Murder and a Song (A Pattie Lansbury Cat Cozy Mystery Series Book 2)

by Nancy C. Davis

  Laura pouted and gave her a raised eyebrow. “Isn’t that a little rich, coming from Little Hamilton’s resident busybody wannabe sleuth? It’s not like you have any formal qualifications, is it?”

  “My son was—”

  “—A policeman, yeah, I know. But, let’s face it, being the mother of Detective Andrew Lansdale is hardly something you’d want to shout about, is it?”

  Pattie stood and smoothed down her coat. “Miss Conrad, you have a long way to go before you figure out how to conduct a reasonable interview. Good evening.”

  “Oh, don’t huff!” Laura laughed, bringing out her recorder again. “How are you finding the festival? Who’s your favourite band so far?”

  Pattie left, clinging tightly to something her mother used to tell her: ‘If you can’t say anything polite, don’t say anything at all’.

  Chapter 15

  Elliott noticed that Pattie was in a bad mood when she found him by the Beatles tribute stage. She sank next to him on a flat wooden bench and looked mournfully at the now-cold hotdog he offered to her.

  “Whatever’s the matter?” he asked.

  “Every time I think that I’ve put the past behind me, it rears up again,” she replied sullenly. “Can’t I ever be rid of it? What’s happened has happened.”

  “Are you talking about your son?”

  “Yes. Andrew was a good man who got caught up in bad circumstances, and he was driven out of town because of it.” Pattie accepted the hotdog and bit down on it. She abhorred junk food but tonight could be an exception. “No sense in it going to waste, I suppose…”

  Elliott put his arm around her. “What happened with your son, anyway? I don’t know any of the details.”

  “I’d really rather not talk about it tonight. I just had a run-in with one of those news reporters who’s been sniffing around, and I can’t take that kind of interrogation. Did you know that I was interrogated for days after the debacle with Andrew?”

  “No, I didn’t. You mustn’t let this get you down, dear. You’re just despondent because you haven’t had a break in the case yet. All you need to do is look on the brighter side and keep striding onward! Onward and upward!”

  Pattie looked into the Doctor’s grinning face and returned his smile. “You always know how to cheer me up, Elliott. We should spend time together more often.”

  “I’d like that. Listen – they’re playing ‘Hey Jude’! That’s my favourite.”

  “Mine too,” Pattie said quietly.

  “Hey Pat, don’t carry the world upon your shoulders…”

  “Very funny! Stick to fixing skin conditions, because you’re certainly not a singer…!”

  Chapter 16

  They stayed and listened to the end of the set. The tribute band was very good; they even had a lanky Lennon lookalike who gave a great performance. When Pattie closed her eyes, she could almost have been listening to a record.

  She and Elliott took the walk back to the village. The path cut back through the edge of the woods, where the thin moon cast its weak light between the trees. The river chuckled nearby, but the branches were quiet except for the susurration of the wind through the leaves. All the birds and insects of the woods were asleep, and Pattie would have liked to be the same.

  An urge had risen within her to reach out and hold Elliott’s hand as they walked in silence. She did not, of course. It was so silly of her to have such an impulse at her age. Fifty-six years old and post-menopause, what business did she have feeling like a teenager at the start of a new romance? Her life was perfectly fine as it was, and there was no need to complicate things. Besides, she still missed her husband, but she had grown very accustomed to having her own space and all that free time, and no-one to have to compromise with on a daily basis…

  Elliott stopped dead in his tracks, as though he’d heard her thoughts. “Did you hear that?”

  Pattie looked up from the ground where she’d been walking. “Hear what?”

  “Shhh … Listen…”

  The woods were quiet. Chuckling stream, whispering leaves, no insects. Pattie could hear nothing out of the ordinary. She was about to say so when she heard it: a faint rustling in the distance, and an echoing shout diffused amongst the trees.

  “Is that someone…?” Pattie began, but didn’t finish.

  She and Elliott strained their ears.

