Dogs Don't Lie Page 9

  Mom poured coffee.

  Just what I didn’t need. My head was buzzing, and I figured I could win any race someone challenged me to. Well, not any, but I had already had a massive amount of caffeine so far. I knew my crash wasn’t going to be pretty.

  Ben accepted the mug Mom handed him. “Kallie’s house has been broken into twice in the last few days. We’re not sure the incidents are related, but it’s a theory. I promise the department will do everything we can to find out who’s behind them.”

  Lips pursed, Mom stared at Ben. “Does this have something to do with that body found in Eagle Point?”

  “It’s possible,” he said as he nodded. “Probable.”

  She turned on me. “And this has to do with your ability?”

  “Maybe.” I shrugged, not wanting to tell her about my trip to R and A under the ruse of employing their services.

  “I see.” Mom nodded. Her focus returned to Ben. “Will you be protecting my daughter?”

  “Mom, I don’t need protecting.”

  “Yes.” Ben glanced at me. “There will be someone at her home all the time.”

  “Good. I’m trusting you, Ben.”

  “I’ll do my best, Mrs. Collins.” He smiled. “Everyone involved will.”

  I hung my head and sighed. “Mom.”

  “Oh, Kallie, did you hear from Jeff?”

  My head snapped up. “Mom,” I whispered through clenched teeth.

  “Weren’t you helping him find a place?” She cast a quick peek in Ben’s direction.

  “I’m just letting him know areas to stay away from. That’s all. And, yes, we met Thursday morning.” I bit at my lip and glanced at Ben. Heat flowed up my neck and into my face. Great. I stood, took my cup to the sink, and dumped the coffee. Leaning against the island counter, I asked, “Do you have any more questions, Mom? Ben—Detective Jacobson—has work to do.”

  Her attention shifted to me, and I saw it—that twinkle in her blue eyes and a slight smile turning her lips.

  Ben dropped me at home, coming inside to check all the windows and doors.

  Ariel greeted us with wiggles and wags. Ella sauntered in and sat in front of Ben. I gave him the bag of cat treats, I took the doggy snacks, and we handed out a few to each of them.

  After patting Ella’s head and scratching behind Ariel’s ears, he smiled at me. “I’ll call you later. The first shift, Officer Carter—I believe you met her the other day—will be here at three. Think of the teams as surveillance, like a stakeout—not just to protect you.”

  “Fine.” The slight smirk twisting my lips dropped. “Thanks. Really.”

  “Glad to be of service.” He grimaced. “Besides, I think we got you into this situation.”

  Still buzzing, I decided to make cupcakes for my neighbor. I called Gracie and then Sam, filling them in on the night’s events while I blended chocolate batter, lined two pans with yellow, green, and pink papers, and popped them into the warmed oven.

  Officer Carter—Tara—in street clothes, arrived in her own car. In her thirties, she reminded me of Zoe Saldana, except her black hair was short, framing her oval face and dark eyes. Her vehicle tucked in the garage, she did a quick check of the house, inside and out, and then settled into the recliner with a Brain Freeze from Dutch Bros and a book—a Sheriff Joanna Brady novel by J. A. Jance. Tara and I would get along just fine.

  Cupcakes frosted and arranged in a square plastic container on the counter, my coffee high fading, I tottered to my room for a short nap. “Help yourself to cupcakes, or anything. There’s coffee and reusable pods in the cabinet next to the Keurig. Not much in the fridge, but please, make yourself at home. And thanks, Tara.”

  “Go get some sleep. I’ll be fine.” She smiled and waved me away. “And you’re welcome.”

  A light tapping roused me. Raising my head in the dark room, I looked at the glowing numbers on the clock. I bolted upright. “Seven o’clock? So much for a short nap.” The tapping repeated.

  Ariel beat me off the bed and stood at the closed door, tail wagging.

  Raking a tangle of curls from my eyes, I opened the door and squinted at the light glaring from the living room and down the hall. “Sam. Hi.”

  “Sorry I woke you.”

  “It’s okay. I didn’t mean to sleep this long.”

