by Cate Conte
“Yeah,” I snapped. “I do. A lot of them.”
The other guys frowned and made a couple of more comments that I couldn’t quite make out, but they backed off.
Trey looked at me. “Whaddaya want to talk to me about?”
I motioned for him to follow me and led him out into the hallway where the restrooms were. It was a little quieter out here, at least. I positioned myself near the back exit so we weren’t blocking the bathrooms, then turned to him. “I need to talk to you about Virgil Proust.”
Some kind of emotion I couldn’t quite pinpoint skittered across his impaired brain and manifested on his face. He narrowed his eyes and folded his giant arms across his broad chest. “My dead neighbor? What about him?”
“I’m trying to figure out how he got that way,” I said. “Because my friend didn’t kill him.”
“How you know that?” he wanted to know. “The police think she did.”
“They’re wrong,” I said bluntly. “Someone else did. And I feel like it was close to home. Since you … live there, I wondered if you knew how Virgil and his wife got along.”
That made him laugh. “Got along? You mean hated each other?”
I knew it. “They did?”
“Well, she ain’t exactly the nicest lady ever walked the earth. I should know. She’s buddies with my wife.” He grimaced a little at that. “June was always whining to Edie about everything Virgil was and wasn’t doing.”
My ears perked up at that. Of course Trey must’ve heard some of their conversations. “Did she complain about anything in particular?” I asked, trying to keep my tone casual.
“What didn’t she complain about? He wasn’t around enough, he didn’t respect her, he didn’t do as she asked—the usual nagging crap. Whining about how he probably had a girlfriend. Which, who could blame the guy?”
I tried to keep my distaste for this guy off my face. What a charmer. Was Edie Barnes so desperate for a guy—or for some arm candy—that she had to resort to this? Although she didn’t seem that nice either, so maybe they deserved each other.
“Were you and Virgil close?” I asked.
He gave me an Are you serious look. “Nope.”
I guessed he wasn’t going to elaborate on that.
“Did you guys get along? Not get along?”
Now his eyes narrowed into slits—and they weren’t entirely friendly. “We got along fine … when he minded his own business,” he said.
From this vantage point I could see how big this guy really was. He had to be six one or six two, and clearly must spend most of his day in the gym. His biceps were like boulders. I was trying to figure out how to get him to elaborate when a giant ruckus from the bar grabbed both our attentions.
His head snapped around. “What the…?”
I pushed past him and headed back to the bar in time to see cops descending on Trey’s buddies. Like, a swarm of them. They had moved everyone away and were handcuffing them, while another cop stood guard, hand on his gun.
Holy crap. What was this about? I looked behind me, but Trey was gone. I watched the rear exit door at the end of the hall thunk shut. I made my way back out to where Jade stood at the bar, watching the police lead the guys out. Conversation started to buzz again, drowning out the loud silence that had descended while everyone had watched that play out.
“What happened?” I asked.
“I called the cops to see if they could come just be a presence. Those guys are trouble,” she said. “They’ve caused issues in here before. But when the cops got here, they realized they have warrants out for two of them. Drug dealing. The other one tried to slug one of the cops.” She tossed her hair and turned back to the bar. “Good riddance.”
Chapter 37
Friday, January 1: ten days after the murder
8:30 a.m.
New Year’s Day. It was officially next year. Funny, it didn’t feel any different. It felt exactly the same, and that was a distressing thought.
After all the excitement at the bar last night, we’d left and come home to ring in the new year in a less-fraught atmosphere. Which meant watching the ball drop with Anderson Cooper and then me slinking off to bed, where I laid awake for hours thinking about Trey and his creepy friends. Drug dealers? Seriously? And why had he run out the back door? Would he have been arrested with the lot of them, or was he just being cautious?
