Fat Cat Takes the Cake (5 page)

“At the police station to give my statement. They got it yesterday, kind of, but I had to sign it today.”

Julie didn't ask if her name had come up and Chase didn't mention it.

They headed for the door, chatting about Anna. “She turned in the recipe, right?” Chase said. “What is she working on now?”

“She's practicing making it, over and over.”

“We'll have lots of her new bars to sell on Wednesday, I guess, if she'll let us.”

They both poked their heads into the kitchen to say hi to Anna, inhaled nosefuls of the heavenly blueberry aroma, then ran upstairs for some hot chocolate.

“What was that about the real estate deal?” Chase asked. “What was Ron North talking about?” Should she mention the scarf?

Julie blew on her cocoa. “That's a bad deal. You know I told you about someone offering Hilda Bjorn way too little for her house? I dropped by this morning to ask her about it. She described the man who came to her door.” Julie shook her head.

“And?”

“Who does this sound like? She said he had a commanding presence and very nice snowy white hair. Like an egret, she said.”

“Principal Snelson? Why would he be trying to make a real estate deal?”

Julie shrugged. “Do you know who that other guy was Saturday night? The short one?”

“Never saw him before. He's not our age; must be a friend of Snelson's.”

“Almost forgot.” Julie pulled a small black notebook from her purse as they sat sipping at Chase's kitchen table. “I have to show you this.”

“What is it?” Chase asked, setting her mug down and taking the notebook from her. The handwriting was small and cramped.

“I found it by the punch bowl Saturday night. Remember? I asked around and no one said it was theirs.”

“Yes, I remember. You waved it around. It was after Ron and some others left.”

They stared at each other, realization dawning.

In unison, they said, “It's Ron's!”

J
ulie and Chase spent another few minutes going over the happenings at the reunion together. They decided they couldn't be completely sure it was Ron's, since so many others were gone when Julie found it. But Chase thought it was very much like the notebook he had whipped out in the Bar None days ago, hoping to interview her. She couldn't be positive, though. It was nondescript, a small spiral-bound booklet with a black cover.

“Well, we'd better look inside,” Julie said, turning it over and over with her fingertips, like she was reluctant to touch it too much.

“That's not illegal or anything?”

“How else can we find out who it belongs to?”

Many of the pages were filled with small, barely legible
writing. They were, as far as she could tell, notes for stories Ron had been working on. Words that they could read stood out. Amid several references to “school board” were the words “real estate.” Chase found her name with a reminder to the author to get “pix of Bar None” developed. “This has to be Ron's. This is what he was working on.”

Julie flipped through to the end and was confronted by gibberish.

“Here,” Chase said, turning the book upside down. “He's started some notes from the back. He's using the front part for notes on his stories.”

“Ah. Writing from front to back and also from back to front. But what is this?”

Three words were written at the top of the page, one to a line: PRINCE, PHOTO, and BIRD. The first two words were repeated below on many lines, and were accompanied by dates with numbers after them. This went on for two and half pages. The word BIRD wasn't repeated.

“Is it a code?” Chase asked.

“He was a reporter. Does it have something to do with articles and photographs?”

Chase drummed her fingers on the table. “Dates and numbers. Are those three horses he bet on?”

“He never bet on the BIRD horse, if they are.” Julie thumbed on from the back until she came to some more pages with writing. “Here are some more notations.”

These entries were even more cryptic. Each line had an initial followed by a date.

“Why are these in pink ink?” Chase wondered. “The other stuff before this is all in blue.”

“Boys and girls?”

Chase took a good look at the dates. They went back several years. Most of the earlier initials were J, with D and M occurring both there and more recently. After those first entries, a few more were listed: L, K, and Q. Beside the bottom M was the date Ron North had been in her dessert bar shop. She put her finger on that line.

“Here. Look at this. Ron and Monique were both in my shop this day. She was uncomfortable being around him, too.”

The last entry held both an M and a J and the date of the reunion. The J was in light pencil rather than pink ink.

“He wrote down the dates he saw Monique? That's weird.”

Chase put her finger on the J. “That's you, Julie. This is his stalking log.”

Julie shivered. “A ghost just walked up my spinal column. I wonder if you're right.”

“And Monique. He bothered her that night, too.”

They spent nearly an hour poring over the notebook, but made no headway with the blue entries, except to assume they referred to men and not women.

