by Sharon Pape
“So let’s have it.”
“Peggy filed a complaint against one Lester Dinkins, landlord, for failing to properly maintain the space she rented and for conspiring with Quinn Finnegan to destroy her livelihood, although the complaint doesn’t actually mention how. That was followed by a countercomplaint filed by Dinkins for libel and general insanity.”
Jaye laughed and nearly choked on a thick lump of cheese. “C’mon, it didn’t say that,” she sputtered.
“I can’t make these things up.”
“Did Peggy lodge any other complaints?”
“What do you think?” Sierra gave each of the animals a last morsel of pizza. “On several occasions she filed complaints against the Newirths, who live next door to her, alleging that their chocolate Lab, Hershey, kept leaping the wall into her yard and leaving waste that she had to clean up. There was no countercomplaint until recently, when the Newirths claimed Peggy opened the gate to their yard and encouraged the dog to take off.”Jaye had taken one of the napkins thoughtfully provided by the pizzeria and was writing down the names as Sierra mentioned them. “Great job—between the people we’re interviewing and those complaint files, we have a real shot at finding the killer.” She gathered the detritus of their meal and deposited it in the garbage, the animals watching in disappointment.
“I just wish we could get inside Peggy’s house and look around,” Sierra said. “I have the feeling we’d find something useful.”
“Not likely. I’m sure the cops tossed the place and took everything that could be even vaguely related to her murder.”
Sierra didn’t appear to be listening. “The police tape is gone. Technically the house is no longer a crime scene. I’ll bet we can get in. I mean—how hard could it be?”
Jaye cringed. Sierra’s words were a sure sign that her friend was already committed to the project. The only thing in question was the extent of her own participation. “You realize if we’re caught, we can be charged with breaking and entering, criminal trespass and lord only knows what else,” Jaye said, although she didn’t have any real hope of changing Sierra’s mind. “And exactly how did you expect to get into the house? By breaking a window or shimming down the chimney like Santa Claus?”
Sierra didn’t answer right away, and looking into her eyes, Jaye swore she could see the wheels in her mind spinning madly. She wouldn’t have been surprised to hear that her friend was even contemplating a name change to go with her nascent criminal career.
“With Raffles,” Sierra said with a smile. “We can do it with Raffles’s help.”
Chapter 14
“Well, what did your mother say?” Jaye asked. She and Daniel had just been seated at a scarred wooden table in the back room of Finnegan’s Fajitas. Even though Bryn was working at the crystal shop, this was the first time Jaye had allowed herself enough time for a sit-down lunch instead of just gobbling a protein bar on the run. And since the afternoon’s agenda included trying to pick Quinn Finnegan’s brain, she’d asked Daniel to meet her at the restaurant.
“She didn’t say much of anything,” Daniel replied. “She told me I must have imagined the ‘we know something you don’t know’ look when you showed them the photo of Raffles.”
“Maybe your grandmother was in the room, so she couldn’t speak freely?” Jaye said.
“I asked her that, but she told me she was alone.”
“Do you think we imagined that look?”
“Not for a minute,” Daniel replied. “Those two raised me—I know all their looks. Besides, they were yelling at each other when we got there, then they saw Raffles's picture, and suddenly they were acting like coconspirators. What would that mean to you?”
“That they know more about Raffles than they’re willing to admit,” Jaye conceded.
“Exactly.”
“How do we get them to talk—assuming torture is out of the question?”
“Maybe we shouldn’t eliminate that possibility just yet,” Daniel said wryly. “Somehow I doubt tears will work like they did when I was little.”
Jaye sighed. “I don’t know if curiosity can kill a not-a-cat, but it’s already doing a number on me.”
A waitress arrived to take their order, followed closely by a busboy who brought a basket of tortilla chips with both mild and spicy salsas. Jaye decided it was as good a time as any to fill Daniel in on Sierra’s latest brainstorm. If he was now part of their investigative team, he had a right to be kept in the loop.
