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

by Louise Clark

  Once again, Stormy was defeated. He stalked to the edge of the Armstrongs’ yard, glared at everyone as if it was their fault the squirrel had escaped, then turned away. Sledge heard Frank protest that he needed to be part of the deliberations, but the cat was having none of it. He trotted into the trees and disappeared from sight.

  The only one at the table unable to hear Frank’s comments, Quinn continued on his theme. “If Jarvis had died because he was poisoned or pushed down the stairs, or had his head bashed in, we could probably make a case that one of his family—nuclear or extended—killed him, but he died from a clean shot to the head. That takes skill with firearms, which none of the family apparently had.”

  Roy glowered at him over the edge of his coffee cup. “So, one of them hired a professional assassin.”

  “Easier said than done, Dad!”

  “Open your mind, boy,” Roy snapped. “Entitled people with too much money figure they can buy anything. Including hitmen.”

  “Fortier is right. This was a political kill. What he has wrong is the kind of politics involved and the person behind it. I spent the whole time I was in custody—hours, if not days!—trying to convince him of that. Would he listen? No,” Quinn said bitterly.

  The atmosphere around the table had turned from gloom to dismay as father and son battled. Christy was wide-eyed and exchanging frowning glances with Ellen. They were both scanning the faces around them as if to find some way to defuse a situation was escalating with spectacular speed.

  Sledge was of the opinion that an altercation was necessary. Quinn needed purge the poison left from his interrogation by Fortier. He was a passionate guy, a person who believed in rights and freedoms and innocent until proven guilty. Being interrogated by a man who thought he could be a terrorist had probably shaken him to his core. He needed to regain his equilibrium and start believing in the system again before he’d be able to use that incisive brain of his to sort through this sorry mess. If a donnybrook between him and his father was what was needed to make that happen, Sledge was up for it.

  Except that Christy was clearly disturbed by the argument. And Sledge didn’t like the idea of Christy upset. He put his mug on the table with a thunk and reached for the coffee beaker that was sitting beside the pastry box. Quinn’s glanced flicked his way as he lifted the urn and sloshed coffee into the mug with a flourish that would have done a professional server proud. “Fortier’s under the gun.”

  “So what?” Quinn said. He sounded impatient. Dismissive.

  “Our job all along has been to throw roadblocks in his way. Anyone want more coffee?” He held up the beaker.

  Christy nodded and held out her cup as Quinn said, “What are you talking about?”

  Quinn’s attention was now directly on him. Christy’s eyes said thank you for things other than a mug full of coffee. Sledge smiled lazily in a way that he was sure would annoy Quinn. “Maybe it is farfetched that one of the Jarvis family would hire a hitman to knock off old Fred. The thing is, if we make a case for that, Fortier will be forced to look into it.” He wasn’t a lawyer’s son for nothing. He might not know the law the way some did, but he understood the art of using what you had in hand to the utmost effectiveness.

  Quinn frowned and sat a little straighter. That was good. He was starting to think.

  “In the meantime,” Quinn said, “Tamara is held in a cage for that much longer.”

  Well, maybe not. “Better a couple more days of Fortier badgering her than a lifetime in prison.”

  Quinn shoved his chair out, anger blazing from his eyes.

  Not quite the result Sledge had planned, but at least Quinn wasn’t at war with his father. That would ease some of Christy’s dismay at the way the morning meeting was going. He watched Quinn warily, ready to dodge a verbal spear, or even an actual punch.

  Quinn started to speak, but his words were drowned out by the opening notes of SledgeHammer’s first international hit. The song meant Trevor was texting. Sledge pulled out his phone and read.

  He was hit by an overwhelming sense of grief, not for himself but for his friend. He looked up from the screen to find they were all staring at him.

  “What is it?” Christy asked. Her voice was low, distressed, almost frightened.

  “Bad news, I think,” Ellen said, observing his expression.

  “I’m sorry,” Roy said. He must have seen the same emotion that Ellen had.

  Sledge looked helplessly at Quinn. He didn’t want to say what he knew he must. “Fortier has charged Tamara with being the agent of a terrorist organization and with planning and executing the murder of a government official.”

