by Cate Conte
But Craig hadn’t, and all these years later he’d still suspected something was off. Despite the fact that I hated his message right now, I felt respect and admiration bubbling up as well. It almost sent me off track.
Almost.
“So why didn’t you ask her?”
“What?”
“Instead of sneaking around behind her back and gathering evidence—alleged evidence—against her. Why didn’t you just ask her in the first place?”
I could tell he was startled by my question, but he recovered quickly. The only sign of a crack in his cop armor was the defensive crossing of his arms. “I doubt she would’ve told me this objectively.”
“Of course it’s not going to be objective. What happened to that girl was tragic—but if they never proved who did it, they shouldn’t be assuming that it was Katrina or anyone else. You know I’m right. And I’m going to just ask her myself. Like you should have done in the first place.”
Chapter 22
Sunday, December 27: five days after the murder
Afternoon
After Craig left, I turned to Grandpa.
“Don’t you think you were a little hard on him, doll?” Grandpa asked.
“No! I can’t believe you two went and violated her privacy that way.”
“Maddie. This is police work. Look, Katrina was ordered by her boss to stay away from that neighborhood. She violated that order and went anyway. A man ended up dead. They are seriously looking at her, and if we want to help her, this is one of the ways we can do it.”
Intellectually I knew he was right. That didn’t mean I wanted to hear it. “I need to go out for a while. Clear my head,” I said. “I’ll be back in a bit.”
I grabbed my coat and keys and drove to my parents’. I needed to get my mom’s thoughts on all this. I let myself in through the side door. “Hello,” I called, listening for my mother.
“In here, sweetie.” Her voice floated out from the kitchen.
I followed the sound. “You won’t believe—” I started, then paused when I realized she wasn’t alone. Lilah Gilmore sat at the table with her.
As always, Lilah looked like she was dressed up for some fancy tea at the Plaza rather than an impromptu visit to my mother’s house, with her pink suit and subtle string of pearls nestled around her neck. They had teacups and a plate of scones in front of them. From the fancy china plate and lacy doily they sat on, I gathered Lilah had brought them. My mother didn’t bake that much, and when she did it was for a holiday or other special occasion. I didn’t think Lilah visiting would warrant it.
“Why hello, Maddie,” Lilah said, waving at me. I half expected to see lacy gloves, but her hands were bare. “Come have a scone!”
They did smell good. I went over and kissed my mother’s cheek, then sat. She immediately got up and grabbed me a plate. “They’re delightful,” she said with a wink. “Blueberry lavender.”
“Wow. Fancy.” I plucked one off the plate and broke off a piece. It was still warm. “Sorry to interrupt,” I said around a mouthful. “And this is delicious, by the way.”
My mother passed the teapot. “I did teach them not to talk with their mouths full,” she told Lilah dryly. “You’re not interrupting, Maddie. Lilah just stopped by for a visit. So what won’t I believe?”
“Hmm?” I was still engrossed in my scone. It felt like forever since I’d eaten that cinnamon bun this morning. Diet of champions lately, for sure.
“You came in and said ‘You won’t believe’ … and then you stopped.”
“Oh. Yeah. I forgot,” I lied. “It wasn’t important.” I didn’t want to get into the Katrina thing in front of Lilah. I didn’t think Lilah believed Katrina did it, but I wasn’t sure where her loyalties were.
Although I should’ve known that Lilah had come over to talk about just that. And now that I was here, the topic was even more ripe for discussion.
“Well, we were just talking about all the crazy excitement on our street,” Lilah said. She waited for me to pour tea, then took the pot and topped off her own. “No one knows what to think. Between the thefts and the murder, you would think we were living in the projects in Boston!”
Thankfully I was chewing and couldn’t respond to that one.
“It’s shocking,” my mother agreed. “Although no one—and no community—is immune to crime, Lilah.”
“Isn’t that the truth,” Lilah said with a sigh. She turned to me. “And how is Katrina doing?”
