At last I made it to a heavy oak door at the back of the house. Long gashes marred the wood. Someone had been playing—or using it as a scratching post. I hoped Bliss wasn’t an angry tiger. I mentally crossed my fingers as I inserted the key into the lock.
Yip-yip-yip! A dog blustered on the other side. No doubt it was Chi-Chi, who was technically the owner of this place.
Yip-yip-yip!
Fierce.
Yip-yip-yip!
Luckily I had a way with dogs.
I pushed open the door and stepped into the cool, dark interior of the house. “How goes it, Chi-Chi?”
The little tan dog couldn’t have weighed more than two pounds wet. She had bulging eyes and a tail that wouldn’t stop. Yip-yip-yip! Every time she barked, the backfire sent her an inch off the hardwood.
I bent down and let her sniff my hand before she nudged underneath and forced me to pet her between the ears. Well, at least I tried to give her a nice rub. Chi-Chi was having a hard time standing still.
“You gotta stop barking, okay? Auntie Heather has a hangover.”
She licked my hand and I took that as agreement.
Chi-Chi followed me through the mudroom and into the kitchen, collar jingling and nails clacking on the floor.
It was lighter in here, although Bliss kept plants clustered around the narrow windows.
I opened the fridge and found a few bottles of white wine and a package of steaks.
Chi-Chi whined.
“Hey, I’d give you one, except nobody can know we’re hanging out.”
Chi-Chi had to sit and think about that one.
I moved on down a side hallway and found Bliss’s office. Rich Indian fabric covered the walls. The desk itself was painted with images of four-armed women and colorful elephants. Mirrored tiles studded the corners.
I started on the drawers at the upper right and worked my way down. “You know where Mama keeps her financial files?”
The dog growled.
“Fair enough. I won’t call her that.”
I rifled through years of household documents, plastic surgery records—who injects themselves with neurotoxins in the name of beauty? Finally, I found her bank records shoved in a heap in the bottom drawer.
The gossip was wrong. Her finances looked great—better than great. Bliss was getting large influxes of cash. She was spending it, too. I couldn’t tell where the payments were coming from. They were merely noted as transfers. Still, they couldn’t be blackmail, unless she was blackmailing Donald Trump.
After the office, I searched her bathroom. You could tell a lot about someone by her bathroom. What I learned about Bliss was that she was a slob, and if there was ever a shampoo shortage, I knew where to go. The woman had at least a dozen different bottles.
“We need, more, Chi-Chi,” I said, moving to her bedroom.
The Chihuahua jumped up on the bed and gave a big yawn. Yeah, I knew it wasn’t her problem.
I checked my watch. I’d been in here for an hour. We had to pick up the pace. “Okay, Chi-Chi, where would I hide something I didn’t want anyone to find?”
My eyes settled on the walk-in bedroom closet, with its door hanging open and clothes littering the floor. I ignored them, and the endless shelves and teak wood racks. Instead, I walked to the very back of the closet. It was stacked with shoeboxes. They were perfectly dusted, but older. I could tell by their slightly caved-in lids. And so I went through boxes. I saw blue heels and gold heels and enough heels to make my own feet ache. Until I opened a box and found row upon row of pill bottles.
Excitement zinged through me. This was what I’d been looking for. I knew it before I even knew what it was.
None of the bottles had prescription labels. Instead, they were marked with expiration dates written in black Sharpie and tiny brand labels—Slimprol.
I popped open a bottle and discovered sparkly blue tablets about the size of aspirin.
Slimprol. I’d never heard of it. Of course that didn’t mean anything. I kept myself fit without this junk. Still, if this was legal, it wouldn’t be stuffed in the back of a closet.
It killed me not to take a sample, but I didn’t want to rouse suspicions—not until I knew what we were dealing with.
Instead, I found a pen and began a complete inventory of the box, including expiration dates and pill volume. Well, until Chi-Chi shot off the bed barking.
Yip-yip-yip!
Her barks grew fainter as I heard the front door open.
Bliss was home!
Yip-yip-yip!
I was trapped!
Yip-yip-yip!
Hands shaking, I made sure there was no trace of my presence, then dashed for the window. I threw open the curtains and found an ornate wooden grate.
“What the—?”
I tried to shove it back, but it wouldn’t budge.
Yip-yip-yip! Chi-Chi’s barking grew closer. Bliss could probably smell me. She was tracking me!
Calm down. I had to think.
At least she didn’t know who I was—yet.
I attacked the grate and felt it start to give. I’d rip it off the hinges before I got trapped in here with a tiger.
“Bliss!” Tia called from the front of the house. “I’m so glad you’re back. I need to talk to you.”
I heard a low growl from the hallway.
“Bliss.” Tia was inside the house. “It’s important.”
“Not now, Tia,” Bliss said, her voice throaty.
“But”—Tia’s voice cracked—“you put me in charge of planning the midnight golf scramble and I know we’re having it at the country club, but we never did decide if the men were going to take golf carts. I know that vampire you’re dating likes to levitate.”
“Don’t you dare talk about who I’m dating,” Bliss roared.
“I won’t,” Tia squeaked. “I can’t. You never told me. Anyhow, we really need to decide on the carts or else we might not get enough or even the ones we want and ...”
I could feel Bliss losing patience as I renewed my struggle with the grate.
Forget it. It wasn’t budging. I hoped Tia had drawn Bliss far enough away from the back hallway. I had one shot at escaping.
I darted out into the hall, ready to be bowled over. But it was empty. Hallelujah! I dashed out the way I’d come in—down the hall, through the kitchen. I thought I spotted a glimpse of yellow as I darted past an area exposed to the front door, but I didn’t hesitate. In fact, I didn’t stop until I was back home with the door locked behind me.
CHAPTER 7
I tossed a ThighMaster out of my closet, followed by a pair of wedge sandals and a paraffin wax hand-dipping kit.