I shivered as the chill from the snowy bench seeped into my body.
The idea that my father could be a suspect in Mr. Michaels’ death was absurd. It was so crazy, in fact, that I wouldn’t even worry one more minute about it.
I got up from the bench and went into the veterinarian clinic to pick up the cat.
“How’s the patient?” I asked.
“Who?” The redheaded assistant stared at me with wide eyes.
“The Russian Blue cat? Male? He had the full spa treatment done today, if you know what I mean?”
“Oh!” She dashed off and returned with a sleepy eyed Jeffrey, wobbling on his feet inside his pet carrier.
I reached for the carrier eagerly.
She flinched away from me, as though I was cursed. Apparently, word of the murder had reached the veterinarian clinic. I glanced around to see who was talking about me, but we were alone in the reception area.
I reached for the carrier again, and she flinched once more.
“I’m not contagious,” I assured her. “Discovering icicle corpses is not a disease.” She didn’t even smile, so I quickly added, “I’m so sorry about Mr. Michaels, of course. The poor man. Did you know him?”
“No. I don’t think he had any pets.”
“Poor man. Such a shame,” I said.
Her posture softened each time I showed some sadness over the death of Mr. Michaels, so I kept going. The chill from the bench had made my nose run, and I sniffed as though I might start crying again at any moment.
She handed me a tissue and leaned across the counter to say, “And such bad timing. After he had just reconciled with his daughter.”
“Mr. Michaels had children? He was never even married, as far as I know.”
“He had a secret daughter. One of our other clients was in getting her dog’s nails trimmed, and she told me that Mr. Michaels just found out he had a daughter. All grown up, and he never even knew. Isn’t that something?”
“That’s shocking. Any idea who this daughter is?”
The redhead shrugged.
Right about then, Jeffrey decided he’d had more than enough of the boring human conversation. He stuck his gray paw through the door of his cage and caught me with his claws.
I let out a yelp of surprise and jerked my free arm up.
The redhead dropped to the floor, where she huddled, cowering with her arms held over her head, like I was about to murder everyone I’d come across that day.
“Everyone’s so jumpy today,” I said.
She straightened up. “Sorry. I guess I’m on edge. Anyone could be next.”
“Well, keep your eyes open and lock your doors,” I said. “But don’t be paranoid about strangers. Most murder victims are killed by someone they know.”
Her mouth dropped open. My attempt to provide reassurance and comfort had been neither reassuring nor comforting, by the look of it. So much for the truth.
Jeffrey dug his claws into my hand deeper, reminding me that my primary obligation was to him, not this redheaded stranger who smelled like disinfectant.
I gently removed Jeffrey’s claws from my skin and then gently held his paw as I leaned forward to look into his cage.
“Sorry, little man. I bet you want to go home, right?”
He blinked back at me with jade green eyes that weren’t quite focusing on my face. He curled his paw around my finger like we were holding hands. My heart melted like a pat of butter on a hot blueberry pancake. I gave the dark pads of his paw a kiss and then turned to finish paying the bill and get the after-care instructions from the assistant.
I thanked the girl, then left with the pet carrier and got us both loaded into my cold car.
I stared the engine just as Jeffrey let out the most pitiful meow.
“I know, Jeffrey. I know it’s cold. Hang on. Give the heaters a minute.”
He tried to stand up inside the pet carrier, but his legs were wobbly from the surgery and he flopped down right away. I popped open the hatch on top of the carrier and gave him some pats on the head. He started purring immediately, and bunting his head against my palm.
“Good drugs?”
He didn’t seem concerned about the tiny stitches on his private area, but I did have a cone to put around his head in case he did start pulling at them.
As I drove toward my father’s house, I kept one hand on the steering wheel and one hand in the cage, rubbing his head and chin.
“You’re such a good boy. And now that you’ve had your little snip-snip, we don’t have to worry about any kittens showing up on the doorstep asking for money, now, do we?”
Jeffrey grabbed my thumb in his mouth and gave me a love bite. It wasn’t painful at all. In fact, he seemed to be half asleep.
“Do you think that’s what happened to Mr. Michaels? Some long-lost kid showed up and started shaking him down for cash?”
Jeffrey agreed with me by gnawing on my thumb.
“But why kill him?” I asked. “And don’t say for the inheritance, because you and I both know it takes ages for wills to get changed, and if the person dies under suspicious circumstances, it’s pretty obvious who the suspect is.”
Jeffrey released my thumb and started licking it in apology. In front of the car, a squirrel darted across the street. I hit the brakes hard and slid to a stop on the snowy street. The squirrel was long gone.
I laughed and gently chided Jeffrey for distracting me from driving.
We got to my father’s street, and I looped around so I could park in the back lane and enter through the back door. I wouldn’t usually park back there, but I hoped to avoid any crime scene investigation activity.
Unfortunately, there were two people taking photos and surveying the victim’s back yard and garage.
Chapter 10
I got out of my car and left Jeffrey’s pet carrier in the passenger seat so I could grab the snowman’s top hat I’d accidentally removed from the crime scene that morning.