As Daniel listened, his brow lowered over his eyes and he started popping tortilla chips into his mouth like a chain-smoker going through a pack of cigarettes. He didn’t even bother to dunk the chips in the hot salsa he loved.
“Whoa,” he said, interrupting before Jaye was finished, “you can’t be serious.”
“Well, Sierra certainly is, and I have to admit I’m coming around to her way of thinking. Time is marching on, and we need to find evidence that points to a murderer other than Sierra or me.”
“That’s what the police are for.”
“What if Brock and Anastos are just going through the motions, because they’ve already decided we’re the guilty ones?”
“Slow down, Jaye. I’ve always known the detectives to be stand-up guys. And risking an arrest in the interests of avoiding prison doesn’t seem like the smartest game plan.”
In spite of his even tone, Jaye knew he was completely opposed to the idea. He ate when he was stressed, and he was only a few chips away from gnawing on the wicker basket itself. Having expected him to be all for pushing the envelope, she was surprised by his reaction and beginning to wish for a margarita instead of the club soda parked in front of each of them. No, she reminded herself, she needed to be sober if she was going to ferret information out of Quinn. Ditto for Daniel, who had an afternoon of off-road Jeep tours to navigate over some tricky terrain.
“What makes you think the police didn’t already strip Peggy’s place to the studs?” he went on.
“Of course they did. I even used that argument with Sierra at first. But here’s the thing—from what we’ve heard, Peggy was paranoid about her privacy. A person like that wouldn’t keep a diary or log of any kind on her computer. She’s much more likely to have used a ballpoint pen and paper to chronicle her complaints and whatever it was she claimed to have against Adam Grayson. And she would have stashed it somewhere clever.”
“Clever or not, don’t you think the police would have found that too?” Daniel pushed the empty basket away as if it were the source of his frustration. “They’re not exactly rookies you know.”
“But they’re men. I think a woman has a better shot of putting herself in Peggy’s shoes. Even if there’s only a slim chance we’ll find something useful, we need to try.” Before they could continue the debate, the waitress arrived with their lunches—a spinach enchilada for Jaye, a chimichanga and a bowl of chili for Daniel.
After she walked away, Daniel studied Jaye for a minute, tapping his soup spoon on the table as if he were trying to come to a decision. “Your mind’s made up?”
Jaye nodded. “You know I can’t just leave it in fate’s hands.”
“In that case,” he said, “let me know what I can do to help.” Then he dug into the chili as if he hadn’t eaten in a week.
The lunch rush was winding down by the time they’d had their fill. Daniel hurried off to jostle the insides of another batch of eager tourists, and Jaye moseyed over to the bar where Quinn was wiping down the counter. There was no one hanging out there, so she didn’t need to ask to speak to him privately.
“Daniel driving you to drink?” Quinn asked with a laugh that puffed up his cheeks and crinkled the skin around his pale blue eyes.
Jaye laughed along with him—fellow merchants enjoying a joke together. “Not yet.”
“So what can I get you?”<
br />
“A minute of your time?”
Quinn’s unruly eyebrows hitched up with curiosity. “That depends.”
“It’s about Peggy,” Jaye said, watching for his reaction as she pulled herself up on one of the bar chairs.
“It seems like everything is these days,” Quinn grumbled. The jovial expression he wore like a uniform was supplanted by a grimness that made his face almost unrecognizable. “I wish they’d figure out who killed her already.” He’d lowered his booming bass to a raspy whisper. “Then maybe the rest of us could get on with our lives.”
Jaye was impressed. With one disgruntled remark, he’d managed to paint himself with a believable coat of innocence. But was he actually innocent, or had the art of survival simply honed his acting skills? She resisted the urge to echo his sentiment. Commiserating with him might help win his trust, but what if he repeated her words to the wrong people? “How well did you know Peggy?” she asked instead.
“Not well, but more than enough to suit me,” Quinn replied, looking like he’d just tasted curdled milk. “Why?”
