Let Sleeping Cats Lie: The 9 Lives Cozy Mystery Series, Book Four

by Louise Clark

Ellen raised her opera glasses. “He’s licking her cheek. Collecting her tears, I think.”

  Then Letitia lifted her hand to stroke the cat’s back. The minister began again and the congregation breathed a sigh of relief. The crisis, if there had ever been one, was averted.

  “I don’t care what he’s doing,” Christy said grimly. “I’m going to kill him.”

  Chapter 16

  After the funeral, the guests retired to the Jarvis home in Lion’s Bay, a village north of Vancouver on Howe Sound. Like the church service, the reception was by invitation only. Christy was surprised when Harold Cowan, Fred’s campaign manager and chief of staff, invited them to the house, but Ellen shrugged and said, “It’s the Trust, my dear, and the Jamieson name.” As much as anything else that had happened in the last couple of weeks, this told Christy that her life had once again changed in a way far beyond her control.

  Access to Lion’s Bay was by the Sea to Sky Highway, a road carved into the slopes of the North Shore Mountains. In the summer, the Sea to Sky was a popular tourist excursion, known for its glorious views of Howe Sound and the mountains of the Sunshine Coast beyond. On this June day, the highway was a line of limousines and expensive private cars slowly making their way along the twisting road to the Jarvis house.

  Named for the twin peaks called the Lions, one of Vancouver’s North Shore landmarks, the houses in the village of Lion’s Bay clung precariously to the unstable side of the towering mountains. There was little parking, certainly not enough to accommodate the fleet of cars bringing mourners to the Jarvis house, so the cars were being redirected to park at nearby Horseshoe Bay after dropping guests at the door.

  “Good thing we decided not to drive ourselves,” Christy said, as she watched their limo driver join the long line of vehicles drawing away from the Jarvis residence.

  “It’s always better to have a driver for an affair like this,” Ellen said. She and Christy were standing outside the house waiting to gain entrance. It wasn’t only the cars ensnared in a traffic snarl. As at the church, security was tight, names were being checked against a guest list, and ID was required to gain entrance. The result was that an informal reception was taking place out on the lawn while guests waited to go inside to join the family.

  Waiters carrying round trays filled with glasses of red and white wine wandered through the crowd. As one passed, Christy snagged a red wine. Ellen chose white. They were sipping their drinks and watching the front door when Olivia Waters sauntered up to them.

  “Quite a turnout,” she said. She was drinking red wine, like Christy. Her cheeks wore a little flush of pink. This evidently wasn’t her first glass.

  “Yes, it is,” Christy said. She eyed Olivia. “I saw you at the funeral. I was surprised you were sitting in the pew right behind the family.”

  Olivia shrugged. “That’s because I am family.” She lifted the glass and drank deep, almost half the contents deep.

  Christy raised her brows. Olivia was more than a little drunk and apparently on her way to becoming more intoxicated. Ellen pursed her lips in disapproval. A well-bred woman did not over indulge at the reception following a funeral. It just was not done.

  Olivia shot them a defiant glance, sober enough to acknowledge the disapproval. “Of a sort, anyway. Fred and I had our differences, but he was my daughter’s father and for that I will always be bound to him.” Tears started in her eyes and she raised her glass. “To Fred,” she said.

  “To Fred,” Ellen murmured, her brows raised. Christy smiled faintly and followed suit. Though Olivia downed the rest of her glass, Christy and Ellen merely sipped from theirs.

  Olivia wandered off to speak to another mourner. Christy said, “I did not expect this.”

  “Olivia’s emotional response? Or her drunkenness?” Ellen was watching Olivia as she switched her empty glass for a full one.

  “Both, I suppose. She was upset about his death, but now that Tamara is being treated as the chief suspect, I thought she’d be angry. Resentful, maybe.”

  “She may feel that way and be conflicted,” Ellen said thoughtfully. “Or she may be living in the moment, letting herself grieve before she moves on.”

  “Maybe,” Christy said. “But if it was my daughter who was the suspect, I’d be moving heaven and earth to discover who the real killer was.”

