Chapter Twelve
I awoke the next morning to find Toby sprawled across my chest, purring loudly. “Ow-owrr,” he said, lightly touching my cheek with one paw.
I turned my head slightly so that I could see the clock. Six AM. “Really? On a Sunday?” I said, reaching up to stroke his soft fur. On Sundays, the shelter was open by appointment only, and I knew there were none scheduled for today. I swung my feet out of bed, grabbed my robe, and headed for the bathroom, Toby following close behind. He stretched out under the sink and waited patiently while I showered and dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt. As I ran a brush through my tousle of curls, I said to him, “The Pet Palace doesn’t open till eleven, but I bet Hugo’s Market has some cat food. I’ll take a quick run up there and get you something, okay?”
He lay down, rested his head on his paws, and looked at me with soulful eyes. “Ow-owl.”
“Too hungry to wait? Okay, well . . . more oatmeal?”
Toby rolled over on his side, muttering.
“Not too fond of that, huh? Well, maybe I can find something in the fridge to tide you over, okay? Let’s take a look.”
Toby sprang to his feet, pranced over to me, rubbed against my ankles, and purred.
Leila’s door was still shut—she’d been out late on an assignment—so we padded quickly downstairs. I put on a kettle for a quick cup of tea and then checked the refrigerator. No chicken breast left, but there was a small amount of smoked turkey we’d had for lunch on Wednesday, along with a few slices of American cheese. I crumbled a slice of turkey and some cheese into a small plastic bowl and then rummaged around in the cupboard and found a can of tuna. I spooned some of that out on top of the cold cuts and set it down on the floor. Toby padded over to it, sniffed, then squatted and started to chow down.
“You’re not too fussy—that’s a good thing,” I chuckled as I poured the hot water into my cup. “Kat did say you were like a garbage pail when it came to food.”
Toby glanced at me over his shoulder, made a small sound deep in his throat, and went back to slurping.
I plopped my peppermint tea bag into my mug, walked into the living room, and settled myself on the chintz-covered window seat. I opened the shutters and peered outside. There wasn’t a hint of a breeze, and even at this early hour, I could tell the day was going to be a scorcher. I sipped my tea slowly, making a mental to-do list in my head. First, obviously, was getting over to the Pet Palace to pick up a few things for Toby. If that didn’t take too long, I’d hoped to make a quick stop at Hats Off. I knew Grace Topping generally opened her shop on Sundays at eleven thirty, which would be perfect.
A soft thunk against the front porch alerted me that the Sunday paper had arrived. I opened the door and scooped it up. Tucking it under my arm, I headed back into the kitchen, where Toby was just finishing up his breakfast. He looked up as I entered and put one paw on the now empty bowl. “Ar-owl?”
I laid the paper and my mug down. “Seconds? Well, okay, just this once.” I got another slice of turkey and more cheese out of the fridge and crumbled them into his bowl. He attacked it happily, and I turned my attention to the paper.
Leila had written a lively account of the cat adoption that was featured prominently on page six along with some photos. There was one of Jinx, her nose pressed up against her cage, looking into the eyes of a little girl; another of Norton and Ralphie playing; a nice shot of the beautiful calico Edith Maxwell had adopted; even one of Toby, lying against the wall, paws crossed, his ears flicked forward. I made a mental note to ask Leila for a print of that one. The caption read, “Cat Café: A Success in Deer Park.” I read the article, which praised the shelter and was definitely slanted in favor of our partnership. I was smiling when I finished the article; my friend had outdone herself.
Leila stumbled into the kitchen, her pink, fuzzy bathrobe tightly drawn around her slender body. “Good morning,” she mumbled. Her gaze fell on the table. “Oh good, the paper came,” she said. She moved toward it, and her eyes rested on Toby curled up underneath the far chair. “Ah—I see we have a new roomie?”
“Yep. You said it was okay,” I responded, almost defensively.
“Of course it’s okay.” Leila leaned down and gave Toby a scritch behind one ear. He opened one eye and let out a soft meow. “Like I said, he’s probably better behaved than most of the males I know.” She pulled out a chair and eased herself into it. Her nail tapped at the paper. “You saw the article? And you liked it?”
