Death's Door

“Wait!” She threw up one hand to stop him. “We don’t want to hand over a chunk of our business without thoroughly investigating the situation. It’s an invitation to steal from us or ruin our reputation. This isn’t something to leap into without careful thought.” She picked up her purse. “I’ve got an appointment.”

“Wait. I—”

“Later. I’m in a hurry.”

She rushed out of her corner cube and took a left. She headed for the back door to avoid the software salesman. She needed time to think about Aiden’s proposal. She might as well swing by Erin’s and pick up her cell phone.

Madison climbed into her BMW and lowered the windows to air out the car. Even though it was barely ten o’clock, the Miami sun was scorching a path across the blue April sky. She allowed her mind to drift for a moment. She’d wasted yet another weekend. She was never going to be able to replace the home she’d shared with Aiden.

Why was she trying?

She should lease the condo that she’d reluctantly allowed the Realtor to show her, Madison told herself. She didn’t need a yard. This way she could come and go easily. She punched the AC button and reached for her cell phone with her other hand to call the Realtor. Then she remembered she was on her way to pick up her cell.

“I’m losing it,” she said out loud. She backed out of her parking space and drove away.

Total Trivia was located several blocks off trendy Ocean Boulevard in South Beach’s low-rent district—if such a thing existed. They’d leased the office space nearly ten years ago, before she had married Aiden, when Total Trivia had been just another blip on the information superhighway. Aiden had insisted locating in SoBe would lure programmers they could hire for less.

Her ex had been right. Talented programmers often made sacrifices, living in studio apartments or sharing run-down flats just to be in the area. As Erin always said, SoBe was “hip to the max.” It was amazing what people would give up to live here.

Maybe Aiden was right about adding gambling to Total-Trivia, but she didn’t think so. Letting an offshore bank collect the money was evading the law. Wasn’t that the same as breaking the law? Sooner or later the government would catch on and come after them.

South Beach traffic was light—no doubt a fair number of residents were inside nursing hangovers—which meant Madison had to wait a mere two cycles to drive through most traffic lights. By evening, when the club set went on the prowl, it would take at least six cycles to move through a light.

From ten until dawn, the clubs would be full of tanned guys and women wearing next to nothing, slurping mojitos and chocolate martinis. Sexual energy would pulse through the air like a drumbeat in the tropics.

Madison didn’t like the club scene, but last Friday, Erin had wanted to check out two new clubs and she’d gone along. Her best friend since they’d been in diapers, Erin Wycoff had always been something of an enigma. Like a butterfly, Erin was beautiful but difficult to pin down. As close as they were, Madison often didn’t know what Erin was thinking. Even when they were young, Erin had kept her thoughts to herself, unlike most teenage girls, who told their best friends all their secrets. But since Madison’s split with Aiden, Erin had been the only one who could lift her spirits.

Erin had insisted on going to Sweet Cheeks and another club whose name Madison couldn’t recall, but as soon as they were there, drinks in hand, Erin had wanted to leave. Too hot. Too crowded. Too many airhead guys.

Well, that was the club scene for you. A club wasn’t “in” unless it was crowded with hunky guys and scantily clad babes. And jam-packed places were hot. That was a given.

They’d gone back to the little cottage Erin had rented and ordered pizza from an all-night pizzeria. They’d sat chatting about the move Madison couldn’t seem to make, but Erin had seemed distracted, on edge.

Still, Erin had scored a major point when she’d claimed Madison was in denial. By searching for a large home to replace the one she’d shared with her ex-husband, Madison was attempting to hang on to the past. The last time Madison’s mother had telephoned from some remote island in the South Pacific, she’d told Madison the same thing—in different words. “Oh, baby doll. Try something new. Get on with your life.”

Madison had admitted Erin was probably right and had left after finishing a slice of cardboard-tasting pizza. She’d only realized the next day that she’d forgotten her cell phone. She’d tried to catch Erin on Saturday and again on Sunday but hadn’t been able to connect. Maybe she hadn’t even wanted to reach Erin, hadn’t wanted to explain why she was still asking the Realtor to show her large homes.

