Fatal Fête in Cherry Hills

by Paige Sleuth

  Sunday morning, Kat wanted nothing more than to sleep in. Imogene hadn’t returned home until well after midnight, leaving Kat to stew over whether Raoul Leon could possibly be involved with the very murder he had been tasked to solve. One minute she would be convinced Raoul was guilty, and the next she was positive Imogene had only suggested as much to deflect suspicion off Chief Kenny and his family. The internal conflict kept her up until close to dawn.

  But Kat’s restless night was of no concern to Matty. The tortoiseshell jumped on the bed promptly at six, not about to delay breakfast for anyone.

  Matty had developed a system for rousing her human in the nine months since Kat had adopted her. She always started off with a simple meow delivered as she sat perched atop the nightstand. Although Matty wasn’t nearly as vocal as Tom, she wasn’t above voicing herself if that was what it took for food to appear in the kitchen.

  If the meow didn’t prove sufficient, Matty would move on to more extreme tactics. Those ranged from leaning in close to Kat’s ear while purring at top volume, to patting Kat lightly on the face, to sitting on Kat’s chest. Typically Kat would relent after a few minutes, knowing Matty wouldn’t give up until she got her way.

  But this morning Kat felt much more sluggish than normal. As much as she tried to force her legs into gear, they refused to cooperate. If she could get just five more minutes of sleep . . .

  Matty, who had been stomping up and down Kat’s torso for the past two minutes, stopped pacing. She seemed to be at a loss as to what to try next. Even with her eyes closed, Kat could picture the bewildered look on the tortoiseshell’s face, unable to remember a time when the feline had been required to escalate her antics past this point.

  But as it happened, Matty wasn’t the one who finally forced Kat out of bed. Usually content to let his sister act as the alarm clock, Tom had evidently reached his limit. Still lying on Kat’s pillow where he took to sleeping most nights, he whacked Kat in the face with his tail and howled directly into her right ear.

  Kat bolted upright, sending Matty scrambling for solid ground. “All right!” she said, throwing the covers aside. “I get the message.”

  The felines exchanged triumphant looks before following her to the kitchen.

  After the animals were fed, Kat changed into jeans and a lightweight sweater and drove over to Jessie’s Diner for her own breakfast. The Sunday morning rush was in full swing when she stepped through the restaurant’s front door. The buzz of conversation filled her ears as the heavenly scent of hash browns, bacon, and pancakes flooded her nose. Her mouth was watering before she even slipped into one of the last few empty booths in the dining area.

  She perused the specials board while she waited for her server, debating between the apple pancakes and a plain old mushroom omelet. She pictured Imogene bustling around her kitchen at home, and she wondered whether Raoul Leon was still hanging around, forcing Imogene to step around him in order to cook her own breakfast.

  “. . . murdered Landon,” a male voice said.

  Kat felt as if she’d been struck by a bolt of lightning. She jerked in her seat, peering around in an attempt to identify the speaker.

  “Marigold wouldn’t have killed him.” This time, the voice belonged to a woman. “She loved him.”

  “In high school,” the man amended. “That was a long time ago.”

  The exchange was taking place behind her, Kat realized. She lifted up her spoon, rotating it around until she caught the reflection of the couple seated at the next booth over. A middle-aged man sat facing her, his fleshy jowls looking disproportionately huge in the spoon’s curved metal surface. She couldn’t see the woman’s face, only the mass of brown hair that hung past her shoulders.

  But Kat didn’t have to see the woman’s face to know who she was. Belinda and Colin Bridges were Jessie’s Diner regulars. She had often served the couple when she was still waitressing here.

  “It doesn’t matter how much time has passed,” Belinda said. “Nobody forgets their first love.”

  “Precisely what I’ve been trying to tell you,” Colin replied. “Marigold undoubtedly remembers how this Landon chap broke her heart way back when. And the fact that he gave her the boot to marry her sister would be a definite blow to the ego.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about. If she were that torn up about it, she would have offed him a long time ago.”

  “This could’ve been her first opportunity.”

