Something Deadly

“Who is it?”

“Sparky Vasquez. Same complaint.”

“Jeez.”

“Yeah,” said Donna. “Jeez.”

It was evening before Declan finally called Markie at home. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I just got your message. I’ve been out all day, and my receptionist didn’t page me. Is something wrong?”

“Something’s definitely wrong. I don’t know if it’s related to this epidemic, but you need to know about it.”

Dec was silent for a couple of beats. Then he said, “How about we get together somewhere? I’m on a cell.”

And cell transmissions on this island were anything but secure. Not that anyone would listen in on purpose, but the signals sometimes got crossed. “Sure. Where?”

He thought a moment. “Most everything is closed. My place?”

He gave her the address and said he would be there in fifteen minutes. She promised to meet him.

She pulled on a pair of sneakers and grabbed her purse, but Kato took it upon himself to decide that she wasn’t going to leave the house.

Despite his customary stoicism, he still had his playful moods, and when he got into one, the word “persistence” took on an entirely new meaning. He planted himself in front of her as she headed toward the door. She tried to step around him, but he moved to block her way again.

“You wanna play, huh?” Bending, she grabbed his scruff and tugged lightly.

Ordinarily he would bow, the international canine signal for “playtime.” But this time he didn’t. Nor did he try to shake her hand off his scruff. He just stayed right in front of her. She threw his big fuzzy play ball. He didn’t even glance at it. She found a rawhide bone and made as if to gnaw on it, then offered it to him. He merely huffed.

“Kato, I have to go out!”

As she moved, he once again planted himself in front of her, his golden gaze defying her.

Markie knew he was the gentlest wolf hybrid on the planet. She’d raised him from a pup. He slept on her bed, went nearly everywhere with her and not once in his life had he shown the slightest aggressive streak.

Until now.

His eyes went feral, pure wolf. She knew better than to argue with him.

“Kato?”

He favored her with the slightest twitch of his tail, but his expression was still fixed.

“Kato, I have to go see Declan.”

A low, throaty moan answered her. Something clearly was disturbing him. There were times when she wished she could speak dog, or he could speak human.

Finally she squatted and looked him straight in the eye. “Okay. What will it take for you to let me go?”

He headed straight for his leash by the door and nosed it. Then he returned to his guard posture in front of her.

“Okay,” she said, giving in. “Okay. I just hope Dec doesn’t mind you shedding all over his furniture.”

With that, Kato let her move. He stood docilely while she put the leash on him and trotted at heel to the car with her. In the front seat, he sat erect, with his head out the window testing the breeze.

And his eyes were still feral.

Tim Roth made his way around the coastline toward the north end of the island where his family lived. He knew his father wasn’t going to welcome him, but that didn’t matter anymore. He was going to show the old man up very soon. The thought filled him with anticipatory glee.

The sun was just beginning to set, a vision of reds and golds that made him decide to detour inland to the old Black plantation. Give Annie Black, the bitch, credit for knowing where to build a house. She’d picked a hillock at the crest of a spiny ridge that stretched like a gnarled root from the base of the dormant volcano to dominate the southern peninsula. There wasn’t much she wouldn’t have seen from this hilltop.

It was a piece of property he wished he could sell. His father, of course, would never permit it. The indigenous peoples considered the place taboo, and old Abel Roth wasn’t about to trample on their sensibilities. Tim thought his father was way too considerate of such things. After all, these people hadn’t been slaves since the Revolution of 1809, when they’d cast off British rule. But they had long memories and told Annie Black’s story as if it were yesterday. Hence, Abel left the land untouched. A big chunk of the island.

Tim planned to change that once the old man was dead.

He pulled his car up to the burnt-out ruins and planted himself on one of the tumbled stones, enjoying the peacefulness of the deserted place and the glories of the tropical sunset.

He wasn’t immune to the beauties of nature, and it occurred to him that he might someday build his own house on this spot. After all, he would owe a lot to Annie Black.

He almost laughed out loud with delight. All those people down there who still feared the woman’s ghost. Even Carter Shippey, apparently. And Steve Chase. A woman dead nearly two hundred years, who’d been so terrifying in life that people still feared her in death.

He envied her style.

He patted a nearby stone and said, “You were a great girl, Annie. Times have changed, though. No slaves. Or not so they notice. But if you were here now, you’d turn that amazing intelligence to the problem. Yes, you would. You’d own the island instead of my dad, for one thing.”

He laughed again. “I’ll find your treasure, old girl. Don’t doubt it. I’ll make sure people never forget you.”

The wind swept across him, chillier now, even though the sun hadn’t quite disappeared. “Patience, girl,” he said almost absently.

Then he climbed back into his car and drove around the base of the mountain. Time to see the old man.

Markie arrived to find Declan in his garden, up to his elbows in potting soil. At least he didn’t mind Kato’s chaperoning her. In fact, he seemed glad to see the dog. They even roughhoused a bit before Declan greeted Markie.

“I’m sorry I can’t offer you the kind of dinner you fed me last night. I just got home, and the cupboard is bare. I’ve been too busy to catch up on shopping.”

“It’s not a problem,” she assured him. “I had dinner a few hours ago.”

“Maybe not a problem, but it’s still embarrassing.” He held out his hands. “I can grow things. I just can’t cook them.”

Markie smiled. “Different strokes.”

His blue eyes sparkled. “In the meantime, Doctor, I offer you gourmet PB and J.”

“Gourmet, huh?”

“Only the best,” he agreed, leading the way into his kitchen. “Imported. From the States.”

“Wow!”

Laughing, he scrubbed his hands clean, then pulled a jar from the refrigerator. “Actually,” he said, “if you like blueberry preserves, this stuff is awesome. My sister made it and sent me a few jars.”