I brought the hat over to the fence and held it out for the crime scene investigators.
“This was on the snowman,” I said, then explained how I’d walked away that morning without realizing I had the hat on.
The male crime scene investigator snatched the dapper top hat from my hands and whisked it into a plastic bag while muttering about the broken chain of custody.
“The hat is from a local costume shop,” I said. “Did you know Mr. Michaels had a hobby? Shoplifting. He stole that hat. I was telling Officer Milano all about it earlier today. Did you find any stolen jewelry inside his home?”
“Ma’am, this is a crime scene.” The investigator looked up at the sky, which was turning midnight blue already. “Leave the investigation to the professionals.”
“I’m just trying to be helpful. I asked around downtown today, and it sounds like he mostly stole small things. A pack of gum, or shoelaces. That doesn’t seem like a motive for murder, but perhaps if he hit Ruby’s Treasure Trove?”
The investigator gave me a look of suspicion. “Who are you again? Are you the idiot who stomped all over the crime scene?” He leaned over the fence and looked at my boots. “Yes, those appear to be the same little boots that crushed away valuable evidence. Are those children’s boots? You have small feet.”
“These are women’s boots,” I said with a huff. “And don’t call me an idiot. I didn’t know the snowman was a crime scene.” I pointed to the house behind me. “This is my father’s house. I’m just here cat-sitting for him, and it was Jeffrey who got his kitty paw prints all over the scene.”
The crime scene investigator stepped back, like he’d just realized he ought to be afraid of me. “You’re Finnegan Day’s daughter? I’m sorry, ma’am, but I really can’t discuss an ongoing investigation with you.”
“But we weren’t discussing anything. I was giving you some tips, as a concerned citizen. Did you find any jewelry? Or any paperwork about changes to a will?”
“Please call the office and go throug
h the official channels.” He gave me a curt nod and rushed over to the woman he was working with. They spoke for a moment in hushed tones, then started walking toward the house.
“Do you know about his daughter?” I called after them.
They stopped walking, and the man said, “I’m sorry, but we can’t discuss the case with you, ma’am.”
“Fine. Don’t discuss it. Just… scratch your head if you already knew Mr. Michaels had a secret daughter he was back in contact with.”
The two of them looked at each other, neither moving to scratch their heads for a full minute. That meant they hadn’t known about the daughter.
“I only just heard about the daughter myself,” I said. “Someone in town mentioned it to me. You should pass that along to whomever’s in charge of the investigation.”
The male investigator said, “Rumors are not evidence. We don’t have enough of these plastic baggies to hold a tenth of this town’s rumors.”
“But even a rumor holds the seed of a truth, doesn’t it?”
The two of them looked at each other for a moment. The woman leaned in and said a few things to the man in a hushed tone. He replied, and they talked quietly for a moment.
I started smiling, thinking they were taking me seriously.
The woman straightened up and said to me, “You’re Stormy Day, right?”
“Yes,” I said hesitantly.
“Then it’s true you invented one of those big social networking sites? It was all your idea, that came to you in a dream, and you stayed up three days coding it?”
I laughed, way louder than was appropriate for a crime scene. “My knowledge of computer coding extends about as far as setting the coffee maker to burn a pot of coffee before I wake up.”
She shrugged. “That’s not what I heard.”
I sighed. “Fine. You’ve made your point. Rumors are not always the truth.”
The guy gave me a hopeful grin. “Hey, do you have any good stock tips? I’ve got a few dollars, and I like to play the markets.”
I frowned at him. Of course I had stock tips, but he wasn’t getting them from me. I’d gone cold turkey on that whole world, for my own mental health. And my head was finally clear of it. I wasn’t going to break my finance-world sobriety, so to speak, by giving this guy investment advice.
“We shouldn’t be talking to her,” the woman said to the other investigator. “She is the daughter of our suspect.”
I clenched my fists and yelled, “My father is not a suspect!”
They both gave me horrified looks, like I was about to jump the fence and beat them senseless. Why were people so freaked out by a petite woman raising her voice?
The investigators held up their hands and told me to be calm.
I answered, “I’ll be calm if you stop barking up the wrong tree. My father served this city with everything he had. Now leave him alone, and go follow up on all your leads, rumors or not. That’s what real cops do.”
They nodded and promised they would.
With that straightened out, I returned to my car, got the dozy-eyed cat, and used my key to let myself into my father’s house. The kitchen light was on, which meant Pam was home.
Yelling at the investigators had worked me up to a stormy state. Pam had better not say one word about my haircut. If she compared me to a woodchuck, I was going to show her what a woodchuck does when it’s riled up.
Chapter 11
“Pam!” I called out as I entered the kitchen.
Nobody answered, but I heard the floor creak and assumed she was nearby.
I called out, “I guess you know all about what’s happening next door? Did the crack team of investigators already interview you?”
Her voice came weakly, “Yes. It was just awful.”
I kicked off my snowy boots and walked over to the living room with the cat carrier still in one hand. The television was on, but Pam wasn’t in the room.
“Pam? Are you hiding? Don’t jump out from a closet at me. I don’t think my nerves can take it after today.”
