Important? It was hard to say. But, either way, I wanted to hang on to it.
The second piece of paper was written on familiar letterhead from Paws and Fur Balls. I read the words there. “Sage, I have two tickets for the ballet this weekend. Would you like to go with me?”
Who was this from? Donnie? Maybe the man really was interested in Sage, as more than just friends.
Unrequited love could lead to a myriad of sins and obsessions and fatal mistakes.
That’s what all the detective shows on TV seemed to hint at, at least.
Just then, I heard a lock click. Panic raced through me.
Was Thyme back? Already? This wasn’t good. I didn’t have time to hide. Not to really hide.
I quickly stashed the Clorox behind a plant, threw the rest of the paper towels into my purse, and darted under the desk. It wasn’t the best hiding space. Not by a long shot. But it beat sitting out in the middle of the apartment.
Voices carried in from outside. A door rattled. How would I ever explain this one? Even worse—how could I protect my cats if I was in jail? I couldn’t. If the killer didn’t get to them, Chad just might send them to kitty jail, otherwise known as “The Pound.” Even more horrifying was the thought that he might send them to my parents.
Then the sound outside the door faded.
Her neighbors, I realized. That must have been one of her neighbors getting home.
My heart rate slowed. A little.
The moment had made me realize I had to hurry. This kind of investigating wasn’t my thing.
I kept the papers, stuffing them in my pocket. Then I cleaned up any evidence that I’d been here. You could hardly tell I’d bled on the floor. I took the broken vase, put it in a bag, and then stuffed it all in my purse while mumbling silent apologies to Sage, as if she was alive and here listening to me.
As a last minute thought, I pulled a potted plant over the space. This would do. For now, at least. If I had the opportunity, I’d come back with Gabby’s industrial strength chemicals.
Right now, I had just enough time to get to the oceanfront and meet this Tom guy.
Of course, if he’d killed Sage, he probably wouldn’t show.
If he’d heard she was dead, he probably wouldn’t show.
But, for the lives of my cats, I had to try.
Because, unlike the saying, cats really didn’t have nine lives.
I walked into the lobby of one of the swankiest hotels at the oceanfront and glanced around. I hadn’t had time to do any research, so I had no idea who I was searching for or what this Tom guy looked like. Mostly, I saw tourists in bathing suits, loaded down with boogie boards and sand pails headed out to the beach.
Nor had I any time to get cleaned up. I still squeezed a paper towel in my hand. The bleeding had stopped, until I reached into my purse for my keys and grabbed a piece of broken glass and added another cut to my collection.
I’d stopped by a fast food restaurant—the only time I ever frequented the places—and washed my hands. Then I disposed of the paper towels and all of the glass I could scrounge up. There were still bits and pieces that I’d need to get out later.
After about ten minutes of trying to look inconspicuous while standing near the display advertising different tourist attractions, I spotted a thin balding man wearing a golf shirt and khakis sitting on the couch, glancing at his watch. He wasn’t dressed for the beach, nor did he have a family hovering close by. No, it was like he was waiting to meet someone. Sage, maybe?
I lingered for a minute, waiting to see if anyone would show. When no one did, I took my first step his way, wishing I had a better cover story. Wishing I had any cover story, for that matter.
“Tom?”
He looked up, surprise marring his gaze. “Yes?”
“I’m Sierra. I’m a friend of Sage’s.”
“Sage?” He laughed, the sound tight with rigidity. He stood and hiked up his belt. “Nice to meet you, Sierra.”
“Same here.”
He glanced behind me. “Is Sage coming?” He said “Sage” with a touch of bitterness.
I stared at him, trying to determine if he was putting on a show. Did he really not know that she was dead? From what I could see, he had no idea the woman had been murdered.
Then I had a horrible thought. What if Sage had been running from someone? Like that whole witness protection theory the police had joked about? What if I’d just admitted to some psychopath that she lived here?
Of course, Sage was dead now, so it probably didn’t matter, other than the fact that I could have just inserted myself into something ugly. Besides, what were the chances she had more than one person who wanted to kill her?
“I’m afraid Sage can’t be here,” I finally said.
The hopeful expression slipped from his face as he sunk down into the chair. “Oh. I see.”
I sat across from him, studying his expression carefully and wondering how to approach this conversation. Before I could start, he dove in. “Why did she send you? Are you a lawyer?” His face clouded at the word “lawyer.”
I shook my head.
“A mediator?”
I shook my head again.
“Come on, make this a little easier on me. Who are you then?”
“I’m a friend. Sage couldn’t be here. I knew she wouldn’t want to miss talking with you, though.” I decided to see if he would take the bait, all the while knowing I could be playing a dangerous game.
He raised his eyebrows. “Did she tell you that?”
I tried not to cringe or have any telltale sign of my deception. “Not in so many words.”
“What did she tell you then?”
“That you were an important part of her life.” I took a guess. “And that she wished things had worked out differently. She had regrets about the past, also.”
Maybe this was her ex-husband. An ex-boyfriend? A lover who’d broken up her marriage?
I just couldn’t get a feel for Sage’s relationship with this man.
