Laurie Cass - Bookmobile Cat 02 - Tailing a Tabby

by Laurie Cass

  “What happened, anyway?” I asked. “Chris said you fell off your roof.”

  “At least he got that part right.” Greg grinned. “I was up there looking at the flashing around the chimney. There’s a leak up there somewhere. I been using that wooden ladder of my dad’s for years and never thought to check it. My own stupid fault, you know? I leave it out back of the garage—no surprise it fell to bits.”

  “Did you ever think that someone tampered with it?” My voice sounded loud in the small room.

  Greg stared at me, then started laughing. “Oh, right. Who’s going to do that? Because I have so many enemies.”

  Tucker was also looking at me. He opened his mouth but then shut it.

  His eyes were so blue I thought I might be looking into pieces of the sky. His smile was so warm I thought I might kiss it. And I suddenly thought that I might be falling in love with him.

  “Hello?” Greg said. “Are you two still here?”

  Tucker murmured that he’d be back later, gave us nods, and went off to do busy doctor things. I tore my gaze away from Tucker and turned my attention back to the man in the bed.

  “How long have you known Brett Karringer?”

  “My buddy Brett?” Greg frowned. “Why?”

  Excellent question. Unfortunately I didn’t have a good answer prepared. “He looks a lot like someone I met the other day. I was wondering if they were related somehow.”

  “Oh. Well, I only met him a couple months ago. He lives downstate, but he seems okay. A little intense, if you know what I mean, but okay.”

  “Has he ever dated anyone up here?”

  “No idea.”

  Internally, I cursed the male gender for their stereotypical tendency not to talk about anything of importance. What I needed was a connection from Brett to Carissa, and I didn’t have one. Even a vague one would be good, but I had nothing.

  “Say,” Greg said. “You want to watch the ball game for an inning or two?”

  About as much as I wanted to watch grass grow, but I studied the lines of pain and weariness on his face, smiled, and said, “Sure.”

  • • •

  When I got home, I explained Greg’s accident to Eddie.

  “So, what do you think?” I asked. “Accidental or intentional?”

  Eddie, who was sitting on the back of the dining bench, rotated around so that his back faced me.

  “Hey, don’t be like that. I’m sorry that you had to spend the evening inside, but you know I have to figure this out. The police still think Cade did it and—”

  Eddie was paying no attention to my explanation. The newspaper on the dining bench must have suddenly needed scratching, because he jumped off the seat’s back and onto the paper and started ripping it to shreds with his clawed feet.

  “Hey! Cut that out!” His current paper of choice was a freebie supplement to the Petoskey newspaper. The Graphic was a guide to everything fun that was going on in the area, which mostly meant weekends, but there were—

  My brain suddenly spun off into a direction it had never gone. Weekends. Greg Plassey had been whacked on the head with that golf ball at a weekend tournament. Trock Farrand had almost been run off the road when? On a weekend. Hugo Edel’s boat had blown up on a weekend, and it had been on a weekend, a Friday night, that Carissa had been killed. Okay, Greg’s ladder escapade was a weekday event, but the ladder could have been damaged on a weekend.

  “Everything happened on a weekend,” I said softly. “Do you think it matters?”

  Eddie opened his mouth in a silent “Mrr” and jumped back onto the back of the bench, where he sat and started cleaning his left front paw. To get the newsprint off, no doubt.

  “Well,” I told him, “since you think it matters, maybe I should call a detective.” Eddie had no response to that. I took that as confirmation, found the number for the sheriff’s department, and dialed. Since it was getting close to ten at night, of course there was no detective around. I left a message to call.

  “Think one of them will?” I asked Eddie. He stared at me, unblinking. “Yeah, I don’t think so, either.”

  Which meant it might be time for another trap.

  Chapter 19

  A few minutes later, my cell phone rang. “Ms. Hamilton? Detective Devereaux returning your call.”

