by Linda Reilly
Oh God, something must have happened.
Lara threaded her way around a group of men having an animated discussion right in front of Bowker’s. They nodded and moved away, and she rushed inside.
Sherry wasn’t there, but Jill was serving heaping plates of eggs and bacon to the customers sitting at the counter. Luckily, Lara’s usual stool was free. She claimed it before anyone else could come in and grab it.
Jill spotted her, waved, and trotted over. “God, it’s like a zoo in here today.” She rolled her eyes in the direction of her eyebrows, which today sported tiny barbells. She poured a mug of coffee for Lara and shoved a bowl of half-and-half packets at her. “Lemon poppy muffin?”
“Um, yeah, sure. What’s all the commotion?” Lara asked her. “Did something happen?”
Coffeepot in hand, Jill gawked at her. “You didn’t hear? The police arrested someone for that Fray woman’s murder. A man. Brian something or other.”
“Brian Downing?” The words almost snagged in Lara’s throat.
Jill aimed a finger at her. “That’s the one. Downing. Way I heard it, they found some evidence at his apartment that they’d missed before. Typical cops, right? Why didn’t they find it in the first place?”
Lara was stunned. She knew Brian was a prime suspect, but she thought he’d eventually be cleared. Something about the man didn’t scream “murderer.”
“Does anyone know what the new evidence was?”
Jill shrugged. “Everyone says something different, so who knows? Except…well, I heard one of the staties talking about it this morning on his way out.” She leaned closer to Lara. “I think they found something related to the murder weapon in Downing’s car, or under his car, or something like that.”
Murder weapon? Hadn’t Evonda been strangled with a Polypropylene band? The police already had the weapon.
“I wish we knew more,” Lara said.
“Yeah, me, too.” Jill gave her a half salute. “Hey, I gotta split. I’ll go fetch your muffin.”
She toddled off, and Lara stirred her coffee. Jill returned a minute later with Lara’s muffin, then went back into the kitchen.
Lara pulled out her phone and texted Gideon, asking if he’d heard the news. Three seconds later, her cell rang.
“Hi, honey. I can’t talk, but I’m at the station now. What you heard is correct. Downing’s been arrested.”
“Did the chief call you?” Lara asked. She didn’t understand why Gideon was suddenly in the inner circle of the police.
“Yes, but I can’t talk now. Everything’s hitting the fan, if you know what I mean. Downing’s in a holding cell, squawking up a tornado. He claims he’s been railroaded. Later today, they’re going to transfer him to the Carroll County House of Corrections. Hey, I gotta run. Catch you later, okay? Love you.”
“Love you, too,” Lara said, but Gideon was already gone.
She slumped on her stool and stuck her cell in her tote. She was grateful for one thing. Smuggles was safe at the shelter. Brian had had the foresight to arrange for his cat’s care, even before Evonda was murdered.
Wait a minute. Wait one nitpicking minute.
The truth struck Lara like a blow to the solar plexus.
Brian knew exactly what he’d planned to do, didn’t he? That’s why he took measures in advance to ensure his cat’s care and well-being. Bringing Smuggles to the shelter, begging Lara to take in his cat while he supposedly looked for an apartment—it was all part of a carefully crafted scheme.
He was preparing to kill Evonda, so he went proactive, just in case the police figured it out.
Days ago, Brian had eagerly toured the shelter. He realized that if he left his beloved Smuggles there, his cat would be pampered and loved.
It would have been easy to collect a bit of cat hair from the resident cats during his visit. No shortage of that at the shelter. When Brian spotted the box in which the door had been shipped, he probably noticed the Polystyrene bands sticking out from it. He offered to do them a favor, to take it off their hands, and Lara had willingly agreed.
By using one of those bands to commit a horrible murder, Brian figured he could confuse the police, or at least throw them off his trail. Toss out a ball for them to chase. Leaving a bit of fur from Snowball and Pearl in Evonda’s car was the perfect touch.
