Hounded, p.1
Hounded, page 1
Table of Contents
Cover
Synopsis
Bella Books Social Media
Other Bella Books by E.J. Cochrane
About the Author
Title Page
Copyright
Acknowledgments
Dedication
Cast of Characters
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Bella Books
Synopsis
Dog walker-turned murder investigator Matilda Smithwick is stressed out. Thankfully, her best friend Dottie has the perfect solution—a weekend getaway to a private island off the coast of Maine.
When one of the guests is found dead in the wine cellar, Dottie “volunteers” Maddie to hunt for the killer among them. No easy feat on a remote island with no internet or cell phone reception. Add in Dottie’s questionable assistance, an impending storm, a captive and unruly pool of suspects, a growing body count and Dottie’s insistence that the party must go on, and Maddie certainly has her hands full.
Can Maddie stay out of trouble long enough to catch a killer?
Hounded is the third book in the Matilda Smithwick Mystery Series.
www.BellaBooks.com
When you shop at Bella, more of your dollars reach the women who write and produce the books you love. Thanks from all of the authors & staff at Bella!
Blog: Bella Media Channel
Facebook: BellaBooks
Twitter: @bellabooks
Instagram: TheBellaBooks
Other Bella Books by E.J. Cochrane
Matilda Smithwick Mystery Series
Sleeping Dogs Lie
Double Dog Dare
About the Author
E.J. Cochrane is a native Chicagoan currently on loan to Indianapolis. She taught college English for fifteen years before calling it quits, and now she has a much less stressful job in retail. She’s also worked numerous odd jobs, including operating her own dog walking business (which, fortunately, did not involve moonlighting as an amateur sleuth). In addition to writing and retail, she’s also an allegedly retired marathoner who still enjoys running, even without the promise of a finisher’s medal. She and her partner share their home with a ball-obsessed pit bull and four needy cats.
Copyright © 2023 by E.J. Cochrane
Bella Books, Inc.
P.O. Box 10543
Tallahassee, FL 32302
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, without permission in writing from the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
First Edition - 2023
Editor: Ann Roberts
Cover Designer: Heather Honeywell
ISBN: 978-1-64247-431-2
PUBLISHER’S NOTE
The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized print or electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials.Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
Acknowledgments
The inspiration for this mystery sprang from my decades-long love for the movie Clue, but turning obsession into the book you’re now holding was a tremendous group effort. As always, my sister, Jennie Tyderek, and my partner, Sue Hawks, offered just the right blend of loving support and assertive nudging to get me across the finish line. From brainstorming to fashion consultation to alpha reading to self-doubt taming, they both came to my rescue repeatedly, and for that I thank you, I love you, and I need you to rest up for the next book. Tremendous thanks also to my dear friend Patrick Doyle—your culinary expertise is always appreciated. I’m sorry for destroying your work. To my beta readers, Lynda Fitzgerald, Diane Piña, Amy Cook, Kathy Rowe and Heather L. Mathes, your attention to detail and adherence to the rules of logic have made this a much more delightful book. Thank you for making Maddie a better sleuth. Huge thanks to Ann Roberts, the greatest editor on the planet, for all of your help and support. Finally, thanks to everyone at Bella for doing all the hard work. I’m proud to put my books in your hands.
Dedication
For Bart, who set the Good Dog bar impossibly high. And for Gonzo, who doesn’t even care that it exists.
Cast of Characters
Matilda “Maddie” Smithwick: Owner of Little Guys Pet Care, accidental detective.
Gwendolyn “Dottie” Hunter: Fashion maven, strategic spouse, Maddie’s best friend.
Carlisle: Dottie’s hyper-efficient assistant.
Jason Van Dam: Entertainer, Dottie’s love interest.
Rebecca Douglas: Jason’s little sister.
Cate Bennet: Cosmetics mogul.
Florence Saldana: COO of Andreas Corporation.
Eric Dillingham: Horse-loving billionaire.
Castor Andreas: Spoiled socialite, Helen’s twin brother, Ares’s dad.
Helen Andreas: Castor’s twin, Florence’s boss, Dottie’s competition.
Mammon and Archer: Resident guard dogs.
Ares: Castor’s Yorkipoo.
Prologue
Helen Andreas descended the wine cellar stairs to enjoy a much-needed moment of peace. As usual, she tripped on the uneven stair at the bottom and made a mental note to remind her resident handyman to fix it once this horrid weekend was over. Rather than fumbling to find the switch for the wall sconces (another fix for the handyman), she lit a candle and enjoyed the gothic appeal of the space. It was almost like being in Poe’s “The Cask of Amontillado,” if Montressor’s wine cellar had been appointed with perfect climate control, a cozy seating area and one of the finest private wine collections on the East Coast.
