The Whole Cat and Caboodle: Second Chance Cat Mystery (19 page)

“Next time you guys go on a road trip I want to come,” Jess said.

“You’re welcome anytime, dear,” Rose told her. “Thank you for the cookies.”

“Are you coming up front?” I asked.

Jess shook her head. “I’m fine here.”

“You’re as bad as Elvis,” I said, shaking my head.

When we got to the house I stepped into the kitchen, turned on the light and found myself face-to-face, or, more accurately, face-to-whiskers with Elvis. He was sitting on the stool at the counter.

I jumped and sucked in a breath and Jess banged into my back. “You scared the bejeebers out of me,” I said. I put my face close to his and he licked my chin. “Cute does not work on me,” I warned. He licked my chin again, tipped his head to one side and blinked at me. “Nobody likes a smart-ass,” I said.

Jess leaned around me. “Hey, Elvis! How’s it shakin’?” Much to her delight he meowed and shook his head.

“You’re as bad as Liam,” I said.

Jess just laughed and picked up the cat.

Liz had called Charlotte and Maddie from the road, but I wasn’t sure if Charlotte had called Nick, and he deserved to know what was going on.

“I should call Nick,” I said.

“Okay,” Jess said. She headed for the sofa with the cat. “C’mon,” I heard her say to him. “We can sit over here and pretend we’re not listening.”

I took out my phone.

“Hi, Sarah. What’s up?” Nick asked when he answered.

“Maddie has an alibi,” I said.

“What do you mean, an alibi?”

I gave Nick just the facts, leaving out the details of our road trip. “She’s meeting with Josh in the morning and then they’re going to the police station,” I said. “This could be over by lunchtime.”

“I don’t think so,” Nick said. His voice was flat.

I frowned at the phone even though he couldn’t see me. “What do you mean?”

“Maddie doesn’t have an alibi,” Nick said. “This doesn’t prove anything.”

“Yes, it does,” I said. “Aleida Scott drank the coffee and she saw Maddie take a cup to Arthur—without a detour to the garage to pour in a little pesticide.”

“It’s not that simple.” Nick exhaled loudly.

“I’m starting to really dislike that expression,” I said.

“Sarah, from what you’re telling me, Maddie and this woman could have been working together to kill Arthur.”

“Except that Maddie didn’t kill anyone,” I said tightly.

“I’m sorry,” Nick said. “I know that. I’m just telling you what Michelle will say.”

Anger flared in my chest. Maybe it wasn’t fair to Nick, but from my perspective all I could see was that he may have been an investigator for the medical examiner’s office, but that didn’t mean he knew for certain what the police would do. “And you know that how, Nick?” I asked. “You work for the medical examiner. Not the police. Have you talked to Maddie for more than a couple of minutes? No. Have you talked to any of the other women Arthur Fenety conned? No. Have you seen all the evidence?
No again
. You told me your job was to figure out how Arthur Fenety died and you’ve done that. It’s not your job to build a case against whoever killed him, so you don’t know what Michelle is going to say.”

“I understand that you’re frustrated,” Nick began. “But, like I said, it’s not that simple.”

I thought about Rose standing up at the table at the sandwich shop and marching indignantly for the front door to make a point.

“I’m not frustrated,” I said. “And it’s really simple: I’m angry.” Then I hung up. Well, actually I just ended the call. That was one of the frustrations of a cell phone: no receiver to hang up in righteous indignation.

I leaned back against the counter. Jess and Elvis were watching me. “I told you she’d hang up on him,” Jess said to the cat.

Elvis narrowed his green eyes at me, then looked at Jess and meowed.

“We’ll see,” she said.

My cell phone rang. I knew it was Nick before I checked. I let it go to voice mail.

“You were right,” Jess said to Elvis, stroking the top of his head.

He gave her a blissful kitty smile and leaned against her chest.

I dropped onto the couch beside the two of them.

“What did Nick say?” Jess asked.

“He said this doesn’t prove anything. Maddie and Aleida Scott could have planned to kill Arthur Fenety together.”

Jess shook her head. “What happened to his common sense?” she said. “And Michelle’s, for that matter.”

I looked at her. “What do you mean?”