Julie jumped up. “I gotta go. I need to figure out some things on a case this afternoon. Plus, I have to work tomorrow, unlike some people I know. Unless I get questioned one more time. Detective Olson said they might want to talk to me again.” Her voice tightened on that last sentence.

Chase didn't like the sound of that either. She gave her friend a long hug.

Julie paused before she walked out the door. “Wait a sec.” She closed her eyes. “I saw our principal hand something to Ron when they were standing together.”

“Did you see what it was?”

“No, but Mr. Snelson wasn't happy about it.”

“So, if he's one of these people in blue, did the handoff have something to do with the amounts?”

“Payment for something, maybe. Drugs?”

“Mr. Snelson, our principal? I guess it's possible. This could be a blackmail scheme.” suggested Chase.

They looked at each other and shrugged.

“Why don't you make me a copy of that?” Julie said. “I'd like to go over it some more.”

They both traipsed downstairs to use the copy machine.

After Julie left, Chase—disappointed that Anna was gone—did some dusting and some laundry, and worried some more about Julie. She eventually fell asleep on her couch, staring at the last few pages of the notebook. She knew they would have to give it to the police. Julie was in enough trouble without withholding evidence. She would make another copy of the notebook for herself first thing in the morning in the office downstairs.

•   •   •

The shop was
closed on Tuesdays, but Chase took the notebook downstairs to make her own copy as soon as she was dressed. Quincy had the run of the shop, something he enjoyed whenever he got a chance.

Chase heard a commotion at the back door and ran to find Anna carrying in a heavy-looking grocery bag.

“More baking today?” Chase asked, taking the burden from her. “We're going to have tons of your new creation to sell on Wednesday.”

“No, we're not,” Anna said, handing the heavy bag to Chase and returning to her blue Volvo to fetch a couple more off the rear seat. She was on her way back before Chase could follow her out to help. “I'm only doing parts of the recipe. I'm not finishing anything.”

“That's too bad.” Chase had been looking forward to helping sample them. “Do you have any more bags?”

“This is it.”

Chase shivered in the doorway waiting for Anna to return.

“I have to get good enough so that every step goes as smoothly as possible. Part of my score will depend on how quickly I work. During the competition, I'd like to be flawless. Or as near as a human can get.”

Chase pecked Anna on the cheek as she returned to the warm kitchen. “You already are nearly perfect, dear Anna.”

“Oh, go on.” Anna smiled as she started extracting baking supplies from the bags and strewing them onto the granite counter.

“Wait. Before you get started, I'd like to show you something. Did Julie tell you about what she found at the reunion?”

“I guess not.” Anna shook her head in puzzlement.

Chase ran into the office to get the notebook.

The cat, left in the office alone, set out to declutter the desktop. An offensive object sat on the corner. It was small and black. The cat batted it to the floor. That didn't seem to satisfy him, though. A loose sheet had fallen out. He shoved the extra piece until it was out of sight underneath
the desk. He had nearly gotten the notebook there, too, when his mistress came into the office.

“Now where is that thing?” Chase's eyes searched her desk, then her toe kicked the notebook. “Oh, I'll bet you cleaned off the desk, didn't you?” She gave Quincy a head rub and took the notebook into the kitchen to show Anna.

“What do you make of this?” she asked.

Anna leafed through it, puzzling over the arcane notations. “Do you have any idea what these pertain to? Are PRINCE and PHOTO and BIRD the names of . . . animals, people?”

“I haven't figured it out. They're things, right? One is a person, one is an object, and one is an animal.”

Anna handed her the notebook. “You got me.” She frowned and shrugged, then started setting out ingredients for her Batter Battle creation.

“We think we might know what some of the things in pink mean.” She explained what Julie and she had figured out about the stalking dates and initials.

“Charity, I have to keep practicing until I don't make any mistakes. I'm not nearly there yet and I don't have time for games.”

At Chase's shocked expression, Anna softened. “I'm sorry. I know a man is dead and this isn't a game to you. But if you don't know what anything means, those writings are useless. I'm sure the police can figure it out. Don't they have experts to do that kind of thing? You say Julie found it. Why do you have it now?”

“I ended up with it. Wouldn't it look better for me to turn it in than Julie? I don't want them to suspect her any more than they already do.”

“I'm sure they'll get to the truth, find out who did what, and won't blame Julie for anything.”

