The Sting of Death: A Rising Sun Rescue Mystery
By Riley Smith
4.5/5
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About this ebook
Inheritance, Murder, and Paws: A Desert Whodunit
When MJ Walker receives the opportunity of a lifetime – inheriting a storefront and a piece of land from an estranged uncle in the remote desert town of Firewood – she can't believe her luck. With a passion for animals and a newfound purpose, MJ sets out to build the animal shelter of her dreams. Little does she know that her dream will soon be tangled in a web of lies, deceit, and murder.
As MJ and her team prepare for the grand opening of the shelter, they are blindsided by the appearance of the mysterious and intimidating Cassandra Devon, MJ's cousin, and her lawyer. Accused of murdering her uncle, MJ finds herself in a race against time to clear her name and save her dream.
Forced to partner with Cassandra, the two women unravel a complex web of secrets involving Mort Devon's finances, his former secretary, and a creepy butler with a twisted love for Cassandra. As the evidence mounts, can they expose the real killer before it's too late, or will they both find themselves behind bars?
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The Sting of Death - Riley Smith
1
The Plot (and everything else) Heats Up
MJ prided herself on her ability to prepare. She was a planner: whatever went on, she had plans A, B, C, and each of those had little sub-plans in case small details needed reworking. Her contingencies had contingencies.
Nothing she had done, including practicing in a sauna and taking long walks in the summer heat, had prepared her for August in Arizona. Even in cargo shorts, the flimsiest tank top she owned, and flip-flops, she still felt like she was going to melt.
Her faithful dog Clark was smarter than her. He waited in the cab of her air-conditioned pick-up truck a few feet away, windows up, sign permanently taped to the window: DON’T BREAK GLASS. I HAVE AC, WATER, AND A TREAT. I’M LIVING MY BEST LIFE.
Even so, his giant pink tongue lolled out of his wide pitbull head as he panted and glared at MJ. It was clear he thought this horrid heat was her fault.
MJ said, At least you’re white all over, Clark. Imagine having black fur in this heat!
The man kneeling by her new — and as of yet not completely uninstalled — AC unit looked up at her. Um. What did you say? Who are you talking to?
MJ grinned. Sorry, Luke. I was talking to Clark over there.
She gestured to the dog, who ignored her and lay down on his shotgun seat in the truck, where he could dip his head and reach his freshly-filled water bowl.
Luke squinted at MJ. His hair was somewhere between short and medium, a bit floppy, dirty-blond, probably ready for a trim. It reached his eyes and he had to repeatedly blow it out of his face while working.
He wore overalls and no shirt, which MJ thought must be ridiculously uncomfortable in this heat, but maybe it was too hot to work outside and put on a cotton T-shirt. The pockets of his overalls were full of little boxes, tools — one of the big hip pockets held what looked like a vintage walkman, except it connected to his airpods.
Squinting at MJ, covering his eyes with his hands, Luke said, Isn’t your dog deaf?
Oh, yes. It’s a common thing with white pitbulls. Probably genetic. As far as I know, he was born that way, although he is a rescue, so it’s possible early trauma and neglect had something to do with it, too.
If he’s deaf, why are you talking to him?
Luke asked.
The question gave MJ only a moment’s pause. She said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, He lip-reads.
The handyman nodded, gave MJ a look like she was an escaped lunatic, and went back to his AC. Shaking his head, he muttered, He lip reads. The sixty-pound, deaf pitbull can lip read.
Luke was more than a little wary of Clark, which MJ was used to. Ironically, it was usually men who were scared of him, with his huge, muscular shoulders and wide, powerful jaw. Whenever MJ walked Clark, men gave her a wide berth — something she considered a perk.
But women saw different details. They saw his silly, floppy pink tongue as he panted happily. His waggy tail as he stepped up politely to greet anyone who stuck out their hand for him to sniff. And the brown puppy dog eyes that were still large in his big head, like a cartoon character.
MJ didn’t mind either version of Clark. When someone was harassing her on the street, she liked that Clark stepped in between and got into his wide guard stance. When people approached in a friendly way, he was just a big goofy puppy.
She squatted down next to Luke and tried to see what he was doing with the AC unit. She had no clue what she was looking at in the panel, but it looked clean and shiny and futuristic. She was glad she’d splurged on a new unit.
How’s it going? Can you get it set up today?
He wiped his head. Yes, but it might have to be tonight. There’s a missing component. You should complain to whoever you bought this from.
Dang it!
She stood up. It looked so nice! Can you still fix it?
He stood up, too, wiping his hands on a handkerchief from one of his many pockets. Yes. I’ve got the part in my garage. But I’ll have to come back and do it tonight. I just can’t work anymore in the sun like this.
He shaded his eyes again and looked up toward the sky, as if measuring the sun for some refitting. Then he suggested, We should put up some awnings around the front of the place.