“Well, first of all, Maddie was a nurse. If she was going to kill someone I think she’d be able to come up with something better than a banned pesticide she would have had to steal from one of her friends. And she certainly wouldn’t be stupid enough to kill the man at her own house or ask a complete stranger to help.” She put Elvis on my lap, got up and started for the kitchen. “Was I the only kid who watched
Murder, She Wrote
?” She held out her hands as though she were appealing to a higher power.

I shifted sideways a bit and Elvis stretched out on my lap. “A, what the heck are you talking about? And B, what are you doing?” I asked.

“I’m talking about a setup,” she said. “And what I’m doing is making coffee.”

“You think someone set up Maddie so she’d be blamed for Arthur’s murder?”

“C’mon, it’s the only thing that makes sense,” Jess said, scooping coffee into the top of the machine. “You’re almost out of coffee, by the way.”

“So, why Maddie?”

Jess shrugged. “Convenience, probably. She was seeing the guy. That would make a her likely suspect.”

It made sense. “So who would do something like that?”

“Hey, I can’t figure out everything for you,” she said. “Why don’t you call Nick back and see if he has any theories?” She was filling the carafe with water.

“Sorry,” I said. “I can’t hear you.”

She made a face at me and turned to pour the water into the coffeemaker. Once the machine was doing its thing she got out a couple of mugs and a plate for the cookies she’d brought.

“Cut Nick a little slack, if you can,” Jess said, propping her elbows on the counter. “This new job of his can’t be easy.”

I closed my eyes and shook my head. “Don’t make me feel sympathy for him. I want to stay mad a little bit longer.”

“And then there’s the fact that he’s got a . . . thing for you.”

“Just because Nick shaved the other night doesn’t mean he has a thing for me,” I said. I opened my eyes.

Jess laced her fingers together and propped her chin on top of them. “Admit it,” she said, a teasing grin on her face. “You kind of like the idea. You should have a fling with him.”

I stroked Elvis’s fur and he put his head down on his front paws. “I’d like to fling him,” I said.

“I think you kind of like Nick.”

“I absolutely do not kind of like Nick!”

“Yes, you do,” Jess said, turning back to the counter to get the coffee, which was ready now. “Even Elvis knows you’re not being honest when you say that. Look at his face.”

I leaned forward and looked at the cat. His ears were down and he had an
oh, come on
look in his half-lidded green eyes. I’d seen that look twice recently. I’d seen it when we’d all had lunch at the shop. Maddie had been petting Elvis while she told us what happened the day Arthur Fenety was killed. A story I knew now wasn’t true. I’d seen the same expression on the cat’s face when Jim Grant had stopped to pet him while he was telling me when he’d arrived in North Harbor.

Had he been less than honest, as well?

Jess was coming from the kitchen, carrying two mugs with the plate of cookies balanced on top of one of the cups. “You might have just helped me figure out who killed Arthur Fenety,” I said.

She handed me my cup and dropped down next to me on the sofa, setting the cookies between us. “Well, here’s to me,” she said, raising her mug in a toast. We clinked cups. Jess leaned against the back of the sofa, folding one arm over her head. “So, who is it?” she asked, reaching for a cookie.

“I think it might be Jim Grant.”

“Who’s he?”

“His mother was one of Fenety’s victims—one of his so-called wives, actually.” I broke a cookie in half and took a bite. Elvis sniffed my hand and then put his head down again. If it wasn’t fish or meat he wasn’t generally interested.

“So, what did I say to inspire this epiphany?” Jess asked.

I started to scratch behind the cat’s ear and he laid his head on my leg and stared to purr.

“You said that even Elvis knew I wasn’t exactly being honest about Nick. I realized I’d seen that look on his furry little face a couple of times before.”

“And I’m guessing one of those times this Jim Grant was petting him.”

“Exactly.” I took a sip of my coffee. “Am I crazy? Or is it possible that he can somehow sense when someone is lying?”

She shrugged. “If dogs can be trained to sniff out bombs or drugs, why couldn’t Elvis be able to tell if someone is lying? He’s a pretty smart cat.”

