The EMTs ran with the body on the stretcher. And Cate knew it was a body, not a living man, as they passed by her. Twisted arm, oddly bent leg … and the grisly sight of the broken antler from that old metal statue sticking out the side of his head. The officer following was carrying something else he’d found in the pile. The gun.
Scott had planned the stairs as his escape route after setting the bedroom fire. But his weight, or perhaps the force of his dash down the stairs, had brought them down.
He’d used the word ironic earlier. Cate still didn’t know what he’d meant then, but she saw the irony here. Scott had used the stairway to kill Amelia. Now the stairway had killed him.
Cate and Willow went back to the front of the house. “Let’s get an EMT to look at your arm.”
“I just want to get out of here.”
“We’ll go to my house. You can stay there tonight. We’ll go to the police again tomorrow morning. You have to tell them about Coop too.”
But they couldn’t leave in the car, Cate realized when she reached the street. Fire trucks and police vehicles with lights flashing still surrounded the car.
“We’ll have to wait—”
Willow wasn’t waiting. She broke away from Cate and ran for Coop’s bike. She fumbled with the footrest and threw a leg over the big machine. A moment later it roared to life, and Willow proved she did indeed know how to handle the bike as it wove through the vehicles. Coop’s helmet swung wildly from the handlebars.
Cate couldn’t see her and the bike once they were out on the street, but she heard the departing roar of its engine even over the roar of the flames behind her. The sound echoed with an odd finality.
Cate just stood there, dismay flooding through her. Where was Willow going, roaring off into the night? A suspicion washed through her. Coop.
And Cate? Déjà vu. Stranded again.
21
Cate looked at her watch. She couldn’t do this again. She just couldn’t.
But she took another look at her trapped car, felt the aching muscles in every part of her body, picked out a guy with a cell phone clipped to his belt, and asked if she could borrow the phone. He took one look at her bedraggled appearance and handed it over. She glanced at her watch again, groaned when she saw the time, but punched in the numbers.
A sleepy, “Hello?”
“Hi. It’s, uh, me. Cate. Do you suppose you could come get me again?”
Mitch let out a big sigh, but he asked for no explanation, just directions.
She was waiting halfway down the street when he stepped out of the SUV a few minutes later. He stared at what was left of the house for a moment, but then, looking for her, his gaze roamed vehicles and people. She stepped out of the lingering crowd. “I’m, uh, sorry to bother you again.”
“I wasn’t doing anything except sleeping. Did you have anything to do with this?” He jerked his head toward the house. Firefighters had tamed the blaze from a roaring inferno to occasional flares, but only the garage, a ragged section of the kitchen side of the house, and the fireplace and gaunt chimney remained standing.
“You mean, did I start it?”
“The thought occurred to me.”
“No, I did not start it. Someone tried to kill me. And Willow.”
He nodded as if that didn’t surprise him. “The same guy as before?”
“No, this was a different one.”
“What do you do, give out numbers so they can get in line?”
“I’m thinking about it.”
“Where’s Willow?”
“Good question.”
Cate and Mitch were heading back to the SUV when a car cautiously crept around the corner. A silver BMW. The driver started to drive on by them, then spotted Cate and stopped short.
Cheryl jumped out of the car. “Why are you here?” she demanded. “Where’s Scott?”
“You’d better talk to the police.”
She ran up to Cate and grabbed the neck opening of the sweatshirt with both hands. Her face twisted in panic. “Something’s happened to Scott! He was supposed to meet me after—” She broke off without saying after what. She shook Cate with hysterical strength. “What have you done to Scott?”
An interesting take on the situation, considering the circumstances. And no questions about Willow or the burning house.
Mitch stepped up and broke Cheryl’s grip. “Talk to the officers.”
Cheryl suddenly went from edge-of-hysterical to limp as she stared at what was left of the house. “I told him this was a bad idea. I told him, I told him!” Then she fisted her hands and glared at Cate. “So, what do you think of the house you stole from us now?”