A bit of trivia popped into her head, which often happened when she was thinking of something distressing. How much wine does one grapevine make? The average vine yielded twenty-four pounds of grapes. That was enough to make ten bottles of wine. She hadn’t used this fact on Total Trivia because inexact measurements like “average” caused arguments and players would claim their answer was correct.

She told herself to forget about trivia and concentrate on finding a place to live. The owners of the house where she was staying would return soon. Gambling and trivia could both wait until she’d settled her life.

At this hour of the morning, Erin was probably out making sales calls for the sunglass company she represented. It didn’t matter if Erin wasn’t home. Madison had a key to her friend’s place. She could pick up her cell then call the Realtor. Signing the lease on the condo and making arrangements would take the better part of the day, but Madison didn’t care. She didn’t want to return to Total Trivia until she’d had a chance to consider Aiden’s proposal.

It was quieter in the middle-class neighborhood in South Miami where Erin lived. People were at work, children in school. She turned into the narrow driveway and shut off the engine. The white cottage with an attached single-car garage was a legacy of the early twentieth century, when snowbirds from the North built small, inexpensive bungalows where they could wait out the winter in Miami’s warm sun. Snowbirds now clustered like bees in the hives of condos that riddled the state. This neighborhood had morphed into a working-class section of the city.

She slung her purse over her shoulder and got out of the car. On her way up the walk to the front door, she selected the key Erin had given her from the seldom-used ring of keys at the bottom of her purse. She rang the bell and heard its chime echo through the small house. As she expected, Erin wasn’t home. She attempted to put the key into the lock. It didn’t fit.

Suddenly, Madison remembered her friend mentioning getting a new garage door opener and new locks. Erin had forgotten to give Madison a new key.

“Great, just great,” she muttered under her breath. Standing on the small porch, Madison noticed a silver Porsche had pulled to the curb across the street. It seemed out of place in this neighborhood. A tall, dark-haired man stepped out. He glanced in her direction, then locked the car.

Madison wondered if Erin had hidden a spare key in the small yard behind the cottage. She went around back, but didn’t bother to check under the flowerpots. Erin wouldn’t hide a key in such an obvious place. She looked around, thinking, then spotted a dog turd over by a bush. Erin was an animal lover and always had been, but she didn’t have a dog. The landlord wouldn’t allow any pets. Erin got her pet fix by volunteering at an animal rescue facility.

She toed the dried pile and it rolled over. Just as she suspected, there was a latch on the bottom. These rock-hard devices had become popular with pet owners. A close look revealed they were molded pottery of some kind, but to the untrained eye, they looked like a deposit a dog would make. She picked up the fake turd and opened it. A shiny new key was inside. Leave it to Erin to hide a key in plain sight—in a fake dog turd that looked disturbingly real. So real, you could almost smell it.

She rushed up to the back door. For a moment she paused and gazed up at the flawless blue sky, feeling inexplicably troubled. The key fit in the lock and the door creaked open inch by inch. She brushed her odd reaction aside and stepped into a small service area with a washer and dryer.

A noxious odor she couldn’t identify hung in the close, humid air and made her stomach roil. Obviously, Erin had burned a funky candle. She opened the door leading into the kitchen and was greeted by a golden retriever with runny eyes. A small pile of dog poop accounted for the odor. Why hadn’t Erin let this dog out?

“Hi, there. What’s your name?” When had Erin gotten a dog? She hadn’t mentioned a word about it when they’d gone out on Friday. She’d probably found the retriever at the rescue center and couldn’t resist even though her lease specified no pets. With Erin, you never knew what was going on.

“Erin, it’s me,” she called out, in case her friend was still home but hadn’t heard the bell. No response.

The dog kept scratching at the door. She opened it and he charged through the service area and out to the small backyard. He immediately lifted a leg on a low-hanging bush.

“You’re a boy,” she muttered, more to herself than the dog. He trotted back to her and she bent down to check his collar. It looked brand-new. “So, your name is Aspen.”

The dog cocked his head and looked up at her. His eyes were tearing the way some poodles’ did, leaving brown stains on their fur. She wondered if something was wrong with the retriever. Maybe that’s why Erin had brought him home.