And then he’d made that comment about how he got along with Virgil when Virgil “minded his own business.” He’d clearly been under the influence of something, but wasn’t that usually when people were the most honest? I had to call Craig and tell him. Maybe it was nothing, but maybe it wasn’t. And he was in the strongest position to get the Turtle Point police to pay attention. I also had to talk it over with Grandpa and see what info he’d uncovered the past couple of days. Between Katrina leaving and Craig’s shocking news about Lucas, not to mention getting through another holiday, I hadn’t been in the frame of mind to focus on the murder. And Grandpa had been mysteriously absent most of yesterday, out “checking on a few things,” as the cryptic note he’d left put it.
In the meantime, JJ and I had a big day. I’d gotten up way too early to go feed the ferals, and later this morning we were hosting senior citizens from the senior centers around the island on a special café tour. Grandpa, who had always supported the senior centers in his official capacity, had suggested it and had secured a volunteer bus driver—along with a bus—to pick them up in shifts and bring them over to the café. We had seniors coming from every town.
I was really looking forward to this. First of all, JJ was a common visitor on the senior-center circuit. He loved to meet people, and everyone adored him. We made it a point to visit one of the centers every few weeks, although lately I’d been so busy with the colony and my own personal drama that I hadn’t gotten there.
Also, I loved showing off the café, and I loved the seniors. It was a bright light in a string of bad days and I was desperately latching on to it and trying not to worry. And it was still nagging at me that I hadn’t been able to reach Katrina since she’d gone home—I was worried about her being all alone. She had to be in a bad space.
But I couldn’t do anything about it now. I turned to JJ, who was curled up into his usual ball on my pillow.
“You ready, bud?” I asked. “You’ve got some people to charm. I have a feeling we’re gonna sell a lot of JJ’s House of Purrs tote bags today.”
When we got downstairs, I popped in to say good morning to Ethan, who was heading out to “work” with the crew on his garage-turned-café. He had enthusiastically named himself part of the construction crew, and while I didn’t think he was adding a lot of value to the work itself, the guys enjoyed him and it gave him something to do during our slow season. I filled a mug with coffee and went into the café. Grandpa was already in there.
“I was about to come looking for you,” I said. “We have to talk.”
“Here I am. We have a lot to do for today.” He rubbed his hands together. “And while we do that we can debrief. You first. How was the funeral?”
“In a minute.” I wasn’t even sure if he knew Katrina wasn’t here, and I needed to tell him.
His face turned grim when I described her speedy exit from the house yesterday. “She was already leaving, but when I mentioned Virgil…” I shook my head. “I understand the whole thing has traumatized her, but still.” I took a deep breath. “And it kind of worries me for another reason.”
I walked Grandpa through what I’d learned—Virgil’s art career, Whitney’s boyfriend as his agent, his son’s disdain for his father’s “side hustles”—whatever that meant—Harvey’s lies, and my chance New Year’s Eve meeting with Trey Barnes and his band of merry men at Jade’s bar, as well as his cryptic comments. Especially the one about June “whining about Virgil having a girlfriend.” I wasn’t loving where my head was going.
“Well,” Grandpa said. “Seems I did some nosing around at the hospital for no
thing. You were way ahead of me.”
“Hospital?”
He nodded. “I went to find out about this alleged physical therapist of Whitney’s. Pretended I was an old guy with an appointment who must’ve gotten it wrong when they told me there was no Dominic on staff.”
I had to giggle at that. “That’s a lot of effort. Couldn’t you have called?”
He shrugged. “It was kind of fun to play a shuffling old man. But in all seriousness, do we like this Trey guy as a suspect?”
I threw up my hands. “That’s just it. I don’t know who to like anymore. And since when do we use that word? I thought that was for TV.”
“Give me a break,” Grandpa said. “I’m in character as a PI.”
Oh, boy. I ignored that one. “I’m worried,” I said. “I’m worried that Katrina was seeing Virgil Proust.” The words tasted terrible on my tongue, but I’d drawn the conclusion in the dark of this early morning as I lay in bed going over and over everything in my head.
Grandpa sat down heavily on one of the café chairs. “Well. It seems our investigations have collided.”
“What do you mean?”