  She pushed past me. “Good. We need to talk.”

  Whining and wiggling, Ariel demanded that Sam acknowledge her.

  “Well, hello cutie.” Sam dropped to her knees. “You must be Ariel.”

  Working my way around the two, I switched on a lamp on the nightstand and then flopped back down on the bed. Hand over my eyes, I whispered, “Give me a minute.”

  “And you must be Ella,” Sam crooned.

  The loud purring at the foot of my bed confirmed Sam’s presumption.

  Sitting straight with my back against the headboard, I pulled a pillow onto my lap. “What’s up?”

  Sam scooped Ariel into her arms and climbed on the bed next to me. “I never really got a chance to talk to you about my cousin.”

  “Your cousin?” My forehead creased.

  Sam cuddled Ariel, kissing the top of her furry head. “The one that works at the planning department?” She rolled her eyes.

  My head cleared. “Oh. Yeah.” Ben’s earlier lecture about being cautious flitted across my thoughts. His warnings didn’t stick. Alert, eyes wide, I asked, “What did he tell you?”

  “I don’t want to explain twice. Comb your hair and wash your face. Let’s go to Gracie’s. She wants to know, too.”

  My stomach growled while I brushed my teeth, and I remembered I hadn’t eaten since breakfast. Around a mouthful of cinnamon-y foam, I said, “I need to get something to eat.”

  “We’ll stop for Chinese. I’m hungry, too, and Gracie will eat even if she’s had dinner.”

  Tara sat at the kitchen table, an empty sandwich bag, a paper towel with a couple tortilla chips, and a cupcake paper in front of her. An iPad in her hands, she played a card game.

  As I walked through the living-room, I noticed she’d closed the plantation shutter slats. Guess I should’ve thought about that. Can’t have anyone looking in and seeing someone besides me at home. “I’m going out. Can I bring you anything?”

  “No. Thanks. But if you could show me where you keep your spare blankets, I’ll probably just watch a little TV and then get some sleep.”

  “You’re welcome to the guest room.”

  “Thanks, but the couch is good. Is there anything I should know about your house guests?”

  “Ella’s good. She has everything she needs.” I talked as I gathered blankets, pillows, and a clean pillowcase. “I’ll take Ariel out, and she’ll be fine until I get back. I won’t be long.”

  Gracie hadn’t eaten and was thrilled with the feast we’d brought.

  Plates full, we settled in at her kitchen table.

  I snapped my chopsticks apart and glanced at Sam. “Can you talk and eat?”

  “Sure,” she mumbled around a mouthful. Chewing, she pulled a notebook from her purse and flipped it open. “Okay. Mark, my cousin, told me that most of R and A’s dealings appear to be legitimate.” She ran a finger about a third of the way down the page. “Except there aren’t very many. For a business like this to stay in the black, so he says, they’d need at least three times the clients they claim, maybe more.”

  Chopsticks hovering over cashew chicken, I frowned. “But if the company is new, wouldn’t they expect some set timeframe for growth?”

  Sam continued after wiping her mouth with a paper napkin. “That’s what I asked.” She shrugged. “Yeah, maybe, but he said that wasn’t the real problem. The red flag moment for him was when he noticed that five of the twelve clients sold their property to them for next to nothing. They didn’t contract with R and A to help t
hem make the property more efficient or environmentally secure. They just sold their lands—and at a loss.”

  “What? How could they?” Gracie shook her head. “I don’t get it. Were they older, or …”

  Sam looked at Gracie and then me and leaned across the table, her expression grave. “Mark dug a little deeper and believes no money actually changed hands.”

  “You mean they got the properties for free?” Gracie stared at Sam. “How is that possible? Isn’t there paperwork, banks, and, yeah, title companies involved?”

  Grinning, Sam sat back. “You’d think. That’s where this gets really interesting. Mark said the forms from the title companies appeared legitimate except for one thing.”

  “Don’t most of those papers need to be notarized?” I stirred sweet and sour into my cashew chicken.