  “Are you kidding me? He’s married to her sister. She must have seen him countless times over the years.”

  In the spoon’s reflection, Kat observed Colin resettling in his seat. “Seen, yes,” he said. “Gotten alone? Most likely not. Landon lived in Bellingham, remember, and last I heard Marigold was calling Portland home.”

  Belinda flopped back in her own seat with enough force for a runaway lock of her hair to brush Kat’s neck on the other side of the booth seat. The next thing Kat knew, Belinda’s wide green eyes were looming in the spoon’s face.

  “Kat!”

  The spoon tumbled out of Kat’s hand, landing noisily on the floor. “Oh, hi, Belinda.”

  “Look at you sitting there just like a regular customer!”

  “I am a customer,” Kat said, smiling. “I no longer work here, remember?”

  “Naturally, I know that. I may be considered a senior according to Jessie’s menu, but my memory hasn’t deserted me yet.” Belinda scrutinized her. “Have you been sitting there eavesdropping this whole time?”

  Kat flushed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

  “Well, of course you did,” Belinda said, but the way her lips twitched suggested she was more amused than angry. “You are the town detective, after all.”

  “I think you’re confusing me with Andrew.”

  Belinda flapped her hand. “We know he’s the official Cherry Hills police detective. But you’re quite the investigator in your own right. Don’t deny it.”

  “She’s right,” Colin piped up, a grin rearranging his jowls. “You have quite a reputation in Cherry Hills.”

  Kat couldn’t think of anything to say. After all, she had found herself caught up in more than her share of crimes since she’d returned to town last summer.

  Colin wobbled back and forth as though he were getting comfortable in his seat. “So, tell us your opinion of this Landon Tabernathy business.”

  “I don’t really have an opinion,” Kat said.

  “That’s why she was eavesdropping on us,” Belinda told Colin. “She’s still sizing up the players.”

  “I wasn’t really eavesdropping.” The words popped out of Kat’s mouth automatically—and needlessly, she couldn’t help thinking. The smirk on Belinda’s face indicated she wasn’t buying it.

  Belinda twisted sideways to face Kat better. “Colin and I were just discussing what a playboy Landon was back in the day.”

  “We knew him when he lived in Cherry Hills,” Colin replied.

  “This would have been in high school,” Belinda added.

  “Before he and Frieda got hitched at the end of senior year. That would have been, when? 1983?”

  “No, we graduated in ’85, and they were only a year ahead of us.”

  Colin tapped his chin. “So, 1984 then. Thirty-two years ago now.”

  “Hard to believe, isn’t it?” Belinda turned toward Kat. “Back then Landon was dating Marigold.”

  Colin shook his head. “He wasn’t dating her. She had taken a shine to him, but Landon did not share her sentiments.”

  “Well, if he wasn’t dating her he was certainly leading her on,” Belinda replied.

  “He led all the girls on. I wouldn’t be surprised if he slept with half the school.”

  Belinda faced Kat. “I was part of the other half, mind you. I only had eyes for Colin.”

  Colin beat a fist against his chest. “I was more muscle than padding back then.”

  Kat smiled politely but refrained from commenting. It was cle
ar the Bridges thought her presence here was extraneous, and she was perfectly content to sit back and listen to them talk.

  “Landon wasn’t too bad-looking himself,” Belinda said. “It was no wonder all the girls fawned over him.”

  “He’d probably still be playing the field, if Frieda hadn’t convinced him to marry her.”

  Belinda shook her head. “She didn’t convince him. It was that father of hers.” She peered at Kat again. “Her father had that linebacker’s build, just like Kenny. He didn’t like the idea of a daughter of his running around with a man without making things official.”

  “Kenny wasn’t too keen on them getting hitched, if I remember correctly,” Colin said.

  “No, he wasn’t,” Belinda agreed. “He didn’t figure marriage would change Landon’s penchant for sleeping around. I heard from Marigold that their differing opinions resulted in quite a few arguments between him and his father.”

  “Of course, ultimately it was Frieda’s decision,” Colin said.

