Chasing Can Be Murder (31 page)

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, you
do
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 anxious 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?

For a moment I lay there, my depleted lungs sucking in ragged breaths of air. Sweat ran from my forehead, stinging my eyes. When no crazed killer appeared, attempting to rearrange my neck at the correct angle so he could cut my throat, I cranked the top half of my body forward and sat up.

Ears alert for movement, I scanned the room. Although dimly lit, I could make out several oak coffins lining one wall, lids sealed and topped with brightly colored flowers. Their brass handles and trimmings winked in the muted light from the overhead fittings. And to add to the somber atmosphere, a cloying smell of violets hung in the air while soft music purred from a nearby speaker.

Other than that—the room was as still as the dead who occupied it.

“Lusty pair of lungs you’ve got there, Kat.”

As though hit by a switch, I flicked my head to the left and peered in the direction of the voice.

“My old man would not be pleased if he heard you shouting in his funeral parlor. When I was a kid he’d lock me in here for hours if I so much as sneezed amongst his precious dead.”

Dim lighting made it hard to see clearly, but I could just make out a familiar figure sitting in a chair on the other side of the room, arms folded, legs stretched out in front of him.

“Peter?” I croaked. Relief, and what felt like hours of yelling making my throat scratchy. “Oh, Peter, you
darling
man. You don’t know how happy I am to see you. Thank God you found me. Did you notice anyone suspicious hanging around outside? Sorry I couldn’t meet you down the road like we planned. I don’t know what happened but—”

Like a runaway bus slamming into a brick wall, my euphoria suddenly crashed and burned. I gulped and the sound echoed with a dry click in the back of my throat. For there, in Peter’s right hand was the gleam of a little silver gun. And the gun was pointed at me.