Slash in the Pan

by CeeCee James

  The woman ran out to the edge of her driveway. Her mouth stretched into a look of horror.

  Where’s the cat? Where’s the cat? My heart dropped. I shifted the car into park and jumped out. Oh please—

  The cat sat in front of my bumper and stared at me with baleful eyes. It licked its paw and proceeded to clean its face. I crouched and reached out my hand. At the sight of it, the cat stood and sauntered back toward its owner, its tail high in the air.

  The woman ran over and scooped up the cat. “I’m so sorry he did that,” she cried. “Thank you so much for stopping.”

  “Of course! He’s okay?” My nerves were shaken. I crossed my arms and squeezed, trying to calm myself.

  She nodded, her hair escaping a sloppy ponytail. “This cat is such a rascal. We just moved to the neighborhood, and he’s already escaped three times.”

  Something about that word “escaped” stuck out to me.

  “Is he normally an inside cat?” I asked.

  “Yeah, he is inside. But moving has been hard on him. It’s just not like you, is it?” Here she punctuated her statement with a kiss to the cat’s head. “Usually he tries to sneak out when my boyfriend is leaving. The other day he was messing around in that new construction across the street.”

  I sighed as I felt my newest clue draining away. “Did he actually get into one of the houses?” I asked.

  She blushed and buried her face into the cat’s neck. After a second, she peeked at me, looking all of twelve years. “Yep, he sure did.”

  “Was it that one, right over there?” I pointed to the house where Devon had been killed.

  The woman blushed and nodded. “Yeah, how did you know?”

  “Someone saw you climb over the fence. Is your name Randy Kay?”

  She nodded. “Yeah.”

  I felt like a stalker now. “One of the neighbors recognized you. Over in one of the old houses,” I explained.

  She nodded and relaxed. “It was crazy. Scooter jumped right over the fence. I didn't know what to do so I followed him.”

  “Did you end up going into the house?”

  The young woman nodded, looking more guilty than ever. “The back door was open, and Scooter dived right in. I went after him as fast as I could, totally afraid I was going to lose him.”

  I could understand her dilemma. “I don’t know how you got over that fence. I’m impressed! You’re a good cat mama!”

  “He’s such a stinker. I actually couldn’t find him for a bit. He found a hole in the wall.”

  I remembered that hole. “In the laundry room?”

  She laughed. “Yeah, I caught him just as he was about to jump in. Butt all wiggling, he was ready to do some exploring.”

  “You must have been freaked out. That had to be nerve-racking.”

  “It was. I wouldn’t mind letting Scooter outside, but he was a stray once, and I’m afraid that could happen again. He just doesn't seem to know how to stick around.”

  “Aww, buddy,” I said to the cat. “You made your mama worried. Hey, maybe you can let your neighbors know the cat’s name so they can help you if he ever does escape again.” I glanced at her house. A tattooed man stood in the open doorway. I guessed he was Randy Kay’s boyfriend. He seemed a lot older than her but still had long hair that hung over his eyes. It was a style that reminded me of an unkept teen boy. He waved his hand when he saw I’d seen him.

  I waved back. “And maybe another idea would be to put in a screen door to act as a barrier when the door opens.”

  The woman turned toward her house. Her boyfriend beckoned for her to come in. “That’s a good idea. I’ll have my boyfriend get onto that soon. Again thank you so much for stopping.” She smiled again and then carried her cat back into the house.

  I climbed back into the car, thankful I hadn’t hit anything. But I was a bit crushed as well. Another lead just went down the drain.

  As I was driving away, I thought again about that hole in the laundry room. What was it there for, anyway? And why hadn’t Joe gotten back to me about it, yet?

  Chapter 16

  The next morning found me sitting at Cecelia’s kitchen counter. I’d finally gotten a response from Jefferson, and it had gutted me as much as all the other clues that had gone belly up.

  —Mikey had an alibi. All construction workers have been interviewed. No one saw anyone out of the ordinary except for Devon and a neighbor woman. Workers thought Devon was a realtor and didn’t question him. And I’m not going into why Joe is a suspect, but I will say they have a history going way back. Time for you to let us do our job.