  “Exactly.” Sam nodded, her brown eyes wide and bright with excitement. “But, get this, the same notary was used in all five cases, and due to health of signatory, the papers were signed outside of the five different title companies used.”

  “What about banks? There had to be checks and money deposited, didn’t there?” Gracie popped the tab on a Dr. Pepper and took a drink.

  “I asked Mark about that. He said R and A could write a check. Then that gets held to make sure it’s good. Once it clears and all the legal paperwork regarding property transfer is complete, the check is delivered to the payee.”

  Sam had my full attention. “So money did change hands. Right?”

  Chewing, Sam smirked. “Looks that way, doesn’t it? Mark still had doubts, so he checked further. He called the title companies and said he needed more information about how the funds were delivered, to finish up on his end. Since he did work for the county, and what he wanted to know wasn’t personal, the receptionists told him a delivery service was used and a signature of receipt required.” She shook her head. “The same delivery company was requested by each of the payees.”

  “Uh-oh,” Gracie whispered. “Bet the title companies didn’t know that little bit of information. Had R and A used the same title company for all the transactions, the land transfers would have screamed scam.”

  “Yeah.” Sam nodded. “How convenient.”

  “How did they get signatures on delivery?” My mind bounced this information around—how simple yet devious at the same time.

  Sam shrugged. “Who knows? Some items do require one. Most wouldn’t question having to sign for something delivered to their door. If the delivery people, or, say, one specific person, were in on the con, or even just getting paid to make a switch, they’d only have to substitute the check with something else.” She nodded, the gesture more for herself than Gracie or me. “It could have been a package from Amazon or flowers or chocolate dipped fruit, and bingo—R and A has their check back and the title to the land.”

  “Do you think they even talked to the people about their property? For any reason? Selling or improving? I mean, can’t signatures be checked?” I bit at my lip, still considering the logistics of this and what R and A might gain from this scam.

  “I’m sure they had to at some point.” Sam set her fork down and reached into her pack. “Mark did something he shouldn’t have and will deny any knowledge if it ever comes up.” She tapped the notepad. “I have the five names and addresses of the people Mark believes were taken advantage of. He’ll check for more, but he said he can only do so much. He’s worried his snooping might come to the attention of his supervisor.” Glancing sideways at us, Sam smirked. “He can’t look into these cases any further, but we can.”

  My frown deepened. “What is happening with the land? Are any of the lots for sale? That would be easy enough to check. Why else would they take over the properties if not to sell for a big profit? What about telling the cops? Could Mark go to the authorities?”

  “Mark pretty much forgot until I asked him about R and A the other day. After that first detective showed up at the county office asking about Mr. Whedon and R and A several months ago, he figured it was taken care of.” Sam tipped her head, eyebrows raised. “He hasn’t seen any more come through planning connected to R and A since.” She shrugged one shoulder. “He thought the issue was over.”

  “Several months?” I bit at my lip. “Do you know when the detective was there?”

  Sam picked up the pad and scanned the page. “Hmmm. Mark thinks maybe mid-August.”

  “Okay. Definitely after Mr. Whedon’s disappearance in July.” I turned and faced Sam. “Did Mark say who the detective was and which employee he talked to?”

  Shaking her head, Sam dropped the pad and picked up her fork. “I guess I could ask. No guarantee he’ll know.”

  “The county offices are closed until Monday. But that doesn’t mean we can’t find out some stuff off the computer.” I smiled and adjusted my chopsticks. “But let’s eat first.”

  My phone rang a few minutes later. “By the way,” I said, speaking fast, “Ben doesn’t want us snooping around anymore. Because it might be dangerous. I told him I’d tell you.”

  Gracie smiled. “Tell Ben you mentioned it, if he asks.”

  Nodding, Sam shrugged.

  I accepted the call. “Hi, Ben. Any news on who broke into my house?”

  “No. This could take some time, but I hope having surveillance at your place will pay off, quickly. And, by the way, where are you?” He sighed. “Never mind. You don’t have to tell me.”

  “That’s okay. I’m at Gracie’s with Sam. We’re having dinner. I won’t be gone long.”