“I didn’t know her at all, and yet I’m a suspect in her death simply because I found her.” Jaye had decided to go with the “pitiful me” approach, since Quinn seemed to be the type of man who would come to the aid of a damsel in distress. It wasn’t a role she respected or enjoyed. If her life had taught her anything, it had taught her to be self-reliant. But she couldn’t afford to be a purist right now. She needed information, and by the most expedient means. Damsel in distress fit the bill quite nicely for this interview.
“Count yourself lucky that you didn’t know her better,” Quinn said. “That woman always had an ax to grind. She must have had a blow up with every person in this town at one time or another.”
“I heard she complained about the smells from your kitchen getting into her baked goods,” Jaye said, making sure her tone indicated how ridiculous she found the idea. See—you can trust me, Quinn.
“All the time. She’d come over here with one of her baguettes and wave it in my face while she ranted at me. A couple of times I thought about grabbing the bread and stuffing it down her throat.” Quinn must have realized how loud he was getting, because he dialed down the volume again and glanced around the restaurant as if worried that someone might have heard him. Jaye looked too, but of the few diners left, no one had turned in their direction.
“Even if what she claimed was true,” Quinn went on, “the aromas from here would only have enhanced the flavor of the crap she sold. It beats me why she opened a bakery in the first place. From what I could tell, she didn’t enjoy baking and she didn’t have much of a knack for it. She did have some die-hard customers, though. Just proves there’s no accounting for taste. But for the majority of us,” he said, patting his substantial abdomen, “it was a real godsend when Sierra opened Cravings!”
Jaye wondered if Quinn’s doctor shared that opinion. “So, who do you think killed Peggy?” she asked, to keep him from riding his tangent off into the sunset.
“Beats me. But between the two of us,” he whispered, leaning closer to her over the bar, “I’m all for pinning a medal on whoever did it.”
“Too bad the killer isn’t proud enough to come forward. It would sure make my life easier,” Jaye agreed.
Quinn heaved a sigh. “Ain’t that the truth?”
“Some folks are saying it had to be Adam Grayson.” Jaye was hoping she could tempt him into naming his choice for the most likely killer. “Others think it was her next-door neighbors. And even though no one will say it when Sierra and I are around, I’m sure some of them are convinced we’re the killers.”
“No one mentioned Elaine Feldman?” Quinn asked.
“Elaine?” He’d caught Jaye by surprise. Elaine hadn’t said anything even mildly suspicious when Jaye had talked to her. In fact, she’d managed to put Jaye on the defensive.
“You didn’t know Elaine was Grayson’s fiancée a few years back?” A smile was once again hitching up Quinn’s cheeks. Being the purveyor of news clearly appealed to him. “He gave her quite a rock too, which she kept and made into a pendant.”
“Wait a minute—you mean Grayson dumped her for Peggy?” That would make a fine motive.
“Well, not quite,” Quinn admitted. “He broke it off with Elaine at least a year before he took up with Peggy.”
Easy come, easy go. Jaye felt a bit deflated. For a moment there she thought she’d hit suspect gold. “Then why would she be carrying a grudge against Peggy? Adam must have dated other women during that year.”
“Sure, but nothing that lasted more than a month or two. Elaine believed she’d win him back one day. At least until he and Peggy hooked up.”
And Elaine was suddenly back in the running. “And you know this because . . . ?”
“I overheard a conversation between Elaine and one of her friends when they were having lunch here,” Quinn admitted, looking slightly sheepish. “What can I say? Owning this sort of establishment, you come by certain information. But any good bartender and restaurateur knows how to keep his mouth shut if he wants to stay in business.”
Jaye didn’t bother to point out that he wasn’t doing a very good job of it at the moment. Maybe he considered murder an exception to his rule. “Then you think Elaine’s the killer?”
“I never said that,” Quinn quickly backpedaled. “I’m just surprised you haven’t heard anyone mention her name in connection with the case. Can I count on you to keep what I’ve told you in the strictest confidence?”
