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  Copyright © © 2023 by Heather Graham

  E-book published in 2024 by Blackstone Publishing

  Cover design by Kathryn Galloway English

  Author photograph by Hannah Ohlmann

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Trade e-book ISBN 979-8-8748-0909-6

  Library e-book ISBN 979-8-8748-0908-9

  Fiction / Mystery & Detective / Collections & Anthologies

  Blackstone Publishing

  31 Mistletoe Rd.

  Ashland, OR 97520

  www.BlackstonePublishing.com

  “Don’t you look at me like that!” Riley Jordan told Rocket, Ethan Warner’s rottweiler.

  The dog wouldn’t hurt her—she was pretty sure. He seemed to understand that she was coming daily to let him—and Ethan’s other three dogs—out to run around for a while, have their food bowls filled, and last, but hardly least, pick up the poop in the house that they couldn’t hold in until she arrived.

  She wasn’t sure that a dog could shrug, but if so, Rocket shrugged and went off to run in the yard, then turned back to look at her.

  “Hey, a dog is supposed to be man’s best friend!” she said, shaking her head as the dog continued to study her. Judging her, sizing her up.

  “Man, you know, as in humankind, man, woman. And you know what? There are people who think that dogs are just best all around, better than people.”

  The dog kept staring.

  Did dogs think? Was he weighing her up? Did they know right from wrong? Sure, at the very least—they learned they were supposed to do their business outside.

  Penny, Percy, and Petunia, the three small fluffy mutt pups who completed her friend’s dog family, liked to woof, and run around her, longing for pets and attention—as well as treats. They’d had their treats—she gave them all some attention and then looked up for the big guy again.

  Rocket gave up his survey of her and had run to the front of the yard where he stopped and stood by the fence, staring at the car.

  Not her car, but the car that had been parked in front of Ethan’s house the last three days, the days she had been coming every evening to take care of the pets while he was out of town.

  The sedan hadn’t moved once, obvious because it was parked right in front of a cypress tree, keeping her from parking directly in front of Ethan’s place, as she would have liked. It wasn’t the same person parking daily—the car had not moved.

  It got dark during the time she was here each evening. And leaving the place—with the dogs locked up again—made her nervous. Her fault. Truly and sadly, she was a chicken.

  She let out a sigh of frustration. She had no problem doing a favor for a friend—even if it meant driving across town every day to make sure that her friend’s pets were fed and let out for a few minutes on the days Ethan was gone.

  But Ethan lived in Coconut Grove and parking wasn’t always easy. He had just come down to the area a few months ago when he’d taken on his new job. And it wasn’t that she didn’t love Coconut Grove; she did. But the very beauty of the abundance of trees and bushes here also made it scary as hell at night. Ethan lived in a small duplex, so the space in front of the house wasn’t large, and, granted, it wasn’t private parking, but . . .

  The house wasn’t near shops or the night life that Coconut Grove offered and since it was part of a duplex, Riley didn’t like parking in front of the offending car because she didn’t want to take the space that someone else might need. Of course, she’d only be there thirty minutes or so, but still, Ethan’s relationship with his neighbor wasn’t great. The neighbor didn’t like dogs or Ethan.

  “Hey guys, what’s not to like about your human, huh?” she asked the three little dogs milling around her feet for attention. Ethan was great. Six three, in great physical shape, blue-eyed, and with a sweep of pitch-dark hair that fell provocatively over his forehead. Right now, they were friends. Riley hoped that one day, they would be more. He teased and flirted with her when they were alone in the elevator at Suarez and Vincente, the advertising agency where he was an accounting executive and she worked as a concept artist. He liked to comment on her hair, calling her carrot-top even though her shade was a dark auburn, but then grinning and telling her that her eyes were a more beautiful green than any emerald. He also called her his, “Pretty young thing,” and sometimes, his “Pretty young, sweet, little thing.”

  She was young, just twenty-three. But she was five eight. Not a giant, but hardly petite.

  Ethan was good at his job, and he could be charming to clients and coworkers alike. But he was no doormat. She’d heard him lay it on the line to those who didn’t comply with company rules. He could be hard—but only when necessary.

  She smiled, remembering when he had hedged when she asked what was wrong, and he told her, “I need to be gone a few days. And I hate, hate, hate, having to send my dogs to the vet or the kennel.” He’d grimaced. “Dog guy, here.”

  That, of course, just made him more perfect. She wondered sometimes if he knew how attractive he was, how . . . seductive. Then again, she knew that he appreciated her. But where did they take it from there?

  Maybe he did just appreciate a really good friend. And she could be a good friend.

  “Um, well, I couldn’t just hang around at your place,” she said, grinning, “but I could go feed them and let them out for you.”

  “I couldn’t ask you to do that,” he’d said quietly.

  “You’re not asking me. I’m offering,” she’d assured him.

  “Wow. Well, you are something, my friend.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  “Still . . . hey, okay, think of it for you. What a thriller of a day! Driving extra and adding on to long work hours. It will be great!”

