“On the house today, Diane. Tell ’em it’s all part of being a test case.”
“Really? Wow, thanks.”
She shoved the tote back on her shoulder and started to reach for the boxes, but I stepped in front of her and grabbed one. “Why don’t I help you with these? They’re a little heavy, and I’d hate for you to drop one.”
She flashed me a grateful smile. “Thanks, I’d appreciate that. I had to park two blocks away.”
Kat glanced at her watch. “I’ve got to get back to the shelter.” She smiled at the two of us. “You two should really get together. You’ve got a lot in common.”
Diane and I each grabbed a box, and Dayna held the door open for us. Sure enough, Diane’s maroon-colored sedan was parked not two but three blocks away, just across from the park. She balanced her box in one hand and started to fumble in her purse for her keys with the other. I set my box on her car roof and reached out to rescue the box of brownies before they ended up on the concrete.
“Thanks,” Diane said. “I’m so clumsy sometimes.”
“Not a problem.” As she pressed the button on her key fob to unlock the doors, I added, “Are you in a hurry to get back? Dale’s Soda Shop has a special on green tea smoothies, and I’d love to try one. Besides, I agree with Kat. I’d like to get to know you better. I don’t know many people here anymore, other than Kat, my pal Leila, and the shelter volunteers.”
“That’s so sweet,” Diane said. “Sure, I’d like to try one of those smoothies. After I delivered these, I was just going to go on home anyway and wash my hair. So if you don’t mind going on ahead and ordering, I’ll be back in about fifteen minutes?”
I smiled. “Perfect.”
* * *
By the time Diane returned to the soda shop, I was seated at a table in the back of the small store with two delicious green concoctions sitting in front of me, prepared with grapes, spinach, avocado, honey, and, of course, green tea.
“Oh, it’s heavenly,” Diane said after taking a sip. “I’ve tried to make these at home, but somehow they just don’t come out the same.”
“That’s so true, isn’t it? Some things just taste better when someone else makes them.” I set down my glass and leaned forward. “So, working at the police station. That’s got to be exciting.”
“It has its moments. It’s a very demanding job, though.”
“I can imagine. Especially with all the excitement lately, what with the murder and all.”
Diane’s head bobbed up and down. “Oh, yes. Murder isn’t exactly a commonplace occurrence here. We’re lucky to have homicide detectives with experience who transferred here, like our newest recruit.”
“Will Worthington. I went to high school with him. Of course Kat was two years ahead of us, but she knew him quite well too.”
“He mentioned he grew up here,” Diane nodded. She leaned forward and said in a conspiratorial whisper, “Just between you and me—I don’t think he’s too crazy about working with Bennington. Then again, neither is anyone else.”
Gee, I wonder why. Aloud, I said, “I’d agree with that assessment. He’s rather . . . brash.”
She barked out a laugh and twirled a stray curl around one finger. “That’s putting it mildly.” She cocked her head. “I guess you’ve had your own up-close-and-personal with him, since you discovered Littleton’s body. I’m sure that must have been very upsetting.”
“Yeah, not an experience I’d care to repeat. He’s got a swell bedside manner.”
We sipped our smoothies in silence for a few minutes, and then I said casually, “I was wondering if Littleton might have died of natural causes, you know, like a heart attack.”
Diane made a loud sucking noise with her straw. “Why’d you think that?”
“Because of the blue tinge on his skin. It’s a condition called cyanosis. It happens when the blood doesn’t get enough oxygen, like if the victim had a heart attack or a stroke.”
“Umm. I never heard of that, but I can tell you what else would produce the same symptoms. Poison!” She pushed her empty glass over to one side and leaned both elbows on the counter, her eyes sparkling. “I probably shouldn’t say anything, but . . . I overheard the detectives talking. Apparently Littleton had enough of some sort of toxic chemical in his system to choke a horse.”
I widened my eyes. “No!”
“Oh, yes. They found some sort of small mark on the back of his neck, like someone might have given him an injection.” She shuddered. “Someone really had it in for him.”