“It was perfect.”
Leila riffled some of the pages. “Did you see this?” She held up the “Crime Blotter” section and pointed to the headline: “Investigation into Local Businessman’s Death Continues.”
I made a face at the photo beneath the caption. “Couldn’t they have found a better photo of Littleton?”
Leila laughed. “Is there a better photo? I doubt it.”
I walked over to look over her shoulder and then pointed to another photo directly beneath. Littleton, looking decidedly uncomfortable in a tux, stood next to a stunning brunette in a tight-fitting sheath. The brunette was smiling, revealing perfect teeth I was willing to bet were caps. They both held glasses of champagne. “This must be the missus. Wow! I can see why Littleton was attracted to her. She’s gorgeous!”
Leila nodded. “That’s our Petra. Doesn’t she look like the perfect first runner-up for Miss North Carolina?”
“Oh, definitely. I’m surprised she didn’t win. She could easily be a Miss America.” I tapped at the photo. “Who’s the hunk standing behind her?”
Leila rubbed at her eyes, then bent for a closer look at the photo. “Ah, that’s Kevin Devine the Third, the son of Petra Devine Littleton and stepson of Trowbridge Littleton. I understand he likes to be called by his nickname, Trey.”
“Not bad looking. He doesn’t look too fond of Littleton, though, does he?” Trey Devine’s head was turned slightly, facing Littleton, and the expression on his face seemed strained.
She nodded. “Rumor is they’ve had their share of issues. Whether they’re big enough to kill over is anyone’s guess.”
I scanned the article quickly. “It says here that the police are still investigating various angles of the case. Oh! They’ve released the body to the family. A viewing will be held at St. John’s tomorrow night, with a memorial service and interment on Tuesday morning. Now isn’t that interesting.”
Leila arched a brow. “You’re thinking of going?”
I pushed the paper off to one side. “The thought did cross my mind. It would be a golden opportunity. I mean, think of it. All the suspects will most likely be there.”
“What, to make sure he’s dead?”
I made a face at her. “I wonder if Will is going,” I murmured.
“Probably. And his charming partner too. I don’t think you should go, Syd. You probably wouldn’t learn anything, and you might piss Bennington off.”
“That alone is reason to go,” I said.
“I’m serious. No one’s going to admit to anything untoward at a funeral viewing, for goodness’ sake.”
“Maybe not, but I still think it’s a great opportunity. I’ll think about it.” I reached for my purse and slung it over my shoulder. “Right now I’ve got more important things to do—like getting Toby settled in.”
“Priorities,” Leila said with a grin as she headed for the coffeepot on the stove. “That’s what life is all about.”
* * *
The Pet Palace was located on the opposite end of town, a large, white modern building with large plate glass windows in which pet supplies of every size and shape were prominently displayed. The parking lot, macadam and newly painted, was the size of a city block and three-quarters full. Apparently, Pet Palace was the new “in” spot for people and pets on a lazy Sunday morning. The store was packed. People meandered up and down the aisles, some with large dogs on leashes, others with small ones tucked into shopping carts. I didn’t see anyone with a cat, but one woma
n had a small carrying case tucked into her cart—as I passed, I saw two beady brown eyes staring out from behind the mesh.
“It’s a ferret,” she told me. “They make really nice pets.”
“I’m sure they do,” I murmured. “I’m actually looking for the cat section, though.”
“Last aisle on the left.”
I thanked the woman, said good-bye to the ferret, and pushed my cart in that direction. Sure enough, in the last aisle on the left, I found a wide selection of cat supplies. I grabbed a box of dry kibble, then mulled over several choices of cat beds before choosing a large sherpa one with a soft red-and-green plaid cushion. Maggie had said Toby had some toys she’d be glad to drop off, but I wanted him to have some special ones, so several more minutes went by as I picked through the immense rack of cat toys. I finally decided on some soft round balls and a large toy filled with catnip in the shape of a banana. Wet food was next on the list—I headed for that rack and once again stood staring. Who knew there were so many choices?
“Got a new kitty?”