This was the one area of her mansion that she had declared off-limits to the guests (not her guests as she’d been reminded throughout the day) currently occupying her property, and she intended to enjoy the solitude, at least until her scarcely welcome appointment intruded upon her serenity. She didn’t know why she’d agreed to this meeting—a moment of weakness perhaps—but she intended to get it over with quickly. She’d been around these people less than a day, and she was already tired of them asking for things she didn’t want to give. Every time she turned around, she faced another demand for money, leniency, privacy, or distance. At this point, regardless of what anyone requested of her, she was determined to say no. The allure, she supposed, was in the art of the refusal—how would she do it this time? Would she lift this leech’s spirits first? Would she be merciful and deny their requests before they got their hopes up? Maybe she would toy with the beggar, give the impression that she might be swayed before issuing her rejection. There had to be some way to spice up the monotony of these endless appeals.
It had been a particularly trying day, starting with her brother’s regularly scheduled plea for money (and the dull throb of a headache that he had induced) and ending with watching her beloved Jason fall under Gwendolyn Hunter’s mystifying spell. Personally, she didn’t understand the sway that woman had over men, but she had to applaud its efficacy. To her knowledge, Gwendolyn hadn’t worked a day in the last decade, yet she had amassed a fortune that Castor would kill for, though Helen doubted that her shiftless brother would put forth even that minimal effort when he could simply whine or wheedle his way into some cash. Truth be told, it was exceptionally gratifying to watch Gwendolyn rebuff Castor’s sad attempts at gold digging the queen of gold diggers.
“If she wasn’t competition for Jason’s affections, I’d happily toast her success.” Helen laughed bitterly.
Perusing her impressive selection of wine, she admired her own considerable gift for amassing wealth. True, she’d had the advantage of exceptionally rich parents, but she’d taken the empire they’d built and expanded it beyond their limited expectations. Her parents had been so pleased with themselves for personifying the cliché of the immigrant who made it big that they had settled for success in their one small corner of the market. They hadn’t even considered branching out until she took over. Now, she sat at the top of Andreas Corporation, overseeing the many avenues the company had expanded into, and for the most part, dominated.
Feeling particularly indulgent, she grabbed the bottle of Château Cheval Blanc 1947 that she’d dropped over a quarter of a million on. Settling at the small table in the center of the room, she poured a glass and allowed herself to relax for the first time since she’d arrived that afternoon, though flashes of her many ordeals that day disrupted the peace she strove for. That fight with that idiot horse lover Eric hadn’t helped her mood any. What business of his was it how she wanted to spend her money? If she wanted to set fire to a million dollars cash, it wasn’t his concern.
“Pompous ass,” she muttered. “It’ll be a miracle if we both survive this weekend.”
She’d wanted to smack his weak-chinned face, but Jason had chosen that moment to acknowledge her existence, so she had to be on her best, most alluring behavior. That Eric had looked equally ready to resort to violence had also given her pause (not that she’d let him know as much).
It stung, too, that Florence had been visibly disappointed to see her. She knew she was a demanding boss, but she also rewarded ingenuity and loyalty, something Florence would do well to remember. Perhaps she should issue a reminder, maybe in the form of a pointed question about her ailing mother, whose status in this country was questionable at best. She wouldn’t actually do anything to hurt the woman—she was in her eighties for the love of god—but it didn’t hurt for Florence to believe that her mother’s well-being was in peril.
She took a moment to savor her wine, appreciating not just its porty richness but also the fact that, unlike so many, she could easily afford such an indulgence. After one sip, she could pour the rest down the drain or pass the bottle off to the world’s luckiest vagabond if she chose (not that she was likely to find a pauper on her private island). She wouldn’t miss it or the money she’d spent, but what fun it would be to do so while her idiot brother watched the wealth he longed for thrown so casually away. The racks that lined the stone walls of her wine cellar were crowded with equally impressive (and equally disposable) vintages. And she didn’t even particularly care for wine, not like Castor did.
Suddenly, she was blasted in artificial light, and she turned at the sound of footsteps on the stairs behind her. “You’re early. I wasn’t expecting you for—what are you doing here?” She didn’t have the time or patience for this distraction.
“I want to talk to you.”
“Let me guess, you think I’m being cruel and unfair and that I should reconsider.”
“As a matter of fact, I do.” Her surprise guest stepped closer—too close—anger flashing in the eyes that met hers.
“That makes one of us.” Already bored by this unexpected intrusion on her privacy, she turned her attention back to the deep red liquid in her glass.
“You’re going to listen to me whether you like it or not.”
