The 9 Lives Cozy Mystery Boxed Set

by Louise Clark

  She walked straight to Noelle's desk without acknowledging either the teacher or the social worker. "Hi, kiddo," she said, bending down for a hug and a kiss. "I was talking to Mary Petrofsky outside. How come you're sitting in here instead of waiting in the schoolyard like you usually do?"

  Noelle hugged Christy tight. "Mrs. Morton said I had to wait here. She doesn't believe that you pick me up every day."

  Christy looked over Noelle's head. She raised her brows, shooting the teacher a haughty look. "Mrs. Morton doesn't come outside to watch you guys until you leave, so she doesn't always know which child is picked up by a mom or a dad and which ones go to daycare or home on their own."

  "These children are not in kindergarten!" Mrs. Morton said. "We teach them independence. They are old enough to wait outside on their own."

  "Exactly." Christy allowed a small, humorless smile. "Noelle knows I will be there to pick her up every day. I may occasionally be a few minutes late, but I'll always be here. I believe she was trying to explain that to you."

  Mrs. Morton had the grace to color. "After reading that article, I did wonder if perhaps... I was going to watch today and for the next little while, to see if, well, everything was all right."

  I'll bet you were, Christy thought. She let it go, though. Getting into a fight with her child's teacher wouldn't help. Instead, she looked at the woman beside Mrs. Morton. She appeared ordinary. She was, perhaps, overweight, but not excessively so. Her hair was short, cut so that it could be cared for easily and her clothes were practical—shoes that were well broken in and had flat heels, inexpensive slacks and a polyester shell beneath a tailored jacket. Her purse was a briefcase made of some man-made faux leather product. In her hand was a clipboard, stacked with papers. Christy glanced at Mrs. Morton again. "Will you introduce us?"

  Mrs. Morton flushed. "This is Joan Shively. She's from the Ministry of Children and the Family."

  "She's been asking me questions, Mom." Noelle sniffed, tears very close.

  Christy hugged her. "What kind of questions, kiddo?"

  "About what it's like living at home. The kind of stuff you do. How you look after me. I didn't like it."

  "Ms. Shively is trying to make sure that you're treated the best you can be," Christy said, giving Noelle another hug. She looked at Joan Shively over the top of her daughter's head. "Don't worry about it."

  Joan Shively said briskly, "Your mother is right, Noelle. We only have your best interests at heart. Mrs. Jamieson, I would like to see where Noelle lives. If you show me your car, I'll follow you back."

  Christy allowed herself a thin smile, although she was seething inside. "That would be rather difficult, as I walked over. It's not far, and I don't believe in driving kids when it's possible to walk."

  Joan Shively shuffled through the papers on the clipboard, then wrote something down. "What about security measures?"

  Truly baffled, Christy said, "What security?"

  Shively pointed to Noelle, who was still huddled against Christy. "For your daughter, Mrs. Jamieson. I gather she's heir to a fortune. There's always the possibility of kidnapping."

  Christy frowned. "She was heir to a fortune, until embezzlement and debts turned it into nothing more than a nice little nest egg for her university tuition."

  Pursing her lips in an expression of disbelief, Joan Shively said, "So you have no security measures in place."

  Christy hung on to her temper. "Ms. Shively, I walk my daughter to school every day and make sure she is safely in her classroom. At the end of the day I pick her up, again at her classroom. I cannot control what happens while she is in the care of the school, but I trust her teacher and the administration of this institution." She took Noelle's hand. "Come on, kiddo, we're heading home. Ms. Shively can meet us there."

  "Good-bye, Mrs. Morton," Noelle said politely. "See you tomorrow."

  "See you tomorrow," Mrs. Morton said. As they went out the door, Christy heard her add, "She really is a very well-mannered child."

  Mary Petrofsky and the other kids had all gone on their way, so the schoolyard was empty. "Mom," Noelle said. Christy looked at her. "Dad says he didn't steal all our money. He says someone else did it. Is that true?"

  "Yes." Panic surged through Christy. She crouched down so she and her daughter were eye to eye. "Noelle, you didn't mention Daddy to Mrs. Morton or Ms. Shively, did you?"

