Cat Killed A Rat

by ReGina Welling

  Chloe held the phone away from her ear when EV snorted loudly then dissolved into gales of laughter. “Okay, fine. I’ll cross that theory off the list, but I’m leaving Evan and Talia’s affair on there for now.”

  Chloe added Talia and Evan’s names to the mind map on her computer screen.

  “Revenge for what, though? Luther bent over backwards to avoid confrontation. Could be a disgruntled worker. I know you’re making one of your spreadsheet lists right now, I can hear the keys tapping. It’s one line to tug.”

  “I’ve got a contact who would know the lay of the land; I’ll do a little digging there.” With a few deft motions, Chloe shot off a private message to a guy she’d dated once upon a time. Hopefully, he was hooked up or she’d end up feeling obligated to go out with him again. EV better appreciate the depths of her willingness to help.

  “Annoyed homeowner?” Chloe speculated. “That’s an easy list to put together, but I don’t think we’re going to find anything there. So that leaves money.”

  “No matter how I look at it, I have trouble thinking of anything Luther could have done that would get him murdered.”

  When Chloe murmured her agreement, EV continued. “Don’t get me wrong; him falling off a ladder is no stretch to my imagination, but being pushed…that’s an image I have trouble seeing.”

  “He’s too stupid to live, but not smart enough to be killed?” There was no smile in Chloe’s voice.

  “Exactly.”

  Chloe turned to the other pertinent evidence. “But since we know Evan actually was being blackmailed, how does that figure in?”

  “Only the dumbest blackmailer in history would kill their target.”

  Every motive for the death of one brother contradicted the motive for the death of the other. Wasn’t there some myth about a big snake who symbolized infinity by eating his own tail? That’s what this felt like.

  “What if Luther’s death was spur of the moment? A crime of passion: he’s arguing with whoever; they get pissed off, give the ladder a shove; down goes Luther; the killer panics and bolts.”

  Pausing, EV ran that scenario through her mind. That stepladder, she had reason to know, was rickety enough that shoving it over would have taken very little effort. Evan a small nudge could have toppled Luther. “It could have happened that way.”

  “Then we need to see if we can figure out who might have been there that night.”

  “How?”

  “Social media for a start.” Chloe switched her portable to speaker mode to free up both hands, and then opened up Facebook and Twitter. “You’d be surprised at the inane things people post on their profiles.” Like a master pianist, she switched between her desktop, laptop, tablet and phone to look at images and posts dated on the fateful night. Fingers flying across the keys, Chloe began to establish a time line.

  “No, I really, really wouldn’t.” Too many intimate details of people’s lives being posted online for all to see was what kept EV from embracing social media.

  “Okay.” With one final rattle of keys, Chloe read off the names of her prime suspects. “We’ve got Lottie heading out to look for a stray cat, David Erickson was working late to finish up some painting at the Mudbucket and would have been on his way home around the time of Luther’s murder, Allegra Worth was waiting for Ashton to get home so they could play Parcheesi—I wonder if that’s a euphemism for—”

  “I beg of you, don’t finish that sentence,” EV interrupted.

  “Horis was out pouring beer in his slug bait containers. I think that’s the short list of people who might have been at the church.”

  “Lottie despised Luther. There might be something there. I’m headed to knitting group. Wanna bet me it’s packed, and the topic of Luther will come up?”

  “You are the queen of obvious. Call me after. I want details.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  From the shape of her nose to her short, static way of moving, to the habit of fluttering her hands when agitated, Priscilla Lewellyn really did have a bird-like quality that was only enhanced by her choice of clothing. Almost everything she wore was hand-knitted in her current favorite yarn, a novelty type that, when stitched up, created a garment that fell somewhere between fuzzy and feathery.

  Yet, all that flutter and fluff concealed a mind sharp as a tack. Her eyes, beady as they might be, rarely missed a thing. Gossip was her passion, and her information was rock solid, which made her one of the taproots of the town grapevine.