“Not great,” I said honestly, once I’d swallowed my scone. “She’s in jail for a crime she didn’t commit and we have no idea what’s going to happen.”
Lilah made a sympathetic noise. “I understand. It’s very disturbing to think someone we know could have actually done this,” she said.
“Well, it wasn’t Katrina.” I took another bite and washed it down with tea. “But I’m not sure if the cops are looking at other options.”
“Hmmm.” Lilah pretended to think about that. “Unfortunately so many people saw her having that terrible fight with the Prousts,” she said, watching me closely.
My hand froze on its way to my mouth with another bite. So that had been true. “What fight?”
Lilah arched her eyebrows. “I thought for sure you would’ve heard.”
I hadn’t until Grandpa told me. “When was this?”
Lilah thought about that, taking a dainty bite of her scone. “Maybe a week ago?”
“What was the fight about?” I asked. “Did you hear them?”
“No.” Lilah looked disappointed about this. “I heard about it from June. So I’m not sure if I heard the whole story. But she said that Katrina stormed up to their door and demanded a word with Virgil. They went outside to speak.” Another arched eyebrow.
“But you don’t know what about?”
“‘I’m afraid not. There’s just been so much tension,” Lilah said. “It’s so troubling. I wish everyone would be nicer to each other. I thought it was the usual winter blues coupled with holiday angst, but it seems to be so much deeper than that.”
“Who has been fighting?” I asked. “Was Virgil having trouble with anyone else?”
She pretended to think about it. I was pretty sure she’d come over to my mother’s to talk about this very subject and couldn’t wait to gossip about Virgil’s murder, and I’d just given her an opening. “Well, I don’t know about trouble,” she said. “He wasn’t one for public displays of, well, anything. Now that Trey Barnes, he’s another story. He doesn’t care who sees him in a rage, or a drunken stupor, or any other foolish thing he’s doing. Not that I’m surprised. He’s not really … fit for the neighborhood.”
“But Virgil?” my mother prompted.
“Virgil, yes. Like I said, he didn’t really fight with anyone in the traditional way. But I do know he was having some … neighborly disagreements.”
“Neighborly disagreements?” I leaned forward, eager for more information. “What kind of disagreements? Who with?”
“I really shouldn’t say. I’m not sure it’s appropriate, with what happened and all. It could look bad.” Lilah worked at looking troubled by the dilemma.
“It already looks bad for Katrina,” I pointed out. “And she didn’t do it. Besides, we would never say anything.”
“I knew I could trust you girls.” Lilah abandoned her worried look and leaned forward. “For one thing, Virgil didn’t like Trey Barnes. At all. I know a few times he threatened to throw his friends out of the neighborhood. It used to make Edie upset. Which made June upset. Those two are like this.” Lilah held up crossed fingers. “Or at least they were. Lately they don’t seem to be getting along well either.”
“Really,” I said, remembering their distance at the neighborhood meeting. “What happened?”
“I really don’t know,” Lilah mused, and I could tell it bugged her that she didn’t know. “But I do wonder if it had something to do with their husbands. Then I saw Harvey Hackett arguing with Virgil about Vi
rgil not showing up for the Audubon meetings. He was quite angry about it. Virgil was very stoic and not fighting back at the same level, but he surely said his piece.” She sat back, a self-satisfied look on her face, waiting for our response.
I filed away the information about Trey Barnes, but something else seemed more important. “Wait,” I said. “Harvey Hackett was part of the Audubon Society?”
Lilah nodded. “Virgil too.”
Audubon meetings. The second time I’d heard about them. I hadn’t been all that surprised about Virgil being part of that group, but Harvey?
“But they don’t like cats,” I said.
“That’s not true of everyone,” my mother said.
She was right. I thought of Dr. Kelly. Maybe Harvey had joined for the same reason. But my mind was racing back to the night of the murder. After the cops questioned me, when I’d heard Harvey and Monica arguing. Monica had said something about how it was going to “come out” that Harvey had been giving Virgil a hard time. This must be what they were talking about.
