by Gale Deitch
Pye leapt onto the sofa and snuggled against me. I reached out and pulled him closer, dipping my face into his soft coat. I was surprised by the clean, sweet smell of him. His body vibrated with contented purrs, and as I held him gently against my chest, I began to relax. It reminded me of the menagerie of stuffed animals I’d had as a young girl and the comfort they’d provided.
I was beginning to understand what people love about cats. “This might work out for us, Pye,” I told him, running my fingers through his fur.
When Daniel arrived home, I was still engrossed in the book, determined to find every possible clue and read to the end to discover the actual murderer.
“Hey, babe,” he said, bending down to kiss my forehead. He held up a brown paper bag. Brought you some Pho, the brisket noodle soup you love.”
“Yum. You certainly know how to pamper your girl.”
He frowned. “How are you feeling? That was a real scare you had today.”
“Still a little shaky, and reading this book isn’t helping. Have you checked it out yet?”
He shook his head. “Haven’t had a chance. Where’d you get this copy?”
“Picked it up from Mom.” I peered up at him. “Daniel, there are lots of similarities. I think the answers to Gwen’s murder are in this book.”
He put the bag on the coffee table and sat next to me. Pye slipped to the floor. “Trudie, we believe we’ve already solved the case with Ally’s arrest.”
“Oh yeah? Then why are you reading this book? To find clues, right?”
He shook his head. “No. To find evidence for our case.”
His comment stung me, and I felt tears threaten to appear. “Evidence against Ally. I still can’t believe you think she’s the murderer. I never would have given you the book if I thought you would use it against her.”
Daniel took the book from my hands and gazed into my eyes. “Trudie,” he said quietly. “Ally’s prints, and only her prints, are all over that hammer.”
“The killer could have worn gloves,” I said, ignoring Ben’s admonition to hold off before mentioning our glove theory to Daniel. “We had a whole box full of plastic gloves in the kitchen. And someone from my staff could have discarded a pair in the rest room trash can.”
Daniel raised his eyebrows and nodded. “Possibility. We’ve thought of that as well.”
“Then you are considering other suspects?” I asked, hopeful.
“I can’t discuss the case,” he said. “But we’re investigating as thoroughly as we can. There were a lot of people at the event.”
“So, the DNA on the hammer isn’t the only piece of evidence?” I asked.
“You just don’t want to give up, do you?” he said, shaking his head at me.
As we spoke, something occurred to me. “Daniel, could you tell from the crime scene if the murderer was left- or right-handed?” I remembered from the day Belinda wrote me the check in her office that she used her left hand, a detail I had noted in my suspect book. “When Sam and I discovered the body, the hammer had been dropped on the floor on Gwen’s right side. That means the killer, who was facing her, had the murder weapon in his or her left hand, doesn’t it? Ally is right-handed.”
“Trudie, again, I am not going to discuss this case with you. What’s this?” He extracted my notebook, which was wedged between us, and flipped through the pages. “Is this what I think it is? Are you getting involved where you shouldn’t be?”
I felt my face redden and snatched the notebook from him. “I’ve been jotting down some personal notes about possible suspects. I know Ally is innocent, and I think in your gut you know it, too. That means the killer is still out there. I’m keeping a record of everything I saw or heard that night and thoughts about each suspect. It’s something I have to do.”
Daniel gently touched my cheek and swept the hair back from my face. “I know you’re upset about Ally’s arrest. So, go ahead and put your thoughts in this notebook. Go ahead and read this book. But promise me, Trudie, that you will not get involved with any of these people. It could be dangerous for you. Look what happened to you today in the parking garage.”
“Daniel, that proves to me that you believe Ally is innocent. Don’t you?”
“When I say I want you to stay away from these people, I’m including Ally, Ben Knight, Albert Berger, and everyone else at that dinner. Trudie, promise me you will stay out of it.”
I shook my head. “I’m already in it, and there’s no going back.”
We sat across from each other at the kitchen table, savoring the delicious broth laden with rice noodles and tender chunks of brisket. I closed my eyes in ecstasy, and when I opened them, Daniel was grinning at me.
“What?” I asked.
“I like making you happy.”
I wiped my mouth with my napkin. “And I like that you like making me happy. You do an excellent job of it.”
“By the way,” he said. “I’ve been asking around at the station, and I think I found a home for Pye.”
I stopped, my spoon frozen halfway to my mouth.
“Sargent Walker said his kids have been begging for a cat. They can pick up Pye this weekend.”
“Oh, but…”
“But what? Are you having second thoughts? Didn’t you say you’re afraid of cats?”
Pye had provided the comfort I’d needed that afternoon. I thought about the softness of his fur where I’d buried my face, and the way he’d curled himself into me. “Well, I was afraid of cats. But that was before I knew what they were like. I’m kind of getting used to Pye.”
“So, you want to keep him?”
I gave him a sheepish grin. “Well, at least for now. Let’s see how it goes.”
Daniel sat back in his chair and folded his arms. “Trudie Fine, I think you’re becoming a cat lover.”
“Maybe so,” I said.
