Pit and Miss Murder Read online

  I knew they didn’t have any other pets, which made them perfect for fostering pit bulls who needed to be in single pet homes. Veronica was a website designer and worked from home, and her husband Mick was a plumber. He’d done all the plumbing at the new shelter at cost. It had saved us a bundle of money. Mick and Parker had become friends when he hired Mick to do the plumbing on the current shelter. He’d talked the couple into fostering three years ago. While they’d had been reluctant at first, they’d turned out to be amazing at it. Hester was their fifth foster dog. The first four had all been adopted within a few months. “Hester is lucky to be with you while she waits for her forever family.”

  “She’s such a sweetheart. We’ve been the lucky ones.” She gestured toward the kitchen. “I’ll let you get to it. If you have any questions, I’ll be back in my office. It’s just the first door on the left in the hall.”

  “Thanks. It shouldn’t take too long.” All I needed to do was check the house and the yard to make sure there wasn’t anything hazardous for the dog, like poisonous plants, pins, needles, unruly electrical cords, toxins, and other dangerous objects.

  I made quick work of the interior inspection. The Blakes had done a great job of making the home pet-friendly. They even turned one entire bedroom space into a doggy haven, with a futon mattress on the floor, toys to play with, and a TV mounted high on the wall.

  Veronica came out of her office and joined me in the dog room. “Hester likes to have the television on when I have to leave the house to shop and stuff.” She smiled wistfully. “Her favorite program is Golden Girls. She always wags her tail when Rose is on screen.”

  “You all have made a lovely and safe space for her and the other dogs you’ve cared for.”

  “I can’t wait to pick her up from the vet today. Dr. Petry says she’s going to be just fine.” She pulled a tissue from her pocket and dabbed at her eyes. “I’ve never been so scared in all my life. Where in the world did she get ahold of antifreeze? We didn’t have any here, not even in the garage. When Parker said someone might have deliberately poisoned her, we checked the backyard, which is the only place she could have come into contact with it, and we couldn’t find anything.”

  “This wasn’t your fault.” She walked with me back out to the living room. “The house is good to go. I’ll go check out the backyard and then around the front. It shouldn’t take too long.”

  “Great,” Veronica said, “because Mick is waiting in the parking lot of Petry’s Pet Clinic to pick Hester up and bring her home.”

  I arched a brow at the way she said home. “Are you and Mick considering adopting Hester?”

  She shook her head, then nodded. “I can’t help it. I just love her so much. She’s a complete cuddle monster. I think I knew from the first night we brought her home, that I wanted to keep her, but we’ve been reluctant to make it official because it means giving up on the pit bulls who can’t be placed in homes with other pets.”

  I knew what love at first sight felt like. I’d had it with Smooshie when she’d tackled me out of the way of an oncoming car. She’d been my loyal companion ever since.

  I hugged Veronica. “I love a good foster fail,” I said, and we both laughed through tears. I patted her back. “Let me go check out the rest of the property so we can get your baby home.”

  The back deck was large, no loose nails or screws. The steps were in good repair leading down to the yard. There was a five-foot chain-link fence surrounding the yard, with a gap that looked to be about eight inches from the neighbors’ fences on either side. The neighbor to the left had a swing set and a trampoline in the backyard. The neighbor on the right had an elaborate art installation above a water fountain that featured metal sheets cut and twisted into flames and painted in yellow and orange, above the flames, an orange bird, sitting on a yellow perch with a heart painted in red below its claws, its wings spread, ready to fly.

  The sliding glass door opened, and Veronica joined me on the deck. “It’s haunting, isn’t it?”

  “It’s a phoenix, right?”

  “I think so. My neighbor Patty, her husband died a year ago.” She shook her head somberly, and in a quieter voice said, “He killed himself.”

  “That’s awful.”

  “Patty, understandably, had a difficult time, so her daughter moved back home to stay with her for a while. Her daughter made the metal sculpture. She said the bird is her father, flying free, the ribbon with the heart is for the family he left behind, and the flames are reserved for the people who drove him to his death.” She shuddered. “It’s all a little ghastly for my taste, but everyone grieves in their own ways.”

