The Cats that Played the Market (The Cats that . . . Cozy Mystery Book 4)

by Karen Anne Golden

  The morning Erie Herald lay flat on the table, its front page covered with photos of the fundraiser, museum event, and a large picture of the late financial advisor/curator/cake auctioneer.

  “What’s happenin’ in the paper?” Mrs. Murphy asked, picking it up. An expression of shock came over her face. “Robbie Brentwood is dead? Murdered? His mother must be beside herself with grief.”

  “It was a grave ending to an otherwise gala museum opening. The police are still trying to piece together what happened,” Katherine said, pouring the coffee and handing her the cup.

  Colleen passed the cream and sugar. Mrs. Murphy reached in her robe pocket for her flask, but then put it away. Colleen looked relieved.

  Katherine proceeded to fill Mum in on the events at the museum, including Cokey’s arrest. She’d already discussed the situation with Colleen.

  Colleen said, “Katz, you need to write a book. This place is like an American horror story. Something sinister is always happening.”

  “And usually it involves you, Miss Katz,” Mrs. Murphy said candidly. “I worry about you livin’ here alone.”

  “At least this time, the murder wasn’t at the mansion.”

  Colleen glanced at the paper. “I love the photo Mr. Hunk took of Jake holding Lilac. That is so precious. But what’s this?” Colleen hesitated. “Anonymous donor gives one hundred thousand dollars to the Erie Food Bank.” Colleen looked up from the paper at Katherine, who was smiling.

  “It was the price I had to pay for Lilac’s demolition,” she chuckled. “Actually, I made the donation a few days ago. I kind of like the idea of being anonymous for future donations, as well.”

  Colleen fidgeted with her spoon. “Katz, Mum and I have something to tell you.”

  “What?” Katherine asked with concern. “Judging by your change in facial expression, should I expect doom-and-gloom?”

  “No,” Colleen said with a serious look. “You start, Mum.”

  Mrs. Murphy put two sugar cubes in her coffee. “Katz, I’ve been thinkin’ a lot about this business with my building goin’ condo. I don’t want to buy my apartment, so I’m goin’ to have to move —”

  Katherine said happily. “Yay! Are you moving here?”

  There was an uncomfortable pause, and then Mrs. Murphy shook her head. “No, I’m not movin’ to Indiana, but if it’s okay with you, I want to move into your apartment in Manhattan and live with my son, Jacky.”

  “That’s okay, but there’s only two bedrooms. Where are you going to sleep?”

  Colleen broke in, “Remember at your Halloween party how that Russian fortune teller said I’d make a long-distance move? I thought she meant I was moving to Italy to join Mario, but in reality, she predicted I was moving to Indiana to be with Daryl. Katz, I’m moving out here.”

  “What?” Katherine asked, surprised. She clapped her hands. “Should I jump up and down?”

  Lilac and Abby flew into the kitchen and hopped on the counter. “I didn’t mean to call you guys,” she explained to the cats, who looked like they’d just gotten up from a nap. “This is great news. You can live here with me.”

  “You know I’d love to, but I’m going to rent an apartment in the city and go to school. I’ve hated my job forever. My boss is a jerk. I want to become a teacher.”

  “I think you’d make a great teacher,” Katherine complimented.

  “So, Katz, I’m going to fly back, quit my job, and move out here in January. Daryl is going to help me find an apartment close to campus.”

  Mrs. Murphy gave a conspiratorial smile from across the table. “Guess who’s helpin’ her move?”

  Katherine knew Mum referred to Daryl, but said, “You want me to rent an old beat-up Toyota and come and get you?”

  “Oh, yes, by all means. And bring the cats in one carrier,” Colleen joked. “Actually, Daryl is helping me.”

  “Daryl, huh? I forgot to ask. How did dinner go?” She didn’t give Colleen time to answer. She hurriedly asked Mum, “What did you think of Daryl and his parents?”

  “‘Twas a grand meetin’. Daryl was the perfect gentleman, and I like the way he treats my daughter.”

  Colleen added, “His parents are sweet. I was a nervous wreck, but they made me feel at home immediately.”

