“I guess you could say God opened the door, and I kind of stumbled through it. It wasn’t anything I planned.”
“I’m not very religious, but I remember that saying about God working in mysterious ways. Maybe it’s true.” Donna sounded wistful, as if her own life could use some mysterious intervention.
“But God always knows what he’s doing, even if we don’t.”
A noise from down the hall made Donna jump to her feet. “I’d better go see if she needs something.”
“I’ll let myself out. I’m glad Jo-Jo has you to look after her.” She stood up. “I’m not sure when they’ll let her back in the house. Perhaps you could contact the sheriff’s department in the morning and find out.”
“I’ll do that. Thanks for bringing her here.”
Cate stepped out into another downpour. Mitch met her halfway to her car even though rain hammered the sidewalk so hard that raindrops bounced. This time he did wrap his arms around her and shelter her with his body. “You okay?”
Cate had come out of the house thinking all she wanted was to go home and drop into bed, but now she realized she didn’t want to be home alone with a vision of Eddie the Ex with a bullet hole in his forehead.
“I could use a coffee or something. Maybe the Espresso Junction over on Sixth Avenue?”
“Sounds good,” Mitch said.
Ten minutes later they walked into the warm fragrance of the espresso shop together. Cate stopped short just inside the door. She started a quick U-turn to go out again. Too late.
“Hey, you guys!” Robyn stood up and waved. “Come on over and join us.”
Cate glanced up at Mitch. He squeezed her hand. She knew he wasn’t overly fond of the fiancée of his business partner in Computer Solutions Dudes, but he, like Cate, was trying hard to like her. Robyn Doherty was likable in many ways. Outgoing and friendly, bubbly and energetic, very successful at managing a flower shop her aunt owned. She was also relentlessly money-minded and status conscious, and right now Cate thought if she heard one more word about the minuscule details of the wedding, she’d put her hands over her ears and make a noise a whole lot like Maude’s loudest bray.
“I need an opinion on an ankle bracelet,” Robyn said when they reached the booth.
Cate swallowed hard to keep a bray from erupting.
“And you probably know what kind of opinion Lance has,” Robyn added with an exaggerated roll of eyes at her fiancé. “He doesn’t care if I even wear shoes, let alone an ankle bracelet.”
“She’s right,” Lance McPherson agreed cheerfully. “The more I see of this wedding stuff, the more I think we should run off to Reno and do it up quick. With or without shoes.”
Cate slid into the booth across from the couple, and Mitch followed. The waitress came, and Cate ordered a caramel latte and Mitch a plain coffee. Robyn had pictures of a dozen different ankle bracelets spread across the table. Robyn did much of her shopping on the internet. Her bead-encrusted, strapless wedding gown had come from San Francisco, the tiara and veil from Houston.
“I think this one would go best with my shoes,” Robyn said, tapping a string of sparkles that might or might not be tiny diamonds. “But I don’t want something that will compete with my shoes, do I? So maybe I should go for something simpler, like this.” Her finger moved to the photo of a silver chain with a tiny heart pendant.
Robyn rearranged the prints, like a general plotting strategy from reconnaissance photos. “What do you think?” she asked Cate.
What Cate thought was, Between that $2,500 wedding dress and those $500 shoes, who’s going to notice an ankle bracelet? Since that didn’t seem like a diplomatic response, she said, “Um.”
Robyn swept the scattered pictures into a pile. “I’ll think about it later. But we do need to decide about the sauce for the chicken.” She looked at Lance. “I’m leaning toward—”
Lance groaned. “Any sauce is fine with me.”
“I have to tell the chef at Mr. K’s within the next few days what we want.”
“Or you might wind up with naked chicken?” The snarky remark was out of character for Mitch, but he turned it into a gentle tease with a grin. He and Lance butted fists over the table, and even Robyn smiled.
“I know. With you two, ketchup would be a fine sauce. Over hot dogs. And we can have Oreos instead of a wedding cake. Afterward, instead of dancing, we’ll all tromp out to the vineyard and stomp grapes in our bare feet.”