Her voice came again, “I really don’t want to say one more word about what happened next door.”
“You know they’re trying to pin this on my father?”
“Your father did threaten the man.”
I stopped and stood still in the kitchen. The cat carrier was getting surprisingly heavy. Jeffrey meowed softly for me to let him out, but I was too angry at her words to move.
Did Pam actually think my father hurt Mr. Michaels? Where was she hiding? She was smart to hide from me, if she was going to say things like that.
“Stormy, I know your father didn’t do it,” she called out, as though she’d read my mind. “They’ve got nothing on him. He’s innocent… of that crime.”
“Of course he’s innocent. They’re being ridiculous.” I looked around the kitchen, at the mess of a partially prepared dinner. “Where are you?”
“Let’s not talk about the awfulness next door, okay?”
“Sure. We’ll talk about something else.” Jeffrey meowed with a conversation topic suggestion.
Someone sniffled in the dark dining room. We usually ate in the kitchen, at the casual table, so the dining room didn’t get much use. Now Pam was in there, sitting in the dark.
Looking carefully, I could see the shadow of her form. She was probably shaken up from the discovery of the body, plus my father wasn’t in town to calm her down. It was up to me to be supportive in her time of crisis, which I could be. Probably.
“Want to hear something interesting?” I asked. “Your little Russian Blue cat is not a girl. He’s a boy, and now he has a proper name.”
Pam’s shadow didn’t move, but she did sniffle again.
“Pam? Don’t you want to see your cat? He was very brave at the vet’s office, and he hasn’t touched his stitches.”
She sniffled again, then answered, “I don’t feel well. I’m having a migraine. You can bring the cat in, but please don’t switch on the lights.”
I walked slowly into the dining room and set the carrier on the table. My aching arm and shoulder thanked me.
Pam didn’t even lean over to look at her cat. She seemed really upset, or in pain. She didn’t typically get migraines, as far as I knew, but a traumatic event like having your neighbor murdered could certainly trigger one.
Pets are a wonderful antidote for stress, though.
I opened the pet carrier door and gently lifted Jeffrey out. When I brought him to my chest, he snuggled against me, like he didn’t want to be set down. I cuddled him in my arms and swayed with him in the dark dining room.
Keeping my voice gentle, I said, “Other than the thing we’re not going to talk about, how was the rest of your day? Did you have any work today on store display windows?”
“That poor man,” she said. “One day, he’s minding his own business, and the next day, some awful killer has made him into a snowman.”
“I thought we weren’t going to talk about this. Are you feeling okay? Can I get you something for your headache?”
I took a seat across the table from her and cuddled Jeffrey to my chest. He squirmed a bit, probably thinking about his food dish in the other room, but he let me hold him. My eyes were adjusting to the weak light, but I couldn’t quite see Pam’s face.
“Pam? Are you crying?”
“I don’t think you can help me. It’s all just dreadful. I don’t feel safe at all.” She took a gasping breath. “What if this serial killer comes for me next? What if he’s going house by house?”
“Wait a minute. Serial killer? What are you talking about? Are there other bodies?”
“How should I know?” she snapped. “I’m not the expert. I don’t even watch those TV shows about the serial killers. Your father watches all of them, of course. He loves to get his thrills. I can’t even go into the room when he’s watching such things. Too much sex and violence.”
“Pam, when did the police talk to you? Did they ask you about Dad havi
ng arguments with Mr. Michaels?”
What I wanted to know was if Pam was the witness Tony had been referring to in our conversation. If it was just her rambling about nonsense, then it was, as I suspected, nothing to worry about.
“Of course I told them everything,” she said with impatience. “They’re just being thorough. It certainly doesn’t mean your father strangled that poor man. I didn’t say he did. Exactly what are you accusing him of?”
“Calm down!” I said, which made Jeffrey squirm in my arms. Softer, I said, “Take it easy, Pam. Nobody’s accusing anybody of anything. I’m sure they’ll have this figured out before Dad even hears about it.”
“He will not be pleased,” she said with a snort.
“I just told those crime scene investigators to look into a rumor about a daughter. It seems suspicious to me that this daughter shows up in his life right before he gets himself killed.”
“Daughter? You must be mistaken. He didn’t have any children.”
“That’s not what I heard today.” I went on to explain what I’d learned at the veterinarian’s that afternoon, finishing with, “But it might not be true at all. Plenty of gossip flies around this town, and people are always getting the facts mixed up.”
Pam got very quiet, then abruptly pushed her chair back and stood up. “I’m going to bed.”
“But it’s barely dinner time. And don’t you want to see your cat? He’s very happy to be back home again.”
“Actually, I’m not going to bed, but I am going. I can’t sleep in this house tonight. I’m a very light sleeper, and even the slightest noise will wake me up. I’ll pack a bag and go to my sister’s.”
“Were you planning to take Jeffrey with you? He won’t like getting jostled around again in the pet carrier. He probably wants to recover here in his own house.”
“Why do you keep calling her Jeffrey?”
“I told you, Pam. She’s a he.”
Death of a Dapper Snowman Page 6