A Cat to Kill For

by Greg Miller

  It was dusk in the village of Watkins Glen. The shops were closed and the street lights were aglow when Gavin and Emily stepped out of the old limestone police station.

  “I can’t believe we were in there for two hours,” Gavin said, looking at his watch as they walked toward the car.

  “Detective Terrick was certainly very thorough.” Emily nodded.

  “How do you feel?”

  “Hungry.” She stopped walking. “That’s not what you meant. Was it?”

  “No.” Gavin smiled. “But I’m hungry too.”

  Emily looked down at the sidewalk. “I’m not sure how I’m feeling, really. A bit overwhelmed, I suppose. But I do have a sense of closure.”

  “That’s good,” he said, opening the car door for her.

  “How do you feel?” she asked as he slid into the driver’s seat beside her.

  Gavin leaned back. “Still overwhelmed too, I guess.”

  She twisted her lips. “I think we should celebrate. I’m taking you out to dinner.”

  “Sounds great.” Gavin smiled, reaching for the ignition. “Where are you taking me?”

  “How about The Harbor View?”

  “That’s a little pricey, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” she said. “But I think you deserve it.”

  They drove the short distance down Franklin Street to the restaurant. Inside, they were seated beside a large window that looked out on the swaying masts of sailboats, which were illuminated by floodlights beneath the darkening sky.

  “This is really nice. Thank you,” Gavin said, after the waiter had taken their orders.

  “You’re very welcome.” Emily smiled. She gazed out at the harbor. “I’ve been wondering – do you think it will be possible for us to get possession of the engine?”

  Gavin shrugged. “You were Andrew’s only heir so I’d think you’d be able to file a wrongful death lawsuit and hopefully get it. But you’ll need to talk to a lawyer.”

  Emily took a deep breath, nodding.

  The waiter returned with a pair of glasses and a small bottle of champagne which Gavin poured.

  “I’d like to propose a toast,” Emily said, raising her glass. “To our victory.”

  “To our victory.” Gavin chuckled, tapping his glass against hers.

  Emily took a sip and rubbed her nose. “Just so you know, I want you to have half of whatever money we get.”

  Gavin shook his head. “That’s very generous, but I don’t want half.”

  Emily frowned. “We’ve been partners in this. I decided a long time ago that you would get half.” She looked down at the tablecloth. “I felt like my life was over when Andrew died, and now I feel like it’s just beginning. I owe it all to you.”

  Gavin smiled sadly. “You’ve changed my life for the better, too.”

  They gazed into each other’s eyes.

  The waiter returned and set a plate of seafood pasta Alfredo before Emily, and a New York strip steak in front of Gavin.

  Emily licked her lips. “Yum.”

  Gavin cut into his steak. “So, you’d definitely sell the car then?”

  “Of course.” Emily nodded, twirling the fettuccine around with her fork. “I think we should sell it to that museum in England – that’s what Andrew would have wanted.”

  “Will you keep working at the shop?”

  “Oh, yes,” she said. “I’d pay you to let me work there.”

  “I’m glad.” He chuckled. “I wouldn’t want that to change.”

  “I wouldn’t want it to change either,” Emily said. “I just want things to keep getting better and better. How’s your steak?” she asked.

  “Oh, it’s excellent,” he replied.

  She leaned forward, studying his face. “What are you thinking about?”

  “The car,” he said. “I was just thinking about how it might have gotten here to begin with. That keychain you found – I think it was a clue.”

  Emily smiled and, after rooting through her purse, pulled it out. “I’ve been keeping it as kind of a good luck charm.”

  “I guess I was so focused on the people in the club that I hadn’t thought about it again until now.” Gavin took it in his fingers. “You know, I can’t imagine someone buying a Jaguar and wanting to use a British Leyland keychain. This is the first one I’ve ever seen. I’m guessing whoever had the car to begin with worked for the company.”

  Emily’s cheeks puffed out as she chewed on a fork-load of her pasta and shrimp.