  The scolding stung. So Jefferson already knew about Randy Kay and had already researched Mike. I seriously felt like the world’s worst investigator.

  Okay, Georgie. Don’t give up. Get organized. I dragged over a pad of paper and scrounged a pen from where it had rolled under a fruit bowl. What did I have exactly? Slowly, I wrote out a list.

  —Conversation overheard that Devon owed Mikey money— who has an alibi

  —Gertie sees a woman leave the house on the day of Devon’s murder—turned out to be a bust. Randy-Kay was chasing down her escaping cat.

  I groaned as I wrote out number three, a major suspect that I had to eliminate.

  —Possible spurned love interest, Wendy Breckenshaw. Has on an ankle monitor and can’t leave the house.

  —Joe’s knife was stolen. (Or so he said)

  Construction workers are positive they’ve seen no one there but the regular crew.

  —Weird that Devon was at Joe’s worksite. Why?

  I remembered they were friends on social media. What kind of history was Jefferson referring to? I bit my lip and texted the question to Kari. Honestly, she’d probably know best.

  She called me instead of texting back. “I do not want to put this in writing,” she hissed.

  “Okay,” I lowered my voice to match hers.

  “Last week, Joe got word that Devon was going to take him to civil court.”

  “What? Why?”

  She sighed. Paused, and then sighed again. I knew what she was about to say was very hard for her. “The bids for the contract for Ridgeline Hill was supposed to be private and closed. Joe had someone on the inside who told him the lowest price, so he was able to undercut it. Do not tell anyone.”

  I swallowed. “Okay.” So Joe did steal the bid from Devon.

  “I know that’s sketchy, but honestly, that’s how the game is played in this business. It’s really cut throat. Now, tell me, have you found anything?” she asked, her voice lilting up. It was the most hopeful I’d heard her in a week. I couldn’t bear to dash it.

  “Hot on the trail of something,” I said, my stomach feeling sick as the words left my mouth.

  We hung up, and I stared at my list before crumpling it up in frustration. What was I doing here? Proving my best friend’s husband actually did commit the murder?

  Something did occur to me as I tossed it into the can. It struck me as odd the differences in stories between Randy Kay and Gertie. I could have sworn Gertie had said she’d seen Randy Kay throw something over the fence. Would Randy Kay have thrown a cat? I chewed on the end of the pen, trying to imagine how I’d get a cat over the fence, before shrugging with a sigh. Maybe I’m overanalyzing it.

  “What’s up, GiGi?” Cecelia said from behind me.

  I turned on the chair. “Remember when you told me I’d be a good private investigator?”

  “Mmhmm.” The comforting clank of the coffee pot leaving its heater tray accompanied the click of a mug on the counter. “You need some coffee, sugar?”

  I smiled, gratefully. “Yeah, that might be nice.”

  She brought over the mug and then returned a moment later with a plate of cookies. I took one and bit it, trying to concentrate on the chocolate goodness instead of the stress and worry.

  “So about your investigating abilities, what’s going on?” Cecelia prompted.

  “Oh. I’m pretty much going to get
Joe thrown in the slammer. Probably for life.” Despite my sarcasm, tears welled up in my eyes. Why did I ever think I could do this?

  “GiGi, oh honey, this isn’t your fault.”

  “Everything I’m trying to do is falling apart.”

  “Honey, you can’t measure success by one event, or even several, falling apart events. It’s a culmination of this piece, plus that piece, and that piece that make up any successful journey. Some of those pieces are rough, and some are polished, but it’s all of them together that make the finished product. Buck up. Take your falling apart in stride. You’ve got this.”

  I smiled at Cecelia’s “buck up” advice. Both her and Grandma were very much a part of the ‘pull yourself up by your own bootstraps generation’, and they’d done their best to instill that in Frank and myself. Thinking of Frank, I slid my phone over and checked for messages. My heart sank when there were none. I sent one to him—Miss you so much. Feeling disheartened, I spun the phone in a circle with my finger.

  “So, what are your plans now, GiGi?”

