Cat Got Your Tongue (The 9 Lives Cozy Mystery Series Book 3)

by Louise Clark

  "I take it Emily and Bernie Oshall weren't at the party?" Christy asked.

  Roy shook his head.

  "So they aren't suspects. What about the former band member, the one who ended up living on the streets? The guy with the creepy stare?"

  "Sydney Haynes," Quinn said and Christy nodded.

  "He was there, but he left early," Roy said.

  "So he's not a suspect either. That leaves Hammer's brother, Kyle."

  "He was out on the deck when the argument began and he stayed there when Vince and Hammer took it inside. Now that Hammer has a confirmed alibi, he'll probably be high on Szostalo's list of prime suspects."

  Christy said, "Noelle and Mary Petrofsky are spending the day together tomorrow. I'll talk to Kyle in the morning, if he's free."

  "I'll come with you," Quinn said.

  Christy bit her lip. "It would be better if we split up." Truth be told, she planned on taking Stormy with her, in the hopes that Frank would emerge as she questioned the lead suspect in one murder who was also a potential suspect in another.

  Quinn's expression closed and he slid his hand from hers. "Right then, I'd better get busy doing my research, since I've agreed to do two interviews." He shoved back his chair and stood up.

  Christy stared up at him. She hadn't expected this reaction from him. "Quinn!" she said, but he ignored the plea in her voice as he walked out of the room, away from her. She jumped to her feet, ready to follow.

  "Let him cool off," Roy said in a kindly way. "You lit a fire and it'll have to burn itself out before you two can talk any sense."

  She sat down again. "I hurt him."

  Roy studied her for a minute. "He'll get over it."

  There was another silence in which Christy stressed over the choices she had made and was making.

  Then Roy said, "I like Frank, at least the Frank who lived in Stormy. Part of me hopes he'll come back. I haven't had so much fun since I tied myself to a tree in Clayoquot Sound and dared the clear-cutters to take me down. That's the selfish part, though. The other part, the better half of me, my late wife Vivien would say, thinks it would be best if Frank was gone. A clean break." He paused again, then said, "It would be easier on all of you, but especially Quinn." His eyes twinkled. "It's hard competing with a dead guy, you know."

  "I suppose it is," Christie said. She wrapped her hands around the coffee mug, feeling miserable.

  Roy nodded once, then he said, "Something to think about."

  Staring at the oily sheen gleaming on the top of the dark brew in her cup, Christy nodded. "A good reason to find the killer and sort this whole mess out. Then maybe we'll have some answers about Frank, as well as Vince."

  Chapter 23

  Kyle Gowdy lived in a modest bungalow in the East Vancouver area where he and his brother had grown up. Christy parked under a flowering cherry tree that cast its branches over the street to meet those of the cherry across the way. In February and as recently as a couple of weeks ago, the cherry trees were in bloom, but the season was over now. As she paused to study the house, she could see that some of the fallen pink petals lingered on the sidewalk.

  The house was pretty much like every other house on the street. A pocket-sized lawn, bisected by a concrete walk, fronted the building. The foundation was concrete, as was the front porch and the steps leading up to it. Wood siding, freshly painted a mellow cream, covered the exterior. The front door and the trim were all a dark blue. A pleasing combination, she thought, as she headed up the walk. There were no flower beds in the minimalist yard, but there was a mature rhododendron bush almost ready to flower, and a cedar hedge separated this yard from the one next door.

  Though the media had besieged Kyle's home when they'd first learned he was under suspicion for Chelsea Sawatzky's murder, interest had fallen off when no charges were laid. Now there were no media trucks parked in front of the house, or paparazzi lurking nearby waiting to snap the perfect picture, for which she was grateful.

  Christy had called ahead to make an appointment, so she wasn't surprised when it was Kyle himself who answered the door. She was puzzled by the quiet in the house. She knew he had kids and since Spring Break wasn't over for another few days, she thought they would be home.

  "Thank you for sparing me a few minutes," she said, smiling at Kyle.