  That made Ellen smile. “Then it is lucky, is it not, that Tamara has Quinn—and you—and doesn’t have to depend on Olivia for her future.”

  The knot of people ahead of Christy and Ellen untangled itself as individuals were admitted to the residence. Christy found herself being scrutinized by a cold-eyed security officer who reminded her uncomfortably of the taskforce head, Bernard Fortier. She gave her name and showed her ID, then he nodded her through into the house. She paused in the foyer to wait for Ellen.

  The Jarvis residence was a modern construction, spacious, but not huge. The foyer opened up into a great room, which featured high ceilings and spectacular views of water and mountains. Or at least she thought the views would be spectacular. Right now, it was hard to catch more than a glimpse, because the open space was packed with people. Voices echoed from the cathedral ceiling as they shared memories and celebrated the life of Frederick Jarvis.

  “Do you see Letitia? We should pay our respects,” Christy said as Ellen came up beside her, still tucking her passport back into her purse. The crowd was so thick it was difficult to find any one person in the crush.

  They scanned the room, then Ellen said, “There, by the table. She’s talking to Archie and Marion Fleming.”

  “Fred Jarvis’ main competition for the leadership of the Dogwood Party?” Christy said. She was still surprised that the Flemings had been positioned in that row behind the family.

  Ellen nodded. “He and Archie joined the party together years ago. They were rivals, but friends as well, I think. I do know that Letitia and Marion Fleming have been friends for years.”

  “Perhaps that’s the reason they were seated near the family,” Christy said. “They were old friends.” She made it sound like a statement, but in her mind, it was a question. Yes, Archie and Fred had been colleagues and their wives were friends, but to have his biggest political rival seated that close? And in the same row as at least one of Fred’s mistresses? It was definitely odd. She made a mental note to dig deeper and tucked the thought away as she and Ellen moved through the crowd toward Letitia.

  The Flemings had drifted away by the time she and Ellen reached Letitia. She was smiling, but close up Christy could see the bleakness in her eyes and marks of strain on her face. Warmth and pity flooded through Christy as she listened to Ellen express her condolences. Letitia Jarvis looked like she needed a hug and a shoulder to have a good long cry on. “I’m so sorry for your loss,” she said, meaning the familiar words.

  Letitia must have understood her sentiments were real for she relaxed a little and her smile became less fixed. “Thank you, Mrs. Jamieson. It was good of you to come to Fred’s memorial.”

  “It was well attended,” Ellen said.

  “Yes. Fred would be pleased.” Letitia laughed, a genuine sound that surprised Christy. “He was such a meticulous man. A planner to the core, even for his own funeral. He had a guest list, you know, and a seating plan. Every year he would update it and add a few more people in.”

  Letitia’s eyes were sparkling with amusement now as she remembered her late husband’s odd idiosyncrasy. Christy smiled back, pleased to see the sorrow lift from her expression, at least for a short time. “He’d add people in, but he didn’t take any out?”

  Letitia laughed again. “Never. Fred gathered people around him. If you had an important part in his life, you stayed in his life. Even people like Olivia Waters.” She paused and her expression darkened, then cleared again. “Their affair was a long time ago, but Olivia remained important to Fred after the lust was gone.”

  “We spoke to Olivia earlier,” Ellen said. “She’s devastated by his death, I think.”<
br />
  “Yes.” Letitia took a moment to sip from a glass of white wine. “Over the years, she and I have become friends. We’ve had many conversations these last few days. Consoling each other, you know?”

  “Talking helps,” Christy said.

  “Yes,” Letitia said again as she nodded. “I know you understand, having lost your husband so recently.”

  She didn’t wait for Christy to reply, which was a good thing because Christy hadn’t a clue what to say. My husband was at your husband’s funeral today. He came and nuzzled your ear in the middle of the service. Not a comment you could safely drop in polite company.

  Letitia didn’t notice her silence. “Of course, our conversations always came back to that poor, troubled girl.”

  “Tamara Ahern,” Ellen said.

  Letitia nodded. “Yes. If only she had the patience to get to know Fred, to understand his ways, she would never have done this terrible thing. She would have been like Olivia and the others—part of his extended family.”

