Downton Tabby Read online

  Well, nothing nefarious about that. And to be perfectly honest, now that I’d gotten a good look at the guy, he sure as heck didn’t look like a mugger. Wrinkled khakis and a dark-blue shirt. Sandy-haired, broad-faced, and with a bit of a paunch. Maybe I’d overreacted. Just a little.

  “The phone is right here.” I reached over the wide reception desk and placed the phone on the counter. “Go ahead and make your call.”

  “Thank you so much, ma’am.” He held out a beefy hand. “I sure appreciate it.”

  I shook his bear-sized paw.

  “Are you the accountant, the psychic, or with the computer guys?” He noted the sign at the front door which detailed the businesses located in the building.

  “I’m actually the pet therapist.” I pointed at the PAWS info.

  “A pet therapist? I used to have a dog. Charlie. I loved that dog.” He smiled the wistful smile of all of us who’ve lost a pet.

  Now I felt even worse that I’d been so rude.

  I left him at the reception desk to make his phone call and unlocked the door to my office. I couldn’t hear his conversation, but he must have been successful in contacting his auto club because he poked his head around the corner and thanked me again.

  “You’re welcome.” I smiled at him, feeling a little bad I’d immediately thought the worst.

  “I’ll just wait out by my car. They said they’d been here in ten minutes.”

  “Okay, I hope the rest of your day goes better.”

  See, I guess my morning wasn’t so bad in comparison. I hadn’t had car trouble. Only coffee trouble. It’s all about perspective isn’t it?

  Ah, yes, perspective.

  I settled in and got down to work transferring my notes to the client files on my computer. To be honest, my concentration wasn’t worth two cents. The phone call from my ex nagged at me. I didn’t want Geoffrey in California. I didn’t want Geoffrey in my head, but there he was. Enough so that I kept having to reread the same sentence as I worked to update the files I needed to take care of before my afternoon appointments.

  “Hello? Is anyone about?”

  “In here.” I glanced up from my paperwork.

  It was Cash, one of the partners in the tech company I mentioned earlier. His name was actually Graham Cash, but everyone calls him “Cash.” He was constantly rumpled, baby-faced handsome, and charmingly British.

  The other partner was Jake, a blond surfer type and California native. I wasn’t sure how they’d met but the two had made millions, possibly billions, with a series of mobile apps. You know, those little programs that work on your phone. They’d been in the right place at the right time and had been riding that wave ever since. Or as my Grandma Tillie would’ve said, they’d been “ridin’ a gravy train with biscuit wheels.” In the part of Texas I’m from we’re more versed in gravy than surf.

  Today Cash sported his typical billionaire-geek office attire: jeans, an expensive but wrinkled dress shirt, and a weathered, brown leather bomber jacket. Toria, his adorable Scottish Fold cat, was tucked under his arm.

  “Morning, Caro. Toria’s going to help me out today. Aren’t you, luv?” He scratched the cat under the chin, and she rubbed her face against his.

  Toria often accompanied the tech tycoon. A sturdy feline, as was common in the breed, the grey silky tabby was a little, um, more sturdy than most. I suspected a bit of spoiling.

  Cash strolled in and plopped down in the chair by my desk. I reached over to give Toria a proper greeting. “Good morning, girlfriend, and how are you today?” She leaned into my hand in answer.

  “You checked her over, right?” He scratched the cat’s soft, wide head. “No signs of problems.”

  “Nothing.” A week ago, Cash had asked me to examine Toria for any signs of behavioral problems. Apparently, someone had reported she’d been aggressive, which not only did I find hard to believe but would also be highly unusual in the breed. “I’d recommend you have Dr. Darling give her a once-over to make sure she’s not having any health issues, but behavior-wise I didn’t find a thing.”

  “See? No problem, m’lady.” He lifted her to eye level and looked into her green saucer-like eyes. “Falsely accused. I knew you were too well-mannered to misbehave like that.”

  “Maybe she’s simply bored.” I smiled at the flicker of shock in his intelligent blue eyes. “Sometimes a normally passive cat will become a little forceful in their play if they have a lot of pent-up energy.”

  “But what is one to do?” He stroked the cat’s back. “I should think you can’t take a cat for a proper walk.”

  “Perhaps you and Jake can develop an app to entertain Toria.”

  He stared off into space, apparently lost in the possibilities.

  I waved a hand in front of his face. “Cash, I was kidding.”

  “You have a cat, don’t you?” He continued to absently stroke Toria’s fur. “So we’d have some built-in beta testers.”

  “I have two cats, Thelma and Louise.” I laughed. “Common house cats, though, not pure-bred royalty like Toria.”

  “Old girl thinks she’s an aristo-cat anyway.” A wide grin creased his cheeks. “And a royal name to boot. After Queen Victoria.”

  Cash stood, ignoring the cat fur that now covered his dark blue jeans. “An early patron of animal rights. One of the few for her time. She’s the royal who authorized adding that important prefix to our Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals.”

  “Interesting stuff.” I looked up at the two. “In fact, I can’t believe I didn’t know that.”

  “See, I’m more than just another pretty face.” His bright-blue eyes twinkled. And then cradling Toria against him, he turned to go.

  “Oh, Cash, by the way there’s a package for you on the front desk.”

  “Thanks.” He disappeared into the reception area. “Come on, Toria. I’m positive at this point we’ve got hundreds of bloody emails to answer.”

  An hour flew by as I updated files, organized notes, and made my list for the day. Yep, I’m one of those. Don’t judge. I love my daily list. I know it’s about control, but I don’t care. It’s a little coping thing, and it works for me.

  I could hear Cash in the office next door. His music was some sort of Celtic instrumental. Usually he used headphones, but today he’d apparently opted for speakers. Didn’t bother me at all. It was lilting and relaxing. I’d made good progress on my paperwork.

  “Caro, could Toria hang with you for a bit?”

  I looked up from my computer. Cash was suddenly back at my door, and I realized the music had stopped.

  “Jake just rang me and I’ve got to pop by the house for a few minutes. Twenty to thirty minutes tops.”

  “Sure.” I took Toria from him. I had at least another thirty minutes of file updating work to do.

  “Be back in a jiffy,” Cash called over his shoulder.

  I’d put Toria on the chair beside me, but the alleged mean-girl tabby jumped up and parked herself on my desk. I gave her a cat toy to play with from the stash I kept in the office, but she was much more interested in sitting on my paperwork and nudging my hand as I tried to work on the computer.

  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 men
tioned 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.