Chasing Can Be Murder Page 24

  He grinned. “Yeah, and we werea little busy at the time.”

  Scuzz lifted his drink awkwardly between both bandaged hands and sipped at the hot brew before he spoke. “It must have been tough for that little girl. You know, the kidnapped child.”

  “Erin? Jesus, she was amazing,” Ben told him and pulled out the chair next to mine so he could sit at the table.

  “Absolutely,” I added.

  “You should have seen her, Scuzz. She came out of that cupboard swinging like a terrier on steroids. Head-butted me in the stomach and almost took my head off with a dirty great lump of wood.”

  The memory of Erin in that claustrophobic cupboard had my stomach heaving. God knows how long it would take her to sleep through the night without waking to nightmares.

  Needing to clear my head, I pushed my chair back and got to my feet. “Anyone want a biscuit to dunk in their chocolate?”

  Both men replied in the affirmative so while Ben filled Scuzz in on our adventures at the piggery, I wandered off to the pantry. I still hadn’t been grocery shopping but it looked like Scuzz, in desperation, had played the little woman. I smiled at the tins of fruit, cake mixture and king-sized boxes of Weeties breakfast food on the shelves. And there on the bottom ledge, next to a stack of tinned salmon, sat two packets of caramel Tim Tams. Exactly what the doctor ordered.

  Nothing beats chocolate when it comes to treating shock.

  Biscuits in hand, I wandered back into the kitchen where I could hear Ben now telling Scuzz about Matt Turner’s safety deposit box.

  “If we could find out what’s inside that box, I reckon we’d know the identity of Mr. Big,” he informed Scuzz. “We cracked the password, didn’t we Kat?”

  “Yep. T.A.B.,” I answered, opening both packets of biscuits and placing them on the table.

  Ben instantly snagged a Tim Tam, took a bite and dipped the remainder into his hot chocolate. “What say we go back and check out Matt’s box tomorrow?”

  “If Ms. Fusspot hadn’t been so damn officious last time, we’d probably know the identity of the killer by now.” I nibbled on a corner of the Tim Tam, briefly closing my eyes as the chocolaty taste spread inside my mouth. “And then Mr. Big would have been in jail instead of setting fire to my kennel-house tonight.”

  I looked across at Scuzz, sprawled on the table, shaved head resting on his folded arms.

  “You okay?” I asked, squinting into his tired, red-rimmed eyes. He smelt of smoke and fatigue and his color under the ginger stubble reminded me of weak milky tea.

  “Actually, I’m beat,” he admitted, dragging himself upright which produced another bout of coughing. When he’d recovered, he scraped his chair away from the table and lumbered to his feet. “If it’s alright with you, Katrina, I’ll call it a night.”

  “Time weall hit the sack.” I stood on tiptoe, wound my arms around Scuzz’s neck and pulled his face down for a goodnight kiss, my lips scratching against the sandpaper of his cheek. “Don’t worry about getting up early in the morning. It’s my turn to cook bacon, eggs and tomatoes for your breakfast. Okay?”

  “I look forward to it.” His returning smile needed matchsticks to prop up the corners of his mouth.

  “Good night, Scuzz. Sleep well.”

  I watched the giant biker bend his head to maneuver under the door frame and thought how lucky I was my unpaid bodyguard had been outside, on patrol, when the fire started.

  But what if no one had been home?

  As though he could read my what-if thoughts and decided to chase them away with what he did best, the moment Scuzz disappeared into the lounge room Ben favored me with one of his slow, leg-melting grins. “Hey, McKinley,” he drawled. “About that talk…”

  I returned his grin with a wide-eyed look of mock innocence. “What talk was that, Taylor?” I said and picked up the empty cups and placed them in the sink.

  “Why don’t you come over here and find out?”

  I was bone weary, I’d need half a bottle of Coconut shampoo to remove the stink of smoke from my hair…but hey, if Ben didn’t care, neither did I.

  I strolled across the room until I stood behind his chair. With both hands planted on his shoulders, I leant forward and skimmed my lips along the nape of his neck, smirking when the fine hairs stood up and waved at me.

  “You know you’re asking for trouble,” he growled.