  “Why did he kill himself?”

  “Apparently, he’d put them in enough debt that Patty had to sell their business to pay it off.”

  “Wow. It makes me thankful for the things I have.”

  “Same. David was a Chamber of Commerce board member, and when I started my home business, he organized an article in the local newspaper for me. He was a nice man. It’s a damn shame.” She patted my arm. “I’ll let you get back to it.”

  The freshly cut lawn was clear of weeds and debris. I went down the steps and walked the perimeter of the fence. The left side and the back fence were clear, but as I walked down the right side, there was a muddy space between the fences, and it looked like Hester or another dog had started to dig under it. I knelt down and leaned in for a closer look. The ground was saturated. I reached under the fence and dragged my finger through the wet soil then inhaled the scent of it. The aroma was watered down, but it was sweet and chemical-like at the same time. This had to be where the antifreeze had been given to Hester, but it looked like someone had doused it with a copious amount of water to dilute it. I looked at the neighbor’s yard. Could Patty or her daughter have poisoned Hester? Why? My skin itched as fury simmered just below the surface.

  I understood that tragedy could make a person lash out, but to harm an animal or any living creature to make yourself feel better was monstrous. They couldn’t get away with it. I marched up the fence line, through the gate, and up the steps to the neighbor’s house.

  The cougar raged to get out and exact vengeance. Down, girl, I chided myself. Between staying at Parker’s most the time, which meant less shifting, and the full moon tonight, I was seriously on edge. I resisted the urge to pound the door down. Instead, I poked the doorbell over and over with what I considered incredible restraint.

  “Just a minute!” a woman yelled. “Stop ringing the damn doorbell.”

  I did not stop ringing the doorbell. In fact, I poked it four more times in rapid succession.

  The front door flew open. Jordan Deeter stood in front of me, wearing a blue hoody that said, “Tornadoes will blow you away.” Tornadoes were the Two Hills Community College sports mascot.

  She hadn’t expected to see me any more than I’d expected to see her. We were both stunned silent.

  Finally, she spoke first. “Hi.” She frowned at me. “What are you doing here? And how do you know where I live?”

  “I didn’t know this was your house,” I said, my mouth suddenly dry. My emotions were clouded by confusion. “I was doing the inspection at the Blakes’ home. Hester is being released today.”

  Jordan nibbled at her upper lip. “I’m glad she’s going to be okay.”

  “I think you better invite me in,” I said.

  She shook her head. “Mom’s asleep.”

  “Then we can have this conversation right here on the porch where all your neighbors can hear about how you poisoned a defenseless dog.”

  Her nose twitched, but she nodded. “We can talk privately in my studio in the basement. There’s an entrance by the garage.”

  “All right.” I ushered her past me. “Lead the way.” I followed her down the front steps to the door near next to the garage. She punched in a four-digit code: 0507. The lock clicked, and we went inside.

  The musty, chilly basement was unfinished with cement floors, open
ceiling, and drywall that hadn’t been taped or mudded. A buzzing refrigerator was against the far wall. The ductwork in the open ceiling rattled as air was forced through the vents. Since the basement was so cold, I guessed the central air conditioner was running. There were several metal tables set up, and various shaped lumps were covered with opaque plastic wrap. Even if there weren’t dried splotches of white, dusty matter, I would have guessed it was clay because of the smell.

  “I didn’t mean to harm Hester,” Jordan said. “I would never. Not on purpose.”

  “Then how did the antifreeze end up over the fence? It was too far away from anything to be an accidental spill.”

  “I don’t know how to explain it.” She looked genuinely upset. “But it really was an accident.”

  She was telling the truth which eased some of my agitation. “Okay,” I said. “But why didn’t you just say something?”

  “I really love volunteering. Helping those dogs and my art is the only thing that gives my life meaning.”

  The sculpture in the yard, the one commemorating her father’s suicide, had been her creation. When I’d asked about her parents, no wonder she’d been so vague. Suicide was hard to talk about. The survivors had to live with the consequences.