  Look who I found lurking by the front door?

  Christy twisted in her chair. Stormy the Cat, tail held high, pranced into view. Behind him sauntered Detective Billie Patterson. Christy leapt to her feet, the bottoms of her chair legs scraping against the concrete patio tiles as she roughly shoved back her chair.

  As if it wasn’t bad enough they’d just found out Tamara had been charged. They didn’t need Patterson here too. “What have you done?” she cried. She heard the anguish in her voice and struggled to control it, but it was no use.

  The cat likes her. He thinks she’s good people. She pats him.

  “I pat him too, but he doesn’t expect me to follow him around!”

  “Christy.” That was Quinn. He too was standing, and he was watching her with a grave expression. His eyes flicked a look at Patterson. Heat flooded her cheeks and she knew she was blushing a bright red.

  “Good morning,” Patterson said. Her eyebrows were raised, but her expression was neutral.

  She was good at that, Christy thought, taking in whatever was happening around her, absorbing information, but not showing her own thoughts.

  “What are you doing here?” Roy hadn’t stood as Quinn had. Instead he was lounging in his seat, his position one of studied insolence, provocative body language designed to annoy.

  Patterson didn’t bite. “I came to give you the news of Dr. Ahern’s arrest personally. I gather Mr. McCullagh beat me to it.”

  “We’ve been filled in,” Quinn said. His voice was quiet and steady, without the hint of a threat, but there were storms in his eyes. “Consider the job done. There’s no need to linger.”

  “Seconded,” said Roy.

  “I must add my voice to theirs,” Ellen said.

  Since she’s here, why not grill her? The cat hopped up onto the table and sat down beside the pastries. He fixed wide green eyes on Patterson.

  “I doubt she has anything useful to tell us,” Ellen said. She didn’t look at the cat.

  At least Ellen’s comment fit with the tone of what the others were saying, unlike Christy’s outburst. Ellen had a particularly disdainful expression on her face, which made it seem as if she was deliberately talking about Patterson as if she wasn’t standing on the path in plain view.

  “I don’t know about that,” Christy said. She stared at Patterson but spoke to the others. “She asked me to act as her unpaid informant, to help her find out about Fred Jarvis’ personal life. I’ve done that. And what I’ve found out? What can I say? I’m amazed the man wasn’t murdered years ago.”

  “There have been rumors for years.” Ellen sniffed. “However, Fred Jarvis had friends and we know those friends protected him.”

  Christy raised her brows and looked at Quinn. “Didn’t Archie Fleming address this question, Quinn?”

  His moody glance met hers. “His specific comment was that they had each other’s backs.”

  Christy looked back at Patterson. “That was Fred Jarvis’ signature style. He made connections with people who mattered, then he found a way to bind them to him, either directly or as part of a network of sexual and emotional relationships. It worked perfectly when everybody was on board, but what if someone decided they’d had enough? Fred wasn’t the kind of man who let people escape once he’d bagged them. You were part of the club for life. The only way out was to elimin
ate Fred himself.”

  Patterson frowned. “Are you suggesting a conspiracy?”

  “Why not?” Roy said. “And who knows who was part of it.”

  Patterson’s frown deepened.

  Roy took note. His expression turned gleeful. “That’s the best part of conspiracies and secret societies. No one knows exactly who’s involved. Just think, it could be a member of your taskforce. Have you met Inspector Fortier’s wife? Maybe she was one of Jarvis’ lovers.”

  “A step too far, Mr. Armstrong.”

  “Going to arrest me, Detective?”

  Patterson said nothing, just sent him a level look that said she knew he was baiting her. She looked at Quinn, then back at Roy. “I’m officially here to speak to both of you. Is there somewhere we can talk privately?”

  “You can say what you have to here,” Quinn said. He moved to stand beside his father’s chair.

  If she’s going to arrest Quinn and Roy, why didn’t she bring the goon squad?

  Ellen stood up and moved beside Roy. Patterson’s brows rose.

  Sledge stood too, then sauntered around the table, where he ranged beside Quinn, his hands in the pockets of his jeans. There was a lazy smile on his face, but his eyes were watchful.