She led Aspen back inside. The odor she’d smelled earlier was worse now. She covered her nose with her hand. On the counter was a fly-covered pizza box clearly left over from Friday night. Typical Erin. She wasn’t much for housekeeping.

Next to the box was a manila envelope marked “Aspen.” Coiled beside it was a nylon leash. She held her breath while she opened the unsealed envelope and found a bill of sale inside for a male golden retriever, age three years and seven months.

Erin had purchased the dog for twenty-five dollars. Interesting. It wasn’t much for a purebred, but maybe something was wrong with it, like an eye problem. And it wasn’t Erin’s style to buy a dog. She didn’t believe in buying from breeders when there were so many homeless animals, many of whom had to be put down when homes weren’t found for them. Yet she had purchased this dog. Very odd.

Madison returned the paper to the envelope and closed it. On the back flap, Erin had written something so quickly that it was difficult to read. “Rob—Monday noon. Don’t be late.”

Interesting, she thought. Very interesting. Madison had always believed Erin and Robert Matthews were meant to be together, but they’d broken up. Erin hadn’t mentioned the veterinarian in months.

Madison decided to leave the dog in the kitchen. Obviously, Erin had her reasons for keeping Aspen there. She opened the door to the small space that served as a living room with a dining area off to one side. With all the blinds drawn, it was hot, dark and uninviting.

She let the kitchen door close behind her. A denser cloud of the horrible, cloying smell saturated the air. The stench sent her stomach into a backflip. A fly zoomed by her nose, closely followed by a second one. The odor of urine was also present. That must be why Erin had left the dog in the kitchen. He wasn’t properly trained.

Despite the room’s darkness, she managed to spot her silver cell phone gleaming on the coffee table where she’d left it. She charged forward to pick it up and nearly tripped over something protruding from the shadows between the sofa and coffee table.

A bare foot.

The thought scarcely registered when she saw something on the floor. A naked body? She squinted, her eyes adjusting to what light had stolen into the room. The form was sprawled across the carpet, dark brown hair streaming like a banner. Her limbs were splayed, one arm bent beneath her and the other flung outward, palm up. The open hand seemed to capture a shaft of light that was seeping in from between the blinds. Around the neck was a red scarf pulled so tight the head torqued to one side.

All Madison could make out in the semidarkness was the side of the woman’s face. Erin! No. It couldn’t be.

She sucked in a terrified breath as goose bumps pebbled her skin. For a heartbeat she couldn’t move. A burning, wrenching sensation gripped her stomach and a wave of throbbing dizziness hit her. Madison heard a jagged, high-pitched shard of sound rip through the air, but it was a second before she realized she’d screamed.

A thousand thoughts pinwheeled through her brain. Erin. How could she be dead? Her friend had always been there—a constant presence in her life—even more reliable than her own mother.

She forced herself to edge closer just to be sure. A few strands of hair covered the naked woman’s face, its skin like white candle wax. Erin. No question about it.

Why? Why? Why?

She stood near her friend, her mind barely taking in what she saw. Details registered like freeze-frame images. A wet stain pooled around Erin’s thighs. A drop of dried blood lingered at the corner of her mouth. One knee was swollen, the purplish skin so tight that it seemed ready to burst. A bulging blue eye stared sightlessly at the beige carpet beneath her. The white part of her eye was bloodred.

Madison’s vision had grown accustomed to the dark. Now, she noticed evidence of a frantic struggle. Furniture was knocked out of place. Pictures on tables had fallen and plants were overturned. By some quirk of fate, the coffee table where her cell phone had been was still upright.

Suddenly, a hand clamped across her lips. Pulse misfiring, her mind attempted to grapple with the situation, but panic shredded her brain like shrapnel.

A single thought registered: the killer!

All her instincts told her that she was a heartbeat from death. The will to survive kicked her body into gear. She flailed, biting the huge hand over her mouth and jabbing her elbows in a futile attempt to free herself. Powerful arms locked around her and brought her against the solid wall of a big chest.