“Hey, that sounds like fun,” Mitch said, and Cate almost wished the facetious scenario were possible. It sounded more interesting than the actual plans. But now she latched onto something Robyn had said a moment earlier.
“Mr. K’s is doing the dinner for the reception?” That was the restaurant where Uncle Joe and Rebecca were celebrating their anniversary tonight, so expensive that they’d joked about eating beans for the coming week. Mitch had mentioned taking Cate there sometime, but they hadn’t done it yet.
“Mr. K’s does all the food for Lodge Hill weddings. The same man, Ed Kieferson, owns both places. I’m sure I’ve mentioned that before.” Robyn gave Cate an annoyed glance, as if Cate not remembering this bit of information was right up there with forgetting the date of the wedding. “The reputation of the food was one reason we chose Lodge Hill. Though it’s also such a romantic setting out there in the vineyard. Aunt Carly knows Mr. K too, of course.”
“A wise choice, I’m sure,” Cate murmured. A moment later, as the name familiarity that had evaded her earlier suddenly clicked into place, she wondered if this would turn out to be such a wise choice after all.
Jo-Jo had said that Eddie the Ex owned that “most expensive restaurant in town.” Which would be Mr. K’s. And the K of Mr. K’s would be Kieferson. Who also owned Lodge Hill, which Robyn certainly had mentioned before. Which was why the Kieferson name had sounded vaguely familiar to Cate.
Cate started to say something to Robyn about Ed Kieferson’s demise, but the arrival of her latte, plus an elbow nudge from Mitch, gave her time to reconsider. Robyn was a little high-strung about the wedding … make that explosive as a stick of dynamite with a lit fuse … and who knew what hysterics this information might bring on?
Instead Cate asked, “There really is a vineyard at Lodge Hill?”
“Oh yes. Rows and rows of grapevines. Although Mr. Kieferson doesn’t run the vineyard himself. The manager is this hottie who lives in a little cottage behind the main building.” Robyn glanced surreptitiously at Lance to see if her description of the vineyard manager had any effect on him.
It didn’t. Not even when she added, “I think he used to be into motorcycle racing.”
Motorcycle racing and raising grapes sounded like an unlikely combination to Cate, but all Lance did was say enthusiastically, “Maybe he’s found a new way to stomp grapes, with a motorcycle. I’d like to see that.”
Robyn refused to get into any lighthearted banter now. In cool tones, she said, “The grapes are trucked somewhere else for making wine now, although Mr. Kieferson plans to build his own winery later on.”
Not going to happen. But instead of pointing that out, Cate said, “Have you ever met Mr. Kieferson?”
“Oh yes. He’s been at Lodge Hill a couple of times when I was talking to LeAnne, the manager there. Such a distinguished-looking gentleman. And so elegant.”
“Elegant?” Lance snorted. “He’s a hand kisser. Can you imagine that? That’s why she was so impressed with him. Because he kissed her hand.”
“I thought it was sweet. Very old-fashioned and chivalrous.”
Lance grabbed her hand and covered it to the elbow with noisy kisses. “How’s that for old-fashioned and chivalrous?”
Robyn momentarily looked as if she might toss her latte in his face, but then she laughed. Cate mentally shook her head. She could never figure out if these two were going to have the happiest marriage ever or be in divorce court a month after the wedding.
“How about Mrs. Kieferson?” Cate asked. “Hav
e you met her?”
“She and her mother own some kind of New Age shop, gifts and little one-of-a-kind things. Funky-fashionable, Aunt Carly called it. She knows Mrs. Kieferson’s mother too, but I’ve never met either of them.” Robyn’s face brightened. “Hey, maybe I could find an ankle bracelet there.”
Cate was disappointed. She’d have liked to have an outside perspective on the new wife, something other than Jo-Jo and Donna’s not exactly unprejudiced descriptions.
“How’s the new house coming along?” Lance asked Cate in what she suspected was an effort to get off the subject of the wedding. “Last time I was by there, it looked almost finished.”
