Chasing Can Be Murder (17 page)

Sheesh!
I sighed and ran a weary hand through my hair. I was tempted to make up a sizzling story where Scuzz and I performed every position of the
Kama Sutra
while covered in chocolate syrup, then thought, why bother.

“Ben, there’s nothing going on between the biker and me.” I frowned across at the cause of our current misunderstanding. Stretched out on the settee, blatantly listening to every word, Scuzz’s dark eyes sparkled with amusement.

“Personally, I don’t care if you have sex with a telegraph pole. But what I
do
care about is being told to shove off when I offer my assistance. Then, to kick a man when he’s down, you ring up later wanting to tell me how King Kong performed in bed.”

“What the hell are you on about? Scuzz is my bodyguard. There was no all-night orgy between him, me and his bloody motorbike, you moron.”

I heard what sounded like throat clearing. “Another thing,” he went on in a quieter voice, “why didn’t you ask
me
to be your bodyguard?”

Holy Catfish!
This guy was sending out so many mixed messages I was drowning in the backwash.

“Because you distinctly told me you had a hot date with the Petrowski twins tonight. That’s why.” I paused to let my words sink in. “Which reminds me,
Benjamin
, what are you doing at home at this early hour? Twins stand you up, did they?”

“Not that it’s any of your business,
Katrina
, but I decided on an early night.”

“Wow! Should I send for a doctor?”

“Always the comedian.”

“I’m merely surprised, that’s all.”

“And I’m standing here dripping water and freezing my butt off,” he continued, voice tighter than a screw top jar. “So—what’s up?”

Geez…the possibilities were endless.

In fact, the image of Ben, naked, with
what’s up
being in the realms of fantasy, had me choking on my saliva. Okay, as I said before—I’m pathetic—I’m a masochist—I know he’ll never reciprocate—but that doesn’t stop me from transferring erotic images of Ben into a special folder in my brain where I can drag them out and examine each frame in minute detail. Under the cover of darkness. In the privacy of my own bed.

Like a pin-pricked balloon, the reason I’d rung Ben brought me back to earth. “I’m scared, Ben, that’s what’s up. Matt’s killer paid me another visit tonight.”

“Bloody hell!” His yell was so loud I held the phone from my ear. “Why didn’t you say so in the first place? Where’s that useless King Kong? If that gorilla chickened out instead of protecting you I’ll fry his liver and throw it to the dogs. I’m sorry, mate. What happened? Are you hurt?”

I was back to being a mate. Still, that was okay. At least now we could talk to each other without emotions driving a wedge between us.

“I’m fine.” I sighed. “Well…not really. Some lowlife left a graphic message on my doorstep about half an hour ago. It involved a warning note, dead flowers and animal body parts.”

“Oh, crap!”

“It was awful, Ben. The dead flowers were tied up with this…this…tail…and it was all slippery with blood.”

“What was on the note?”

“Big Mistake must lose—or else.”

There was a moment’s silence before he spoke again. “Give Lofty a loaf of bread or a sedative. Whatever it takes. Just make sure the dog loses.”

“I don’t know,” I bleated still unsure of this part. “It doesn’t feel right.”

“Listen to me, Kat, nothing’s worth getting your head smashed in for.”

I ran my fingers over the letters, vaguely noting the only colors used were red and black and they’d been cut roughly, as though in a hurry, or anger. “But Scuzz says, if I follow this psycho’s orders, I’ll never get out of his clutches.”

“It’s not the gorilla’s head on the chopping block here. It’s yours.”

“But—”

“No buts. Have you forgotten what happened to Matt?”

Forgotten? Every time I dropped off to sleep, the image of Matt’s blank lifeless eyes invaded my dreams.

“Of course I haven’t,” I answered, the chill stirring deep in my gut. “But Matt didn’t have a bodyguard. I do.”

“And what do you know about this...bodyguard?”

I hesitated. Flicked another glance at the man-mountain spread out across my settee. “Not much. But he seems sort of nice. And he’s Jake’s cousin.”

Ben snorted. I guess I hadn’t won him over. “Listen mate, if you want company tonight, I could be dressed and at your place in less than ten minutes.”

Suddenly exhaustion hit me, so profound it ate deep down into my bones. I slumped in my chair and closed my eyes. No way could I cope with the open hostility raging between two testosterone-charged combatants tonight.

