The Cat's Paw

by Louise Clark

  Ellen's head shot up and Natalie eased away. "But I'm not dressed!"

  Christy said, "I'll tell her you want to have Mr. McCullagh with you when you talk to her. Then I'll nip over to Quinn's house and bring him back with me. Will that give you enough time to get ready?"

  "Trevor McCullagh the Third? The murder lawyer?" Natalie asked. She looked horrified.

  "That's right." Christy heard a belligerent snap in her voice as she replied. She was trying to keep her tone even, but there was something about Natalie DeBolt that always rubbed her the wrong way.

  Ellen looked from Christy to Natalie and back again. "I suppose I can manage," she said slowly. "I don't really have a choice, though, do I?"

  "No, I don't think you do," Christy said.

  Natalie patted Ellen's arm in a comforting way. "We'll make it work, won't we, my dear?"

  Natalie in the role of best pal—or something deeper—was more than Christy could handle, so she nodded and left them to get organized. She stepped out of the front door onto the porch to find Patterson sitting on the top step, with Stormy beside her, lying on his back and purring loudly as the detective rubbed his belly. "You've made a friend," she said lightly.

  Patterson looked up and grinned at Christy. "He's not such a bad cat, after all."

  Christy sat down beside Patterson, with the cat between them. "He has his moments." She tickled the cat's chin. The purring increased in volume, if that was possible. "Listen, Detective. Ellen will talk to you, but she wants to have her lawyer with her. He's staying with the Armstrongs, a couple of houses down. I'll get him now, but I'd like you to wait here until I get back."

  Patterson said nothing for a minute. She stared silently at Christy—who met her gaze and held it—while she continued to stroke the cat's belly. Finally she shrugged and, like Ellen, said, "I suppose I can manage."

  Feeling as if she had just faced down a herd of charging elephants, Christy nodded jerkily as she stood. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

  Roy Armstrong answered the door when she rang the bell at Quinn's house. His eyes brightened when he saw her. "Christy! Quinn said he talked to you this morning and gave you all the latest data. I didn't expect to see you again so soon." But he opened the door wider to usher her in.

  "Patterson's here and she wants to question Ellen," Christy said urgently, as soon as the door had closed behind her.

  Roy's eyes widened, then narrowed, before he turned away to hustle up the stairs. "Three! Crisis! Listen up!"

  Christy followed him. At the top of the stairs she saw Trevor and Quinn emerging from the kitchen. Both men looked cheerful and she thought they might have been sharing a joke. Trevor was fully dressed and street-ready in his faded jeans and a dark blue wool turtleneck sweater. That was a relief, she thought, though perhaps it would have been better if she had to wait half an hour for him to dress.

  "What's up?" Quinn asked.

  "Patterson's here," his father said. "She's planning to interrogate Ellen."

  That wasn't exactly what Christy had said, but it worked like a cattle prod on Trevor. "Ellen should not speak to the police without council present," he said. The good cheer was gone from his face, replaced by a somber expression and tight lips.

  "That was my thought," Christy said.

  Trevor nodded. His tone brisk, he said, "Where is she?" as he headed down the stairs.

  Christy put a hand on his shoulder. "Can you hold on a minute? Ellen isn't dressed yet and she wants some time to get ready before she faces Patterson."

  Trevor hesitated, then nodded. As he turned back up the stairs, he said, "Where's Patterson?"

  Christy grinned. "She's sitting on my porch stairs. Stormy is entertaining her."

  Trevor's eyes opened wide and he glanced from Roy to Quinn. "You mean the cat can talk to her, too?"

  Quinn grunted, but Christy and Roy laughed. Christy said, "No. At least, I don't think he can. No, right now all he's doing is purring." She chuckled. "I think Detective Patterson is a cat person from the dreamy expression I saw on her face when I found her rubbing Stormy's belly."

  "I'm not surprised," Trevor said briskly. "Cats are very good at creeping around silently and turning up where you least expect them. From what I can make of her, Patterson is the same way."

  A little harsh, but perhaps not far off the mark, Christy thought.