“I got my hands on Virgil Proust’s cell-phone logs from the month before he died.”
My eyes widened. “You did? How?”
He smiled. “I still have friends in high places.”
“And?”
The smile faded. “That’s the interesting news.” He paused.
I tried to control my impatience. Grandpa hated being rushed. But I couldn’t last that long. “And?”
“Katrina and Virgil exchanged a lot of calls. And texts.”
And there it was. Looks like I was right. Which didn’t bode well for Katrina. But it also didn’t bode well for June, in my mind, if she knew. Or even suspected. “Like how many is a lot?”
“A few a week, at least. Calls and texts from her personal cell and some calls from her office.”
I stroked Simon, the tiger cat who’d just crawled onto my lap. He’d been really coming out of his shell recently. When I first met him I wasn’t sure how adoptable he would be—he was scared of everything and hid all the time. But Katrina told me to give it time, that he’d come around. She’d been right.
“That looks bad,” I said. “But, if she was seeing him and she liked him, she wouldn’t kill him.”
Grandpa nodded. “Unless he broke it off.” He left the rest of it unsaid—that it happens all the time.
He was right, but that didn’t sit well with me. Katrina had never been the type who got all angsty about guys. Not that I knew about, admittedly. She much preferred her animals. I didn’t even know the last time she’d been on a date.
Unless she just wasn’t telling me about them.
“It could also be bad for June,” I pointed out.
Grandpa nodded thoughtfully. “True. But I’m not getting the gut feeling about her. It is interesting, though, that you mentioned that Trey Barnes character.” He pulled out his notebook and flipped pages. “That’s the fella I also read about in the call logs. Seems there were a few complaints about him and some of his associates. Minor things like disturbing the peace and drunk and disorderly. No arrests, though.”
I thought back to the bunch of idiots who’d been dragged away by the cops last night. “Jade mentioned drugs. Who called on him?”
“I thought you’d never ask. It was Virgil.”
Chapter 38
Friday, January 1: ten days after the murder
11:00 a.m.
As the bus full of senior citizens pulled up outside I waited in the doorway, mulling over what Grandpa had discovered. Virgil had called the cops on Trey. He’d had fast and loose fingers when it came to calling the cops, for sure. Not only had he tried to get our volunteer arrested, but he’d also tried to get his own neighbor arrested. Not that Trey and his friends seemed to have any trouble doing that on their own, but still. That couldn’t have gone over well on the street, even if nothing had come of it. Or between June and Edie, who were allegedly best friends. Would that have caused the recent rift Lilah had mentioned? Was that why she hadn’t been at Virgil’s funeral?
Unless Virgil had done it with the promise of anonymity, but even anonymous callers weren’t all that anonymous. Especially considering Edie Barnes’s money and reputation as a squeaky wheel. And while she struck me as the type who kept Trey on a short leash, she also seemed like she wouldn’t want anything—or anyone—sullying her reputation.
The doorbell rang. I pushed it all out of my mind and welcomed my visitors to the café with a smile, delighting in their oohs and aahs when they saw what we’d done with the place—and especially when the cats started to come out of the spots to be adored.
Grandpa was getting some adoring too. Clearly he was a catch in the senior community. I watched, amused, as some of the more determined ladies competed for his attention, asking him all kinds of questions about the house, the cats, how he was doing since the loss of his beloved wife. He was the star here. I happily took a backseat and let him show everyone around and be the center of attention.
We had buses coming every ninety minutes, staggering trips from each of the four senior centers on the island. Ethan had created a special menu for the day and kept the coffee, tea, and Italian cookies and pastries flowing. The cats were happy aside from poor Simon, who’d had a minor incident with Mr. Callaghan’s cane and was hiding in his cubby. And our visitors seemed to be genuinely enjoying themselves. I grabbed a couple of cookies and some tea and busied myself behind the counter, organizing some of the T-shirts that had arrived this week. As I pulled a stack out to fold, my eyes fell on the gift bag Lucas had brought. It was still here. I still wasn’t sure what to do with it. It mocked me now, all glittery and inviting. I reached out to touch it.
