Below today's feature you find an adoptable dog.
Thank you authors Diane Kelly for providing this feature.
I’m Andi Grace Scott. I’m a dog walker in Heyward Beach, South Carolina. At thirty years old, I’m the matriarch of our little family. Nate is my younger brother, and Lacey Jane is the baby of the family. We’re a tight group, and there’s nothing we won’t do to help each other.
In Bite the Dust, I’m a suspect in Peter Roth’s murder. In Dog-Gone Dead, Nate is accused of murdering one of the men in our town. Of course he was innocent, and there’s no way I wasn’t going to help catch the real killer.
I never back down from a challenge, whether it’s raising my siblings or trying to make better decisions about my eating habits. Taking care of others is also something that comes naturally to me, whether it’s a person or animal. My German shepherd appeared one day, and she’s been with me ever since.
I’ve always lived in Heyward Beach, and the locals are like family. For example, Tony Russo, owns the local pizza restaurant. The only thing bigger than his smile is his heart. After my parents died, he kept an eye on us to make sure we never went hungry. Doc Hewitt gave me a job in his veterinary clinic despite my lack of experience. A few years later, with Doc’s blessing, I started my dog walking business. The flexible schedule allowed me to keep up with my siblings and their after-school activities.
I’m not a matchmaker for people, but I have a talent of pairing animals with people. My long-term goal is to build a dog shelter where no animal ever fears for his life. They will be well cared for and loved as long as they are with me.
To the dismay of our local sheriff, I have a knack for solving murders. It’s hard to believe Heyward Beach has so much crime, but I’m doing my best to catch the killers. I’ve also had a few close calls, but I try to play it safe and not do anything too stupid.
Come visit us in Heyward Beach for fun and relaxation. Just don’t come our way if you’re planning to commit murder. I’d rather chat with you over a cup of coffee than question you about an alibi. Hope to see you soon!
Andi Grace Scott
Read the excerpt
Chapter One
“WHAT’D YOU DO?” A deep tenor questioned me.
I stood over a dead body. Peter Roth’s body, to be exact. “I didn’t do anything.” The stranger glared at me. His expression implied I was to blame for Peter’s death. Of all the nerve. I was Peter’s friend.
Peter’s golden retriever puppy, Chubb, howled where he stood on the imported Persian rug between the dead body and me. Peter had been so excited the day the rug arrived and he often walked around it instead of on it to preserve the beauty. Now he lay dead on the carpet he treasured in the grand living room of his plantation home.
The stranger’s eyes widened. “Well?” Then he crossed his arms over his sweaty sky-blue T-shirt, obscuring the words I like my boat and maybe three people.
My throat tightened, but I had to defend myself against his accusation. “I just got here. To walk the dog. I’m the dog walker.” I pointed at Chubb, as if he could testify to my innocence.
“Why are you holding a paperweight? From here it looks like you might have knocked Peter out with that thing.”
“No.” I backed away from the body, shaking my head. “I didn’t hit him.”
The man pulled a cell phone out of the pocket of his athletic shorts. Not the super tiny shorts a lot of runners wore. Long enough to be decent. Short enough for me to notice his long, tanned, muscular legs.
He thumbed the phone’s buttons. “Did you call the police?” Despite the harshness of the man’s voice, his pale face proved he struggled with Peter’s death.
“Not yet. I heard your footsteps and grabbed the paperweight off the coffee table to protect myself. Why are you here? How do I know you’re not the killer?” I backed up a few more paces. In that attire, the guy had to be a runner. I probably couldn’t outrun him. Maybe I could outwit him.
“We’ll let the police sort it out. Maybe you’ll get a softie who’ll believe you.”
“How can you accuse me? Peter is my friend.” My eyes drifted down to the still body, and I held in a sob. Through the years I’d gotten used to stuffing down my emotions. Finding Peter’s body challenged my ability to hold it together. I perspired, my legs shook, and my stomach churned. “Was my friend.”
“You want me to believe you showed up to walk Chubb and found Peter lying on the floor?”
“Yes. It’s the truth. I’d never hurt Peter.” In one hand, I held an ace of hearts playing card I’d found on the kitchen floor moments before I’d entered the living room. The heavy glass paperweight weighed down the other hand. A colorful Baccarat to be specific. Peter had always been specific when I admired an antique he had displayed in his South Carolina plantation home. He admired beautiful things, and he was a collector. Paperweights were just one of the things he enjoyed. “I know this looks bad. Let me explain.”
