Meryl Sawyer - Death's Door

Madison rose, extended her hand and forced a smile. “Detective…”

“Lincoln Burgess.” The stout man with sparse gray hair and a walrus mustache shook her hand. A trace of stale cigarette smoke rose from his lightweight sport coat as he moved. “Mind if I sit?”

“Please.” Madison slowly sank into her own chair. She’d mentally prepared herself for this moment but now that it had arrived she couldn’t help being edgy.

“I just had a few follow-up questions.” His tone was conversational but it did nothing to ease her nerves. “It’s about the dog.”

Dread rolled over her like a silent, all-encompassing fog. She waited with what she hoped was a neutral expression on her face.

“The dog you had with you at the crime scene. Had it been in the house?”

Madison had prepared herself for this interrogation with Rob’s help. No sense in lying more than necessary. Forensic experts would know Aspen had been in the house. Work around this—don’t fight it.

“Yes. Erin told me she had a golden retriever for me. When I came to pick up my cell phone, he was in the kitchen with his bill of sale and everything.”

The detective’s pale blue eyes narrowed. “When did she tell you this?”

“On Friday night when we went clubbing. Erin said a woman she’d met had a dog she couldn’t keep. Erin knew I was looking for a pet and bought him for me.”

Two beats of silence. “You never mentioned the dog in your interview.”

She ladled on the charm with a vapid smile. There were some advantages to being blond. Men automatically thought you were stupid. “No one asked about Aspen. Why is he important? Aren’t you looking for Erin’s killer?”

“Her death could be linked to the dog.” Detective Burgess’s eyes had no depth or light to them. Madison couldn’t tell if he’d bought her naive act.

“Really?”

“Do you have the bill of sale?”

“Yes. It’s at home. I mean, it’s at the home on Fisher Island where I’m house-sitting. Why?”

“We’re going to need to see it.”

Madison nodded, noticing he hadn’t answered her question. She had the sickening sensation that he was going to take Aspen away from her. She cursed herself for not following up on Rob’s suggestion that she try to contact the Everglades Animal Defense League and arrange to shuttle Aspen out of the state to protect him the way Erin would have had she lived.

Out of the corner of her eye, Madison saw Jade hurrying up the aisle with Paul Tanner at her heels. Great! Just what she needed. How could the guy interrupt an ongoing meeting? But a strange, excited feeling feathered through her chest.

Paul Tanner strode through the cube farm wearing arrogance like a second skin. But Madison couldn’t help noticing all the female heads turned in his direction. For an instant she regretted taking so little time to dress. She had on no makeup except for lip gloss. Her willful hair was going in all directions this morning and she’d done little to tame it.

What Paul Tanner thought of her didn’t matter. Then it occurred to her that a distraction might be useful. She wasn’t much good at picking her way through a minefield of lies.

Jade rushed into the cube, saying, “I told Mr. Tanner you were—”

“I thought I might be able to help.” Paul Tanner directed his comment to Detective Burgess, who didn’t look too thrilled to see him.

“It’s okay, Jade,” Madison told the girl and she backed out of the cube.

Paul looked directly at her with a tilt of his lips meant to pass for a smile. The beat of her heart suddenly filled her skull. Get a grip, she told herself.

“I thought you were still out on leave,” the detective said to Paul.

“I am, but I heard you wanted to ask Madison a few questions about the dog. I thought I might be able to help, since I was on the scene immediately after she discovered the body.”

Detective Burgess considered this a little longer than Madison thought necessary, considering Paul’s presence on the scene was an established fact. “Miss Connelly claims to have a bill of sale for the dog. Did you see it?”

Paul shifted his gaze to Madison and a nimbus of dread snaked through her. What would the man say?

“The envelope on the kitchen counter next to the pizza box?”

Amazing. Paul had been sprinting through the house in response to her screams, yet he’d had time to notice the box and the envelope beside it. From a distance she heard herself answer, “Yes. The bill of sale was in the envelope.”

“She never mentioned it during the interview at the station,” the detective informed Paul.

Paul shrugged, glanced her way and said, “She probably didn’t think it was important. After all, she’d just found her best friend’s body.”

“Right,” Detective Burgess grudgingly agreed. “But the interview was hours later, after she’d taken the dog to the vet for some eye problem.”

“Have you made any progress in finding Erin’s killer?” Madison asked. Her father always said the best defense was a good offense.

“Her killer might have been the person who sold your friend the dog. He was probably the last person to see her.”

Madison said, “The name on the sales receipt I have at my house is L. Morgan. It must be a woman. Erin said a lady couldn’t keep her golden retriever.”

“Is there a city listed?” Paul asked.

“Miami.” She’d already checked the telephone directory. Hundreds of Morgans were listed in the greater Miami area. If Rob had been correct and this dog had been liberated from the lab, his bill of sale had been forged and deliberately made to be untraceable.

“I’ll need the certificate,” said the detective, “and the dog.”

“The dog?” Paul said, a laugh in his tone. “What for? Gonna question him?”

“Forensics might want to—”

“No way,” Paul said flatly. “Too much time has passed.”

Her brain immediately switched to trivia central. Forensics meant pertaining to or used in a court of law. Too much time had lapsed and Aspen had been too many places to make testing his fur admissible in court. But to be safe she said, “I washed him, then conditioned his fur.” It was the truth. Aspen had a strange smell; something they’d put on him at the lab, she’d decided.

“Where is the dog?” asked the detective.

“I’m taking care of him,” she replied, knowing he still couldn’t see Aspen from where he was sitting. “He’s my dog.”

“You know where to find her dog if you need him,” Paul said.

“I guess,” the other man muttered.

“Do you want me to get the bill of sale and bring it in?” Paul asked.

Detective Burgess looked relieved. “It’ll save me a helluva lot of time. We’re shorthanded as usual.”

“I’ll bring it to you,” Paul said.

Madison didn’t like the idea of being forced to spend more time with Paul, but she didn’t want Detective Burgess around any longer than necessary. He might change his mind and take Aspen.

Detective Burgess rose and walked toward the exit from the cube. He turned, asking, “When did you learn Erin’s death would make you a multimillionaire?”

His words were as sharp as a new razor, but she was ready for him. From the moment the lawyer had told her about the will, Madison had known she would be under even more suspicion. “I found out yesterday, when her attorney came to see me.”

A malignant silence filled the cubicle, then the detective asked, “Your best friend never mentioned owning a piece of property worth a fortune?”

“Yes, we talked about it when her parents were killed. At that point, the property was in the sticks and she thought it was worthless. Erin tried to sell it but couldn’t. The taxes were killing her. I understand in the last eighteen months there has been a lot of development in the area and a shopping center is going to be built on her land.”