Alibis and Amethysts

by Sharon Pape

  “Thank you,” Sierra said, her laughter winding down to an occasional giggle. She looked across at Jaye. “The barter system you told me about?”

  Jaye nodded. It was another few seconds before she could stop sputtering and speak properly. “Even though she didn’t like the candy, I guess she feels obligated to pay you for it.”

  “Which makes her more ethical than most people I know.”

  Raffles looked from one of the women to the other and sighed loudly.

  “Something’s bothering her,” Sierra said. “Do you think she’s hungry?”

  “Maybe, but I don’t know if I have anything she’ll— Wait, I think there’s still one can of the tuna I keep on hand for you.” Jaye went off to the kitchen. The not-a-cat followed her as far as the kitchen doorway and sat down. From there she still had both women in view.

  Jaye returned with the tuna on a small plate. She set it down beside the animal. After one cautious sniff, one wary taste, Raffles used both hands to scoop the food into her mouth. In a matter of seconds, the plate was empty, and she was diligently licking the remnants off her hands and from around her mouth.

  “Who’s eating tuna fish at this hour?” Daniel asked as he came out of the bedroom. “It smells awful.”

  “Raffles was hungry,” Sierra told him.

  “Raffles?”

  “We’re giving the name a trial run,” Jaye said, picking up the plate that was so clean it shone. “Did you have any success on the Internet?”

  He shook his head. “Not even close.”

  Jaye sat down on the love seat and immediately had a furry body curling up in her lap. “Okay, team, now what?”

  “Why don’t we take a DNA sample and have it tested?” Sierra suggested.

  Daniel shook his head. “I know a couple of vets I would trust to take care of a sick pet, but this requires a whole other level of trust.”

  “So, it looks like I have a houseguest until we figure out what she is and where she’s from,” Jaye said, absently stroking the animal’s back as if they’d been together for years.

  Daniel grinned. “Hey, don’t they claim having a pet relieves stress and helps you live longer?”

  “Somehow I don’t think they meant a pet as strange as this one,” Jaye said wryly.

  Sierra knelt on the floor, where Raffles had left her purse, and stuffed the contents back inside. “Don’t worry. We’ll get this figured out.”

  “I’ll see if I can get a line on someone we can trust to run her DNA and be discreet,” Daniel said. “And I’ll take a trip up to Tuba City. My people have always been great storytellers. Probably comes from not having a written language until World War II. I’m sure if anyone ever saw Raffles or one of her kin, there would be a story about it.”

  Sierra slung the purse strap over her shoulder. “As much as I hate to break up this party, I’m off to bake today’s goodies before a mob of sugar-starved tourists beats down my door.”

  “As long as everything’s under control here, I have to get going too,” Daniel said.

  Jaye slid Raffles off her lap and onto the love seat cushion so she could walk her friends downstairs. She felt considerably better than she had after first discovering the not-a-cat. “Just be careful,” she said, holding the shop door open for them. “We don’t want to find that strange little face plastered all over the Web.”

  “Not to worry,” Sierra assured her as she stepped outside.

  Before following her out, Daniel reached for Jaye’s hand and gave it a little squeeze. “Promise you’ll call if you need me.”

  Jaye assured him she would. Although the problem was far from solved, it was a huge relief to know that she wasn’t facing it alone. She locked the shop after them and went back upstairs. Dawn had finally started to seep up from the horizon, officially ending what was arguably the longest night of her life. Unfortunately, sleep would have to wait another eighteen hours or so.

  Back in the apartment, she set the coffeemaker to brew a full carafe, which she’d no doubt finish long before closing time. Now for something to eat. A quick perusal of the cabinet she called “the carb closet” showed it to be as depleted as her refrigerator. There were some Cheerios left over from the not-a-cat’s night raid, but no milk to put on it, so Jaye settled for the last granola bar. No way to avoid it—during lunch hour she’d have to make a grocery run. Of course if she did that, she’d have little or no time to continue investigating Peggy’s death. Daniel was right. The only way to hire some help for her shop was to stop talking about it and actually do it. She’d put a sign in her window today and call the local paper to place an ad.