  “You aren’t under house arrest, Kallie. You can come and go as you please. Just leave the detective work to me.”

  “Of course. And I told Sam and Gracie what you said, about this being dangerous.”

  “She did,” Sam yelled.

  “Yup, she told us,” Gracie added.

  “Tell them thanks. I’ll talk to you again tomorrow.”

  “Bye, Ben. Get some sleep.”

  “I plan on it.” He chuckled. “Good night, Kallie.”

  The connection ended.

  “Ben says thanks.”

  “He’s welcome. Now, let’s get back to it.” Gracie took her laptop off the kitchen counter and opened it.

  An hour later, and after two cupcakes each, all we’d found out was that the properties in question were very rural—primitive, even. There was no power or other utilities—just old out-buildings or dilapidated farmhouses.

  Fingers drumming the table, Gracie sighed. “Well, if they’re thinking of having a haunted-house attraction, it’s a little late.”

  “They haven’t been listed for sale,” Sam said, arms crossed. “What are they waiting for?”

  “Maybe we should go at this from another angle.” I pointed at the laptop. “Sam, look up previous owners—the names Mark gave us. Let’s check them out.”

  The first, a Mr. and Mrs. J. P. Adams, resided at an expensive retirement home in Medford.

  I glanced at Sam and then Gracie. “How about we take cupcakes to the Adamses tomorrow?”

  “I’m free.” Gracie nodded. “Sounds like a solid plan.”

  “You mean, just walk in and ask to talk with them?” Sam paled. “Won’t they question why we’re visiting two people we don’t even know?”

  Thinking about this, I said, “We’ll be honest—tell whoever asks, and especially the Adamses, why we’re there.” I looked at Sam. “You don’t have to go if it makes you uncomfortable.”

  “No. I’ll go. This is kinda exciting.” Sam shivered. “I’m in. But I can’t go until Sunday. My mom bought the whole family tickets to go see Macbeth at the Shakespeare Festival on Saturday.”

  Chapter 14

  On Sunday, Sergeant Craig Blake showed up for stakeout duty just before ten. I walked Ariel, took a half dozen cupcakes to my neighbor, and, after a shower, met Sam and Gracie for a late brea
kfast in town.

  I slid into the booth next to Gracie. “I think homemade treats might not be such a good idea. I mean, like you said Sam, Mr. and Mrs. Adams don’t know us. But what about from a bakery in a taped box?”

  “Is there one open today? It’s Sunday.” Sam held her coffee cup up for the waitress.

  “Oooo, there’s the one at the south end of town. They have great baked stuff.” Gracie added cream to her mug.

  “I know that place.” I picked up the menu and decided—lingonberry crepes, and, yes, bacon.

  Afterwards, we piled into Sam’s car and headed to our first stop. We decided on cookies instead of cupcakes and then went to visit Mr. and Mrs. Adams.

  Sam parked in front of the two-story building in the area designated for visitors. She glanced at me in the rearview mirror. “You sure this is okay?”

  “Sam, do you feel like we’re doing anything illegal?” I released the seat belt holding me.

  “Well …” She grimaced. “I guess not.”

  “We’ll stop at the front desk and let them know who we are and why we’re here. If they say no …” I shrugged. “That’s it. We’ll leave.”

  Blowing out a long breath, she nodded. “Okay.”

  I led the way into the luxurious lobby, holding the door open for my friends, and we walked to the reception desk.

  Leaning over the tall counter, I made eye contact with the young woman. “Hi. I was wondering if my friends and I could talk to Mr. and Mrs. J. P. Adams?”

  She glanced at Sam and Gracie and then focused her attention on me. “Are you family?”

  “Well, no—”

  “Friends of the family?”

  “No.”

  “Why do you want to see them then?”

  Sam let out a quiet squeak.

  The truth.

  “My name is Dr. Kallie Collins. I don’t know them, but I have some questions about a property they’re associated with on Madrone Canyon Road. I’m concerned someone might have tried to take advantage of them. Before I pursue this any further or contact the authorities, I’d like to talk to them and get their story.”