“I didn’t steal your house,” Cate said, bewildered by the venom in Cheryl’s peculiar question. “Scott burned it down.”
“You don’t even know, do you?”
The same puzzling words Scott had used. Cate shook her head.
Mitch took Cheryl by the arm. “C’mon. I’ll take you to talk to an officer.”
Cheryl suddenly thought better of being here and resisted with tiger ferocity, but Mitch marched her up to an officer and left her.
The eastern horizon was paling by the time Mitch parked the SUV in front of Uncle Joe’s house. In astonishment, Cate spotted the big bike in the driveway. The front door flew open. “I heard you drive up—”
Rebecca stopped short when she saw that Cate wasn’t alone. Willow’s head appeared behind Rebecca.
“What are you doing here?” Cate demanded.
“You said I could stay here tonight. I was just going to leave on the bike … but then I didn’t.”
“Willow has been telling me what happened, but she didn’t mention Mitch,” Rebecca said.
“He came to rescue me.” Again.
Rather than demanding instant details, ever-practical Rebecca said, “Sounds to me as if Mitch deserves breakfast.” She stood back from the door. “But ssshh, so we won’t wake Joe.”
“He’s home?”
Rebecca rolled her eyes. “It was either bring him home or have him out there on the street thumbing for a ride.”
Cate headed for the bathroom attached to her room. Rebecca showed Mitch to the other bathroom. By the time she got back to the kitchen, both Mitch and Uncle Joe were sitting at the table getting ready to dig into the pancakes Willow was piling on their plates. Cate noted that Willow’s cut hand was already neatly bandaged.
“Joe decided he wanted breakfast at dawn,” Rebecca said by way of explanation for Uncle Joe’s presence.
“Which you sure can’t get at that place,” he grumbled.
Over breakfast, Cate and Willow told the full story of Kidnapping by Coop and Fire by Scott. Rebecca made occasional murmurs of dismay, but Uncle Joe just sat there listening.
“So you not only located Willow, you also solved the mystery of Amelia’s death.”
“Blundered into it,” Cate admitted.
Uncle Joe stabbed at a pancake. “And now you’ve broken my record.”
“Your record?”
“I’ve never had more than one attempt on my life in a single day.” Uncle Joe sounded undecided whether to chastise or commend her. “How do you feel about being a private investigator now?”
“The way things have been going, I’m not sure how long I’d survive.”
Uncle Joe nodded. “I’ll expect a complete report on the Amelia Robinson case for the files.”
“Yes, sir.”
Cate and Willow went to the police station and filled in details about Scott and the fire. Willow, though she looked uncomfortable doing it, told them about Coop, the dairy farmer’s fall, and her escape from him after Cate’s kidnapping. As soon as they got back to the house, Willow said she was leaving. Cate brought up arguments. The police might need to talk to her again. She had no clothes or other belongings. She had no title to the bike.
“I’ll manage,” Willow said stubbornly. “I’ve got my wallet and my driver’s license and a little money.”<
br />
Cate filled a sack with clothes from her own closet, and they stuffed it in a saddlebag on the bike. Rebecca loaned her some more money. Although Cate suspected she’d better consider it a gift.
Willow buckled Coop’s flashy helmet on her head. As she sat there astride the bike, she said, “Tell Beverly I’m really sorry about her ring.”
“Where had you hidden it?”
“In a little metal box in the medicine cabinet in my bathroom. I’ll call you when I get … somewhere.”
Yeah, sure you will. But all Cate said was, “I’ll look forward to hearing from you.”
“And maybe sometime, when you think of it, you could do the prayer thing for me?”
Cate nodded. She waved as Willow zoomed off, red hair flying out from under the helmet. God worked in mysterious ways. Maybe he was working on Willow.