A hand on her shoulder spun her roughly around, sending her glass crashing to the cobblestone floor.
“Do you honestly believe you’ll get what you want by attacking me?”
“No. I don’t believe you’ll ever willingly give me what I want. The only way is for me to take it.” A chill ran through her at the sound of the cold, emotionless voice just as her visitor’s hands closed around her throat.
Chapter One
Six hours earlier
Matilda Smithwick cursed the full-length mirror that showed her just how ludicrous she looked. The dress she’d donned under protest—the one Dottie swore would transform her outlook on fashion—looked like a crocheted hot air balloon. Apparently, the hip, up-and-coming designer (whose name Maddie had willfully forgotten) was unaware that women’s bodies were not pyramid-shaped. Or perhaps she was paid by the hectare. There was just so much fabric. God forbid she got caught in a strong wind. Feeling the stirrings of an apparel-based headache, she rubbed her temples, cringing at the thunderous rustling of her puffy sleeves. She frowned at her reflection, wondering how she had gotten into this sartorial nightmare, and more importantly, how she would get out of it.
“It’s exquisite,” Dottie gasped, and Maddie turned to find her much-less-ostentatiously clad friend holding a cocktail in each hand and eyeing her critically. She genuinely feared the next stage of her transformation at Dottie’s hands. “Turn for me. I want to see it in all its glory.”
Maddie grabbed the liquid fortification that would get her through this evening and obediently made a circle, lamenting the moment of weakness that had led her to agree to this absurd outing.
The previous evening, at the end of a spectacularly grueling day, she’d wanted nothing more than to hide under the covers with her dogs and a good book. That hope vanished the second Dottie swooped into her living room, poured them both drinks and declared that they would be going away for the weekend.
“Nice of you to ask, but—”
“We’re going, apple platz. No arguments. I intend to whisk you away from the stressors in your life before those wrinkles become permanent.” Unconsciously, Maddie touched her forehead. “And it just so happens that your impending breakdown and my birthday celebration coincide.”
“I took you out to dinner for your birthday when it happened, in January.”
“And don’t think I didn’t appreciate that adorable little bistro. This celebration is in honor of my quarter birthday.”
“It was a four-star restaurant,” she said, ignoring the more perplexing issue of the quarter birthday and why it invoked travel.
“Carlisle and I have everything planned and ready to go. You just need to grab your toothbrush and your sense of adventure.” Dottie paused to scrutinize her. “Maybe throw some hair care products in the mix.”
“I wish I could help you celebrate this momentous occasion, but I can’t leave town right now. I’m in the middle of moving my business, which is busier than ever.”
“What’s to move? The milk-bone buffet and a year’s supply of poop bags? Besides, your father assured me that the new space won’t be ready for a few more weeks.”
“You talked to my father?”
“He sends his regards. As for the business, Patrick has everything under control.”
“Of course he does,” she grumbled, bemoaning her assistant’s efficiency and eagerness to help. “But I can’t just leave Bart and Goliath here by themselves.”
“Obviously not, fruit cup. Thankfully, your incomparable grandmother has agreed to tend to your beasts while we’re away.”
“You just assume I’m free?”
“Oh, petunia.” Dottie offered her most pitying expression. “We both know you don’t have any dates to cancel or a girlfriend you need to ask for permission.” Maddie scowled at the reminder that she was habitually alone. “One rocky relationship’s demise is not cause for eternal sorrow, and your mourning period has now outlasted the relationship that inspired it. You need to get out and have fun, and lucky you, your best friend is here to save the day.”
“With a party in her honor.”
“Not a party, sheepskin. An extravaganza. I’ve rented a mansion and the private island it occupies.”
“The Taj Mahal wasn’t available? Why would you rent an island?”
“I would have bought it, but the owner is unreasonable.”
“How dare they not uproot their entire lives to accommodate your party needs,” Maddie scoffed.
“Be serious, Matilda. Helen rarely visits the property. She merely holds onto it as a status symbol, one she was all too happy to profit from. Alas, no sum of money could prevent her from inviting herself to join us.” A monumental frown punctuated Dottie’s statement.
“That hardly sounds like the relaxing weekend you think I need.”
“Not to worry, little one. With any luck, Helen’s plane will crash and the world will be a better place.”
Maddie shook her head in disbelief, but in spite of herself, she was warming to this idea. It wasn’t like she had anything better to do that weekend. Or any weekend ever.
“We leave frightfully early tomorrow. Be ready to go by eleven.” Dottie emptied her glass with a flourish and turned toward the door.
“To go where?” Maddie refrained from pointing out how much the opposite of “frightfully early” eleven was.