  My answer was to blow hot air in his ear and grin when he squirmed in his chair.

  “Come here, minx.” With one quick motion, he flipped me onto his lap and held my wrists together with one hand. Like wisps of fairy dust, the fingers on his other hand smoothed a stray tendril of hair across my cheek and tucked it behind my ear. And when his lips, soft and teasing, and tasting of my two favorite flavors, chocolate and caramel, touched mine, so gently, so intimately, I gasped against his mouth.

  “Whew! Where’d you learn totalk like that?”

  “Hold onto your fillings, babe. We haven’t even started the conversation yet.”

  He swung my legs around so I sat facing him, straddled across his lap and then he found my mouth again. Not soft and teasing, this time his lips were so demanding and hot I could almost smell the sizzle, hear oceans roaring in my ears. Breathless, I arched against the hardness of his body and moaned when his tongue, deep inside my mouth, found and caressed every sensitive corner, every pulsating nerve point; even those I didn’t know existed.

  By the time our lips finally parted, Ben’s shirt was unbuttoned, my top was hanging around my neck and every inch of my body ached with a heat so acute I was ready to start at his toes and eat my way up to his...

  From the room next door, Scuzz’s rattling breath, each one sounding like it was going to be his last, filtered through my sexual frenzy.

  Oh, God. We couldn’t do this. Not with Scuzz in the next room.

  Reluctantly pulling away from the enchantment of the sweet store, I tried to steady my breathing while wriggling off Ben’s lap. “Let’s finish this tomorrow when we’re alone.” The hardest words I’d ever said. “Scuzz needs you tonight. He shouldn’t be left alone.”

  Ben ground his teeth together, hissed a shallow breath and then slowly stood up. “You’re right, of course, I’ll sleep on the sofa in the lounge tonight,” he said, and pulled my head up against his chest where I could feel his heart banging against my cheek, like a caged possum. “But what about you? Will you be okay on your own?”

  I looked up and gave him a grin, weak, but still a grin. “Hey, I have two bodyguards, don’t I? And there’s always Tater and Lucky.”

  “Kat, youdo realize that talk of our scan’t wait much longer...or I’m going to explode like the fat man who ate one too many meat pies.”

  I giggled and nodded and had to physically refrain from rubbing against the truth of his statement when it pressed against my stomach.

  In fact, it took another bout of coughing from the lounge room to convince me to walk away.

  * * *

  The refrain from Staying Alive sliced through my sleep. I swum my way to the surface, cranked open one eye and squinted at the clock.

  Ugggh…4 a.m….

  I rolled over and reached for my tote bag, a dark blob on the bedside cabinet. Tinny and insistent, Staying Alive continued to bang away in my head, every note a sharp nail hammering into my brain. With one hand inside the bag I shuffled through the contents until my fingers closed around the rowdy piece of technology.

  “Huh…” I grunted into the cell, still half-asleep.

  “Is that you, Kat?”

  I gave another grunt. Who else would be answering my mobile at 4 o’clock in the bloody morning?

  “Sorry. Did I wake you?”

  Didn’t even deign to answer that one.

  “I just heard about the fire so thought I’d ring to commiserate. How many dogs did you lose? And what about my dogs—any saved?”

  I pinged my eyes open and mentally kicked myself in the rear. Peter Manning. Naturally he’d be a
nxious for news of his dogs. “Geez, Peter, I’m sorry for not contacting you. What with the fire and other stuff that’s been happening around here, I just didn’t…”

  “No need to apologize, Kat,” he soothed, all sympathy. “I understand.”

  “Bad news, I’m afraid. Bubbles didn’t make it. My friend Scuzz managed to rescue all the other dogs but couldn’t get to your little girl. She was in the last kennel and by the time he returned for her the roof had crashed in and it was too late.”

  “Oh well, it could have been worse. The bitch was insured so I’ll be compensated for my loss.” When I didn’t comment on that bit of cold callous information, he continued, his voice more businesslike now, as though he had certain voices for different topics of conversation. “Anyway, the reason I rang is because I have something interesting to show you.”

  Hitching the quilt up to my neck, I dropped my head back on the pillow and sighed. I didn’t care if he had a picture of Superman having sex with a lioness—all I wanted to do was switch off my phone and go back to sleep.

