“So did you see the redheaded woman come out of the room and back down the stairs?” he asked.
“No!” she exclaimed.
“So you didn’t see her come down the stairs?”
“Well no. She didn’t come right back down the stairs.”
Sledge appeared to be confused. “How do you know that?”
“As I told you, I stood there talking to my friend for a while. After I saw the redhead go into the room on the right, I glanced up a few seconds later—maybe a minute—and saw her come out of that room and cross over toward the room where the cat was.”
The detective sat back in his chair, his full attention on what Kimberly Jameson was saying. He then leaned slightly forward. “Did she go in?”
“Yes, she went in the room where the cat was. And her hands were empty.”
He looked a little confused. “Her hands were empty?”
“Yes, when she went into the room on the right, she was carrying some sort of box. Coming out, her hands were empty.”
“Did she see you watching her?”
“Oh no, I wasn’t watching her. I just happened to look in that direction at the same time she was walking into the room. No, I’m sure she didn’t see me. She didn’t look my way.”
“Well, thank you very much, Mrs. Jameson, this has been most enlightening.”
“But there’s more, Detective,” she said, eager to tell what she knew.
“Oh?”
“Yes, I was walking away with my friend toward the kitchen, when I realized I had left my sweater hanging on the stair banister. I turned back and walked into the living room just in time to see a man hurrying up the stairs. I was curious, so I watched him and I saw him knock lightly on the door where the cat was. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him.”
“What time was this?” Detective Sledge was sitting on the edge of his chair by now.
“I’d say just four or five minutes after I came down from seeing the cat—so maybe eleven-twenty-five.”
“Did you know the man? Can you describe him?”
“I didn’t recognize him, but I saw him only from the back. He was wearing jeans—but then most of the men and a lot of the women were. He had on a muted tangerine-colored long-sleeved shirt, I believe, and he wore a Western hat—I think straw. His build, as I recall, was, well, fairly common, only he seemed a little thick around the middle. Hard to tell from the back, actually.”
“Hair color? Age? Height?”
“Not much hair showing under his hat—maybe a light brown, but that’s pretty much a guess. He may have stood nearly six-foot. Looking at his physique—at least from the back—I’d say he was in his late fifties or sixties.”
Sledge wrote madly on his notepad. He lifted his pencil and asked, “Mrs. Jameson, did you see this man later at the party?”
She tightened her lips and looked up as if in contemplation. “You know, I didn’t notice him. Never gave him another thought after that. I did see the tall redheaded woman a few times, though. She’s hard to miss.”
Sledge smiled to himself. Yes, she is rather striking.
“Is this the man you saw going up the stairs?” he showed her a photo of the victim, Marvin Byrd.
She studied the photo. “Hmmm no, I don’t think so. But you have to remember, I only saw him from the back. Was the victim wearing blue jeans and a sort of orange shirt?”
“Actually, no,” he said. “But maybe the murderer or witness to the murder was.”
“Good heavens!” she exclaimed.
***
“Good evening, Ms. Jordan. Sledge here.”
“Oh, hello, Detective. Anything new?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact. I’m getting some pretty interesting stories from the people I’ve talked to.” He cleared his throat. “Just wondering, was anyone taking photos at the party?”
“Sure, I took a few myself. And I noticed some of the board members snapping photos.”
“Could you get some of the pictures for me to look at?” he asked. “Or, better yet, give me the names of those who were taking pictures and I’ll have them bring copies in. Can you bring in yours either this evening or tomorrow morning?”
“Sure, I was just going out. I’ll copy them onto a disk and bring them by.”
“And Ms. Jordan, maybe you can identify someone for me.” Sledge cleared his throat. “The man dressed in all black working in the booths with Ms. Clampton’s two sons, who was that?”
Savannah thought for a moment and then said, “Oh, I think you must mean Damon—Iris’s older boy. She brought him along to help out in the arcade and he usually does wear all black anytime I’ve ever seen him.” She paused. “I imagine that’s who you’re referring to. Why?”
