To Die For - Sharon Green Mills & Boon Intrigue

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served its purpose, mostly to get it out of the way. If anyone saw her, they’d hardly need sight of the shirt to figure out that she was meddling. Oh, hurry, Robby, please hurry…

      And Robby didn’t disappoint her. At one point he lost the trail, but casting around let him pick it up again beyond the point it had been lost. With full confidence he led her on, and when Tanda knew their destination for certain, she was stunned.

      “But how can that be?” she whispered aloud, staring as they approached her own house. “He didn’t come to see me that night, I know he didn’t. What’s going on?”

      Robby, the only one within hearing, didn’t answer, but he also didn’t stop. He led her directly to the house and around to the back on the right, avoiding the runs to the left. Once in the back he hesitated momentarily by a tree, then went directly for the closed wooden doors leading to the cellar. The doors were still closed, which stopped Robby and made him bay with frustration. Obviously the trail led through the doors, which were usually kept locked. When Tanda leaned closer, she saw that the lock had been ruined with metal cutters.

      “And I never even noticed,” she muttered, disgusted with herself for having missed something so obvious. She might have had other things on her mind during the past week, but still… “All right, Robby, calm down. I’ll open the doors for you.”

      Once she did, the dog went unhesitatingly down the stairs. Now Tanda was busy wondering what Don could have wanted in the cellar, the possibility of his having taken something a strong one. It would have to have been something Tanda would never have parted with if she’d been asked, so what could it be? She didn’t keep anything valuable in the cellar, not even things of sentimental value. So what—

      Her churning mind quieted a second time, but now with a guess bordering on certainty. Robby had led her to the shelves her mother had used for preserves, still filled with the empty jars that had been there for years. The dog was casting around to find where the trail would pick up again, but Tanda knew they’d reached the end of it. After stopping here Don had retraced his steps, unknowingly reinforcing the track his sister would follow after his death.

      Dropping the leash and her purse, Tanda walked slowly up to the shelves. It would be on the shelf at eye level, she knew, the place her mother had decided was safest for hidden money. Easily reached but not easily seen, at least for adults. Two children, one after the other, had had no trouble spotting the hiding place. The shelves were so well built and solid, they’d been perfect for rainy-day climbing on…

      It was dark in the cellar even with the doors open, but pulling the cord of the hanging light took care of the problem. The next step was gently pushing aside the jars in front, dust-covered jars with lids protecting their insides. Behind was the one jar standing alone, this one without a lid. At first glance it looked empty, which brought stabbing disappointment to Tanda. But then she lifted the jar—

      And heard the clank of metal on glass! Inside the jar was a key, and when Tanda spilled the key out onto her palm she knew it was one she’d never seen before. Don must have left it, in the spot he’d once stolen money from, but what did it mean? What was it a key to, and why hadn’t he told her he was going to leave it? And, even more importantly, did his murderer know she had it?

      The chill that came with that thought was immediate, and then Tanda jumped at the sudden pounding on her front door. Had the murderer seen her tracking something, and decided she was a loose end that needed eliminating? But it couldn’t happen now, not when she’d just found an important clue! Robby growled while Tanda trembled and tried to decide what to do. She would first see who it was, and then—and then—

      Would she still be alive to have to worry about it…?

      Chapter Three

      Mike Gerard knocked on the door again, seriously beginning to worry. Tanda Grail had said she would be home, and her van was parked next to the house under the carport. There wasn’t anyplace around there for her to have gone on foot, and it looked as if it was going to rain again. With all that in mind, where could she possibly—

      “Oh, Lieutenant Gerard,” a surprised voice said, and Mike turned to see Tanda Grail. She had a bloodhound on a leash, and the two of them had apparently come around the side of the house. “That’s right, you said you’d be coming by. I’m afraid I managed to forget.”

      Mike wondered why she sounded relieved as well as apologetic, but he was too relieved himself to waste time on the thought. He hadn’t known Tanda long, but the last thing he wanted was to find her as the next victim.

      “I hope I’m not interrupting something important,” he said, gesturing to the dog on the lead. “As a police officer, it would be wrong of me to get in the way of someone tracking fugitives.”

      “Oh, we’ve already caught our fugitives,” Tanda told him with a laugh that brightened her pretty face. “Just give me a minute to put him back in his run, and then I’ll be with you.”

      Mike nodded without speaking, then stood and watched her with the dog. She patted the bloodhound and told him what a good boy he was, then led him to an empty metal-mesh run. Once the dog was inside the run with the gate closed she came back, folding the leash she’d removed from his collar.

      “I have to admit I’m surprised you use runs,” Mike said as she rejoined him. “I was picturing at least one dog in your house, if not all of them.”

      “Only someone who likes slobber keeps bloodhounds in their house,” she answered with a smile. “I consider my dogs wonderful people and I love them, but I don’t feel the same about slobber. Come on in.”

      She showed the front door was unlocked by simply opening it and walking through. As he followed her, Mike was tempted to point out how dangerous a practice that was, especially with a murderer running around loose. Then he realized she might just have been out back with her dog, and decided to save the comment for another time.

      “Can I offer you a cup of coffee?” she asked over her shoulder as he closed the door and followed her. The living room they passed through was plain but neat, a gold-and-brown flower pattern on the couch and chairs and drapes. The light gold carpeting and dark-wood furniture, along with the rest, gave Mike the impression that it was all a holdover from an earlier era, probably her parents’. Tanda Grail lived in that house, but hadn’t yet put her own stamp on it.

      “I’ll have coffee if you’re having some,” he answered her offer as he followed her into the kitchen. “Which means yes, thank you, I’d love a cup, so I hope you are having some.”

      “I admire a man who won’t drink alone,” she said with a small laugh, glancing at him as she headed for her kitchen counter. “Personally, I drink alone all the time, but then I’m not a man, so it’s all right. Have a seat.”

      “You seem to be in a really good mood,” Mike said, going to one of the chairs around the heavy wooden table she’d gestured toward. “Has something happened to make you feel better than you were feeling this morning? If so, I could use some of the same myself.”

      “I—just enjoy working with my dogs,” she answered without turning, all her attention on the mugs she filled. “It’s always such a pleasure, at least once they’re past the awkward-puppy stage. I’m afraid that’s all it is, so there really isn’t anything to share.”

      She turned then with a coffee mug in each hand, and the direct way she looked at him told Mike immediately that she was lying. People who had no experience with lying always seemed to do that, look straight at you to show how sincere they were being. So something had happened, even though he couldn’t imagine what it might have been.

      “Thank you,” he said as she set one of the mugs down in front of him, then headed toward the refrigerator for milk or cream. “Coffee usually helps me to think, but right now my thoughts aren’t cooperating. They insist on centering around how foolish Saxon was, especially for a supposedly experienced detective. If he’d had enough sense to think the thing through, he might not be

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