  She carried her coffee and granola bar into the living room and turned on the TV to catch up on the news. She found a local channel out of Flagstaff and made herself comfortable on the unoccupied love seat, hoping Raffles wouldn’t wake up until she’d finished her breakfast. The bright-eyed news anchors who filled the screen seemed overly perky for that hour of the morning, but Jaye knew her sleep deprivation probably made her biased on the matter.

  After a series of reporters had delivered a rundown on the international and national news, the anchors turned to local headlines. It came as no surprise to Jaye that the first item was the death of Peggy Krueger. According to the male anchor, who’d dialed down his smile and adopted a suitably solemn expression, the medical examiner had just issued a statement with his preliminary findings. If Jaye could have put her hand in the anchor’s mouth and pulled the words out faster, she would have.

  “Dr. Gatwick,” he went on in his well-modulated, deliberate style, “has labeled Ms. Krueger’s death a homicide, citing blunt force trauma to the back of the head as the immediate cause of death. Although some tests are still pending, he is confident those results will in no way . . .”

  Jaye had stopped listening after the cause of death. She needed to know why the ME had eliminated the possibility of an accident, and she needed to know as soon as possible. But she also had a business to run and Raffles to consider. Something had to give, and for today at least, that might have to be the shop. She turned off the TV and was about to take her coffee cup back into the kitchen when a truck backfired outside. In the quiet of the early morning, it sounded like an explosion in a war zone. Jaye jumped, and Raffles’s eyes flew open. The animal dove off the couch and onto the floor in full defensive posture, her tail tucked doglike under her belly, her ears flattened back against her skull and her hackles fully raised. Only these hackles were unlike any Jaye had ever seen on cats or dogs. They were more like thin, fur-covered miniatures of the upright plates that had once adorned the backs of certain dinosaurs. What’s more, under normal circumstances they’d lain so flat against her body that Jaye hadn’t noticed them at all.

  Chapter 9

  Jaye couldn’t make an appointment to see Dr. Harvey Gatwick, because the medical examiner didn’t accept appointments, according to the squeaky-voiced receptionist who answered his phone. After Jaye’s conversation with the ice queen in the sheriff’s office, she’d decided to call the ME directly.

  “Are you saying there are no provisions for a citizen who might want to speak to him in person?” Jaye asked.

  “I’m saying that we rarely get such requests from the public, but in the event that we do, he’s instructed me to say ‘no.’”

  “I understand, but it’s really important that I see him,” Jaye said, hoping there was enough angst in her voice to be convincing. “Could you possibly ask him if he’d spare a few minutes for me today or tomorrow?” She didn’t like groveling, but she needed information, and the detectives on the case weren’t likely to answer her questions now that she and Sierra were the main suspects in an official murder investigation.

  “No,” the woman said bluntly, “he’s not the type of person who would change his mind. Believe me, I’ve worked here for three years.”
The subtext in her words was clear: I wouldn’t even be here if I didn’t really need this job.

  Since there was no point in harassing the woman, Jaye casually inquired what the ME’s hours were. It was a perfectly reasonable question, given that her tax dollars paid his salary.

  “Nine to five,” the receptionist said readily, adding in a conspiratorial whisper, “He goes for lunch at noon. But you should know, it’s not going to be pleasant.”

  Jaye thanked her for the information and the warning, glad that she hadn’t taken her frustration out on the woman. She’d learned the hard way that burning your bridges was never a good idea. More than likely you’d find the need to cross them again someday. Fate was funny that way.

  At eleven o’clock, she closed the shop. Since it didn’t seem right to lock Raffles in the apartment, she decided to leave the bedroom window unlocked. If the animal needed or wanted to leave, she could, hopefully without attracting any unwanted attention. Jaye was worried about her safety, but she and her friends were already doing what they could to help her. They all had busy lives. The realization eased Jaye’s conscience a bit, but not her spirit. She knew it wasn’t smart, but the not-a-cat was fast becoming the pet she’d always longed for but never had.