“Just curious. Thank you very much. I’ll look forward to receiving those photographs.”
Savannah’s first stop was at the sheriff’s department where she quickly dropped off a CD of her photos along with a list of people she recalled taking pictures at the fundraiser. She pulled up in front of Iris’s house at five-thirty that evening, just in time to see someone in a large, dark-colored SUV tear away from the curb in a hurry—or a fit of anger.
Chapter Five
Savannah watched until the SUV was out of sight. She climbed out of her red Honda Accord, reaching into the back seat for a hot baking dish wrapped in a thick towel. She closed the car door with her hip and walked toward the front steps of the modest house. She managed to push the bell button with one finger. The door opened remarkably fast.
“Savannah?” Iris said, a look of surprise on her face, and not the happy kind of surprise, Savannah thought. “What are you doing…er, I mean, I didn’t expect you,” she said running the tips of her index fingers around her eyes in an attempt to wipe away tears without smudging her makeup.
“Hi there. Gosh, what’s going on? You look a mess. Aren’t you answering your phone?”
“Oh that phone…I think I left it in my car,” she said with a wave of her hand. She hesitated, looked at Savannah, and said, “You can come in if you want.”
Savannah stepped inside. She stopped and studied her friend for a second before saying, “You’ve been crying.” She creased her brow and looked around the room. “What’s going on? Who did I see speeding off just now?”
Iris took in a deep breath. “Um…whatcha got there?” she asked, in an attempt to avoid answering the questions.
Savannah smiled. “It’s my easy lasagna recipe. I made a dish for us, thought you and the boys might enjoy some for supper.”
“It smells heavenly,” Iris said. “How sweet of you to think of us when you have such a busy life.” Iris stared down at the casserole dish without speaking.
“Can I put it in the kitchen?”
“Oh, yes. Come on,” Iris said, leading the way. “Just set it down there.” She motioned toward the counter. “Looks hot.”
“Yup, ready to eat.”
Iris winced as if fighting back on onslaught of tears, then rushed forward and wrapped her arms around Savannah’s neck. “I just love you. Thank you, thank you.”
After returning the hug, Savannah pulled away. She looked Iris in the eyes. “Why were you crying?”
Iris thought for a moment. “Oh that Sledge dude was here harassing me.”
“Harassing you? How?”
Iris choked up. “Did you know he asked me about stealing the money?”
“What?”
“They found red hair outside the upstairs window…did you know that?”
Savannah looked stunned. “No.” I guess he found that when he went up the ladder yesterday, she thought. Wonder why he didn’t mention it. Finally she responded, “Well, Iris, there were other redheaded people at the fundraiser, weren’t there?”
Iris waved her hand in the air and said, her voice unnaturally shrill, “That’s what I told him.” She took on a more serious look. “Savannah, the hair they found on the body—well, it was mine.” She held her breath, waiting for her friend’s reac
tion.
Savannah opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Finally, she practically whispered, “How, Iris? How did that happen?” Her imagination was working overtime. My gosh. What has Iris done?
“It’s not all that sinister, really.” Iris walked over to the nearest kitchen chair and dropped into it. She crossed her ankles out in front of her and stared down at her turquoise platform sandals—a perfect match for the cable-knit sweater she wore.
“Iris? Iris? Savannah said.
“Huh?”
“Tell me how your hair got on the victim.”
“Oh yeah. I went in there that morning to check on your cat.”
“Rags?” Savannah lowered her shoulders as if relieved. She then gave Iris a puzzled look—a look that required a response.
“Well, I had seen a woman come out of the room where Rags was and I just wondered, what she was doing in there. After I put the money box in the spare room, I went across the hall to take a look and make sure everything was okay.”
Savannah smiled. “Oh yes, that was Kimberly Jameson—she wanted to meet Rags.” She frowned, as she eased into a chair facing Iris. “But your hair?”
