Putting on the Dog (41 page)

My heart pounded furiously.
Think!
I ordered myself, struggling to figure out what to do next. The safest thing, I knew, was not to let anyone know that I’d been here— and that I’d stumbled upon Devon Barnett’s secret stash of files. Yet I needed proof that he’d been blackmailing celebrities, and that meant having copies of enough of the career-damaging photographs and the payment sheets he’d kept so meticulously to incriminate him.

Instinctively I reached down and patted the pockets of my jeans. My keys were right where I’d put them. And not only did my key ring include my own keys, but it also contained the key to Suzanne’s office, where there was a copying machine.

I glanced around, looking for something to carry the massive stack of papers in. I realized immediately that I didn’t have a lot of choice. Chess hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d characterized his lover as a clean freak. Devon’s studio contained only the bare necessities, without a single empty carton or even a discarded shopping bag in sight.

The best I could do was a cardboard box filled with plastic jars of chemicals. I grabbed it off a shelf, dumped out the contents, and began placing the files inside, keeping them in the exact same order in which I’d found them. The box wasn’t really high enough, and the cardboard was on the flimsy side. But if I held onto it carefully, I was pretty sure I could use it to transport the files to my van.

Before leaving Dev’s studio, I glanced around one more time, just to make sure I’d left everything exactly the way I’d found it. Then I headed up the stairs, moving as quickly as I dared while cradling the heavy box in my arms.

I snuck out the back door, wanting to stay out of sight as long as possible. As I passed the edge of the house, however, I had to cross a stretch of bare lawn at least fifty feet wide before reaching my van.

At least it’s dark, I thought as I stepped onto the grass.

I’d barely formed the thought when a blinding light suddenly flashed on. I froze, a sick feeling coming over me as I assumed I’d been caught red-handed. Then I realized the light was one of those automatic jobs that come on whenever somebody passes by a sensor.

Still, it was as bright as a spotlight, and I was as exposed as if I were standing on a stage. The last thing I wanted was for someone to see me leaving Chess’s house with Barnett’s files—at least, if that someone knew the records were a possible link to the paparazzo’s murderer. Frantically, I looked around, checking the street, the backyard, the driveway. From what I could see, no one was around.

“So far, so good,” I breathed. I moved toward my van as quickly as I dared, given the awkward box I was carrying. The files were now jutting out of the top at haphazard angles, threatening to spill out if I jerked the box too hard. It wasn’t until I reached for the door handle, balancing the box on my bent knee, that I realized I was biting my lower lip so hard that I could taste blood.

I’d just opened the van door when everything went dark. The light on the side of Devon’s house only stayed on for a relatively short period. My time was up.

I figured I’d take advantage of the darkness. I backed out of the driveway without turning my headlights on. Of course, my red taillights helped me find the way. They also made me realize that if anyone
was
watching, that person would have no trouble keeping track of every move I made.

No one is watching,
I told myself firmly. It was more than an attempt at keeping my heart from pounding as hard as if it were about to burst right out of my chest. I really was pretty certain that no one had seen me go into Devon Barnett’s house . . . or sneak out of it, bearing his secret treasure that he could well have been on the verge of converting into a charming vacation
château
in the south of France.

I flicked on my headlights as soon as I hit the street. From that point on, I acted like just another driver who was heading toward some perfectly legitimate destination—someone who wouldn’t be the least bit interesting to anyone else. Even so, the trip to Suzanne’s office seemed endless. I hit every red light. I also ended up behind every slow driver in Norfolk County.

“Come on, come on,” I muttered. I checked my watch and saw that it was getting late. I had to hurry if I was going to return the files to the basement studio before Chess got back.

When I reached Suzanne’s office, I wasn’t surprised to find it dark. Fortunately, an overhead light hung above the front door. It was fairly dim, but at least it cast enough light over the parking lot to allow me to get in through the back door without too much trouble.

Just to be cautious, I parked my van behind the building so no one could spot it from the street or the parking lot in front. No need to advertise the fact that I was alone in an office building, late at night. Not when someone was so enraged by my investigation of Devon Barnett’s murder that they’d kidnapped my Maxie-Max.

