Purr M for Murder

by T. C. LoTempio

  I thought about Petra Littleton and her son, Trey. If Trey owed Littleton a substantial sum, that could be a possible motive. Petra’s wanting to protect her son from her husband’s wrath could also be deemed a good motive. Mother lions killed to protect their cubs, right? Suddenly, my suspect list was looking up.

  I still wasn’t too sure about what Colin Murphy’s motive might be. Maybe it depended on the sort of “improvements” he’d wanted to make to the gallery. Was Littleton’s blocking of them enough to kill over? I resolved to try to grill Natalie about it. If she and Colin were as close as Grace had hinted, she might know.

  * * *

  Toby greeted me at the door and sniffed at the bags in my arms. I put away the food I’d purchased and then spooned out some Fancy Feast tuna. Toby quickly gobbled it up, then turned his green gaze hopefully at me. I shook my finger at him. “Uh-uh. Sorry, pal. I don’t want to overfeed you.” I bent down and ran my hand along his slender frame. “You don’t want to get fat. Best to wait till dinner.”

  Toby let out a soft bleat, then walked over to the cat bed, which I’d set down in one corner of the kitchen. He sniffed at it, then hopped inside, turned around twice, and lay down. I went over and laid the balls and catnip banana next to him. Toby immediately wrapped his paws around the toy and rolled over on his back. He chewed contentedly on the banana, his eyes round, his back feet moving rapidly back and forth. I watched him with amusement and then glanced up as Leila came into the kitchen. She was dressed impeccably in teal-colored slacks and a matching sweater set that complemented her red hair. She surveyed Toby in his cat bed with a smile on her face. “Your buddy seems happy,” she remarked. She eased one hip against the doorjamb. “You remember my friend Krystle?”

  “The one with the purple punk-rock hairdo and the tattoos? How could one forget her?” I chuckled.

  “Yeah, well, she works at the lab, and guess what she happened to see?”

  “Don’t tell me—Littleton’s toxicology report?”

  “Yep. According to her, he was loaded up with strychnine. To quote her exactly, ‘It was enough to sink a battleship.’”

  “Strychnine, huh?” I struggled to remember what I’d heard about poisons, and that one in particular. Strychnine is a colorless alkaloid commonly used as a pesticide. When inhaled, swallowed, or absorbed through the eyes or the mouth, it results in muscular convulsions and death through asphyxia—which would definitely account for Littleton’s blue cast to the skin, bulging eyes, and lolling tongue. It is usually introduced into the body orally, by inhalation, or by injection. Judging from Bennington’s sly inquiry into my and Kat’s first-aid prowess, I had an idea how the poison had been administered to Littleton.

  “Strychnine is a big component of rat poison,” Leila said. “You or Kat haven’t bought any lately, have you?” she added jokingly.

  “Heck no,” I replied. “We surely don’t need any at the shelter. We’ve got at least three dozen personal exterminators on hand right now.”

  “True that,” Leila chuckled. “And what have you decided about the wake?”

  “I’m going to go,” I said slowly. “I feel I can’t pass up that opportunity.”

  “Okay then.” My friend let out a long sigh. “Then I shall accompany you. I have a new black suit I’m dying to wear—ouch, that was a bad pun.”

  “Yes, it was,” I chuckled. “Maybe after the viewing, I’ll treat you to a drink at DuBarry’s.”

  “It’s a date,” Leila said. “Oh, and by the way, Kat called while you were out. They ran out of disinfectant at the shelter, and she wanted to know if you could stop by her apartment. She said that she bought a big jug at Costco last week, and it’s under the kitchen cabinet.”

  I reached for my purse. “On my way. Want to go out for Chinese later?”

  “I’d love to, but I can’t. I’m meeting a few of the other reporters at the new pub in Clark. Two new reporters are starting, and we’re having a sort of ‘welcome to the madhouse’ party.” She walked over and rested her head on my shoulder. “I’d much prefer eating egg foo yong with you, but if I back out, heck, I’ll never hear the end of it—and I might blow any chance I’ve got of getting promoted to the crime beat someday.” She gave her head a brisk shake. “Office politics. Blah!”