  “Can I meet you somewhere?”

  “What? Now?” I snuggled deeper under the bed clothes. “Can’t it wait?”

  “I have proof of who lit the fire tonight?”

  “You do?” I threw back the quilt and bolted off the bed, stubbing my toe as my bare feet connected with the cold floor.

  “Look, I can’t say any more, my phone could be bugged. Meet me at the town end of your road in say, ten minutes? And come alone.”

  “But what about Ben and Scuzz?”

  “If I see anyone with you, I’ll drive straight off.”

  “But—”

  “No one! You’re the only one I can trust, Kat. If the wrong person finds out what I’ve discovered, I could end up dead.”

  I hesitated. This cloak and dagger stuff had warning bells ringing in my head. But Peter was one of my owners and if he had proof…

  “I’ll be there.”

  “Good girl,” said Peter. “I’ll be sitting in my car on the side of the road. You know, under the old sycamore tree. Pull in behind me and if it’s safe and I haven’t been followed, I’ll show you the proof. If there’s likely to be trouble, I’ll flash my headlights when I see you coming. If that happens, do a u-turn and drive home, pronto.”

  “But why can’t—”

  “See you in ten minutes.” And with that he hung up.

  My first instinct was to say damn Peter’s melodrama and go wake up the A team, but I knew that would prove futile. Unless I was alone the deal was off.

  I dragged on jeans and a pullover, slid my arms into an overcoat and pulled a beanie down over both ears to keep out the cold and at the last minute, gut instinct had me reaching for my weapons—a trusty can of super-hold hair spray and my shiny brass knuckle-duster. I slipped them both into my coat pocket, told the dogs to go back to sleep and shut the bedroom door behind me.

  As I tiptoed down the stairs, a cacophony of snores blasted from behind the lounge room door confirming the A team were deep in the land of Nod. I held my breath as I inched past and unlocked the front door.

  The loneliness of early morning greeted me. And after the deafening noise and movement of the fire, the night laid still and cold around me. Everything was bathed in a silver light, compliments of a three-quarter moon that rode high in the sky. I took a deep breath, averted my eyes from the dark shape which was all that was left of my kennel-house and let the breath out slowly. One or two dogs barked sleepily from the outside runs and a sharp smell of smoke tugged at my nostrils.

  Bypassing the gravel path on the way to my car, so as not to wake Ben or Scuzz, I started to jog. If I was late Peter might not hang around. He’d sounded freaky over the phone. Wired? As though he was in some sort of trouble—or close to a breakdown.

  Two steps away from my car I blipped to unlock the doors and heard a rustle behind me. I paused to listen. Maybe it was that feral cat—the one who had been taunting the dogs to distraction over the last couple of weeks. I’d been threatening to sic Tater onto the skinny, mean-eyed pest but the damn cat almost laughed in my face when I told him.

  Before I could turn around to investigate the noise further, a quick whooshing noise zipped past my ears. Something hard connected with the back of my head. I staggered forward, a searing pain spreading like a live crackling wire through my skull…

  And passed out.

  30

  It was the thumping headache that woke me. I opened my eyes, slits at first, then when blackness greeted me—curling through and eating into my brain—I opened them wider.

  Had I gone blind? Was I dead? I clenched my teeth and cursed my active imagination.

  It’s the middle of the night. Of course it’s dark!

  Next question: where the hell was I?

  The interior of my head was a demolition site and if I didn’t know better, I’d swear someone had filled it with prickly pear and well-sharpened roofing nails. I ran my tongue over my lips but the dryness extended inside my mouth and ran down my throat into my chest cavities.

  I blinked and shook my head. Shit! Shit! Shit! A biting pain threatened to take off the back of my skull and gouge out sections of my brain. Bile spewed up into my mouth. I closed my eyes, sucked in big noisy breaths and retreated to that personal space deep inside that allowed me to experience the sensation without being directly involved.

  It felt like an eternity, but finally the pain and nausea eased and I decided maybe I was going to live after all. Opening my eyes, I swallowed the bile and found my central core by sucking in slow, calming breaths through my nose and blowing out through pursed lips. Strangely, the air smelled stale and musty; of age-old wood and locked cupboards. Could the smell of Matt’s body still be clinging to my bed?

