by John Clement
She was right about the tea too. It was delicious, with something vaguely sweet, yet spicy. I’d never tasted anything like it, but I knew right away it was exactly what the doctor ordered. I made a mental note to ask her what that secret ingredient was. I practically downed the whole cup by the time I got to the couch.
As soon as I laid down, my eyelids felt as heavy as a couple of sandbags. I could hear Cora fussing around in the kitchen, quietly talking to herself, or maybe humming some indecipherable song, one I thought maybe I’d heard before, and then I heard something low and rumbling in the background. I couldn’t tell if it was coming from the kitchen, like an electric mixer or maybe (I hoped) a bread machine, but it didn’t matter.
Within seconds, I was out like a light.
25
I knew he was there before I even opened my eyes.
I was on my side, curled up in a fetal position half buried in the overstuffed pillows on the couch, and right away I sensed it. A presence in the room. Something foreign. When I lifted my head, one of Cora’s pillows toppled over the edge and landed on the floor. I reached out, feeling for it, and my hand touched what at first I thought was the leg of the coffee table.
I was wrong.
It was a man’s knee. He was sitting in one of Cora’s chintz armchairs next to the couch. Light was streaming in through the window behind him, so at first all I could make out was his trim, broad-shouldered silhouette. He was dressed in a dark suit and tie and had curly, unkempt hair. He had one long leg crossed over the other, his arms folded politely in his lap, and my first thought was that he must have been Cora’s suitor. What was his name? Reggie?
The man tipped his chin and said, “Gid mornin’, lass. Fancy a cuppa?”
That voice … I recognized it immediately. I squeezed my eyes shut and opened them again, but he was still there, watching me with a slightly bemused look in his eye.
It was Mr. Scotland.
“Have a nice kip, did we?”
I clenched my teeth. How could I have been so stupid? So naive? I’d gotten a weird feeling the moment I met him, and now here he was, sitting in Cora’s apartment like he owned the place, watching me as I slept. I sat up slowly, my mind racing a mile a minute. I knew I needed to stay calm.
I growled, “What have you done with Cora?”
A smug smile appeared on his lips. “Not to worry, Miss Hemingway. I just need to ask you a few questions, that’s all.”
I wanted to leap off the couch and tear him apart with my bare hands, but I knew I couldn’t. I needed to find out what was going on first, and I needed to know where Cora was.
I said, “I don’t know who you are, or why you’re here, but you need to tell me that Cora’s okay.”
Just then, there was a shuffling sound. I turned to find Cora making her way toward us, dressed in a pink frock with matching pink house shoes. She was holding a small silver tray with four steaming cups of coffee. My eyes grew as big as saucers, not only because Cora seemed to be completely oblivious to the fact that she’d allowed a crazed killer inside her home but also because tagging along right behind her, carrying her pink crutches over his shoulder, was Paco.
He said, “Hey, kiddo.”
Cora said, “Of course I’m okay, dear. What did you think?”
I tried to stand up, but immediately my head started spinning. I crouched over the sofa for a second or two and then lowered myself back down. When I finally spoke, the words came out haltingly, like I was spitting watermelon seeds.
“Somebody … tell me … what’s going on.”
Paco handed Cora her crutches and then joined me on the left side of the couch. I was staring at him, waiting for an answer, but then I felt movement on my right. I turned to find Ethan sitting down next to me, holding a little cream pitcher in one hand and a crystal sugar bowl in the other. He put them on the table and then gave me a slightly chagrined smile, squeezing my knee with both hands.
He said, “Yeah, you might wanna stay sitting for this.”
I leaned into him as he wrapped his arms around me. For a moment, I tried to block everyone else out. I pressed my cheek into his chest and shook my head. “Ethan, what the hell is happening?”
Mr. Scotland stirred a spoonful of sugar into his coffee cup. He said, “She’s a wee bit doilt, I think.”
“And what is he doing here?” I sat up and searched Ethan’s face for answers. “Or for that matter, what are you doing here?”