  He didn't smile back, but he opened the door wider to invite her in. He led her to a modest sized living room with a big plate glass window that looked out onto the rhodo bush and the lovely avenue of cherry trees. There was a television in one corner, a sofa, two chairs and a coffee table in between. A tower lamp was positioned between one of the chairs and the sofa. Apparently, this was where Kyle and his wife sat in the evening.

  "Graham asked me to talk to you," he said, referring to his brother. "He says Rob told him that you are a hot-shot detective."

  Christy stared at him. She couldn't think of a thing to say. Hot-shot detective? Her?

  Kyle didn't notice her silence. "Between us, the Gowdy brothers have become suspects number one," he said.

  "Trevor told me they found a witness who can prove Graham was well away from Sledge's house at the time of the murder." She smiled as Kyle indicated one of the chairs. Sitting down, she added, "Once the police take the witness's statement, your brother will no longer be a suspect."

  Kyle's jaw flexed before he clenched it in a way that expressed his upset more effectively than his flat, unemotional tone or the words he chose. "I'll believe that when it happens. In the meantime, if you can help us, we'd appreciate it." He settled onto a corner of the sofa.

  "I'll try." Christy sat and put her tote bag on the floor beside the chair. "I hope you don't mind, but I brought my cat with me. I thought your kids would be home and that they'd like to play with him." Stormy poked his head out of the tote and blinked at Kyle.

  Kyle stared back. "My wife took them to the rec center. They've added extra family swim times for Spring Break and the kids love the pool." He looked up at Christy. "We're trying to keep them out of this as much as possible. They don't need to think their dad is some kind of monster."

  That struck a chord with Christy. She wrinkled her nose and said, "I understand completely. When everybody thought my late husband Frank was an embezzler, my first priority was to shelter our daughter, Noelle."

  Kyle nodded. He didn't say anything, but Christy wasn't fooled—the man was aching inside. Stormy emerged from the tote, stretched a lithe cat stretch and sauntered over to inspect Kyle. As the cat sniffed his leg, Kyle reached down to scratch behind his ears. Stormy began to purr.

  Kyle smiled. It was only a little smile, the barest twitching of his lips, but it broke a bit more of the social ice.

  Christy said, "I wasn't at the party when Vince was killed, so I'm trying to build a picture of what people were doing when everything happened. Where were you when the argument between Hammer—Graham—and Vince started?"

  Stormy hopped up onto Kyle's lap, flopped down, and offered his belly for a rub. Kyle looked astounded, then he laughed and stroked the soft fur. Stormy's purr deepened. "I was on the deck," he said after a minute. "Graham was one of the hosts, so we hadn't spent much time together." He looked from the cat to Christy. "Kristine didn't want to get a sitter for the kids, so I went solo. I didn't want to go, but Graham thought I should. He said the cops would figure I really was guilty of that girl's murder if I didn't." He shrugged and his mouth twisted. "It was a mistake."

  Christy frowned. "People wouldn't talk to you?"

  Kyle shook his head. "No. That wasn't it." He hesitated, then shrugged again. "It was me. I wasn't in a partying mood. I hung around the edges and hoped no one would notice me."

  He might be Hammer's brother, but SledgeHammer's world was foreign to him, Christy thought. She nodded and waited for him to continue. When he didn't she prodded gently. "So you were out on the deck..."

  Kyle nodded. "Jahlina had wandered off somewhere and Graham had come out to schmooze with the people who were outs
ide. When he noticed me hanging out in the shadows he told me I should mingle. I told him I didn't want to and that coming that night had been a mistake. That made Graham mad. He said I had to act like nothing was wrong or no one would believe I was innocent." A weary smile touched Kyle's mouth. "I told him to go to hell."

  He sighed and patted the cat. Christy gave him a minute before she said, "What happened then?"

  "Graham turned to go back inside. That's when he noticed Vince, who was between him and the doors that led to the great room. Vince must have heard what we were saying to each other because he told Graham he needed to stay away from me. He said any connection to me was poison for SledgeHammer. I heard Graham defend me, but I was furious. I was hurt too. What Vince said... It was so close to what I was thinking, but hearing someone say it aloud?" He sucked in a breath and pursed his lips as he shrugged. "I didn't want to be part of a scene. Hell, I didn't want to be there anyway, so I left them to it and slipped away. I took the steps that led off the deck and headed for the trees. I figured it was better to be alone until I could haul my temper under control."

