A Whisker of Truth

by Patricia Fry

  “On her way to the hospital.” Marsh added, “Under police guard.” He shook his head disgustedly, “What a batty broad.” He started to walk away, then turned back. “Mrs. Ivey said the Drummond gal did some talking.”

  “Good,” Martinez said. He glanced at the corpse. “Hey, let’s not subject the innocent to this. I’ll come out there and talk to them.”

  “Sure, Detective.”

  “You found a body?” Savannah asked when the detective approached minutes later.

  He nodded. “Looks that way.” He ran his hand over Rags’s fur as Savannah sat with the cat on a low wall in front of the building. “What a guy,” he said. He glanced into the sky. “Hey cat, I like the way your feathered friends roll, too.”

  Everyone chuckled.

  Martinez nodded toward Savannah. “You’d better call your friends, the Whitcombs. They’re worried about you.”

  “Yeah, I just did. Thanks.”

  The detective watched as Rags jumped up onto the wall and butted Savannah with his head. She petted him affectionately. “So you say Ms. Drummond talked?” he asked. “What did she tell you, exactly?”

  “Well,” she said, “when I overheard one of the officers say something about a body, I remembered a couple of things. We found a newspaper article from the sixties reporting on a trial for Alison’s grandfather. At that time, her mother told of a young relative, from another country, who was staying with them and mysteriously disappeared. It seems that her parents were hiding the fact that something had happened to the young man. Mrs. Drummond indicated at the trial that her father might have murdered him or maybe sent him away.” She put her hands up to her face and winced. “I just wonder if that’s him in there.”

  “Found another body,” an-out-of-breath officer reported moments later.

  “Oh, well, that could be Uncle Charlie,” Savannah said. “Did they ever find his body?”

  “Uncle Charlie?” Martinez questioned.

  “Yeah,” Savannah said. “Alison’s father killed him in self-defense, but Alison wanted her father to go away, so she told the authorities that she witnessed her father being the attacker. That was in the late nineties, if I’m remembering correctly.”

  “Why?” Martinez asked. “Did she say why she would do that?”

  “Her father had evidently chased off her twenty-four-year-old lover when she was only fourteen. She never forgave him.”

  The detective ran his hand through his hair and blew out a breath in utter frustration.

  But Savannah wasn’t finished. She said, “It could be that Walton, her teacher-slash-boyfriend, was also a victim.”

  The detective turned to Marsh when he started to walk away. “Hey wait. Better look deeper in there; we could be dealing with a whole cemetery of corpses.”

  “Yeah, we’ve opened up the stairs and we’re going up to the second floor now. Wanna come?”

  “Yes.” Martinez turned to Savannah and Rob. “You two go get some sleep. I’ll talk to you in the morning.” He shook his head upon seeing the coroner’s car approach. “Looks like I’m in for a long night.”

  ◆◆◆

  Savannah drove into the Whitcombs’ driveway minutes later and prepared to exit her car just as her phone chimed. She picked it up. “Hi, hon.”

  “Hi,” Michael said, “where are you? Why haven’t you been answering your phone?”

  She reached out and petted Rags. “Oh, we’ve just been busy. Lots going on here. I turned it off for a while. I’m fine. How are you and the kids?”

  “Great. We miss you. I even miss the old boy, there.” When she didn’t respond, he asked, “Savannah, is something wrong. It sounds like you’re crying.”

  “I guess I am,” she said, her voice pinched. “We’ve had a rough few days, but it’s all over now. A wicked woman’s in jail and Rags is safe. Oh, and he made a new friend. You’ll never guess what kind.”

  “Well, you told me about the little parrots you found.”

  “Yeah, it’s another friend from the bird world. An owl.”

  “An owl?” he repeated, sounding skeptical.

  “Yes. Michael, the owl saved Rags’s life. In fact, he was bringing Rags food when he was locked up in a pool house.”

  “He was locked up where?”

  “A pool house. A window was open slightly and the big old owl evidently brought part of his own dinner to Rags and it looks like Rags was able to pull it through the window.”

  “Good lord,” Michael said. “That’s just…”

  “I know, and tonight a woman with a gun…”

  “The wicked woman?”

  “Yes. Well, she was about to shoot Rags when the owl showed up and attacked her. You know I’m not one for violence, but Michael, that was one of the most beautiful sights I’ve ever witnessed.”

  “Where are you?” he asked quietly. “When are you coming home?”

  “Tomorrow,” she said. “I can’t wait. I miss you so much. I think I have to go to the police station and sign something, then I’ll be on my way—hopefully early.” Before he could respond, she bubbled, “Oh, Michael, Peter and Rochelle have a little boy. Michael?” she said when the phone seemed to go dead.

  “Yeah—a little boy what? Puppy?”

  “No, a ten-year-old boy named Simon. They’re going to be his foster parents and maybe even adopt him.”

  “Wow! Things sure happen fast in that city.”