Paco said, “Dixie, you told Michael you’d meet him at the firehouse. He called me and Ethan when you didn’t show up. We were all worried where you’d gone, so Ethan just made an educated guess.” He glanced at Cora. “Turns out he was right.”
Cora said, “I’m sorry, Dixie, but you know very well once you get an idea in your head it’s damn near impossible to shake it.”
I said, “What idea in my head?”
Paco said, “It was just too dangerous to let you go running off into the night alone. Ethan had a feeling you might come here, so we gave Cora a call and asked her to try to keep you here.”
“By any means necessary,” Cora said with just a tinge of guilt in her voice. “Those were his exact words.”
“By any means…” I glanced at my empty teacup, which was still sitting on the coffee table from the night before. “No…”
“I slipped you a Mickey.” Cora turned to Mr. Scotland. “I believe that’s what you spy types call it?”
Mr. Scotland said, “Sure.”
I gasped, “You drugged me with your pain pills?”
“Well, Dixie, somebody needed to knock some sense into you.”
“Cora! You didn’t knock some sense into me—you knocked me out!”
She waved her hand in the air. “I know. And you can be angry if you want, but as soon as Paco told me what was going on, I knew I didn’t have a choice. You’d have done the same thing yourself, and you know it.”
I turned to Ethan. “Did you know she drugged me?”
A slight smile played across his lips. “No, not until I got here, but I have to say, I’m kind of…”
I waited. “Kind of…?”
“I’m kind of glad she did.”
Mr. Scotland said, “But it’s ower noo. We cot the bass.”
My eyes narrowed as I turned to Paco. “Who is this man, and what did he just say?”
Paco smiled. “This is Rupert Wolff. He’s a U.S. marshal. I believe he’s saying you’ve got nothing to worry about now. We caught the ‘gentleman’ who was after you. He was downstairs in your car.”
My eyes widened. “He was what?”
Ethan said, “It’s okay. He put up a fight, but they got him. He followed you here last night, and they found him hiding in your car. He was crouched down in the backseat, holding a…”
His voice faltered.
I turned to Paco. “What was he holding?”
Paco said, “A butcher knife in one hand, and a note in the other…”
“A note…”
He nodded. “It said, ‘Goodbye, Dixie.’”
I took a deep breath and tried to stay as calm as possible, but immediately I felt the blood drain from my cheeks. Ethan pulled me in a little closer.
Cora said, “Oh, sweetheart. Let me see if I can find something to make you feel better.”
“Forget it,” I said. “I’m not touching a thing you put in front of me ever again.”
She rolled her eyes as she headed for the kitchen. “Oh, please. Don’t be such a drama queen.”
I turned to Paco, “So, who is he? Why was he after me?”
Mr. Scotland set his cup down and leveled me with his piercing blue eyes. “He’s a hired killer. An assassin. And if you ask me, a might strong one for such an old codger.”
Paco said, “Dixie, he wasn’t really after you. Agent Wolff was sent here because…” He glanced up at Cora as she disappeared around the corner of the kitchen and then lowered his voice. “Elba Kramer’s husband was under federal protection. His name is
Albert Greco.”
My mouth dropped open. “You mean, as in, witness protection?”
Mr. Scotland nodded. “Ten years ago, Albert Greco was arrested in Baltimore for arms trafficking. He copped a deal for immunity and ratted out all his friends. As a result, a lot of very nasty people went to jail, people that wanted him dead. He’s been in hiding ever since, but a few weeks ago, we intercepted phone calls that suggested there was a plan under way to assassinate him. With help from Paco’s team at Special Investigations, we set up shop in the house across the street. We thought we still had time to relocate him, but things moved much faster than we expected.”
At some point while he was talking, I realized Mr. Scotland’s accent had completely faded away. I said, “But I don’t understand. What does any of this have to do with me? What about Sara Potts? And Edith Reed?”