Elvis lifted his head, looked at Jess and meowed, as if in acknowledgment. She smiled at him. “Okay, so you think this guy set up Maddie. How are you going to prove it?”

I slumped against the back of the couch. “I haven’t exactly figured that part out yet,” I said.

I didn’t call Charlotte or any of the others to tell them about my new theory or what Nick had told me. There wasn’t anything I could do tonight as far as Jim Grant went, and I didn’t want to upset everyone with what Nick had said. Maybe he’d be wrong.

I picked up Charlotte in the morning. She smiled when she got in the SUV and I felt a pang of guilt knowing I was going to shoot down her happy mood.

“I talked to Nicolas last night,” she said as she set her bag at her feet and fastened her seat belt.

“What did he say?” I asked carefully.

“I told him what we’d found out and he said he’d do whatever he could to persuade Detective Andrews and the prosecutor to drop the charges against Maddie.”

It wasn’t what I was expecting to hear.

“You’re surprised,” she said.

I smiled, which was easy because Charlotte was happy. “Only a little bit,” I admitted, keeping my eyes on the road. “But I shouldn’t be, because Nick loves you and he’s a good guy.”

“Yes, he is,” Charlotte said, nodding slowly. “I hope he finds a woman who appreciates him.” I could feel her eyes on me.

“Are you trying to play matchmaker?” I asked.

“No, dear, I’m just making conversation,” she said.

I decided it was time to change the topic of the conversation. “Charlotte, do you remember when Jim Grant came in?”

Out of the corner of my eye I saw her nod. “Did you notice that he made a point of telling us that he didn’t get into town until Tuesday morning?”

“I hadn’t,” she said slowly. “But now that you mention it, yes, he did make sure we all heard that.”

I glanced over at her again.

“Sarah, do you think he killed Arthur?”

“I think it’s possible,” I hedged.

“So how are we going to prove it?”

“I have an idea,” I said slowly. “I don’t know if it’ll work.” The idea that had seemed brilliant at two a.m. felt a lot shakier over coffee with Elvis at six thirty.

“You haven’t let us down yet,” Charlotte said, pulling down the sleeve of her jacket. “Tell me your idea.”

“Poisoning Arthur at Maddie’s house was a crime of opportunity. No one knew he was going to be there because Maddie didn’t invite him until that morning.”

“So how did Jim Grant know?” Charlotte asked.

“I think he was following Arthur. Maybe he was hoping Arthur would lead him to the missing money and jewelry. Mr. P. said that Royce Collins saw Arthur in the park on the way to Maddie’s house.”

“Maybe he saw someone following Arthur.”

“Exactly.” I put on my blinker and turned into the small parking lot beside the store.

“We need to go talk to Royce,” Charlotte said.

“That’s what I was thinking,” I said. I backed into my parking spot and Charlotte and I got out of the SUV.

“Sarah, if it was Jim Grant, where did he get a bottle of that pesticide?” she asked as we walked toward the back door.

“I’m hoping Mr. P.’s going to be able to tell me that,” I said.

My favorite hacker arrived about five minutes after we’d opened the store. I knew from the smile on his face that he’d hit pay dirt.

“You were right, my dear,” he said. “Jim Grant’s uncle—his mother’s brother—had a landscaping business. Jim worked for him during the summers.”

“So, we have motive and means,” I said. “All we need is opportunity.”

“Royce delivers flyers on Saturdays,” Mr. P. said. “You can meet him at the park at eleven thirty.”

I hesitated. Then I decided,
Why not?
I threw my arms around the little old man and hugged him. “Thank you,” I said.

His brown eyes sparkled. “It’s my pleasure to serve, Sarah,” he said. “I’m going to see if I can prove young Mr. Grant was, in fact, here in North Harbor before he said he was.”

He took his nylon briefcase and headed for the sunporch.

Mac walked over to me and dipped his head in the direction of the back of the shop. “New developments?” he asked.

I filled him in on Aleida Scott and my eureka moment about Jim Grant. Elvis was watching Charlotte dust the guitars. It looked as though she was talking to him.

“Do you think it’s possible that Elvis can tell when someone is lying?” I said to Mac.