If Lara or Aunt Fran got nailed for the deadly deed, then he’d collect his cat and move on with his own life. He could sit at home with Smuggles and laugh while an innocent person or persons got carted off to prison.
If, however, the cops figured out that Brian was the killer, at least his cat was set for life.
For Brian, it was a win-win either way.
The thought made Lara sick. She’d totally misjudged Brian. She’d allowed his devotion to his cat to get under her skin and trick her.
Something about the scenario bugged her, though. Brian had to realize he’d be taking a huge gamble. Did he despise Evonda so thoroughly that he was willing to risk life in prison to do away with her?
Brian probably assumed that Evonda had a long list of enemies. Did he figure the police would bumble around for weeks, sorting through possible suspects? Evonda’s role in getting Trevor Johnson fired was pretty much common knowledge. Johnson, with his sullen attitude and hangdog look, made the ideal “person of interest.”
Jill hurried over to refill Lara’s mug, but she put up a hand and stopped her. “Thanks, Jill, but I’m going to head home.”
“You didn’t even eat your muffin!”
“I know. I’ll take it with me. Is Sherry around today?”
“Nope.” She gave Lara a conspiratorial wink. “Between you, me, and the lamppost, I think something’s cooking with those two. I can tell by the way Sherry’s been avoiding all my questions. She and David went to some fancy-schmancy place last night, but she was acting all casual about it. Yeah, something’s up. Mark my words.”
Smiling, Lara snagged a napkin from the metal holder on the counter and wrapped it around her muffin. “Whatever it is, I hope it’s good news.”
“Aw, you can practically count on it.”
Lara paid her tab and left a sizable tip. Before she could leave, she had to jostle her way through a throng of customers who were just entering the coffee shop.
Despite the climbing temperature, Lara was grateful to be outside. She was in a hurry now to get back, to see how Aunt Fran was doing.
It was shaping up to be one of those days—hot, steamy, and sticky. Tote on her shoulder, she started for home. It was almost eight thirty. Aunt Fran was probably already up and having her breakfast. Lara hoped she’d be in better spirits today. The night before, at Gideon’s, she’d seemed weary and distracted.
Lara was more anxious than ever, now, to get home.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Lara couldn’t have been more surprised to see Chief Whitley’s car parked in the driveway. She hurried inside, where he sat at the kitchen table. A mug rested in front of him, the tag of a tea bag dangling over the rim. Munster was sprawled over his knees like a lap shawl, purring up a drumroll Ringo Starr would’ve envied.
Lara stifled a giggle. The chief didn’t look terribly comfortable, but he was enduring Munster’s affections like a seasoned soldier.
On the stove, the teakettle shrilled. Aunt Fran pulled it off the burner and carried it over to the table.
Lara was relieved to see that her aunt’s eyes were looking brighter this morning. Every hair was in place and a pink tinge colored her cheeks.
Aunt Fran smiled at her. “You’re back already?” she said, her kettle poised to pour.
“Yeah, it was really getting crowded at the coffee shop, so I took my muffin to go.” She removed it from her tote and set it on the counter. “Morning, Chief,” she said to Whitley.
Her aunt poured boiling water into the chief’s mug.
“Good morning, Lara,” the chief said. “I suspect you already heard the news.” He squeezed the water out of the tea bag with his spoon. Lara noticed he was careful to keep the scalding water away from the feline plopped in his lap.
“About Brian Downing? I did,” she said, slinging her tote over a chair. “I’m still having trouble wrapping my head around it. I totally misjudged the guy. I just didn’t think he had enough motive. Not to kill anyway.”
Aunt Fran took her seat opposite the chief. The remains of an English muffin and a fresh mug of tea sat in front of her on the table. “I agree with Lara. And that’s not just because Brian’s a cat lover.” She fixed a hard look at the chief, but a slight twinkle escaped.
A flush creeping up his neck, the chief stared down at his mug. “I’m going to be honest with both of you. Motive wise, I didn’t see it either. Not at first. But the investigators went back to Downing’s apartment house yesterday. They found a twin to the Polypropylene strap Evonda Fray was strangled with. It was lying right there in the parking area, about a yard or so from Downing’s SUV.”