  The cat leapt from the table into Roy’s lap. He landed hard and Roy’s breath exhaled in a huff. “What have you been feeding this cat, Christy? Feels like you need to put him on a diet.”

  Thanks a lot! Undeterred, Stormy circled Roy’s lap, then settled facing Patterson.

  Christy stayed where she was, the intermediary between opposing forces.

  Patterson observed this closing of ranks without comment. She said, “Archie Fleming contacted the taskforce this morning and accused Quinn Armstrong of harassment.”

  Quinn raised his brows. “Isn’t that interesting. Are we talking about the same Archie Fleming with whom I shared drinks and frank conversation about his wife’s sexual relationship with Fred Jarvis just a couple of nights ago?”

  Patterson shot Christy a penetrating look. Since Christy had not mentioned that Quinn had been at the Flemings with her, she figured the detective had a right to be annoyed.

  She refocused on Quinn without comment. “Apparently, your conversation with Colin Jarvis caused him to resign his position on Archie Fleming’s leadership campaign, Mr. Armstrong. Mr. Fleming feels this was deliberate harassment on your part. He claims you went to his offices to purposefully alienate Colin Jarvis.”

  Quinn shrugged. “I went to talk to Colin about the possibility of an official interview with Archie Fleming. During our conversation we spoke about Fred Jarvis. I assumed Colin knew the kind of man his father was. I was surprised he wasn’t aware of Marian and Archie’s bizarre relationship with Fred.”

  “The last time we spoke, Detective, you were going to check out bank accounts and alibis,” Christy said, redirecting. “Letitia Jarvis, her children, Marian and Archie Fleming. If they didn’t have the capacity to kill Fred Jarvis themselves, they are all wealthy enough to hire someone.”

  Patterson flicked her a glance that said she knew what Christy was up to. “All the people in Jarvis’ inner circle have alibis for the time of the murder. There are no large, unsubstantiated withdrawals from the bank accounts of any of them. There is no evidence that anyone hired a professional assassin.” She hesitated, then said, “I’m sorry, Mrs. Jamieson, Mr. Armstrong. The taskforce has found the killer. The case is closed.”

  Sledge, the lawyer’s son, said, “Only from the prosecution’s point of view.” He shot her one of his trademark grins. “The defense is still gathering evidence.”

  Annoyance crossed Patterson’s features. “The proof is irrefutable. Mr. Jarvis received a text from Dr. Ahern asking him to meet with her privately in Stanley Park. To get there he would have to use his vehicle. She lured him into the underground parking, where her sniper was able to execute him.”

  Quinn took a quick step forward. “She wanted to start over, to see if there was a way they could work together. Yes, she knew he’d have to drive there, but she assumed he’d have his security people in his vehicle with him. She was not setting him up for assassination!”

  “So she says.” Patterson sounded resigned, almost weary, as if she was no happier with the outcome of the investigation than the others were. “She organized it. She wasn’t the one who pulled the trigger.”

  “Why would she do this?” Christy demanded. “She has no motive.”

  “We believe she was turned during her captivity.”

  “You have no proof of that,” Roy said.

  Patterson turned her attention to him. “But we do, Mr. Armstrong. Dr. Ahern is known to have behaved differently after her release and return to Toronto—”

  “Not surprising,” Ellen said briskly.

  Patterson flicked her a glance, but didn’t acknowledge the interruption. “Prior to being kidnapped, she never showed any interest in finding her birth parents. Yet upon her return she deliberately sought them out.”

  “She spent months afraid for her life. She wanted to know why she was on this planet and who made her. She came to Vancouver to ask for help finding them. It was sheer coincidence that Olivia Waters was her birth mother,” Quinn snapped.

  “Was it? When Dr. Ahern returned to Toronto she spent a great deal of time helping people who are in the country illegally, people who claim refugee status, but have no proof to back it up.”

  Quinn’s hands clenched and his eyes narrowed. “She was trying to help. That’s who Tamara is. That’s how she’s spent her life. That’s how she got herself kidnapped in the first place!”

  “Dr. Ahern’s adoptive father is a minister who works closely with the underprivileged. Why didn’t she work side-by-side with him?” When Quinn didn’t reply, Patterson continued on. “Many of the people she worked with were part of the same African community as the men who kidnapped her.”

