Downton Tabby (3 page)

After a bit more work and a lot more cat dodging, I glanced at my watch. I wasn’t sure what time it had been when Cash left, but he’d certainly been gone much longer than the twenty to thirty minutes he’d indicated. I would need to get going soon.

I checked my contacts list for a phone number and located Cash’s cell.

The call went directly to voice mail.

I’d planned to stop at home to let Dogbert out for a break. Then I had a house call at eleven o’clock with Betty Foxx, who worked for my cousin, Melinda, at her high-end pet shop, the Bow Wow
Boutique. I’d been surprised to hear from Betty because my cousin and I were currently on the outs. That’s Texan for we aren’t speaking to each other.

Like most family disputes it had started over something small—in our case a family brooch. It wasn’t that the heirloom piece of jewelry was so valuable, though it was a twenty-two-carat gold basket filled with precious stones. Precious stones shaped like different types of fruit. The brooch was, shall we say, a unique piece of jewelry. The main thing, though, was that our Grandma Tillie had left the brooch to her favorite granddaughter. I knew she meant it to go to me. Mel was just as convinced it was intended for her.

Like I said, you’d think we could work it out, but that ship had long since sailed. Words had been exchanged, not very nice ones, and here we were. The brooch was currently locked up tighter than tight in a safe at my house, but I was sure Mel was trying to figure out how to get it back.

Anyway, needless to say, I had been shocked when Betty phoned and said Melinda had recommended she call me about a problem she was having with her dog. I’d known Betty Foxx from the self-defense class Diana and I had taken, but she’d never mentioned having a dog.

I put the address Betty had given me into my cell phone so I had it for directions and then tried Cash’s cell number again. Nothing. Shoot. I needed to get a move on if I was going to make the appointment on time.

I decided I could swing by the house where Cash and Jake lived and drop off Toria. Though brilliant, the two of them were sometimes a little flaky. Just last week the cleaning crew had called because Jake had left his keys in the outer door.

I called Cash’s number again and this time left a message letting him know I would drop off Toria at their home. I checked the guys’ office for a cat carrier. The computer was still on and I thought about shutting it down, but I hesitated because maybe Cash had intended to leave it on. There was a multi-colored freehand drawing on the back of the screen. It looked like an alien. Sort of a combination of ET’s older brother and Munch’s eerie painting, “The Scream.” Verdi had often complained that she felt creeped out by it when they left their office door open because it was drawn in such a way that it looked like the alien’s eyes followed you. The two guys had been amused by her comments.

Now where would they keep a cat carrier?

Found it. The carrier was tucked behind the door. I coaxed Toria into it and then stepped into the reception area, pulled their office door shut, and then closed my own.

Suzanne, the psychic who was one of our officemates, was just arriving. Our Suzanne doesn’t look like what you might think of as the stereotypical mind reader. No crystal ball, no long gypsy skirt, no dangly earrings. The lady’s look was all business in her tailored dress-for-success black suit, white blouse, and sensible shoes.

She stopped just inside the door and looked at me. Her lips pursed for a moment before she spoke. “What are you doing with the boys’ cat?” she asked in her flat, no-nonsense tone.

“Cash left her with me.” I held up the carrier. “I’m dropping her off at their house.”

“Hmpf. I sense trouble.” She turned and walked away.

I didn’t know if she meant trouble for me, Jake, Cash, or the cat. Bottom line, I didn’t give a lot of credence to the practice of telling the future, but if the woman was going to spout off-the-wall predictions, she ought to be specific.

Seriously, Suzanne? You should have warned me.

Chapter Two

THE HUGE HOUSE where Cash and Jake lived looked more like it belonged on an English estate than on a hill in a California beach town. It certainly was not at all like the many sprawling SoCal-style structures that dominate Laguna’s landscape. Their abode was almost castle-like with turrets and towers, and a stone face more reminiscent of moors than beaches. I wasn’t sure how they’d gotten the design past the zoning board, but I guess it didn’t block any ocean views, which is often the main reason for refusal here in Orange County.

I rang the doorbell and could hear the clanging from inside, but there was no answer. Finally I rapped on the door, though if they hadn’t heard the bell, I don’t know why I thought they’d hear my knock.