  When they left the house ten minutes later, Patterson was still on Christy's porch and the cat was still purring as she stroked and rubbed where it most pleased him. She stood up when she saw Christy and Trevor.

  The cat made a yip of protest, then rolled onto his stomach and stood up. Shaking himself he strutted into the bushes on the other side of the street. My job here is done. The cat is hungry. We're going to look for mice.

  Inside the house, Christy was relieved to see that Ellen was dressed in a black pencil skirt, white silk blouse and a fluffy cashmere cardigan that was somewhere between a purple and a marine blue. She looked worried, though, which Christy didn't think boded well for the coming interview. Even worse, Natalie stood beside her, with Ellen's hand clutched between both of her own.

  Not good. Not good at all.

  "Thank you for speaking to me, Ms. Jamieson," Patterson said. She scanned the scene and her eyes lingered on those clasped hands.

  "Not at all. Detective Patterson, please let me introduce you to my friend, Natalie DeBolt," Ellen said. "Natalie, Detective Patterson investigated Frank's disappearance and now she is attempting to discover who placed the body on my terrace." Apart from the reference to investigations and a dead body, Ellen made the introduction with polished grace. She could have been making two socially important friends known to each other, rather than a police detective and the mother of a man accused of being an accessory to murder.

  Patterson's response was brisk. She clearly wanted to get down to business. "I've met Mrs. DeBolt, Ms. Jamieson, but thank you."

  Ellen's chin jutted at that, but she sat down on the sofa. Natalie settled beside her, sitting very close. Too close, Christy thought, worried now.

  Patterson remained standing. She surveyed the two women on the couch with observant eyes. "You must know Ms. Jamieson very well, Mrs. DeBolt."

  Natalie smiled at Patterson, then looked back at Ellen, her expression gentle. "We've known each other for many years, but have become closer friends only recently."

  Patterson's eyes narrowed. "That true, Ms. Jamieson?"

  "Yes. I've known Natalie since we were at university. I introduced her to her husband, Nathan. We've served on many committees together. Recently, we realized how much we had in common and we've been—"

  "Where is this line of questioning headed, Detective?" Trevor said, an edge of frost in his tone. Like Patterson, he was standing. His feet wide apart, his hands in his pockets, he positioned himself to one side of the sofa, between the two women and Patterson. The spot allowed him to watch the faces of all involved.

  Patterson said, "Just making small talk, Councilor."

  "It's perfectly all right, Mr. McCullagh," Natalie said. Her expression was coy, her tone gushed. "I don't mind Ellen talking about our relationship. I think she's a very special person. Her friendship has sustained me recently. You see... my husband and I... Well, let's just say we don't get along anymore. Ellen has helped me deal with that."

  "Really," Patterson said. She looked skeptical at this statement.

  "Yes," Natalie said, eyes now suspiciously moist.

  "Not another word!" Trevor said. The command came out as his courtroom bellow. Natalie and Ellen jumped. Patterson looked at him thoughtfully.

  "Thanks for coming, Natalie," Christy said. She raised her arm, hand held out, a gesture clearly designed to usher Natalie to from the room. Natalie looked surprised at first, then she leaned over to give Ellen a quick peck on the cheek, before she rose, smiling graciously as she allowed Christy to sweep her out of the room and down the stairs.

  When Christy returned from showing Natalie the door,
Patterson was saying, "That's the information I have, Ms. Jamieson. I'd like you to confirm or deny it."

  "I deny it, of course!" Ellen was scarlet, from the top of her cashmere sweater to the roots of her hair.

  "Deny what?" Christy asked.

  "This woman thinks I'm gay!" Ellen pointed accusingly at Patterson.

  Since Christy had been wondering the very same thing ever since she'd seen Ellen and Natalie together in the kitchen, doubt flashed through her mind. It must have shown on her face, because Patterson raised her brows as she turned to Ellen.

  "The information I obtained is that Brittany Day was bisexual. She usually preferred threesomes—with a male and another female—but she was open to solo relationships with another woman. My informant stated that in those cases she preferred older women."