  “Well, I’m ready to come home to dullsville.”

  “I’m not sure you can call it that.” He paused. “Certainly there’s not as much excitement as it sounds like you’ve had there, but we’ve had some excitement.”

  “What?” she asked. “What’s happened?”

  “I’ve been trying to get in touch with you to tell you.”

  “What?” she asked again. Just then another call came in. “Oh, Michael, the detective is calling me. I’d better take it. I’ll call you back. Hello Detective,” she responded.

  “Mrs. Ivey. I’m glad I caught you. Hey, listen, we’ve got a little problem here.”

  “What?” she asked, hesitantly.

  “Well, Ms. Drummond is claiming rather loudly I might add, that someone is…um…well, after your cat.”

  “What?” she screeched, glancing at Rags, who lay asleep next to her on the car seat.

  “She says she put a hit out on your cat. I just wanted to let you know that he—in fact, all of you could be in danger. Don’t let Rags out of your sight.”

  Savannah could feel her heart racing. She laid a protective hand on Rags.

  “We’re sending a patrol out to the Whitcombs’ home. Lock the doors and don’t let anyone in. You’ll recognize the officers—they’re Marsh and Levens, the two who were with me when we went into the building this evening. Stay inside. Don’t let the cat out. I’ll be there as soon as I finish up some business here.”

  Savannah looked around the yard. “Okay. I’m still in my car. I’ll go in right now.” Before she could end the call, she whispered, “Oh no.”

  “Mrs. Ivey?” the detective said.

  She scrunched down in the car seat and whispered into the phone, “Someone’s here. I see a light—a flashlight shining from the end of the driveway.”

  “Stay out of sight. I’ll get someone out there right away.”

  “Hurry,” she hissed.

  “Stay on the line,” he instructed. “Cover your phone screen so they can’t see the glow and get down. They probably won’t think to look in your car. Is it dark around the house?”

  “Yes,” she whispered, “but they have those sensor lights on the house.”

  “Okay, just stay down. Someone’s on the way.”

  It seemed like an eternity before Savannah was able to take her next breath. She heard rustling outside the car. Rags did too, and he attempted to break free of her grip. She held tightly to his harness, much to his chagrin, but he struggled. She put her face against his fur and made a quiet shushing sound.

  Just the
n, someone knocked on the driver’s-side window. “Hey, Savannah. What’re you guys doing?”

  “Who’s that?” the detective asked her.

  “Simon!” Savannah said, surprised. Into the phone, she said, “It’s Simon. I’m going to make a run for it with the boy and the cat.”

  “Be careful,” the detective warned.

  She pocketed her phone, then picked up Rags and opened the car door. “Simon,” she said, breathlessly, taking hold of one of his arms, “we have to get into the house. Quickly, now.”

  “Why?” he asked, balking.

  “Do as I say, Simon,” she scolded, running with the cat in her arms and Simon in tow. Once they were inside, she closed the door and double-locked it.

  “What’s going on?” Peter asked, joining them in the living room. He grinned at Simon. “So she found you did she?”

  “I didn’t even hide yet,” Simon complained. “She just made me come inside. I wanted to find a really good hiding place outside—maybe up a tree. Can I go hide now?”

  “No!” Savannah shouted.

  “What’s wrong?” Rochelle asked, entering the living room. She walked up to Savannah. “What has happened?” she asked gently. When Simon started to unlock the door again, she said, “Wait, Simon. Let’s see what’s going on. I think there’s something wrong. What is it, Savannah?”

  They all waited for her to respond.

  “That witch has put a hit out on Rags—to kill him.” She scowled. “That poor excuse for a human being is so evil,” she spat.

  “What?” Peter exclaimed.

  “Someone wants to hurt Rags?” Simon asked.

  Rochelle put her arm around Savannah and led her to the sofa, where she urged her to sit down. Rochelle sat next to her. “What has happened?”

  Before Savannah could speak, there was a rap at the door. Savannah shrank back and Peter studied her, then looked at the door. He motioned for Simon to move back out of the way, then he called out, “Who’s there?”

  “Police,” came the response.

  Before Peter could open the door, Savannah insisted, “Ask his name.”

  “What’s your name?” Peter asked.

  “Marsh and Levens.”

  When Savannah nodded, Peter opened the door. “What’s this about, officers?”

  Marsh glanced around outside and said, “Can we come in?” He looked at Savannah. “Are you aware you left your car door open? Your purse is on the seat in there.”

  “Oh,” Savannah said. “I was in such a rush to get the boy back inside safely…”

  “I’ll get it,” Levens offered.

  “Someone saw the shooter,” Marsh said, approaching Savannah.

  At the same time, Simon sat down next to Savannah and began petting Rags. “There was someone going to shoot us?” he asked her. “You were trying to save me?”

  Savannah nodded.