I jumped at the voice almost at my elbow and whirled around to find a dark-haired, pleasant-faced woman smiling at me—the very same woman I’d planned on visiting today. I smiled back and responded, “Hello, Grace. As a matter of fact, yes. One of the cats from the event we held yesterday.”
“Good for you,” Grace Topping said. She shifted the plastic shopping bag she held into her other hand. “I meant to stop by, but the day just got away from me, and by the time I was able to get away, it was too late.”
“Were you thinking of adopting another cat?” Kat had told me Grace had a lovely tortoiseshell cat named Ol’ Moody that she absolutely adored.
Grace laughed. “Are you kidding? Ol’ Moody would have a snit for sure. It’s tough to bring a new cat into a home where one has reigned supreme for nine years. But I confess I love to look at them, and I thought your concept was a fun one—eat some treats and play with some cats.”
I hesitated, wondering how I might broach the subject of Littleton. Turns out I didn’t have to worry. “I understand you and your sister are the ones who found Bridge,” she said. “That must have been . . . a shock.”
“Oh, definitely. Not something I’d care to repeat,” I replied. The fact she’d called him by the short version of his name wasn’t lost on me. I picked up a few cans of Fancy Feast and tossed them into my cart. “It’s hard to believe he’s gone.”
“Yes, it is. I know that everyone in town perceived him as a tyrant, and make no mistake about it—he could be. But he had a softer side, too.” Her lips twisted into a wry expression. “He just didn’t show it to many people.”
Ah, now here was my opening. “You sound as if you’ve seen that side of him.”
“Yes, I have.” She let out a breath. “He was very supportive when I first opened my shop and was even one of my best customers. I guess you could say we struck up a friendship of sorts. Recently, though, we, ah, sort of drifted apart.” She raised a hand, started to play with the buttons on her sweater. “The last time I saw him, we had a disagreement over his raising everyone’s rent.”
“Was that at the food court in the mall?”
Grace’s brow wrinkled. “Direct, aren’t you? I haven’t been to the mall in months. Home Shopping takes care of most of my needs. No, it was at my store when he dropped off the letter. I’ll always regret my last words to him were harsh ones.”
“It sounds to me like the two of you were close. Really close.”
“You don’t have to fish for information, Sydney,” Grace said with a low chuckle. “You can come out and ask. You’ve heard the rumors about Bridge and I being more than friends.”
I plunked some Nine Lives into my cart. Since she’d invited me to be blunt, I had no problem with that. “I’ve heard that the two of you had an affair.”
To my surprise, Grace threw back her head and laughed. “That’s flattering, especially to a spinster like myself,” she said at last.
I thought that in her stylish peplum top and crop pants, her dark hair cut in a becoming pageboy, she looked like anything but a spinster. “So you didn’t have an affair with him?”
She shook her head so that her curls bobbed up and down. “Lord, no. Bridge liked his women a lot younger than me. No, we were just friends. I think he looked on me as the sister he never had.”
“Right,” I murmured. “He was an only child.”
“Yes. Bridge would confide things in me, about his family, about his marriage. He trusted me to keep everything confidential and never repeat it, and I never will. Except now . . . I’m wondering if maybe I shouldn’t break my silence on some things. It might matter.”
I moved closer to her. “Do you know something that might help the police find out who killed him? If so, you definitely should speak up.”
“Well—mind you, I don’t know anything for certain. But from what Bridge told me, it seems to me there were a few people who might have had a reason to kill him.”
Some more people pushed down the aisle and stopped in front of the pet food display. I took Grace’s arm and steered her and my cart over into a corner. “Like who?”
She put a finger against her chin and regarded me curiously. “You certainly are interested in all this, aren’t you? Don’t tell me you’re helping the police investigate?”
“Not exactly,” I responded, “but the lead detective seems to like Kat as suspect number one for some reason, so I guess you could say I’m trying to help steer them in another direction.”
“Of course.” Grace nodded. “I can understand your concern. Who could possibly think Kat would murder anyone?” She gave her head a quick shake and then said, “Okay then. I’d have to say Bridge’s partner, Colin Murphy, for one. Lately he and Bridge weren’t seeing eye to eye on the management of the gallery. They had a couple of pretty good arguments, one just a few weeks ago. Bridge called me afterward, upset.”
