped away and let both hands drop to his sides.

  “Sorry, Katrina,” he said with a twist to his mouth and a twinkle in his eye that completely belied his apology. “I am but a mere man and you are a beautiful sexy woman.” With that, he sank onto the settee with the dogs, lifted Tater onto his lap and tuned into the beginning of Packed to the Rafters.

  I closed my gaping mouth and shook my head. It wasn’t fair. It just wasn’t fair! Two guys in the last three days had hit on me, yet the one I wanted to notice me, that big lug, Ben Taylor, treated me like a mate. Couldn’t ditch his blinkers long enough to see I not only had boobs—I was also endowed with every other piece of equipment proclaiming I was female.

  According to Sc
uzz...I was a beautiful, sexy woman.

  A beautiful, sexy woman who was going quietly insane while struggling to prevent her rampant, unrequited hormones from exploding from their cage. All Ben ever saw when he locked eyes with me was the good mate he borrowed Bone Radial from when he needed to treat a dog’s sprained wrist. Or an extra person to make up the numbers in a poker game on a slow Friday night.

  If only he’dbrush his fingers through my hair and tell me how exquisite my mouth looked. Hell, I’d throw caution not only to the wind, but out the window and over the back fence. Ben only had to say the word and I’d lay myself out for him like a Playboy centerfold.

  Yeah, I know. I’m pathetic. A disgrace to feminists the world over. So sue me.

  “Any idea who would have had reason to kill your friend, Katrina?”

  “Sorry?” I shook my head to dislodge the frustrating images of Ben from my head and blinked at Scuzz’s unexpected question.

  He patted the seat beside him. “Come along, tell me all about it. You must have some idea who perpetrated the crime.”

  I frowned, ignored his invitation and perched on the edge of an overstuffed armchair. What was going on? One minute Scuzz was all warm and fuzzy and attempting to kiss me and the next he was ferreting for information. I gave him a closer, narrow-eyed scrutiny. Was Theodore Samuel Parkington the Third reallyone of the good guys? After all, Jake hadn’t seen his cousin since childhood and kids can change when they grow up. I’d heard rumors that Al Capone was a shy little boy who used to hide behind his mother’s skirts.

  When I didn’t answer, Scuzz cocked his head to one side. “Are you certain you didn’t catch a glimpse of the killer that night? Feel his presence? Smell his aftershave?”

  “No.” My frown deepened and a small scared little butterfly began fluttering around in my stomach. “As I told the police, I knew nothing until my fingers found the knife in Matt’s chest. If I’d seen Matt’s killer, do you honestly think I’d be alive and talking to you now?”

  “Sorry Kat, I am being obtuse. And thank goodness you arealive,” he said smiling at me while pulling gently on Tater’s ear. “I thought he might have left a clue, that’s all.”

  “Well, he didn’t.”

  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 l
ost 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 mustbe up! This is sooocool.”

  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.”