by Nic Saint
Odelia stepped from the truck’s cabin and tentatively looked around. When she saw us sauntering from the shrubbery, she smiled. “Hey, you guys. What are you doing all the way out here?”
“We just thought we’d take a closer look at the crime scene,” I said as I curled myself around her leg and butted my head against her calf.
“Yeah, we thought we’d try to sniff out the killer,” Dooley added.
“And? Any luck?” she asked as she crouched down and scratched our necks. We both purred with contentment, our tails gently quivering.
“Lots of scents,” I said. “But hard to determine which one’s the killer’s.”
“I don’t think you’ll be able to isolate the killer’s scent,” she said. “The crime was committed a long time ago. Lots of people have been here since.”
“So what are you doing out here?” I asked.
Odelia tapped her smartphone smartly. “Taking a couple of shots for my article.” She walked over to what was left of the outhouse and started snapping pictures, making sure she got it from all the different angles.
“Are you any closer to solving the murder?” asked Dooley.
“Nope,” she said, walking back to us. “I talked to two women who had a run-in with Paulo Frey, and they both told me what a dreadful man he was. Really spiteful and extremely mean. It seems he hated both gays and women, and gay women even more, and liked to harass them and destroy them.”
“A real sweetheart, huh?” I asked as I watched Odelia approach the lodge to take a couple of snaps there. It was a fairly small structure, completely constructed from dark oak, with a nice verandah, where Hetta had installed the Jacuzzi. Writers enjoyed soaking in the hot tub while experiencing the great outdoors and gazing up at the stars twinkling above. If it didn’t inspire them to write the great American novel, at least it relieved their arthritis.
“So no leads?” asked Dooley.
“Well, the two women I talked to both had alibis, so that was a dead end, but it made me think…”
“Uh-huh?” I asked encouragingly.
She paused, a frown appearing on her smooth brow. “If Frey was the kind of monster they made him out to be, and I don’t doubt they were telling me the truth, he must have had other enemies. And maybe one of them finally decided enough was enough and put a stop to the harassment. Permanently.”
I shared a quick look with Dooley. This was our cue. “Talking about harassment,” I began. “Have you considered suggesting to Chase Kingsley that his cat ought to be neutered?”
But Odelia was already walking around to the other side of the lodge, snapping more pictures. And that’s when I heard another car pulling up.
“Uh-oh,” I said, alarmed. “Looks like we’ve got company.”
“The killer!” cried Dooley.
I checked the car that now appeared over the rim. “Close, but no cigar.”
Chapter 14
Odelia was wondering how to get inside the lodge. She wanted to take a few snaps of the place where Frey had spent his final hours, to add color to the story and set the scene. She should have asked Hetta for the key before driving out here, but it had been one of those spur-of-the-moment kind of things. When she couldn’t reach her uncle, she’d figured she might as well drive up and soak up the atmosphere. Get a feel for the place. She rattled the doorknob in frustration. Nope. That one was locked. Then she noticed that a window on the second floor was open, probably to air out the place.
Tucking away her smartphone, she quickly climbed one of the trellises that reached from the ground floor all the way to the roof, and hopped onto the black slate roof, from where she started making her way to the window. Her tongue sticking out, she was just wondering what she’d say if anyone caught her breaking and entering, when a familiar voice sounded behind her.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing up there, Miss Poole?”
She looked down, and saw she’d been joined by none other than Detective Kingsley. He was staring up at her, his expression implacable.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, annoyed. “And how is it that wherever I go, I bump into you? Are you following me, Detective Kingsley?”
“I asked you first,” he said. “Why do you insist on sticking your nose into my investigation? Interviewing my witnesses? Disturbing my crime scene?”
“It’s called journalism, Detective,” she said. “It’s what reporters do.”
“This is a crime scene,” he repeated, that same set look on his features she’d seen every time they’d met. “You can’t go traipsing all over this place.”
“Well, you’re doing it,” she challenged, “so I don’t see why I can’t.”
“I’m the cop in charge of this investigation,” he pointed out. “So I’ll ask you again: what are you doing up there, Miss Poole?”
“I, um…” She’d started making her way down from the roof. She now saw she should have worn jeans that morning, and not this silly little dress. She had the impression that Chase could see her pink undies from where he was standing, and that was the absolute last thing she needed right now. “I just wanted to find an original angle on the place where the body was found.” She gestured at the outhouse. “I figured I’d have a great shot from up here.”
But as she was descending the roof, her foot slipped on a slick patch, and she suddenly was hurtling down a lot quicker than she’d anticipated. She cried out when she reached the roof’s edge and scrambled for support. Her fingers caught a clump of wet leaves and she lost purchase and tumbled over the edge, on a collision course with the unyielding ground below.
Just as she braced for impact, however, she was snatched in midair by two strong arms that caught her just in time. And she suddenly found herself in such close proximity with the hardened cop that she felt like a little bird falling from the nest and being caught by some creature of the wild.