  Within the hour? A new record, folks! “Thanks,” I said, and launched straight into everything I’d found out, from the visits of Carissa’s ex-boyfriend to Crown Yachts and Trock’s set. I told him about my suspicions regarding the accidents, and about what had happened yesterday to Greg Plassey.

  I told him all that and about the weekends and everything else I could think of and when I was done, the detective said, “Thank you for the information, Ms. Hamilton. And we appreciate that you stopped by to drop off that note you received.”

  Somewhere in there I heard the warning signs of an upcoming qualifying sentence. “But… ?”

  “There’s been a development in the case against Mr. McCade.”

  All the muscles in my body tightened. “It’s that nurse’s aide, isn’t it?” I blurted out.

  For a moment I heard nothing from the other end of the phone. Then I heard the distant sounds of a file drawer slamming. Devereaux was still there; he just wasn’t talking. Which could only mean he didn’t know what to say, and to me that could only mean that I was right. They’d discovered that Heather, Cade’s aide the night Carissa was murdered, had lied.

  “It’s not what you think,” I said fast. “Really, it’s not. See, there was a moon and Cade wanted to sit out in the courtyard and besides, there’s no way he could have left that note in the bookmobile and—”

  “Thank you, Ms. Hamilton. Please be assured that we’re investigating the incident to the fullest extent possible, and don’t hesitate to contact us if you have any new information.” And he was gone.

  Slowly, I put down the phone, my fear for Cade reaching a new level.

  It was definitely time for another trap.

  Trap number two.

  • • •

  I asked Eddie about the wisdom of setting another trap. “I don’t see what else I can do. What I need is proof, but all I have is suppositions and guesses and theories.” And redundancy, apparently, but I was so worried about Cade that I cut myself a little slack in the vocabulary department.

  Eddie, who was lying on my lap, kneaded it gently with his claws. I wasn’t sure what that meant, other than my lap wasn’t quite what he wanted it to be, so I kept going.

  “The fact that everything happened on a weekend doesn’t necessarily mean that it was the Weasel, whoever he is.” Or anyone else from downstate, for that matter. “Maybe the killer was using that as a red herring, or maybe the killer lives up here but has a long commute and only has weekends free.”

  Eddie rolled partway over, purring and exposing his tummy.

  I rubbed his soft belly fur and did some more thinking out loud. “Either way, I think setting up a second trap is the way to go.”

  “And were you going to do this all alone?”

  I twitched, Eddie jumped, and I turned to see Cade standing on the dock, leaning on his cane.

  “You might as well check yourself out of Lakeview,” I said, “for all the time you spend outside the facility.”

  He smiled. “I was cleared for all activities of daily living this morning. You are speaking to a man who will sleep in his own bed tonight.”

  “That’s great!” I said. “But where’s Barb? Shouldn’t you two be out celebrating?”

  He nodded in the direction of the parking lot. “She’s waiting for me. But we’d like to invite you to dinner next week, since it’s mostly due to you and your Eddie that I was able to recover so quickly.”

  A happy warmth glowed inside me. “You don’t need to do that. I was glad I was in the right place at
the right time, that’s all.”

  “Ivy will be there, too,” he said. “And I would love a chance to see three of my favorite women in the same place at the same time.”

  I laughed. “Then I accept. Thank you.”

  “One condition.” He shifted his grip on the cane. “This proposal of a second trap. The entire escapade is far too dangerous. This is something best left to the police. They are trained for this sort of work and you are not. Perhaps they think I killed Carissa, but I didn’t, and they will at some point determine who did. Let them do their job.”

  A sensible person would have agreed, but as many people had told me, I was not always sensible. I held my thumb and index finger an inch apart. “The police are this close to arresting you. Detective Devereaux as good as told me so. If they still think you did it, how hard are they going to look at anyone else?”

  He shifted again. Didn’t say anything.

  “Aren’t you the least little bit worried about being convicted for a murder you didn’t commit? Sure, we’d all like to believe in the infallibility of our justice system, but we also all know that mistakes are sometimes made.”

  Cade looked out to the lake. He didn’t say anything.