  “America was Jaguar’s biggest market,” Gavin continued, setting the keychain down on the table. “So I think it’s very likely they’d want to rush a new model over to show around as soon as possible. That would explain why it left England and became the stuff of legend.”

  She swallowed. “It sounds quite plausible to me.”

  “And,” he said, “I’m thinking the Chevy engine must have been put in it very early on. Probably by the first or second owner. If it had ever been advertised in its original state, an enthusiast would have realized how special it was, and grabbed it.”

  Emily took a look around the room at the handful of others who were still in the restaurant, then furtively cut her fettuccine with a knife.

  Gavin rubbed his temple. “I just wish there weren’t still so many unanswered questions. I wish Peter was still alive to answer them.”

  “I wish he was still alive to rot in prison,” Emily said, tightening her lips.

  Gavin stared off into space.

  Emily wrinkled her forehead. “What unanswered questions?”

  “Well, I mean, how did Peter end up with the motor? Where did he get it from? Without seeing the manufacture plate on the car, how would he even know the engine was anything special?”

  Emily twisted her lips. “What if Peter was the first or second owner and he put the Chevy engine in it? Then, years later, he learned what a mistake he’d made selling it. He still had the engine and could have become obsessed with finding the car again. That could have been what made him so obsessed with Jaguars and driven him to murder.”

  Gavin leaned back in his chair. “That’s brilliant! That would explain everything.”

  Emily smiled. “Maybe we’ll find out the whole story now that the police are involved.”

  “I doubt it.” Gavin chuckled. “Not with Detective Terrick handling things.” He lifted a piece of steak with his fork, then put it back down. “Did you notice how he got all tense when I said the car was a rare prototype?”

  Emily shook her head.

  “I thought it was an odd response. And I have to say that I was a little surprised to see him show up right after the first responders.”

  “It’s a small police department.” She shrugged. “I doubt there are many detectives.”

  Gavin stared out at the dark harbor. “He showed up at the shop when Al said he would too.”

  Emily nodded. “Wait,” she said. “You don’t think that Detective Terrick could be somehow involved in all of this?”

  “He wanted to see the car, and then the shop was broken into that very night. It’s been nagging at me the whole time,” Gavin said, with a distant look in his eyes. “But it seemed too far-fetched to seriously consider.”

  “It is far-fetched.” Emily sniffled, taking another sip of her champagne.

  “He had a good look around, up and along the walls. I thought he was looking at the signs; I wonder if he was casing the place, checking for security cameras.”

  “I’ve always thought that Detective Terrick was an ass,” Emily said. “But it doesn’t make sense for him to be involved with Peter.”

  “No, it doesn’t,” Gavin said.

  She grimaced. “So what, you think Detective Terrick is really the villain? That he killed and framed Peter? That really doesn’t make any sense. If Terrick had
the engine why would he kill Peter, and put the engine right in front of us?” Emily’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t know what it is, or why, but you’ve always had a problem believing Peter could be involved, and now, in spite of all the evidence, you still can’t accept that it was him.”

  Gavin rubbed his temples. “This is too easy. Where did the car with the engine come from? It wasn’t there when Peter showed us his garage.”

  “He must have had it hidden! Maybe in a storage unit somewhere, like Armando had.” She exhaled a long breath. “Do you really think that Detective Terrick had the Jaguar with the engine, murdered Andrew, then killed Peter and put the car in his garage for us to find? It’s completely absurd.”

  “No,” Gavin said, shaking his head. “For it to make sense, Terrick would have to have been involved with someone else – another club member.”

  “So Detective Terrick has been helping someone else?”

  Gavin nodded.

  “But to what end?” Emily asked, raising her voice. “It still makes no sense. Why kill and frame Peter?”

  “Maybe because Peter would have been able to figure it all out.”

  “Figure what out?” She squinted.

  Gavin rubbed his temples again. “Armando thought it was us.”

