Chapter 6 #3
“Ye-es,” I sputtered, feeling silly for my concern. “When I’m cooking for my clients. Do you want me to do so?”
“Not on my account.”
Call me crazy, but it wasn’t proper even to contemplate romantic feelings for someone who was hiring me for a huge soiree.
The timer for the blueberry concoction buzzed.
Saved by the bell, I thought and hurried to the saucepan to stir.
A couple of minutes later, I removed the tart shells from the oven and spooned the blueberry filling into them. While they firmed up, I reviewed tomorrow’s orders, and Jason sat down again to scan messages on his cell phone.
When the blueberry filling was fairly firm, I topped the tarts with freshly whipped cream, and we ate them warm.
“Delicious,” Jason said when he had finished. “You absolutely must serve them at the soiree.” He rose to a stand. “Would you like a ride home? I parked behind the Brewery.”
“No, thanks. I’ll clean up before I leave, and I can walk. It’s not far. You go on.”
“This was lovely.” He leaned in, pecked me pristinely on the cheek, and exited quietly.
In a flash I washed and dried all the dishes and was soon strolling up the path to my place.
“Here, Darcy,” I called as I unlocked the front door. He didn’t race to me, which didn’t alarm me. He could be a sleepyhead. I stepped inside. “Darcy! I’m home.”
The sound of mewling alarmed me. I rushed to the cat-scratching station and peeked inside. Darcy was in the llama’s barrel-shaped belly, curled into a ball.
“What’s wrong?” I lifted him out. “Oh, no! Darcy.”
His front right paw was bleeding. Not the paw pads. One of the toenails.
“What happened? What did you do?” I whirled and spotted blood on the floor by the fireplace. I held the cat’s face to mine and said, “Did you scrape it on the hearthstone? I can’t fix it. We have to see the vet.”
Darcy wriggled. He understood the word and was having none of it.
“Sorry, buddy.” I held on tight. “You need expert attention.” I wrapped his paw with a towel, deposited him in his cat carrier, and raced to my Ford Transit, which was parked in the carport. I phoned the vet on the way.
When we arrived at her office, she was already there, because she lived upstairs in a two-bedroom unit.
Seeing as she was the sole vet in town, her living arrangement made it super-convenient for emergencies.
I had to assist her since her staff wasn’t available.
As expected, Darcy tried to wrench free of my grasp, but I wouldn’t let him.
The vet gave him a small dose of sedative, then trimmed his nail, cauterized it to stop the flow of blood, applied antibiotic ointment to prevent infection, and expertly bandaged his paw.
A half hour later, as he and I were walking into my place, my cell phone pinged. Jason had texted.
Jason: Need to talk. Really important.
I dialed his number, but he didn’t answer. Another text materialized.
Jason: Please come to the estate now. I’ve got to talk to you in person.
Now? What could he need to discuss at half past eleven? He hadn’t made a pass at me earlier. I doubted he wanted to pounce on me. Had something happened to his house? Had someone broken in? If so, why not call the police? Was he being overly dramatic?
A little weirded out by the tone of the message and loathe to go to the house of a man I’d recently met, I texted back that if he needed to talk more about the soiree and pin down details, I could come earlier than planned tomorrow morning.
Jason: Please. Come. Urgent.
Okay, I was losing it, big-time. Urgent? I should at least check on him. He could be in trouble. Perhaps someone who, like me, was against his plans of building a mall had trashed his place.
Me: On my way but not staying long. My cat is hurt.
In fact, Darcy was so drowsy from the sedative, I decided I couldn’t leave him home alone. I’d take him with me.
A few of the estates in Bramblewood were hidden behind gates or fences or stands of trees, but the Sugarbaker estate wasn’t one of them.
Located at the top of a winding road, it was a sight to behold, all lit up with a gorgeous array of lights.
A travertine fountain in a quatrefoil shape stood in the middle of the circular drive.
Exquisite Doric columns buttressed the entry of the two-story home.
Sprinklers—armed by timers, I guessed—were spraying the lawn to the right.
Puddles bordered the gardens that had previously received a good watering.
I parked and trotted up the front steps, with Darcy in his carrier. The front door was ajar. I didn’t push on it. Instead, I yelled, “Hello! Jason? Anyone home? It’s Allie. I’m here.” I waited for a few seconds, but he didn’t reply.
I thought I heard a door close, but I didn’t detect the sound of footsteps. I recalled Jason saying his domestic helper was off for the night. “Jason, hello?” I glimpsed my phone. He hadn’t sent another text message, canceling his request. In fact, the messages were gone.
What the heck? I hadn’t imagined them. I was certain I hadn’t.
I pressed the doorbell. A melodious tune rang out. Still no response.
“Jason!” I knocked on the door, prepared to leave if he didn’t respond.
Someone moaned inside. Darcy roused and mewed.
I hushed him. “Jason? Are you all right?”
Another moan.
I inched open the door and gasped. Jason was lying on his side in the foyer.