  “The same country and ethnicity, perhaps,” Quinn snapped. “They were not terrorists, though.”

  “Some of the people she helped were suspected of supporting terrorist groups.”

  “She was helping their wives and daughters.”

  Patterson raised her brows. “You don’t think women can be terrorists?”

  “Tamara saves people. She doesn’t kill them.”

  “The woman you knew before, saved people. The woman who came back doesn’t.” There was compassion on Patterson’s face, but no softness in her voice. “I’m sorry, Mr. Armstrong. The taskforce is still looking for Ms. Ahern’s accomplice, the actual shooter, but we know she is the mastermind behind the murder. The case is closed.” She turned to Christy. “Thank you for your efforts, Mrs. Jamieson, but there is no need for further investigation.”

  Christy was feeling sick inside. Quinn looked devastated and even Roy’s insolent position had shifted to one that was closer to a protective hunch. She lifted her chin and shot Patterson one of her Jamieson princess looks. “I’m afraid you are wrong, Detective. You haven’t convinced me—or anyone else here—of Tamara’s guilt.”

  Patterson’s expression hardened. “Mrs. Jamieson. Mr. Armstrong. All of you, stand down. At this time, Inspector Fortier is not prepared to act on Archie Fleming’s harassment concerns, but all of you have tried his patience throughout this investigation. He won’t be so lenient if you continue to poke your noses where you shouldn’t.”

  The cat jumped off Roy’s lap and strutted over to Patterson, where he twined through her legs. Time to go, Detective.

  Roy’s chair legs grated roughly on the concrete as he pushed it back and rose to his feet, an imposing elder statesman flanked by his more youthful supporters. “You can tell the inspector we will not allow our rights to be trampled,” he said, his voice booming out in true orator style. He shook his fist in the air. “Take heed. We will not be silenced. The infamous Fortier will rue the day he unjustly arrested an innocent!”

  “Mr. Armstrong … ”

  Before Patterson could say a
nything further, Stormy rose up on his hind legs and put his front paws on her thigh. Then he nudged her with his nose.

  “You need to leave,” Roy said, voice still projecting angry passion. He pointed to the cat. “Stormy will see you out.”

  Chapter 25

  “At least Roy didn’t suggest that Frank escort Patterson out.” Ellen laughed as she gathered lunch dishes and passed them to Christy over the peninsula counter, so Christy could stack the dishwasher.

  The meeting had drifted to an inconclusive close not long after Stormy had pranced ahead of Patterson and led the detective back to the street where her car was parked. When the cat returned, Frank announced he’d waited until Patterson drove away. He then thanked Roy for giving Stormy a mission. He said the cat was now feeling quite pleased with himself.

  Tamara’s arrest had put a pall over the assembled group, with Quinn seething with barely restrained anger, and Roy brooding over what he perceived as a betrayal by a Canadian government that ignored its citizen’s human rights. Sledge was the first to find a reason to depart. Christy and Ellen left soon after.

  As she accepted the dishes Ellen passed her, Christy grimaced. “I certainly goofed when Frank showed up with Patterson in tow. I’m pretty sure she picked up on the phrase I used. I was surprised she didn’t call me on it.”

  “Patterson may be fairly good at solving murders, but she doesn’t have the kind of mind that is flexible enough to accept that a person can take refuge in the body of a cat.” Ellen sounded disapproving. Since her own acceptance that Frank’s current residence was in Stormy the Cat was fairly recent, she had a tendency to believe with the passion of the newly converted.

  “She’s sharp,” Christy said, dropping a plate into the bottom rack. “She noticed and she filed it away as one more oddity in the Jamieson world. I need to watch my tongue.” She added the second plate, their salad bowls, then pulled out the upper rack to stack their glasses. “I was rattled by the argument between Quinn and Roy. I wasn’t paying attention.”

  “They are two adult males, both with strong personalities, living together. It’s made worse by their relationship as father and son. I’m surprised they argue as little as they do,” Ellen said. She handed Christy the cutlery, then took a critical look around the breakfast nook and kitchen. “I think we’re done here.”