“Sounds that way.” An injection of poison? Hmm, that explained Bennington’s interest in whether Kat or I had first-aid training—although how much training did you need to plunge a needle into someone? I tried to make my tone casual as I said, “I’d sure like to see that suspect list. I bet it’s pretty long.”
“Long enough.” She reached for her glass and took another sip of her smoothie.
I tapped a nail against my glass. “I understand the widow wasn’t all that grief-stricken.”
Diane frowned into her glass. “From what I heard, she took the news well. Then again, she and her husband hadn’t been all that close lately.” She leaned forward and said in a low tone, “Littleton had a roving eye, if you catch my drift.”
“I heard,” I said carefully. “I also heard Mrs. Littleton had one as well.”
“I guess you can’t really blame her if that’s true, can you? You know that old saying: what’s good for the goose is good for the gander.” She scooted to the edge of her seat and said, “I heard his most recent affair was with one of the single shopkeepers in this complex.” She tapped one nail after every word for emphasis.
Poor Devon, I thought. I should have known. Secrets have a way of coming out. I only hoped that when the police interviewed her, she’d own up to it. Aloud, I said, “I heard a rumor about that. Truthfully, I would never have thought that. He certainly didn’t seem the type.”
Diane giggled. “No, he certainly didn’t. He was more like a crotchety old bear. Guess some women find that appealing. Grace sure did.”
I frowned. “Grace?”
“Yeah.” Diane sipped the last of her smoothie. “Grace Topping, the mousy little thing who owns the hat store. She’s the woman Littleton had the affair with.”
Chapter Eleven
“Grace Topping? And Littleton? Are you sure?”
I’d finished my conversation with Diane, and after telling her that I’d see her soon at the shelter, I had made tracks for Kat’s apartment. Now we were sitting at the table in her cozy kitchen, sipping tea and looking out the window at her small garden. I set my cup down and laced my hands behind my neck. “That’s what your pal Diane Ryan seems to think. How accurate is her gossip, anyway?”
Kat leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. After a few seconds, they fluttered open, and she looked at me. “Pretty accurate,” she admitted. “Everything that she’s ever told me has been spot on. It is kind of hard to imagine those two together, though. I wonder if the affair was still going on when he died?”
“Diane didn’t know. She didn’t think so. And she didn’t . . .” I stopped. I’d started to say, “She didn’t seem to know about Devon’s affair,” but I’d caught myself. After all, I had promised Devon I wouldn’t say a word to anyone. And anyone included my sister. “She didn’t know names, but she was fairly certain he’d had a number of affairs.” A mental picture of Littleton flashed through my mind, and I couldn’t help it. I giggled. “Sorry. It’s just really, really hard to imagine.”
Kat was also finding it hard to stifle her grin. “I know, but looks aren’t everything. Maybe he treated his women really well.” She paused. “I can’t picture Grace in the role of murderer, though. She’s got such a sweet face.”
“True,” I admitted. “Still, Leila did say she saw them in the mall last week, arguing . . . Maybe I should have a little talk with Grace. If nothing else, maybe she has an idea who might have wanted to kill Littleton.�
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“Well, if you do, try to be tactful,” Kat said. “Grace is so sensitive—I can just imagine how she’d react to that Bennington plying her with questions. I hope, if the police do interrogate her, that Will’s the one to do it.”
“Hmm,” I said.
Kat looked up. “What’s that ‘hmm’ mean? You don’t think Will would be more tactful?”
“Hard to say. He would if he were alone. He seems to turn into a different person when he’s around Bennington—like one of those hard-boiled homicide detectives from a 1940s noir movie.”
“True. Still, maybe we should cut him some slack. Will’s new to the force, and Bennington is his superior. He’s probably just trying to impress.”
“Maybe.” I drummed my fingers on the edge of my chair. “According to Diane, there was a good deal of some sort of toxic substance in Littleton’s system. Sounds to me as if whoever killed Littleton must have planned well—it wasn’t a spur-of-the-moment murder.” I jumped up from my chair. “Do you still have that old whiteboard?”