“Well, as I told the detective, I’m having a hair-loss problem. My hair just falls out so easily, anymore.” She sat upright. “You know, I forgot about going in there to check on the cat when I talked to the detective. I must remember to tell him about that.” She then looked directly at Savannah. Her speech coming faster now, as if she was eager to get it out and get it over with. “I played with the cat for a little while, and I guess I lost some hair up there in that room. I lose it everywhere. See, it falls out when I just run my fingers through it like this.” She dropped a few strands of hair on the floor and continued, still staring down at the carpet, “I’m not sure the detective believes me and he’s still pretty insistent that I get a lawyer.” She looked up at Savannah. “Do you know any good ones that don’t cost a whole lot?”
Savannah scrunched up her face. “So the body…wasn’t there?”
“No!” Iris said emphatically. “Definitely not. I would have seen it.”
“But you think some of your hair came out while you were playing with Rags? Did you brush it when you were in there or something?”
Iris let out a sigh. “No, but I might have fussed with it some—you know, ran my fingers through it or something.”
“Well, that ought to satisfy Sledge, shouldn’t it?” Savannah reasoned. “Why would you need a lawyer?”
“Maybe I won’t, actually, after I tell the detective the rest of the story.”
“Right!” Savannah said, as she stood up. She pressed her lips together and looked over at Iris. “But just in case, let me check around, okay?” She put her hand on Iris’s arm and leaned toward her, saying, “Michael’s expecting me. And I don’t want to leave Rags for too long.” She walked into the living room and toward the front door to leave, but turned back and looked at Iris. “So, Rags was okay when you saw him?”
“Yes. He was his usual impish, silly self. He is one cool cat.” She laughed a little. Looking puzzled, she asked, “Why?”
“He has been pretty upset since the…tragedy.” She became contemplative and said, “I guess it happened sometime after you were with him.”
***
“Michael,” Savannah said, snuggling against him on the sofa, her feet tucked up behind her. They’d finished dinner and cleaned up the kitchen. Now they were listening to music in Savannah’s living room.
“Hmmmm?” he responded as if too relaxed to say an actual word.
“I want to run something by you.”
“He lifted his head off the back of the couch and looked over at her. “Sure, what?”
“It’s about something Iris shared with me today. Something quite shocking,” she said as she rose up and moved back, slightly away from him.
“Really? You’ve got me curious. What secrets does dear Iris have?”
“Michael, they found her hair on the body upstairs.” How she hated talking about what had happened over the weekend. It was all so surreal and grim. She glanced down at Rags who was lying on a pair of her flip-flops on the floor watching Savannah’s every move.
Michael sat upright. “Good God, how did that happen? It was her hair? I didn’t think there was a chance of that being the case. Are you sure?”
“Yes. Just listen, Michael. Iris was in Auntie’s room, but before the murder. I mean, she said that Rags was his usual curious, friendly self then.”
“But why did she go in there? Do you know?”
“She told me she went in there to check on Rags,” Savannah explained. “And they found red hair on the bushes outside the open window. Now they think that’s her hair.” She hesitated before continuing. “Michael, she needs an attorney. Sledge advised her to get one. Do you know a good one?”
“She needs an attorney? Good Lord!”
“Yes, it looks that way.” Savannah scooted her toe around on the floor trying to get Rags’s attention. He crouched, his eyes focused on Savannah’s foot, his tail twitching. He did a cute kitty body wiggle and leaped toward her wriggling toes. She laughed.
Kwapp!
Rags stopped, raised his head and moved his ears around in all directions. He then lowered his head and tail and slunk off down the hallway.
“Damn, there he goes to hide under the bed again. He’s so freaked out. I can hardly stand to see him this way. It’s so unlike him. He’s usually Mr. Confidence.”
“Well what was that sound?” Michael asked, looking toward the front windows.
“I don’t know—maybe a cushion blew off one of the porch chairs. It’s a bit breezy out tonight.” She folded herself around Michael again, looked up at him and started twisting those stubborn straight strands of his hair around her fingers. “So do we know any attorneys?” she asked.