Suzanne’s office seemed strangely eerie. During the day, the rooms had been noisy and bright, filled with bustling activity. Now, they were deadly silent, except for the humming of the refrigerator and the ticking of a clock. I was actually relieved when one of the dogs spending the weekend recuperating in back let out a few questioning barks.

Fortunately, the room with the copying machine was windowless, so even turning on the light didn’t give away the fact that I was in there.

Without hesitation, I turned on the copier. I realized immediately that it was going to take a while to copy Barnett’s files. Not only did I have to make copies of all the payment sheets, I also had to copy the photographs that had made Devon Barnett’s blackmailing scheme possible in the first place.

Which presented another challenge. I didn’t know how well the glossy black-and-white photographs would reprint. I desperately hoped they would be clear.

I held my breath as I tried the first one. I deliberately chose the shot of Shawn with Delilah Raines and Kara Liebling, kind of a personal payback to myself for being foolish enough to flirt with him.

The photograph came out fine, and I let out a sigh of relief. I grabbed the entire contents of Shawn’s folder and began copying each page, working as quickly and steadily as I could.

“So far, so good,” I exhaled, as I tucked all the pages back into place and picked up the next file.

I froze at the sound of footsteps.

Oh, my God! I thought, my heartbeat immediately escalating to sickening speed. Someone
was
watching me. Someone saw me come out of Devon Barnett’s house—
with his files!

And that someone was outside. I could hear the person who had followed me here trying to get in through the main entrance, rattling the door gently as if trying not to make any noise.

I crept into the next room, Suzanne’s office. Crouching beside the window, I peered out just in time to see a figure slink by right outside the window, heading toward the back door. I even got a glimpse of him. Still, it wasn’t much of a glimpse. It was difficult to see, since the parking lot outside Suzanne’s office was so poorly lit. All I could tell was that he was wearing pants, a baggy jacket, and a baseball cap.

And then I remembered.

The back door! I’d left it
unlocked.

At least, I thought I had. Telling myself not to panic, I struggled to remember if I’d bothered to turn the lock as I came in.

The back door creaked open, giving me my answer.

Oh, my God! I thought, panicking.
He’s in the building!

I stepped behind an open door, the first hiding spot I noticed. My heart fluttered, and my mouth was coated with the metallic taste of fear. I glanced around for something I could use as a weapon. Nothing. I thought about escaping through the front door, climbing out a window, even letting out the caged animals in back in the hopes that they’d rush at the intruder and give me a chance to slip out....

None of them were very good ideas. As I listened to the footsteps growing closer, I realized I’d be easy to spot. The gap between the door and the wall I stood against was large enough that anyone passing by was bound to notice me.

Yet there wasn’t enough time to dart anywhere else.

Suddenly I heard the most unexpected sound: Suzanne’s loud, high-pitched laugh, right outside in the parking lot.

I blinked, wondering if fear was making me imagine I was hearing voices. Could she really be here? It wasn’t possible, not at this hour....

“Marcus, you
stop
that!” It was Suzanne’s voice, all right. “You can wait at least two seconds until we get inside, can’t you?”

“I don’t think I can,” I heard Marcus reply. “You make me crazy, you fox. You’re the most scrumptious, delicious,
foxy
thing, and you can’t expect the Marc Man to wait. . . .”

“
Stop,
Marcus!” More giggling. “I have to get my key out. How can I open the door when you’ve got your hands—watch that, you naughty boy! Seriously, I’m still not sure this is such a good idea....”

“Are you kidding?” Marcus countered. “It’s inspired!”

I heard the front door swing open, then slam shut. Then more footsteps. Only this time, the sound was welcome.

“There’s not really a lot of room in here . . . Jessie?” Suzanne cried, her hands flying to her heart. She stopped in her tracks and peered at me through the gap in the doorway. “You scared me! What on earth are you doing here?”