  The noise got louder. Someone was running through the woods, crashing through branches and undergrowth. Then they heard a shout, loud and clear: “Help!”

  “Good God!” Elliott whispered, and the two of them tried to pinpoint the direction that the stranger was coming from. They didn’t need to wait long for their answer: a slim figure burst through a bush from the direction of the festival and nearly tripped over his own feet. His arms swung wildly as he ran, glancing behind himself. Pattie saw his wide eyes shining wetly in the gloom.

  “Hello?” called Elliott.

  “Hello? Oh, thank you! Help me!”

  The young man stumbled and fell at their feet. Pattie was shocked to realise that she recognised him.

  “You’re that boy Timothy, the friend of Harry Widmore and the others!” she gasped.

  “Help me!” Timothy Jeffries said, picking himself up. He was covered in dirt and scrapes. “They’re after me…”

  “Who’s after you, boy?” asked Elliott, trying to calm him. “What’s going on? You look like you’re afraid for your life!”

  “Please, help…” Timothy was looking behind him through the dark spaces between the trees. There was no-one following him. If there had been, they had stopped and were hidden. For now though, the young man was safe and his breathing slowed.

  Pattie touched his arm, startling him. “It’s alright. We can help you.”

  “It’s you,” he said, recognising Pattie from when she’d visited the tent after Daryl Hardy’s death. “I … I need your help. Please, take me to the police station. I need to be somewhere safe!”

  Chapter 17

  They flagged down one of the local taxis, who sped them to the police station. Outside, Elliott said his goodbyes. “You don’t need me in there, Patricia. I’ll wish you goodnight, and good luck!”

  “Thank you for the company, Elliott,” Pattie said softly. “I’m very grateful.”

  “Maybe I’ll get a chance to see you tomorrow. Sunday’s my one day off, but I can’t say the same for consulting detectives right now! Goodnight, Patricia.”

  “Goodnight.”

  Pattie took Timothy Jeffries into the station and sat him down as they waited for D.C. Downey to appear. He arrived very soon, not wearing his uniform jacket but with his shirt creased and his sleeves rolled up. The man looked fit to collapse from exhaustion, but he greeted Pattie with a smile and signed in their new guest.

  Once they’d arranged some hot drinks and pulled some snacks out of the vending machine, they sat Timothy down in the station’s break room. It was a lot more comfortable than the interview room, with soft couches and windows, which Pattie opened to let in some cool air.

  “Okay, Mister Jeffries,” said D.C. Downey. “Why don’t you tell us what this is all about?”

  The first time Pattie had seen Timothy had been at the tent, when he’d sat in the back of the van by himself. She’d had the impression that he wasn’t fully part of the gang, but he’d soon come to their defence when the questions turned to alibis. He’d initially struck Pattie as timid, and his display in the woods hadn’t changed her mind, but now that he was calmer she wondered how terrorised he would have to be to change moods so drastically.

  “It’s Toby and James,” he said, taking a gulp of tea to soothe his throat. “They’ve gone mad. I don’t know what’s gotten into them.”

  “It was they who were chasing you in the woods?” asked Pattie.

  Tim nodded. “It’s all been so weird since Harry … Well, that was shock enough. Then we had to go through the arrest and questioning – I know that those two have been through it all before with
other problems, but it’s the first time I’ve ever been in a police station. I’ve been pretty stressed out. When we were let go this afternoon, I thought we’d all just pack up and go home. I waited at the tent but the other two didn’t show up, so after a couple of hours I went to look for them.”

  “And?” prompted D.C. Downey.

  “I couldn’t believe they’d gone to one of the stages. None of us were hardly in a party mood. Something made me think to look in the van, so I opened it up and there they both were, sat in the back staring at this box with a cat in it. I saw its tail and heard the meowing. I could see that they were shocked to see me; maybe they thought they’d locked the van, I don’t know … I asked what they were up to, and they just flipped out. Toby jumped out and grabbed me, and James climbed down too and shut the van doors, maybe so the cat wouldn’t escape … But I managed to get free from Toby and backed off. At first I couldn’t believe it; I thought it must have been some stupid joke, but I saw the look in their eyes. They looked like they wanted to kill me, I swear! They came for me and I just ran, and they chased me through the campsite and didn’t let up for a second, and I ended up in the woods … and that’s when I ran into you,” Tim said, nodding at Pattie.