  “What?”

  “Armando thought we had killed Andrew to get the car. And if anyone thought that it was really valuable they’d just as easily believe it too.”

  Emily made a pained face.

  “Think about it. We’d have the motive to kill Andrew for the car, and Peter for the engine.”

  She shook her head. “You’re hurting my brain. I didn’t even know you when Andrew died.”

  “Can you prove it?” Gavin ran his fingers through his hair. “If anyone suspected foul play in either of their deaths, we’d be the number one suspects, and the case against us would be damning.”

  She looked away. “So, you’re saying that you think someone in the club killed Peter, with the help of Detective Terrick, to set us up?”

  Gavin took a deep breath. “That note said we were amateurs playing a game with a master. Suicide isn’t the move of a master game player.”

  Emily put her hands over her ears, staring at her dinner plate.

  “I’m sorry,” Gavin said. “I know this is upsetting, but I think our lives could depend on us having this conversation.”

  “Where was Peter’s yellow E-Type?” She gulped. “It was missing and the gray one was there in its place.”

  Gavin wrinkled his forehead. “That’s a good point. Someone could have driven there in the gray one, and used the yellow one to leave.”

  “Oh God,” Emily said, looking up. “And I’m sure that Detective Terrick could facilitate getting our car for whoever the real killer might be. It would be evidence against us. Ugh. I feel sick.” She took a sip of water. “So who in the hell is Terrick working with? Who wants to frame us?”

  Gavin took a deep breath. “I’ve been wrong at every turn.”

  “We both have.”

  “But,” Gavin said, “I have to go back to the very first mistake I made.”

  “What was that?”

  “Thinking the car would be safe in the shop.”

  “I know that I was worried about that,” Emily said.

  “Right,” Gavin replied. “The reason I just assumed it would be safe was because I knew how hard it would be to sell such a rare car that had been stolen. Cars get stolen all the time – even expensive classics – but a truly rare one like this would make the news and be the talk of the classic car community. It would need a convincing provenance, one that didn’t involve theft and murder.” He leaned back with a faint smile. “It would be like trying to sell a recently discovered Van Gogh.”

  “So … you think whoever it is doesn’t plan on ever selling it?”

  Gavin nodded. “He wants it just for himself.”

  Emily wrinkled her face. She picked the keychain up from the table and her eyes widened, staring at it. “Oh, my God,” she said. “I know who it has to be!”

  CHAPTER 21

  The Morgan’s headlights cast a spectral indigo glow over the peeling clapboard of Gavin’s carriage house, making it shimmer in the darkness. A gust of wind blew a shower of golden maple leaves across the driveway as the garage door slowly ascended. Emily looked up at the dark windows in the gable above. Gavin drove inside and the engine rumbled to a stop.

  Climbing out of the car, the sound of the humming electric motor and clinking chain filled the cluttered, barn-like space as the door closed behind them.

  Emily slipped her phone into the front pocket of her blouse and they stood looking at each other for a moment.

  Gavin took her hand as he led her up the stairs and unlocked the door. He reached into the darkness and flicked the light switch. The apartment remained pitch black.

  “The bulb must have blown,” he said, venturing into the room.

  A bright flashlight blinded them.

  “Oh, shit!” Emily gasped, stumbling into him.

  A familiar voice spoke from behind the beam of light. “Don’t move.”

  They both froze.

  “Remove the gun from your jacket, Gavin. Put it on the coffee table.”

  “Slowly,” another voice, deeper than the first, instructed from the opposite corner of the room.

  Gavin took the pistol from his pocket and placed it on the table.

  “Now step back.”

  A man’s face was lit by the beam as he leaned forward, reaching his hand out to take the gun.

  “Detective Terrick.” Emily sneered with contempt.

  “Don’t worry, Emily,” the other voice said, in a saccharine, paternal tone. “Everything’s going to be alright.”

  A lamp in the corner was switched on to reveal the speaker, sitting in Gavin’s leather club chair. Bill.