“I came to copy some photographs,” I replied, as astonished as I was relieved. I stepped around the door, no longer afraid of being in plain sight. “But what are you two doing here on a Saturday night?”

“It was Marcus’s idea,” Suzanne said, grinning at him. “We had dinner again—this time, just the two of us. Afterward, he wanted to come back to my place. But I told him about my lawyer’s warning that my divorce negotiations are at a very sensitive stage and how I should be careful not to let Robert get anything on me. I was instructed to keep my nose clean, so I was afraid to bring him to my house. That’s when Marcus came up with the idea of us coming
here.
”

“The Marc Man is very good at thinking outside the box,” he informed me proudly.

I felt like throwing my arms around him—something I never would have believed could happen. The man’s overly active sex drive could well have saved my life.

But at the moment, I had something more important to do.

“Look, there’s somebody in here. Somebody who followed me—”

“What are you talking about?” Marcus demanded.

We heard the back door slam. The person who had followed me had ducked out, scared off by Suzanne’s and Marcus’s arrival.

“Excuse me,” I mumbled, dashing in that direction. I flung the door open just in time to see a car I didn’t recognize, tear out of the parking lot. I squinted hard, trying to make out the license plate. But with practically no illumination besides the car’s dim red taillights, I couldn’t see a thing.

“Jessie, what’s going on?” Suzanne asked as she and Marcus joined me in the doorway.

I was so frustrated I could have screamed. Devon Barnett’s murderer had been right in front of me, but I hadn’t been able to see who it was. I stared out at the street, watching the taillights fade—and watching the answer to the question I’d been agonizing over drive away.

“Let’s go back inside,” I said with a sigh. “I’ll tell you the whole story.”

I was about to close the door, when something lying on the floor caught my attention. I blinked, not sure my eyes weren’t playing tricks on me.

I leaned over to pick it up. Even in the dim light, I was able to make out what it was.

“Oh, my God,” I breathed, closing my eyes as understanding swept over me like a chill.

I opened my eyes and focused on what I’d found, something so tiny it could practically have gotten lost in the creases of my hand.

But it told me who had murdered Devon Barnett.

Chapter 18

“He that lieth down with dogs shall rise up with fleas.”

—Ben Franklin

Sunday morning I awoke with the same heavy feeling in my chest Napoleon must have faced whenever he woke up the morning of a battle. But there was no way I’d let this turn into my Waterloo. Not with Max’s life at stake—and only a few hours left to do something about it.

Figuring out who had murdered Devon Barnett—and most likely kidnapped my Westie—had been critical. Now it was time to prove it to Lieutenant Anthony Falcone.

“All set?” Nick asked as he and I piled into his car with Lou. He was trying to keep his tone light, but I could tell he was worried.

To be perfectly honest, I was, too. “As ready as I’ll ever be,” I answered, wishing I sounded more convincing.

As he drove to Russell Bolger’s house, I kept my fingers clutched tightly around the handle of the tote bag I’d brought with me. In it, I’d crammed the evidence I’d need to present my case—that is, assuming things went the way I hoped they would. Staring out the window in silence, I ran through the list I’d carefully constructed in my mind. Step one, step two, step three...Just thinking about the next hour sent a wave of anxiety ballooning through my chest. I had a lot to accomplish—in a very short time.

As soon as the three of us got out of the car at Russell Bolger’s estate, Lou began acting agitated. He darted from place to place, sniffing the ground frantically and barking for no apparent reason. I had several theories about the odd behavior he’d begun to exhibit. He could have developed a phobia about new places. Or he simply could have begun to find being around other animals disconcerting.

There was a third possibility, however, one that seemed even more likely. I desperately hoped I was right.

I turned to Nick. “Would you please do me a favor and take Lou out for a run? He could probably use the exercise.”

“Yeah, he does seem kind of freaked out,” Nick agreed.

I immediately figured out a way to calm my Dalmatian down. Halfway across the Bolgers’ property, I spotted Emily sitting at the edge of the pool. She was dangling her bare feet in the water and looking bored.