  “Cool! It’s a Cokenberger thing,” Katherine smiled. “Well, not so much Cokey, but Jake’s a keeper, too.”

  The kitchen phone rang noisily.

  Katherine moved to the phone and answered it. “Hello?”

  “Hey, kiddo, it’s Margie. Good news. Cokey was released an hour ago,” she began.

  “Oh, that’s wonderful. So the charges have been dropped?”

  “Yes and no. It’s complicated. Can I come over? There have been some curious twists in Robbie’s case,” she continued.

  “Sure, come to the side door. We’re eating breakfast. What do you take in your coffee?”

  “Black and straight up,” Margie said.

  Within five minutes, Margie pulled in the driveway and parked Cokey’s Dodge Ram behind Katherine’s Subaru. Katherine met her at the door.

  “This is such good news,” Katherine said. “Come in and tell us what happened.”

  Margie broke into an uneasy smile and walked in the kitchen. She said hello to Mrs. Murphy and Colleen. She took off her navy-blue pea jacket, threw it over the aluminum chair, and sat down.

  Katherine passed a steaming coffee cup her way. Margie began, “Detective Martin just left my house.” She took a sip and said, “Cokey is still a person of interest, but there isn’t enough evidence, based on the coroner’s estimated time of death, to charge him with murdering Robbie Brentwood.”

  “That’s kind of in limbo until they find out who did it,” Katherine suggested.

  “Detective Martin said they were working on the assumption that Robbie died of strangulation because of the lack of blood at the crime scene.”

  Mrs. Murphy turned a lighter shade of pale. “I’m off to me room to get dressed.” She got up abruptly and left the room.

  Margie’s face reddened. “I’m so sorry. I should have told her I was going to be talking about gory stuff.”

  “No worries,” Katherine assured.

  Colleen leaned in and asked, “So, if the poor man was strangled, why would somebody stab him?”

  Margie shook her head, “They don’t know, but I’m just happy Cokey is home with me and the kids. I can’t wait for this to be over.” She got up. “I’ve got to get back home. Thanks for the coffee. I can show myself out.” She put on her pea jacket and left. Katherine followed her to make sure the door was locked.

  Returning to the kitchen, Katherine said, “That was awkward.”

  “What part?” Colleen asked. “The fact that Cokey is a person of interest? Or Margie’s undying conviction that her husband is a knight in shining armor?”

  “I’ve wondered that myself. Most of the time I think Cokey is a good guy with some personal problems, but lately I’m thinking he’s not what he appears to be. Could he have killed Robbie?”

  Colleen answered, “For the love of Mary, I hope not.”

  “I hope not either.”

  Chapter Seven

  The following Friday evening, Katherine, Colleen, and Linda Martin met for drinks at the pink mansion. The Indiana State Police investigator was off-duty. The three of them sat around the glass-topped Parsons table, munching on tortilla chips with salsa and guacamole dip. Linda sprang out of her chair and asked, “Who wants another margarita?”

  Scout, Abra and Iris were stretched out on the floor register, basking in the artificial heat. Scout opened one eye at the detective’s enthusiasm, emitted a “waugh,” then covered it with her paw and went back to sleep.

  “Hit me with your best shot,” Colleen joked, holding up her glass.

  “I’m good,” Katherine answered. “They’re really good. I want the recipe.”

  Linda winked, “It’s very scientific.”

  “Do I need a chemistry d
egree to understand it?” Katherine mused.

  “Using a standard shot glass: one and a half shots of tequila, one shot of orange liqueur — I use Cointreau — and two shots of lime juice. Serve over crushed ice with the glass rimmed with salt. Okay, gals, this is the last one. My margaritas are very strong.”

  After Linda made the drinks and sat back down, Katherine proposed a toast. “I’d like to toast the state of Indiana for granting Detective Martin a night off so she could come over and make these awesome margaritas.”

  “Hear, hear!” Colleen seconded.

  The three clinked their glasses.

  Colleen said to Linda impishly, “What have you been doing lately?”