  I pressed on. “And how about the value of your paintings? About all the money so many people have spent, purchasing your work for a retirement nest egg? Or aren’t you concerned about them anymore?”

  A half smile creased his face. “I totally withdraw my objection to Trap Number Two.”

  We were clearly onto T words, but I didn’t have one ready. “Good.” Though I was going to set the trap no matter how many objections he put up, it was nice to have his tacit approval.

  “Tomorrow night, then,” he said. “I’ll make the Facebook posts.”

  I nodded, then remembered the long hours we’d spent in the first trap. “And I’ll bring snacks.”

  • • •

  At sunset the next night, I hauled the picnic basket down from the top of the kitchen cabinets and shoved every kind of quiet snack I could think of into it.

  This turned into an interesting exercise, because I quickly realized that most of my favorite snacks were noisy. Or if not the food itself, then the wrapper. It wouldn’t do at all to scare away the killer because I was taking the wrapper off a bar of Hershey’s Special Dark.

  In the end I included water bottles and a number of items in separate, nicely soft zippered plastic bags. Cheese cubes, fudge from the downtown shop, bananas, and grapes. I even remembered to tuck in something upon which to serve the food. Sometimes I was so smart I amazed myself.

  Cade and I had figured that if this trap was going to work at all, the killer would surely show up after everyone else in the marina had gone to bed, which on Friday night meant after the weekly party tailed off around two in the morning. I could hear the action in full swing a couple of docks away, so there was oodles of time.

  I’d also had time to think about my previous position in the shrubbery. While my phone’s camera function was good, I wasn’t absolutely certain it was good enough to capture the face of someone on my boat from that distance. This time I was going to be up close and personal.

  “Minnie?”

  I abandoned the picnic basket and poked my head out the door. “Hey, Cade. Come on in. I was just finishing with the provisions.”

  He opened the houseboat’s gate and, using his cane for assistance, stepped up onto the deck. “The closer this moment comes, the less sure I am you should be doing it.”

  “Me? What about you?”

  “It’s my problem and I should never have pulled you in.”

  I snorted. “As I recall, I pulled myself in. The next big question is, do I take the basket of snacks, or do you?” He started to protest, but I crossed my arms and stuck out my chin, becoming the immovable object. Cade sighed, clearly choosing not to try to be the irresistible force, and lifted the picnic basket off the counter.

  The weight almost toppled him. “Goodness, Minnie, we’re only going to be out here for a few hours. How much did you pack?”

  Since he’d lifted the basket with his weak arm, I didn’t want to make fun of him. “Enough to feed a small army. After all, it’s better to have and not need than need and not have.”

  He nodded sagely. “Words of wisdom. Now, where is that Eddie of yours? I’d like to say hello.”

  “Last I checked, he was napping on my pillow.” I made a move toward the back of the boat. “I’ll go get him.”

  “No, don’t.” Cade held up his hand. “I wouldn’t want to wake him.”

  I blinked. The man, clearly, had never kept company with a cat. “He’ll go right back to sleep,” I said. “Cats aren’t like babies.”

  But Cade was already shuffling toward the door. “Let’s get you settled.”

  Outside, I propped the ladder I’d borrowed from the marina office up against the side of the cabin and scrambled up. Cade stood a few rungs up, lifted the picnic basket to the roof, and slid it across. I patted the front pocket of my black sweatpants. Phone. I patted the other pocket. My aunt’s small digital camera for backup. Set and ready.

  “Did you look at the weather?” I asked.

  “If you believe weather forecasters”—the chaise squeaked under Cade’s weight—“we’re in for a mild evening of temperatures in the low sixties, calm wind, and clear skies.”

  I hunted around in the darkness for the cushion I’d tossed up earlier. “That’s a nice forecast. I hope it’s true.”

  Cade chuckled. “You, me, and all the merrymakers over there.”

  Tonight’s marina party was roaring at full throttle. The two docks and multiple boats between us weren’t doing much to muffle the music and laughter. I sat cross-legged on the cushion, tempted to reach for the picnic basket, but knowing I shouldn’t start down that snack-filled road so early.

