Antiques Bizarre by Barbara Allan Page B

because you’re the chief of police—”
    “Relax,” he cut in gruffly. “I’m not going to bury you in the woods or anything.”
    Good to know!
    And over the next fifteen minutes or so, the car twisted and turned along remote backroads, making my fantasies of jumping out a door and rolling to freedom seem as silly as they sounded, and then suddenly the vehicle veered into the mouth of a private lane, nearly obscured by a row of thick bushes.
    We bumped down a long narrow strip of gravel before coming to an abrupt stop in front of a rustic structure, a slightly oversized log cabin, as dust settled around us like smog.
    What was this place, and why were we here? Was this the backwoods equivalent of a dank secret cell in the basement of the Serenity police station, where suspects and uncooperative witnesses were given the Third Degree? And what were the First and Second Degrees, anyway?
    Maybe Mother was right—maybe I did need to get back on the Prozac….
    Chief Cassato got out of the car, then came around and opened my door in a gentlemanly fashion.
    When I didn’t budge, he leaned in. “What’s the problem?”
    “What’s the idea of throwing me in the backseat and doing whatever you want with me?”
    That came out a little wrong….
    “If I’d put you in front,” he said, his tone bland, “your mother would have thought this was a date. Needed to make it look official, Brandy.”
    “Is that what this is? Your idea of a date? Drive me in the country and scare the daylights out of me?”
    “If I’d told you what I had in mind,” he said, “you might have said no.” Then he frowned, as that had also come out a little wrong….
    Finally I got out of the car, then stood with hands on hips and worked up a little indignation. “Do you mind telling me why I’m here?”
    He gestured to the cabin. “This is where I live. I don’t bring just anybody out here.”
    My eyes swept over the rustic home, finding nothing at all sinister about it. “You don’t?”
    “No. I keep kind of a low profile.”
    I knew that already—Cassato was Serenity’s resident Man of Mystery, which is partly why my paranoia got out of hand on the drive out here.
    “Then you weren’t trying to throw a scare into me….”
    His smile was small but wicked. “Maybe a little.”
    I pounded on his chest, once, with a fist. Not hard. “What did I do to deserve that?”
    “How about, help your annoying mother interfere in countless police matters over the past year? How about, put your own welfare and life itself stupidly at risk, any number of times?”
    “Well…besides that.”
    He chuckled, gave up half a grin. “You seem a little surprised by the Cassato homestead. What did you expect?”
    “I guess a condo, maybe—in a gated community, so you’d have a little privacy. And to keep Mother out.”
    He waved a hand at his place. “This is just as safe—unless you tell her where it is. I’m trusting you, Brandy.”
    “Yeah, I guess Batman doesn’t just show every chick the Bat Cave.”
    Everyone in Serenity knew Tony Cassato protected his private life—both past and present—like a bulldog does a ham bone.
    And speaking of dogs, a snarling canine with teeth bared was rounding the side of the cabin and making straight for yours truly. I grabbed on to the chief’s nearest arm as if I’d fallen from a cliff and needed a branch to cling to.
    The chief moved me behind him, stepping protectively in the path of the barking hound, then barked his own warning, stopping the animal in its oversized tracks.
    “Sit!” the chief said.
    “You talking to me or the mutt?”
    But the mutt—and it was a mixed breed critter, white and black and coming up to about his master’s knee—was sitting there dutifully, slobbering and wagging his tail (the dog, not the master).
    “I guess even a watchdog needs a watchdog,” I said.
    “He’s a good boy. Stays in his doghouse and gives trespassers hell. But he’s all bark and no