  Christy was surprised by that absolute certainty in Letitia’s voice. “You think Tamara killed your husband?”

  Letitia raised her brows in surprise. “Of course. Inspector Fortier is confident she is the one.” She sipped her wine again. “Mind you, he believes the crime was politically motivated, but in that I think he must be incorrect. This young woman simply didn’t understand Fred’s ways. She must have felt cheated of his affection, when, in fact, she merely had to allow herself time to become part of his life.” She shook her head, then sighed. “Such a tragedy. For all of us, of course, but especially for her. She must have endured terrible treatment after she was kidnapped. It left scars, in her heart and her mind.”

  “I’m surprised you don’t think your husband’s death was politically motivated,” Ellen said. “Surely, that would be easier to accept than to believe a family member did it.”

  Letitia’s expression hardened and there was a cutting edge to her tone. “Not my family.” She paused, gathered herself, replaced her social mask. She smiled, in control once more. “The women, his love child, they were Fred’s—extended—family. My family is my sister and my two children. None of us would ever harm Fred. I can’t speak for the others, though.”

  “Of course,” Christy murmured. She glanced at Ellen, wondering if she found this conversation as odd as she did. Ellen’s focus, though, was on a tall man coming their way. When Christy looked back at Letitia, she saw that the widow’s face had lit up.

  “Premier!” Letitia said, reaching out with both hands. “So good of you to come.”

  The head of the provincial government caught her hands in both of his and leaned forward to kiss her cheek. “I had to, Letitia. I’m so sorry about Fred. He’s a great loss to my government, and the country as a whole.”

  Christy and Ellen murmured respectful greetings to the Premier, then eased away, leaving Letitia alone with him.

  Having done their duty, Christy called their driver to pick them up, then they made their way through the press of bodies to the door. She was relieved that the ordeal of her first outing as the senior Jamieson was almost over. Leaving wasn’t achieved as quickly as she would have liked, though. Ellen greeted friends, made introductions, paused to chat. The car was at the door waiting for them by the time they escaped.

  They were settled inside, back on the Sea to Sky Highway when Ellen brought up the murder. “Letitia thinks Tamara did it.”

  “Because Fortier told her she was the culprit.” Christy leaned back against her seat. “I think Letitia wants to believe Tamara is guilty, because she’s afraid someone close to her organized Fred’s shooting, even if they might not have pulled the trigger.”

  Ellen frowned. “You mean she suspects her sister or one of her children?”

  Christy shrugged. “Why mention them so specifically?”

  “Possibly. I wonder, though, if she was really as okay with her husband’s collection of lovers as she seemed to be.”

  The road curved around the mountain, exposing the sheer drop off to the sea below on the other side. All that separated the speeding car from the edge of the cliff were a few meters of rocky verge and a row of low posts tied together by a ribbon of steel. The highway had a reputation of being dangerous. Reports of fatal accidents happened often and Christy was always on edge when she drove on it. Perhaps that was why Ellen’s question had her stiffening uneasily. “You think Letitia arranged to have her own husband murdered?”

  “Why not?” Ellen said. “Letitia is a power in her own right. She’s on the boards of a half a dozen national charities, not to mention the ones in this province. She was an asset to Fred’s political work in so many ways. And yet he expected her to acknowledge his mistresses.” She shook her head. “That would be hard on a woman like Letitia.”

  Christy mulled that over. How would she have felt in Letitia’s position? Frank had never, to her knowledge, had a mistress, but if he had, what would she have done? Leave him, taking Noelle with her? But would she have been able to?

  Last year, when Frank was missing and believed to be living in Mexico with his girlfriend, she told the trustees that she would be seeking a divorce. Their reaction was to take steps to ensure that if she split with Frank, they would take custody of Noelle, the Jamieson heir. That had been a nightmare she would never forget—and one she could never accept. She’d do anything to keep her daughter safe and with her, including remaining married to a man who had disappeared from her life forever.

  Was that what motivated Letitia Jarvis? The need to keep her kids safe and with her? She said, “So when the opportunity offers, in the form of Fred’s love child, Tamara Ahern, arriving in Vancouver, Letitia takes action?”