  “I’m not sure.” I glanced at my list. “Maybe try to track down this mysterious Barnett guy.”

  Her worry line appeared between her brows. “You be careful now. I don’t like the idea of you tracking down bad guys.”

  I pulled up my messages again as if Frank would have sent one in the last few seconds. Nope. Nothing. “Oh, don’t worry. I meant track down as in trying to see what I can find on the internet.” I smiled to reassure her. “I’m getting pretty good at it, actually.”

  Cecelia humphed and stood. Her knees creaked, and she shook her head. “Need some grease on those joints, I guess. Time for an overhaul.” She walked over to the counter and pulled out a bowl, the blue pottery one that she’d had as long as I’d known her. It was her favorite mixing bowl for making bread, and sure enough, she took out some flour and yeast from the pantry.

  “Biscuits?” I asked.

  “I was thinking I’d make some clam chowder in bread bowls.” She hummed as she got a smaller bowl to dissolve the yeast.

  I raised my eyebrows. The bed and breakfast didn’t have any guests, and that seemed kind of fancy for just her dinner tonight. I scooted my chair back and got up, then reached for my phone. “Okay, well I’m off. Hopefully, I can figure out something to help Kari out. You need anything?”

  “How about you pop in next door and invite Oscar to dinner later tonight.” Cecelia didn’t look at me when she said this, seemingly deeply interested in measuring out the yeast.

  If my eyebrows had raised before, they rose to scalp height at that statement. “Dinner, huh?” I poked a little. No response so I tried again. “Isn’t this the second time this week he’s come over for dinner?”

  “GiGi! The poor man is sitting home alone night after night. It’s the Christian thing to do to have him over for a hot meal. Poor thing has probably been subsisting on TV dinners these last few years.”

  “Mmm,” I nodded. Her eyes met mine and I allowed a slow smile.

  “You get that wicked look off your face this minute. Scat.” She grabbed the towel off the counter and flicked it at me.

  I laughed and jammed my phone into my pocket. “All right, I’ll see you later.”

  She hmmphed again as I left the kitchen.

  I slipped my shoes on at the front door. Don’t give up. You can figure this out. Let’s just see what we can dig up about Barnett.

  I jogged down the porch stairs and crunched across the dry grass, noting that I needed to water. It wasn’t quite noon, but it was already hot, and I was sweating a bit as I walked across the lawn to Oscar O’Neil’s house. His hedge separating our property lines was growing a little willy-nilly on our side. If he saw that he’d probably freak out, so pruning went on my mental chore list as well.

  Oscar’s porch was cleaner than I’d seen it in a long while. Oscar had maintained it ever since Frank and I had fixed it up a few months back. That was saying a lot, considering the stack of rotting newspapers that had once taken up one end. But now he had out two plastic lawn chairs and a little plastic end table. The table had a few coffee rings on it, along with an empty beer bottle. Seeing that he made use of the porch made me happy.

  The screen door screeched as I opened it. Peanut, Oscar’s little Pomeranian, came barreling down the hall at the sound of my knock, looking like a living cotton candy ball. The scrabbling of her nails against the wood floor came through the door. A few moments later, her owner made an appearance. His face was creased in a frown, that lessoned slightly when he saw that it was me. Then it deepened again when the dog nearly tripped him in her eagerness to let him know there were strangers at the front door.

  “Dagnabbit! Bear! Settle down!” he yelled as he struggled to dance around her.

  I bit my lip to hide my amusement at his stubbornness to try and convert the dog’s name from Peanut, the one his wife had named her, to the new one. As usual, the dog ignored him.

  He weaved around her, hands jerking upwards to catch his balance. Finally, he made it to the door. The latch clicked back, and he opened it.

  “Confound dog. Worse than a burr on a horse’s backside. Well, what do you want?” He squinted at me through thick glasses.

  “Hey, Oscar. How’s it going?”

  “Bunions been acting up and I burnt my toast this morning. Butter couldn’t even fix it,” he said glumly.

  “Ahh,” I said, nodding. “Never had bunions but I can relate to the burnt toast. Anyway, speaking of food, Cecelia wants to invite you over for dinner tonight.”

