Claws for Alarm

by Cate Conte

  “No,” I said.

  “And the League’s cut? Did you ever nail that down?”

  I nodded. “I think she said twenty-five percent.” I tried to remember, but Jillian had tossed out a number in passing and we’d never gotten it in writing, which I guessed should have been a red flag for me and Val, but we were apparently too fixated on the amount Jillian had promised we would raise.

  “No paperwork?”

  “No.”

  “And you didn’t think that was odd?” Her tone confirmed my naivete.

  I shifted my weight from one foot to the other. “I figured we’d get to it. She was … kind of a whirlwind.”

  “You can say that again,” Wong said. “This has been one of the most tiring jobs I think I’ve ever had, just trying to keep up with her.”

  Chapter 41

  I went back inside to wait for Grandpa to be done. Luckily Val had gotten distracted with something and wasn’t waiting in the kitchen.

  I poured myself coffee and glanced impatiently at my watch, tapping my foot. I wanted to get going, but I wanted to talk to Grandpa first.

  He came in ten long minutes later. He didn’t look surprised to see me.

  “What the heck is going on?” I demanded. “Jillian was stealing money?”

  “Apparently so,” Grandpa said. “But she was also getting money from somewhere else, it seems. They can’t trace that money back to the League. But there was definitely skimming going on, according to our friend outside. And Jillian did a lot without contracts.”

  “But why is it an FBI case? Like I said, it seems really minor league for them.”

  “Embezzlement is a federal offense, no matter the amount. But let’s just say they think it spanned further than a few thousand bucks from events.”

  Jeez. “Could this help Mish?”

  Grandpa poured himself a cup of coffee. When he turned back, he seemed to weigh his words. “Well. I found out something about Mish.”

  “What? Something that will get her released?”

  “Mish hired her own PI to get information on Jillian. Her lawyer passed along the message to me, asked me to get in touch. I haven’t been able to reach him yet, but she told the lawyer that he’d found out something about Jillian that might point to her real killer.”

  “Do you think it was about her brother?”

  “I guess we’ll know if he gets in touch with me. But that’s the other thing I meant to tell you—Ellory confirmed Chad Novak has an alibi for the time of the murder.”

  I froze. “He does?”

  Grandpa nodded. “He was with his personal trainer from eight thirty until ten. They were working out in the hotel gym, and a number of guests and staff verified that.”

  “Did you find out anything about him? Like which half is related to Jillian’s family here?”

  “I did. It’s on the father’s side. So Chad would have no claim to Marcella’s property.”

  “Unless Jillian had promised something to him if she got it,” I said.

  “Right. But she’d have to be alive to do that.”

  And just like that, it was back to the drawing board.

  * * *

  I got all the way to the Chronicle before I remembered I was supposed to pick up coffees for us, and had to drive back over to the Bean. I got lattes and a bunch of pastries and donuts for Becky and the staff and drove back over. The office was buzzing for this early in the day, but when you had a murder and a celebrity assault all in the space of a week, it made for a busy newsroom.

  “Finally,” she exclaimed when I came up the stairs. “What took you so long?”

  Before I could put the boxes of goodies down she dragged me into her office and shut the door.

  “Jeez,” I said, shaking the spilled coffee off my hand. “Glad to see you too.”

  “So get this.” Her excited voice was low, like she was trying to tell a secret in a crowded room. “The thing you mentioned to me. Good tip, Maddie. We did some digging.”

  “Tip?” I was drawing a blank, too focused on the whole FBI drama.

  “Yeah. About Peyton Chandler and the cat. It’s probably bigger news in your world, to be honest, but it could have repercussions for her career since her whole persona is built around it—”

  “Becky,” I interrupted. “What?”

  “This rescue cat of hers? Not really a rescue.”

  It all came flooding back to me. I remembered I’d mentioned the journalist’s question to Becky the other day. Seemed she’d taken it seriously after all. “Rhiannon?” I asked slowly. “What do you mean, not really a rescue?”

