The Cat's Paw

by Louise Clark

  Shively pushed her way to the front. "What is going on here?"

  This is not good. Frank's thought was a shout in Christy's mind, but it echoed concerns that had Christy had felt from the moment she saw Patterson in the doorway.

  "And you are?" Patterson said, looking up at Shively with raised brows. Shively stiffened as Patterson raked her up and down in a thorough assessment that took in the sensible polyester slacks and jacket, synthetic white blouse and flat-heeled shoes constructed completely from man-made products. "Not one of the Jamiesons, I take it," she said at last.

  A rush of color turned Shively's cheeks pink. She announced her name and position with child services like a badge of honor.

  Patterson nodded briskly, but she shot Christy a sympathetic look.

  Ellen looked at Christy too. Her gaze traveled to Noelle, then to Shively, before she focused on Patterson. "This townhouse is unpleasantly small, Detective, and it is currently full of people. I assume you have a location where we might talk privately. Allow me to get my purse and I'll go with you." She disappeared up the stairs without waiting for an answer.

  Don't do this, Aunt Ellen! She'll take you down to the cop shop for questioning. Stop her, Chris!

  Christy had a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. Though Patterson had been willing to question Ellen here and not at the police station, the detective's formality was ominous. Ellen must be in deep trouble. She should talk to Trevor before she did anything and she should probably have a lawyer present when she talked to Patterson. Trevor was just up the street at Quinn's house, but calling and asking him to come would mean leaving Shively here at the top of the stairs, observing everything through those critical, damning eyes of hers. It would also force Patterson to be more specific about what she wanted to question Ellen about. And again, Shively would take it all in, then she'd use it to prove Noelle's living conditions were not acceptable.

  Christy had already faced the danger of having child services take her daughter away from her. She'd fought and proved that the allegation against her was false and nothing more than a malicious threat. But once you were in the system, you stayed in the system and Shively took her job seriously.

  "Mom," Noelle said. "Tell Aunt Ellen to stay here."

  "We need Mr. McCullagh, the man who's staying with the Armstrongs," Christy said. She used her foot to prod the cat. She couldn't exactly say, "Go get him, Frank!" but it was what she meant.

  "Ah, defense council," Patterson said. "I assume Ms. Jamieson will wish to have her lawyer present during our discussions."

  "Why would she need a lawyer?" Shively asked, frowning.

  "I believe that is between Ms. Jamieson and myself," Patterson said pleasantly.

  The cat stood up, arched its back and hissed, then bounded down the stairs, slipping between Patterson's legs and out the door.

  Patterson followed its departure with her eyes. "I see your cat is as, er, assertive as usual, Mrs. Jamieson."

  Since the cat had been injured defending her against Frank's killer, and usually hissed at Patterson, except for that one morning on the porch, the detective's comment was reasonable. Christy suppressed the edginess that had rushed through her as Patterson watched the cat leave and said, "Stormy has the heart of a tiger, Detective. He just hasn't realized he doesn't have the stature of one."

  Patterson's lips twitched and there was a gleam of amusement in her eyes, but she didn't laugh. Probably not allowed to when she was in cop mode and about to question a suspect.

  Ellen came down from the bedroom level with her purse in hand and her head high. She paused to give Noelle a kiss on the head and to hug Christy. If there was a hint of a tremble in her embrace, she didn't acknowledge it. She ignored Shively as she glided down the last set of stairs to the foyer. "If you are ready, Detective?" She raised her brows, calm, elegant, in control. A Jamieson to the end.

  Patterson immediately became all business. She nodded curtly and gestured Ellen out the door to the unmarked car that was parked—illegally—outside Christy's front door.

  "Mom, do something!" Noelle's distressed voice drove Christy down the stairs and outside.

  She hovered, uneasily aware of Shively behind her, gawking, and Noelle plastered against her side, dismay in every tense inch of her. "Ellen, hang on a minute. At least wait until Trevor gets here."

  Ellen shook her head. "Christy, don't worry about me. Detective Patterson simply wants answers. I'll be fine. And I don't need the services of Mr. McCullagh. I've done nothing wrong."