  “He’s evidently after the cat,” Marsh said. “A neighbor saw him jump the fence. He’s pretty sure he saw him carrying a gun or maybe a metal rod—something silver and shiny.”

  Savannah gulped.

  Marsh looked at the boy. “So what were you doing outside, Simon? In fact, what are you doing here? You know these folks?”

  “I live here now,” he said proudly. “We were playing hide-and-seek and I was going to hide in a tree. I’m a really good tree-climber.”

  “I’ll just bet you are.” Marsh looked at Peter and Rochelle, then said, “Well, good for you, Simon. I’m happy for you. Now mind your ps and qs and I’m sure you’ll have a good life.”

  “Ps and qs?” he asked.

  “Behave yourself. Do as you’re told. These folks know a whole lot more about life and living than you do. That’s all. Pay attention and do the right thing all the time.”

  “Yes sir,” Simon said, continuing to pet Rags. He addressed Savannah. “Can I take that off him now?”

  “Sure, yeah, I guess so. He might be thirsty or hungry.”

  “Again?” Simon asked.

  “He’s a hard-working cat,” Savannah said. She smiled as Simon left the room with Rags trotting behind. “So you didn’t catch that creep?” she asked.

  Marsh shook his head.

  By then Levens had returned with Savannah’s purse and he handed it to her. “Locked your car and looked around a bit. Seems all quiet now. But we’ll stay here tonight and make sure it remains that way, if that’s okay with you folks.”

  Everyone nodded.

  Peter asked, “So what’s the deal?”

  “I guess the Drummond woman hired someone to rub out the cat. This creep may not know she’s been apprehended and that there’s no reason to harm the cat now. He’s already revealed everything to us.”

  “Yeah, but how long can you hold her?” Savannah asked. “She can get bail, can’t she?”

  Marsh shook his head. “Maybe Martinez didn’t tell you, but it looks like she’s responsible for at least one of those murders. We found a note in the pocket of one victim. It points a strong finger at Ms. Drummond as the murderer. We’ll have to check DNA and maybe handwriting and all to be sure.”

  “So she knew about that stash of bodies?” Savannah asked. “She must have known all along where the money was, then.”

  “Not necessarily,” Marsh said. “She might have hired someone—probably someone close to her father—to hide the body. She might not have known where they put it.”

  Shocked, Rochelle asked. “Who did she supposedly kill, anyway?”

  Marsh hesitated, then said, “Hey, it’ll come out in the papers, and you’re obviously trusted by our Detective Martinez. Are you or were you familiar with someone named Celeste? I think it’s Celeste Spicer.”

  Rochelle’s hand went up to her mouth. “Celeste?” she said weakly. “Oh, my gosh, Celeste? I thought she…” She took a couple of deep breaths and repeated, “Oh, my gosh.”

  Peter moved closer and put his arm around her. “What is it, honey?”

  “She killed Celeste?” Rochelle asked.

  “It looks that way,” the officer said. “You knew her? Who was she?”

  “A sorority sister. A sweet girl. Oh, my gosh, I thought she went away to an art school in Paris. That was her dream.” She thought for a moment. “She left college to room with someone—who was that? My memory’s fuzzy. Wait!” she shouted. “It was Alison. Celeste planned to room with Alison here in the city while she attended an art school, and Alison—I don’t remember what she was going to be doing. I never heard from Celeste again.” She looked at the officer. “What happened, do you know?”

  He shook his head. “Just that she had this note saying, ‘If you find me dead, it was Alison. She has threatened me repeatedly and the cops won’t believe me. God rest my soul.’”

  Rochelle broke down, and Peter held her.

  “What’s that?” Savannah asked, looking toward the front windows. “I hear someone out there.”

  “Did you ditch the cruiser?” Marsh asked.

  Levens put his hand on his weapon and nodded. He turned off a lamp and crept toward the front window.

  “Where’s Simon?” Rochelle hissed.

  “I’ll get him,” Peter said, walking toward the kitchen.

  “The back door,” Rochelle said frantically. “I went out to dump garbage. I don’t think I locked it.”

  Wide-eyed, Marsh shut down the lights and crept in the direction Rochelle indicated.

  “No!” Peter shouted. “No!”

  Next they heard what sounded like a gunshot. Someone screamed.

  Rochelle started to head toward the service porch, but Savannah stopped her. She held tightly to her friend and moved with her into the shadows. “What’s that?” she whispered upon hearing a strange screech.

  “I think it’s Clayton,” Rochelle said, her voice trembling. “They’d better not be…”

  Suddenly, Officer Marsh ran into the room and asked, “Are you ladies all right?”

  Still huddled together, they nodded.

&
nbsp; “Simon?” Rochelle said. “Peter?”

  The officer winced. When he saw the look of terror on her face, he said, “The boy’s fine, thanks to your courageous husband and…” he shook his head.

  Just then Simon ran into the room. “You should have seen Clayton!” he shouted. “I let Clayton out to play with Rags and he became a hero!”