After Daniel left for work the next morning, I pulled out Hammered Halls and continued reading. Ben had laid out a complicated plot filled with more suspects, motives, and misleading clues than a loaded baked potato. More than one student in the class, some of the faculty on campus, and even the English lit professor himself stood out as possible killers. Jealousy, competition, and revenge all played their parts in the story. But, for the life of me, I couldn’t remember from the first time I’d read it, who the killer in this book had been. I kept reading, but soon I’d have to leave for work.
My cellphone rang, and I peered at the display. Myra Keating. What did she want?
“Hello, Ms. Fine,” she said after I’d answered. “Can you tell me why in heaven’s name that blonde bitch murderess is walking around free as a bird?”
I paused for a moment, unable to speak, anger filling my chest like a pot of simmering water.
“Well, I’m waiting for an answer, Ms. Fine.”
“If you’re referring to Allison Schwartz, you know very well she is out on bond.”
“Where she can commit another gruesome murder? You need to tell your boyfriend he should do his job and lock her up where she belongs. Behind bars.”
“If you have a complaint about the way the police are handling the case, I suggest you speak to them directly.” The water was bubbling to the top of the pot.
“I would think,” she said, “that you’d have some influence in the matter. Or have you already convinced your fiancé of that woman’s innocence?”
That did it. The pot was now boiling over. “I’ll have you know that Detective Goldman conducts his work with the highest integrity and professionalism. Any actions that have been performed in this case have been followed to the letter of the law. Again, if you have a complaint, call the station directly and let them know.”
“Hmph,” she muttered. “Nevertheless, I would like to meet with you about a…um personal matter. I can be at your home in a half hour if that’s convenient.”
“No, that is not convenient. I’ll be leaving for the office soon.”
“Well, then. I will meet you ther
e.”
“Ms. Keating, can’t we discuss the matter over the phone? Why in person?”
She cleared her throat. “This is a sensitive issue I would like to address in person.”
I paused. Myra Keating was the last person I wanted to meet with. Why would she want to speak to me about a personal matter? Not to mention Daniel had warned me away from everyone who’d attended the conference dinner. On the other hand, a meeting with Myra would provide an opportunity to add clues to my notebook. Anyway, Zach would be at the office if the situation became uncomfortable.
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll meet you at my office in an hour.”
It was only after I’d hung up that I wondered how Myra had known I was at home.
Zach was still in a strange mood when I arrived at the office. “I need to go out for a while,” he said.
Knowing Myra was heading this way, my mind had been eased by the fact that Zach would be at the office for protection. After all, she was one of the suspects Daniel had warned me away from. But Zach’s recent distress over Ally kept me from saying anything to deter him from whatever mission he had in mind.
“Okay. You’re not going to disappear for days again, are you?” I asked.
“No. Of course not.” He shifted his gaze away from me. “There’s something I have to do.”
“Do you want to tell me about it?”
He shook his head, then turned back to me. “You’re a good friend, Trudie. But if I’m going to resolve all the things swirling around in my head, I’ll have to work them out myself.”
My expression must have looked doubtful, because he smiled and said, “Don’t worry. I’ll be fine. Be back in a couple of hours.”
He hadn’t been gone more than fifteen minutes when the door opened, and Myra Keating walked in. “Hello, Ms. Fine.”
She regarded me as if she’d just bitten into a sour pickle. As usual, her clothing, an olive drab sweater set and beige knit skirt, was non-descript, as if she wanted to blend into the walls. As if she wanted to be forgettable.
“Hello, Ms. Keating.” I pointed to the chair in front of my desk. “Please, have a seat.”
“Thank you.” She parked herself on the chair, her posture erect and her purse held firmly on her lap.
“What can I do for you? You said it was sensitive.”
“Yes, well….” She lifted her chin. “I would like some help with a personal matter.”
“A personal matter?” I couldn’t imagine why this woman, who always viewed me with distaste, would ask me for help.
“Yes.” She shifted in her seat. “I—I would like to improve my appearance.”
“Improve your appearance, how?”
Her face flushed, the only burst of color I’d ever seen on Myra Keating. “I couldn’t help but notice, Ms. Fine, that you have a certain flair about you. Your hair, your makeup, your clothing. Your personality, in fact. Somehow it all comes together and draws people to you. How do you do it?”
I jerked back in my chair and peered at Myra. “How do I do what?”
“Put yourself together like you do. To create your…persona, I guess.”
I’d never thought about this before. I was just me, Trudie Fine. I got up every morning and just did me. “I’m not sure what you’re asking, Ms. Keating.”
She sat forward in her chair. “Trudie, can I call you that? And please, call me Myra.” She attempted a smile that almost looked friendly.
“Okay…Myra. And you want me to do what?”
She leaned forward and put her hand on my desk. “I’d like your help with my appearance. Of course, I will pay you for your time and expertise. Here is the initial payment.” She reached into her purse and withdrew an envelope. She placed it on the desk and pushed it toward me.
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. I eyed the envelope which was pretty thick as if stuffed with cash.
“Of course, I will provide the balance when you’re done, an hourly fee, whatever we agree on.”
“Let me get this straight. You want to pay me to help change your appearance?”
