“I’m not living with Sweetie. Go figure, but I don’t like the idea of spending half my life on top of a refrigerator, waiting for you to come home from work. Besides, he’d probably rip Russell limb from limb.”

“Sweetie is a very nice dog,” Jolie said, insulted.

“I think we shouldn’t talk for a while,” I replied.

“Fine,” Jolie snapped. She always wanted the last word.

“Fine,” I said.

She swept out of the kitchen.

Russell lumbered over to his food bowl and crunched kibble.

I patted him on the head, full of sympathy. Did Witness Protection allow dogs? For that matter, why was Bert a candidate? Sure, he ran a biker bar and had road maps tattooed on both arms and probably the rest of his body, too, but other than that, he was an ordinary guy.

I glanced at the phone.

My cell hadn’t rung all evening, but that didn’t mean somebody wasn’t trying to get in touch with me. Say, to set up another poison delivery, or threaten me with a painful death.

I sighed.

Picking up the receiver, I heard the familiar signal, punched in my voice-mail code.

First message: “Mojo, this is Margery DeLuca. I hope the check I sent over convinced you that I’m sincere. I’d still like to meet with you in person—please call me back as soon as possible so we can set something up.”

Delete. Call me ungrateful—the woman had given me three hundred and fifty thousand dollars. She’d also made my life miserable before, during and after my marriage to her son.

Second message: “Hello, Mojo. Alex Pennington here. I just wanted to tell you that you’re fired, and if you know what’s good for you, you will stop poking around in my private life.”

Save. If he killed me, the recording would be evidence.

Third message: “Ms. Sheepshanks, this is Dr. Alice Bilbin at Sunset Villa Nursing Home. I tried calling your cell, but I must have the wrong number. No one answers at Mrs. Pennington’s residence, or at Miss Travers’s, either. Your mother is in crisis, and I think you should come as quickly as possible. I do hope you’re not out of town or anything.” She left a number. I scribbled the digits on the heel of my palm, hung up the phone, and yelled.

“Jolie!”

Chapter Fourteen

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

I CALLED SUNSET VILLA on my cell phone from Jolie’s Pathfinder, as we raced down the 101. The receptionist was not helpful; she informed me tersely that:

1 -Dr. Bilbin was gone for the night, and could not be disturbed at home.

2 -No information about Mrs. Travers’s condition would be released over the telephone, because, well, Jolie and I could be anybody, couldn’t we?