MJ said, That would be perfect! So people can play with their new dogs out front a bit, if they want.
He nodded. Even an awning won’t do much on a day like this, though. Maybe some misters. Anyway, I’ll add it to the list, and you can decide the priority.
MJ smiled. I’m kind of relieved to hear you say that you can’t stand the heat, either. I thought I was just being a baby out-of-towner, but I feel like I’m dying.
Luke shook his head. His hair was drenched in sweat. The handkerchief was fighting a losing battle.
No, one-hundred-degree heat is hard on everyone except the cacti. I can do ninety degrees. I work in ninety all the time. But this is just about my limit.
He wiped his sweating hands on his legs and looked thoughtful for a moment before adding, You’ve got to be careful out here. The desert heat will kill you. We have one or two heat stroke victims every year in Firewood alone.
MJ chuckled. "Firewood. What a strange name for a town in the desert. As if anybody would ever need firewood out here."
He said, That was the point, I think. My friend Anne Marie runs the museum. She said the settlers named it that because the whole town was ‘firewood,’ as in, it could burst into flames at any second.
She frowned. What a sense of humor.
Phoenix has a similar history. It got its name after burning down like three times. You haven’t been to the Firewood Museum yet?
MJ shook her head. No, I really want to visit, but I’ve been so busy setting up the rescue. I’m sure I’ll have time… well, I was going to say after we open. But honestly, I hope Rising Sun keeps me busy.
She looked up proudly at the painted sign above the building’s entrance. It read RISING SUN ANIMAL RESCUE in thick red letters, with a beautiful sunrise bursting out from the top.
She loved the building. It was a converted ranch home, but over the last couple of months, she’d been remodeling it into a state-of-the-art office and animal shelter.
The exterior was cream stucco, with friendly residential-style windows that had flower beds full of native desert plants (the non-pointy and non-poisonous kind). Inside, the lobby was a good mix of comfy and professional, with heavy-duty seating that could take years of paws and claws climbing all over them. There were play areas, a staff meeting room, an office for MJ and her assistant, a veterinary exam room, but most importantly, rows and rows of kennels, soon to be filled with toys, blankets, and rescued pets.
The front doors of the rescue flew open. A young brunette with a high ponytail and melting eye makeup came running out to MJ. She was followed slowly by a middle-aged woman with a short, purple pixie cut, snake bite piercings, and the edge of a tattoo just visible on her neck poking out of her incongruously work-appropriate cream-colored blouse.
The young woman with the ponytail grabbed MJ’s hands in earnest. Ms. Walker, we can’t do it. It’s simply too hot to function. We set up fans but they’re not enough!
MJ laughed and squeezed the young woman’s hands before letting them go. That’s okay, Heather. Me and Luke were just saying the same thing. I think y’all could sue me for deadly workplace conditions or something if I made you work today.
The woman with the purple pixie cut crossed her arms and then shook them out. That position was too warm to stand in. My room’s all good to go. You ordered exactly what I needed. Good work.
She nodded at MJ like she had definitely expected otherwise, then she continued, The cold storage is turned on, so the meds are fine. Heather’s right, though. It’s just too damn hot in there for living creatures.
MJ felt lucky that her budget meant she could afford a permanent veterinarian like Dr. Ivy Lane on staff. Some shelters had to make do with part-time or volunteer vets, and that seemed nearly impossible to manage, especially since MJ planned to take on hard cases once they were up and running.
She smiled at Rising Sun’s veterinarian. Thanks, Doc. I’m glad it’s all set up. Luke said he can fix the AC tonight. Does that mean we can do a soft opening tomorrow, or…?
The ladies looked at Luke. MJ noticed with some amusement that even though they were all dying from the heat, Heather still managed to bat her melting eyes at Luke. He didn’t seem to notice.
Luke rubbed his chin and wiped the sweat off on his pants. Maybe in the afternoon. It will need a while for the system to get up and running, and then fill the place with cool air. I wouldn’t put any animals in there until at least the afternoon, and then we’ll have to monitor it closely. Hourly temperature checks, especially overnight, so we know the critters are comfortable.
MJ smiled widely. She could barely contain her excitement. If they weren’t all sticky with sweat, she would hug somebody.
A strange voice from behind them said loudly, That won’t be necessary. You won’t be opening at all, soft or otherwise.
MJ flipped around. Up the sidewalk came a woman who looked disconcertingly unaffected by the heat. She wore high heeled shoes that clicked methodically against the pavement, a business casual skirt that fell just below her knees, and makeup that was decidedly not melted.
She was flanked by two men wearing almost-identical suits. One carried a briefcase, while the other held a manila folder. They at least looked like regular humans, with bright red faces and huge sweat stains on their pits.
Heather said with a