“I see. Well, I’m real sorry about the way things went down between us,” he continued, his voice pulling tightly. “It’s taken me more time than I would like to realize that.”
What in the world was he talking about?
“She was confused about why you wanted to see her,” I ventured. “She’s being very cautious. I’m sure you understand.”
“I wanted to say I’m sorry. To say I finally understood and believed in her. To see if we could have a clean slate.” He glanced at me. “I’m probably asking for too much, aren’t I?”
I shook my head, nothing making sense still. “You never know unless you ask.”
He frowned. “Since she sent you, I guess that means there’s no chance Sage will meet with me while I’m in town?”
I shook my head, measuring my words carefully. “Look, I know this will sound weird, but she never did say exactly how you knew her. She just said she couldn’t make it and asked if I’d come in her place.”
He looked sharply at me, as if the question surprised him. “She didn’t tell you about our relationship? I can’t believe that. I thought she’d take every opportunity to shred me apart.”
“Which means?”
He was definitely an ex. I’d bet my kitty litter on it.
He twisted his lips in a half frown. “It means she’s my stepmom.”
Chapter Ten
I pictured young, twenty-something Sage. Then I looked at forty-something Tom, and a very strange family picture formed in my mind.
Knowing that they were related, I came clean about what had happened. I explained to Tom that I had to know for sure I could trust him before sharing that news and apologized for my ruse.
Either Tom was a great actor or he’d truly had no idea she was dead. He claimed his family hadn’t watched the news all week, that they’d been trying to unplug and spend quality time together while here on vacation.
“The police don’t know who did it?” he asked.
/> I shrugged. “Not that I’m aware of.”
“Who are you again?” His eyebrows wrinkled together.
“I’m a friend of hers from work. I found the email from you, and I wondered if she had some unfinished business.” I shrugged. “I was just trying to help out, since Sage couldn’t be here herself. I didn’t want you to hear about this through the grapevine.”
“I tell you what. I gave Ani—I mean, Sage, a hard time. I really thought she’d only married my dad for his money.”
So, her husband had been rich! That could cause some problems.
“But when he died, she gave all of his money to charity. Which may have proven that she wasn’t after his money, but initially it made me equally as mad. That money should have been mine.”
The mystery just continued to deepen. Sage was married to an older, rich man who’d died and left her a hefty sum of money. I had trouble picturing this alter ego of Sage’s, though. Nothing about her screamed rich or privileged or gold digger.
I needed more information. “Why the change of heart? What made you decide to give your stepmom another chance?”
“I realized that money was making me miserable. It might sound crazy, but I realized that I have enough. I’m a successful businessman, and it feels good to have earned my money myself.” He shook his head. “You want to know the whole truth?”
I nodded. Duh. Of course!
“My friend won the lottery. Sounds great, huh? But after he won, his life fell to pieces. Everyone wanted a piece of what he had. He ended up divorced. Two of his kids aren’t speaking to him. It was just terrible. That’s when I realized that not getting the money may have been the biggest blessing of all.”
I remembered that Donnie said he’d heard Sage arguing with someone about money. With one of her stepchildren maybe? Tom?
“Is that what your brothers and sisters think too? That they’re okay without the money?”
He shrugged. “I’m not sure. I haven’t talked to them in a while.”
“Can you think of anyone who’d want to hurt Sage?”
“To hurt her? Plenty of people. Back in Montana, people still think she killed my father.”
I gulped. Killed? There was so much more to this story than I thought. “But she didn’t take his money. What other motive could she have?”
“Maybe she was just sick.”
I shifted as I sensed the hostility in his words. This man was saying one thing, but his body language said another. Perhaps he’d been the one in my car, begging for information on . . . Sage’s money? “When did you get into town, Tom?”
“Saturday. I’m on vacation with my family.”
I wondered when Sage’s exact time of death was. I’d never heard, which made it hard to draw any conclusions. I did know that she’d gone out on Friday to film the segment, however. “Have you guys been at the beach the whole time?”
“Everything we need is right here.” He spread his hands out as if to indicate the tourist strip in Virginia Beach. “Restaurants, mini-golf, fun houses. Most of all—the beach.” He held up some tickets in his hands. “Even get to see your local baseball team play on Thursday. My son is a fanatic, so we’re going for him. Just picked up the tickets from the concierge.”
“So, you’re saying you didn’t see Sage at all on your trip?”
He leaned closer, his nostrils beginning to flare. “What are you suggesting?”
“I’m just trying to rule you out as a suspect.” I stood my ground, not looking away from his intense stare.
His face reddened. “I am not capable of murder.”
I raised my eyebrows. I’d bet that was what a lot of killers said.
My only regret from my conversation with Tom was that I hadn’t found out Sage’s real name. He obviously knew what it was. That’s why he’d made a face when he’d said, “Sage.”
But after I’d nearly accused him of killing her, I couldn’t exactly go back and ask for a favor. By the way, what was her real name again? You don’t want to share that? How about you just tell me your last name? I could take that and run also.
That was okay, though. Because I had another plan, one that I thought was quite brilliant.