  Noelle shook her head.

  "Good. Now look, if Ms. Shively—"

  "I thought I would walk home with you, rather than driving. That way I can get a good feel for Noelle's lifestyle."

  "Great." Christy straightened slowly. Noelle clutched her hand tightly.

  Throughout the walk home the social worker bombarded Noelle with questions about her friends, what they were like, what kind of games they played. Then she asked Christy about the neighbors and why she'd chosen this area to relocate to when she'd decided to sell the mansion.

  "I didn't decide, Ms. Shively. The mansion was sold by the person who embezzled my husband's trust fund."

  "Nonsense," Joan Shively said. "I have documents proving you arranged the sale. When the Jamieson trustees protested, believing the Jamieson mansion was part of Noelle's heritage, you insisted that it was nothing more than an expensive, difficult-to-maintain, house."

  Christy stared at her. "You have letters from me demanding the house be sold because it was expensive to run?"

  "No. I have copies of letters from the Trust pleading with you to reconsider. I believe the mansion sold for a considerable amount of money. I understand you used a small portion to buy the townhouse you now live in and that you have squandered the rest on expensive clothes, jewels, and social events."

  Noelle tugged at her hand. "Can I see your jewels when you show them to Ms. Shively, Mom? I've never seen them before. Are they pretty?"

  "Where are you getting all this stuff?" Christy said. She knew though. Joan Shively was getting her info from the same person who had been feeding lies to the press.

  "I know you've got that pretty dress you wore when you went to the party with Quinn, but where are the rest?" Noelle said. "Usually you just wear jeans."

  "I can't divulge my sources," Joan Shively said. She was frowning at Noelle. "Who is Quinn, dear?"

  "He's Mom's friend. He lives with his dad two doors down. Roy is a good friend of mine. He babysits me sometimes."

  "I see," Shively said.

  Christy almost groaned. She said hastily, "I had an audit of the Jamieson Trust done a few weeks ago. It proved that substantial funds have been embezzled from the trust. I also have letters proving that the mansion was sold as part of the same embezzlement scheme. Someone has supplied you with a lot of misinformation, Ms. Shively."

  "The documentation is comprehensive," Shively said.

  "So is mine," Christy retorted. "I keep all of my correspondence with the Trust. I have their letters, as well as copies of my responses." They had reached the edge of the townhouse complex. Christy pointed to a street. "My townhouse is just over there."

  "I'd like to see those letters," Shively said.

  "I'll make copies and send them to you."

  "No. I want the originals."

  They reached Christy's walk. She said, "Hey, Noelle, is this one of Mary Petrofsky's daycare days?"

  Noelle looked warily from her mother to the social worker. "No, she's home today."

  Christy hugged her daughter tightly. "Then why don't you guys play while I talk to Ms. Shively?"

  Noelle nodded. "Okay, Mom."

  Christy watched her daughter dart up the street to Mary's house before she turned back to Shively. "The file is packed away in a box. I'll have to dig it up first."

  "You haven't finished unpacking from the move yet?"

  Christy sighed. "Look, come inside. I'll find the file and you can take a look at it. I'm not going to give you the originals though. They're the only proof I have that someone is deliberately trying to blacken my name."

  Joan Shivel
y stared at her for a minute, then she nodded. "I will need to inspect your home, in any case."

  It was unnerving, searching for a file in the basement while a stranger wandered freely through her house. Christy tried not to imagine Shively picking up cushions to look underneath, or opening cupboards to view their contents. With each passing moment her anger at the trustees grew. She was sure that Joan Shively was here as a result of their petition to have custody of Noelle given to them. That one of them had forged documents so that Christy appeared to be interested in her daughter only for the money she could wring from the Jamieson estate was a despicable, perhaps desperate, ploy.

  Christy found the file she needed with others in the bottom of a cabinet in the basement. The files were bunched together in no sort of order. She made a mental note to organize them if her life ever got back to normal, then she yanked out the folder and ran upstairs. Shively might feel she had the right to look through Noelle's home, but she could do it with Christy tagging along, monitoring her. She found the social worker in Noelle's bedroom.