  I grinned at her. I knew how she despised get-togethers like that. I used to hate them too, back in New York. Something else I didn’t miss. “Have fun,” I told her. “Have a glass of Chardonnay for me.”

  She slung her purse over her shoulder and cut me an eye roll. “Girlfriend, I might have two. Or maybe a whole bottle.”

  * * *

  I mulled over what I’d learned on the short drive to my sister’s apartment. Poison was generally considered a woman’s weapon of choice, and there were surely plenty of female suspects. Not that a man couldn’t use it either, of course. I sincerely hoped that I might learn something useful at Littleton’s wake so attending wouldn’t be a total loss.

  It was a short drive to the tidy colonial where Kat lived. The people who owned the house had retired and now lived in Florida. They’d had the two-family renovated so that the bottom floor was actually two separate three-room apartments, with a larger six-room apartment on the top floor. Kat rented the one on the left side that opened out onto a small garden. I parked my convertible in the driveway, then whipped out the spare key she’d given me and let myself in. I went directly to the kitchen and the cabinet she’d mentioned. Sure enough, there was a large bottle of disinfectant right in front. As I picked it up, I noticed another bottle directly behind it. I pulled it out for a closer look. It was black and white, with a large red circle on the front label that depicted a skull and crossbones. The label read in big gold letters:

  Gopher Revenge

  With a sinking heart, I glanced at the contents. Sure enough, it was loaded with strychnine.

  And it was about three-quarters empty.

  Chapter Thirteen

  I scurried through the back door of the shelter about fifteen minutes later. Kat was in the room designated for new puppies, and she was on her hands and knees, scrubbing out a large cage. She glanced up as I poked my head in the doorway, and her eyes rested on the bottle of disinfectant in my hand. “Thank goodness,” she said. “Maxwell and Byron were playing, and they had a little . . . accident, shall we say. No, scratch that. They had a big accident.”

  I stepped forward and handed her the bottle. She took it from me, then frowned. “Is something wrong, Syd? You look funny.”

  I laughed. “Do I? I guess I’m just not used to seeing the shelter director on her hands and knees, cleaning out a puppy cage.”

  “Everyone pitches in to help with the animals—you know that.” She set the disinfectant on the floor and sat back on her haunches, cocking an eyebrow at me. “Something’s up. Spill it.”

  “Well . . .” I glanced around to assure myself no one else was around and then said, “The bottle of disinfectant was just where you said it would be in the bottom cupboard.” I bit down hard on my lower lip and then added, “Guess what else was in there?”

  Kat let out a low chuckle. “Well, since that’s where I put most of the cleaning supplies, I’m going to say . . . cleaning stuff?”

  “Maybe. I didn’t notice after I found that bottle of Gopher Revenge.”

  “Oh.” Kat’s cheeks flushed a bright scarlet. “I know I always said I hated to poison animals, but I’m not sure I can consider that gopher a friendly animal anymore.”

  “Gopher?”

  “Yep. There’s a big fat one that’s been terrorizing my neighborhood. He’s eating up all the produce in my small garden, and last week, Mrs. Dinwiddie said he ransacked her garden too. I put that poison out as sort of a . . . a community service.” She offered me a thin smile. “It seems to be working. None of us have been bothered all week with the varmint. He left my carrots alone—finally.”

  “So you used that poison on the gopher,” I said slowly. “Did anyone know you bought i
t?”

  She frowned. “I don’t know. There were a couple people on line at the hardware store—and, of course, Minnie Franz rang my purchase up. But I told her I was going to use it on the gopher. What’s wrong, Syd? Why all these questions?”

  I leaned one hip against the sink. “Leila’s friend Krystle works at the lab, and she saw Littleton’s toxicology report. He died from strychnine poisoning.”