  D.C. Downey rubbed his unshaven cheek with one hand. “So, you don’t know what they were doing, or why they were chasing you?”

  “No.”

  “So this could have been a prank. Or for any reason at all, not necessarily anything to do with the murders.”

  Pattie interjected. “What colour was the cat? Was it the same one that visited your tent those few times?”

  D.C. Downey looked up wearily. “Mrs Lansbury, now’s not the time…”

  “It was a ginger one, I think it was the same one,” said Timothy uncertainly.

  “What makes you think that your own friends would want to hurt you?” asked D.C. Downey. “Tell me why this is something I should get involved in.”

  “They were trying to kill me!” Timothy shouted. “And it’s a bit shifty, isn’t it? Two guys turn up bloody dead and then they’re looking daggers at me? What am I supposed to think? That they’re just playing around?”

  “Do you know them well?” asked Pattie. “Toby and James?”

  “Not really. I met them through Harry, they were his friends from back when they went to university together. They’ve been at a few of his parties, but that hardly ever happens nowadays. These festivals are the only times we really get together. I never liked them much.”

  “Are you telling us that you believe James Farrell and Toby Draper might have had something to do with Harry Widmore’s drowning?” asked D.C. Downey. “I thought they were all friends?”

  “I don’t know, I don’t know!” cried Timothy. He balled up his fists and pressed them to his temples, as though trying to push out his doubts and suspicions. “But I saw the look in their eyes when I found them in that van. I know that they were serious. They didn’t like what I saw. I don’t even know what it means, but they were coming for me. And they were going to kill me.”

  Chapter 18

  “Could he be on to something?” Pattie asked D.C. Downey once they were alone. “If Farrell and Draper had killed somebody and that cat’s somehow involved, they would have known that Tim could spill the beans on them. If they’ve killed once, they might not think twice about doing it again to keep everything covered up.”

  “You’re right,” replied the officer, rubbing his eyes. “I’ll call some of the officers who are already at the festival and have the two of them arrested. I’m keeping Mister Jeffries here too. I wish now I hadn’t released any of them after questioning today.”

  “You should get some sleep,” Pattie advised gently.

  “So should you,” he replied pointedly. “But we both know we won’t sleep until we get some answers … Do you really think that cat has something to do with it?”

  “I’m not saying it’s a serial killer or anything, but it has to be connected somehow. Please have your men check the van and the tent for the cat. You can have it dropped off at Pat’s Whiskers and I’ll take care of it. I doubt it’ll be comfortable in one of your evidence lockers.”

  “Alright. I’m making the call now. You go home and put the kettle on, okay?”

  “Like you said,” Pattie reminded him, “neither of us will be asleep any time soon. I’ll need more than one cup!”

  One of the officers gave her a lift home. Pattie was still respected by the police, despite whatever happened with her son. They had known her for years, first as the mother of one of their former star detectives, then later as a valuable consulting detective – even if she did have some strange methods. To most people she was “Mrs Lansbury”, and to the ones who hadn’t been around that long, “the cat lady”.

  Pattie didn’t mind the moniker. She loved her furry friends and practically cheered when they rushed to greet her at the door. She always felt like she was neglecting them during cases like this. Luckily they didn’t crop up often, and she could make it up to the kitties by sitting around with a crossword or Sudoku puzzle, sipping tea or maybe watching one of the soaps on the telly with half a dozen cats around her.

  Simba was usually the first to greet her when she came home, but tonight he was joined by Macy, Putz and Tyson, who was getting a little used to the treats she’d been giving him and was probably there for selfish reasons.