  Cade and I talked quietly. He told me that he’d always wanted to spend a night in Sweden’s ice hotel; I told him that I’d always wanted to watch a horse race at every track Dick Francis had mentioned in his mysteries. Cade said he’d never been able to cook bacon properly and I confessed that I’d never once made a biscuit worth eating.

  It might have been an hour later when Cade stood and stretched. “I’m getting downright old,” he grumbled. “Can’t even—“

  Crash!

  I knew exactly what had happened. I stuck my head out over the edge of the roof. Now that my eyes had adjusted to the dim light, I could see well enough, or almost. “That’s my bucket of rocks,” I said. “You must have kicked it over. Leave them for morning. They’re just, you know, rocks.”

  But he was already stooping down to pick them up. “Can’t have a mess,” he said, glancing sideways, “now, can we?”

  He stopped abruptly. With a rock in each hand, he looked straight up at me.

  Chapter 20

  I stopped breathing. Looked at Cade’s taut face. Looked at the stones in his hands. Looked at Cade. Had I been wrong? Had all this been a complicated maneuver to get me in a place where he could kill me and blame it on the ex-boyfriend?

  “No!” Cade shouted, and pulled back with his arm, cocking it to throw.

  I yanked myself back, shouting who knew what, stunned that I’d been so wrong, angry that Cade was trying to murder me, and pumped full of determination that I’d get out of this situation. Somehow.

  “Leave us alone!” Cade shouted, and the rock flew across the boat’s deck and crashed against something that went “Oww!”

  I lifted my head. Someone was standing on the dock. A male figure, nondescript, not short and not tall, not wide and not thin. He was standing with one foot on the dock and one on my boat, grasping his shoulder where Cade’s rock must have hit him nice and square, but it was an awkward look, because the hand doing the grasping was holding a deadly looking handgun with an attachment that every mov
iegoer knew was a silencer.

  “It’s him,” I gasped, part of me very relieved that it wasn’t Trock, or Greg, or Hugo, or even Randall Moffit.

  “Stay still,” Cade ordered. He reached for another rock, cocked his arm again, and let it fly.

  Brett Karringer ducked. Cade’s stone hit a piling and splashed harmlessly into the water.

  Cade was grabbing stone after stone, throwing, fighting as best he could, but there were only so many rocks in the bucket. All Karringer had to do was wait it out, and then he could come after us with the gun and do… well, whatever he’d been planning on doing.

  I was yelling, shrieking for help, but the music from the party was drowning me out.

  There had to be a way out of this. There had to be, but calling 911 wouldn’t get the police here anything close to fast enough.

  Frantically I looked around for a weapon. I didn’t have an accurate aim—I’d always been one of those kids picked dead last for softball teams in gym class—so even if there were more rocks, it wouldn’t have done us any good. What we needed was to get that gun away from Karringer. What I needed was something… ah.

  I lunged for the picnic basket. Sticking out high was the cutting board I’d stuffed in to work as a serving tray. I yanked it free.

  “Minnie, call the police!” Cade shouted, still throwing rocks at Karringer.

  Rocks weren’t going to work much longer and there was no time to hold a committee meeting about this. Karringer’s head was down and he was fumbling with the gun, trying to bring it up and around into shooting position.

  Though the last thing I wanted to do was approach a guy with a loaded weapon, there wasn’t much choice. Well, I could have screamed like a little kid and crumpled into a ball of fear, but that wouldn’t be very productive. It wouldn’t have helped my self-esteem much, either.

  I sucked in a quick breath and, as quickly and as quietly as I could, climbed down the ladder. How close did I have to get? I had absolutely no idea.

  With all my heart and might I wished that I’d spent more time in the backyard playing catch with my brother. If only Greg Plassey were here to give me some pointers. Then again, if Greg were here, he would have beaned Karringer in the head with that first rock and I wouldn’t have to be doing any of this. An empowerment exercise, that’s what this was.