  Patterson had the door to the back seat of the car open and Ellen was preparing to enter it, when Trevor burst out of the Armstrongs' front door and bounded down the stairs from the front porch. "Wait just a damned minute."

  "Mr. McCullagh!" Noelle squealed.

  "Counselor," Patterson said, her hand on the top of the car door.

  Ellen said, "This is not a good time, Trevor," in a low voice.

  Trevor blinked and stopped, a puzzled frown on his face.

  Roy, Quinn, and the cat had followed him out the door. They stood behind him, silent, but clearly friends who had his back.

  Eyes on the men, Patterson said, "I am taking Ms. Jamieson to the station for questioning at her request, gentlemen."

  "I'm fine, Trevor. Roy. I'm sure Detective Patterson merely seeks clarification on some of the minor details related to the case. She will ask me a few questions and that will be all."

  "Not without me, she won't," Trevor said in his big, booming court voice.

  "I'll get the car," Roy said, and disappeared into the carport.

  Ellen bent to climb into the back seat of the detective's sedan.

  "Stop!" Trevor said. "If you insist on interviewing Ms. Jamieson at headquarters, I will escort her there."

  Patterson raised her brows.

  Still positioned to enter the car, Ellen looked over at him and said, "Stop making a scene, Trevor. Detective Patterson, we are wasting time. Please proceed." She turned her back on Trevor and slid into the backseat. There she settled, elegant as always, her hands folded in her lap, her back straight. She looked more like a woman in a chauffeur-driven limo, than one being transported by the police.

  A faint smile twitched the corner of Patterson's mouth, then she shut the car door, leaving Trevor standing with his hands bunched into fists at his sides. She walked around the front to the driver's side, then slipped inside and started the engine. Before she could pull away, Roy gunned his car out of his carport.

  He paused long enough to throw open the passenger door and shout, "Hop in, Three. We'll beat her there!" before he roared off, the passenger door still closing as Trevor dove into the car and settled himself on the shotgun seat.

  Patterson followed more sedately, leaving Christy, Noelle, and Shively standing outside Christy's front door, while Quinn and the cat advanced toward them.

  "This is a most irregular family," Shively said, disapproval dripping from her tone.

  Bitch. Frank didn't usually use derogative words like that. It showed the depth of his distress over Ellen's situation and his dislike of Shively and the power she held over the family he could no longer protect in a normal way.

  Stormy hissed as Christy bent to pick him up, expressing some of the anger Christy could hear in Frank's voice. She rubbed behind the cat's ears in a soothing way. She really didn't want Frank putting ideas in Noelle's mind, ideas the child might blurt out at the wrong moment. She also didn't want Stormy to scratch or bite the irritating Shively. Who knew where that might lead?

  Noelle sniffed. "What's going to happen to Aunt Ellen, Mom?"

  "Like she said, the detective wants to ask her some questions," Christy replied.

  "I believe I have seen enough," Shively said. She sent Christy a direct look meant to intimidate. "I will be speaking to you regarding the child's aunt and her legal situation, Mrs. Jamieson. I am not sure it is advisable for Noelle to be surrounded by persons under investigation by the police."

  "No one
said Ellen was guilty of anything, Ms. Shively," Quinn said pleasantly, coming up Christy's walk.

  Shively turned a baleful look on him. "I have worked closely with the police many times during my career and I find they rarely act without cause. If they have determined that Ms. Jamieson is a suspect, there must be a reason for it."

  Horrified, Christy said, "Ms. Shively, please understand—"

  "The security of the child is paramount," Shively said briskly. "Ensuring the child is safe is my only priority."

  "Yeah, right," said Quinn, who had a journalist's healthy skepticism of all levels of bureaucratic authority.

  Shively glared at him, then turned and said curtly to Christy, "I will be in touch."

  Christy watched her march up the road to the visitor's parking where she had quite properly left her vehicle.

  "That woman is a pain in the ass," Quinn said.

  Christy shook her head. "That woman is dangerous."