I stopped by Chad’s apartment—he wasn’t home, but I had a key—and picked up Mr. Mouser. I then swung by a nearby vet who I’d worked with in the past. I really hoped she could help me. I asked the receptionist if Dr. Maxwell had a moment for me. A moment later, a perky blonde with short hair appeared from the hallway.
“Hey, Meg!” I knew the veterinarian shared my love of animals. She’d helped me out more than once before. In return, I always tried to send potential patients her way. It was a win–win for both of us.
She and her husband ran the clinic themselves and often didn’t charge clients who couldn’t afford the vet bills. Her husband also worked at a local humane society to help cover their bills here at the clinic.
“Hey, Sierra. Who do you have here?”
I propped the carrier on the counter. “I have a homeless tabby that I’ve taken in for the past couple of days. I’m hoping you can help me to identify the owner.”
“Is he micro-chipped?”
“I hope so.”
It was devious. I knew it was. But this cat should be registered. If he was, then I might be able to find out Sage’s real name.
If I knew Sage’s real name, I might be able to figure out why someone was trying to hunt her down. Then, in turn, I might be able to find the elusive “information” the man in my backseat had requested and save my own cats.
“Let’s see.” She reached to get Mr. Mouser, but the cat swatted at her and hissed. She frowned and shook her head in disapproval. “You’re not a happy camper, are you?”
“Let me get him for you.” I took Mr. Mouser out of the carrier with no problem. I really didn’t know why so many people had issues with this cat. He seemed fine to me.
Meg waved me into the back. I ignored the scowls from the three other people in the waiting room and hurried toward the exam rooms. There, Meg pulled out a scanner and ran it over Mr. Mouser’s back.
Microchips were wondrous things. No bigger than a grain of rice, they contained a radio frequency identification transponder that was encapsulated in bioglass. The device stored unique ID numbers that were saved in an animal recovery database for times just like this.
Well, kind of for times like this.
Meg stepped back, scribbled something on some paper, and handed it to me. “I’ve got the registration number. Talk to Annie, the receptionist. She can look it up for you and tell you who the owner is. You want us to call his people?”
“I’ve got this one. You guys already have enough to do. Besides, I feel kind of attached to this guy.”
“Speaking of which, how’s ‘the boy’?” That’s what she called Chad. Probably because he was the only man I’d ever spoken of in the five or so years since I’d known her.
I shrugged. “It’s complicated.” I glanced at my happily married friend. “Meg, would you ever want to be with someone who didn’t love your cats as much as you did?”
She didn’t hesitate before answering. “If someone didn’t love my cats, I’d know they weren’t the love of my life,” she said.
Her words only made my heart heavier. I forced a smile. “Thanks.”
“Of course, love is never, ever easy. I’m probably not being much help, am I?”
“No, you have good insight. I appreciate it.”
Back at the desk, Annie hopped on the computer. As she typed it in, I tried to put Meg’s words out of my mind. But did she have a point? Maybe Chad and I were truly incompatible. Maybe I’d just been in denial.
Or was I reading too much into this? Maybe Chad wasn’t trying to control me at all. Maybe, just maybe, every time I got close to people, I started thinking they were like my parents.
“Here you go.” The receptionist slid a piece of paper toward me.
I stared at the name there. Finally, I had my
information.
And it was a whammy.
This cat belonged to Anise Wentworth.
Even I had heard of that woman before.
Chapter Eleven
Before I’d left, I asked Annie if I could board Mr. Mouser there until I connected with the owner. I explained that I’d pay for the expenses in the meantime. Annie had told me their kennel was booked all week since many of her clients were on vacation.
Despite our differences, I wanted to remain respectful to Chad. He wanted the cats gone, so I tried to honor his request. I called two more friends. One had just gotten a new dog that hated cats. The other was about to go out of town.
I briefly thought about taking Mr. Mouser back to my apartment. Then I remembered the threat that had been made to all of my cats. They were better off somewhere else, somewhere they’d be harder to track down.
For that reason, I mentally apologized to Chad.
Then I dropped the cat back off at his place. Just for a little while longer until I could find someone else. I’d promised by the end of the day.
While I was there, I’d seen Chad’s couch. Mr. Mouser truly had destroyed it. His sharp, cat claws had shredded the sides. Guilt pressed in on me. I was going to have to find the money to repay Chad. I just didn’t know how.
Finally, I went into work and plopped into my desk chair. Plopping wasn’t like me, but I was exhausted. Thankfully, only a few people were in the office. The rest were down at the fishing pier posing as dead fish in order to send a message to everyone around that sea creatures were still animals.
“How’s the puppy mill exposé coming?” someone asked behind me.
I swallowed back guilt and turned to see Donnie standing there. “I’m closing in.” I did have almost all the information I needed. I just had to compile it and turn it over to the authorities. I had high hopes they’d shut this breeder down for good.
“Good for you. Whenever profit is more important than the well being of a dog, it’s an atrocity.” He leaned against his desk, ready to talk. “Speaking of atrocities, the police were in here again today.”
The Sierra Files Box Set: Books 1-3: Plus a bonus Christmas novella! Page 8