“Be still,” a deep, masculine voice ordered. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

She wasn’t buying that bridge—not with her murdered friend less than a foot away. She kicked backward and landed a blow with the heel of her shoe.

“Stop it!” He had a death grip on her now, squeezing her so tight the air in her lungs turned to cement. “I’m trying to help you.”

“L-lemme go.” She worked hard to keep hysteria out of her voice, but detected its shaky undertone in every word.

“Screaming isn’t going to bring her back.”

Suddenly, it dawned on Madison that she hadn’t stopped screaming from the moment she’d spotted her friend’s body.

CHAPTER TWO

How far away can a fly smell a dead body?

MADISON TEETERED, feeling light-headed, grabbed the back of the sofa for support and closed her eyes for a second, her fragile barrier of control slipping. Get a grip, she told herself. The air was so tight in her lungs that she could hardly breathe. But the thump-thump of her heart filled her skull and made it difficult to think. Even with her eyes closed, she kept seeing Erin’s lifeless body. She opened them and found the dark-haired man from the street gazing down at her.

He handed her a cell phone and calmly said, “Call 911. I’m going to check the rest of the house just in case.”

The man’s calm, cool attitude told Madison that she’d been mistaken. He really was trying to help her, as he’d said. He wasn’t the killer. That man was long gone but his evilness remained, hanging over the small house like a noxious cloud.

Madison’s eyes dropped to the body prone on the carpet. “Don’t leave me.”

The man touched her arm and prodded her in the direction of the kitchen. “Go out back. You’ll be safe.”

Madison stumbled toward the kitchen, managed to open the door and lurched to an upright position on the other side. She gulped hard and air rasped down her throat, then thundered into her lungs. She swayed for a moment, the numbers on the keypad of the small cell phone swimming in front of her. Something brushed against her leg and she gasped out loud but managed not to scream when she realized it was just the dog, standing beside her, tail swishing.

She gazed down into his soulful eyes and something unexpected tugged at her heart. Erin must have cared deeply about the dog to bring him home even though she knew a pet could mean eviction from a bungalow she’d described as “perfect.” Had this poor animal seen the killer, heard the desperate struggle in the other room?

The screech of tires on the street outside jolted her. Call the police! She punched the numbers and hit Send.

“Nine-one-one. Please hold.”

Hold? Erin was dead. Getting an ambulance here fast wasn’t important, but what if someone—

“What is the nature of your emergency?”

“M-my f-friend’s been killed.” Madison choked on the words. It was almost as if saying them made it true. If she didn’t utter them, Erin would still be alive.

“Does your friend have a pulse? Have you cleared the air passages?”

Madison mumbled her replies, trying to make the overly calm, patient woman understand. Erin had been murdered. As she talked, she spotted the envelope and leash on the counter and made a split-second decision she hoped she wouldn’t regret. She shoved the envelope into her purse, which by some miracle was still slung over her shoulder. She snapped the leash onto Aspen’s collar.

“What is your address?” the emergency operator asked.

Madison went blank. She could find her way to her best friend’s house easily but didn’t recall the number on Sawgrass Terrace. “I’m on a cell. I’ll go outside and check the number.” She plowed through the small kitchen and service area, Aspen in tow. Outside, the sun was blistering a path across the sky. In shimmering waves, moist heat rose from the grass in back of the house.

Madison squinted. How could it be so bright and sunny when Erin was dead?

“You’re at fourteen eleven Sawgrass Terrace. Correct?”

From back here, Madison couldn’t see the house number but knew it was correct when she heard it. The man’s cell phone must have a GPS chip in it. Most cell phones couldn’t transmit the location so quickly. “Yes.”

The operator told her help was on the way and to stay on the line. She snapped the phone shut. Why remain on the line? Nothing the operator could say would help Erin now.

The door behind Madison slammed and she spun around. The man who’d heard her frantic screams walked toward her. She’d been so upset that she’d only had the vague impression of a tall, powerfully built man with dark hair and eyes. His hair was indeed dark brown, almost black, but his eyes were a deep blue that had only appeared brown in the gloomy house.