He crossed his arms over his chest. “Why not? A lie-detector test measures changes in respiration, heart rate, blood pressure and how much someone sweats. Maybe Elvis is reacting to the same things.”

I glanced over at Elvis and Charlotte. “So you’re saying he’s a feline lie detector?”

“There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy,” Mac said.

“Did you just quote Shakespeare?” I said.

Mac gave me an enigmatic smile not unlike the cat’s. “I hope you find what you need.” He gestured toward the stairs. “The delivery guy from Lily’s brought something for you a few minutes ago.”

I frowned. “I didn’t order anything. What is it?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know.”

I called Liz and explained what was going on. She said she could meet me at the park. I crossed my fingers we’d get the answers we were looking for.

Upstairs in my office, a small cardboard box sat on my desk. I opened the lid and laughed when I saw what was inside—a muffin with a tiny flag stuck in the middle. On the front of the flag were the words
I’m sorry. Nick
. I broke the muffin in half and took a bite. It was bran with fat raisins and a taste of cinnamon. Okay, so it wasn’t chocolate, but it was still a pretty sweet apology.

I was standing by the stone steps that led down to the duck pond just before eleven thirty when Liz came up the sidewalk. She was wearing a burnt orange sweater with gray pants and gray suede heels I wasn’t sure I’d be able to walk in.

“Hello, sweetie,” she said, leaning over to kiss my cheek. She looked at the gold watch on her wrist. “Royce should be along in a minute. What’s the plan?”

“I don’t really have one,” I said, shifting restlessly from one foot to the other. “We know Royce saw Arthur Fenety the morning he was killed. What we need to know is, did he see Jim Grant?”

“I thought he didn’t come to town until after Arthur was dead,” she said.

I tucked my keys in my jacket pocket. “Technically he didn’t,” I said. “He checked into the Rosemont Inn just before lunch on Tuesday, but before that he spent two nights in a motel out on the highway.” How Mr. P. had gotten that information was another thing I didn’t want to know.

“Do you have a picture of the man?” Liz asked.

I nodded and held out my phone. “Mr. Peterson found one online and I downloaded it to my phone.”

“You know, if Rose doesn’t give the man some encouragement soon, I may have to make a move on him,” she said, studying the picture. “He’s smart and most of his teeth are original. All I’d need to do would be to get him out of those pants.”

I looked wide-eyed at her. “Excuse me?” I said.

“I didn’t mean it that way,” she said, waving a hand at me. “I just meant get him into some pants that aren’t way up here.” She stuck her thumbs into her armpits.

“He is a little fashion challenged,” I said. “But I love the way he looks at Rose.”

Liz smiled. “Yes, even an old cynic like me can appreciate that.”

I put my arm around her shoulder. “I don’t think you’re quite as much of a cynic as you pretend to be.”

Royce Collins was coming up the sidewalk. He was a small man with intense blue eyes under his dark blue newsboy hat, and a bushy mustache. “Good morning, ladies,” he said. “I hope you don’t mind walking and talking. I have a schedule to keep.” He shifted the large canvas bag half-full of advertising circulars that was slung over his shoulder.

Liz cleared her throat. “Well, then, we’ll get right to the point.” She fell into step beside Royce and I walked beside her. “You saw Arthur Fenety the morning he was killed?”

Royce nodded. “Yes, I did.”

“What time?”

“Eleven thirty.”

We turned right on the path.

“Did you see anyone else?”

He shrugged. “There were other people around. It was a beautiful day.”

Liz held out her left hand. I knew she wanted the phone. I handed it to her and she showed Royce the photo.

“Did you see this man?”

Royce looked at the picture without missing a step. “I saw him.”

Liz shot me a look. “Are you certain?”

“Of course I’m certain,” he said. “I wouldn’t say I’d seen him if I hadn’t.”

Liz gave the phone back to me and I tucked it in my purse. “Do you remember what he was doing?” she asked.

Royce shot her a look of annoyance. “Of course I remember.”

Liz blew a breath out between her teeth. She tightened her hand on the strap of her pumpkin-colored purse and for a moment I thought she was going to swing it at him. “And what was that?” she asked, making a hurry-up motion with her free hand.

“He was following that Fenety guy.”