Killer Cocktail by Tracy Kiely Page A

dead.”
    â€œWho would want to hurt DeDee?” he asked. “Do you think her ex might have followed her out here?”
    â€œHe might have, but for what purpose? Why would he come after her now after all this time? And why would he ransack our house if he just wanted to hurt DeDee?”
    â€œI don’t know, Nic, but whoever did this was an animal. Animals aren’t always known for their rational thought.”
    At the word “animal” we both stared at each other, eyes wide. “Where’s Skippy?” I said, just as Nigel leapt to his feet.
    â€œSkippy?!” he yelled as he ran from the room. “Skippy!”
    I sat frozen to the floor, DeDee’s inert hand in mine. As I listened to Nigel’s increasingly panicked voice call out for Skippy, an icy numbness spread through my heart. I had worked some gut-wrenching cases when I was in New York, but the worst ones were those involving kids. To have to look into the anguished eyes of a frantic parent and tell them that their worst nightmare had come true was its own kind of hell. As I listened to the sounds of Nigel tearing from room to room in search of Skippy, I had a greater empathy for those parents’ pain. Skippy wasn’t our child, but he was a part of our family. The idea that he might be hurt—or even worse—made me physically ill. Not being able to help look for him myself only increased my distress. After what seemed like an eternity, but was probably only two or three minutes, I heard Nigel cry out in relief, “Skippy! Oh, thank God! Are you all right, boy? It’s okay, it’s okay. I missed you, too. Skippy, don’t jump on me! Skippy, easy boy!” The next sound was that of Nigel falling to the floor underneath an apparently enthusiastic and unharmed Skippy. Seconds later, I heard the piercing wail of the ambulance’s siren as it sped toward our house.
    I sagged against the side of the desk, not sure which sound gave me more relief.

sixteen
    I let the paramedics in and rushed them to where DeDee was. After answering what few questions I could, I stepped back and let them do their job. I only interrupted them once, asking, “Is she going to be okay?”
    One of the paramedics, a burly blonde with a tattoo peeking out from under his white sleeve, glanced over his shoulder at me. “Hard to say,” he said, not unkindly. “She’s in pretty bad shape. It’s lucky that you found her when you did. A little while longer, and I don’t think there’d be much hope. But she’s in good hands now. We’ll do what we can.”
    I nodded and walked out into the hallway, just as Nigel brought Skippy downstairs. Seeing me, Skippy repeated the ebullient greeting he had given Nigel. His paws draped over my shoulders, he whined and licked my face with an enthusiasm I didn’t try to temper. “Where was he?” I asked Nigel as I happily pressed my face against the dense fur on Skippy’s neck.
    â€œDeDee must have put him up in our bedroom,” he answered. “Speaking of which, I suggest you stay out of there if you want to keep your current benevolent mindset about Himself.”
    I glanced up at Nigel. “Why? What did he do?”
    Nigel sighed and scratched Skippy behind his ear. “Well, do you remember our curtains?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œGood. Because that’s the only place they exits now; in our memories. Same thing goes for the carpet in front of the door. Oh, and while we’re on the subject, the door,” Nigel added with a shake of his head.
    I ran my hands over Skippy to make sure he wasn’t hurt. As I did, he covered my face with slobbery kisses and whined as if to apologize. “Poor baby,” I said. “It’s okay, Skippy. You were trying to get out to help DeDee, weren’t you?” I asked.
    Skippy gave a short bark, his soft brown eyes staring intently into mine. There are times when I