by Sofie Ryan
“It does not involve you cooking,” Mac said with a smile. “We can go down to The Black Bear for dinner or we can stay in and I’ll make burgers and my famous sweet potato fries.”
“Stay in,” I immediately said. I loved fries of any kind almost as much as I loved coffee and chocolate. “You can cook in my kitchen if you like. It’s bigger.”
He smiled. “Sounds good.”
Before I left I gave him my spare key. “We shouldn’t be too long, but it is Rose and Mr. P. so I’m not making any promises.”
When I got to the show, I found Elvis smelled like sardines. There was no sign of Debra and Socrates. Mr. P. was on his cell phone. “I take it we have reason to celebrate,” I said to Rose.
Rose smiled. “Yes, we do. Both our boys are sitting very comfortably in second place waiting to make their runs at the top spot. The judge called Elvis roguishly handsome.”
“The judge is right,” I said.
The rogue in question licked his whiskers.
“Do I have a minute to go talk to Junie?” Rose asked. “She’s up on everything that’s going on and there are a couple of things I want to ask her about.”
“Go ahead,” I said.
Rose handed the cat over to me and brushed a bit of cat hair from her sleeve. “I won’t be long,” she said.
“I’m proud of you,” I told Elvis. He nuzzled my chin, which might have meant Thank you, and might have meant Are there any more sardines? “Mac is making our supper,” I added. He looked pretty pleased to me.
Mr. P. ended his call. “Hello, Sarah,” he said. “How was your afternoon?”
I smiled. “It was good.” I told him about the longtime friends on their way to the wedding that had been a very long time in the making.
“You’re never too old to find true love,” he said with a smile of his own.
I thought about him and Rose, about Gram and John. About Mac and I.
“I like that thought,” I said. Elvis head butted my hand and I scratched under his chin, which started him purring. “There are a couple of things I need to talk to you about.”
“I need to talk to you as well.” He looked at something over my shoulder. I turned just as Memphis joined us carrying an iPad.
He smiled. “Hey, Sarah.”
“Hi, Memphis,” I said.
“Since Memphis is here, do you mind if I go first?” Mr. P. asked.
“Merow,” Elvis answered.
I smiled at Mr. P. “No, we don’t.”
He nodded at Memphis, who swiped at the screen of his iPad a couple of times and then turned it so I could see. “This is security footage from early this morning,” he said.
The images were black-and-white but sharp and clear. I had no trouble recognizing Jeffery Walker as the person trying to get into the building.
“So you think Jeffery is responsible for the mice Cleveland found at the pet expo?” I asked.
“Man is carrying a shopping bag that has something in it,” Memphis pointed out.
“Does he actually get in?”
Mr. P. shook his head. “Not via this door. But there are two others and we’ve been having problems with the camera at one of them.”
“Before we go any further I need to share something,” I said. I told them what Avery had told me, how she’d seen Jeffery snag a bag of chips from a table.
Some of the color drained from Mr. P.’s face. Memphis looked at him, one eyebrow arching up.
“She wouldn’t make something like this up. I admit I have a hard time coming up with a reason that Jeffery would have wanted to start a fire at Christine’s apartment, but they did have an argument and there are a lot more money and endorsements up for grabs this year, as I understand things. I know Christine believed Jeffery was cheating.”
“We need to talk to the man,” Mr. P. said.
“Fine, but not without me,” Memphis countered.
Mr. P. nodded. “All right.”
“Where is Nikita’s staging area?” I asked.
He pointed to the end of the middle row on the other side of the aisle. “Over there.”
“Let’s do it,” Memphis said.
Tim showed up just as we were leaving.
“Debra will be right back,” Mr. P. said.
“Okay, thanks,” Tim said. “I’ll wait.” He looked at me. “I got some good photos of Elvis today. If you’re around tomorrow and you have time, you can take a look at them.” He gave me a tentative smile. “There’s a great one of him with his head to one side and a paw in the air like he’s about to high-five the judge.”
“I’d like to see them,” I said. He seemed less standoffish than he had before. I wondered if that was because of Christine’s death. They’d known each other a long time.
He nodded, leaning against the table next to Socrates’s empty tent. “I’ll be around all weekend. Just let me know when you have some time.”
“Is it all right if I bring Elvis?” I asked Mr. P. I didn’t want to wait for Rose and miss the conversation with Jeffery.
“It’s fine with me,” the old man said.
He glanced at Memphis, who shrugged a shoulder. “Hey, it’s all right with me. It’s not like there’s not cats all over this building.”
We started in the direction Mr. P. had indicated.
“Rose said Socrates is in second place,” I said. “Who has first place at the moment?” Elvis was hanging over the side of my arm, looking at every staging area we passed.
“Nikita,” Mr. P. said. “Debra thinks Socrates misses Christine. He was lacking a bit of his usual spark today.” He hiked his pants up a little higher. Not that they needed it.
“That can happen,” Memphis said. “Cats can be very attuned to the emotions around them.”
“Are you a cat person?” I asked.
He smiled. “Damn straight. I have four. I’m thinking about entering them in the show next year.” He nudged Mr. P. with an elbow. “What do you say, Alfred? I’d need a second pair of hands.”
