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

by Louise Clark

  The melee went on only a few minutes. When it was over, Sydney Haynes had cat scratches on his face and a large bruise forming on his shoulder where Quinn had whacked him with the weight. Quinn had him on the floor, his hands behind his back, and he was tying them together with a connector cord Ellen had detached from Haynes' computer and printer as he kneeled on Hayne's back. The bullet had flown harmlessly over Ellen's head and lodged itself in the back wall. Ellen was now standing by the door, holding the standing lamp like a baseball bat, ready to take on all who tried to enter unauthorized.

  "Christy's okay," she said as Quinn tightened the knot around Haynes' wrists.

  Quinn glanced over at her. Ellen looked... mischievous. He frowned. How would she know? She hadn't been out of the room.

  But the cat had.

  "Not you, too?"

  "Yes! Imagine. He talked to me the whole time I was here." She looked down at Haynes. "It was tremendously empowering. Mr. Haynes had no idea he was dealing with two people, not one."

  Haynes arched, trying to dislodge Quinn's weight. "She's mad," Haynes said breathlessly, as Quinn rode him down.

  "You're probably right," Quinn said. "Anyone who decides it's a good idea to face down a murderer is most likely crazy." He looked over as the cat slipped back into the room and took up a position by Hayne's face. He met the cat's eyes and allowed his mouth to quirk up in a wry smile. "Or a Jamieson."

  Chapter 35

  The police arrived not long after. They relieved Ellen of her lamp, replaced Quinn's printer cord with handcuffs, and confiscated the hand weights and the gun. Then they hauled everybody down to the local police station, including the rainbow-haired girl.

  The station was in a modern building that was simple in design, with clean lines to the point of being stark. The walls were an institutional white, the floor a hard-wearing gray linoleum, and the lighting was provided by brilliant white fluorescents. The place was crowded with people, all of them busy and surprisingly noisy. There was an odor of strong cleaning products and sweat. It was not a smell Christy was enjoying.

  The cops herded the rainbow-haired girl in one direction—she was evidently a run-away, no surprise there!—Syd Haynes in another and sat Ellen, Christy and Quinn down on hard chairs lined up in a row against a wall in front of the duty sergeant's desk and told them to wait. Stormy had tagged along in the cruiser, despite the protests of one allergic officer, and at the station he settled himself on Ellen's lap. When the sergeant admonished them to keep the cat under control, Quinn snorted and said, "Good luck with that," which didn't go down well.

  While they waited for someone to take their statements, Quinn phoned Roy to brief him on what had happened and where they were. Christy could hear Quinn's part of the conversation, but not Roy's reaction. After he hung up, Quinn sighed and put his head back against the wall.

  "Problem?" Christy said.

  "Just Dad being Dad." Quinn turned his head to look at her. He smiled faintly. "He's afraid the system will swallow us up and we'll never see the light of day again, so he's calling Trevor to come down to look after us."

  Sensible.

  "Oh," Christy said. Her lips twitched. She actually wanted to laugh, but she was afraid that if she started she wouldn't be able to stop. Instead she said, "Possibly a bit extreme, but kindly meant."

  "Trevor will make a production of it, just you watch," Quinn said.

  "I am glad Trevor will be coming here," Ellen said. "I agree with Roy. It is a very sensible of him. I do not trust that these people understand we are not the criminals."

  Ellen wasn't exactly speaking quietly. The desk sergeant looked up and frowned and they subsided into silence. Stormy curled into a ball on Ellen's lap and went to sleep. Quinn closed his eyes and apparently did the same thing. Christy watched the comings and goings of the busy station house, while Ellen stroked the sleeping cat.

  Trevor, when he arrived, did indeed make a splash, as Quinn predicted, but it wasn't exactly Trevor who caused it. It was Sledge. Trevor strode into the station, a man on a mission. He marched up to the desk sergeant's desk and said forcefully, "I'm Trevor McCullagh. I am here to see my clients. Where have you put them?"