  “I’m sorry I got so mad. People make mistakes. Goddess, knows I have.”

  “That’s really generous,” Jordan said. “Thank you.”

  The clay lumps under the plastic intrigued me. “Can I see some of your work?”

  “Sure.” She smiled. “I’d love to show you.” She pulled the wrap off one of the pieces. It looked like the beginnings of a face. “It’s going to be a tribute to my mother,” Jordan said.

  I moved in close, admiring the detailed lines, and the fact that the one finished eye, even though it was without color or shading, held a depth of life to it that I’d never seen. Of course, I didn’t get to a lot of museums. I could see why her work had been chosen to be displayed at the college, though. Jordan was the real deal.

  “This is magnificent,” I told her.

  “Thank you. Do you want something to drink? I have cranberry juice in the fridge.”

  “No, thanks. I need to get back over to the Blakes and finish up my inspection so they can bring Hester home.” An open box with sculpting tools on the other side of the clay caught my attention. It had wire brushes, a looped wire triangle and circle with wooden handles, flat blades, ice pick looking tools, several curved instruments in different sizes and different edges, a spearhead knife, and a knife that looked like a curved scalpel.

  “These are neat,” I said. “It must be fun to work with your hands.”

  “It’s therapeutic,” Jordan said.

  A glint of light caught my eye and drew my gaze. On a shelf full of ceramics finished and unfinished was a bottle of vodka.

  I blinked. Oh. Oh, no. Cranberry juice, vodka, curved scalpel, the exact right size for Jock’s wound. And I had my suspicions about the why. “How did your dad lose his money?”

  “Gambling addiction,” Jordan said from right behind me. Between the rattling duct and the noisy fridge, I hadn’t heard her approach.

  Before I could whip around, something hard slammed against my head and drove me to my knees. She served me one more crack on the head before I could shake the first blow, and I blacked out.

  Chapter 23

  My head pounded, and my eyes felt as if they would explode as I blinked them open. The room was noisy with what sounded like the white noise machine I sometimes slept with at home, and it was dark as pitch. A pungent overwhelming scent of vinegar made me gag. I couldn’t see a thing. I tried to use my arms to push myself up from a cold hardwood floor, but I couldn’t move them. I felt sick to my stomach as I maneuvered onto my side and used the wall to sit up. My hands and wrists bound, prayer-style, behind my back, and my ankles and knees were taped with what felt like duct tape. It took me a few moments to shake the shock and orient to my current reality.

  Jordan had hit me in the head. Twice. Maybe more for all I knew. It felt as if she’d taken a hammer to my skull. I tried to bring my cougar forward, which would be the easiest way to slip my bonds, but, alarmingly, I couldn’t feel her. Had the blows damaged my ability to change forms?

  I tried to wiggle and squirm my way out, but she’d used a lot of tape. I fought the panic clawing at my throat. The idea that I couldn’t shift scared me more than being tied up by a crazed co-ed. The temperature of the room chilled me to the bone. It had to be under forty degrees. As a shifter, I could take a lot of temperature extremes, so it had to be abnormally cold in the room, but for some reason, my internal heater wasn’t working either. I rolled to my side then used my head against the wall to get into an upright sitting position. I drew my knees up in front of me and used my legs to push myself up on the wall.

  Why was Jordan doing this?

  Gambling addiction. That was the last words I’d heard her say. Did she hold Jock responsible for her dad’s death? Is that why she killed him? But why wait so long after the fact? She had been a genuinely nice person. I knew she cared about the dogs. Something had to have made her snap.

  When I managed to stand up straight, I used the wall as a guide and hopped sideways, feeling for a light switch. It took me several minutes, but I found it.

  Goddess, I wish I hadn’t. After the initial blinding, I saw a queen-sized bed in the center of the room. On top of the quilted comforter was a dark-haired woman, middle-aged, maybe. And she was absolutely dead. It was hard to tell how long. The cold room had probably slowed down decomposition, and all I could smell was vinegar. The room had a window, and it was painted black. I bounced forward, determined to throw myself out the window if that’s what it took to get free. I cried out when my toe caught on something, and I tripped, falling on my side, landing on top of a large Mason jar full of vinegar. The jar shattered around me, the shards cutting into my shoulder and upper arm, and the vinegar splashed into the open wounds, intensifying the pain.