“I’d be honored,” Mr. P. said. “Assuming Sarah and Elvis don’t need me.”
“We’ll let you know,” I said. “I have a question, though: Do you know what a moogy is?”
“It’s a cat that’s considered to be ordinary,” Memphis said. “Why are you asking?”
I thought about Kimber. Elvis was far from ordinary. “I just heard the term and wondered what it meant.”
“It’s really just a word some people use to distinguish between regular cats and ones whose bloodlines can be traced back for generations,” Memphis said. He glanced at Mr. P. again. “Alfred, I think I should take the lead here.”
Mr. P. nodded. “All right.”
We found Jeffery getting Nikita settled in a large black carrier bag. “Hello,” he said with a smile that included Elvis. “Is there something I can help you with?”
Mr. P. introduced Memphis as his friend and part of the security team for the cat show and the pet expo.
Memphis was wearing a lanyard with his ID badge tucked inside the chest pocket of the long-sleeved, body-hugging black T-shirt he was wearing. He pulled the badge out and showed it to Jeffery, who looked a little puzzled. “Mr. Walker, I’d like to show you some security footage from this morning,” he said.
“All right,” Jeffery said. If he had any idea what he was about to see, it didn’t show.
Memphis tapped the screen of the iPad a couple of times and swiped a couple more. Then he turned the tablet around so the other man could watch the video.
Jeffery was very smooth. “That’s me,” he said.
Memphis nodded. “Yes, sir. I’m aware of that.”
“You’re probably wondering what I was doing.”
“It looked to me that what you’re doing is trying to break into the building,” Memphis said. He wa
s just as cool.
Jeffery nodded. “I can see why you think that. What actually happened is that I left my wallet behind at one of the vendors last night and I was just trying to see if there was anyone left inside who could let me in so I could get it.”
Memphis studied him for a long moment without speaking. It was long enough that anyone else would have spoken just to break the silence. “At quarter to five in the morning,” Memphis said. “If you’re going to lie, sir, come up with a better one than that.”
Elvis leaned sideways and nudged Jeffery’s arm. He began to absently stroke the cat’s fur.
“What were you really doing?” Mr. P. asked.
“I don’t see that it’s really any of your business,” Jeffery said.
Memphis shrugged. “I have no problem calling the police to handle this. It will be one less thing on my plate.”
When Jeffery didn’t respond, Memphis gave him a polite smile. “Thank you for your time,” he said. He turned to walk away. I’d seen Liz use the same trick. It worked just as well for Memphis and without the benefit of high heels.
“Wait,” Jeffery said. His composure was slipping a little.
Memphis turned around and looked expectantly at the other man.
“Fine. I was trying to get into the building. But I wasn’t trying to do any damage. I just needed to get some things I’d left behind. That’s all.”
That lie wasn’t any better than the previous one he’d told.
“What was in the shopping bag?” Memphis asked.
“Nothing important.”
His skill at not telling the truth was rapidly going downhill.
“Where did you get the mice?” Mr. P. asked in the same tone of voice he might have used to ask where the man had bought his shoes.
Jeffery looked genuinely surprised. “Mice?” he said. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I’m talking about the two that you put in a booth at the expo.”
Jeffery shook his head, a frown carving lines into his forehead. “I didn’t put any rodents in a booth. Where would I even get one? And why would I do something like that?”
He was still petting Elvis without really paying any attention. And Elvis was still happily settled in my arms.
I looked over at Mr. P., who had noticed the same thing. Jeffery was telling the truth. As strange as it seemed, the cat had an uncanny knack for figuring out when a person was lying. When someone was stroking his fur, if they weren’t being completely honest about whatever they happened to be talking about, Elvis somehow knew, that knowledge evident in the disdainful expression on his furry face.
Jess’s theory was that Elvis was the feline version of a polygraph machine. Somehow he was responding to changes in a person’s heartbeat, breathing and perspiration. Mac had pointed out that since part of a dog’s brain was devoted to deciphering emotions in human’s voices, why couldn’t Elvis differentiate between lies and the truth? Both explanations made sense to me. The problem was that the feline lie detector acted as one only when it suited him.
“What was in the bag, sir?” Memphis asked again. Even though he wasn’t as big a man as Cleveland, he could still be imposing.
Jeffery weighed his words for a moment. “Catnip spray,” he finally said.
He was telling the truth, at least as far as Elvis was concerned. “Nikita suffers from anxiety and it helps her. I wanted to spray it around the judging area before anyone else was around just to help her relax.”
“The use of catnip spray isn’t permitted at the show. At any of the shows,” Mr. P. said.
“People can use antianxiety medications,” Jeffery said, an edge of indignation in his tone. “Why not cats? It’s all-natural.”
“Where were you Tuesday night?” I asked.
“I was home in Portland,” he said.
“Where were you about eight thirty?”
“I was picking up more of the spray from the herbalist who makes it. Nikita uses her proprietary blend.” He suddenly seemed to realize why I was asking. “Wait a minute,” he said. “You can’t think that I had anything to do with Christine Eldridge’s death?”
