to Vinny, Bliss lived in the chocolate brown house on the corner. It was accented by large dark timbers and leafy palm trees. I was pleased to see that plants, rather than a fence, formed the barrier to the backyard. I’d rather not be seen entering through the front door.
I ducked between two bougainvillea bushes. Dark-green leaves slapped at my face and thorns clawed at my skin and my dress, but I didn’t care. Once I made it past, I’d have plenty of cover to enter through the back.
A finger nudged me on the shoulder.
“Gah!” I stood straight up and banged my head on a heavy branch. “Ow!” I turned, trying to think of just what excuse I could give for slogging through Bliss Leeson’s bougainvilleas.
Tia stood directly behind me. “Hi,” she whispered.
I craned my neck to see who else might be watching. “What are you doing here?” The wind crackled the trees around us.
She pulled a strand of auburn hair away from her face. “I stopped by your house. Vinny said you were investigating.”
Vinny needed to keep his mouth closed. “What else did he say?” He’d better not have mentioned my powers.
“Nothing,” she said, her expression earnest. “I figured you could use some help.”
That surprised me. “What? You want to break into Bliss’s house?”
Tia reared back like I’d struck her. “No!” She gathered herself. “Of course not.” She wet her lips. “It’s just that you might need a lookout.” She pointed a pink nail toward her immaculate front lawn across the street. “I can pretend to do yard work,” she said, way too excited.
Aye yae yae. “Fine. Go.” We couldn’t be seen chatting in the bushes.
She gave a shy smile. “You look good, by the way.”
“You picked it out,” I said, parting the branches again.
“Take credit, okay?” She turned and headed back.
Right. I had bigger things on my mind. Like breaking and entering.
I pushed my way through the foliage and into a heavily wooded backyard. Of course, what else could I expect from a weretiger? It was like a jungle back here. Tree branches wove overhead as clusters of jasmine and tall grass filled in underneath. Insects buzzed all around, and I could swear it was hard-packed mud and not sandy California soil under my feet. I picked my way through tangles of plants as they grabbed at my skin and clothes.
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.