  “Please, take a seat,” he said.

  Emily glared at him as they sat down.

  Terrick went over to Bill and handed him Gavin’s gun.

  “I hope you don’t mind that we’ve been making ourselves at home,” Bill said, using his free hand to take a sip of tea from one of Gavin’s mugs. “We’ve been waiting quite a while for you.”

  Gavin stared at him, without expression, while Emily grimaced.

  “You disgust me,” she spat out.

  “Why is that?” Bill asked.

  “You know why. You killed my brother!”

  “I’m afraid you’ve got it all wrong. I’m here to help,” he said, in a warm, affected voice. “Emily … It was Gavin who killed Andrew.”

  “No, he didn’t.” She scoffed.

  Bill leaned forward looking into her eyes, but she quickly turned away. “Emily. I want you to listen very closely. Andrew made the mistake of telling Gavin what a special car it was and he started scheming to get it. Gavin murdered Andrew and now he has seduced you.”

  “I know what you’re doing,” Emily said. “I won’t cooperate.”

  “Oh, yes, you will.” He smiled. “Because no one will believe you. Who would believe you, with your mental health history, over a respected detective?”

  Trembling, Emily forced herself to seem defiant as she looked him in the eyes. “I’m not the crazy one. You are.”

  Bill chuckled, taking another sip of tea. “Oh, we’re all a little bit crazy, don’t you think?” His eyes narrowed. “But you’ll be the one who spends the rest of her life in a psychiatric hospital if you don’t do as I say. You were an unwitting accomplice,” he continued, changing his tone. “It’s understandable that you’d go berserk and kill Gavin once you’d figured it out. I’m sure they’ll understand and go easy on you.”

  Bill stood up, holding Gavin’s gun. “Terrick is going to take you in the other room now, Emily. Think about what I said.”
>
  “No, I won’t go. I’m not leaving Gavin,” she said, grabbing on to him with tears in her eyes.

  Bill shrugged, exhaling a long breath. “I didn’t want you to have to see this, but suit yourself.”

  Gavin squeezed her hand. “I have to say that this part – making it look like Emily killed me – is really clever.”

  Bill smiled with bright eyes.

  “You know,” Gavin continued, “it’s ironic because it was only this afternoon that we decided to give up and sell the car.”

  “You never would have given up.” Bill sighed. “I learned that about the two of you months ago. You would have tried to track down where it ended up. I’m sorry, but I did try to warn you it was a dangerous game. Unfortunately, you’ve lost.”

  Gavin gulped as Bill took a step closer. “Before you do this would you explain a few things for me?”

  Bill thought for a moment. “What would you like to know?”

  “How did you get the car to begin with?”

  “Through my uncle,” Bill said. “He was the marketing director for British Leyland North America. They had their corporate headquarters down in New Jersey. I’d always admired it and eventually I bought it.”

  “And you put the Chevy engine in it.”

  Bill nodded. “It kept breaking down – I was a kid in my twenties. It wasn’t until years later, long after I’d sold it, that I realized what a special car I’d had.” He closed his eyes for a moment. “I’ve spent decades trying to find it, checking the classifieds in case it came up. After a while, I began collecting other Jaguars. It became my passion.”

  Emily wrinkled her forehead, nodding to herself.

  Terrick crossed his arms, impatiently fondling the handle of his gun.

  “And you kept the engine,” Gavin said. “Why was it in that gray E-Type?”

  “That was Dennis’ car,” Bill said. “He blew the engine, so I bought the car from him, and put mine in. I wanted to bring it back to life.” He smiled, his eyes wistful. “To hear it run, and feel it powering down the road. I suppose I wanted to relive a part of my youth.” His wavering attention snapped back to Gavin and Emily. “You see, I’d pretty much given up on ever finding the original car. But then, one day,” he said, “Andrew showed up with photos of this car he’d bought. I knew it immediately, and I had to have it back.”