  “And she chose to marry Landon despite Kenny’s objections.”

  Colin tapped one finger against the tabletop. “I heard he was hot and heavy with another girl before he agreed to marry Frieda.”

  “Yes, Marigold,” Belinda told him.

  “No, not Marigold. That Solomon girl.”

  “Rita?” Belinda looked pensive. “You’re right. I forgot they were something of an item before her family moved away.”

  “They were no more of an item than Landon and his other conquests.”

  “What ever happened to her?”

  “She’s living in Wenatchee now,” Colin said. “Martin spotted her on a trip up there to buy ties. She rang up his purchases.”

  “That doesn’t sound right.” Belinda pursed her lips. “Is he sure it was her?”

  Colin shrugged. “That’s what he said.”

  “I thought she was going to be a doctor.”

  “Perhaps she couldn’t handle the schoolwork.”

  “That’s rubbish. She was the best student in the entire class of ’84!”

  “That was before she met Landon.” Colin waggled his eyebrows. “He no doubt opened her eyes to the fact that there was more to the world than textbooks.” He grabbed Belinda’s hand. “Just like how I opened up your eyes.”

  Belinda slipped her hand out of his grasp and swatted his knuckles. “Oh, go on now.”

  “It’s true.” Colin looked at Kat. “Not that I played the field like Landon. I was besotted with Belinda from the start. No other girl could ever turn my head.”

  Belinda squinted at him. “I don’t believe they tried.”

  “How quickly you forget. Kat, I’ll have you know, I was quite the stud back in my younger years.” He flexed one bicep. “I still have it, to an extent.”

  Belinda giggled. “The only thing you have is an overinflated ego. Don’t you agree, Kat?”

  Kat didn’t reply. Her head was spinning. She was used to having Belinda and Colin tag-team her when ordering a meal, but never when it came to furnishing information potentially relevant to a homicide. She couldn’t help thinking that breakfast orders were a bit easier to follow—and the consequences not nearly as dire if she happened to get something wrong.

  “Anyhoo,” Belinda said, “our point is that Landon wasn’t shy about bedding as many high school girls as he could. But his reputation wasn’t a secret. Anyone who got involved with him had to know he was just in it for the fun.”

  “You’re assuming women think rationally,” Colin countered. “Why, I wouldn’t be surprised if one of Landon’s conquests popped up at Imogene’s party to exact revenge for some perceived slight she’d suffered when he didn’t limit his attentions to her all those years ago.”

  Belinda flicked her wrist. “Poppycock. Nobody would have nurtured a grudge for that long.”

  “You’ve held grudges for longer when I’ve left the toilet seat up.”

  “With good reason. How hard is it to put the seat down?”

  “Precisely. Wouldn’t it be easier to put it down yourself than to nag me about putting it down?”

  “That’s not the point. The point is . . .”

  Kat tuned out when it became clear the toilet-seat argument might go on for a while. Instead, she tried to sort through everything the Bridges had told her about Landon.

  Could Colin be right? Could someone from Landon’s past have killed him? Just how angry had Marigold been when her high school crush chose her sister over her?

  Enough to still want to punish him all these years later?

  CHAPTER SIX

  Kat was still mulling over the information Belinda and Colin Bridges had thrown at her when she left Jessie’s Diner. The two had argued on more points than they’d agreed, their individual recollections of their high school days so out of alignment that Kat found it hard to give much merit to anything either one of them said. It was impossible to determine which one had the more accurate memory.

  A slight headache had begun to throb on the left side of her head by the time she parked in the lot outside her apartment building and headed for the front entrance. At least Belinda and Colin had agreed on one thing: Landon Tabernathy had been a young Lothario. But Kat was at a loss as to whether that had factored into his death.

  “Hey!”

  Kat paused mid-step. Was that one of Chief Kenny’s sisters waving at her?

  “Thank goodness you’re back,” Marigold said, clasping her hands in front of her. “I didn’t know how long you’d be, but now I’m glad I waited.”