“You’ve really done a great job with the place.”
I snatched my fingers away, not sure why I felt guilty, and looked up to find Stewart Payne, one of the senior center volunteers, smiling at me from behind his bushy white beard. At sixty-five, Stewart could have easily been using the senior center instead of volunteering at it, but he was like Grandpa—never aged and certainly never slowed down. Probably one of the reasons he and Grandpa had been friends for years.
I came around the counter to hug him. “I didn’t know you were here!”
He grinned and planted a loud kiss on my cheek. “I snuck in the back. You look like you’re doing good, Maddie. I’m pleased to see that.”
“Thanks, Stewart. How are you?”
He shrugged, patting his big belly. “Still eating too much pizza. Just living the dream. Leo loves this place, you know.”
“I do know.” I watched Grandpa show one of the senior ladies how Simon liked his belly rubbed. She swooned a little, and not just over the cat.
“I’m glad you could give him a new chapter.” Stewart nodded. “Of course, I’m sure he’s still policing in his spare time.”
“You know it. Grandpa couldn’t stop that if he tried.”
“He looking into this Proust matter?” Stewart asked. “I hope so. ’Cause we all know Katrina wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
I nodded. “He is.” I didn’t want to say too much if Grandpa hadn’t mentioned it to him.
Stewart scratched his beard again, his face solemn. “Poor guy. Put up with so much but had a heart of gold.”
“Virgil?” I couldn’t hide the skeptical look on my face. “You knew him?”
“Yeah. He was a good guy, Maddie. Why don’t you think so?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t really know him. But he and his crazy wife made our lives miserable for trying to help the feral cats in the neighborhood. His wife is just mean. And did I mention crazy?”
Stewart made a noncommittal sound.
“I’m serious! When she wasn’t accusing Katrina of murder, she was accusing the rest of us of stealing things. And honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if she did it.” I wasn’t going to go there, but I couldn’t help it. I got s
o mad when I thought about it, and even more so when people tried to defend June.
But Stewart’s eyes widened and he shook his head earnestly. “Oh, Maddie. That’s not the whole story.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, yes, June could be very challenging. But that was the illness. It manifests differently in everyone, and she, well, she had some anger and aggression issues.”
“Wait.” I was having a hard time keeping up. “Illness?”
He nodded. “June has dementia.”
I stared at him. “She does?” It certainly explained a lot. And maybe I felt kind of terrible right now, but I hadn’t known. I’d never had personal experience with dementia, but Ethan’s grandmother had suffered from it. He’d told me some stories, but not in great detail. But I wondered why no one had ever mentioned this. Especially Lilah Gilmore.
“She does,” Steward said. “Virgil kept it very quiet. She didn’t want anyone to know. And really, neither did he. It had gotten worse over the past year. Especially recently with all the activity out in their neighborhood.… And of course the stress of that potential lawsuit.”
That caught my attention. “Lawsuit?”
He nodded. “Someone was threatening to sue them. There was an incident where June thought a young woman was trespassing and made Virgil call the police. They threatened to arrest her but didn’t and then the family came back and said the woman had been emotionally distressed or something like that. Millennials.” He shook his head. “But you probably know all this.”
I nodded carefully. The Avery Evans suit that had apparently never come to fruition. “I heard some of it. That was our volunteer. She was just trying to feed the cats. But you said June made Virgil call?”
Stewart nodded. “Yes. He tried to talk her out of it but when she got like that…” He shook his head. “Virgil was a good soul and took very good care of her, despite her treatment of him. She wasn’t the easiest woman even before her illness. But he always tried to placate her while not causing too much damage to anyone else. I know he was truly sorry that girl was so upset. That’s why he quietly paid off her parents so they wouldn’t go through with it. He knew June couldn’t take the stress.” He glanced around, then held up a finger. “But you didn’t hear that from me. At least not the part where he paid them off.”