  So, it was with some reluctance, because EV was not an enthusiastic knitter and because she knew there would be fallout from the gossip about her, EV gathered her needles and worsted yarn and set out to pay Priscilla a visit.

  Priscilla’s fabric store, Thread, occupied a spot between the Mudbucket and New Sage, a shop that carried an eclectic mix of goods ranging from hardware to health food to high-end kitchenware.

  Lured by the scent of freshly roasted beans and the sight of Allegra Worth seated alone in front of the window, EV made an unplanned detour into the coffee shop to order a decaf latte. Since Priscilla had banned food and drink from the fabric store, there was nothing for it but that EV plop down at the table next to Allegra’s to sip her steaming brew.

  Here was the closest source to the person spreading the most insidious of the EV-killed-Evan rumors, so how could she pass up a chance to poke around a little?

  “Shame about Luther and Evan. It’s not often you see two brothers dying so close together. Would have killed their mother if she wasn’t already gone.” Only someone who was watching closely for a reaction would have seen Allegra’s subtle flinch when she heard the two men’s names.

  Allegra swallowed hard and her voice, when she spoke, sounded hoarse. “Yes, it’s so sad.”

  “You must have known Luther pretty well, growing up neighbors and all.” EV relentlessly fished for information.

  “Luther?” Allegra asked absently as though she had already lost track of the conversation.

  “Didn’t you date him before he married Talia? Must be a real shock to lose someone you were once so close to.”

  “What? Oh, yes. We dated in high school for a couple months or so.”

  “Evan would have been what—five or six at the time?” It was framed as a question, but EV knew exactly what the age difference was between the two brothers.

  “Eight. He was eight when I was sixteen.” A tear slipped down Allegra’s face. “But age is relative, don’t you think? After all, you’re such close friends with that young neighbor of yours.”

  Was she implying a romantic relationship between Chloe and EV? It almost sounded that way. EV grinned. Chloe was going to love this bit of gossip.

  “Were you and Evan close friends?” EV kept her voice neutral. She appraised Allegra surreptitiously and saw a woman who was completely rattled. Fingernails once immaculately groomed were now chewed ragged, the polish a flaked ruin. Her makeup looked as though it had been applied with a shaky hand: there were mascara dots sprinkled beneath her lower lashes and her lipstick wobbled over her lip line. A glance down showed that though they were very similar, Allegra was wearing two different shoes.

  The past few weeks had been hard on people of a certain temperament. With personal safety no longer a given, some folks struggled to maintain their equilibrium.

  “Friends? Oh, no. I barely knew him.”

  Changing the subject, EV asked, “Are you coming to knitting group?”

  At Allegra’s blank look, EV simply pointed toward the reusable shopping bag stuffed full of yarn and needles hanging off the back of her chair. “Oh, I guess so.” Yet, Allegra still sat like a lump of immovable rock until EV gently placed a hand around her arm and helped her to stand.

  “We’ll go together.”

  Stepping into Thread always jangled EV’s nerves; so much color, so many patterns. It was a lot of visual stimulation and the main reason she had never taken up quilting as a hobby. With so many choices, her eye had a hard time landing anywhe
re. Cross stitching pushed against the extent of her patience for sewing things by hand.

  That lack of patience translated itself into her being the absolute worst knitter in the group. Even though she tried hard to make all her stitches the same, they inevitably bunched into tight knots, and when she tried to compensate, became a loose, flopping mess. Being the recipient of an item hand knitted by EV was more curse than blessing. Her crocheting skills, if one could call them that, were even worse; and Chloe owned several parallelogram-shaped afghans to prove it.

  The back room where knitting group met was a haven of restfulness compared to the front of the store. A slightly shabby yet comfortable sofa sat against the far wall beneath the only decorative element in the room: a beautifully wrought quilt depicting a map of Ponderosa Pines. Several equally threadbare chairs ranged around the rest of the room.