  The desk sergeant didn't look impressed or intimidated. "Who are your clients?"

  Sledge, who had wandered in behind his father, saw Quinn, Christy, and Ellen sitting against the wall and came over. A young woman passing by, carrying a load of files, dropped them as she raised her hands to her face and cried, "Oh my God! It's Sledge!"

  Behind her someone said, "What? Sledge? Here?"

  Someone else said, "Why? Couldn't be."

  A crowd gathered. Sledge signed autographs, flashed his famous grin and catered to his fans. Quinn turned to Christy and said, "See?"

  She laughed. "Technically it wasn't Trevor."

  "Trevor brought Sledge. I rest my case."

  Trevor spied them and came over while Sledge was working the crowd. "Has anyone been taken into interrogation yet?"

  Someone in authority bustled over and ordered everyone to get back to work. As the crowd dissipated, Detective Patterson appeared. She looked at Sledge signing a final autograph, Christy, Quinn and Ellen sitting along the wall on the hard chairs, and Trevor hovering beside, a guardian angel. She shook her head. "Mrs. Jamieson. Why am I not surprised you and your friends are involved?"

  "Detective Patterson, I did try to contact you," Christy said, her tone polite, she hoped.

  "Yeah," said Patterson, "you did. Okay. I'd like to begin with Ellen Jamieson, since I gather she was the first of you to arrive at Homeless Help."

  Ellen said, "Very well. I will state right now that I wish my attorney to be present."

  Christy thought she heard Patterson sigh, but all she said was, "I take it that is Mr. McCullagh?"

  Ellen nodded. Patterson indicated Trevor with a nod. "Come along then, both of you."

  Ellen put Stormy on the floor, then rose. She waited for Trevor, then they both followed Patterson down the hall. Stormy trotted along behind.

  "I wonder how long it will take for Patterson to evict the cat?" Quinn asked.

  Christy shook her head. "If he's stealthy enough she won't even notice."

  "I can't believe Syd murdered Vince and that girl," Sledge said. With the last of his fans gone, he settled on the chair beside Quinn. "How did you figure it out?"

  "Ellen did," Christy said. "Quinn found out that Reverend Wigle was not just Syd's mentor, but that he cared deeply for him. Syd was shattered when Wigle was killed in the Regent Hotel riots and he blamed the company planning to redevelop the hotel for the Reverend's death. Ellen discovered that Syd not only blamed the company, but the man who owned the company."

  "It was personal for him," Sledge said.

  "He wanted revenge," Quinn said. "He lost a mentor and a man who was almost a father to him. He wanted to inflict the same kind of pain on the man who had done it."

  "So he killed a young woman who had done nothing to him," Sledge said. He shook his head. "Nasty."

  "Ellen was going over the information we'd gathered for both murders and she realized that Syd's alibis weren't very strong because he had no one to corroborate them. He could have committed both murders, but no one was looking at him for either," Christy said. "He's done a lot for the Downtown East Side, so the cops were taking his word for where he was. Once she realized how obsessed and how angry he was, she thought his word wasn't enough and decided to accost him."

  "Which was not a good idea," Quinn said.

  Sledge laughed.

  A uniformed policewoman appeared and asked Christy to come with her. She nodded and stood. Quinn caught her hand and squeezed it. He flashed her a smile when she looked down and her heart twisted. She smiled back, then turned to follow the policewoman.

  As it was, she didn't have to worry. Trevor stayed in the room while Patterson asked her questions, which were simple and straightforward. She was amused to realize that Stormy remained underneath the table, s
ince Frank made comments throughout the process. When Patterson let her go, she passed Quinn whose turn was next. She managed a brief smile and touched his hand as she passed.

  It wasn't long before Quinn's interview was over and he returned to the line of chairs. He brought Trevor with him. Stormy trotted along behind.

  "What now?" Sledge asked.

  "They have to decide if they're going to press charges," Trevor said.

  "Charges!" said Ellen. "Why would they want to charge us with anything? We captured the killer the police were too incompetent to even suspect."