  “Tonight?” he squinted at me. At that moment, Peanut made a dive for the open door. He squatted to catch her, but he was too late.

  “Bear! Bear!” he yelled. “You get in here right now before I let the squirrel get you!”

  “Peanut!” I sang, bending to extend my hand. “Come here, sweetheart.”

  The dog skidded to a stop, in the process kicking up the grass. She scampered over to me and wiggled in excitement.

  I scooped her up, trying to keep my face from her tongue. She still got a few swipes in before I managed to set her back inside.

  Oscar closed the door behind him and stared out at his lawn. “I’ve got plans tonight.”

  “Oh, yeah? What’s going on?”

  He squinted his eyes, and I wasn’t sure if he wasn’t going to tell me off for being nosy. Instead, he said, “Need to mow. But the darn lawn mower’s out of gas. Price has gone up so much on it, might as well fill it with pure gold.”

  I smiled. Oscar said he had plans tonight as if he wanted me to convince him to come to dinner. I almost mentioned it to tease him, and ask if he really was planning to mow after the sun set. But I knew that would just set up him to stubbornly prove that he could. “How about this? I’ll get you some gas, and you can go to dinner. Mow tomorrow, maybe.”

  His glasses glinted in the sunlight. “You got yourself a deal.”

  Chapter 17

  So that’s how I found myself digging a dirty gas can out from Oscar’s shed and gingerly carrying it back to my car. Oscar had given me a crumpled twenty dollar bill, which I jammed into my pocket.

  I set the can on the floorboards and got into the VW.

  “I’m going to miss you,” I said to the flower as I started the car. It bobbed sadly. The radio blared about how the duck mask used in the jewelry heist was found floating in the Dunning Creek. I turned the radio down and typed in Mikey’s name one more time. I know that Jefferson said he’d had an alibi, but my gut feeling was that Mikey was involved.

  That guy could have been a ghost for all the stuff I found on him. No criminal record, no marriage license. Frowning, I searched images.

  I found the original photo that I’d seen of him the first time. It was hidden in a medley of images of a college football player with the same name.

  But as I scrolled through them, I saw one more. I clicked on the picture and zoomed in. It was of a man looking out the driver’s side window, and it sure
looked like Mikey. He had the same short, brown hair and was wearing what appeared to be a business jacket. I almost skipped back to the list when something about the image made my blood freeze.

  I zoomed in more.

  There it was. Reflected in the window’s glass was a white house. Just like the house that Devon had been found dead in.

  A chill ran down my spine. It had to be him. Mikey McCoy had to be the killer.

  Excited, I forwarded the photo to Jefferson. “I’d like to see you brush this one off,” I whispered as I texted —check the reflection in the glass. It’s the same house Devon was killed in!

  I felt pretty good after I hit send. I was going to get Joe freed from suspicion. I just knew it.

  I shifted the car into gear and backed out of the driveway when my phone rang.

  I clicked speaker and answered. “Hello?”

  “Sorry for being so abrupt earlier,” Heaviness weighed in Kari's voice so that each word dropped like boulders. There was no use trying to perk her up. When one’s husband has been accused of murder, there really is no cheering up from that.

  “Totally understandable. Did Joe get hold of his lawyer?”

  “Yeah. The lawyer told us we’re kind of in a pickle. The only fingerprints on the knife are Joe’s. He said it’s a hard position to defend and asked if we’d consider a plea deal.” Her voice broke, breaking my heart with it.

  I rushed in to comfort her whether my words were true or not. “We're going to figure this out, Kari. Don't worry. Jefferson is a good cop. He has some other leads.”

  “And get this, Sunnyside Estates Realty wants me to get ready to list the house.” She gave a sarcastic laugh.

  “Maybe you can tell them there is a conflict of interest?”

  “Oh, I’m sure they know. They don’t care.” She sighed. “Oh, Georgie. Everything seemed like it was finally going the way I wanted. How could things change so fast?”

  I bit my lip wondering how much to tell her. “I’m looking into stuff, I promise. I think I’ve got an idea who might have done it.”