“In the hall closet. Why?”
“I’ll show you.” I vanished down the short hallway, returning a few minutes later with a medium-sized whiteboard. I propped it up on Kat’s kitchen counter. “Got markers?”
Kat opened a drawer in the kitchen island, whipped out a black marker, and handed it to me. “What are you going to do?”
I drew a large box in the center of the board. “What every good homicide detective does when they start a case. I’m making a murder board.”
“A what?”
“Actually, it’s more commonly known as a crime board. Police use them to track the status of their investigations. Most these days are magnetic, but this will do.” I printed Trowbridge Littleton’s name in the large square and then drew six other boxes: two to the right, three to the left, and one directly above Littleton’s box. “In the top box here, we’ll put his wife.” I printed Petra’s name. Next to the box, I printed: “Possible motive: Wanted to control entire fortune; beneficiary of large insurance policy? Able to have affairs unencumbered.” In the top box to the right of Littleton’s, I wrote: “Trey, Stepson. Was heard arguing with Littleton. Didn’t like the way he treated his mom.” In the other box on the right, I put Colin Murphy’s name, and next to that: “Disagreements over running of gallery.” In the other three boxes, I put: “Shopkeepers,” “Artists,” and “Scorned Mistresses.” Then I stepped back to view my handiwork.
“Well?” I asked my sister. “What do you think?”
Kat studied the board for a few minutes, then walked over, picked up the marker, and drew another box in between the mistresses and shopkeepers. Inside it, she printed her name and next to it wrote: “afraid Littleton would find a way to close shelter.” She set the marker down and eyed me. “If we’re being perfectly honest about this, my name belongs on the suspect list. Even though we both know I didn’t kill him.”
“True,” I agreed. What I didn’t add, as I studied the board, was that out of everyone listed, right now it appeared Kat had the best motive. I tapped my nail against the board. “I need to find out more about these suspects.”
Kat’s eyebrow rose. “So much for you not investigating, huh?”
I looked at her. “Come on, Kat. As long as Bennington’s on your tail, do you really think I’ll just sit back and do nothing?”
She sighed. “No, I suppose not.”
“Good.” I chewed at my lower lip. “Where to start. Maybe with Colin Murphy?”
Kat snorted. “What makes you think he’d tell you anything? You’re not a homicide detective or even a PI.”
“You know that, and I know that. But Colin Murphy doesn’t have to know that. I’ll think of some way to interrogate him.” I tapped at my gut. “I just know that the sooner either the real killer or a very viable suspect is found, the sooner we can get Bennington off our backs.” I rubbed my hands together. “Looks like I have a full schedule ahead of me.” I gestured toward the whiteboard. “Mind if I borrow this?”
Kat made a sweeping gesture with her arm. “Be my guest. Say, did you ever give Will that note you found?”
I pulled a face. “Yes. He apparently doesn’t think too much of my clue, because he hasn’t looked into it yet.”
“Maybe you should add that name to your list,” Kat suggested. “Maybe this Kahn Lee, whoever he is, plays a part in Littleton’s murder.”
“Good idea.” I snatched up the marker, drew another box next to Petra, and wrote “Kahn Lee” inside it. “I’m going to have to try to find a way to talk to Will alone . . .” I stopped, my head cocked. “Did you hear that?” I asked Kat.
Kat glanced up. “Hear what?”
“That scratching sound.” I stood still, listening. Yep, there it was again.
Scritch, scritch. It sounded like nails on a chalkboard. I walked over to the door that led out to Kat’s garden. The sound was louder here. I flung open the door.
“Merow.”
I took a step backward and rubbed at my eyes. “Toby?”
Sure enough, the large gold-and-white cat squatted on the small step. As I said his name, he rose, stretched, and then, with his tail held high, walked right into the kitchen and planted himself in front of me.
“Merow.”
Kat tried to suppress a smile but failed miserably. “Well, look who followed you,” she grinned. “I guess he didn’t want to wait either.”