  “She’s from a breeder. Actually, she’s like the second or third Rhiannon. Allegedly. She’s no rescue from a hurricane zone. The original one was, but she’s been replaced.”

  Replaced? What on earth? “How did you find this out?” I asked.

  Becky smiled. “People think reporters at small papers are slouches. We’ve got some relentless staff here.”

  Jenna, no doubt.

  “We found the breeder who sold her the two subsequent Rhiannons,” Becky continued. “The woman said Peyton’s … representative was very specific about what they wanted, showed her pictures and everything to get the cats as close to the original as possible. Talk about a bait and switch for your dedicated fans, right?”

  “You’re kidding.” I dropped my head into my hands. That would not go over well in the rescue community. Adele might personally throw Peyton into the ocean when she found out. Avid rescuers couldn’t stand the thought of going to breeders, considering all the adoptable pets left in shelters, often to die there. It seemed like such an odd story to concoct. I mean, everyone would’ve sympathized with Peyton if Rhiannon had died. She could’ve adopted other rescue cats and everything would have been fine. Maybe they would’ve had to change the brand around a bit, but they could always still sell Rhiannon-branded stuff. They could’ve made a killing off it. Her fans would’ve wanted a piece of the iconic cat’s line of clothing or accessories.

  Accessories. Rhiannon’s brand. Something was firing in my brain, trying to connect, but I couldn’t quite grasp it.

  “I’m not,” Becky said. “Actually, the woman didn’t sell them to her directly.”

  I raised my head. “Let me guess. Chad Novak.” If he and Jillian were intertwined in this whole scheme of getting Peyton and Marco to do whatever they wanted, it had to be Chad. But what was Jillian getting out of it? Chad as their agent was obviously living a sweet life off their movie-making celebrity status. Was he sharing with his sister? But if he was doing so well, why would he need her property if she got it? No, there had to be more to the story. Perhaps it had to do with Jillian’s own standing in the rescue community, her position at the League, her ability to influence if Peyton was her go-to person.

  Becky shook her head. “The woman was supposed to look up the name of the person and get back to me. I’m assuming it was some lackey who just did the deal to keep Peyton out of it. “Why do you think it was Chad?”

  “Because not only is he Peyton’s and Marco’s agent, he’s also Jillian’s long-lost half brother.” I felt like I’d told this story a million times by now. I filled her in on what I’d learned about Jillian’s family drama.

  She listened with rapt attention. “Wow. This chick was living on the edge, huh? No wonder someone offed her. So this really had nothing to do with Mish.”

  “I don’t think so, no. I think the person who clubbed Marco was also Jillian’s killer. So I was down to two main suspects: Peyton or Chad. Then Grandpa just told me that Chad has an alibi for Jillian’s murder. The cops verified it with the hotel staff. Which leaves me with … Peyton. God, I hate to even say it,” I said, rapping my knuckles against my forehead. “She seems so sweet.”

  “She’s an actress,” Becky pointed out.

  “True.” I sighed. “Peyton obviously didn’t do the dirty work, but maybe she had someone do it. There are also two people who covered for her and Marco. Marco
definitely has an alibi for Jillian—he was at his boyfriend’s sister’s house sleeping off his anniversary party—and he didn’t cave his own skull in, so it’s not him. But she and Chad could still be in on it together. He just didn’t kill Jillian. Because she was his sister?”

  She was scribbling furious notes in columns on her page, trying to keep this all straight. I knew the feeling. My own brain felt like a jumbled mush of facts, rumors, and some threads of the truth.

  Becky finished writing and looked at me, tapping her pen against her desk. “You know I have to break the cat story, right?”

  “Yeah. I figured as much. But hey, the fundraiser might not go on anyway, depending on what happens with Marco. So do you want my tip now?”

  “Wait. The brother story wasn’t it?”

  I shook my head. “There’s more. Completely off the record,” I added, waiting until Becky gave an impatient nod and motioned me to continue. “The reason I was late today. Grandpa got a visitor this morning. An FBI agent.”

  Becky’s eyes widened. “What?”