  Ellen was on her feet now, her hands balled into fists, her body wire-tight. "This is intolerable! I will not be judged this way!"

  "Is it true, Ms. Jamieson? Were you having an affair with Brittany Day?"

  "No, I was not!"

  "She died on your terrace. There must have been some reason she was there. The post-mortem puts time of death at around six in the morning. You were in your apartment at that time, weren't you, Ms. Jamieson?"

  "I'd already left and was on my way here!"

  "The time is approximate. You were in your apartment when Brittany Day was killed, weren't you, Ms. Jamieson?"

  "I heard sounds. I think. Certainly something... but I remained in my bedroom."

  "There were drugs in Day's system when she was killed. Was she high? Stumbling around your apartment, stoned. Breaking things. Your beautiful, precious things? Did you decide you'd had enough, Ms. Jamieson?"

  "Don't answer that," Trevor growled, stepping between Ellen and Patterson. "Ms. Jamieson has told you honestly and openly that she is not gay and that she was not having an affair with Ms. Day. She does not know how Ms. Day came to be on her terrace. This conversation is over."

  As calm and collected as she had been while she questioned—no interrogated—Ellen, Patterson said, "I will need to speak to you again, Ms. Jamieson."

  "That's a threat," Trevor said crisply. "And I don't like threats. Please leave immediately."

  Patterson waited a heartbeat and then another before she nodded and turned to the stairs.

  Christy saw her out. As she closed the door, the sound of Ellen's sobs filled the house.

  Chapter 12

  "Did I tell you how glad I am that you agreed to come with me today?"

  Quinn smiled at her and Christy's heart did a little flip. "Yes," she said, her voice low and husky with emotion she didn't bother to hide—from herself or from him. "And I'm happy that you convinced me to join you."

  His smile turned into a pleased grin.

  Every day she desired him more, she thought, as she watched him wrap his hands around the stark white mug that held after-lunch coffee. Desired him more and liked him better.

  They were having lunch at a small, trendy restaurant that boasted no more than a dozen tables and featured an exotic mix of Spanish and North African cuisine. The menu items were share plates rather than individual entrées, so they had spent the first part of their lunch discussing the merits of each offering and what appealed and what did not. There was an intimacy about the process that Christy found almost seductive. As they ate, she was immersed in the moment, very aware of Quinn, her reaction to him and the pleasure she felt in his company.

  And now he was smiling that lovely, reckless smile that transformed his handsome features into heart-stopping gorgeous ones. The warmth of his steady gaze told her he was completely focused on her, that her observations mattered to him. Heady stuff. Heady enough that she wished they were seated in a booth so she could slip in beside him and cuddle close.

  Cuddling while at a restaurant was the stuff of fantasy, of course, but she suspected that if she did act on that lovely fantasy, Quinn would not be at all put out. He'd simply slip his arm around her waist and pull her against him.

  "I had no idea I would like Moroccan food as much as I did. Or," she added with a teasing smile, "that you were into hot and spicy foods."

  "Bland is not my thing," he said, the grin softening with a lazy sexuality that said he wasn't talking about food.

  Christy blushed. "I was surprised at how much I like fiery foods, too."

  His smile deepened and in his eyes she saw heat of a different kind. "Good to know. I'm going to enjoy finding the perfect place to tease your... taste buds."

  Her eyes widened and the blush heated her whole body. At twenty, she'd never flirted with Frank when they dated at university. He'd been a senior, very cool, and his sexuality had overwhelmed her. They leapt into bed together with a straightforward desire to fulfill their needs. She fell for his earthiness, his charm, his fun. She'd been his from the moment he asked her out.

  Quinn was different. She was attracted to him, certainly, and had been almost from the beginning. Their relationship had grown quickly, almost as quickly as had her passionate love for Frank, but this time she was more cautious. She was a mother, a widow who had been considering divorce before she discovered her husband was dead. She had responsibilities. And she had scars. She was falling in love with Quinn Armstrong, but slowly, savoring each step of the process. Flirting with this very attractive, very sexy man, was making her heart beat faster and helping her deal with the craziness that had become her everyday life.