  And she had laughed and assured him again. “You bet! A thriller! And, honestly, I don’t mind.”

  That night, she’d come over to meet the dogs. And he’d watched her with admiration and respect and . . . more, she thought. They’d almost touched, almost kissed, and then . . . she’d left for the night, both suddenly a bit shy and maybe needing to get to the point where he wasn’t going out of town and they’d have some time. Because if there was going to be something, it wasn’t going to be a “thank you” for a favor or something that was just convenient. It was going to mean something.

  “You are amazing,” he had told her.

  And the look he gave her told her that he found her amazing in many ways. And it was nice, allowing a nice excitement for the future.

  Of course, it was true, she was an animal lover herself, so whether friendship grew into something more or not, she didn’t mind watching the dogs. She just minded the car that kept her from parking directly in front of the gate—and hopped quickly in her car when it was time to leave.

  This area was far from the little malls on the highway or the dozens of restaurants, bars, and shops that stretched through the center of Coconut Grove. She wasn’t the bravest soul around. And while this area wasn’t particularly noted for crime, it was a part of Miami and Miami-Dade County, and a city that size was never without its fair share of crime. Down by the bay, there were multi-million-dollar mansions and yacht clubs and more—but not far away, there were crack houses, too. A true mix of . . . just about everything!

  “Okay, guys,” Riley said, “I know, you like company and you like being outside, but I’ve got to get going now.” As if she understood perfectly, Penny whined. She petted the dog’s head. “Hey, I need to get some dinner, do laundry, and . . . well, hey. Hmm. Look at my sketches. I’ve done great drawings of you guys and just might do something more with them!”

  Sitting there, trying to give the dogs time to run around before the darkness and the amount of foliage on the street made her too nervous, she started sketching. She had—if she did think so herself—some great puppy pictures. The three little ones posed together, Penny in a leap up into the air, and then her favorite, a sketch of Rocket, standing, staring out at the street, as if prepared to take on any unwanted visitor. Rocket was, beyond a doubt, a handsome dog—if not a warm and cuddly one.

  “Okay, guys, in!” she said. Rocket usually listened to her command to return to the house.

  Not that day. He was still staring at the car.

  Riley walked over to the dog, setting her hand on his head. “Rocket, sorry, buddy, but I can’t stay. Another two days and your master will be home and you can run around forever if you like.”

  The dog remained dead still, and Riley realized that he was sniffing the air.

  Then she smelled it herself. There was an awful odor in the air.

  Creepy. And she wanted to get away.

  “All right, sorry!” she said firmly. She caught him by the collar. He didn’t try to nip at her, but he struggled against her hold. Finally, she got him back to the house. The little pups ran on in—they knew there would be treats in their food bowls.

  Rocket resisted another minute. But then he gave in.

  Riley closed and locked the door promising, “I’ll see you tomorrow!”

  Darkness had fallen comple tely. A weak moon was struggling to show against a sky that seemed foggy and very dark.

  She hurried out to her car, frowning as she noted that the trunk was ajar. She didn’t believe that it had been so before, but she wasn’t sure. And it didn’t matter. She just wanted to get away. It occurred to her that the foul odor that was filling the night might be coming from the car—from the trunk.

  She spun to get away from it, but she was in such a hurry that she tripped on her own feet and only caught herself from a heavy fall by landing on the truck of the offending car that had been parked in front of the gate.

  She hopped back quickly, staring in horror, so terrified that she couldn’t even scream.

  It was dark. But there was enough light filtering through the hazy sky to show her that a body was stuffed into the trunk of the sedan.

  A cloud lifted, as if on cue, and she could see that it was the body of a woman, partially clad, eyes still open in horror, a red slash across her throat and a spill of crimson around her as she lay trussed into a fetal position.

  She still couldn’t scream; she reached into her bag for her cellphone and keys, and she realized that she’d left them on the little table by the chair where she sat on the porch while letting the dogs run around.

  In terror she turned, throwing open the fence, running toward the house as quickly as she could. Instinct insisted that she think logically. The car had been there for days.

  Did that mean that the body had been there for days? That she was in no greater danger than she had been at any time while at Ethan’s home.

  Phone! Phone the police as she got the hell out!

  She ran to the table where she’d left her keys and her phone.

  They weren’t there.

  Panic seized her again. She could have sworn that she’d set both on the table when she’d gotten Ethan’s keys out of her purse to open the door.

  She dug insanely in her purse again, but her keys and the phone weren’t there.

  Ethan didn’t have a landline.

  For a moment she stood frozen. She still had the key to his place and at the least, she could have the dogs for company. She quickly opened the door, and they rushed back out, the little guys yipping happily, Rocket looking at her almost wearily, as if she’d finally got the problem.

  And still . . .

  She was terrified. Thinking desperately, she remembered that it was a duplex and whether the neighbor liked Ethan or not, he’d help her when he learned there was a body in a car. Wouldn’t he? Wouldn’t anyone?

