Free Murder Had a Little Lamb by Cynthia Baxter

rewarding relationship was what my job was all about.
    •   •   •
    At the end of the day, as I climbed back into the driver’s seat of my van one last time, I was pretty wiped out. As I turned the key in the ignition, I was picturing the evening ahead, relaxing with Nick andmy animals. In fact, when my cellphone rang, I just assumed it would be him.
    But when I glanced at the caller ID screen, I saw the caller was someone else I knew: Patti Ardsley, the producer of my weekly TV show,
Pet People
.
    “Hi, Jessie!” she greeted me. As usual, she sounded as bubbly as a glass of champagne. “I know that every week I start bugging you around now about what your topic for the next show is going to be, but for this week, I came up with an idea of my own.”
    “Great!” The truth was that I’d been so busy over the past few days, first with my ill-fated wedding and then with taking on the role of teacher of the rich and famous in the name of investigating a murder, that I hadn’t given a single thought to Friday’s TV spot. In fact, I was relieved that Patti had come up with an idea, since the last time I’d checked the index cards in my brain, they’d all been blank. “What have you got?”
    “It’s going to be terrific!” Patti exclaimed. “A friend of mine has a
bzzz bzzz bzzz
…”
    I assumed she was saying actual words, but thanks to the flawed technology that cellphone users are forced to put up with, she sounded more like a bee than a human.
    “You’re breaking up!” I shouted into the phone.
“What
did you say your friend has?”
    “Bzzz, bzzz, bzzz,”
came the reply. Or at least something that sounded a lot like that.
    By that point, I was desperate to start the drive home. And since talking on cellphones while driving isagainst the law, that meant I had to find a way to end this call.
    “I’m sure it’ll be fine,” I assured her. “I’ll just show up on Friday morning and assume that you’ve taken care of the rest. Thanks, Patti!”
    I hung up, figuring that whatever she had in mind, I could wing it. I’d certainly done
that
before.
    In fact, these days winging it seemed to be something I was getting better and better at in pretty much every area of my life.
    •   •   •
    Half an hour later, as my van bumped along the long driveway that led to my home sweet home, I was lost in thought, imagining the evening ahead. I pictured myself stretched out on the couch with Cat lying on my chest, Lou sprawling on the floor next to me, and Nick telling me all about his day.
    As I neared the cottage, I expanded my fantasy to include Chinese takeout and a pint of Ben & Jerry’s. I was practically in a daze by then.
    But as I turned into my driveway, I let out a yelp, slamming on the brakes just in time to keep from hitting someone foolish enough to be standing smack in the middle of it.

Chapter 4
    “Diamonds are a girl’s best friend and dogs are a man’s best friend. Now you know which sex has more sense.”
    —Zsa Zsa Gabor
    F orrester Sloan!” I yelled as I jerked my van to a halt, threw open the door, and jumped out. “What is wrong with you? You scared the living daylights out of me!”
    “Anything to get a reaction,” he replied breezily. “You know I love it when you get an adrenaline rush and your cheeks turn pink and those green eyes of yours get all shiny—”
    “For heaven’s sake, I almost ran you over!”
    “I noticed.” Smirking, he added, “For the second time, no less. You may recall that that’s the way you and I first met. In fact, this might be a good time to use that tired old phrase, ‘We have to stop meeting like this.’”
    It was true that my vehicle and Forrester Sloan’s person had come
this
close to making contact oncebefore. I’d been on my way to treat a polo pony on an estate in the ridiculously affluent community of Old Brookbury when he’d darted in front of me. At the time, he was covering the murder of a dashing young polo player.