  “I suddenly feel quite tired,” she confided to them as she took off her coat and boots, then trudged wearily to the kitchen. Simba followed her and curled up on the tiles under the oven as she turned on the gas hob and filled up the kettle.

  Within minutes she had fed thirteen meowing faces and settled down in the comfy chair to sip her tea and rest in front of the fire. It had been a long day. Mia jumped up and settled on her lap to sleep.

  “What a good idea…” Pattie murmured.

  Chapter 19

  At the same time two miles away, two police vans pulled up at the edge of the festival parking area. In the driver’s seat of one was Constable Palmer, dressed in what she called her ‘roughhousing uniform’: that is, the usual, plus a knife-proof coat and her helmet. Two officers were with her in the back seats. She spoke to them, as well as into the dashboard radio, so that the officers in the second van could hear her.

  “Alright chaps, listen closely. The targets for apprehension are one James Farrell and one Toby Draper, both Caucasian males in their mid thirties. We are to consider them dangerous and possibly armed. Once they are safely under arrest, we can search the tent, the surrounding plot, and their white Ford Transit van. We believe there may be a cat in the van or the surrounding plot, which we are to contain if possible. The tent plot is three minutes away on foot and all units are to follow me. Are we all clear? I want to hear ‘yes, Ma’ams’.”

  The officers in the back and those in the second van all chimed, “Yes, Ma’am!”, and they were ready to go.

  This was Constable Palmer’s first tactical operation, and although it was potentially very minor, she intended to do a good job with it. She was still under D.C. Downey’s responsibility and she was still pending her Detective prefix. This was going to go well.

  In a minute they were assembled outside the vans, ignoring nosy onlookers who crawled out of their tents or put down their beers to stare. Constable Palmer nodded to her five officers and then took the lead, striding through the campsite directly to where she knew that plot 369 was.

  As promised, it only took three minutes at a fast walk to get there. The tent was still in the darkness, with no light shining from within. Constable Palmer stood in front of the tent as the other officers dashed around the small plot, peered through the front windows of the van, and then joined her by the tent.

  “James Farrell. Toby Draper,” shouted the Constable, “this is the police. Step outside now.”

  There was no movement from the tent or the van.

  “Last warning!” she called, preparing her baton and CS spray canister. The ot
her officers did the same. “Alright! We’re coming in! Lie down on the ground and put your hands on the back of your heads!”

  Simultaneously, officers poured into the large tent and others smashed the front driver’s window of the van. One group checked the partitioned ‘rooms’ of the tent; the other found the release switch for the back doors of the van and unlocked them.

  There was no sign of the two suspects. The tent and the van were empty.

  “Bloody hell,” whispered Constable Palmer under her breath. The plot was surrounded by festival goers gaping at the action. She chose to reign in her temper and ignore them.

  “I think the cat’s in this box here,” called one of the officers, who had found a large cardboard box in the back with holes cut in it, and a camping stove placed on top to weigh it down. “It’s alive. No sign of the targets, Ma’am.”

  “Peterson, go and fetch one of the vans and park it fifty feet that way. You, Fenwick and Hill stay in the van and wait to see if the targets come back. I’m going to join you in an hour if nothing happens before then. The rest of you, come with me – bring that box with the cat. Do not let it get out, okay?”

  Chapter 20

  At the Pat’s Whiskers Feline Retirement Home, a woman was dreaming.

  She dreamt that she was in a moonlit meadow. There was no mud and no tents, but there was a stage. On the stage Paul, John, Ringo and George were playing ‘Hey Jude’ in sharp blue suits beneath a spotlight. Pattie was dancing. She hadn’t danced for years, not properly – maybe a little jiggle in the kitchen every now and again when a favourite song came on the radio. But she was dancing as though she were a younger woman … In the dream, she was a younger woman … and the man she was dancing with was a young man. The young Pattie knew him well but wanted to know him better. He was familiar, someone whose company she enjoyed immensely. It was not her ex-husband, God bless his soul. Even though Pattie was young in the dream, her heart was old. This was a new love.