Something about that bothered Lara. Hadn’t the crime scene techs already searched that entire locale? Or had they skipped over it because it wasn’t the actual crime scene?
Whitley took a tiny sip from his mug, wincing at the hot liquid. “But there’s also the matter of the cat hair,” he added a tad more quietly. “Lara, you told the investigator that you gave Downing a brief tour of the shelter. They’re going on the assumption that either Pearl”—he shot a glance at Aunt Fran—“or Snowball’s fur clung to his shoe. Somehow it got transferred to Evonda’s car when he was strangling her.”
“Chief, the investigator—that Cutler guy—told me that the cat hair analysis was inconclusive.”
“He didn’t tell you all of it. It wasn’t one hundred percent conclusive, but there’s a ninety-one percent chance that the cat hair found at the crime scene came from this shelter.”
“He was being evasive on purpose, then.” Lara felt her blood boiling. How dare the guy fudge the truth?
“What the state police believe,” the chief calmly went on, “is that Downing grabbed all the straps from that box he took to the recycling station, and maybe stuck them in his pocket or tossed them into his SUV. The one they found yesterday was probably a stray that fell out of his vehicle. Or out of his pocket. Either way, it ties him directly to the murder. I came here to let both of you know before you heard it somewhere else. I should’ve guessed that the grapevine had already reached you, Lara.”
“Yeah, well, the coffee shop is a great source of gossip. True gossip, in this case,” she added.
She thought about mentioning Gideon, but then nixed the idea. This was about Evonda, and her murderer.
“Chief, does Tim Fray know about the arrest?” Lara asked.
“He does. He was informed early this morning. He seemed shocked by the news. He’d been sure the killer was someone else.”
Lara knew that, but she didn’t want to let it slip to the chief. He’d think she’d been asking questions again. Poking her nose where it didn’t belong.
“I’m not trying to shift the blame,” Lara said, “but have the investigators looked hard enough into Trevor Johnson? He wasn’t exactly president of Evonda’s fan club.”
“The former health inspector? Oh, you bet they have. They’ve looked at him every which way but loose, to coin a phrase.” He shook his head. “Time wise, it doesn’t fly. Johnson had driven his mother to her sister’s house in Cummington, Mass, two days earlier. They didn’t get back until late Tuesday, long after Evonda was found in her car.”
“Where’s Cummington, Mass?” Lara asked him.
“The Berkshires. Maybe an hour and a half from Albany.”
“Witnesses?”
“Loads,” the chief confirmed. “It’s a dead end, Lara. Johnson wasn’t involved.” He looked at her, and she saw the empathy in his eyes. “I know this is a hard pill to swallow about Downing. But there’s a lot more you don’t know. The investigators spoke at length to several of his coworkers. Bottom line—he wasn’t the most popular guy, and that’s putting it mildly. A couple of them went so far as to say they’re happy he was arrested so they’d never have to work with him again.”
Lara’s stomach sank. “Did he harass people? I mean, you know—”
“No,” the chief said. “Nothing like that. He’s apparently one of those guys who’s always right. Never sees anyone else’s side of things. One fellow said that in their weekly meetings, Downing never agreed with anyone about anything. He always had a better way of doing things. It drove everyone nuts. Only one woman defended him.”
Lara nodded. “It was probably the woman who told him he should adopt a cat.”
“Actually, I think it was.” The chief attempted a smile.
Lara remembered what Brian had said about his wife leaving him, how she’d torn his world in two. She now suspected that he suffered from post-traumatic stress. Maybe if he’d gotten help sooner—
“Hey, look, I have to run,” the chief said, casting a glance at his knees. The furry rug was still there, purring up a thunderstorm.
“Jerry, I have some of those fig cookies you like,” Aunt Fran said, a slight lilt in her tone. “Would you like to take some with you?”
The chief’s face brightened. With hope? Lara wondered.