  “Noooo,” I whimpered then gagged on the smell again. I saw that there were at least four more jars of the stuff on the floor in the room. This was a freaking nightmare. I tried to shift again and got no response. I couldn’t stop thinking about Parker and Smooshie. What if I never saw them again? What if this was it? Witches and shifters hadn’t been able to kill me, neither had gun-toting killers, or a desperate sheriff. Nope. I was going to be taken out by an art major.

  Calm down, I told myself. Thinking about all the things I had to lose wasn’t going to get me free. I tried to roll up, but broken glass bit into my arm, but it gave me an idea. After a two second cuss-fest, I rolled onto my back over the glass. If I could get a piece in my hand, maybe I could cut the bindings. Jordan had done a diligent job with her duct tape. I could wiggle my fingers, but my palms were bound together prayer-style and separate from my wrists.

  I managed to get a piece of the broken jar between my fingers, but I’d cut myself, and between the blood and stinging vinegar, I couldn’t keep the dang thing from slipping when I tried to saw the tape with it. I used all my strength to try and stretch the duct tape, but, Goddess in a tutu, the people who had invented the stuff had made a durable product. I managed to pick up the glass piece again, then rolled onto my stomach. I dropped the shard on my butt then wiped my fingers on my jeans to dry them before trying again.

  A small ripping sound made my insides dance with triumph. I kept working at it for what seemed like an hour, and I finally freed my palms. It gave me a little more wiggled room, so I bent my knees and brought my ankles to my rear and had another surge of hope when I found I could easily reach them with my hands. I began sawing, working hard to ignore the cramp forming in my thigh.

  Cripes. I had to get out of here. No one knew where I was. They wouldn’t be worried. I was on my own here, no Parker, Buzz, or Nadine coming to my rescue. I can rescue myself. That’s what I’d told Parker the night before. “You can,” I said out loud. “You can do this. Rescue yourself.”
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br />   I got through the ankle tape. Even with my knees still bound, once I got myself up from the floor, I could hobble. I tried the handle on the door, but it was locked from the outside. The window seemed my only option, but when I threw myself at it, I found they weren’t glass, but painted plexiglass.

  Okay, first thing was first. I needed to get my hands in front of me. I squatted down and put my bottom through my arms so that my bound wrists were between my calves and thighs. Next, I sat down, then raised my legs and lifted my arms up and over my feet. Yes! Harry Houdini, eat your heart out. I still needed to get my ankles and wrists free, but I was in much better shape than I had been when I regained consciousness.

  I made short work of my knees by picking at the tape then unrolling it. It hadn’t been easy because, like I said, those guys knew how to make tape, but it was still quicker than trying to cut the multi-layers with smooth glass. My teeth chattered as cold air blew constantly from the room vents.

  With my knees free and my hands out in front of me, it was easy to get up and explore the room. I tried pulling the plexiglass from the windows, but Jordan had screwed them into the frame. I shivered as the arctic breeze blew against my wet skin. I pulled some nightgowns out of the dresser and covered the vents as best I could to warm up the room. I went to the bedside stand and pulled the drawer open, hoping for a pair of scissors or a knife. Something to get my wrists undone. On the bedside stand, was a wedding photo. The custom frame said David and Patricia Deeter. 5/07/1994

  This was Jordan’s parents. They both looked happy in the picture. The idea they were both dead now, leaving Jordan on her own saddened me. I knew what it was like to be an orphan at such a young age.

  “My mom died on their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary,” Jordan said.

  I staggered in surprise. “That’s a really quiet door.”

  She gave me a tight smile. “I’m sorry, Lily. I like you, but I can’t let you go. Not until I’ve made them pay.” She held up a mini-hand gun. Goddess, why did everyone have a gun?