He’d stopped stroking the cat’s fur and Elvis was moving restlessly in my arms. I shifted him to my other shoulder. “You two argued.”
Jeffery’s dark eyes flashed. “Yes, we argued. It was meaningless. Christine threatened to tell the Hartmans about the catnip spray, but I wasn’t worried.”
“Why?” Mr. P. asked. Memphis seemed intrigued by the conversation, content for the moment to just stand and listen.
“Because I’m reasonably certain they know and they don’t care. The rivalry among Nikita, Socrates and Basil is bringing in more people to the shows, which means more money for them.” His expression changed, softened a little. “I would never have hurt Christine. Most of the people who take part in these shows have known each other for years and it’s not always easy to make friends, but Christine was kind to me. Winning is what matters to me, but not at the cost of someone’s life.”
Elvis leaned forward once more, vying for Jeffery’s attention, and once again Jeffery smiled at the cat and reached over to scratch behind his ear. Elvis made a little exhalation of happiness.
There was one more thing I had to ask. “Do you like potato chips?”
He frowned at me and then suddenly he sighed and shook his head, closing his eyes for a brief moment. “This show is just one giant hive of gossip,” he said. “I mentioned one time in front of two people—just two—that I had to give up potato chips because of my high blood pressure and it was a bit of a challenge and now everyone is the food police. Yes, I swiped three chips from a bag Debra had today—awful ketchup flavor, by the way—and I will bring her a new bag tomorrow.”
“Ever picked up a discarded bag? Say, off a table or the top of a trash can.”
Color flooded Jeffery’s face. “Do I have to share every stupid thing I’ve ever done?”
I’d gone too far. I shook my head. “I’m sorry,” I said. “You don’t.”
My instincts said he was telling the truth and Elvis had confirmed it.
Memphis held out his hand. “Thank you, Mr. Walker,” he said. “As far as I’m concerned, this is settled.”
Jeffery nodded. “Thank you.”
“Good luck tomorrow,” I said.
“You as well.” I think he was talking more to Elvis than to me.
We headed back to our staging area. “I believe him,” Mr. P. said. “About the catnip spray, about the fire, about everything.”
“So do I,” Memphis said. “I’ll check his alibi, but I’m confident I won’t find anything.”
“Do you think the catnip spray really does give Nikita any kind of advantage?” I asked.
“Cat already looked pretty mellow to me,” Memphis said.
“I can’t believe how competitive the man is.”
Memphis smiled. He tipped his head in Elvis’s direction. “Right. And you don’t want the King of Rock and Roll here to take the top spot tomorrow?”
“Not enough to cheat,” I said.
“Good for you,” he said. “But for a lot of people, the line that they won’t cross isn’t exactly carved in stone. After all, no one remembers the losers.”
Chapter 15
“I need to get over to the other building,” Memphis said to Mr. P. when we reached the center aisle between the rows of tables. “I’ll call you later.” He reached over and gave Elvis a scratch under his chin. “Good to see you, Sarah,” he said to me.
Once Memphis was gone Mr. P. looked at me. “You saw Elvis,” he said.
I nodded. “I did.”
“There doesn’t seem to be any doubt Jeffery was telling the truth.”
“For what it’s worth, I would have believed him without confirmation from Elvis,” I said.
“It all makes sense and you or Memphis can check his alibi. It would have been stupid to give you a story you could easily show was a lie.”
Mr. P. adjusted his glasses. “I will check to make sure none of what he told us was a fabrication. But like you, I don’t think he had anything to do with the sabotage or with Christine’s death.”
“I’m sorry I hijacked the conversation,” I said. Something had caught Elvis’s attention again and he was hanging halfway over my arm. “I don’t know what came over me. I needed to know if Jeffery had set that fire. I needed to see what his reaction was.”
“There’s no need to apologize,” Mr. P. said. “I understand how you feel. And the good news is we can move on to other suspects.”
As we approached our staging space I could see that Debra and Socrates had returned. Tim had stayed to wait for them and he and Debra were arguing. Tim was talking, hands waving through the air. Debra’s arms were crossed over her chest, shoulders hunched. I couldn’t make out what they were saying, but I could hear how anger was sharpening both of their voices. They stopped talking when they caught sight of us. Color flooded Debra’s face and Tim looked away, his mouth pulled into a thin, tight line. I noticed that Socrates had moved to the back of his cage, his copper eyes firmly fixed on Debra.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “Tim and I were having a disagreement and I got a little loud.”
“It’s all right,” I said. “We didn’t mean to intrude.”
Tim turned to face us. “You’re not intruding. I was pushing. It’s my fault.” His gaze shifted to Debra. “I’m sorry. I’m just worried about you.”
“I know you are,” she said, her body rigid. She took a breath, let it out slowly and then looked at Mr. P. and me. “Tim has been trying to convince me to come to Portland and stay for a while. I was planning on making a life in North Harbor and that’s what I want to do.”
“I get that,” Tim said. “But you don’t have anywhere to live and you can’t stay in Rose’s apartment forever. I have a house. It just makes more sense to stay with me until you’ve figured out all the logistics.”