  Linda’s grin flashed and quickly disappeared. “Robbie Brentwood’s murder case is the most baffling one I’ve ever investigated,” she began. “I can’t talk about it in minute detail, but I can say what the media is privy to. Poor Robbie was strangled with his own necktie and then stabbed. But,” Linda paused, then said, “This is the fascinating part. He died from some kind of fast-acting poison. The toxicology lab in Indy is trying to identify exactly what kind of chemical it was.”

  “Let me get this straight,” Katherine said. “He died from the poisoning first, then was strangled and stabbed? Sounds like the Rasputin case.” Katherine referred to the Russian mystic, who was a private advisor to the Romanovs and a player in the downfall of the Russian monarchy. Rasputin was assassinated in 1916.

  “Close, but Rasputin wasn’t strangled. He was shot multiple times.”

  Colleen interjected, “Geez, you two, how do you know this stuff?”

  “History Channel,” Katherine admitted.

  Linda continued, “It was exhausting interviewing all those people at the museum opening. They were cranky and just wanted to go home. It was three o’clock in the morning before I hit the sack.”

  Katherine added, “I’m sorry that Margie, Jake and I didn’t stay to be interviewed, but we’d already cleared the back door when I heard you order everyone to remain. Margie was desperate to get home.”

  “Understandably, considering Julie Miller’s accusation of Cokey murdering Robbie,” Linda agreed.

  Katherine asked, “Just curious, but did Mark stay the whole time? I guess you never thought in a million years a murder would interfere with your first date.”

  “I couldn’t see any reason for Mark to stick around, so I asked him to go home. Chief London took me home later.”

  Colleen leaned forward and asked curiously. “So, what do you think of Mark?”

  Linda smiled. “Can you two keep a secret?”

  “Of course,” Katherine said. “Who are we going to tell? It’s not like we know anyone in town.”

  “He asked me out for a second date. Tomorrow night we’re going to Indy to this restaurant he’s gaga over. I hope the weather doesn’t ruin our plans.”

  Katherine scrunched her face, “More snow tomorrow. Sorry, didn’t mean to jinx it.”

  Colleen suggested, “If the weather’s bad, why don’t Mark and you just go to one of the local restaurants?”

  “Mark doesn’t want the town’s gossips to be talking about us. He’s very private in his personal life —”

  “I can vouch for that,” Katherine said. “I’ve known him since last February, and I still don’t know him.”

  “He’s a really good guy,” Linda said. “Funny, smart and likes the same kind of things I do. I’m just thankful for the second date,” she sighed.

  “What do you mean?” Katherine asked.

  “Because when men find out I’m an investigator for the state police, they run. Did I mention they run?”

  As if on cue, Lilac and Abby ran into the room, jumped to the counter, and launched themselves over to the window valance. Abby had a caged ball with a bell in it clamped in her jaws.

  “Whoa,” Linda said, surprised. “I didn’t see that coming.”

  Colleen laughed. “You know, Katz, since I’ve been here I’ve stepped on two of those things.”

  Katherine giggled, “I know. They’re not long for the world. I buy them by the dozen.”

  Abby muffled a chirp, turned her head and threw the ball. It bounced on the table and landed in the guacamole dip.

  “Abigail,” Katherine scolded. Abby stretched up into a tall, noble pose.

  Colleen and Linda burst out laughing.

  In an acrobatic feat worthy of a trapeze artist, Abby effortlessly soared over Lilac to the other side of the valance, to the counter, and then to the floor. She trotted out of the room.

  “I’ll get some more dip.” Katherine moved to the refrigerator, opened the door, and removed a package. Stepping back to the table she confessed, “It’s store-bought, but you’ve gotta admit, it’s quite tasty.”

  Abby trotted back into the room, leaped up onto the table, and dropped a poly-wrapped syringe in front of Linda.

  Linda startled. “What the hell? What is that?”

  Abby scampered out of the room in search of another toy to show the humans.

  Katherine nervously drummed her fingers on the table, “I think I might know who it belongs to.”

  Colleen added doubtfully, “Well, since Mum and I aren’t diabetic, it definitely doesn’t belong to us.”

  Linda asked, “Okay, Katz, who and what?”