  Ellen nodded. “Tamara is the outlier, you see. She can be blamed and no one in Letitia’s private circle will be suspected.”

  Christy thought about that for a moment. “I don’t know. For this scenario to work, Letitia would have to have had a paid assassin on speed dial.”

  “Who’s to say she didn’t?” Ellen retorted calmly.

  Christy laughed. “You’re not serious?”

  “I am.”

  “Okay. What about the taskforce? Hitmen aren’t cheap. Surely, Fortier would have had bank accounts examined. He would have noticed a large sum of money being withdrawn from her account.”

  “If she had a hitman on speed dial, she may also have prepaid him. How far back do you think Fortier and his taskforce would go?”

  Ellen’s point was good. Fortier was determined to see the murder as a political one. He checked the alibis of family members, but wasn’t digging deep. If Letitia Jarvis appeared to be innocent on the surface, he’d move on. “We need to put Letitia Jarvis on the suspect list.”

  Ellen nodded. “She has motive.”

  She did indeed. But was she ruthless enough to arrange the job?

  Chapter 17

  Christy rang the Armstrongs’ doorbell and fumed as she waited. Frank and Stormy had made themselves scarce yesterday after the funeral. At dinnertime, the cat had slunk into kitchen while Noelle was in the room with her. She figured Frank knew that she wouldn’t berate him while his daughter was present, and he was right. Stormy consumed his bowl of cat food with a kind of desperation, then disappeared to lie low in some dark corner where the cat could snooze and recoup his energy from his undoubtedly stressful afternoon. This morning, Stormy had rushed out the door when Christy was taking Noelle to school. She hadn’t seen him since.

  No one answered the bell, but the door was partially ajar, so Christy pushed it open. She could hear voices coming from the living room. She headed up the stairs.

  “What possessed you to go to Fred Jarvis’ funeral?” Trevor was saying as she reached the landing.

  Trevor, Roy, Ellen, and the cat were seated in the Armstrong living room staring at the flat screen TV mounted above the fireplace. They were watching a clip of protesters straining against the barricades the police had erected to ensure the safety and s
ecurity of all who attended the high-profile event.

  “Hi,” she said, deliberately calling attention to herself. The other four swung around at the sound of her voice. “I rang, but no one answered. The door was open so I came up.”

  “We left it open for Frank,” Roy said. “He says Stormy gets bored watching too much TV.”

  “Don’t we all,” Trevor muttered. His expression was grim. He didn’t look like he was in a particularly good mood.

  Hey babe. Some reporter caught your arrival. You and Aunt Ellen looked awesome.

  That clip also showed Roy standing by the barricades shouting slogans as the chauffeur driven cars of the political and social elite slid past to enter the protected arrival area. As Roy made play with his megaphone and protest sign, the camera caught Stormy slinking through his legs, then darting past the security detail, heading for the church. On the way, he paused to twine around Christy’s silk clad ankles, before bolting again and avoiding the combined efforts of three policemen to capture him. The reporter commented that this was the cat that would later disrupt the service midway through.

  “That clip is why I’m here,” Christy said. “Frank, how could you? You knew I didn’t want you to go to the funeral.”

  Stormy licked a front paw. It’s my job. I’m the senior Jamieson.

  “No. You. Are. Not,” Christy said, drawing out the words. She sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly as she worked on control. “Cats don’t go to funerals, Frank. We had that discussion.”

  Stormy hopped off the couch where he was sitting between Ellen and Trevor, to twine around Christy’s ankles. I do.

  Knowing it would be impossible to get through to Frank in this mood, Christy turned her irritation on Roy. “I suppose he caught a ride with you.”

  Roy blinked a couple of times and managed to look innocent. “He did.”

  “Did he tell you why I wouldn’t take him in the hired car?”

  “You sound fierce, Christy,” Ellen said. “Frank hitching a ride with Roy isn’t the end of the world, you know. Stormy got home safely. Letitia Jarvis was charmed that a cat came up to her and purred in her ear in church. She said as much when she was interviewed this morning. ‘The cat gave me great comfort,’ were her exact words, I believe.”