  Chapter 15

  Christy trudged along the sidewalk, on her way home after dropping Noelle off at school. The morning was cool, the air not yet warmed by the sun, but the cloudless blue sky promised that later in the day the temperature would rise. The beautiful fall day hardly made an impression on Christy though, for she stared down at the sidewalk as she walked.

  Ellen didn't return from the police station last night and there'd been no message from her or Trevor with an update on her status. Quinn had called with the news that his father was back, but Trevor was not, and that was the last Christy had heard. She had a sinking feeling that Ellen had been arrested for the murder of Brittany Day.

  She shoved her hands into the pockets of the jacket she was wearing and hunched her shoulders. It wasn't the cool temperature that made her shrink inside herself, but a fear of what the future would bring.

  Noelle's morning had been blessedly normal. Mrs. Morton had greeted her at the classroom door the way she always did, and showed no evidence that Joan Shively had been on the telephone, telling her to grab Noelle and turn her over to child services. Noelle herself had been deep in conversation with Mary Petrofsky from the moment they met in the playground and she hardly noticed when Christy kissed her good-bye and left.

  Now Christy was on her way home, desperately trying to figure out how to keep her daughter safe—and with her—and not in the custody of child services because the whole Jamieson clan had been designated as unsuitable adults.

  She didn't see a lot of options. The best—and most obvious—would be for the police to admit that they had made a mistake and that Ellen was not implicated in Brittany's murder. Hopefully that would happen, but it didn't look likely to be anytime soon. The next option was to remove Noelle from the vicinity of the complex and scandalous Jamieson family.

  She could do that, Christy thought. She could take Noelle home to Kingston, where they could stay with Christy's very respectable parents until this mess with Brittany Day's murder was all sorted out. Even the disapproving Joan Shively couldn't disparage a household that included two academics who taught at one of Canada's most prestigious universities.

  Kingston was a long way from Vancouver, though. Across the Rocky Mountains and past the Great Plains. At the mouth of Lake Ontario, in fact, the most easterly of the Great Lakes.

  She reached the bottom of her street and paused before heading up it. She and Noelle would be safe in Kingston, but they'd be biding their time, unless she decided to stay and rebuild their lives there. Did she want to make that change? Leave Vancouver behind and along with it all the good and bad that had defined her life here?

  She started moving again and headed up the street. Her muscles protested as she tromped up the small rise, which was ridiculous. It was a little hill, not the Grouse Grind, a hiking trail to the top of one of the North Shore Mountains. But then, perhaps it was her thoughts that were making her footsteps drag, not the physical exertion.

  She reached her townhouse and paused at the end of her front walk.

  The cat was sitting at the top of her porch steps, tension visible in the bunching of his blocky muscles. Don't bother coming up. We're going over to the Armstrongs.

  Christy resisted the urge to sigh. She wasn't sure she could handle seeing Quinn right at the moment, not when she was contemplating leaving him behind as she fled to Kingston for safety. "It's pretty early to be knocking on someone's door."

  They're awake. I've already talked to Roy and Three.

  "I need a coffee."

  They have coffee. The voice was urgent. Impatient. Look, Chris, I want to get this sorted out. Aunt Ellen is a prickly old broad, but she's not going to do well in jail. Not to mention prison.

  Christy stood her ground. "Frank..."

  Stormy stood up, then bounded down the stairs with a tiger-like grace. The cat might have been any feline headed over to a human for pats and scratches, but for his tail, which lashed back and forth in an irritated way. Three didn't get back until late last night and he was beat, so there was no time to plan. But we need to. Now.

  The cat brushed past Christy, rubbing the length of its body along her leg as it went. This time she did sigh as she turned and followed her dead husband and the cat he inhabited further up the street.

  * * *

  Quinn answered the door when she rang. There was a smile on his mouth and a welcoming warmth in his eyes. He was holding a coffee cup and morning stubble still covered his jaw. Christy's stomach did a little flip then settled into a warning cramp. If she went back to Kingston the promise in his gray eyes might never be anything more than a promise. Whatever might be between them would never come to pass.