“Thanks Ben, but I’m whacked off my feet right now. Think I’ll take a sleeping tablet and go to bed. Don’t worry, I’ll be safe. Scuzz and the dogs are camped in the lounge.” I paused to allow this vital information to register. “But, hey, can we get together tomorrow morning? Plan what to do next?”

“Sure. Make it ten o’clock. I’ll have my dogs worked by then and don’t figure on leaving for the track until twelve. Like you, I have a dog racing in the Derby qualifiers tomorrow afternoon.”

“Okay.”

“But, Kat, you
do
know, if you need me before then, I’m as close as a phone call away?”

“Thanks Ben. You’re a real good mate.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Hmm…did that sound like Ben sighing? Nah. Just experiencing a painful twinge of indigestion.

“Now,” his voice took on a hard edge. “Before I get back under the shower, let me have a word with King Kong.”

“His name is Scuzz.”

Ben’s deep throaty chuckle came down the phone line. “
That’s
a name? Thought Scuzz was something you threw away with the garbage. Okay, pass the phone to the gorilla so I can warn him if he lays one finger on you I’ll cut off his main appendage and feed it through my mincing machine.”

Well, what do you know? My good mate, Ben was prepared to defend my honor. Pity after defending it he didn’t fancy keeping it for himself.

I handed the phone to Scuzz and settled back in the armchair. Tater scaled my leg and made a nest in my lap. As I stroked his soft fur, kneaded the tiny muscles along his neck and listened to his blissful sighs, my tension slipped away. It’s strange how animals have this almost magical power to relieve human stress.

My head fell back onto the head rest while I concentrated on following Tater’s example, relaxing my muscles one by one from my neck, down to each individual toe. Eyes closed, I smiled as I listened to the one-sided conversation between my biker bodyguard and near-naked mate. Geez, if things didn’t cool down soon they’d be calling for dueling pistols at dawn. Which would probably prove painful for me.

While secretly removing the bullets from both their guns, there was every likelihood I’d shoot myself in the foot.

* * *

Perhaps the sleeping tablets were past their use by date. Perhaps I was allergic to the ingredients. Whatever the reason, sleep didn’t come easily that night and when it finally did I had the sort of nightmare you normally only have after gourmandizing on pizza half an hour before bedtime.

A horde of maniacal garden gnomes with concrete smiles and bloody pitchforks were chasing me around my garden. Well, it felt like my garden—although it didn’t look like it. My taste in flowers doesn’t run to giant snapdragons with sharp pointed teeth. Anyway, these crazy gnomes kept grabbing at me and laughing. Not nice laughing either. It was that scary horror-movie sort of laugh where you grab a handful of popcorn and shove it in your mouth to stop from jabbering. Their eyes spun, their painted fingers reached for me and their spine-chilling laughter grew louder and more feral as I scrambled to get away. Underfoot, dead flowers with bloody tails coiled around my legs, tripping me over.

And there, nonchalantly leaning against a post and rail fence was my good mate, Ben. Thing is, when I called out to him for help, he didn’t move. I called out again, this time more frantic. But still he didn’t move. He’d pulled his akubra hat down over his face. When I looked more closely, I could see two dark eyes. Not Ben’s eyes. These were flat and cold and remote.

“
You’re on your own, mate. I would have helped but you chose King Kong,”
the Ben lookalike hissed, just before turning into a snake and slithering away into the underbrush.

On the roadway ahead, hundreds of motorbikes quivered restlessly, all roaring, rumbling and spewing smoke. Astride each bike sat a black leather-clad creature with no head. Thick crimson blood gushed freely from the severed necks, oozed down over the headless bodies and pooled on the bitumen below.

I tell you, sometimes it doesn’t pay to have an active imagination.

Thankfully, the insistent clamor of barking dogs ripped me from my nightmare. I squinted at the bedside clock.

7:36 a.m.

I groaned. No wonder the dogs were making a racket. I’d slept through the alarm.

While my quilt lay in a heap on the floor, my body seemed to be wrapped mummy-style inside the sweaty sheet. And I was bursting for a pee. Cursing the inherited genetic pool responsible for my pathetically weak bladder, I kicked my way to freedom. Once free, I shimmied cross-legged down the passageway and into the bathroom.

Urgent ablutions completed, I dragged on a pair of faded work jeans, a black, teal and white T-shirt, proving I was a Port Power supporter, and then glanced in the mirror.