Although Chase didn't hold out much hope for that—after all, Niles Olson wasn't familiar with any of these people—she hoped Anna was right. The next thing she had to do, after she copied the pages, was to give the notebook to Detective Olson.

T
he rest of Tuesday, Chase's second day off, was jam-packed. She dropped the notebook off at the front desk of the police station—Detective Olson wasn't in, to her relief. She didn't want to explain to him where the notebook had been until now.

Today she absolutely had to buy shoes. Unlike Julie and Anna, she took no delight in that exercise. Those two put together a strategy days in advance and planned their shoe excursions like battles. Chase merely shopped for footwear when she had to. And her sneakers had a hole in the toe. It was time.

She needed wedding shoes, too, but had to get those with Julie along so they would match. At least she was spared shopping for gifts for Julie and Anna this year. They had decided,
with the wedding and the busy season at the shop, not to give one another anything for Christmas.

Before sneaker shopping, she decided to take Quincy out for some more leash training. She needed to train herself on how to attach the harness, too, so that he wouldn't slip out of it when she left a strap unfastened. It didn't take much for that little guy to figure out where the weaknesses were. She didn't expect more dead bodies, but it wouldn't do for him to get loose on a sidewalk and run into the street.

She made sure the harness was snug and all the fasteners were in place. Getting Quincy out the back door required a bit of coaxing. That figures, she thought. If the door were left open a quarter of an inch, he'd be sneaking through it in a heartbeat. But make it easy for him, and he didn't want to budge. They made it into the parking lot and proceeded toward the sidewalk, passing through the shade of a tree planted at the corner.

Chase decided to turn south, toward the river. She looked up and down SE Fourth Street when they reached it to see if any large dogs lurked. Or any small dogs, for that matter.

Her least favorite politico stood outside a small bar half a block away. She had no desire to speak to him, to have to lie about why his campaign poster wasn't in the window of the Bar None, so she turned away and walked the other direction.

Then what she'd seen registered and she did a double take. Dickie Byrd wasn't looking in her direction at all. His gaze was glued to the face of the woman in his arms. She sure wasn't his wife, Mona. Chase couldn't help herself. She stopped, dumbfounded. She watched as Dickie bent toward the
woman and their lips met. Quincy twined around her legs, not wanting to stop now that they were on their way.

The woman was a lot shorter than Mona, and a lot more stacked. Where Mona was delicate, fluttery, this woman was solid. Even accounting for her down jacket, she was heftier than Dickie's model-slim wife. And she had no qualms about extra-long and passionate public kisses.

Chase pulled herself away and walked on. Quincy trotted with her happily. Moving was better than standing still in this weather. And here Chase had thought Dickie might be a suspect in Ron North's death, defending his wife's honor from her stalker. Not hardly! He was wadding up his wife's honor and kicking it to the curb.

She might as well circle around and head north to Hilda Bjorn's house and check on the woman. From the information Julie had, she thought Ms. Bjorn had described the principal as the man who made the very low offer on her house. That made no sense.

Chase was glad the real estate case was taking Julie's mind off the murder investigation. At least, she hoped it was.

Quincy bounded up the few steps to Hilda's front porch. He knew and liked the old woman. A small, vibrant woman in her late eighties, dressed in a blue velour pantsuit, opened the door. Her wire-rim glasses winked in the frosty sunshine and her face wrinkled with joy.

“Two of my favorites! Come in, Chase. Come in, Quincy. Let me see what I can rustle up for you.”

Chase followed her into the small, snug living room. “Please don't, Ms. Bjorn. We have only a few minutes.” Not quite true, but she didn't want the woman stuffing Quincy
with tuna fish or, worse, cookies. “I would like to ask you about the man who offered you some money for your house. My friend Julie Larson told me a little bit about it. She's working on this for her real estate office.”

“My, there are a lot of people involved, aren't there? Well, it's a great deal of money.”

“How much exactly did he say?”

“He said at least twenty thousand!”

“You know, that's not very much for this house. It's a desirable neighborhood. If you do want to sell, you could probably get a lot more.”

“Oh, but Mr. Nelson said I had to make up my mind quickly or the offer would go down.”

“Mr. Nelson?”

“Yes, I remembered his name this morning because I had a boyfriend named Vance once. His name is Vance.”

Vance? “Did he show you his real estate credentials?”

“Oh, you sound just like Professor Fear. He's very suspicious of this nice man. I can't imagine why. I didn't think to do that. He looks honest.”