  “Okay, you guys stay here in the yard,” she told the dogs. “I’ll be right back!”

  She headed out the fence to Ethan’s part of the property, not glancing toward the still-open trunk of the car. Ten long steps brought her to the neighbor’s side of the duplex, and she opened the gate to his part of the yard.

  She ran up the walk to the front door. Like Ethan’s, the door was beneath an overhang that provided for a little porch.

  Riley started to knock on the door.

  It creaked inward as she did so.

  “Hello?” she called. “Hello?”

  Lights were on in the house, but there was no reply. She could also hear a news anchor speaking on a television from somewhere within.

  “Hey, please, I need help! Just to borrow a phone, just . . .”

  She’d taken one step inside. And that was when she saw him.

  The neighbor.

  All she could think of was an old nursery rhyme, but a nursery rhyme based on the truth of something horrible that had happened.

  “Lizzie Borden took an ax and gave her father forty whacks.”

  She didn’t think that she’d ever known the man’s name, though she had seen him a few times, coming and going. She’d always assumed he was in his fifties, a man with a thick head of white hair and trimmed beard to match. He’d stared at her when she’d tried a friendly wave, and she’d never seen him smile and still . . .

  He lay on the couch. There was no ax in his head. But, like the body in the car, he had a red necklace around his throat and a pool of dark crimson beneath him.

  “Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God!” she breathed, stepping out of the door quickly.

  What if the killer was still in there?

  She turned to run, not sure where to run. The house next door was dark. There were no cars on the road at all. But there had to be someone down the street.

  Right.

  Perhaps the killer.

  No, the body had probably been in the car for days. And maybe this man had been dead for days as well. She needed to get it together.

  The trunk had just been ajar tonight!

  All right, all right, just walk down the street and find help!

  But not alone.

  As much as she hated running back by the sedan with the body, she raced back to Ethan’s gate, let herself in, ignored the yipping little guys, and headed into the house for Rocket’s leash.

  It wasn’t on the hooks by the door, and she cursed softly aloud, wondering where it might be. But it was as she stood there that she felt someone behind her and she turned, a scream welling in her throat.

  This time, she found her voice.

  “Hey!”

  Spinning around in sheer terror, she was stunned to see that Ethan was standing behind her.

  She threw herself into his arms, shaking.

  “Oh my God, oh my God—thank God! Ethan, you’re here, you are home!” she stuttered.

  “Yeah, I was able to get back early. Grabbed a dial-a-ride and got here quickly. What on earth is the matter?”

  “You didn’t see?” she whispered incredulously.

  “See what?”

  “That car . . . that car parked in front of your house! Ethan, there’s a body in the trunk.”

  He stared at her as if she had completely lost her mind.

  “There’s a body—in a car in front of my house?”

  “And your neighbor is dead!”

  “My neighbor? Ah, come on! He’s not a nice guy, but he’s not so bad that someone would want to kill him! Riley, I shouldn’t have asked you to do this, I know how nervous you can get. There is no body in a car, and I’m sure that my neighbor is just fine,” Ethan said.

  He had such confidence and even a note of humor in his smile.

  “Hey, you scared yourself into seeing things!” he told her. “Come on, sit down, I’ll grab you a shot of whiskey and steady your nerves.”

  “Ethan, I’m not making it up! I walked outside and fell against the car and the trunk popped open. You had to have seen the body in it when you got here, oh, Ethan—”

  “Hey, you pretty young thing. I did just walk by that car—jerk, parking like that in front of my place, but the trunk is closed.”

  “What? It was open. There’s a body in it, I swear it. Rocket knew!”

  “The dog knew there was a body in a car?” he asked skeptically.

  “Ethan, I’m not crazy. I’m not terrified and seeing things. There is a body in that car and . . . go look!”

  “Okay, but I’m sure the car is locked. And I’m not a cop, so I’m not going to break into that car, even if its owner is a jerk!” Ethan said.

  He put his arms around her for a minute and pulled her close. “Riley, it’s okay. It’s dark and creepy around here at night if you’re accustomed to this street. Maybe the owner is with a theater company and has a dummy or something, but . . . Riley, the trunk isn’t open.”

  It was good feeling his arms around her. Ethan was good-looking, yes, but he was also strong and assuring. And right now, a bastion of strength against her terror.

  “See? Let’s walk outside and you can see that the trunk is closed.”

  She nodded and he turned to the front door, which was still ajar, pushed it open all the way, and stepped out. Riley hadn’t noted that the little dogs were milling around their feet, wagging their tails, hoping for pets and affection, until she nearly tripped over one of them.

  Rocket was still outside, standing in his guard position, but now watching the two of them.

  “See?”

  He was right. The trunk of the sedan was now closed.

  “It was open!” she whispered.

  “Riley, I think you might just be . . . afraid of the dark?” he suggested gently.

 

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