Mr. Scotland’s eyes softened. “We have reason to believe that the deaths of those two women were, unfortunately, collateral in nature. The killer left those notes on their bodies to throw us off the trail. They wanted the whole thing to look like there was someone after you, murdering your friends and clients one by one, torturing you … When they fired through that front window, their intended target was Albert Greco, but they were hoping you’d be there too, meeting with Elba Kramer and her bird.”
I said, “But I wasn’t. I was in the pool house.”
“Yes, and in all likelihood, had Deputy Morgan not been there to complicate things, the gunman would have gone through the house looking for you. Afterward, he planned to place that last note on your body.”
I muttered, “Goodbye, Dixie.”
“That’s right. But of course as soon as Deputy Morgan opened fire, he couldn’t finish the job. He had to run. That’s why he followed you here last night. And that’s why he was hiding in your car with a knife.”
I shuddered. “But … how did they even know who I was?”
“We’re not sure, but we think perhaps Elba Kramer’s phone was tapped.”
I shook my head in disbelief. “And the guy in my car, where is he now?”
Paco said, “At the station. Detective Carthage is interrogating him as we speak. But the main thing is, no one’s after you. You’re safe.”
“So, basically, you guys saved my life.”
Paco tipped his chin at Cora, who was making her way back into the living room. “I believe you have Cora to thank for that.”
Cora was carrying a wooden cutting board in the middle of which was a freshly baked loaf of chocolate bread. She put it down on the coffee table in front of us, and immediately the room filled with the sweet aroma of everything that’s good in the world.
Her eyes sparkling, she said, “Who likes chocolate?”
26
When I was little, lots of my girlfriends fantasized about their wedding day. They’d drape long white sheets over their heads and two-step around their bedrooms, hugging a wilted bouquet of wildflowers to their budding chests and beaming at their imaginary husbands. I never really understood it. Sure, I saw myself married with a husband and kids, but I never put a whole lot of stock in the actual marriage ceremony, which is why, after I pulled into the parking lot of the Kitty Haven, I was somewhat surprised at myself. I wasn’t thinking about Albert Greco or Elba Kramer. I wasn’t thinking about Sara Potts or Edith Reed. And I wasn’t thinking about the hired assassin that had been waiting in my car with a butcher knife … I was thinking about Guidry’s wedding.
I’d left Cora’s apartment with the intention of going home for a shower and a change of clothes, but on the way there I’d gotten word the investigation crew was done with Caroline’s house, which meant I could finally take Franklin and Gigi home. I knew it would make me feel better to put at least one thing back to normal, but just as I was about to get out of the car, I glanced at the time. Guidry’s wedding was happening right that very minute.
I leaned back in the seat and closed my eyes, thinking I’d just sit there and rest for a bit, but almost immediately I saw him.
Guidry.
Waiting at the altar.
Surrounded by friends and family … beaming.
I could see him as clearly as if I was standing there myself. He was dressed in a sharp black tuxedo and bow tie, gazing at the doorway from which his soon-to-be wife would emerge, his steady eyes dark gray, edging toward blue. In my mind, I turned and gazed at the doorway too, practically holding my breath, waiting to see who was about to come through it—Monacle or Monochrome or whatever her name is.
In the front room of the Kitty Haven, Jaz was sitting on her knees in the middle of the carpet, waving two bamboo sticks in the air like a deranged traffic controller. Each stick had a string with a tuft of peacock feathers tied to the end, and there were about a dozen cats leaping after them like kernels of corn in a hot skillet. I’ve never heard anyone say it out loud, but a group of cats is called a clowder, which sounds more like something you’d eat with a spoon and some saltine crackers. In this case, though, the cats were making such a spectacle of themselves that it actually seemed appropriate. Meanwhile, Gigi was nestled in Jaz’s lap, watching the complicated cat choreography with rapt attention, as perfectly still as only a bunny can be.
I found Franklin in his kitty suite down the hall, watching a movie about mice running through a maze, and despite the fact that he didn’t seem particularly happy to see me, he purred in my arms all the way out to the Bronco. I think he was looking forward to getting back home where he belonged, and while Gigi didn’t say as much, I knew he felt the same way.