“I wish someone was giving me a house,” Robyn muttered. “I mean, how often does that happen?”
Not often, Cate agreed silently. Something in which God definitely had a hand.
“Your great-aunt is paying for half our wedding, which is a pretty generous gift,” Lance pointed out. This was not something Cate had known before. Either the fact that the aunt was paying much of the wedding costs, or that she was actually a great-aunt. “You don’t even like cats, so you probably wouldn’t appreciate a ceiling-high scratching pole in the living room.”
Robyn wrinkled her nose. “Does it really have that?” she asked Cate.
Mitch answered the question. “The pole doesn’t actually go all the way to the ceiling, just up to the walkway that runs through a couple of rooms. Cats like high places.”
“Mitch calls it the Kitty Kastle,” Cate added.
“Didn’t you have anything to say about the house?” Robyn asked. “I mean, who wants a house that’s just peculiar even if it is free?”
“It isn’t peculiar,” Cate said, her tone a little more frosty than she intended. “It’s a great two-story, three-bedroom, two-bath house. I picked out the bathroom fixtures and the granite countertops and paint colors myself.”
Although it did have a few cat-friendly differences from most new houses. Mr. Ledbetter, the lawyer who was handling construction of the house as part of the estate of the woman who had originally owned Octavia, had diligently researched the internet for helpful ideas.
“Cate will pick out all the furniture herself,” Mitch said.
“You mean furniture is part of the deal too?” Robyn asked.
“You can’t expect a cat like Octavia to live in an unfurnished house.” Mitch managed to sound shocked at the prospect.
“What happens if the cat dies or something?” Robyn asked. “Do you have to give the house back?”
“No. But I’d do everything I could to give her a long and happy life even if a house weren’t involved,” Cate said firmly. “Octavia is a unique cat, with a personality all her own.”
“Well, it’s one unusual deal,” Robyn declared.
Cate had to agree. Octavia’s owner, long before she was murdered, had specified in her will that whoever got the cat also got her house, and she had left the decision about the cat’s ownership to her lawyer/executor. Cate hadn’t actually saved Octavia’s life, but she had kept her from being dumped at the animal shelter, and so Lawyer Ledbetter had decided Cate should be the cat’s new owner. Then, after the house burned down, he had also decided a new house should be built to fulfill the provisions of the will. A house suitable for a deaf cat with a trust fund. And furnished, of course, because the original house Octavia should have inherited had been furnished.
Robyn suddenly lost interest in Kitty Kastles and whipped out a notebook. “I almost forgot. I have to change the shade of blue for the ribbons on the wrist corsages for the older women.” She slashed through something written in the notebook. “I’ve been planning on cerulean, but now I realize that just won’t work.”
“Yes, cerulean would be a disaster,” Cate murmured, and then she gave herself a mental whack for the snide comment. She tossed out a word she’d heard somewhere. “What about periwinkle?”
“Periwinkle?” Robyn looked up from the notebook, eyes squinted in thought, and Cate thought, Oh no, I’ve just made the faux pas of the wedding world. But then Robyn smiled and slammed a palm down on the notebook. “Yes! That’s it. Periwinkle! What a marvelous idea, Cate. Thank you!”
She appraised Cate with what appeared to be new respect, as if the periwinkle suggestion had elevated Cate from frump to fashionista. Although what Cate was thinking was that she’d better use her investigative skills and find out what color periwinkle actually was.
5
Uncle Joe and Rebecca were already home when Cate got back to the house. She asked about their dinner at Mr. K’s, and they were enthusiastic about the prime rib, and the amaretto cheesecake for dessert.
“I was hoping Mr. K would come around and offer us a free dessert,” Rebecca said. “I’ve heard he does that occasionally. But we never even saw him.”
“That’s because he’s … dead,” Cate said.
That received a double response. A shocked “Dead!” from both of them. Then, from Rebecca, “Was it on the news?”
Cate told them about Jo-Jo’s call, the decimated dolls, and Eddie the Ex dead on the floor with the gun beside him, an apparent suicide.