Cate saw Mitch every day or two. They hiked along the river. They helped with a Feed the Hungry rally. They went to church services on Sunday. They barbecued ribs in the backyard. They drove by Amelia’s house once. It was surrounded by yellow crime scene tape and a lingering odor of watersoaked, burned debris. The police interviewed her twice more. She read more of Uncle Joe’s books on crime. Remembering her regret over things undone in her life, she and Mitch went to a Chinese restaurant that served squid. Not bad! She painted her toenails blue and surveyed the results. Like ten little unseeing eyes staring up from her feet.
Not everything undone in life needed to be done.
She wrote up a report on her investigation into Amelia Robinson’s death, with full information about Scott Calhoun’s method and motive for murder, for the files.
She could tie up most of the loose ends in the case. Newspaper reports said Cheryl was facing various serious charges. Other details came from Doris McClelland. Texie had returned to her home. The key, which was now buried in the ashes of a house that no longer existed, had belonged to Hannah. Krystal was suing someone over her investment loss, although Doris wasn’t sure who. Doris herself, although the news was not relevant to the case, had just found a lovely purple lace blouse at Goodwill. One loose end couldn’t be tied up. Radford Longstreet, when Cate inquired at the address Mitch had found for him, had moved out, no forwarding address. Had that engagement ring ever existed? She’d never know.
Uncle Joe read the report one evening. “Very thorough,” he commented. “Although I believe I did tell you not to get involved.”
“Yes, you did.” She waited, but Uncle Joe simply closed the file. He didn’t bring up the subject of further assignments.
With considerable reluctance, Uncle Joe finally admitted he needed more physical therapy than he could get at home, and returned to the rehabilitation center. Cate started job hunting again. She read local newspaper ads and made phone calls. She searched online and sent emails.
Then she received two phone calls. The first came before she was even out of bed one morning. She answered with a groggy hello.
“Hi, Cate, it’s me, Willow!”
“Well, it’s, uh, good to hear from you.” Cate blinked at the clock.
“Did I wake you up? I keep forgetting. There’s all that time difference between here and there!”
“Where’s ‘here’?”
“Grandma’s, of course. In Florida! Though I won’t be here long. I’ve got a job! I just wanted Rebecca to know I’ll be sending her the money I borrowed as soon as I get my first paycheck.”
“A job,” Cate repeated.
“It’s with these people who’re doing a research project in the Okefenokee Swamp! Three months at least. I met them when I went through Georgia on my way down here.”
“But don’t you have to … I don’t know … have a degree or something to be on a research team?”
“I’m going to be their cook! Don’t you just love that name? Okefenokee, Okefenokee,” Willow bubbled the string of syllables. Cate winced. Bubbles hurt her head so early in the morning.
“What about Coop?”
“Coop is a monument to all the mistakes in my life.” Willow had sobered now. No bubbles. “Mistakes I’ve learned enough not to repeat.”
“I’m doing the prayer thing for you,” Cate said.
“Keep up the good work! I’ll call you again. And give Octavia a big hug for me too, okay?”
The next call came that afternoon. Cate stiffened when she heard the name. Roger Ledbetter, Amelia’s lawyer. “You’re working for Cheryl now?” she asked warily.
“No. I’m not the kind of lawyer Mrs. Calhoun needs at the moment,” he said in that smooth lawyer way that warned her that even if Cheryl wasn’t his client, he wasn’t about to supply confidential information. “This call is about you and the cat. Octavia, I believe it is.”
Octavia was at that moment curled around Cate’s neck. Cate gave her fluffy tail a stroke. “Octavia is fine, thank you. Have you decided on a price for her?”
“The probating of Amelia’s will won’t be complete for some time yet, and recent events add new complications. But I thought I should talk to you now. As you know, I am executor of the will. And the will makes specific provisions for Octavia.”
He explained that Amelia’s will gave him the task of finding a caring, responsible owner for the cat. In doing this, he had considered what Cate had done in providing a home for Octavia when the cat’s welfare was threatened, and how she’d offered to purchase the cat. Plus there were the satisfactory results of an investigation into her character and personal life.
The word investigation clicked in Cate’s head. “You mean you sent that guy around asking the neighbors nosy questions about me?”
