Death's Door. Meryl Sawyer

at an animal rescue facility.

      She toed the dried pile and it rolled over. Just as she suspected, there was a latch on the bottom. These rock-hard devices had become popular with pet owners. A close look revealed they were molded pottery of some kind, but to the untrained eye, they looked like a deposit a dog would make. She picked up the fake turd and opened it. A shiny new key was inside. Leave it to Erin to hide a key in plain sight—in a fake dog turd that looked disturbingly real. So real, you could almost smell it.

      She rushed up to the back door. For a moment she paused and gazed up at the flawless blue sky, feeling inexplicably troubled. The key fit in the lock and the door creaked open inch by inch. She brushed her odd reaction aside and stepped into a small service area with a washer and dryer.

      A noxious odor she couldn’t identify hung in the close, humid air and made her stomach roil. Obviously, Erin had burned a funky candle. She opened the door leading into the kitchen and was greeted by a golden retriever with runny eyes. A small pile of dog poop accounted for the odor. Why hadn’t Erin let this dog out?

      “Hi, there. What’s your name?” When had Erin gotten a dog? She hadn’t mentioned a word about it when they’d gone out on Friday. She’d probably found the retriever at the rescue center and couldn’t resist even though her lease specified no pets. With Erin, you never knew what was going on.

      “Erin, it’s me,” she called out, in case her friend was still home but hadn’t heard the bell. No response.

      The dog kept scratching at the door. She opened it and he charged through the service area and out to the small backyard. He immediately lifted a leg on a low-hanging bush.

      “You’re a boy,” she muttered, more to herself than the dog. He trotted back to her and she bent down to check his collar. It looked brand-new. “So, your name is Aspen.”

      The dog cocked his head and looked up at her. His eyes were tearing the way some poodles’ did, leaving brown stains on their fur. She wondered if something was wrong with the retriever. Maybe that’s why Erin had brought him home.

      She led Aspen back inside. The odor she’d smelled earlier was worse now. She covered her nose with her hand. On the counter was a fly-covered pizza box clearly left over from Friday night. Typical Erin. She wasn’t much for housekeeping.

      Next to the box was a manila envelope marked “Aspen.” Coiled beside it was a nylon leash. She held her breath while she opened the unsealed envelope and found a bill of sale inside for a male golden retriever, age three years and seven months.

      Erin had purchased the dog for twenty-five dollars. Interesting. It wasn’t much for a purebred, but maybe something was wrong with it, like an eye problem. And it wasn’t Erin’s style to buy a dog. She didn’t believe in buying from breeders when there were so many homeless animals, many of whom had to be put down when homes weren’t found for them. Yet she had purchased this dog. Very odd.

      Madison returned the paper to the envelope and closed it. On the back flap, Erin had written something so quickly that it was difficult to read. “Rob—Monday noon. Don’t be late.”

      Interesting, she thought. Very interesting. Madison had always believed Erin and Robert Matthews were meant to be together, but they’d broken up. Erin hadn’t mentioned the veterinarian in months.

      Madison decided to leave the dog in the kitchen. Obviously, Erin had her reasons for keeping Aspen there. She opened the door to the small space that served as a living room with a dining area off to one side. With all the blinds drawn, it was hot, dark and uninviting.

      She let the kitchen door close behind her. A denser cloud of the horrible, cloying smell saturated the air. The stench sent her stomach into a backflip. A fly zoomed by her nose, closely followed by a second one. The odor of urine was also present. That must be why Erin had left the dog in the kitchen. He wasn’t properly trained.

      Despite the room’s darkness, she managed to spot her silver cell phone gleaming on the coffee table where she’d left it. She charged forward to pick it up and nearly tripped over something protruding from the shadows between the sofa and coffee table.

      A bare foot.

      The thought scarcely registered when she saw something on the floor. A naked body? She squinted, her eyes adjusting to what light had stolen into the room. The form was sprawled across the carpet, dark brown hair streaming like a banner. Her limbs were splayed, one arm bent beneath her and the other flung outward, palm up. The open hand seemed to capture a shaft of light that was seeping in from between the blinds. Around the neck was a red scarf pulled so tight the head torqued to one side.

      All Madison could make out in the semidarkness was the side of the woman’s face. Erin! No. It couldn’t be.

      She sucked in a terrified breath as goose bumps pebbled her skin. For a heartbeat she couldn’t move. A burning, wrenching sensation gripped her stomach and a wave of throbbing dizziness hit her. Madison heard a jagged, high-pitched shard of sound rip through the air, but it was a second before she realized she’d screamed.

      A thousand thoughts pinwheeled through her brain. Erin. How could she be dead? Her friend had always been there—a constant presence in her life—even more reliable than her own mother.

      She forced herself to edge closer just to be sure. A few strands of hair covered the naked woman’s face, its skin like white candle wax. Erin. No question about it.

      Why? Why? Why?

      She stood near her friend, her mind barely taking in what she saw. Details registered like freeze-frame images. A wet stain pooled around Erin’s thighs. A drop of dried blood lingered at the corner of her mouth. One knee was swollen, the purplish skin so tight that it seemed ready to burst. A bulging blue eye stared sightlessly at the beige carpet beneath her. The white part of her eye was bloodred.

      Madison’s vision had grown accustomed to the dark. Now, she noticed evidence of a frantic struggle. Furniture was knocked out of place. Pictures on tables had fallen and plants were overturned. By some quirk of fate, the coffee table where her cell phone had been was still upright.

      Suddenly, a hand clamped across her lips. Pulse misfiring, her mind attempted to grapple with the situation, but panic shredded her brain like shrapnel.

      A single thought registered: the killer!

      All her instincts told her that she was a heartbeat from death. The will to survive kicked her body into gear. She flailed, biting the huge hand over her mouth and jabbing her elbows in a futile attempt to free herself. Powerful arms locked around her and brought her against the solid wall of a big chest.

      “Be still,” a deep, masculine voice ordered. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

      She wasn’t buying that bridge—not with her murdered friend less than a foot away. She kicked backward and landed a blow with the heel of her shoe.

      “Stop it!” He had a death grip on her now, squeezing her so tight the air in her lungs turned to cement. “I’m trying to help you.”

      “L-lemme go.” She worked hard to keep hysteria out of her voice, but detected its shaky undertone in every word.

      “Screaming isn’t going to bring her back.”

      Suddenly, it dawned on Madison that she hadn’t stopped screaming from the moment she’d spotted her friend’s body.

      CHAPTER TWO

      How far away can a fly smell a dead body?

      MADISON TEETERED, feeling light-headed, grabbed the back of the sofa for support and closed her eyes for a second, her fragile barrier of control slipping. Get a grip, she told herself. The air was so tight in her lungs that she could hardly breathe. But the thump-thump of her heart filled her skull and made it difficult to think. Even with her eyes closed, she kept seeing Erin’s lifeless body. She opened them and found the dark-haired man from the street gazing down at her.

      He handed her a cell phone and calmly