Ugh!

Blotchy face, bloodshot eyes, hair resembling a wild prickle bush. No wonder Ben had trouble locating my hot, sexy-woman persona. It was hiding behind the Wicked Witch of the West. Shaking my head in frustration, I resolved, when this was all over, to make an appointment for a complete makeover at Changing Looks, the number one beauty salon in the nearby town of Virginia. As long as the makeover didn’t involve injections, unknown substances, Botox or an expensively dressed doctor waving a razor-sharp scalpel.

No man, not even Ben, was worth undergoing torture.

Intent on taming my hair into a style that wouldn’t scare the dogs, I burrowed deep inside my totebag in search of a hairbrush. Toothpicks, loose change, mobile phone, half a packet of chocolate M&Ms, a spare dog lead.…

As I scrabbled deeper, the bag toppled to the floor. Immediately, the M&Ms broke for freedom, silver and gold coins competed in the race and the half-burnt piece of paper I’d found in Matt’s fireplace flew from the bag and landed at my feet.

I picked it up. Studied it more closely. The bottom half of the account was so burnt it was mostly unrecognizable, but the top half maintained that Matthew Turner had deposited goods in the Saftee Security Depot at Salisbury and owed the firm $52.50 for services rendered.

Why had Matt tried to burn this particular account? Why not shove it in the drawer with the rest of his unpaid bills? After all, there’d been a mountain of those. Was it because he didn’t want a certain person knowing he’d stored something in a security depot? If so, what the hell
had
he stored? It didn’t make sense. I shook my head in confusion. What would mild-mannered Matt have to hide? And did it have anything to do with why he was murdered?

With no time to tax my befuddled brain any further, I folded the remains of the account over carefully, slipped the paper inside the back pocket of my jeans and quickly brushed my hair, tying it off my face with a scarf. Then, ready as I’d ever be, I started down the stairs. Breakfast, as usual, would mean grabbing a slice of toast and a quick cup of coffee before trekking out to the kennels.

The tantalizing smell of crisply cooked bacon wafted past me as I clattered to the bottom of the stairs. Crisply cooked bacon? Impossible. Unless the Food Fairies had paid me a visit overnight. Juices on full alert, I skidded through the kitchen doorway and allowed the scent of bacon, tomatoes, sausages and eggs to caress my nostrils and infiltrate my taste buds.
Oh yum!Oh bliss!
Of course Scuzz must be the culprit. And considering my refrigerator boasted nothing but cheese, bread and a couple of varieties of pet loaf, I also figured he must have had an early morning rendezvous with the local 24/7 store to buy the ingredients for this surprising feast.

I smiled, imagining the big guy dressed in his biker gear wielding an egg-flipper, my frilly apron like a little pink dot tied around his middle. Theodore Samuel Parkington the Third would make someone an excellent wife.

A note was propped up against my empty coffee mug. I picked it up and scanned the perfect copperplate writing:
Katrina, I let Tater and Lucky out for a tinkle. Breakfast is in the oven and you’ll find hot coffee on the stove. Jake said to let you sleep in. He’s started working the dogs so enjoy your breakfast. See you tonight. And remember, don’t talk to any strangers. Your pal, Scuzz.

Now I had a mate
and
a pal. All I needed to complete the Kat Friendship Club was a
buddy
!

17

Everyone knows the old saying:
you can lead a horse to water but you can’t make him drink
. Well, there’s another one in the greyhound game.
You can lead a dog to a hydro-bath but you can’t always lug him up the ramp.

I’d already clipped Lofty’s toenails and treated a couple of sore muscles in his right shoulder with the ultrasonic machine but figured a hydro-bath would top off his preparations for Thursday night’s race.

There was only one snag. Big goofy Lofty was averse to anything wet. When he realized the contraption we were heading toward looked suspiciously like a bath, he slammed on his brakes and I figured it would take a front-end loader to budge him. Jake had already left for a protest meeting, something to do with the rape of the River Murray, or maybe it was the rape of the parklands.

Whatever…

I was totally on my own here.

“Come on, Lofty, darling,” I wheedled, trying to tempt the reluctant dog up the ramp with a piece of cheese. “You’ll love the hydro-bath. Honest. Not only will the warm water relax your muscles, but this fabulous shampoo I picked out especially for you, is guaranteed to leave you smelling like rose petals.”