“Sure, a few. Let me think about it and I’ll get back to Iris tomorrow.”
***
“Iris, can I speak to you for a moment?”
“Sure Dr. Mike. I have a break coming up. Let’s go out on the patio, then I can have a cigarette. Want some coffee?”
He scowled at her. “Iris, are you smoking again?”
She shot him a defiant look and snapped, “You know the kind of pressure I’ve been under. I’ve gotta do something to calm my nerves.”
“Is it helping?” he asked.
Ignoring his question, she poured two cups of coffee and led him out to the break area. She set the coffee cups on a small table and invited Michael to sit down. “Do you mind if I light one?” she asked as she took a cigarette out of the package.
“I suppose not,” Michael said, wishing she wouldn’t. As if measuring his words, he revealed the reason for his visit. “Savannah told me what’s going on, Iris. I’m sorry that all of this is coming down on you. She said you want to hire an attorney. I have one in mind. In fact, I spoke with her and she’d like to have a consultation with you this afternoon, if you can make it. Here’s her number. Please call.”
“Thanks Doc. I will call. I need help, that’s for sure. I’m barely holding it together, as Savannah probably told you.” She tapped the top of her cigarette over an ashtray with her finger several times. “Cripes, I’m afraid they’re going to arrest me.”
“Which is why you need an attorney. And you have to be honest with her. Tell her everything, okay?”
She took a drag, blowing a long stream of smoke out through her mouth. “I understand.”
***
As much as Savannah liked her work with animals and their doting human caretakers at the veterinary clinic, she looked forward to her days off. This week it was Wednesday, and it didn’t come any too soon.
“Hi Auntie,” Savannah said upon seeing Margaret peer around the open door. “Come in, come in!” She rushed up to give her a hug, but stopped and asked with a look of surprise, “What’s this?”
“I thought maybe Rags could use some cheering up, so I brought Layla to see hi
m.” She walked into the room and placed the small cat carrier on the ottoman.
“Oh what a great idea! Raaaggs!” she called. “Someone’s here to see you.”
The large grey-and-white cat was already walking into the room. He saw the carrier and approached it cautiously. When Layla eased out of the carrier in all her lush, long-haired beauty, he stepped back and sat down. He sniffed the air, then moved toward her in an attempt to examine her scent more closely. He stepped back again and sneezed.
“Oh my,” Margaret said. “He doesn’t like Layla’s perfume.”
Savannah scrunched up her face. “She’s wearing perfume?”
“Well, no, but I did use some grooming powder on her this morning. Wanted to give her a good brushing.”
“She looks gorgeous. Layla, you are so beautiful, sweetie. It’s wonderful to see you.” The light tangerine-colored cat let Savannah pet her and scratch behind her ear. Then she was off exploring her former living quarters—Rags bounding along behind her.
“Has she adjusted to the new place and new critters?” Savannah asked.
“Pretty well, actually. She has me there and her bed and other favorite things. I may take the ottoman over, if you don’t mind, Vannie.” Margaret peered up at her niece while removing her purple windbreaker. “You know how she likes to lay next to my feet when I sit in that chair. The recliner just doesn’t do it for her.”
“Sure, Auntie, take whatever you want.” An impish smile played at her lips. “Just not those exquisite wine glasses. I love them!”
“Well, don’t get too attached, Missy.” She laughed. “By the way, how’s Rags doing—I mean, really? I hear he’s been upset since…” Her voice dropped. “…well you know.”
“Yes, he has. He’s just not himself. He’s afraid of his shadow. Michael and I have been hanging out here more so we can be with him. But he doesn’t seem to be getting over…seeing whatever he saw.” She frowned. “Auntie, he was really traumatized.”
Margaret cocked her head, her short brown bobbed hair swishing over one shoulder. “Do you think he saw what happened?”
Savannah raised her eyebrows. “Yes, I’m quite sure he did.”
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