Drip Dead (11 page)

I wrapped my fingers around the metal case. It was warm from resting next to my body, and I gripped it tightly. But I didn’t take it out and turn it on. No matter how much I told myself I had every right to be there, I didn’t want to draw any attention to my presence.

I might believe I was right, but I didn’t relish the thought of arguing that point with the sheriff. We’d had that debate before, the discovery of Gregory’s body being the latest in a growing list of incidents.

What he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt me.

I stood still just inside the gate for what felt like an eternity as I waited for my eyes to adjust. I could feel my pupils straining to trap every bit of light as the yard slowly turned from a single dark pit to a dim landscape of grays and blacks, like an old movie with the brightness turned way down.

At last I could see enough to avoid running into the fence or the house in the dark. But I couldn’t see much more.

The dogs strained against the leashes, anxious to check out every inch of the yard. I let myself be dragged along behind them toward the back fence.

An unpaved alley ran along the other side of the fence. Once there had been a gate from the yard to the alley, but when my father replaced the fence he’d eliminated the gate as a security measure. I’d noticed several missing boards and put them on my to-do list, but for now the fence wasn’t providing much security and I wondered if the dogs were after some animal in the alley.

We were a few feet from the fence when a car turned into the alley, its headlights blinding me. Instinctively, I flattened myself against the fence and ducked down. I tugged on the leashes, forcing the dogs into the shadows with me, and hugged them tight against my pounding chest.

A couple houses over I heard a dog bark, just as I had the day Gregory was killed. I whispered a warning to Daisy and Buddha to stay quiet, and for once they obeyed a command.

I slipped a shaky hand in my pocket and rewarded them each with a treat. They deserved it.

My eyes recovered a little as the car crept along the alley. Its lights swept along the fence and I was grateful for the solid boards that protected me from exposure. A tire splashed through a pothole, and the lights wavered for a second before resuming their slow progression.

As the car passed my hiding place I watched it through the sliver of space between the boards.

I held my breath and watched the logo of the Pine Ridge Sheriff Department move slowly past.

I swallowed a scream, and forced myself to remain motionless in the dark shadow of the fence.

Had someone seen me despite my precautions? Had they called the sheriff? Was there another car moving into position in front of the house?

And what would happen if they found me here?

I didn’t wait around to find out.

As soon as the car reached the end of the alley and turned the corner I wiggled through a hole in the fence, dragging Daisy and Buddha after me.

A dog barked a couple houses over, and another answered. Maybe the deputy was used to the barking; it seemed common in this neighborhood.

I hustled the dogs forward. If the patrol car came back down the alley there was nowhere to hide.

I stumbled in the dark and went down on one knee.

Fear drove me back to my feet in record time. I reached out my right hand and found a chain-link fence lining the alley. Using the fence as a guide I trotted a few yards.

From somewhere behind me I heard a door open. My heart leaped and I nearly stumbled again, but I caught myself with a hand in the mesh of the chain link.

The soft thump of a heavy load echoed down the alley, followed by the clatter of plastic on plastic.

Somebody closing a trash can.

Just some random neighbor dumping their garbage.

I breathed a sigh of relief and hurried on. The patrol car could return at any second; I wasn’t safe yet.

The two blocks back to my car were two of the longest blocks I had ever walked. I had to balance the risk of being seen on the road with the risk of walking too near houses where I might be spotted.

When we finally were in sight of the Beetle my heartbeat began to slow.

I loaded the dogs in the car and slid behind the wheel. My hands were shaking with the adrenaline letdown, and I had to brace my arm against the steering wheel to get the key in the ignition.

Mom was waiting up when I got home.

It didn’t matter that it was my house. It didn’t matter that I was thirty-something, or that I had lived alone in San Francisco and Portland. It didn’t matter that I had owned my own company and held my own in the shark tank that was high tech.

In that moment I was fifteen again, trying to sneak in after curfew. And getting caught.

She sat in the overstuffed chair, carefully avoiding my “bed.” Dressed in an elegant pair of silk pajamas and a matching robe, she had her legs tucked under her and a book in her hand. A pair of red-framed reading glasses perched on the end of her nose, and she looked up at me over their rims, one eyebrow arched in disapproval.

“I thought you went to walk the dogs,” she said accusingly.

“I did.”

I unclipped the leashes and hung them by the door. The dogs followed me into the kitchen, anxious for their green treats. I didn’t disappoint them.

I heard my mother get out of her chair. Her bare feet made almost no sound as she walked to the kitchen and stood in the doorway, her arms crossed over her chest.

“Walking the dogs should involve walking, Georgiana, not driving.”

“Sometimes we go to different neighborhoods. Just to get a little variety,” I lied.

I put the treats in the cupboard. The dogs tried sad doggy eyes for a minute, then wandered off to their beds, acknowledging defeat on the extra-treats front.

“Variety, Georgiana? They’re dogs! They eat the same food every day for years. Why would they need variety?”

She was right, though I wasn’t about to admit it. My excuse had sounded pretty lame, even to me.