  “So? OH!” Kat’s hand went to her throat. “Gopher Revenge is loaded with that, but you can’t seriously think—”

  “Of course I don’t,” I said quickly. “And neither would anyone else who knows you. But think how that might look to our friend Bennington. And when you add in the letter and the rent increase . . .”

  “Possible rent increase,” Kat corrected. “But I see what you mean. If he should find out I was in possession of the very poison that killed Littleton, it’ll certainly add fuel to the fire.”

  I started to drum my fingers against the edge of the sink. “We need to find out what put the bee in his bonnet about us. It started with those sly comments about us removing something from the crime scene. I’d sure like to know what it is he thinks we might have taken.”

  “Me too. But how can we find out? We can’t ask him, surely.”

  “No,” I sighed, “we sure can’t. I tried asking Will, but he said that he didn’t know. He thought it might have been because of something the widow said.”

  “Petra? What on earth could she have possibly said? She doesn’t even know us.” Kat’s eyes flashed, and her back bristled, just like a cat getting ready to pounce.

  “I’m sure she didn’t accuse us directly,” I said. “But maybe she gave them a list of Littleton’s office contents, and something from that list was missing. And since we were the last ones in there . . .”

  I turned the faucet back on again and started loading the dishes into the sink. “I guess the only recourse left is to ask Petra Littleton point-blank. Maybe I’ll get a chance tomorrow night.”

  “Tomorrow night?”

  “At Littleton’s wake.”

  “Syd! Tell me you’re not serious about asking her something like that at her husband’s wake, for God’s sake!”

  Kat ran a hand through her blonde curls. “Do I have to go to that viewing too, just to make sure you don’t do anything that will embarrass us?”

  “Don’t fret, sister. I’ll be well chaperoned. Leila is going with me.”

  “Great.” Kat picked up her sponge and started to swipe furiously at a spot in the far corner of the cage. “That doesn’t exactly fill me with confidence.”

  “Hey, Leila’s a professional reporter. She knows how to get information out of people.”

  “Maybe so, when it comes to fashion and flower shows. A murder is another animal entirely. I repeat, you’re not a professional detective. Please promise me the two of you won’t do anything foolish.”

  I was spared from making said promise as the backdoor buzzer sounded. “I’ll get it,” I murmured, glad for an excuse to end the conversation. I hurried to the rear entrance and opened the door to find Will hunched against the railing.

  “Hey,” he said. “I saw both your cars in the parking lot as I was passing. I’m glad to catch you both here. Think I might have a word?” He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a small notebook. “It should only take a few minutes.”

  I sighed, then stepped aside to let him enter. Manners long ingrained in me by my mother rose to the surface. “Would you care for a cup of coffee? I think there might be some muffins in the pantry, too.”

  Will smacked his lips. “A muffin sounds great. I only had a slice of toast for breakfast, and I skipped lunch.”

  I pointed toward the kitchen. “Go on and help yourself. I’ll get Kat.”

  * * *

  Once Will had downed two cups of strong coffee and polished off two corn muffins, Kat leaned back in her chair. “Okay, Will. Or would you rather I call you Detective Worthington?” she asked.

  Will took another sip of coffee and set down his mug. “Will’s fine. Unless Hank’s around, then you’d better call me Detective.”

  I looked at him. “Hank?”

  “Bennington’s first name is Henry. He told me I could call him Hank.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest. “Lucky you.”

  His lips quirked slightly, and he pulled a small notebook out of his breast pocket, flipped a few pages. “He’s already made a few protests about me being too biased to work this case, but that’s only because . . .”

  “Because?” I prompted as he hesitated. “Because why? Kat and I are suspects number one and two?”

  Will tapped at his notebook. “Because of my history with the two of you. And yes, because at the moment you two are considered persons of interest.”

  “Persons of interest,” Kat repeated. “I’ve always been curious. What does that term mean exactly?”

  “Just what it sounds like. It usually refers to someone the police are interested in, either because they’re cooperating with the investigation, have information that helps the investigation, or that the police feel warrant further . . . attention.”

