Chasing Can Be Murder (30 page)

“Not necessary. I am not going to the hospital.”

The ambulance attendant reached out and patted Scuzz on top of his shaved head. I almost expected her to select a lollypop from a jar and hand it to him. Instead, she told the giant biker not to worry, he could rest in the chair for as long as he liked.

“While you’re here,” Ben said to the woman, “any chance of taking a look at my girlfriend?” He gently nudged me forward while I momentarily lost my breath at his use of the word, “girlfriend.” “Kat’s suffering from shock and smoke inhalation. Thought she was fireproof, didn’t she?”

“Hello, Kat.” The attendant’s motherly smile broke out again. “Are you the owner of this establishment?”

I nodded at her. And then my shoulders sagged as I heard the last of the kennel-house collapse behind me. All that was left was a wet smoking husk. A tumbled mess of twisted iron and blackened wood. And with it went my livelihood, my dream of making it as a professional greyhound trainer. Mr. Big, thwarted by the rescue of Erin and the success of Lofty, certainly knew which button to press to bring me to my knees.

“Let’s take a look at you, dear.” The attendant climbed the steps into the ambulance before stretching one rubber gloved hand out to assist me. “I know it seems like your world has come to an end tonight, dear, but the main thing is no one died in the fire.”

I straightened my shoulders and sent her a smile. She was right. I needed to be strong, not allow this lowlife to beat me. My kennel-houses could be rebuilt. Erin was safe at home. Scuzz’s burnt hands would heal. “You’re absolutely right,” I told her as she placed a cold stethoscope against my chest. “The main thing is no one died in the fire tonight.”

Scuzz coughed and his soft voice drifted out from beneath his oxygen mask. “Except for little Bubbles.”

29

By the time I settled my traumatized greyhounds into outside runs and the fire brigade packed up their gear and trundled out of the gateway, it was almost two o’clock in the morning.

Weary to the point of exhaustion, Ben, Scuzz and I trudged through the front door of my house and into the kitchen where Tater and Lucky subjected us to a royal welcome. Nails clicked and slithered on the linoleum, bodies contorted into near-impossible shapes and tails lashed joyfully. Then, certain of our full attention, Lucky wriggled under the sofa and brought out her new hot pink beanie baby for Scuzz to inspect, while Tater did his usual
I’m starving
tap dance beside the refrigerator.

After distributing several slices of cheddar cheese to keep the locals happy, I slouched across to the window, leaned against the sill and gazed outside at the wreckage. Who was I kidding? It was all very well to get all pumped up, tell myself to act brave and not let Mr. Big win, but how could I possibly go on training greyhounds? All my equipment was gone. My kennel-house was a bomb site. Hell, I didn’t even own a collar and lead any more. Perhaps my mother was right and I should give up this foolishness, as she called it, quit greyhound training and get a
real
job.

Trouble is, stuffing my butt in an office chair from 9 till 5 or flipping burgers at the local burger joint would drive me nuts within a week. I loved training greyhounds. I loved the freedom of being my own boss, the crisp air that made my ears go numb on a cold winter morning, the thrill of watching my beautiful dogs stretch out at the gallop and the challenge of guiding a young dog from the time he left the breaking-in establishment to the excitement of his first race.

Nose against the window, I let out a sigh that came from way down in my soot-covered sneakers.

Scuzz, chest wheezing like a chronic asthmatic, placed one bandaged hand around my elbow and shepherded me across to the nearest chair. “Come along, Katrina, you must stay strong.” It was like he could read my mind. “If you give up now…you’ll have that evil man laughing.” The biker’s huge frame collided with the kitchen table as he tried to ease his body into the chair beside me. “You need to look beyond tonight’s nightmare and concentrate on the future. I have many friends who will rally around and build a temporary structure to house your dogs until a new kennel-house can be built.”

Ben looked up from the floor where he squatted, all the better to scratch Tater’s favorite spot, the little whorl behind his left ear. “There’s more than enough iron and timber out the back of our block for a temporary kennel-house. We can use that.”

“Good.” Scuzz raised his be-ringed eyebrows at me. “So…I’m surmising you
are
insured?”

I nodded, thanking God for my share of race wins this year which helped keep the exorbitant insurance fees up to date.

“Good,” he said again and then paused for another body wrenching coughing fit. “And don’t worry about your dogs. The gentleman next door has already taken four off your hands. And by tomorrow I’m sure other trainers will offer to care for the rest of your team until you’re fit to train again.”

Of course Scuzz was right. Here was I wallowing in self-pity while Scuzz, recovering from a nightmare himself, was attempting to cheer me up. It was definitely time to develop a stronger backbone. As the motherly ambulance attendant had proclaimed, no human life was lost in the fire and all but one of my dogs had been saved. After all, what was an inanimate object like a kennel-house compared to that?

The phone chirped, scattering my thoughts to the rafters.

Ben glanced up at the clock and frowned. “Let it go to the answering machine.”

As though swimming through deep mud, I pushed myself off the chair and stood up. “Might be an owner who’s heard about the fire and wants to check on his dogs.”

Ben, much to Tater’s disgust, stopped scratching behind the little dog’s ear and stood up. He opened the refrigerator door and hooked a carton of milk from a side shelf. “What say I make us a round of hot chocolate before we hit the sack?”

“I’ll be in that. Thanks, Ben. You’ll find a bottle of brandy at the back of the food cupboard to strengthen the brew.”

Important details dealt with, I lifted the receiver and spoke into the handset, only to find it was Big Mistake’s previous trainer, calling from Melbourne.

“Sorry I’m ringing so late, sweetheart,” he said, his words slurring into each other. I rolled my eyes.
This
I could do without. Sounded like the guy had been partying on into the night. “Bloody good win by Lofty.”

“Yes, we were rapt.”

“And you’ll win plenty more with that dog, sweetheart. He’s a bloody champion.”

“He certainly is.”

“I told Peter when he left to drive home before the big race that Lofty would win the final of the Puppy Championships. And now he’s bolted in first up for you too.”

I frowned. Peter left
before
the big race? I thought he’d left Melbourne the morning
after
the race.

“The wife and I won a heap of money on the big ugly bloke tonight. Backed him with the bookies and couldn’t believe the price he paid. Bloody marvelous!” The trainer’s raucous laughter had me easing the phone from my ear. “Anyway, gotta go, sweetheart, ’cos me darling wife has just refilled me glass. Can’t let me beer go flat, now can I?”

With that he hung up.

I shook my head, bewildered. Had Peter lied to us, or was this guy so drunk he’d forgotten what day of the week it was? I sighed, my brain too clogged with smoke, fear and unanswered questions to sort this out at the moment. I’d quiz Peter in the morning.

“Everything okay?” asked Ben, placing three giant mugs of hot chocolate on the kitchen table.

“That was Lofty’s previous trainer. Says he won a packet on the dog tonight and it sounded like he’s been celebrating.”

“Typical,” growled Ben running long fingers through his already rumpled hair. “Everyone won money on Lofty—except us.”

I quirked an eyebrow at him. “Considering we didn’t know whether Jake would be gumming Lofty’s toes together, I guess backing the dog wasn’t a huge priority for us.”

He grinned. “Yeah, and we
were
a 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 we
all
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 to
talk
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.”