“I’ll be as tight-lipped as a priest.” Almost, anyway. She was going to have to tell her partners, of course. And if the police came to arrest her or Sierra, she might use it to distract them, like tossing a T-bone to a junkyard dog you’re trying to keep at bay. She definitely wouldn’t let on to Elaine what she knew or how she’d come by it if she happened to talk to her again. She made Quinn a silent promise in that regard. She was about to ask him if he had any insights into other possible suspects when Luisa Finnegan came out of the kitchen carrying a large crate filled with clean glassware.
“Querida, let me help you with that,” Quinn said, hurrying out from behind the bar.
“I don’t need any help,” Luisa said, maneuvering around him. She set the crate down on the bar with a glass-rattling thud. Then she looked at Jaye and shook her head. “He’s only chivalrous when he has an audience. Otherwise he wouldn’t notice if I was lugging around a baby grand.”
“Not true,” Quinn protested, clutching at his chest. “She breaks my heart when she says things like that.”
“Doesn’t the man look tortured?” Luisa demanded, although she seemed to be having trouble keeping a straight face.
Jaye had the feeling they both enjoyed having an audience. She murmured a thank-you to Quinn for his time and excused herself before she could be drawn into a marital improv they’d clearly riffed on in the past.
Chapter 15
Raffles proved to be a quick study. Quicker in some ways than Jaye. After closing and locking the door and windows to her apartment, Jaye took the not-a-cat outside to see if she could figure out how to get back in. The animal immediately bounded off as if this were one of her usual outings. Of course, Raffles had no idea what was expected of her. Jaye had forgotten to take that little detail into account when she’d planned the experiment and had no choice but to wait for her eventual return. She paced around the building trying not to be impatient, until Bryn came outside to ask if there was a problem. Jaye assured her everything was fine and then went up to the apartment where her pacing wouldn’t raise any further questions. An hour later, thoroughly disgruntled over the time she was wasting, she made herself a cup of coffee and took it into the living room, where she almost sat on top of Raffles, who was curled up on the couch.
The good news was that the not-a-cat had figured o
ut how to get back inside. The bad news was that Jay still had no idea how she’d done it. Discounting the possibility that Raffles had somehow outmaneuvered the laws of physics and simply walked through the walls, there were two choices left—the chimney that led to the furnace in the basement or one of the small slotted vents that led into the ductwork for the air-conditioning system. If the animal had taken the route down the chimney, it would have led her into the basement, where she would still have faced the dilemma of how to get into the apartment itself. One of the vents had to be the answer, but they seemed too small to accommodate her, and Jaye couldn’t shake the feeling that Raffles had ways and means beyond her imagining.
Sierra suggested they conduct the next trial at her house, since to the best of their knowledge Raffles had never been there. An unfamiliar house would be a better testing ground anyway, since Peggy’s house would presumably be unfamiliar to the not-a-cat as well. On Monday, in order to eliminate any possible distractions, Sierra dropped Frosty off at day care with the promise of a nice long hike that afternoon.
This time Jaye waited until Raffles returned from her usual morning rounds before scooping her up and putting her in the car. Hopefully, she wouldn’t feel the need to go running off as she had during the first trial. To cement the deal, Jaye brought along a can of tuna.
Sierra met them in her driveway. As soon as Jaye and Raffles exited the car, Jaye handed the tuna to Sierra, who opened it under the not-a-cat’s watchful eye and then took it with her into the house. Raffles seemed torn between wanting to follow Sierra and the tuna inside, and wanting to explore her new environment. She looked longingly at the front door through which she’d seen the tuna disappear, then scanned her surroundings, ears pricked forward in curiosity. Since Jaye hadn’t given her breakfast, the tuna won out. With nimble fingers, Raffles tried the front and back doors. When she found them locked, she checked each of the windows. Also all locked. Without a moment’s hesitation, she leapt onto the trellis at the side of the house and, using it like a ladder placed there for her convenience, scampered up to the roof.