  Before locking up, she’d left a sign on the door saying she’d be back at two, in case anyone preferred to wait for her rather than visit one of the other crystal shops. Going to Prescott to corner Dr. Gatwick was first on her to-do list. She’d hit the supermarket on her way home.

  The ME’s receptionist was not at all how Jaye had pictured her. The squeaky voice didn’t belong to a thin reed of a person but to a rather substantial one clad in a pink floral dress that matched the rosy circles of blush on her cheeks. The nameplate on the desk said her name was “Rhonda Crane.”

  When Jaye introduced herself, Rhonda produced a bright smile and leaned across the desk to offer her hand. “Nice to meet you,” she said in her oddly high-pitched voice.

  Jaye shook her hand, causing the dozen or so bangles on Rhonda’s arm to jangle against one another.

  “Good timing, dear. Gatwick is still busy carving up bodies. Your best bet is to catch him before he leaves the building. Once he’s in the parking lot, he’ll just ignore you and hop in his car. Of course, he might ignore you in here too,” she murmured as an afterthought.

  Jaye thanked her and took a seat on the only other chair in the room, which felt as if it were missing whatever padding it might have once had. From the impression she had of Gatwick, courtesy of Rhonda, she could imagine him having had the stuffing ripped out to discourage visitors from lingering there.

  Fifteen minutes came and went before the ME burst through the door between his inner sanctum and the reception area. He was tall and thin, with a sharp nose, wire-rimmed glasses and a sparse layer of white hair doing its best to cover his scalp. He crossed the small anteroom without so much as a glance in Jaye’s direction and was nearly at the door to the hallway by the time Jaye cut him off.

  “Excuse me, Dr. Gatwick,” she said blocking his escape route, “I have a quick question.”

  The ME scowled at her. “I don’t do interviews.”

  “I’m not a reporter. I just have a question about the Peggy Krueger autopsy.”

  “She was murdered. If you’d watched the news, you could have saved yourself the trip here. Now, please get out of my way.”

  “I know she was murdered; that’s why I’m here,” Jaye said firmly, standing her ground. “It will take less time to answer my questions than it will to argue about it.”

  Gatwick shot Rhonda an “I’ll deal with you later” glare, before turning back to Jaye. “What’s your interest in the case?”

  “Her body was found on my friend’s property.” She’d decided not to mention that she was the person who’d found Peggy.

  “I see—your friend’s a suspect.”

  “A person of interest.”

  “Like I said—a suspect. I have no time or tolerance for modern word games. Now, if you have a question, spit it out or get out of my way.”

  “Did Peggy die where she was found, or was her body moved there after she was killed?”

  “Are you the only person in America who doesn’t watch all the CSI crap on TV?” he asked rhetorically. “If she was dumped there after she was killed, there wouldn’t have been so much blood.”

  “Because her heart would have stopped pumping?”

  “Aren’t you the clever girl?”

  Jaye wanted to put her fist into his smug face, but she talked herself out of it. “And the blunt force trauma to the head was caused by . . .”

  “A rock.”

  “What type of rock?” Jaye asked, chancing another question.

  “What difference does it make?” Gatwick sneered. “You a geologist or something?”

  “Yes, I am,” she said, enjoying the startled expression that flashed across his face. Over his shoulder she could see Rhonda grinning.

  “In any case,” he said, quickly finding his voice again, “the particles I found in her scalp came from decorative rock used in landscaping, not the kind of rock commonly found in this area. And now if you don’t get out of my way this instant, I’m calling security!”

  ***

  Jaye arrived back home with six bags of groceries, a new personal best. She’d stocked up on tuna, eggs and cheese, since she knew that Raffles would eat those items, along with some hamburger meat to see if she fancied that as well. With no information on the Internet about her species, feeding her was going to be a hit-or-miss proposition.