  "Your daughter has a great many stuffed toys."

  "She likes animals," Christy said. She thrust the file at Shively. "Take a look at this. I'm sure you'll find the documents quite different from the ones you received."

  As Joan Shively read the letters, she frowned. "I would have to study these letters in more depth, but they seem to indicate that what you say is true." She closed the file, then opened her briefcase.

  Christy held out her hand. "I'll keep the file, as I said. I'll provide you with photocopies."

  "I can copy these in office and return the originals to you."

  There was no reason to believe Joan Shively was not an honest woman caught in a web of lies, but caution kept Christy's hand out in silent demand. "I'll bring the file to your office. For now it stays with me."

  The social worker pursed her lips in annoyance, but she handed over the folder. She pulled out an appointment book, thick with notes paper-clipped to the pages, checked it and said, "I'm available between two and three on Wednesday."

  "And I will be picking up my daughter from school about that time. How about Thursday?" The woman's eyes flickered. Christy realized that she'd used the time as a sort of test. They agreed to meet mid-morning. Shively pushed her planner into her briefcase and hefted it as she prepared to leave.

  Christy followed her down the stairs and out onto the porch.

  "Thank you for your time, Mrs. Jamieson," Shively said formally.

  The cat bounded up the stairs, a maimed, half-dead mouse clutched in his jaws. He spat the creature out at Christy's feet.

  Shively screamed. The mouse twitched, then lay still.

  The cat thought you deserved a treat. I couldn't persuade him you'd rather have chocolate. He doesn't always listen to me. Who the hell is this?

  Without thinking, Christy said, "This is Joan Shively. She's a social worker. She's here to see if I'm abusing Noelle."

  What?!

  Shively had stopped screaming. Christy looked over to see that the woman was staring at her in a peculiar way. "You do talk to cats."

  "Mommy, what's wrong?" Noelle had come running over as a result of Shively's scream. She saw the mouse. "Yuck." She turned to the cat. Shaking her finger, she said, "Stormy, you shouldn't do that. It's not right. The little mouse was your friend."

  Hey kiddo, I'm with you. The cat, on the other hand, enjoys a mouse or two at mealtimes.

  "Ew," Noelle said.

  Shively frowned.

  Down the street a door opened, then slammed shut. "Roy!" Noelle shouted and bounded over to the porch where Roy Armstrong was standing, stretching luxuriously, his arms outstretched, his head thrown back.

  He looked as if he'd just woken up after sleeping off a bender. His clothes were rumpled, while his long hair was escaping from its ponytail, giving him a wild, manic appearance. When Noelle reached his porch he scooped her up, gave her a big hug, then they ambled back to Christy's place hand in hand.

  As he neared he looked even worse, if that was possible. His face was drawn, his eyes bloodshot. Christy could see Joan Shively making mental notes. She wondered if the woman was sniffing the air to see if she could smell booze on his breath.

  When he reached Christy he shot her a weary, but contented smile. "It's done," he said by way of greeting.

  Shively tilted her head and looked at him sideways.

  "What's done?" Noelle asked.

  Roy smiled and ruffled her hair. "What—Oh. Don't mind me if I sound a little vague. I haven't had any sleep in a couple of days. I had to get it finished, you see. The murder. There was more to do than I'd expected. Clues and stuff. But it's done. Over. Completed."

  "Murder?" Shively said, frowning.

  A car appeared at the top of the street, moving too quickly. "Let's step back a bit, until the car passes," Christy drew Noelle out of harm's way.

  Roy looked around. "Oh, that's okay. It's only Quinn. He'll park at our place."

  Shively raised her brows. "This is the Quinn Noelle spoke about?"

  "Probably," Roy said cheerfully. "My son, Quinn Armstrong." Apparently just noticing he was talking to someone he didn't know, he added, "I'm Roy Armstrong, by the way. Who are you?"

  "Joan Shively." She did not hold out her hand.

  She's a social worker.

  "A social worker!" Roy said, narrowing his bloodshot eyes.

  "I don't believe I mentioned that," Shively said.