  You tell 'em, Aunt Ellen. Stormy hopped up onto her lap then put his head under her chin and nudged her to give him a pat.

  "She can hear him too?" Sledge said.

  Quinn closed his eyes and put his head against the wall.

  "Assault and battery," Trevor said. "Property damage."

  "Assault and battery to whom? Sydney Haynes?" Ellen asked. "A confessed murderer?"

  The desk sergeant looked up at Ellen's imperious voice and frowned again.

  "I'd be the one charged," Christy said. She'd spent much of their time in the station thinking about the consequences of their desperate acts that day and she'd come to some conclusions even before her interview with Patterson. "I broke the storefront window and I wrestled with the rainbow-haired girl when she came in unexpectedly. I don't think you and Quinn need to worry, though, Ellen. Haynes had a gun and was threatening you."

  She was aware of Quinn beside her, sitting up straight, and she could feel his narrow-eyed gaze on her. She guessed that he hadn't thought about charges when they made their plan.

  "Shively," he said.

  She turned to look at him, and managed a smile. "Yeah. Could be a problem."

  He reached for her. "Christy, I should have..."

  She understood what he meant without his saying it and shook her head. "You had to be the one to confront Haynes. We both did what we needed to." He didn't look convinced. "I refuse to worry until I must," she said, with a smile that she hoped would reassure.

  "I can make a good case to justify your actions," Trevor said. "You won't serve time."

  That wasn't the point, and both Quinn and Christy knew it. Shively would pounce if she caught even a whiff of improper behavior on Christy's part.

  Fortunately, Patterson chose that moment to arrive. They all looked at her expectantly and Christy discovered that she was holding her breath.

  "You are free to go," Patterson said, speaking to Quinn, Christy, and Ellen. "No charges are being laid, although you may find that the landlord of the building that houses Homeless Help will demand that you replace the window."

  "They will not have to contact us," Ellen said. "I will see that the window is repaired immediately. I will also make a substantial donation to the organization itself to compensate for the time they were forced to close."

  Patterson raised her brows. "You may want to hold off on that, Ms. Jamieson. Homeless Help is under investigation for financial irregularities."

  Sledge said, "Syd was stealing from his own charity?"

  Patterson said carefully, "The Reverend Wigle set up the organization and let Mr. Haynes run it. Since Wigle's death, some of the directors have brought suspicions to the police and requested an investigation. There hasn't been enough evidence to charge Mr. Haynes, but now that he is under arrest for the murder of two people his affairs will be scrutinized closely. There is no telling what we'll find." She nodded, then strode away.

  Now that they were free to leave, Trevor offered to drop Ellen, Christy, Quinn and the cat back at Homeless Help where their cars were parked. On the way there he and Sledge agreed to go to Burnaby for an impromptu celebration suggested by Ellen.

  At Homeless Help the storefront looked as forlorn as Christy was feeling. The window had already been boarded up and the closed sign was on the door. Christy looked at Quinn. "I guess I should ride with Ellen."

  He looked at her for a long minute, then he said, "Why? You came with me."

  "It's true, I did. But... I thought you might prefer..."

  His gaze was intense. "Come home with me, Christy. Please."

  She searched his expression, then she smiled. "Thank you, Quinn. I'd love to."

  The End

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  Want more from Louise Clark?

  Here's an excerpt from

  LET SLEEPING CATS LIE

  The 9 Lives Cozy Mystery Series

  Book Four

  ~

  "I expect to see a substantial portion of the funds returned to the Jamieson Trust by the end of summer."

  Christy stared at the broad, beaming face of Harry Endicott. To say she was blindsided by his announcement was putting it mildly. When he’d asked her to come to his office for a meeting, she thought he planned to tell her the Jamieson fortune was gone forever.

  She drew a deep breath, reminded herself this was good news, and summoned her Jamieson princess persona to steady herself. No matter what the situation, show no weakness. Smile, raise a brow, display interest, but not too much. Give praise for work well done to those in your employ. "This is welcome news, Harry. How did you discover the location of the funds?"