Driving to Caroline’s, I tried not to think about anything other than getting back to my regular routine. Thanks to Cora and her “secret ingredient,” I’d slept like a drunken baby, and that—combined with a cup of coffee and a slice or five of Cora’s mouth-watering chocolate bread—was starting to make me feel a little more energized.
Plus, I could acknowledge it now: I wasn’t afraid. For the first time in days, I wasn’t looking over my shoulder to see who was following me. I wasn’t calculating my every move, expecting a homicidal maniac to jump out from every corner. I felt like myself again.
Well … almost.
Something was still nagging at me, like a thorn lodged in the back of my brain, and, try as I might, I couldn’t shake it loose. For one, I kept thinking about Elba Kramer. I couldn’t imagine what she must have been going through. To have lost her husband, and in such a violent, horrible way. And to have discovered his body …
That poor woman, I thought to myself.
Elba seemed to enjoy her reputation for being wild and independent, but there was an unmistakable fragility about her, something unsteady at her core. I had a feeling she might be utterly lost without her husband to help keep her grounded.
Caroline’s house was completely back to normal, as if nothing had ever happened, but Elba’s house was a different story. There was an unmarked sedan parked in the front, with two deputy cruisers and a mobile forensics van, and the entire property was surrounded with police tape. On the front gate, gleaming like yellow butterflies in the sunlight, were half a dozen evidence markers flapping in the breeze.
I pulled into Caroline’s driveway and tried not to look at the house across the street where Mr. Scotland had set up camp. I think I was hoping I might be able to get inside without talking to anybody. I balanced Franklin and Gigi in their matching cat carriers, one in each hand, and kept my head down all the way to the house.
As soon as I unlocked the door, I remembered Charlie racing down the hallway with his leash trailing behind him. I’d forgotten to call a painter about having that door repaired, but I doubted Caroline would give a hoot about a few scratches when she found out everything else that had happened while she’d been away.
Franklin slinked out of his cage and wasted no time letting me know what he thought about being locked up in a box. Most cats have a vocabulary of at least a hundred different meows, each with its own particular intonation and meaning, but they ra
rely meow at each other. Instead, that finely tuned language is reserved almost exclusively for humans. He meowed at me all the way down the hall, making a beeline for Caroline’s bedroom without so much as a “Thanks for the lift!” or “Smell ya later!” I didn’t mind, though. I knew he’d feel better once he got back into his regular routine.
Gigi, on the other hand, was downright giddy. As soon as I plopped him down in his mansion-cage, he went hopping through every room, exploring every corner and dancing a binky on each level, occasionally doubling back to make sure I was watching. Once he was sure everything was in order, he skipped through his raceway and went out to inspect the lanai.
It was a glorious day. The sun was just reaching its peak, and the leaves of the lime trees surrounding the pool were trembling gently in the breeze off the ocean. I sat down next to the pool, and immediately Gigi climbed into my lap. By the hopeful look in his eye, I knew exactly what he was after.
I said, “Gigi, I’ve had a rough week. Do you really think I had time to think about your needs?”
He wiggled his whiskers and took one tiny hop forward.
I reached into my pocket. “Well, you’re right.”
I handed him a carrot stick, which he took with both paws and then settled into the crook of my elbow, nibbling away like a tiny cottontailed wood chipper.
“You’re welcome.”
Just then, the bushes along the side of the house separated, and for a split second my heart sped up by a factor of about a thousand. It was Detective Carthage. He stepped up to the screen door and flipped his bangs away from his eyes. “I imagine Ms. Greaver’s pets are happy to be home, huh?”
I mustered a smile as I put Gigi down and stood up. “Yeah, especially this little guy. He’s got much better digs here.”
Gigi hopped a couple of feet toward Detective Carthage but then changed his mind and headed for his raceway. There were a couple of awkward moments of silence as we watched him scamper off, but then Detective Carthage cleared his throat.