Chasing Can Be Murder Read online

  “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 thunkas 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 histail 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’maround.”

  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.”

  Sheesh! I sighed and ran a weary hand through my hair. I was tempted to make up a sizzling story where Scuzz and I performed every position of the Kama Sutra while covered in chocolate syrup, then thought, why bother.

  “Ben, there’s nothing going on between the biker and me.” I frowned across at the cause of our current misunderstanding. Stretched out on the settee, blatantly listening to every word, Scuzz’s dark eyes sparkled with amusement.

  “Personally, I don’t care if you have sex with a telegraph pole. But what I docare about is being told to shove off when I offer my assistance. Then, to kick a man when he’s down, you ring up later wanting to tell me how King Kong performed in bed.”

  “What the hell are you on about? Scuzz is my bodyguard. There was no all-night orgy between him, me and his bloody motorbike, you moron.”

  I heard what sounded like throat clearing. “Another thing,” he went on in a quieter voice, “why didn’t you ask me to be your bodyguard?”

  Holy Catfish! This guy was sending out so many mixed messages I was drowning in the backwash.

  “Because you distinctly told me you had a hot date with the Petrowski twins tonight. That’s why.” I paused to let my words sink in. “Which reminds me, Benjamin, what are you doing at home at this early hour? Twins stand you up, did they?”

  “Not that it’s any of your business,Katrina, but I decided on an early night.”

  “Wow! Should I send for a doctor?”

  “Always the comedian.”

  “I’m merely surprised, tha
t’s all.”

  “And I’m standing here dripping water and freezing my butt off,” he continued, voice tighter than a screw top jar. “So—what’s up?”

  Geez…the possibilities were endless.

  In fact, the image of Ben, naked, with what’s up being in the realms of fantasy, had me choking on my saliva. Okay, as I said before—I’m pathetic—I’m a masochist—I know he’ll never reciprocate—but that doesn’t stop me from transferring erotic images of Ben into a special folder in my brain where I can drag them out and examine each frame in minute detail. Under the cover of darkness. In the privacy of my own bed.

  Like a pin-pricked balloon, the reason I’d rung Ben brought me back to earth. “I’m scared, Ben, that’s what’s up. Matt’s killer paid me another visit tonight.”

  “Bloody hell!” His yell was so loud I held the phone from my ear. “Why didn’t you say so in the first place? Where’s that useless King Kong? If that gorilla chickened out instead of protecting you I’ll fry his liver and throw it to the dogs. I’m sorry, mate. What happened? Are you hurt?”

  I was back to being a mate. Still, that was okay. At least now we could talk to each other without emotions driving a wedge between us.

  “I’m fine.” I sighed. “Well…not really. Some lowlife left a graphic message on my doorstep about half an hour ago. It involved a warning note, dead flowers and animal body parts.”

  “Oh, crap!”

  “It was awful, Ben. The dead flowers were tied up with this…this…tail…and it was all slippery with blood.”

  “What was on the note?”

  “Big Mistake must lose—or else.”

  There was a moment’s silence before he spoke again. “Give Lofty a loaf of bread or a sedative. Whatever it takes. Just make sure the dog loses.”

  “I don’t know,” I bleated still unsure of this part. “It doesn’t feel right.”

  “Listen to me, Kat, nothing’s worth getting your head smashed in for.”

  I ran my fingers over the letters, vaguely noting the only colors used were red and black and they’d been cut roughly, as though in a hurry, or anger. “But Scuzz says, if I follow this psycho’s orders, I’ll never get out of his clutches.”

  “It’s not the gorilla’s head on the chopping block here. It’s yours.”

  “But—”

  “No buts. Have you forgotten what happened to Matt?”

  Forgotten? Every time I dropped off to sleep, the image of Matt’s blank lifeless eyes invaded my dreams.

  “Of course I haven’t,” I answered, the chill stirring deep in my gut. “But Matt didn’t have a bodyguard. I do.”

  “And what do you know about this...bodyguard?”

  I hesitated. Flicked another glance at the man-mountain spread out across my settee. “Not much. But he seems sort of nice. And he’s Jake’s cousin.”

  Ben snorted. I guess I hadn’t won him over. “Listen mate, if you want company tonight, I could be dressed and at your place in less than ten minutes.”

  Suddenly exhaustion hit me, so profound it ate deep down into my bones. I slumped in my chair and closed my eyes. No way could I cope with the open hostility raging between two testosterone-charged combatants tonight.

  “Thanks Ben, but I’m whacked off my feet right now. Think I’ll take a sleeping tablet and go to bed. Don’t worry, I’ll be safe. Scuzz and the dogs are camped in the lounge.” I paused to allow this vital information to register. “But, hey, can we get together tomorrow morning? Plan what to do next?”

  “Sure. Make it ten o’clock. I’ll have my dogs worked by then and don’t figure on leaving for the track until twelve. Like you, I have a dog racing in the Derby qualifiers tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Okay.”

  “But, Kat, youdo know, if you need me before then, I’m as close as a phone call away?”

  “Thanks Ben. You’re a real good mate.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  Hmm…did that sound like Ben sighing? Nah. Just experiencing a painful twinge of indigestion.

  “Now,” his voice took on a hard edge. “Before I get back under the shower, let me have a word with King Kong.”

  “His name is Scuzz.”