  He would be forbidden fruit. Perhaps he already was.

  The cat prowled into the house, not waiting for an invitation. It hissed as it passed Quinn. His smile twisted into a rueful one and he handed Christy the coffee cup. "Come on in."

  His voice was low, morning-rough. Awareness slithered through Christy and she had to clear her throat before she could say, "How did you know I needed a coffee?"

  Quinn raised his brows as if to say, You have to ask? "My father told me to bring you a cup when I got the door."

  She looked at the mug, then back at him and laughed. "Right. I should have figured. I told Frank I didn't want to come over until I'd had a cup."

  "There you go," said Quinn. He glanced up the stairs. The cat's tail was disappearing around the corner as it headed for the kitchen. Quinn looked back at Christy, his gaze wicked. "Good morning," he said, his voice even huskier than before. Then he bent and kissed her.

  Christy kissed him back. She loved the touch of his lips on hers and somehow the caress seemed to give her hope. Maybe there was a way out of this mess without going to the extreme of leaving town.

  Anything was possible.

  He broke the kiss all too soon. As she shifted back, he drew his knuckles down her cheek in a tender caress. There was a smile on his lips and in his eyes as he said, "Come upstairs."

  The Armstrong kitchen was filled with edgy men and an upset cat when Christy and Quinn entered. Roy was at the stove, manning the frying pan, while Trevor sat at the table bleary-eyed, nursing his own mug of coffee. Stormy had taken up a position in the middle of the table and was sitting motionless, like a warm, furry statue. His stillness held its own kind of tension though, perhaps all the more anxious for it.

  She's here now. Let's get to it.

  "We haven't eaten," Roy said, flipping bacon. "Morning, Christy."

  "Morning Roy, Trevor. Thanks for the coffee, Roy."

  Roy looked over his shoulder. His smile was mischievous. "Thank Frank. He said it was the only way to get you over here. Would you like some bacon and eggs?"

  She shook her head. "Thanks, but I've already eaten."

  Roy nodded and went back to his cooking. Quinn dropped a couple of slices of bread into the toaster, then picked up a half-full coffee mug. "Have a seat," he said, gesturing toward the table.

  "How was Aunt Ellen when you left last night?" s
he asked Trevor as she pulled out a chair.

  "She was holding it together, but only by a thread, I think," Trevor said.

  Of course she was. She's a Jamieson. She's not going to let some two-bit policeman break her.

  Trevor's expression was so gloomy Christy's heart sank, despite Frank's bravado.

  But what had she expected? Being booked for murder was a trauma Ellen wasn't going to get over for a very long time. "What can we do?"

  Trevor shrugged. "An initial court date is set for this afternoon. When she appears before the judge, I'll ask that she be allowed to return home on her own recognizance. Because she's being indicted for first degree murder, the judge will probably demand that she posts a surety—bail, in other words—to ensure that she returns to stand trial. I'm hoping her good reputation in the community will mean that it's only a token amount, but it could be sizeable."

  "It's murder. A messy, emotional murder that they're charging her with," Roy said from the stove. He put bacon to drain on a plate covered by a paper towel, then cracked an egg into the frying pan.

  Christy stared into her coffee mug. What to do if Ellen was released from custody? She'd expect to return to the Burnaby townhouse, which would put Noelle square in Shively's disapproval sights. Could she put her daughter at risk for a woman who had never been her friend?

  The egg sizzled. Roy cracked another and dropped it in. The toaster popped. Quinn pulled the bread out and dropped in two new slices. He put the toasted bread onto a place and buttered it, his knife scraping over the surface.

  The sights and sounds of a normal morning meal. Christy drank her coffee and wondered if anything would ever be normal again.

  Trevor rubbed a hand across his eyes in a weary gesture. "Yeah, and because the cops are painting it as a murder of passion, they may ask that Ellen be retained in custody."

  Christy looked up, frowning. "You mean they may keep her in jail?"

  Trevor nodded. "I'll do my damnedest to make sure that doesn't happen, but we have to consider it."