  "How long were you out in Sledge's yard?"

  "A while."

  "So you were outside when your brother stormed out of the house?"

  Kyle nodded. "I'd been pacing and when I heard the door slam I was on the east side of the house and I could see the front from where I was. I saw Graham walk across the grass to the street. Even though I was outside, I'd heard the raised voices and I figured Graham was cooling off too, so I didn't say anything to him." His jaw flexed. "Now I wished I had. If we were together, neither of us would be under suspicion."

  "Did you see or hear anything else while you were outside?"

  Kyle's hand stilled and Stormy's purr quieted. He butted his head against Kyle's arm and Kyle resumed his petting. Stormy's purr echoed through the room again. "I didn't see anyone, but I heard rustling in the trees behind me and down toward the gate. It creeped me out, because from time to time Rob gets word that a cougar has been seen in the area. They're dangerous animals, silent and elusive until they're ready to pounce. I started to make my way back to the deck where there was noise and people."

  "A sensible precaution," Christy said. She'd been told that cougars sometimes came down from the North Shore Mountains, swam across the Burrard Inlet, and made their home on Burnaby Mountain. She'd yet to see one, but Kyle was right. It wasn't likely she would, unless the cougar planned to strike.

  Kyle laughed. "As it turned out, it was just a couple of cats." He tickled Stormy's belly. "This guy and a pretty little Siamese who were doing some kind of messing around."

  "I heard about Stormy and the Siamese," Christy said, looking ruefully at the cat. "Sledge said his neighbor would be furious at him if kittens resulted."

  Kyle laughed again. "Rob can handle it. She's a big SledgeHammer fan. All he's got to do is give her tickets to a concert and a signed album and she'll forgive him anything."

  "Were you inside the house when Vince's body was discovered?"

  "No. I was still outside." Kyle paused, looked out the window, then down at the cat in his lap. "I was feeling... raw, you know? Ashamed. Like it was my fault that I was suspected of that poor girl's death." He looked up at Christy and shook his head. "Stupid. I didn't do anything. To her or to Vince, but I still..." He looked away, to the calm view beyond his big window. He drew a deep breath, then looked back at Christy. "When I heard the cat howl I was on the deck. As I ran around the house I saw Graham coming up the road, toward the house."

  "You didn't go from the deck through the house to the front door and out? Why?" Christy asked. "Wouldn't that be faster than running all the way around the outside?"

  "I didn't know the cat was howling over a dead man." Kyle shrugged, then offered her a self-effacing, rueful smile. "All that popped into my head was a standoff between the house cats and a lurking cougar. I had this bright idea that if I charged around the house making a lot of noise I'd scare off the big cat and save the little ones."

  Christy stared at him. "Kyle I... I don't know what to say except thank you on behalf of my daughter and myself. And Stormy of course." Stormy's purr rumbled blissfully, even though Kyle's fingers had stilled.

  Kyle shrugged again. He was making light of his actions, but Christy knew that if there had been a cougar involved, he'd taken a big risk. Impulsively she leaned toward him and put her hand over his where it rested on Stormy's belly. "We'll find Vince's killer, and Chelsea's too, and exonerate you and Hammer."

  "I hope so," Kyle said. "You're the Gowdy brothers' last hope."

  Chapter 24

  Quinn expected to interview Mitch Crosier in his office, but instead the record exec suggested he drop by the Crosier's Southlands estate after Vince's funeral was over. That gave Quinn a forty-five minute drive to wonder how Christy's interview with Kyle Gowdy had gone and whether she'd taken the cat with her. He pretty much figured she had, which meant she'd chosen Frank over him. Not a good sign. He was starting to think their affair was doomed to be the briefest one in the history of his life.

  He found the address and turned into the drive, stopping at the gates to give his name. They opened slowly, but with silent, well-oiled precision, and Quinn drove through. The house was just as his father described it, he thought, as the gates closed behind him and he drove up the broad, curving drive. If the house, with its broad expanse of manicured grounds, was any indication, the record business was good and Mitchell Crosier was doing very well for himself.