A knock sounded on the door and Ms. Bjorn let Professor Anderson Fear into the living room. Chase glimpsed his blue fat-tire bike leaned against her porch railing. He peered at Chase, then took off his steamy glasses and wiped them on the tail of his plaid shirt. As usual, his hair stuck up in places and his clothing was rumpled and disheveled. Exactly right for a professor, Chase thought.

“We were talking about you, Andy, this very minute. I'll get you some hot chocolate.” Ms. Bjorn bustled out of the room to her kitchen.

“Chase Oliver,” the man said, finally placing who she was. “Do you know how soon your friend Ms. Larson can talk to both of us?”

“I know that she's taking this pro bono, so has to squeeze visits in. She was here yesterday, but you must have missed her. Ms. Bjorn was telling me about the guy who made the offer to her.”

“I guess I missed seeing her,” Professor Fear said.

Hilda Bjorn came back with a steaming mug for the professor.

“You're not having any?” he asked Chase.

“No, we have to get going. But you go ahead. You're probably cold from your bike ride.”

He perched on the edge of the couch cushion, which sagged halfway to the floor with his slight weight. “It's not that cold yet. It's above zero. Did you tell Chase about the man? What was his name?”

“Vance,” Ms. Bjorn said.

“What does he look like?” Chase asked.

“A great big egret, one of those white ones. A snowy egret.”

“Is he tall, short?”

“No, more medium height, I think. He was very nice.”

“Ms. Bjorn, please promise me that you'll talk to Professor Fear before you sign anything. Make sure you do that, okay?”

“Yes, Hilda,” he said. “Don't sign anything at all unless I'm there.”

“All right, but I think you young people are being too suspicious.”

“Maybe we are, but it's better to be safe,” Chase said, and headed out.

Hilda Bjorn closed the door after them, clucking, and shaking her head. In general, Chase thought Ms. Bjorn was on the ball, but her idea of house prices was stuck in the year that she bought hers and was sadly out of date. Just the thing an unscrupulous land broker would count on.

Then it clicked. Van Snelson? Heard as Vance Nelson. Mr. Snelson, however, was not a land broker. He was a high school principal. She would talk to Julie about all this again tonight when Jules was off work. And she must remember to mention seeing Dickie Byrd with—whoever that was. Right out there on a public sidewalk. Did the man have no sense of self-preservation, what with his election coming up? He had never gotten academic honors in high school, but he had won elections. Was there such a thing as being election-smart and not smart-smart?

Rounding the last corner to the parking lot behind the Bar None, Chase was surprised to see Eddie Heath leaning against a bright yellow Smart car. He broke into a glowing smile when he saw her coming.

He waved, so Chase returned the gesture. But she wondered what he was doing here, behind the shop. It was closed today, so he probably wouldn't find out where she'd gone from anyone inside. Anna was still here, as evidenced by her blue Volvo. She didn't usually answer the door when she was alone, though.

“Nobody answered your doorbell when I tried it,” he shouted. “I was about to leave when I saw you.”

When she got near, she greeted Eddie. “Hi. We've been on a walk. Did you need some dessert bars?”

“Nope.” He grinned again.

“That's good, because we're closed today. But I could get some if you're interested.”

“I'm more interested in the shop owner right now.”

He was flirting with her! Her high school crush had come around to see her after the reunion. She was conscious of a faint blush spreading up from her neck as she recalled the tingle she'd felt when they touched that night. “Are you . . . are you here for the tour I promised you?”

“Maybe. But I thought I could buy you lunch first.”

Was he going to apologize for dumping her right before their high school prom? No, Chase, she told herself. Don't bring that up. It's water under the bridge
.

“Have you eaten?” he asked.

“No. Sure, I'd like that. I'll be out in a minute.”

She scooped Quincy up and ran up the stairs to deposit him in the apartment. She wet her hands and patted her hair into place, then ran a tinted gloss over her lips. Then, for good measure, even though she knew she was about to eat, she swished some mouthwash.

As she checked her teeth in the mirror, Mike Ramos's face popped up in her mind. This wasn't a date, she told the imaginary Mike, it was merely getting together with an old classmate.
Who I bumped into when I went to the reunion without you. Because you finked out at the last minute.

Crossing her fingers, she hoped going to lunch with Eddie Heath wasn't the wrong thing to do.