  Her question allowed Endicott to launch into an enthusiastic, and very detailed, explanation of his process. Beside her, Christy sensed Detective Billie Patterson was listening carefully. The information was of particular interest to her, as it would tie into the cases she was building against two of the former Jamieson Trust trustees.

  As Endicott talked, Christy searched her mind for questions, but she was still reeling from the shock of his news. Questions would come, she knew, but not until she had time to think and plan. When the meeting was over, she smiled at the accountant and said, "Thank you, Mr. Endicott. I’ll be in touch."

  Endicott nodded and stood. He stretched out his hand. "It has been a pleasure, Mrs. Jamieson. As always."

  Christy shook his hand. As she left the office, Patterson said, "Mrs. Jamieson, if I might have a word."

  Christy paused and half turned, her brows raised.

  Patterson said, "You’ve heard about the murder of Fredrick Jarvis?"

  Christy nodded. "It was the topic of a discussion at a recent social gathering I was at." A fancy way to describe one of the Armstrongs’ back yard barbecues, but she was still in her Jamieson princess persona. Fancy was the norm not the exception.

  "Fredrick Jarvis was a national political figure. His death is being considered in the context of his status as a member of provincial government and his campaign for national leadership. I’m part of a taskforce drawn from national and local police forces. We’re looking at his political life, at the people who have protested his policies, his competitors in the current leadership campaign, anyone with international connections."

  Christy stared at Patterson. She thought of the barbecue and heard again Roy’s voice reminiscing about the protests he’d participated in while Jarvis was minister of the environment and his still firm view that the man was dead wrong in his policies. She thought about Tamara Ahern, held captive by radicals, and so newly returned to Canada.

  And Quinn, Tamara’s former, and possibly current, lover. A journalist who had spent years in war zones, interviewing friends—and when he could arrange it—foes as well.

  The cold of stark fear washed over her. "Everyone?"

  Patterson nodded. "The taskforce will put anyone they are investigating under a spotlight. The glare will be intense. Every flaw revealed. Every weakness expos
ed."

  Christy studied Patterson’s expression. If she read the woman right, Patterson was telling her that Roy and Quinn were in danger.

  Patterson returned her gaze with a steady one of her own. "However, I don’t believe Mr. Jarvis was killed by an international terrorist or a political enemy. I think he was killed for one of the usual reasons—money, revenge, jealousy, fear. There were at least a half a dozen people in his private life who have a motive to kill him."

  "If you believe Jarvis was killed for personal reasons, why don’t you investigate that angle?" And leave Roy and Quinn out of it.

  "I’m a lone voice. I don’t have the time or manpower. As I said, the focus of the taskforce is on his political life and I am part of it. Everyone involved is working flat out to sift through a mound of data. I had to get special permission to come to the meeting this afternoon."

  Christy frowned. Harry Endicott kept meticulous records, which he would turn over to the police once he was done. He’d also write a detailed report for their use. It wasn’t necessary for Patterson attend this meeting. There had to be another reason she had made a point to be here today. "Did you come to warn me Quinn might be under investigation?"

  Patterson didn’t immediately reply. Christy had the sense that she was wrestling with herself. Finally she said, "Mr. Jarvis moved in the kind of social circles the Jamiesons play in. I’m sure you, or your aunt, know his wife and children. You might even be on a first name basis with them."

  "His daughter was on one of the committees I belonged to before Frank died, but—" Realization dawned. "You want me to investigate Fred Jarvis’ family?"

  "Ears, eyes and feet, Mrs. Jamieson. You can go where I cannot."

  "Detective, I don’t think this is a good idea."

  Patterson’s gaze was steady on hers, but she didn’t respond. She stayed silent and let Christy stew about spotlights, and consequences and danger to those she loved.

  "All right," Christy said at last. "I’ll do it. Give me the names on your suspect list."