  Taking recent events into account, EV expected the place to be packed, and she was not disappointed. Chattering women filled every chair and were so crammed onto the couch that, had they bothered even trying to knit, the bumping of elbows would have clacked equally as loudly as their knitting needles. There was no pretense that this was anything but a gossip session. Only Priscilla sat calmly, fingers flying as a mitten formed below four small needles.

  The others had been talking excitedly until EV stepped through the door, and a flurry of motion erupted as hands delved into yarn bags to retrieve the projects that had ostensibly brought them there to begin with. EV, of course, was not fooled in the least and caught Priscilla’s eye to exchange a wry smile.

  Awkward silence continued until EV cleared her throat. “I take it you’ve all heard the rumor that I killed Evan.” Her eagle eye circled the room to see which faces turned red, whose eyes slid away, and which of her friends exhibited indignation on her behalf. There were no surprises when it turned out that the first, thankfully smaller, group was also made up of those who did not regularly attend knitting group. Gossip seekers, every single one. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Allegra flinch at the mention of his name.

  With a wicked gleam in her eye, EV pulled out a folding chair, settled herself to face the room, and decided to set the cat among the pigeons.

  “What was my motive?” She ticked off possibilities on her fingers. “His little plan to combine Ponderosa Pines with Gilmore was never going to happen. I’m not the only one who was opposed to his becoming mayor; he had maybe five people in his corner on that. I wasn’t sleeping with him, and last I knew, having a public fight with someone was not an automatic motive for murder.”

  EV reached down to pick up the knitting needle that had flown out of Allegra’s hand at that last remark and calmly handed it back to the flustered woman. “Any other ideas?”

  Now she would get to the bottom of things and see what the grapevine had to offer.

  “Of course you didn’t kill Evan.” Justice and Mercy Walker spoke as one; an eerie ability that came with being twins. Frankly, EV thought it was creepy that, even in their thirties, they still dressed alike. Today, for instance, they were wearing identical hot pink tops over white leggings.

  “So nice of you to be supportive,” EV acknowledged, knowing full well the pair of them would assuredly have been among the top contenders if there had been a prize for who had spread the most rumors against her. Their part of the grapevine was twisted and stunted—probably from being coated in venom. “If I had decided to start pruning the unsavory element from our little community, Evan would not have been my first choice.”

  Mercy’s eyes narrowed as though she thought that remark might have been aimed at her; but when EV kept her attention focused elsewhere, Mercy pasted on a cheery smile that did not reach her eyes. Then again, it might have been Justice; EV was sitting too far away to see the tiny mole just above her full top lip that marked one sister from the other. Either way, talking to one of them was pretty much the same as talking to the other.

  “There ain’t but three true motives for murder when you get right down to the bottom of it: love, money, or revenge.” One of the newest Ponderosa Pines residents, Jessamyn Sanders, echoed Chloe’s sentiments from their earlier conversation. She had pulled into the village one day on her Harley and, after wandering around for half an hour, declared herself home. Many eyebrows raised when she strutted into the rental office of High Acres and plunked down six months’ rent plus security for a furnished one bedroom with an attached garage.

  Hazel eyes alight, Jess continued, “And I’m thinking this time it was love.”

  “I believe you look like a cat who has just filled up on a nice canary dinner. Do tell.” Priscilla’s own eyes gleamed. She might as well have named her knitting group Priscilla’s Gossip Club—Knitting Optional.

  “Well, you know my place is just around the corner from his condo. Two days before he died, I happened to be walking in that direction, and I heard him having an argument with a woman,” Jess’s voice dropped to a whisper as she paused to let the full effect of this revelation sink in.

  “Was it—” Allegra glanced toward EV, then tried to cover up the quaver in her voice by clearing her throat. “Did you recognize the woman’s voice?”

  “No, it sounded like they were in Charlie Brown’s teacher mode, but I could tell by their tones that neither one was happy.”