She was at Chase’s mercy now, and could feel her heart beating wildly against her breastbone, Chase’s face so close she could see tiny flecks of green in his icy blue eyes, and the slight stubble that dusted his cheeks. His arms were strong and powerful, as was his chest, and for a moment she had the distinct impression that his full lips would take hers and devour her.
But as quickly as he’d caught her, he released her again, by returning her to perpendicularity, setting her down so gently she surprised herself by heaving out a soft sigh. He then pointed at the green smudges on her dress.
“You’ll have to get that dry-cleaned,” he grumbled, giving her a hard look.
She was still panting slightly, her heart racing, and she knew it wasn’t from the drop but from being in such close proximity with Chase’s hard chest. She hadn’t been this close to a man for a while, her last boyfriend having fled Hampton Cove over a year ago, when he’d been caught embezzling funds from the local bank. Sam had been a teller and had both swindled the bank out of a nice sum of money and her out of her illusions.
He’d been a nice young man, and she’d even brought him home to meet her parents and grandmother for dinner. He’d been nothing like Chase Kingsley, who, she now realized, was an actual man, while Sam was a boy.
“I, um, thank you,” she finally managed. His hands were still expertly removing a few leaves from her person, and the memory of his hard body so close to hers sent a steady stream of thrills up her spine and made her knees tremble. She licked her lips, trying to stem the tide of emotions that suddenly flooded her. How was it possible that a man she hardly knew could have such a powerful effect on her? She didn’t know and she didn’t care. All she knew was that Chase was a very dangerous man, and she better put some distance between herself and this overbearing cop, or else she might be the next one to fall victim to his treacherous ways. Her lips tightened and her face hardened when she stepped back. “Thank you for saving my life, Detective Kingsley.”
“I don’t think I saved your life, Miss Poole,” he said, also straightening, “but you’re welcome. And now I think it’s t
ime for you to head back into town.”
Anger flared inside her. Who did he think he was ordering her around like this? Maybe it was time she put him in his place. “I’m actually doing a story on you as well, Detective. A story my readers will find fascinating.”
“Is that right?” he asked, eyeing her a little wearily.
“Oh, yes. Lots of rumors have been swirling around about you, and I think it’s important to separate fact from fiction. Set the record straight.”
“As a matter of fact, that’s exactly what I think, too,” he admitted.
“So… would you like to comment on your dismissal from the NYPD?”
Instantly, his face hardened. “You know very well that was a hatchet piece that appeared in the New York Post. No truth to the story whatsoever.”
“All I know is that you were accused of molesting a suspect’s wife, and that she filed charges against you, which caused your immediate dismissal.”
His eyes were blazing now with fury. “That story was a fabrication and a lie,” he growled. “Nothing about it was even remotely true.”
“Then you won’t mind setting the record straight? Give the good people of Hampton Cove your side of the story? Your version of the facts?”
“It’s not my version of the facts, Miss Poole. They are the facts.”
“And what are those? And why haven’t you told them to anyone before?”
At this, instead of launching into a long-winded harangue about the mayor’s wife and the commissioner, as she’d expected, he simply closed his mouth with a click, and stood there glaring at her, visibly seething with anger.
“Oh, come on, Detective Kingsley,” she prompted. “You can do better than that.” She took a step closer. “Isn’t it, in fact, true that you claim you stumbled upon a secret liaison between the commissioner and the mayor’s wife? That you were consequently the victim of a cover-up, and that these false accusations leveled against you were simply a way of discrediting you so no one would believe your crazy story about the commissioner’s illicit affair?”
His eyes were blazing, his face taking on a darker tinge of scarlet. A vein was dangerously throbbing at his temple, and she took another step closer.
“Where did you hear that?” he finally demanded in a deep, low growl.
She shrugged. “I’m a professional, Detective. I have my sources.”
When he grabbed her by the shoulders and gave her a vigorous shake, she knew she’d gone too far. “Tell me who told you about this,” he spat, his eyes boring into hers with an intensity that held her spellbound.
“I—I can’t,” she said, suddenly realizing the dangerous position she’d maneuvered herself in. Here she was, all alone in the woods, near the scene where Paulo Frey had been murdered, with a cop who stood accused of molesting a woman and had lost his job as a consequence. Why did she have to come out here alone? And why did she have to provoke this man? She’d poked the bear, and now he was awake and furious and ready to devour her!
“I want you to let me go now,” she said, squirming.
“Not before you tell me who told you about the commissioner.”
“I—I can’t!” she cried.
He shook her again. “Was it your father? Did he tell you?”
“Of course not! I—everyone knows the story. It’s all over town!”
He stared at her at this, aghast. “All over town?”
“Yes! It’s not a secret, if that’s what you think.”
He was still staring at her, his face ashen now. She wriggled out of his arms, and this time he let go, looking absolutely shell-shocked.
“And let me tell you that I, for one, don’t believe a word of it,” she said. “That whole story about the mayor’s wife? I think you made that up. I think you’re a brute and you went too far that day and you molested that woman.”