“Well, I was planning to go to the Pet Palace on my lunch break tomorrow and pick up food and cat supplies.” I leaned over, my hands on my knees, and smiled at Toby. “I wasn’t expecting to pick you up until Monday night, boy. What happened? You didn’t want to spend any more time in that cage at the shelter, huh?”
Toby cocked his head and looked at me. “Merow,” he said again. Then he closed his eyes in a slow blink.
I glanced at the clock on the wall. “I think the Pet Palace is closed now,” I said. “I don’t have any supplies yet. Maybe I should take him back to the shelter till Monday.”
“He’ll only follow you again,” Kat said. “I have some canned food I can spare till you get to the store, but it would also be okay to give him a taste of your dinner—not too much,” she cautioned. “He also likes oatmeal.”
“In other words, he’s a feline garbage pail.”
“That pretty much sums it up,” Kat said cheerfully.
* * *
I took Toby home and fed him the oatmeal concoction. Just as Kat predicted, he gobbled it down and half a bowl of water too. I made myself a salad with some leftover cooked chicken I found in the fridge, and he scarfed down some pieces that found their way to the floor. After dinner, I took Toby upstairs and led him into my bedroom. I got an extra blanket out of the closet and laid it down on the floor next to my bed.
“I’ll get you a regular cat bed tomorrow,” I told him. “But this should do nicely in the meantime.”
Toby went over and sniffed at the blanket; then, with one graceful leap, he hopped up on my bed, turned around twice, and made himself comfortable at the foot of the bed.
I laughed. “Or you could sleep on the bed. But I’m gonna have to get a hand vacuum. Leila said that picking up your gold hairs would be my job.”
Toby stretched himself out full length, an action that enabled him to take up three quarters more space. “Merow.”
“Okay, I know you must be tired after walking all the way here from the shelter,” I said. “Even though I know you’ve done it before. You take a little cat nap, now.”
Toby curled himself into a ball and closed his eyes. I went back to the kitchen and returned in a few minutes with the whiteboard. I propped it up against the far wall and stood back to survey it.
“Merow?”
I glanced down. Toby had left the comfort of my bed and now wound himself around my ankles, his gaze fastened on the whiteboard.
“This isn’t a toy,” I told him. “This is my suspect list.”
Toby raised his head slightly.
“Er-ow?”
“A suspect list. People who had a reason to do in Littleton.” Oh my God, I thought. Am I really talking to this cat like he’s a person?
Toby blinked at me twice, then jumped back on the bed and closed his eyes. A few seconds later, I heard soft snoring.
“Bedtime,” I said. “Not a bad idea, actually. Get a good night’s sleep, and my perspective will be better in the morning. Tomorrow, I’m going to start tracking down some of these leads.”
I undressed quickly and slid into my favorite sleepwear—a thin pair of baby doll pj’s peppered with butterflies. Preston had always hated them.
While I’d been changing, Toby had arranged himself on the right side of the bed, stretched full length, so I turned down the covers on the left side, which was the one I usually slept on anyway. Before I turned in, I decided to check my e-mail. I booted up my laptop and scrolled through my inbox, deleting the junk. Toward the end, I saw an e-mail from Pres982gmail.com. I clicked on it. Short and to the point.
Sydney:
Do you want that mission-style coffee table you bought in Salem? Need to know. I imagine it would go more with your decor than my new one. If you don’t want it, Cindi plans on donating it to Goodwill, so let me know. If I don’t hear from you within 48 hours, I’ll assume you don’t want it.
Hope all is well.
Preston
I sighed. I remembered when we’d bought that coffee table. I’d been so full of hope for our future. Apparently Cindi was redecorating the apartment I’d so carefully arranged. Oh well.
I hit the delete button, then powered down my laptop and set it on the nightstand.
I shut off the light, slid under the covers. Toby shifted and snuggled against me. I smiled in the dark, confident I’d made the right decision.
That part of my life was definitely over. I had other things I wanted to accomplish now—and I had to admit, right now solving Littleton’s murder before Kat officially became suspect number one topped that list.
Purr M for Murder Page 11