  “In other words,” I said, turning to my sister, “it could refer to someone who can help them, or it could also refer to someone they think might have committed the crime.” I glanced over at Will. “Right?”

  He looked away before answering. “Right.”

  “So—which definition applies to us? Do you think one of us did the deed? Injected Littleton with poison?”

  Both Will’s eyebrows shot up. “How did you know that?” he demanded. “I never said what the actual cause of death was.”

  “No, you didn’t,” I responded with a curl of my lip. “Fortunately, I have my own sources of information.”

  Will tapped his pen against the cover of his notebook. “You do know that if you’d said that around Hank, you’d shoot yourself up to the top of his list.”

  I leaned forward to look him straight in the eye. “What, I’m not there already?” I quipped.

  His lips thinned. “You, not yet. Kat, however . . .”

  “What!” Kat and I both cried at the same time. Kat’s face had gone pale. “You can’t be serious,” I cried. “There are tons of people with actual motives. Just because Kat bought gopher poison—”

  Will’s eyes narrowed, and he swung his gaze to Kat. “You bought gopher poison?”

  She let out a sigh. “Yes, last week. To try to get rid of that gopher that’s been plaguing my neighborhood and tearing up everyone’s gardens. It seems to have worked, too.”

  I saw the expression on Will’s face, and I bit down hard on my lower lip. “That’s not the reason Kat’s on Bennington’s list. You wouldn’t have known about the gopher poison. Unless, of course, you got a list of people who recently purchased anything that contained strychnine and then got a warrant and went in and searched her apartment.”

  “We are in the process of getting such a list,” Will admitted. “So Kat’s name would have come up on it.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” I said quickly to Kat, “because you’re innocent. You didn’t kill Littleton.” I turned my gaze to Will. “So why are you here, exactly?”

  Will turned back to Kat. “Littleton sent you a letter about a possible rent increase to the shelter.”

  I avoided looking at my sister as she fiddled with the edge of her napkin. “Well, actually he sent it to the mayor and the town council. I was copied.”

  Will looked Kat straight in the eye. “We found a copy of that letter tucked inside a folder in his desk. Along with a letter you wrote to him.”

  Kat shifted uncomfortably in her chair. “Oh.”

  I ignored the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach and slid my hand over Kat’s. “You wrote Littleton a letter?” I said.

  She sighed. “Yes. Not the brightest idea, in hindsight. I was mad when I wrote it. I’d just read the letter he sent to the mayor about the shelter building. I pu
t down exactly how I felt. He was attacking the shelter when we were at our lowest point. I said he was a hateful man who delighted in the misfortunes of others, and the world would be a better place without him in it. Thoroughly unprofessional of me, I know, but . . .”—she spread her hands—“Where my animals are concerned, I get passionate. I let my emotions take over.”

  “Oh, Kat!” I cried. I turned to Will. “Kat can’t have been the only person who wrote Littleton a letter. According to Natalie, all the shopkeepers got one. And they were all plenty mad at him.”

  Will shifted a bit uncomfortably in his chair. “That might be true, but Kat’s letter was the only one we found.” He paused. “And there’s more. Someone called the police with an anonymous tip. They said they heard Kat threaten Littleton shortly before he was killed. Is that true?”

  Kat exhaled a sharp breath. “I don’t know if I’d call what I said a threat. He came into the café when we were talking about the event with Dayna. He made remarks about stopping the cat showing and ended with we’d have the event over his dead body.”

  Will riffled a few pages in his notebook. “According to this eyewitness, you said ‘Mess with my shelter, and it’ll be the last thing you ever do.’”

  Kat gulped. “I—yes, I might have said words to that effect. But I was angry. I didn’t mean it.”

  I frowned. I recalled the incident too. Besides Kat and me, the only other people in the café at the time had been Dayna and Sissy.

  Had one of them called the police on Kat? I couldn’t imagine either one of them doing such a thing.

  But if not one of them, then who?