He blinked, finally coming out of his stupor when her words hit him. Surprised, she watched as a look of torment came over his face. “We’re done here, Miss Poole,” he said in a voice so quiet she had to strain her ears to pick up the words. “We’re done here,” he repeated, then started to walk away from her, his back straight, his shoulders stiff and his demeanor unreadable.
And as she watched him walk away, she realized what she’d done. The only two people in town he’d entrusted with his secret were her father and her uncle. In Chase’s mind one of them must have betrayed his confidence. How else could she have known? And now he would confront either or both of these men, and would probably never trust them again. She’d really done it this time. Maybe he’d even resign and leave Hampton Cove because of her. Chase Kingsley was obviously a proud man, and might simply walk away.
“Chase!” she called out, and hurried after him. “Chase! Come back!”
She caught up with him just as he reached his car, a pickup like hers, but more dilapidated. He whirled around. “What?” he asked, his jaw working.
“I, um…” She didn’t know what to say for a moment. How could she explain that she got all of her information from her cat? That was simply ludicrous. But how else could she have known? In his mind her father had broken his trust, or her uncle. She needed to tell him the truth, no matter how improbable it might sound. Or… “I’ll tell you where I heard the story.”
“I know. All over town,” he gritted out.
“No! No, I’m the only one that knows. And… and Beah.”
He stared at her, his face inscrutable, and folded his massive arms across his chest, leaning against the truck. He wasn’t giving her an inch. “Go on.”
“I… I worked for the New York Post for six months, as an intern, right after I finished college. I didn’t like it out there, though, and pretty quickly returned to Hampton Cove, where Dan had always promised me a spot on his paper. He was getting on in years, and couldn’t do it all by himself anymore. The work maybe wasn’t as exciting as working for one of the big papers, but it was good enough for me. But while I was interning at the Post I became really close to another intern. Beah Heaves and I became friends, and even after I returned here we kept in touch. We, um, we exchange information. When she needs help on a story about the Hamptons, or I need something on New York, we help each other out.”
“So?” he grunted, his eyes remaining steadily on hers.
“Well, I called her this morning, asking about you, and she told me the story about the harassment, and…” She hesitated, licking her lips. “She also told me that a crazy rumor had done the rounds that you were set up. That the harassment charge was simply a way to make you go away.”
His frown deepened. “If this reporter friend of yours knew about this, why didn’t she pursue the story? Why was this never printed in the Post?”
She lifted an ineffectual hand. “Isn’t it obvious? Because nobody believed the rumors. They figured you started them yourself, to get off the hook.”
He shifted, giving her a slight nod. “And what do you believe?”
She cast around helplessly. To be honest, she hadn’t made up her mind.
She didn’t have to, for his jaw worked when he growled, “I see.”
And then he abruptly turned and yanked open the door of his car and slid behind the wheel. When he turned back to her, his face was a mask of determination. “Just make sure that when you print your story you make sure to get a quote from the commissioner this time. Get him on record.”
“Why?” she asked, surprised.
“Because the scumbag has never come out openly and accused me of a crime.” He gave her a grim-faced look. “Just ask him the question straight to his face, and see how he responds. I’m sure a big-shot reporter like yourself will have no trouble recognizing a blatant lie when you see it.”
With these words, he started up the truck and the engine roared to life. Before she had a chance to respond, he was racing away, wheels spinning and leaving her in a cloud of dust and wondering what she’d gotten herself into.
For some reason, she was starting to believe that Chas
e Kingsley just might be telling the truth after all, which meant she’d been wrong all along.
Chapter 15
Dooley and I rode in the back in silence for a while, as Odelia seemed to ponder Chase’s words. She now had two cases on her plate: a nasty murder case, and the mystery of the new policeman, and seemed adamant to solve them both. Dooley had stretched himself out on the backseat and was already snoring softly, while I was gazing at the back of Odelia’s head, wondering what else we could do for her. It was obvious the recent meeting with Chase hadn’t gone well, and judging from her silence it had made a great impact.
I wondered why this was. Why would some idiot cop cause her so much distress? She’d gone toe-to-toe with other people before—these things happen when you’re a tough-as-nails reporter—and she’d shrugged off those incidents in a heartbeat. This time the confrontation had left an indelible impression, and I thought I knew why this was. The same reason Harriet had fallen so unexpectedly for Brutus: this new cop was an alpha male. The kind of male human that made a powerful impact on the female of the species.
I’d seen it before and I now recognized the signs: Odelia was developing feelings for this cop, even though she probably didn’t know it herself.
Why else would she care whether Chase Kingsley was innocent in this whole harassment business or not? If he were simply some Mr. Nobody she would have dismissed him out of hand, but now she was almost as eager to solve his mystery as she was to solve the Paulo Frey murder.
And then I got an idea. I know, it sometimes happens, even to cats. I don’t know where these sudden moments of illumination come from, but I’m grateful they do. And no, I’m not saying I’m the smartest cat around, because I’m not, but I do have my moments of sudden brilliance, if I say so myself.
“Hey,” I said, deftly hopping into the passenger seat. “I’ve got an idea.”
“Mh?” asked Odelia without looking up. She was still deep in thought as she steered her pickup expertly down the winding road back into town.