  She let herself into the shop, turned off the alarm and carried three of the bags upstairs to her apartment. No golden-furred creature was there to greet her at the door, and on closer inspection, the love seats proved to be unoccupied. Jaye set the bags down in the kitchen before going to look in the bedroom. The window was open. The not-a-cat had gone out. Jaye was a little crestfallen. She’d been looking forward to the animal’s reaction when she saw all the goodies. Had she bought it all for nothing?

  As she went downstairs to get the rest of the bags out of her car, she told herself Raffles would be back. After all, she’d come back before, hadn’t she? Jaye had the three remaining bags in her hands and was using her hip to close the car door when a gray sedan pulled into the parking lot. She realized who was in the car before it swung into the spot next to her. Sedona’s crime fighting duo. Terrific—not only was she scheduled to reopen her shop in ten minutes, but there was also the issue of the not-a-cat, who might return at any moment.

  The men emerged from the unmarked car simultaneously, looking much the same as they had at their first encounter. Theo Brock’s suit hung awkwardly on his body. Cal Anastos was all spit and polish.

  “Hi, detectives,” she said as if she didn’t have a care in the world. “What can I do for you?”

  “We’d like to talk to you about Peggy Krueger,” Anastos replied. “We came by earlier, but you were out.”

  “As you can see, I was out shopping and running errands. Can we possibly postpone our talk until later? I’ve already lost half a day’s business.” Plus she really wanted to speak to Sierra about her visit to the ME before answering their questions.

  Brock shook his head. “That won’t work for us.”

  “We’ll make it as fast as we can,” Anastos added. “Let me help you with those.” Jaye let him take two of the bags. Hey, if he wanted to play Sir Galahad, who was she to deny him? As she led the way inside and up the stairs, a little mantra kept repeating in her head—stay away, stay away, stay away. Now, if only Raffles could read minds. Given how strange the animal was, she supposed anything was possible.

  When they reached the apartment, Jaye stopped in the doorway and quickly scanned the interior. The coast was clear. If the detectives were wondering why she hesitated
before walking in, they didn’t ask. They clearly had other, more important questions on their minds.

  Anastos followed Jaye into the kitchen, narrowly missing the bowl of water she’d left on the floor for the not-a-cat. He set the bags on the table beside the others.

  “You have a dog?” he asked.

  “A cat who doesn’t think she’s a cat,” Jaye said for want of a better answer.

  They chatted about the pros and cons of different pets while she put away the perishables. Brock, who was standing just outside the kitchen, didn’t appear to have an opinion on the subject. Once the refrigerator was stocked, the three of them filed into the living room. It was almost as if the men had merely stopped by on a social call and not to elicit a confession that would land her in jail.

  Jaye offered the detectives the love seat that faced away from the bedroom while she claimed the one across from them. If Raffles should suddenly appear in the bedroom doorway, Jaye might have a few seconds to signal for her to hide. Of course, she had no idea how she would actually accomplish that without also signaling to the cops that something fishy was going on right behind their backs.

  Brock reached into his office-in-a-pocket and withdrew a pad and a small, pink candle, the type generally used on birthday cakes. “What the—?” He scowled at it as if expecting an explanation about what it was doing in his jacket. Jaye had a theory about it, but she didn’t plan to enlighten him.

  “Wow,” she exclaimed instead, “and here I thought you forgot my birthday!” Judging from Anastos’s face, he was having a hard time trying to choke back a laugh, but Brock just glared at her. Okay, she really had to remember not to tease the detectives.

  No doubt afraid he might still succumb to laughter if he opened his mouth, Anastos offered up his own pen without a word. Brock accepted it and tossed the candle onto the coffee table. “I imagine you’ve heard that it’s official now,” he said, loosening the knot of his tie. “Peggy was murdered.”

  “Yes,” Jaye replied. She knew that and more, but if the ME hadn’t told them about her little trip to Prescott, she didn’t see any reason to bring it up.