“I need the variety, Mom. I see the same stretch of road every day. Sometimes several times a day, in fact.”

Mom gave a very unladylike snort that clearly expressed her disbelief, but she didn’t speak. Instead she simply stood in the kitchen doorway and waited. Just like she did when I was fifteen.

It was a Mom power I should have been able to resist. But somehow, even in her pajamas and bare feet, she had the ability to intimidate me. In my own house.

Then I remembered the one thing that diminished her power: She had a housekeeper! Super-Mom wasn’t quite so super after all. Maybe I could get away with a more convincing lie.

“Well,” I said, putting on my best you-caught-me face, “I was thinking about going to Tiny’s for a beer after we had our walk. But by the time we finished I was tired and I just wanted to come home.”

She shook her head. “I guess I should be thankful for small favors,” she said. “At least you didn’t go hang out at a tavern alone.”

I clamped my lower lip between my teeth to keep from smiling. Give her something concrete to disapprove of and she immediately forgot about her other questions. I should have been annoyed at the attitude that a grown woman couldn’t go to a local hangout like Tiny’s without an escort, but I was too busy being relieved she’d taken my explanation at face value.

“You said you were going to bed,” I reminded her.

“I was. But I came in for a cup of tea after my shower and I found your note. You know how it is, Georgiana. I can’t sleep when you’re out.” She shrugged. “So I waited up.”

I nodded. She’d always waited up. I didn’t know why I thought this time would be any different. “I understand, Mom. But I’m a grown-up now. You need to relax.” I grinned at her, trying to relieve the somber moment. “I’m not your responsibility anymore.”

“You’ll always be my responsibility, Georgiana,” she said tartly. “You’re my daughter. And you always will be.”

Mom was back on her high horse as she turned and sailed out of the kitchen. A hint of fragrance stirred in her wake, and I finally recognized the scent that had pervaded my house in the last two days.

Joy.

It was Mom’s favorite perfume, and it left its mark everywhere. Just like my mother.

I stalled another couple minutes in the kitchen. I listened to Mom moving around in the living room. Then I heard footsteps in the hall and the snap of the bedroom door closing. She’d gone to bed.

I let out the breath I’d been holding.

I had to get Sheriff Mitchell to let her back in her own house.

This was never going to work.

On a normal Saturday morning I would have been in class in Portland. With my licensing exam coming up I
should
have been in class. But there was nothing normal about this Saturday morning.

Mom was up at the crack of dawn and in the bathroom. Again. In spite of her bath the night before she still needed what felt like several hours to get ready to face the day.

I dealt with it by rolling over—as much as I could on the narrow sofa—and pretending I was asleep. It wasn’t a great solution.

When she finally emerged and released the sweet-smelling cloud, I stayed put. I pulled a pillow over my head and managed to ignore Mom, Daisy, and Buddha for another half hour.

I considered it a moral victory.

On a normal Saturday my mother would be meeting clients for breakfast, getting ready to show prospective buyers a string of houses. The office at Whitlock Estates would be buzzing by mid-morning with Mom and Gregory zipping in and out.

Nothing was normal for Mom, either.

When I shambled into the kitchen after my shower, she was sitting at the table. Her Bluetooth headset was looped over one ear, and her smartphone was on the table next to her open laptop. She flipped between files on the computer as she talked, occasionally reaching for a steaming mug of coffee.

I stared into the refrigerator. There was too much food in there, and I had to shove things aside to find a carton of yogurt for breakfast.

I carried the yogurt and a cup of coffee back into the living room, away from Mom’s rapid-fire instructions to her office staff. All the employees of Whitlock Estates were working from home, and Mom had turned my kitchen table into her command center.

With Gregory gone, I heard her say, it was vital the company appear to be going forward. It was only a matter of time before the metropolitan papers picked up on his death. The remaining agents had to look active and confident if they wanted to keep Whitlock Estates running.

What she didn’t say was that they had to keep the company running to preserve her investment. I had seen the prenuptial agreement, and I knew how much of her net worth was tied up in Whitlock Estates.

The thought left me with a knot in my stomach. We’d been through this before. When Dad died, she’d shouldered his debts and somehow managed to hang on to the house. I had been pouring everything I had into Samurai Security and hadn’t been able to help.

If Whitlock Estates went down because of Gregory’s death it would be the same thing all over again.

For one insane moment I had a vision of the two of us trying to live together to save money. I quickly decided the cost of therapy to recover from the trauma would outweigh any savings.

Whitlock Estates had to survive. The alternative was unthinkable.

The stream of instructions from the kitchen stopped. A few minutes later Mom marched through the living room and into the bedroom. When she emerged she was dressed in an impeccable trouser suit and a pair of stilettos.

I wondered just how many pairs of shoes the woman owned.

She slung her purse over her shoulder and dug out her car keys. “Houses to show,” she said. “I don’t know when I’ll be back.”

I heard the deep rumble of the Escalade’s engine as she started the car and drove away. I had the house to myself. At least for a little while.