  "He probably heard us talking," Christy said, casting her eyes heavenward.

  Roy stared at Shively for a minute. Christy could see the wheels working in his head as he searched for an explanation. "Noelle mentioned it as we walked over."

  Since they'd all heard every word the child had said, this wasn't the greatest of lies. Shively frowned some more and this time she pursed her lips.

  The car door slammed. Quinn marched purposefully over to the little crowd on Christy's doorstep. "I'm glad you're here," he said, planting himself foursquare in front of Christy.

  "Quinn, this is—"

  "Joan Shively." This time the social worker held out her hand and waited, her head cocked.

  Quinn ignored her. He said to Christy, "The guy who wrote that story was the same little weasel who was pumping out lies about you before."

  Shively lowered her hand. "You have proof that the story in the paper is untrue?"

  Quinn continued on, focused on Christy. "It was one of the trustees who fed him the stuff. I forced the little worm to show me the press release he used when he wrote the article. It was on the Trust's letterhead."

  "How did you force this individual to share his information?" Shively demanded, her voice rising with disapproval.

  Quinn seemed to notice her for the first time. "Who are you?"

  "She's a social worker, here to snatch Noelle," Roy said.

  "Now just a minute—"

  "She wants to take me away from you, Mommy?" Noelle asked, then started to cry.

  Christy caught her up in a hug. "Don't worry, honey. No one's going to take you away from me."

  Damn right.

  Noelle looked at the cat, then she sniffed and pulled away from Christy. Facing the social worker, she said with great dignity, "This is my family. I don't ever want to go away from them. Leave me alone."

  "You know, I don't think we ever properly introduced ourselves. As I mentioned, I'm Roy Armstrong. I'm a writer. Ten books published, a million copies in print. Two Governor General's Awards. This is my son, Quinn Armstrong. He's a prize-winning journalist."

  Joan Shively glared at Roy and Quinn. Roy smiled serenely. Quinn glared back. "I think I understand your meaning, Mr. Armstrong, and I do not appreciate it." She turned to Christy and said crisply, "Mrs. Jamieson, I will see you in my office on Thursday."

  As she marched away, Christy sat down on the porch steps. "I'm toast."

  Chapter 24

  Roy looked at his son. "What exactly did you mean by 'forced' him
to show you his data?"

  Quinn frowned. Noelle had thrown her arms around Christy's neck and buried her cheek against her mother's. The child was crying. Christy offered wordless sounds of comfort. "I had no idea that woman was a social worker."

  "Of course you didn't," Roy said. "The thing is, if you forced someone to divulge information by roughing them up, that woman can use it against Christy, because of her association with you. So did you?"

  "Come on, Dad! What do you think?"

  "I think you're worried about Christy and that you'd do whatever needed to be done. So what needed to be done?"

  "I threatened him."

  Roy shot him an impatient look. "We got that. What did you threaten him with?"

  "Professional exposé. I told him I had proof that everything he'd written was untrue and that I would make sure all the news outlets in town knew he was submitting fictionalized reports. He'd never sell another piece again."

  "Shively thought you'd beaten him up," Christy said, looking over the head of her clinging daughter.

  Her eyes were red, her expression bleak. His gut clenched as he looked at her. He might not have caused all of this, but he'd been part of it. He'd been so full of anger that he'd wanted to prove to her he was not the cause of her problems. He'd rushed home to confront her without pausing to consider.

  "It's just an expression." He went over to the porch. A mouse lay unmoving. If Noelle raised her head from her mother's neck, the mouse would be right in her field of vision. "Cat," he said, pointing. "Deal with this." He nodded in Noelle's direction. If Frank did live inside the cat, he should act without the need for further explanation.

  Stormy put his paw on the mouse and glared at Quinn. Roy laughed. Christy made a watery sound that might have been a chuckle and said, "Tell Stormy thank you very much, but you're right, chocolate is more what I need right now."

  The cat picked up the mouse in its mouth. Noelle sat up, rubbing her eyes. She laughed and hiccupped at the same time as the cat slowly, with great dignity, descended the stairs.