  “She was undercover in the League, posing as Jillian’s second-in-command. They suspected she was embezzling funds from the rescue. She and Grandpa bumped into each other during their respective investigations of Jillian. But Grandpa found other payments going into Jillian’s account. He hadn’t gotten to the bottom of it when everything blew up.”

  “Wow.” Becky thought about that. “So how is all this connected?”

  “Beats the heck out of me. The only thing that makes any sense is that Chad and Jillian were in on this whole idea that they had to keep both Peyton and Marco under their thumb. They knew secrets about them, right? So maybe they were actually blackmailing them. For money. Maybe that’s where those payments were coming from that Grandpa found?”

  Becky picked up the thread. “Maybe they were funneling them through someone else. To keep the eyes off them.”

  “So they were both greedy. And Mish and Stevie got caught in the crossfire. But if they had this paycheck, why was she so fixated on the estate?”

  “If you’re greedy like that, there’s never enough,” Becky pointed out. “And maybe Peyton and Marco had threatened to stop paying. Maybe they’d decided that enough was enough.”

  I thought of Adam. “Maybe. And they couldn’t risk it. And then Marco threatened to call it all off and expose Chad and he hit him? Tried to kill him? Chad was alone with Marco that day he was assaulted. He took him home from the meet and greet because he was drunk. Granted, there are witnesses acknowledging he dropped Marco off, but who knows what happened or who was making stuff up. The cops have no idea how long he was there on the beach.”

  My phone rang, distracting me. A number I didn’t recognize. I answered. “Maddie James.”

  “Maddie. This is Chad Novak.” Speak of the devil. “Peyton wondered if that cat was adopted? Ashley?”

  I raised my eyebrows at Becky, trying to telepathically alert her to this phone call. “I don’t think so, but I have to check with my front-desk person. I think we gave the people until today to let us know.”

  “Can you do that now?” Was it my imagination, or did he sound more angsty and short than usual? “She wants to get her today, if she’s available.”

  “Today?” What was up with this? “I can find out. Um, how’s Marco?”

  “No change,” he snapped. “Call me back as soon as possible. On this number.” He disconnected.

  I put the phone down and looked at Becky. “Something strange is going on. That was Chad. He wanted to know if Peyton could adopt the cat she was looking at and take her today.”

  Becky frowned. “Today? Why?”

  “No idea. Either she wants to be able to snuggle with two cats because she’s upset about Marco, or she’s planning to run. Maybe she’s afraid someone can trace something back to her.” And just like that, the missing piece clicked.

  I jumped up. “I have to go. I’ll call you later.”

  Chapter 42

  I flew home, nearly running over a few tourists on the way. I needed to confirm the suspicion that had been brewing in the back of my mind. And then I had to figure out what to do about it if I was right.

  I pulled into the driveway on two tires, jumped out of the car, and ran over to the café/garage. I could see the tent set up in the back and presumed that Val had already gotten to work in here too.

  I checked there first. The door was unlocked but it was empty when I burst inside. The place looked amazing. Aside from the counter, one would never know that it was a café, never mind an actual garage. It actually looked like a glamorous witch had swept through here with a magic wand. The Stevie Nicks theme had definitely come to life. Everything was pink and black—Rhiannon’s pink, of course—with silver sparkles. Sheer drapey fabrics covered the walls and hung from the ceiling with moons, stars, and paw prints dangling every few feet. Whatever she’d done with the lighting gave everything a midnight-sky feel, which I assumed would be even more impactful at night. High tables for socializing were interspersed with food stations for both hot and cold food.

  It looked beautiful, and for a moment I just stopped and appreciated how great it was going to be.

  I ducked back outside and went to the tent. It was empty too—they hadn’t started setting up in here yet. It must’ve just arrived. But boxes were piled up in one corner. Val had apparently started bringing things out. I went over and looked, hoping that what I wanted was out here.

  It was. I used my car key to slice into the top box and pulled out one of the infamous Rhiannon-branded leashes.