  He parked in front of the stairs leading up to the porch and double front doors, pausing to note down his impressions of the house and grounds on the pad he always carried with him. He planned to record the interview with Mitch, but sometimes people were intimidated by new technology and felt more comfortable with old-fashioned paper and pen method. Given the industry Mitch worked in, Quinn doubted he'd be one of those, but it was always best to be prepared.

  As he wrote he wondered if Crosier had used the excuse of the funeral to stage the meeting here, in an expensive location designed to impress. If he had, too bad. Fancy trappings didn't have a lot of impact on Quinn's worldview. He finished his notes and thrust the pad into the pocket of the leather jacket he wore with a boat necked sweater and chinos. There was the possibility that Crosier wanted to include his wife in the interview. He thought this was less likely than a desire to impress. Crosier didn't strike him as the kind of man who invested emotion and part of himself into his relationship with his woman.

  Kim was eye candy, he mused, as he got out of the car. She'd be sent packing once her youthful beauty surrendered to time. A cynical view, perhaps, but it went well with his sour mood. He climbed the steps to the double doors and rang the bell.

  Kim Crosier opened the door, as she had for his father. She smiled at him with genuine warmth and said, "Mitch is in his office." She peeked around him as he moved past her into the house. "Did you bring that cute kitty with you?" She frowned, looking about as fierce as a beauty queen was able. "You didn't leave him in the car, did you? I'll be happy to watch him while you're talking to Mitch."

  "I don't have the cat," Quinn said briefly. Christy had the cat. Christy was worried about the cat. Christy was obsessed with the cat.

  Kim's frown dissolved into disappointment. "Oh, that's too bad. Well, come on through. Mitch is waiting for you."

  She led him deep into the house to a quiet wing that seemed to be devoted to rooms with a purpose—a large screening room, an exercise room, a sewing room. That last one took Quinn aback. He doubted the sewing room was for Mitchell Crosier's use, but he couldn't quite see Kim, the pretty, rich man's prize, spending her days sewing... things.

  He must have frowned as they passed the room, because Kim shot him an amused look and said, "Yes, I'm the one who uses it. I sew many of my own clothes." She indicated the dress she was wearing. It was sleeveless, with a mock turtle collar, cut to show off her shoulders. The sapphire blue knit material clung to her curves,
but flared below her waist so it swirled around her thighs and showed off her long legs as she walked. "This is one of my creations."

  Quinn was wrestling with that statement, and the superficial assumptions he shouldn't have made, when they reached Mitchell's office. The door was closed, so Kim knocked before she went inside. Still clothed in the white dress shirt he must have worn to the funeral, but minus a tie and jacket, Crosier was working at a glass topped, steel framed desk. His chair was leather and designed for comfort. He looked up from the computer monitor he was studying and smiled at his wife.

  She sashayed into the office, the blue skirt swinging jauntily. "He's here, darling," she said, kissing her husband on the cheek. "Would you like me to bring coffee? Or something stronger?"

  "Coffee," Mitch said. "Afternoon, Armstrong."

  "Crosier," Quinn said by way of greeting. There was a chair—modern, rectangular, boxlike and leanly padded—in front of the desk. Quinn sat down and pulled his phone out as Kim slipped away to organize refreshments. "I hope you don't mind if I record our conversation."

  Crosier considered the phone for a moment, then he shook his head. "I'm okay with that provided you give me a copy of the tape."

  "Why?"

  Crosier raised his brows. "My words," he said. "I like to make sure I'm being quoted correctly."

  Quinn shrugged. Though he was here to find out if Mitchell Crosier could have murdered Vince Nunez, he also planned to write an article based on the interview. He wasn't concerned about misinterpreting Crosier's words, because he always checked his facts, so Crosier didn't need to worry about misrepresentation. "I don't intend to libel you."

  A muscle flexed in Crosier's jaw. "I've had reporters do exactly that, promising just what you promised." He eyed Quinn, who eyed him back. "I'll level with you, Armstrong. The only reason you're here is because you're Sledge's friend and he trusts you. Vince's death has put my label under siege. The media loves the drama of it and while the publicity has been generating interest—"