“I believe that was part of the private investigator’s procedure, yes,” the lawyer agreed without apology. “So I’ve concluded that you do meet Amelia’s qualifications for ownership of her beloved companion. I’ll issue a transfer of ownership to you.”
“I don’t have to post bond? Furnish fingerprints? Pass a written exam?” Okay, snide, she admitted. But this was the guy who had someone poking into her trash.
“The will didn’t make those stipulations.” He sounded as if he took her facetious questions seriously, although he did add, his tone still businesslike, “Although you might have to sing something from that Cats musical.”
“Okay. I’ll start practicing.”
Octavia now decided the back of Cate’s ear needed a good tongue washing. Ah, the joys of cat ownership.
“There is an additional provision in the will. It says that whoever qualifies for ownership of the cat also, in order to provide a suitable environment for her, acquires the house, along with—”
“The house? You’re saying the house comes with Octavia?”
“That’s what the will specifies, yes. Along with funds for home upkeep, cat food, et cetera.”
Now Cate understood Cheryl and Scott Calhoun’s desperation to get Octavia back. They apparently hadn’t known at first what the will said about Octavia. When they found out, they were frantic to get her back so they could also get ownership of the house. Which also explained Scott’s comment about the ironic situation with her, the house, and the cat. And why he was quite pleased to include her in his murderous plans for Willow and burning the house.
“There are some provisions, but nothing you’ll find onerous, I believe.” While Cate was still working on onerous, the lawyer added, “Of course, there is the complication with the house itself.”
“Toast.”
Small silence as he apparently digested the word. “Well, yes, an apt description. Toast. But there is adequate insurance, and we can work together on the rebuilding. Something that will be suitable for Octavia. And you, of course,” he added, as if her wants were a minor afterthought. “I’ll be in touch to discuss this.”
“A house,” Cate said to Octavia after the phone call ended. “You and me, we’ll have a house.”
Mrrow.
Cate went back to job hunting, but it was a halfhearted effort. Because she knew now what she wa
nted to do with her life. She went to Uncle Joe in the rehabilitation center. He’d just returned to his room from a physical therapy session, and he was not in a good mood.
“They give you a new hip, and then the first thing they do is try to wear it out,” he grumbled.
“Uncle Joe, I want to be a private investigator. Full-time. Permanently.”
Uncle Joe inspected her thoughtfully. “You can’t get a PI license until you have, I think the requirement now is 1,500 hours of investigative experience working under a licensed private investigator, and also meet various other requirements. Until then, you need an interim license.”
“I want to do that. Whatever it takes.”
“I was beginning to think you were never going to ask.”
She blinked. “You were waiting?”
“I figured it was a decision you had to make on your own.”
“What do I do now?”
“Look at the files in my desk drawer. We’ll talk about your next assignment.”
“But you’re retiring—”
He finally smiled. And gave her a wink. “That’s just what Rebecca thinks. Welcome aboard.”
Cate and Mitch drove to the burned house that evening. She’d told him about the lawyer’s call concerning the house and Octavia. She hadn’t yet told him about her conversation with Uncle Joe. The yellow crime scene tape was gone, but the scent of burned wood and soggy ashes remained. The chimney stood like a lonely sentinel in the midst of the destruction. Would a proper feng shui arrangement have avoided this? Cate doubted it. Not unless Scott Calhoun had stumbled over a properly placed chair and hit his head on the mantel before he set the house on fire.
This visit to the house had a purpose, although Cate had little hope of success. They clambered through the debris to where two walls of Willow’s bedroom remained. And yes … a corner of a warped medicine cabinet clung to one wall. It wouldn’t open, but Mitch yanked it free and smashed it with a stomp of foot. Inside, a metal box, misshapen with heat. Mitch had to stomp it too, to get it open.
Inside, the contents were unidentifiable crumbles. But within the crumbles … a ring! A wedding band, two rows of diamonds, four stones in each row. Still bravely glittering.
Dying to Read (The Cate Kinkaid Files Book #1): A Novel Page 27