  Kat was sure to stand a few feet away from her unexpected visitor. Marigold’s sudden presence outside her home left her unsettled, especially in light of everything Belinda and Colin had shared over breakfast.

  Marigold frowned, as though she had expected a warmer welcome. “You are Kat Harper, right?”

  “I am,” Kat confirmed, figuring there was no point in denying it.

  “Maybe you don’t remember me. I’m Marigold, Kenny’s youngest sister. We met at his birthday party yesterday. Although, I missed your name at the time.”

  “I remember.” Kat hugged her purse closer. “Is there something I can help you with?”

  Marigold’s face brightened. “Why, yes. You can help me find Landon’s killer.”

  Kat’s jaw slipped open. “Why are you asking me? Your brother is the chief of police.”

  “It was his idea I come to you. Kenny says you’re like a private investigator of sorts. He gave me your address. And since he has a ‘conflict of interest’”—Marigold made air quotes as if the conflict only existed in Chief Kenny’s imagination—“I thought maybe you could do a little digging.”

  “Or you could leave the investigating to the two, very qualified members of the Cherry Hills Police Department assigned to the case,” Kat said, pushing aside her doubts about Raoul Leon.

  “With Landon being Frieda’s husband, she’s going to be their main suspect. I can’t just sit by and do nothing while they build a case against her.” Marigold chewed on her bottom lip. “But I don’t know the first thing about solving a murder. That’s why I thought maybe you could help get to the bottom of things.”

  Kat studied her. She did look sincere. And while the long-term residents of Cherry Hills might have some insight into Landon’s high school days, if they were anything like the Bridges they likely hadn’t spoken to him in thirty-two years. Marigold, on the other hand, was his sister-in-law. It stood to reason she’d seen Landon more than a few times in the past three decades.

  “Do the police have a cause of death yet?” Kat asked.

  Marigold wrapped her arms around her middle. “I heard he might have received a blow to the head.”

  “Like somebody punched him?” Marigold wasn’t very large. Would she be capable of punching a man with enough force to kill him?

  “Or he was struck with something,” Marigold said.

  “With what?”

  Marigold lifted one shoulder. “Nobody kno
ws, and Ken says the medical examiner might not get to Landon’s autopsy until later today.”

  Although Chief Kenny had formally removed himself from the case, he evidently was keeping up to speed with new developments. Kat couldn’t blame him. She was curious herself, and she hadn’t even known Landon. It didn’t escape her awareness that by agreeing to work with Marigold she would have access to the same information as the police.

  Her mind made up, Kat pointed to the door. “Would you like to come inside?”

  Marigold bobbed her head. “Yes. Yes, I would like that very much.”

  They didn’t speak on the way up to Kat’s third-floor unit. Kat still wasn’t sure whether she could trust Marigold, and Marigold looked a bit wary herself, as if she were having second thoughts about accompanying a stranger to her apartment.

  Tom met them at the door, exhibiting none of the same caution as he meowed frantically and weaved around Marigold’s ankles. His unabashed enthusiasm would have put Kat more at ease had the friendly feline not been known to have solicited attention from criminals before.

  “Hi there, kitty,” Marigold crooned as she crouched down to stroke Tom. “You’re a chatty one, aren’t you?”

  “Tom is as social as cats come,” Kat told her, closing the front door and tossing her purse on the coffee table. She pointed to the couch where Matty was curled up, one eye pried open to observe the activity. “His sister, on the other hand, will make you work for her affections.”

  “At least she’s not running away.”

  “That would mean admitting you matter. Matty would never do anything to make herself appear less superior to a human.”

  Tom, however, had no qualms about begging for pats. He stood on his hind feet and dragged one cheek against Marigold’s fingers. She responded by giving him a vigorous full-body rub that made him purr in approval.

  Kat perched on one of the couch armrests, deciding to get down to business. “I have to say, I’m surprised you’re so interested in clearing your sister’s name.”

  Marigold glanced at her. “Why’s that?”

  “I got the impression you and your sister weren’t all that close.”