“What was the argument about?”
Grace clucked her tongue. “Bridge didn’t go into specifics. He just told me that Colin was getting out of control, and his recklessness might endanger the future of the gallery.”
“Reckless? In what way?”
Grace shrugged. “I have no idea. I do know that in recent weeks, he’d become terribly disenchanted with Colin. At one point, he said he’d only agreed to the partnership because an old friend had highly recommended him.” Grace’s lips curved into a lopsided smile. “Bridge loved that gallery. Art was his passion. He didn’t need the revenue from it, but he enjoyed seeking out new talent and showcasing it. He’d rather display pieces crafted from local artists that showed promise than established ones that they could get a large sum for. I believe that was one area he and Colin butted heads over.” Her hand fluttered in the air. “It hardly seems like a motive for murder, though, does it?”
“It’s hard to tell what sends some people over the edge,” I replied carefully. “What about his wife?”
“Petra?” Grace wrinkled her nose. “Theirs was one of those love-hate relationships. In spite of his wandering eye, Bridge loved Petra, and in her own way, I think she loved him too.”
Or his money, I thought. Aloud, I asked, “What about Petra’s love life? I heard she was getting it on with her gym coach.”
“Oh, that!” Grace waved her hand dismissively.
“She wasn’t having an affair with her gym coach?”
“I have no idea. Natalie said that she saw them in a clinch at the gym, but . . .” Her shoulders lifted in a shrug. “Petra’s come into my shop a few times, and she doesn’t impress me as being stupid. If she were going to fool around, she’d be damn sure no one saw her.” Grace let out a breath. “Frankly, it wouldn’t surprise me if Natalie made the whole thing up.”
“Why would she do that?”
“Possibly to get back at Bridge for arguing with Colin. She and Colin are quite close, you know.”
“They are?”
“Oh, yes. She knew hi
m in Boston, I think. If I’m not mistaken, Bridge took Colin on per Natalie’s recommendation.”
Now that was interesting. Devon had said Bridge took on a partner on the recommendation of an old friend. Natalie was the friend? She hadn’t sounded like one the other day. It had sounded more like she hated Bridge. Had something happened to taint the friendship? I made a mental note to investigate that angle. Aloud, I said, “Anyone else you can think of?”
Her hand reached up and she fiddled with one of the buttons on her sweater. “There’s the stepson—Trey. They hated each other. Bridge thought he was a slothful sponge who couldn’t hold down a job. Trey thought Bridge was a hateful martinet who treated his mother badly.”
“It didn’t sound as if he treated Petra badly. He turned a blind eye to her spending and, from what I’ve heard, her extracurricular activities as well. As a motive for murder, it’s pretty thin.”
“There were other . . . circumstances.” Grace hesitated and then said, “Trey got in a bit of trouble a while back and had to borrow money from Bridge to get out of it. Bridge was insistent Trey pay back the sum—that’s why he’s working at the gallery.”
“How much money, do you know?”
“Bridge didn’t volunteer the information, and I didn’t ask.” Her lips twisted into a wry grin. “And then there’s Devon.”
I swallowed. “Devon?”
“Oh, yes. She was having an affair with Bridge, and they were pretty hot and heavy, let me tell you—until Bridge broke it off. In spite of what she says, Devon was devastated. And honey, believe me—there’s nothing worse than a woman scorned.”
* * *
I said good-bye to Grace and wheeled my purchases over to the checkout line. Fortunately, there was only one other person in front of me. I trundled everything out to my car, and as I drove back home, I sorted out everything I’d learned from Grace.
She’d said she and Littleton were close, that she was the sister he’d never had. I believed her when she maintained they hadn’t had an affair. She’d also denied arguing with him in the food court. Was she telling the truth? I rather thought she was on that point, too. That brought me to Devon. Apparently, she hadn’t been as forthcoming with me as I’d originally thought. Was Devon sincere about wanting to get back together with her ex? Or was that the defense mechanism of a woman who’d been dumped by her lover? And would said dumping drive Devon to murder? She’d seemed awfully comfortable brandishing that gun; then again, Littleton hadn’t died of a gunshot wound.
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