Cash’s distinctive red Tesla sports car was parked out front so he had to be inside and must simply be someplace where he couldn’t hear the doorbell. I tried the knob and it turned in my hand. Slipping inside, I set the cat carrier on the smooth marble floor and called out.

Unhappy with being home and still caged, Toria meowed in protest.

“Hang on, kitty. Let me check for your people.” I walked through the entryway and into the living room.

“Hey, Cash?” I called out again and then walked through toward the kitchen, which I could see was at the back. I looked around, but the place was deserted. Great. Where was he?

The kitchen led to a breakfast area, which in turn opened onto a flagstone patio and a swimming pool that stretched the length of the space. The patio door stood wide open. Ah, this held possibilities.

“Cash? Jake?” I stepped around the massive kitchen table, piled high with electronics, and out into the sunshine. Blinded for a moment by the brightness, I didn’t immediately notice the person in the pool.

When I did, I also registered that he was facedown.

Oh, no! Not good.

I kicked my shoes aside and went in. It was a zero-depth pool with a gradual slope leading into the deeper water. But he was clear down in the deep end.

I swam to him, latched onto his shirt. Towed him back to where I could stand. Pulled him to the edge.

His water-logged weight fought me.

Locking my arms under his shoulders, it took several tries, but I finally dragged him up onto the patio. I took in big gulps of air, out of breath from the effort.

Breathe. Get a grip.

I rolled him over and prepared to give CPR. I was rusty, but I’d been trained. I could do this.

As I knelt beside the prone body I realized it wasn’t Cash but Jake.

He was fully clothed, jeans, expensive Italian loafers, loud Hawaiian-print shirt.

I also noted drowning was the least of his worries. The blond computer wonder-kid had a power cord wrapped tightly around his neck.

Oh, God. I sent up a swift prayer.

With shaky wet fingers, I loosened the cord, tossed it aside, and checked his neck for a pulse.

Nothing.

I ran back into the house, my wet feet sliding across the wood floor, to where I’d dropped my purse.

I dug out my cell phone and dialed 911.

Chapter Three

“911. WHAT’S YOUR emergency?” a woman answered. I heard her but couldn’t form words. I swallowed and tried to speak. My heartbeat pounded in my ears, and I struggled to breathe.

“Three-eight-seven-five de Leon,” I finally choked out. “Medical emergency. Drowning. Homicide. I don’t know. Just come. Come quick.” I knew I wasn’t making any sense. “Three-eight-seven-five de Leon.” I repeated the address.

“A unit is on its way,” replied the crisp voice on the other end.

I ran back to the patio and began chest compressions. Though it seemed like forever before the paramedics came, it probably wasn’t. I heard the sirens and then the pounding of feet through the house as they arrived.

I moved out of the way so they could take over, but I could tell from their conversation and lack of action it was no use. They examined Jake, but there was not a life-saving scramble. Not a good sign.

Laguna Beach police officers arrived just behind the medics, and the first responders stepped aside. I’d moved away in order to give them plenty of room.

I know it must seem, at least to those of you who’ve known me for a while, that I might be a bit desensitized to dead bodies given the fact I’ve been involved in some previous murder solving. Truth be told, dead bodies are not something you get used to.

Wet and cold, I shivered, even in the heat of the day.

Someone handed me a towel. I looked up.

“Ms. Lamont.” Laguna Beach Police Detective Judd Malone and I were on an off-and-on first-name basis. Apparently today was an off day.

“Detective.” I took the towel and wrapped it around my shoulders.

“When you called dispatch you mentioned a possible homicide.” He was solid and calm in his usual black jeans and black T-shirt.

“Yes. Why?” I tried to keep my voice from shaking.

“Well, this looks like an accidental drowning. Did you think foul play because he was fully clothed?”

I wrapped the towel more tightly around my water-logged self and suddenly thought about Cash. What if he lay dead somewhere else in the house? A home invasion gone wrong perhaps?

“Ms. Lamont?” Malone prompted.

“No, the electrical cord around his neck.”

“What cord?” Malone turned his head to look back at Jake’s prone body and the paramedics who were packing up their equipment.