“Thanks, Fran, but I’m good.” He patted his abdomen. “I had a big breakfast this morning. Gotta be ready for the thundering hordes today. It won’t be long before the TV vans’ll be blocking the street in front of the station.” He reached down with one of his large hands and tickled the fur between Munster’s ears.
Lara exchanged glances with her aunt, who was trying desperately not to react.
Dolce strolled into the kitchen and claimed Aunt Fran’s lap. The other cats, except for Twinkles, were probably in the large parlor. Twinkles was either on her aunt’s bed or sunning himself in her bedroom window seat. He was aging, slowing down, and napped a lot more these days.
Things were normalizing in the household, except that now Smuggles was a permanent resident. Once Brian was convicted and sent to prison, he’d never see his cat again. The thought weighed on Lara’s heart like an anchor.
The chief finished up his tea in a few big gulps, then stuck his hat on his head. “Fran, thank you for the hospitality. Lara, good to see you again.”
“Same here, Chief.”
He shook his head and gave a slight laugh. “I’m grateful for one thing,” he added, his gaze aimed at Lara. “You won’t have to go around looking for murderers this time. This one’s a done deal.”
Lara wasn’t sure she appreciated his phrasing. “Chief, I never actually looked for murderers. You know that, right?”
Whitley held up a hand. “I hear you,” he said. “But you sure were on a roll there for a while. I’m glad this one’s wrapped up. Now all we have to do is tie it with a bow.” He gave Munster a slight nudge. “Sorry, big guy, but I gotta go back to work.”
The cat took the hint and went off toward the feeding station to check out the offerings.
“Thanks for stopping by, Chief,” Lara said. “I’m happy that Evonda’s murder’s been solved, but I’m sad it turned out this way.”
“You liked Brian, didn’t you?”
“I did.”
“As did I,” Aunt Fran said with a sigh. “I’m still having trouble believing it.”
“The truth hurts,” Lara added bitterly.
Aunt Fran rose and set the black kitty on her chair. “I’ll walk you out, Jerry.”
Lara watched the two of them stroll outside. The sight of them speaking again eased the dull ache in her stomach.
Unfortunately, the ache came roaring back when she thought about Brian Downing.
He’d used them, taken advantage of their trus
t.
Lara wasn’t going to get over it for a very long time.
Chapter Thirty
Despite her battling emotions, Lara realized she was hungry. She removed a jar of marmalade from the cupboard and brought it over to the table, along with her lemon muffin. She was spreading a thick layer over half the muffin when her aunt came back inside. Aunt Fran’s smooth cheeks had turned slightly pink.
“You’re looking much more chipper today,” Lara told her. “Did…anything in particular happen?”
Her aunt sat down. “What happened is that I stopped acting like a buffoon.”
“You never acted like a buffoon.” Lara slid a corner of the muffin into her mouth.
“Don’t defend me,” her aunt said crisply. “That day, when Jerry forgot Pearl’s name, I was so incensed I couldn’t think straight. I snubbed him and made him suffer for days, all because I was being a silly snit. When I saw him pull into the driveway this morning, I knew I had to set things right.”
Lara smiled. It was good to see her aunt behaving like her old self. “Aunt Fran, the last thing I would ever call you is a silly snit.”
“Well, then, I acted like a teenager. Last night, at Gideon’s, it was eating at me—the way I treated Jerry. I felt as if I dampened that lovely barbecue for both of you.”
“You absolutely did not,” Lara said. “It was Trevor Johnson who dampened the evening, if anyone did. I still can’t believe the nerve of him!”
“It was pushy, to say the least,” her aunt said. “But Johnson’s mother is a nice woman. I felt so bad when she told us about her medical problem. I can’t even imagine how mortifying it was for her to talk about it in front of us.”
“I know. That was heartbreaking, wasn’t it?” Lara wrinkled her nose. “I still say Johnson would’ve made a perfect suspect.”
Aunt Fran shook her head. “Not really, when you think about it. In my opinion, he’d have had to get permission from his mom before he did anything that rash. But since he has an airtight alibi, it’s all moot.”