The man’s eyes narrowed, his finger poised inches from his cell phone screen. “You’ve got sixty seconds before I call the police. What you say will affect what I tell them.”
I slipped the slick playing card into the back pocket of my shorts. Telling the truth wouldn’t take long. “Peter called me last night to say he had an early meeting in Atlanta this morning. Thursdays he usually works from home but something came up. He asked me to come check on Chubb a couple times today. When I got here, Chubb was barking nonstop. I entered the front door and walked through the foyer and breakfast room straight back to the kitchen. I never entered this room. Chubb’s a puppy, and I thought maybe he needed to go out in a hurry. I opened the door to his crate, and he ran in here. All I’ve done is feel Peter’s body for a pulse. His wrist and his neck. There’s not one. His body is cold and clammy.” The way I rattled on probably made me look guilty. I shivered. Talking too much when nervous was one of my bad habits. “Why are you here?”
His expression tight, he propped his hands on his hips. “I heard a scream while on my morning run along the river. When I got here, the front door was wide open. I came inside and found you standing over Peter with a weapon.”
“I don’t remember leaving the door open, and I’m not holding a weapon.” I looked down at the paperweight in my hand. If this man thought I killed Peter, the sheriff might jump to the same conclusion. Then another thought occurred to me. “Wait, who are you?”
“A neighbor. My land borders Peter’s property line to the north.
We’ve got to report this.” He dialed.
I knelt beside Chubb and rubbed his back. Poor thing.
“This is Marc Williams.”
I jerked at the sound of his voice, but mystery man’s name was no longer a secret. Marc Williams stood a few inches over six feet, judging by the way I tipped my head to see him. I was five foot eight and didn’t strain to look up at many people.
Marc paced around the room, never getting too close to the body. “I need to report a death. Possible murder. At Peter Roth’s home on River Road.”
My legs refused to hold me any longer. I shuffled away and collapsed onto the jacquard wingback chair. Louis XVI in a “muted celadon,” according to Peter. Pain pounded through my head. Never again would Peter share his love of antiques with me. I used to stifle yawns at his lengthy descriptions, but now . . . . I’d give anything to have those conversations back. I’d lost too many loved ones in my life.
I’d spent twelve years raising my siblings. When I was eighteen, my parents were killed by a hit-and-run driver in a white sports car. Mom and I had been making plans for my dorm room the week of the accident. Afterward, it was only the three of us kids. No grandparents. Nobody to jump in and offer assistance. The first time I heard the words Social Services, I’d known what I had to do. There really wasn’t another choice. I shelved my plans to attend the University of Georgia and remained in Heyward Beach, South Carolina. Then I met Peter. He’d been new to the area at the time. For some inexplicable reason, he’d looked out for me, acted as my mentor and life coach. He never flat-out gave me money, but he’d advised me on finances and encouraged me. Peter had shown extraordinary kindness to a lost young woman when there’d been no reason for him to reach out.
Marc paced from the doorway to the window overlooking the vast front yard. “I’d say we need an ambulance. No, the coroner. And the sheriff.” The man spoke to the emergency dispatcher with authority as if used to giving orders and expecting them to be obeyed.
I released the paperweight, and it dropped onto the soft chair. I leaned forward and held out a dog treat to the puppy. A good dog walker always carried some kind of treats, and I was good. “Come here, Chubb.”
The puppy raised his head and looked at me. The pain in his brown eyes about broke my heart.
“It’s okay, boy. You’re safe.”
Chubb’s ears flopped back before he stood and plodded toward me. His nails clicked on the old pine floor until he stopped and sniffed my hand before biting into the dog bone.
“Good, boy.” I rubbed his dark golden sides as he munched on the treat appropriate for forty-pound puppies. “I know how you feel. It’s hard to believe somebody would hurt Peter.” The puppy whined, and I slid down to the floor so I could wrap my arms around him.
Marc walked our way. “Maybe we should move to the kitchen. Less chance of contaminating the crime scene in there.”
I gasped. This was Peter’s living room. Not a crime scene. However, my friend’s dead body made Marc Williams’s words true. This was a crime scene. Peter was the murder victim, and it looked like I might be the number one suspect.
Read more about the book, series
and the author over at My Reading Journeys. Click Here
Here's an adoptable dog post for today: https://www.facebook.com/austinpetsalive/posts/10160066081599066