“Actually, to improve my appearance.”
“And you chose me, why?”
“Ms. Fine. I mean, Trudie. As I said before, you know how to present yourself in a way that others notice you. People are drawn to you. I want to learn that, and I think you can teach me.”
Yes, people often notice me, I thought. But mostly because of my weight. At least, that’s what I’d always assumed. “Look, Myra. I’m sure there are professionals you can consult with who can help you with these things. I don’t think I’m the right person for the job. A visit to a hair salon, a makeover at the cosmetic department, and a consult at a clothing boutique is all you need. Not me.”
“Yes, you, Trudie. It’s your expertise that I want. I’m tired of going through life totally overlooked. Not only my appearance, but my personality—or lack of it. Professionally, I have succeeded. I have even risen to become president of the Mystery Writers’ Association, mainly because no one else wanted the job.”
I leaned forward and spoke softly. “I’m sure you must have a friend who can help you.”
She shook her head, her eyes welling up, and I saw the desperation. “I have no friends. I don’t even know how to make a friend. No one is attracted to me. I only know how to de-tract people. In a roomful of people, I’m invisible. No one sees me or even wants to see me, much less engage with me. Trudie, please help me.”
I sat silent for a moment, mulling over her request. Everything she said, I believed, was the truth. These were all things I’d observed. More than once I had noticed beauty beneath her blandness and wondered why she hadn’t enhanced her natural assets. Maybe no one ever taught her how. The idea of transforming this unpleasant individual into an attractive, desirable woman appealed to me.
I pushed the envelope back toward her.
“So, you’re not going to help me?” she asked.
“Oh, yes. I am going to help you. We’ll start tomorrow morning. Keep the money. Consider me your first friend.”
It was time to get back to work, to double check plans for the Spring Fling. I printed out the lists Zach and I had made and went into our warehouse to determine the china, flatware and glasses needed for the event. I chose the bar accessories we would require then opened the walk-in cooler to make sure we had olives, maraschino cherries, and other garnishes for the mocktails.
I stood at the entrance to the cooler, reluctant to enter, recalling the time last year that I’d been locked inside and sure I was going to die. Since then, even though we’d installed an additional safety exit and an emergency phone, I would only go into the walk-in when Zach was close by. I shivered, more from the memory than from the temperature emanating from the cooler. Then I closed the door.
As I walked along the shelved area of the warehouse, I checked off items on the list and added anything we were missing.
“Zach,” I called when the front doorbell sounded, indicating that someone had entered office. He must not have heard me because he didn’t reply. I knew he would be popping his head into the warehouse any moment to greet me. I waited, but he didn’t appear. I heard desk drawers opening and closing. “Zach,” I shouted again. No answer.
What if it wasn’t Zach? What if someone else was snooping around the office? I pulled my cellphone from my pocket and texted Zach. Where are you?
A moment later, he texted, On my way back to the office.
As if I were still standing at the entrance to the cooler, I froze. If it wasn’t Zach rummaging around in the office, then who was it? Did I dare look?
“Hello,” I called out. “Who’s there?”
No answer.
I crept up the four steps to the office and took hold of the doorknob then slowly turned it and pushed the door open a crack. As I did so, the bell sounded again.
I stepped into the office and inhaled a quick breath. Papers were scattered everywhere—across the desk and on the floor. All the drawers
were open with paperwork spilling out of file folders. I scurried over to grab my purse and, checking the contents, sighed my relief. My wallet, cash and credit cards hadn’t been taken.
So, what was missing? My suspect notebook.
I ran to look out the storefront window in time to see a silver car peeling out of the parking lot.
Chapter Thirteen
“What happened?” Zach said when he walked in the door.
I stood, holding a sheaf of papers I’d retrieved from the floor. “I-I’m not sure. I guess you could call it a break-in. The front door was unlocked, but I was in the warehouse.”
He walked around the desk to survey the mess. “What did they take? Anything valuable?”
“As far as I can tell, the only thing they took was my suspect notebook. My purse is still intact.”
“Suspect notebook? What’s that?”
Oops, I thought. Zach knew nothing about my efforts to find the murderer. I bent down and continued to pick up papers, trying to act nonchalant. “Just some thoughts I was jotting down about various people at the dinner the other night.”
Zach stooped down in front of me, so we were eye to eye. “Trudie, are you getting involved again where you shouldn’t be?”
“Not exactly.” I said. “Making some observations, that’s all.”
“Trudie.” He had that warning tone in his voice, the one Daniel sometimes used with me.
Why was it that the men in my life were always warning me about what I shouldn’t be doing? Daniel, Ben, and now Zach all treating me like some damsel in distress. Well, I was a smart and strong woman, and I was going to do whatever it took to prove Ally’s innocence. I took hold of the desk and pulled myself up.
Zach scooped up some papers and stood. “What was in your notebook that someone would want to steal it?”
“Nothing that would interest anyone.”
“Who even knew about it?”
“Hardly anyone. Daniel. Ben. That’s it.” A light went on in my head, and I turned to Zach. “Maybe the person who made this mess was just trying to scare me, but in the process, discovered my notebook.”