“He and Monica support the cats,” I said. “Maybe it was an excuse to give Virgil Proust a hard time?”
Lilah looked at me with an expression I couldn’t quite read. “He’s a very nice man,” she said carefully. “I do know that Harvey is very serious about the Audubon job. He was delighted to have Virgil on board. But Virgil never seemed as interested in it as June would’ve liked.”
“June?” I was confused.
Lilah nodded. “June donates a lot to Audubon. She sat on the board for many years and offered up Virgil to take her spot. She had done the max term and she thought Virgil could help carry on her legacy.”
I could hardly keep from making a face. Her legacy? Which included supporting the destruction of feral cats? I loved birds too, but I didn’t think it had to be one or the other. Kind of like Dr. Kelly’s philosophy.
“So why was Harvey upset?” my mother asked, shooting me a warning look. She recognized the signs of me about to go off on a rant.
“Because he also vouched for Virgil to be on the board, I guess. He feels it made him look bad that Virgil wasn’t coming through.” Lilah shrugged. “I’m not sure what prompted this … discussion, but he was shouting at Virgil in the street.”
“Really? When?” I asked.
“A couple of weeks ago, now,” Lilah said, after she’d taken a sip of tea.
“But don’t you live at the other end of the street?” I asked.
Lilah nodded. “I do. But I was out for a walk and just happened to hear,” she said with a wink. “It sounded quite contentious.”
“So what did Harvey say?” I asked.
“He was reminding Virgil that this commitment needed to be taken seriously, and that they were doing important work that people needed to take seriously. I did hear him say that he could be removed from the board, no matter how much June donates. Virgil didn’t seem to be phased by that. I think I heard him say, ‘Let them remove me, then,’ but he wasn’t shouting so it was harder to hear him.” Lilah looked annoyed by this.
“A one-sided fight, then.” My mother smiled. “I have those with Brian all the time.”
“Yes, but then Virgil did get mad,” Lilah confided. “It was when Harvey threatened to talk to June about … well, whatever they were arguing about, I guess.”
“Really? He was that scared of his own wife?” I asked in disbelief.
“Well, June can be difficult, as I’m sure you’ve noticed,” Lilah said. “There’s no doubt about that. So I think Virgil didn’t want to deal with the fallout of all that. It was the only time he raised his voice back to Harvey.”
“And he said…” I prompted.
“I’ll tell you, when that man got angry you paid attention. He said something like, ‘If you say a word about any of this to her I’ll also be having a conversation with your wife.’”
My mother and I exchanged a look at that one. What would he be telling Monica about? Was Harvey that afraid of his wife? But why?
It all seemed really murky but if anything, it gave more merit to my insistence that the cops had the wrong person on the hook for this murder. It seemed there’d been enough conflict in Virgil’s life that the police had more work to do. Or was this just Lilah, exaggerating the conversation she’d heard to make it more interesting? “Did you tell the police this?” I asked.
Lilah nodded.
“When?”
“The night of the murder. They came around to all our houses to see if we had seen anything, or might be able to help them find the culprit.”
But they’d still arrested Katrina. I thought about Harvey, arriving home at the exact time that I found the body. Had that whole thing been staged? Had he only pretended to be out, and maybe parked his car around the corner and came back to do the deed? Part of me felt guilty for thinking this. Harvey seemed like a nice guy—he’d helped me out the night Virgil was murdered—and Monica was a sweetheart who loved cats. Could he really kill someone over a board position? I supposed anything was possible. People kill over much less.
Chapter 23
Monday, December 28: six days after the murder
7 a.m.
When I went down to the kitchen the next morning, Leopard Man and Grandpa were at the table having coffee and eating Ethan’s famous—at least to us—cinnamon buns. Leopard Man wore a black suit with a leopard bow tie. It was the only obvious leopard-print item in his wardrobe today, which was a bit shocking. JJ was curled up in a ball on Leopard Man’s lap, leaving orange fur clinging to the black material. I had no idea how they were eating anything. My stomach was full of butterflies. Today was the day we’d find out if Katrina could come home, at least until the rest of her fate was revealed.
