Блейз Клемент - Duplicity Dogged Тhe Dachshund

For this and every other book in the Dixie Hemingway Mystery Series, I have gratefully used information provided by numerous Web sites, newspapers, magazines, and books, most notably The New Natural Cat by Anitra Frazier with Norma Eckroate, and nature articles by Kat Wingert in the Siesta Key Observer .

And finally, many thanks to my dream team: Marcia Markland, the world’s best editor, and her assistant, Diana Szu; and to my agent, Annelise Robey, and her cohorts at the Jane Rotrosen Agency. In a time when many writers are wearing invisible black armbands for their dead faith in the publishing world, Marcia, Diana, and Annelise have been unfailingly loyal and supportive.

Also by Blaize Clement

Curiosity Killed the Cat Sitter

Praise for Blaize Clement and DUPLICITY DOGGED THE DACHSHUND

“Don’t let the cutesy title fool you. This isn’t one of those lightweight, frothy ‘fun with animals’ stories … It’s tough, gritty, and edgy. One of the strongest points of Clement’s work is her knack for building suspense slowly but steadily, to the point where you have no idea what peril might be lurking just around the bend.”

—Sarasota Herald-Tribune

“Clement uses the animals in Dixie’s care … to enrich her plot, creating in the process an entertaining cozy, one of the few set in South Florida, land of noir.”

—Booklist

CURIOSITY KILLED THE CAT SITTER

“A knockout read … For anyone who loves mysteries, animals, or just plain great writing.”

—Laurien Berenson, author of Chow Down

“Clement’s assured cozy debut introduces an appealing heroine.”

—Publishers Weekly

“Impressive … a sure keeper, with well-developed characters, seamless prose, and a winning plot … [a] commendable new series.”

—Mystery Lovers.com

“A first-rate debut.”

—Booklist

“Entertaining … Dixie is a complex, well-conceived character and the plot fast-moving and believable.”

—Kirkus Reviews

“At once a cozy mystery for animal lovers and a jarringly earthy hard-boiled whodunit about human corruption. Clement’s sleuth, Florida pet-sitter Dixie Hemingway, is an engaging combination of vulnerability and toughness, but the real heroine of the story is a gritty Abyssinian cat. A good read!”

—Susan Conant, author of Gaits of Heaven and the Holly Winter Dog Lover’s Mysteries

“Kick off your flip-flops, find a hammock, and settle in for a fun read. Clement’s Floridian heroine, Dixie Hemingway, spouts laugh-out-loud one-liners and words of wisdom in this intriguing whodunit filled with twists, turns, and some pretty captivating critters!”

—Cynthia Baxter, author of Right from the Gecko

“Funny, engaging, and true to life.”

—Lee Charles Kelly, author of ’Twas the Bite Before Christmas

“ Curiosity Killed the Cat Sitter has it all: a feisty heroine, lovable animals, and a solid whodunit. What more could you ask for?”

—Barbara Seranella, creator of the Munch Mancini crime novels

“A fantastic who-done-it … Fans of fast-paced clever mysteries will appreciate Dixie’s efforts to uncover the culprit before she either goes to jail or dies.”

—Harriet Klausner Reviews

“A new star in the ‘mysteries with animals’ firmament … this book stands out in the genre for its plotting, pacing, and well-formed characters, in addition to an enticing tropical locale.”

—The Kingston Observer

“A keeper, with its plucky protagonist, cats galore, and a nice sense of place.”

—Library Journal

There are tears in the very heart of things, And mortality touches the human mind.

—VIRGIL , THE AENEID

Keep reading for an excerpt from the next Dixie Hemingway novel the next novel

EVEN CAT SITTERS GET THE BLUES

Coming soon in hardcover from St. Martin’s Minotaur

1

Christmas was coming, and I had killed a man.

Either of those facts was enough to make me want to crawl in bed and pull the covers over my head for a long, long time.

Not to mention the fact that I was having feelings for two men, when I’d never expected or wanted to love even one man again, ever.

Not to also mention the fact that I’d agreed to take care of an unknown, free-wheeling iguana today.

It was all too much for any one person, especially this person. I figured I had every right to put the brakes on my life and refuse to go on. To just stand up and yell, “Okay, time out! No more life for me for a while. I’ll get back to you when I’m ready.”

Instead, I crawled out of bed at four a.m., just like I do every friggin’ day, and gutted up to face whatever the day would bring. It’s a genetic curse, coming as I do from a long line of people who just keep on keeping on, even when anybody in their right mind would step aside for a while.

I’m Dixie Hemingway, no relation to you know who. I’m a pet-sitter on Siesta Key, which is a semi-tropical barrier island off Sarasota, Florida. Until almost four years ago, I was a deputy with the Sarasota County Sheriff’s Department. My husband was a deputy too. His name was Todd. We had a beautiful little girl. Her name was Christy. We were happy in the way of all young families, aware that bad things happened to other people, but blocking out how exquisitely tenuous life really is. That all changed in a heartbeat. Two heartbeats, actually—the last of Todd’s and Christy’s.

I’ve read somewhere that some excavators in Siberia found an intact wooly mammoth that had been entombed in ice for millennia. A butterfly was on the mammoth’s tongue. I think about that wooly mammoth a lot, because life’s like that. One second you can be blissfully standing in golden sunshine with butterflies flitting around you, and the next second, whap! The world goes dark and you’re totally alone and frozen.

I went a little bit crazy when that happened to me. To tell the truth, I went more than a little crazy. My rage was so great that the sheriff’s department wisely decided that sending me out in public with a gun on my belt was like dropping a piranha in a goldfish bowl. But grief held too long eventually becomes a memorial to yourself, and you have to let it go.

When I was able to function again, I became a pet-sitter. I like pets and they like me, and I’m not often in situations where I might revert to the old fury that buzzed in my veins for so long. I can’t say I’m completely free of either the grief or the craziness that goes with it, but I’m a lot better.

At least I was until I killed that man.

Not that he didn’t need killing. He did, and the Grand Jury agreed that he did. Actually, they agreed that I had killed him in self-defense and that it was a damn good thing I had, given the awful things he had done and would have done again, but that didn’t change the fact that I had to live with knowing I’d killed somebody.

Killing changes a person. Ask any combat veteran responsible for enemy deaths. Ask any cop who’s had to take out a criminal. You can justify it, you can know that it was your job, that it was necessary, and that you’d do it again in the same circumstance, but it still changes you, even if nobody else knows it.

That, plus the fact that Christmas would be here in exactly eleven days, was causing me to avoid almost all human contact.

In my line of work, avoiding human contact is actually pretty easy. If a pet client is new, I have one meeting with its humans when we sign a contract and make sure everybody understands exactly what I will and will not do for their pet. I’m pretty much a pushover when it comes to pets, so I’ll do whatever they need, but I try not to let the humans know that right up front. They give me a key to their house, a security code number if they have an alarm system, show me their pet’s toys and favorite hiding places, and tell me what they want done in the event they both die while they’re away. Living in a retirement mecca where the majority of the inhabitants are over the age of sixty-five makes that an issue that comes up more frequently than you’d think. Sometimes it’s the other way around; they tell me what they want done with the pet in the event it dies while they’re away. That also happens more frequently than you’d think. Once we’ve all made sure we’re in accord about what’s best for the pet, they leave and I don’t have any more contact with them until they return.