  I held it gingerly, almost expecting it to burn me. It didn’t. It was just a plain old piece of faux leather. I used my key again to slice through the thin plastic wrap holding the leash together and unwound it.

  Amazing how such a benign object could be used to take a person’s life. I ran my fingers down the length of it, then looked more closely. Aside from the changes to the sparkles, it looked exactly the same as the one I’d seen on Rhiannon that day, way back in the beginning.

  With one exception. There was no dangly paw print on this one. I grabbed another one out of the box and checked it as well. It was gone. The design was different.

  Still clutching the leash, I pulled my phone out of my pocket, cursing myself for not noticing this before. I dialed Ellory’s cell. He answered on the first ring.

  “It’s Maddie. Listen, odd question. But the leash you got at the crime scene. There was a little charm right? That had fallen off? I saw it on the bench that day. Next to … her.”

  “Hold on.” I heard something clanging, like a metal drawer, then papers shuffling. Finally he returned to the phone. “I’m looking at the photos. Yeah. A paw print, on the bench. The little charm was still on the leash but it must’ve popped off during the attack.”

  I let that sink in. “Are you at the station? I need to show you something.”

  Ten minutes later I stood in the lobby of the Daybreak Harbor police station. I wondered if Mish was being held here still. Hopefully she’d be going home soon.

  “Maddie?” Ellory stuck his head out the door leading back to the offices. “Come on.”

  I followed him to his office and placed the leash on his desk. “You have the photos of the weapon?”

  “I do,” he said, sitting down and motioning for me to do the same.

  I did. “Can you compare them to this one?” I held up the leash.

  He gave me a long look. “What’s this about?”

  “Please. Just look at them.”

  He sighed and pulled a folder out of a pile on his desk, opened it, and flipped through it. He pulled out a couple of photos and laid them on the desk. “What am I looking at?”

  “The colors, and the place where the charms should be.”

  He looked. Then he picked up the new leash and studied it from a couple of angles. Looked at the photos again. “The color is lighter.”

  I nodded. “What else?’

  “There�
��s no charm.”

  “Right! Not even a little hook for it.” I sat back triumphantly.

  “So?” he asked.

  I leaned forward, indignant. “What do you mean, so? The leashes are different. This,” I said, stabbing his photo with my finger, “is a prototype. They got the real ones later. Saturday, to be exact. The day before Jillian died. She had the boxes delivered to Stevie’s, then took them with her to the Paradise.”

  Ellory picked up the new leash again. “So you’re saying…”

  “Only one other person that I know of had this leash: Peyton Chandler. Her cat was wearing it.”

  He tipped his chair back, still studying the leash. “That you know of.”

  “They had a sample sent to her. She was using it. But she didn’t love the color of the sparkles, so she wouldn’t have let anyone else use it. I’m telling you, she’s getting ready to bail. Chad already called me today asking for the cat she wants to adopt. It sounded urgent, which tells me she wants out. And Mish is not the killer. You have to help me.” I hated to beg, but I really needed him to listen.

  “So what do you want to do, Maddie? I can’t just go barging in there and accuse her of murder. Her lawyers would be down our throats in a second.”

  “You’re right,” I said thoughtfully. “You can’t, but I can try to get her to talk. With your help.”

  “What exactly are you suggesting?”

  “Let me go over there. I can use the cat as my excuse. Maybe I can get her talking.”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “You have a better idea besides letting them sail away into the sunset?” I asked.

  “Who’s sailing into the sunset?” Craig leaned against the doorjamb.

  “No one,” Ellory said at the same time I said, “Peyton Chandler and whoever on that boat really killed Jillian.”

  Craig raised his eyebrows. “Come again?”

  “I think it was her. She orchestrated it, maybe with Chad, and got one of those bodyguards to do it,” I said, filling him in on the leash differences and my thought process. “And she’s getting ready to leave. Chad called me earlier looking to see if we could bring over the cat she wants to adopt. It’s the perfect way for me to get on the boat.” I turned back to Ellory. “You know they’re just going to stonewall you if you try. Especially since you already theoretically have the killer.”