  Ben’s deep throaty chuckle came down the phone line. “That’sa name? Thought Scuzz was something you threw away with the garbage. Okay, pass the phone to the gorilla so I can warn him if he lays one finger on you I’ll cut off his main appendage and feed it through my mincing machine.”

  Well, what do you know? My good mate, Ben was prepared to defend my honor. Pity after defending it he didn’t fancy keeping it for himself.

  I handed the phone to Scuzz and settled back in the armchair. Tater scaled my leg and made a nest in my lap. As I stroked his soft fur, kneaded the tiny muscles along his neck and listened to his blissful sighs, my tension slipped away. It’s strange how animals have this almost magical power to relieve human stress.

  My head fell back onto the head rest while I concentrated on following Tater’s example, relaxing my muscles one by one from my neck, down to each individual toe. Eyes closed, I smiled as I listened to the one-sided conversation between my biker bodyguard and near-naked mate. Geez, if things didn’t cool down soon they’d be calling for dueling pistols at dawn. Which would probably prove painful for me.

  While secretly removing the bullets from both their guns, there was every likelihood I’d shoot myself in the foot.

  * * *

  Perhaps the sleeping tablets were past their use by date. Perhaps I was allergic to the ingredients. Whatever the reason, sleep didn’t come easily that night and when it finally did I had the sort of nightmare you normally only have after gourmandizing on pizza half an hour before bedtime.

  A horde of maniacal garden gnomes with concrete smiles and bloody pitchforks were chasing me around my garden. Well, it felt like my garden—although it didn’t look like it. My taste in flowers doesn’t run to giant snapdragons with sharp pointed teeth. Anyway, these crazy gnomes kept grabbing at me and laughing. Not nice laughing either. It was that scary horror-movie sort of laugh where you grab a handful of popcorn and shove it in your mouth to stop from jabbering. Their eyes spun, their painted fingers reached for me and their spine-chilling laughter grew louder and more feral as I scrambled to get away. Underfoot, dead flowers with bloody tails coiled around my legs, tripping me over.

  And there, nonchalantly leaning against a post and rail fence was my good mate, Ben. Thing is, when I called out to him for help, he didn’t move. I called out again, this time more frantic. But still he didn’t move. He’d pulled his akubra hat down over his face. When I looked more closely, I could see two dark eyes. Not Ben’s eyes. These were flat and cold and remote.

  “You’re on your own, mate. I would have helped but you chose King Kong,”the Ben lookalike hissed, just before turning into a snake and slithering away into the underbrush.

  On the roadway ahead, hundreds of motorbikes quivered restlessly, all roaring, rumbling and spewing smoke. Astride each bike sat a black leather-clad creature with no head. Thick crimson blood gushed freely from the severed necks, oozed down over the headless bodies and pooled on the bitumen below.

  I tell you, sometimes it doesn’t pay to have an active imagination.

  Thankfully, the insistent clamor of barking dogs ripped me from my nightmare. I squinted at the bedside clock.

  7:36 a.m.

  I groaned. No wonder the dogs were making a racket. I’d slept through the alarm.

  While my quilt lay in a heap on the floor, my body seemed to be wrapped mummy-style inside the sweaty sheet. And I was bursting for a pee. Cursing the inherited genetic pool responsible for my pathetically weak bladder, I kicked my way to freedom. Once free, I shimmied cross-legged down the passageway and into the bathroom.

  Urgent ablutions completed, I dragged on a pair of faded work jeans, a black, teal and white T-shirt, proving I was a Port Power supporter, and then glanced in the mirror.

  Ugh!

&nb
sp; Blotchy face, bloodshot eyes, hair resembling a wild prickle bush. No wonder Ben had trouble locating my hot, sexy-woman persona. It was hiding behind the Wicked Witch of the West. Shaking my head in frustration, I resolved, when this was all over, to make an appointment for a complete makeover at Changing Looks, the number one beauty salon in the nearby town of Virginia. As long as the makeover didn’t involve injections, unknown substances, Botox or an expensively dressed doctor waving a razor-sharp scalpel.

  No man, not even Ben, was worth undergoing torture.

  Intent on taming my hair into a style that wouldn’t scare the dogs, I burrowed deep inside my totebag in search of a hairbrush. Toothpicks, loose change, mobile phone, half a packet of chocolate M&Ms, a spare dog lead.…

  As I scrabbled deeper, the bag toppled to the floor. Immediately, the M&Ms broke for freedom, silver and gold coins competed in the race and the half-burnt piece of paper I’d found in Matt’s fireplace flew from the bag and landed at my feet.

  I picked it up. Studied it more closely. The bottom half of the account was so burnt it was mostly unrecognizable, but the top half maintained that Matthew Turner had deposited goods in the Saftee Security Depot at Salisbury and owed the firm $52.50 for services rendered.

  Why had Matt tried to burn this particular account? Why not shove it in the drawer with the rest of his unpaid bills? After all, there’d been a mountain of those. Was it because he didn’t want a certain person knowing he’d stored something in a security depot? If so, what the hell hadhe stored? It didn’t make sense. I shook my head in confusion. What would mild-mannered Matt have to hide? And did it have anything to do with why he was murdered?

  With no time to tax my befuddled brain any further, I folded the remains of the account over carefully, slipped the paper inside the back pocket of my jeans and quickly brushed my hair, tying it off my face with a scarf. Then, ready as I’d ever be, I started down the stairs. Breakfast, as usual, would mean grabbing a slice of toast and a quick cup of coffee before trekking out to the kennels.