Grandpa glanced up at me. “Morning, doll. How are you feeling today?”
“Fine,” I muttered, trying to decide if I needed coffee or if it would upset my stomach even more.
Leopard Man, however, had a knack for both knowing when something was wrong and having a Shakespeare line ready for it.
“The course of true love never did run smooth,” he said, motioning me to sit and handing me a cinnamon bun in a napkin. “Eat this. You’ll feel better,” he added.
Today’s was a bit cliché for me. Or maybe it was just my mood. Either way, it only spoke to part of my problem. But he was right about one thing. I hadn’t eaten much yesterday, with everything going on. My appetite seemed to be mostly on the fritz these days. I sighed and slid into a chair, taking a small bite. It was, as expected, nothing short of remarkable. Ethan could be a gourmet chef. Or a gourmet baker. Why he chose to run juice bars and cat cafés with me was a mystery, but I was grateful.
“No true love here,” I said once I’d swallowed. “But thanks for the reminder.”
He smiled his best knowing smile at me, but let it drop.
I’d recently found out that Leopard Man had a name. I mean, I always knew he had to have a name, but I was fine not knowing it. I liked the whole mystique of having our own quirky island character. But his name was Carl, which had shocked me a little bit for the ordinariness of it. I’d told him I would never call him that, and he told me he’d be insulted if I did.
Leopard Man was one of the greatest cat advocates I knew. He adored the creatures. JJ hardly ever sat on anyone’s lap, even mine, but as soon as Leopard Man showed up JJ was all about him. I thought it was adorable. And certainly a character reference. Plus, it totally didn’t matter to him that his black suit was now rusty orange, which further enamored him to me.
“So why are you all dressed up?” I asked.
“Because you must dress appropriately for court,” he said, as if that should’ve been obvious.
“You’re coming to the arraignment? That’s amazing,” I said. “Thank you.”
He nodded. “Of course. We cat people need to have each other’s backs.”
* * *
The courtroom was packed when we arrived. Aside from me, Grandpa, Leopard Man, an
d Jenna Randall—the Chronicle reporter—most of the Sea Spray Neighborhood Association had turned out for the big event. June Proust sat front and center, eyes bugging out behind her glasses as usual, if not more prominently given that they were red-rimmed and puffy from crying. In between barely concealed sobs, she took turns glaring at me, Grandpa, and Katrina’s lawyer. She also spent some time staring at Leopard Man. I wondered if she knew him from around the island. If she didn’t, she had to be blind and/or living under a rock, but you never knew with some of these people who thought they should only mix with their “own kind.”
He did have his fancy leopard coat with him, but he’d removed it for the proceedings. I caught a glimpse of leopard-print socks when he sat down on the other side of me. Seeing them peeking out from under his pants leg buoyed my spirits—it felt wrong for Leopard Man not to be wearing multiple leopard-print items.
Other than this case, it didn’t seem to be a big morning for arraignments. Aside from the murder, people had actually behaved themselves over the holiday—hard to believe. It wasn’t always so. With the island empty of tourists and more than half the businesses closed, cabin fever ran rampant. The close quarters sometimes perpetuated domestic disputes, sadly. Grandpa had seen it many times. People got bored, depressed, seasonal affective disorder, whatever it was. Some people drank too much. It was often a recipe for disaster. Or else the Turtle Point community was just better behaved on principle.
Somehow, I doubted it. Someone had killed Virgil Proust, and my gut told me it wasn’t a random murderer wandering the streets. Nor was it one of my best friends.
Finally, the bailiff brought Katrina in. I was glad to see she wasn’t in ankle shackles or anything like that, although she was handcuffed. She looked so sad. It broke my heart. And simultaneously made me angry. Grandpa, sensing this, gave me a not-so-subtle elbow as a reminder to not do anything stupid like, say, start yelling at the judge.