She told herself again there was no reason to be afraid. The man merely looked intense, the way anyone would at a murder scene. Yes, his size implied strength and threatened her even though she wasn’t the type to be intimidated. But she could see he was trying to help. And finding a dead body had to be as shocking for him as it was for her.

The hollow thunk-thunk of blood in her temples made it difficult to think as quickly as she usually did. Somewhere in the back of her mind, a thought managed to register. Most women would say this guy was hot. Not that she cared. Being with Aiden had taught her that a handsome man couldn’t resist the temptation thrown into his path.

“Whoever killed your friend is long gone,” the stranger told her in a concerned voice, but she felt trapped by his unwavering stare. “Did you call—”

“They’re on the way.” She returned his cell phone.

“We’d better go around front where the police can see us.”

Madison started to move but couldn’t. He stared at her for a moment and Madison wondered if he expected her to again cut loose with a shriek loud enough to be heard in New York. She forced herself to put one foot in front of the other and headed toward the street, bringing the dog with her.

“If only I’d gotten here sooner,” she muttered more to herself than to him. As sharp as a blade, a lone siren cut through the still air, coming closer and closer.

“It wouldn’t have mattered. She hasn’t been alive for some time.”

Madison stopped and Aspen plowed into the back of her legs. “How can you tell?”

“I’m Paul Tanner with Miami PD.”

“Oh,” she said simply, remembering the flies hovering around Erin’s body. A pinprick of a thought flashed through her brain the way obscure facts often intruded. A fly could smell a dead body a mile away. They’d been buzzing around Erin’s lifeless body for hours.

A police car followed by an ambulance, lights flashing, screeched to a stop at the curb. Two uniformed policemen emerged from the squad car just as a gray sedan drove up. They waited until two men in suits got out of the second car.

“Yo, Tanner,” called one of the men in suits to Paul Tanner.

The man was who he claimed he was, she thought. How could she have mistaken him for a killer?

“Her friend’s been strangled.” Paul lightly touched Madison’s arm. “The back door’s open. She came over to—”

Madison realized everyone was staring at her, expecting an answer. “I came over to get my cell phone.”

One detective remained with her while Paul led the other detective and the uniformed officers to the back of the house.

“I went in and found Erin on the floor in the living room. Sh-she had this cord or sash around her neck.”

“So she was dead when you arrived?”

“Yes. It looked like she’d been strangled.”

The detective jotted a few notes in the small notebook he held in his hand. His face registered no emotion. Obviously, dead bodies came as no surprise to him.

“What is the victim’s full name?”

“Erin Allison Wycoff.”

“How’d you get in?”

Madison ran through the story of the newly changed locks and how she’d found the hidden key. She was coming to her senses a little bit, her mind grasping the gruesome reality of the situation.

The two policemen came out of the front door, followed by the other detective and the Tanner guy. From their impassive, almost frozen expressions, no one could guess the grisly scene they’d discovered in the house.

“Medical examiner’s on the way. The tech van will be here to process the scene,” announced one of the men in uniform.

The men gathered a few feet from Madison. She took a step back and bumped into Aspen. She leaned down and stroked his head. The men conferred for a moment, speaking so softly Madison couldn’t make out what they were saying.

The detective with the notebook continued asking questions as the men moved closer. “When was the last time you saw the victim?”

“Erin. Her name was Erin.”

The men looked at one another. Hysterical female, they silently telegraphed.

Madison took a deep breath, then told them, “I was with her on Friday night. That’s when I left my cell phone. I called her Saturday and Sunday, but I didn’t get her. I also tried to reach Erin on her cell. It kicked into voice mail.”

“Did you find that unusual?” asked the detective.

“No, not really. Erin often turns off her phone. She isn’t—wasn’t—the kind to talk on it all the time.” Madison couldn’t help blaming herself. She should have driven over yesterday instead of house-hunting for a home she could never replace. If she had, Erin might still be alive. Surely the killer wouldn’t have tried to murder two women. She could have saved her friend if she hadn’t been obsessed with replacing a home—and a life—that was gone forever.

“When I couldn’t make contact this morning, I drove over here,” Madison told them.

“Do you have any idea where she’s been or who she was with?”

Madison shook her head.