  That’s if I was in my bed.

  Momentarily, I stilled my breathing, listening for a clue to my whereabouts. No dogs barking—only the muffled sound of some dreary funeral dirge playing on the radio. I frowned. Couldn’t remember leaving the radio on before going to bed and I sure as hell couldn’t remember tuning into a station that played funeral music.

  I reached out to change the station...and hit something solid.

  Jesus!

  Tentatively, I inched my fingers toward the other side.

  Ditto…

  I struggled to sit up and immediately bashed my head on something so hard and unyielding, stars lit up the smothering blackness.

  Keep breathing.

  Don’t panic.

  There has to be a logical explanation.

  Ignoring the chunks of headache that were slowly peeling off inside my skull, I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and imagined I was floating on top of a red and yellow blow up mattress in the middle of a warm pool, enjoying the morning sunshine and listening to a tuxedoed waiter inform me brunch would be served on the patio in five minutes, madam.

  Ah….that was better.

  Now, where was I?

  I remembered stumbling into the house after the firemen left, drinking hot chocolate laced with brandy, kissing Ben like there was no tomorrow, and then going to bed. Remembered being woken by a call on my mobile from Peter Manning telling me he had an important clue as to the identity of the person who’d set fire to my kennel-house.

  I remembered grabbing my coat and car keys, shoving my trusty hair spray and knuckle-duster into my coat pocket and sneaking out the front door.

  I remembered unlocking my car and then…

  And then…and then what?

  I dug deeper into my soggy brain. Nope. That was it. The last thing I remembered was activating the locks on my car doors and hearing a noise behind me.

  Had I tripped and knocked myself out?

  Had I been hit over the head?

  Or had I fainted?

  More importantly—where was I now?

  Struggling to prevent the nightmare from freezing my senses and turning me into a screaming, dribbling mess, I investigated the barriers at my sides with probing
fingers. Although solid, the obstruction seemed to be padded with soft material, smooth, cold and silky to the touch. I lifted my hands above my head and poked at what felt like solid wood, inches from my face. I reached out with my toes only to find another barrier a mere stretch from where my feet ended.

  Oh sweet Jesus!

  As comprehension sucker punched me in the gut, my breath went on strike and my chest cramped in sympathy. I opened my mouth to scream but no sound came out. I banged and crashed and bucked my body in a futile attempt to break free. I gasped for air but the more I gasped, the less air I could find. Like a wet sandbag dropped from a great height, my next thought floored me. Completely defeated me.

  Had I been buried alive?

  Whimpering, I closed my eyes. Hysterics crawled around in my head. I wasn’t ready to die. Not by a long shot. I wanted to wave goodbye while celebrating my 100th birthday, dancing to rock-and-roll music and belting down one martini for every year of my life. Not like this. Not buried under the ground. Not tearing my hair out and choking on my last breath.

  I pummeled the lid of the coffin with closed fists. Yelled, let me out! Sent a message to The Universe to inform It of my predicament and that no amount of positive vibes would help me this time—unless It intervened. Like right now.

  But nothing happened. There was no voice of encouragement. No angel of mercy. No crack of lightning splitting the ground asunder and sending into orbit the wood and bronze and satin that imprisoned me. I was still trapped inside a coffin six foot under the ground with as much likelihood of survival as a spider coughing out bug spray.

  With the painful wheeze of my chest assaulting my ear drums, I closed my eyes, crossed my arms like I’d seen in pictures of dead people in their coffin, and decided if I was going to die, I’d do it while thinking of Ben. My Ben, with his crinkly eyed smile. My Ben, with the toned body that I’d never ever get to see naked. At that thought, a spasm of anger shook me.

  Determined to let out another lusty yell, I opened my eyes.

  And blinked.

  Painted angels were smiling down at me from above, with tiny rosebud lips.

  I narrowed my eyes and peered more closely. Had I died and gone to Heaven? No, I was staring at a cream colored ceiling dotted with recessed lighting and painted angels. So where the hell was I? And who had opened the lid of the coffin?