  Katherine inhaled slowly. “I don’t know where to start. Emily Bradworth came over to the mansion to photograph my great aunt’s and uncle’s portraits. She’s a graphic artist and was going to make posters for the museum, which she did. One of my cats started bugging her, so she came back to my office to get me. When we returned to the living room, the cats had dumped her camera case. Emily became upset — well, I mean troubled — because when she put everything back in the case, she said there was something missing. She was down on her hands and knees, searching, but she wouldn’t tell me for what. She finally gave up and said she’d probably left it at home. I told her I’d call if I found anything, but she didn’t give me her phone number.”

  “Do you think she was looking for this syringe?” Linda asked.

  “My cats are thieves. Before she left, I looked in the place where they usually hide their loot —”

  “Loot? Your cats actually steal things and hide them? Smart cats,” Linda said, amused.

  “The cats must have hidden it somewhere else. I mean, Abby hid it and just brought it in here to play with.”

  Colleen disagreed. “Katz, Robbie and his mother were here. Maybe Lizard is diabetic.” Colleen clearly was convinced the syringe was for insulin.

  Linda picked up the hypodermic needle and read the print on the plastic package. “Heartland Aquarium, Chicago.”

  Katherine said hurriedly, “I have a hunch that Emily’s mom works there. She said her mom was a marine biologist in Chicago. Did you talk to Emily?”

  Linda was slightly taken aback. “Well, no, I can’t find her. I checked all our databases. She has an Illinois driver’s license. But since Robbie was murdered, it’s as if she simply vanished. No paper trail. No credit card use. No sightings. I’m worried she may have met the same fate as Robbie. When I asked Robbie’s mother if she knew where Emily was, she was too traumatized by her son’s death to talk coherently. In fact, she didn’t even know who Emily was.”

  “But what about the address on the driver’s license?” Katherine asked.

  “Oh, that was a dead-end. The address was an apartment building that was recently demolished for a parking garage. It’s frustrating. Not one person I interviewed has a clue where Emily lives. Katz, you wouldn’t happen to know, would you?”

  “The only thing I know is that she works for a graphic design studio. Surely there aren’t that many in the city. Maybe the studio’s logo is on the museum posters,” Katherine answered.

  “I’ll check. Thanks for the tip,” Linda said, then volunteered, “We know Robbie and Emily were a couple. We know that he was also having an affair with another woman — a married woman.”


  Colleen said in a dramatic voice. “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.”

  “That’s a pretty good motive for his murder,” Linda said, then added, “What I’m about to tell you next is strictly private and confidential.”

  Colleen pantomimed her lips being zipped.

  Katherine said, “You can trust us.”

  Linda continued, “We also know the Federal Trade Commission and the FBI were ready to make an arrest.”

  Katherine said, surprised. “The FBI? Why?”

  “Our new financial advisor in town was running a pyramid scheme.”

  “Fascinating,” Katherine said, and remembered nearly breaking an ankle tripping over a heavy book on the Egyptian pyramids. One of Iris’s pastimes is pulling books off the bookcase shelves. Then she remembered the Siamese stampede. She thought, my smart cats knew he was a fraud. That’s why they didn’t let me sign any documents.

  “What’s a pyramid scheme?” Colleen asked.

  “Also called a Ponzi scheme,” Linda said. “In a nutshell, a Ponzi scheme is a fraudulent investing scam promising high rates of return with little risk to investors. Usually these schemes collapse when the pool of new investors dries up. Money from new investors is distributed to investors who bought in first, to sustain the illusion of real profits.”

  “This is terrible! I wonder how many people in Erie will lose their money?” Katherine asked, thinking of Mark and Cokey, but not mentioning their names.

  Colleen dipped a chip in the salsa and said, “Maybe someone lost big-time and murdered Robbie.”

  Katherine agreed. “Linda, you have to remember, I saw the crime scene. Someone strangled Robbie and then stuffed dollar bills in his mouth. It seems to me to be symbolic of something — perhaps greed. I think Colleen has a point.”

  Linda offered, “We have a suspect in custody for Robbie’s strangulation. His prints are on Robbie’s necktie. But he didn’t kill him because Robbie was already dead based on the coroner’s preliminary findings.”

  Katherine and Colleen exchanged confused looks.

  “The plot thickens,” Colleen said.