Downton Tabby Read Free Page B

skirt, no dangly earrings. The lady’s look was all business in her tailored dress-for-success black suit, white blouse, and sensible shoes.
    She stopped just inside the door and looked at me. Her lips pursed for a moment before she spoke. “What are you doing with the boys’ cat?” she asked in her flat, no-nonsense tone.
    “Cash left her with me.” I held up the carrier. “I’m dropping her off at their house.”
    “Hmpf. I sense trouble.” She turned and walked away.
    I didn’t know if she meant trouble for me, Jake, Cash, or the cat. Bottom line, I didn’t give a lot of credence to the practice of telling the future, but if the woman was going to spout off-the-wall predictions, she ought to be specific.
    Seriously, Suzanne? You should have warned me.
     
     
     

Chapter Two
    THE HUGE HOUSE where Cash and Jake lived looked more like it belonged on an English estate than on a hill in a California beach town. It certainly was not at all like the many sprawling SoCal-style structures that dominate Laguna’s landscape. Their abode was almost castle-like with turrets and towers, and a stone face more reminiscent of moors than beaches. I wasn’t sure how they’d gotten the design past the zoning board, but I guess it didn’t block any ocean views, which is often the main reason for refusal here in Orange County.
    I rang the doorbell and could hear the clanging from inside, but there was no answer. Finally I rapped on the door, though if they hadn’t heard the bell, I don’t know why I thought they’d hear my knock.
    Cash’s distinctive red Tesla sports car was parked out front so he had to be inside and must simply be someplace where he couldn’t hear the doorbell. I tried the knob and it turned in my hand. Slipping inside, I set the cat carrier on the smooth marble floor and called out.
    Unhappy with being home and still caged, Toria meowed in protest.
    “Hang on, kitty. Let me check for your people.” I walked through the entryway and into the living room.
    “Hey, Cash?” I called out again and then walked through toward the kitchen, which I could see was at the back. I looked around, but the place was deserted. Great. Where was he?
    The kitchen led to a breakfast area, which in turn opened onto a flagstone patio and a swimming pool that stretched the length of the space. The patio door stood wide open. Ah, this held possibilities.
    “Cash? Jake?” I stepped around the massive kitchen table, piled high with electronics, and out into the sunshine. Blinded for a moment by the brightness, I didn’t immediately notice the person in the pool.
    When I did, I also registered that he was facedown.
    Oh, no! Not good.
    I kicked my shoes aside and went in. It was a zero-depth pool with a gradual slope leading into the deeper water. But he was clear down in the deep end.
    I swam to him, latched onto his shirt. Towed him back to where I could stand. Pulled him to the edge.
    His water-logged weight fought me.
    Locking my arms under his shoulders, it took several tries, but I finally dragged him up onto the patio. I took in big gulps of air, out of breath from the effort.
    Breathe. Get a grip.
    I rolled him over and prepared to give CPR. I was rusty, but I’d been trained. I could do this.
    As I knelt beside the prone body I realized it wasn’t Cash but Jake.
    He was fully clothed, jeans, expensive Italian loafers, loud Hawaiian-print shirt.
    I also noted drowning was the least of his worries. The blond computer wonder-kid had a power cord wrapped tightly around his neck.
    Oh, God. I sent up a swift prayer.
    With shaky wet fingers, I loosened the cord, tossed it aside, and checked his neck for a pulse.
    Nothing.
    I ran back into the house, my wet feet sliding across the wood floor, to where I’d dropped my purse.
    I dug out my cell phone and dialed 911.
     
     
     

Chapter Three
    “911. WHAT’S YOUR emergency?” a woman answered. I heard her but couldn’t form words. I swallowed and tried to speak. My