I pointed at the cord which lay near a stone flower pot at the fringe of the landscaping. I must have tossed it aside with a little more force than I’d realized.

Malone pivoted. “Hey, hold up.” He walked back over to where the medic team surrounded Jake.

I shifted in the deck chair and in doing so knocked a bright-pink energy drink can off the small table. The cold liquid spread across the stone patio under my feet. I mopped at it with my towel.

I have to tell you, I know from previous experience that Detective Judd Malone is very particular about his crime scenes. Not only had I messed with the victim (and the murder weapon), I’d also traipsed through the house itself, dripping water everywhere I went. I had known it was a crime scene, but what was I to do? My phone was in the house, and I’d needed to call in the drowning, er, strangling.

My phone, which I still clutched, suddenly rang.

“Hello?”

“I can’t wait here all day, Carol. Your cousin said you were a good pet shrink. She didn’t tell me you were a tardy one.”

Ah, Betty Foxx. My eleven o’clock appointment.

“It’s Caro and I apologize, Betty.” I continued to mop at the spilled drink. “I’ll call you to reschedule. I’ve got a bit of an emergency on my hands.”

“What kind of emergency?” she snapped. “You—”

“Ms. Lamont, I need to go over some details with you.” Malone was back and stood waiting, arms crossed.

“Who’s that?” There was nothing wrong with Betty’s hearing. “Sounds like that hot homicide detective. Lemme talk to him.”

“It’s for you.” I handed the phone to Malone. Bad, I know, but I figured he’d get her off the phone faster than I could.

“Ms. Lamont can’t talk right now.” He didn’t even wait to see who was on the other end. “She’ll call you back when she can.” He jabbed the disconnect button and handed me back my cell.

“Thanks.” I gave him a weak smile. Where had he been when I’d needed call screening earlier? I’d bet he would’ve made short work of Geoffrey.

“Now, let’s see if you can fill in some blanks for me.” Malone planted himself in the chair beside me. “Start at the beginning.”

WHEN MALONE WAS done with his questions, I dried my feet, blotting the sticky pink from the spilled drink, and donned my shoes. Then I called and let Betty know I could reschedule our appointment for that afternoon. She was not happy, but there wasn’t much I could do about it. Until Malone had said I was free to go, I was pretty much on hold. I think Betty was mostly upset she didn’t get the chance to talk directly to Malone.

The place was now crawling with police personnel. They’d gone room to room thoroughly searching the house for Cash, but he was nowhere to be found. I took that as good news. Malone seemed a little more neutral on the subject. He took down Cash’s cell-phone number and said they would continue trying to reach him. There was a brief discussion about what should be done with Toria, but really only a cursory one. Detective Malone knew I wasn’t going to be okay with sending her to the shelter. Given that Cash was not answering his cell phone, I was drafted as catsitter and was happy to take her with me. It seemed I was free to go.

I stepped outside, cat carrier in hand, and then skidded to a stop.

A crowd had collected in front of the house. In this part of town the houses have some space, but like most of The Hills your neighbors aren’t far. I suppose the ambulance and police cars had garnered attention from those who usually either stayed inside or lounged on their own patios.

“What’s going on in there, Ms. Lamont?” It was a news reporter with a cameraman in tow. He stuck a microphone in my face.

“Who are you?” I took a step back. I didn’t even ask how he knew my name. I have no tolerance for reporters who show up and try to get unsuspecting witnesses to provide a sound bite.

“Callum MacAvoy, Ms. Lamont.” His made-for-TV smile came too easy and stayed too long. “May I call you Caro?”

“No, you may not.” I glanced around to see how far away my car was and tried to determine if I could get out of the drive without mowing down sightseers.

“Fair enough.” He stood down a bit. “So, Ms. Lamont, can you tell us what went on inside this house that brought paramedics, the police, and ultimately the crime-scene van here today.”

“No, I can’t.” I edged away from the camera and his microphone. “You’ll have to talk to the police.”

“Witnesses say you were the first on the scene.”

“What witnesses?” I looked around again. As far as I knew no one had seen me arrive, and I’d called 911 almost immediately. The crowd had continued to grow, maybe thirty to forty people by now. They stood in small groups, talking and staring at the house.