“Did it look to you as if he’d killed himself?” Joe asked.
“I guess, although shooting the dolls first seems peculiar. And Jo-Jo’s house seems like an odd place to kill himself.”
“You said there wasn’t another vehicle there at the house, so that makes you wonder how he got there, doesn’t it?”
“I’m curious,” Cate admitted.
“Curiosity can be a valuable asset for an investigator,” Joe said. In a sterner tone, he added, “It can also get you in trouble. Big trouble. As we’ve discussed before, Belmont Investigations doesn’t do murders.”
Cate determinedly stuffed her curiosity in a mental corner and repeated the line to herself. Belmont Investigations doesn’t do murders.
“I was there for several hours, but I’d rather not bill Jo-Jo for the time, if that’s okay with you. All I really did was take her to a friend’s house for the night, and I think she’s short on money.”
Uncle Joe nodded. “Write up a report for the files.”
Joe was a stickler for keeping a written record of everything Belmont Investigations did. Cate intended to wait until morning to do the report, but she found she couldn’t sleep and wound up padding barefoot into the office just after 2:00 a.m. Writing the short report again raised doubts in her mind, but she stuck to the facts and didn’t include her questions. Her current case was to deliver a subpoena the following day.
She printed out the report and tucked it in a folder to file later. Then, strictly because she couldn’t sleep, of course, not because she was involved, she found a book in Joe’s criminal research library and read up on suicides. One item she gleaned: gun suicides weren’t unusual, but a bullet to the forehead was definitely out of the ordinary. Most gun suicides were done with the weapon stuck in the mouth or aimed into the temple.
Interesting.
Cate spent most of the next day looking for the woman on whom she was supposed to serve the subpoena, finally locating her hiding under a blanket in the backseat of her car. The woman was not complimentary about Cate’s talent or persistence in tracking her down. She fired off a barrage of language hot enough to toast Cate’s ears, then smashed the remains of a chili dog in her face. The woman had to get close to Cate to do that, however, and Cate triumphantly stuffed the papers down the front of the woman’s baggy sweatpants. Subpoena served! And case closed.
This time, when she got home, she found Uncle Joe sprawled on the sofa, leg stretched out on a pillow. The hip he’d broken several months ago still gave him occasional problems and limited his activities. Now he grimaced with a twinge of pain as he shifted on the sofa and lowered the copy of the Eugene newspaper he was reading.
“Your dead man is featured,” he said. He handed the front section of the newspaper to Cate.
Cate was headed for the shower to get rid of a chili-dog scen
t powerful enough to interest the neighbor’s German shepherd when she got out of the car, but she stopped to look at the newspaper. The article about Eddie the Ex wasn’t the top story, but it was on the front page, with a photo and a headline that read “Death of Prominent Businessman Investigated.”
The article was short, as if the law enforcement people had been close-mouthed with information. Ed Kieferson had been found dead in the home of his former wife, Josephine Joanna Kieferson, in a rural area south of town. He’d been shot, but the article didn’t go into specifics, didn’t call it suicide, and didn’t mention the dolls. It gave background information about Kieferson’s business interests and named his survivors as wife Kim, living here in Eugene, and a son living back east. Cate was relieved to see her own name was not mentioned.
She studied the photo. A bullet hole in the forehead tended to alter anyone’s appearance, of course, but in this apparently older photo he didn’t have the beard, and his face was on the chubby side. Not what she’d call, as Robyn had, distinguished looking. Maybe his midlife crisis had included a face-lift? Or maybe he’d grown the beard to mask the saggy jowls visible in this photo?
“I think I’ll cut this out and stick it in the file with my report,” Cate said.
Cate talked to Mitch later, telling him about her day and hearing about his, and then went into the office to write up her brief report on serving the subpoena. She was surprised when the office phone rang after 10:00. Joe and Rebecca had already gone to bed.
“Belmont Investigations, Assistant Investigator Cate Kinkaid speaking.”
“Cate, this is Donna Echelon. Jo-Jo Kieferson’s friend?”
Dolled Up to Die Page 4