  Filing the information away in the must-tell-Chloe part of her brain, EV heard a sigh of relief coming from somewhere off to her right. Casting a sidelong look in that direction, she decided the most likely candidate was Luther’s sister-in-law. Lottie Calabrese was on EV’s list of possible suspects based on Chloe’s time line of the night Luther died and her opinion of the Plunkett brothers.

  For once, though, Lottie remained silent. That, in and of itself, gave EV cause to bump her up the list.

  Chapter Nineteen

  A lesser woman might have turned and walked away, considering the reaction EV was getting to her presence at Evan’s funeral. Heads turned when she and Chloe walked into the church, and whispers ran the pews in waves. Among the expressions on her neighbors’ faces were accusation, speculation, and sympathy.

  All EV wanted to do was slip quietly into a seat in the back of the church; instead, Talia motioned for them to join her near the front where she had been saving a spot. Why had Talia chosen this very visible means of showing she thought EV innocent of all wrongdoing? Was she trying to send a message? Judging by the look on Chloe’s face, EV wasn’t the only one who could have done without this particular vote of confidence.

  There was nothing left for it, though, but that they march down the center aisle and take the proffered seats—so, with heads held high, that’s exactly what they did. Still, Chloe made a mental note of who appeared to be supportive and which of their neighbors were scandalized. Some people were going to be eating crow before all this was over, and she wanted to make sure those who had earned it would get their full portion.

  “Thank God you’re here,” Talia whispered, her sister Lottie nowhere in sight. “I was hoping you’d come so I wouldn’t have to go through this alone.” Was the woman completely oblivious to the gossip about EV? “You know I ended up having to make all the arrangements because Evan didn’t have any other family.”

  “You did a great job,” Chloe said, noting the fact that this funeral seemed like a déjà vu version of Luther’s: same casket, same flowers, same mourners. She wondered if Talia had gotten some kind of twofer discount. The feeling only intensified when the pastor began to speak and delivered almost the same eulogy for Evan as he had for Luther.

  Chloe and EV exchanged a glance that plainly said they were freaked out by the whole thing.

  Once the service was over, Talia clung to them like stink on a skunk.

  “Don’t leave me,” the widow hissed in EV’s ear when EV attempted to sidle away toward the classroom where a table held plate after plate of homemade sweets. Off to one side was another small table carrying the guest book and a slotted box for cards. This was where Lottie, u
nder the guise of opening bereavement cards, had been hiding during the service.

  Whatever feud was running between the sisters, the malevolent look she directed toward EV and Chloe hit like an arrow to the gut, yet still wasn’t as vicious as the one she shot toward Talia. It scorched the air between them like a bolt of lightning.

  Unfortunately, when it hit, it had an effect that Lottie probably never intended. Instead of being cowed, Talia’s face flushed a dull red as she marched toward the table with her finger pointed. “I hope you’re happy. You hated Luther even though he was a good husband to me. I think you hated him because of it,” her voice rose toward shrill.

  “Luther, Luther, Luther,” Lottie wrinkled her nose with scorn. “That’s all I’ve heard since you married that pathetic excuse for a man.”

  “What did he ever do to you?” The only other sound in the room was the nervous shuffle of feet while the crowd around them tried to decide between sneaking away or watching with blatant curiosity.

  “Nothing, but then he never did anything for me either.” Her words seemed pointed, but Talia stared at her sister uncomprehendingly.

  “What on earth are you talking about?”

  “My porch swing.”

  “You don’t have a porch swing.”

  Lottie flashed Talia a raised eyebrow and a hand wave that spoke more eloquently than words.

  “Let me get this straight: because Luther didn’t build you a porch swing, you had to make my life hell for the past three years? And now that he’s dead—DEAD—you can’t even extend me the courtesy of some type of comfort?” With each sentence, Talia moved closer to her sister until she was poking Lottie squarely in the chest. The moment Lottie realized exactly how selfishly she was behaving, her mouth dropped open, but it was already too late.

  “Get out,” Talia growled. “Luther and Evan were my family, too.”

  “I’m sor—”