  The waitress came over to top up their coffee, saving Christy from finding a reply to Quinn's provocative comment. As she poured, she asked if either of them was interested in dessert.

  Yes, Christy thought, she was interested, not in a calorie-laden confection, but in a romantic tryst in a room at the very nice hotel Quinn would be visiting after they'd finished their lovely lunch.

  She blushed harder and grinned at Quinn's raised brow. "A naughty thought about dessert," she said after the waitress went away to finalize the bill.

  That made Quinn's eyes widen, and Christy laughed.

  "Lady," he said in a low voice that had a provocative roughness to it, "the things you say in public places. You realize you're cutting years off my life, don't you?"

  She laughed again and shook her head. "I'm adding years, not taking them away. You'll see."

  He smiled at her, his eyes intense. "I look forward to it."

  His gaze, his voice, his smile, all added up to produce a tingle that warmed her from her heart to her center. If they didn't stop playing this sexy game, she was going to demand they get that room and to hell with Quinn's appointment with Brittany Day's father this afternoon. As that would never do, she drank some coffee to help her assume the cool manner of the Jamieson Ice Cream princess. Time to be a lady again.

  Quinn raised his brows. He was very good at reading her moods and he knew when she was cloaking her emotions in the Jamieson persona. "What did I say?"

  His words stripped away her camouflage. "Nothing! It was me." She looked down at her coffee cup, unable to meet his eyes. "I was thinking..." She bit her lip and dared to grab a glimpse of him through her lashes. "Naughty thoughts." He stilled and she rushed on. "I... today's not the right day and I... "

  He caught her hand and turned it as he raised it to his lips to kiss the palm. "When it's the right day, you know I will be there."

  His touch, his words, sent a warmth that was a potent combination of physical and emotional cascading through her. "Quinn, I... "

  "You're right," he continued, moving up to her wrist and kissing the vein throbbing there. "Today isn't the right day." He looked up. His gaze was focused on her face, the expression in his eyes intense. "It will come, though."

  "Yes," she whispered, caught in the moment. Excitement and desire pounded through her.

  He smiled, then he looked down as he covered her hand with his other one. She watched him tamp down the potent sexual promise that flared between them until it was caught and contained—for now. Their hands still li
nked, he looked up and met her eyes. His smile was rueful now, and Christy's heart did a little flip. He had pulled back for her. His thoughtfulness had her melting inside.

  When she smiled at him, something in her expression made Quinn sigh and say, "Much as I hate to do this, we should probably talk about the case and my interview with Roger Day. Are you sure you won't change your mind and come with me?"

  Dr. Peiling, Brittany's EBU advisor, had called Quinn the previous day and told him that Brittany's father, Roger Day, was in Vancouver to deal with the police and to arrange for his daughter's body to be returned to Calgary for burial. Peiling thought it would be beneficial to Day to discuss the case. If Quinn was interested, Peiling promised to set up the meet. Quinn was interested and the arrangements were made for the next day.

  Quinn wanted Christy to come with him, so he'd arranged for Noelle to be picked up at school, in case the early-afternoon interview ran late. The obvious person to collect Noelle if Christy wasn't available was Ellen, but Quinn knew Christy worried about Ellen's behavior, so he had arranged for his father and Trevor to accompany Ellen to the school. According to Roy, Quinn had given him strict instructions to keep Ellen in check. Since Ellen was still a committed fan, she was likely to listen to him.

  At the last minute, Frank had confided that he would tag along as well. He liked the idea of an outing with two other guys and if Ellen misbehaved and got herself in trouble, well, that was just icing on the cake.

  Though Christy had refused to participate in the interview, she did agree to a pre-interview lunch. Now she put her cup down. "I still think it's risky for me to come along. If Patterson has told him that his daughter was killed at Aunt Ellen's apartment, he'll recognize my name. I think he'll open up more if it's just you who see's him."

  Quinn's gaze was steady on hers. "I'd like you there. You're good with people and you read them well. Day is grieving and he'll be hurting. He may want to lash out, but having a woman like you around will make him think twice. He may even open up more."