Cat Me If You Can

by Miranda James

  The door had barely closed before Burdine spoke. “That’s the killer right there.”

  TWENTY-ONE

  “What makes you say that?” I asked, shocked by Burdine’s accusation. “What kind of evidence do you have that points to Zac’s being the murderer?”

  “I don’t need evidence. That’s for the police to dig up,” Burdine said hotly. “I know he’s the killer. Trust me, you’ll find out I’m right when the police have finished investigating.”

  “It’s a little strange to me,” Johnny Ray said, “you making this kind of accusation, Burdine, because whenever we discuss the plot of a Golden Age detective story, you’re always the one harping on how you have to look at the evidence before saying who the killer is.”

  “Yes, you do that, you certainly do, Burdine,” Celia said. “That’s right, Johnny Ray.”

  “So what if I do,” Burdine retorted. “This isn’t a plot out of Agatha Christie or Dorothy Sayers, is it? Get real. Of course he’s the killer.”

  “Because he’s a Yankee?” Miss Dickce said with a perfectly straight face. I recognized that twinkle in her eyes.

  “That’s part of it,” Burdine said in a grudging tone.

  “Well, I know the Yankees can be mighty dangerous sometimes,” Miss Dickce said. “But this particular Yankee has never struck me as being dangerous. Dangerously attractive maybe, but that’s about it.”

  Melba and Benjy erupted into laughter, and Burdine’s face reddened to the point that I feared she might be about to have an attack of some sort.

  “They’re right, Burdine,” Elmore said. “Stop being ridiculous. You don’t know Zac killed anyone any more than you know what the Pope has for breakfast.”

  Burdine didn’t respond to her husband. She got up and stormed out of the room, and I can’t say that I was sorry she left. I doubted anyone else was, either, even her husband.

  “I don’t know what’s got into her lately,” Elmore said—mostly to himself, I thought. “Maybe she’s going crazy.” He looked at Miss An’gel and Miss Dickce. “What do y’all think is wrong with her?”

  I could see that Miss Dickce had a ready answer, probably along the lines that Burdine had turned crazy as a Betsy Bug. Miss An’gel laid a hand on her sister’s knee, however, and Miss Dickce kept silent, though I suspected it was a struggle.

  “We are all feeling the stress of the situation,” Miss An’gel said. “I think Burdine is simply overwrought, and the stress pushed her to the edge. If I were you, Elmore, I’d go to her and see that she does something to relax. Perhaps a nice long soak in a hot tub. That always helps me.”

  Elmore stood, looking grateful. “I think you’re right, Miss An’gel. I’ll go find her, and I hope for her sake that cop don’t want to talk to her for a while yet. Leastways till I can get her calmed down again.” He left the room with a little wave to us.

  “I don’t know what to think about that,” Celia said the moment the door closed behind Elmore.

  “I think Miss An’gel is right about the stress getting to Burdine,” Melba said. “I know it’s getting to me. This is a new experience, being locked up in a hotel with a killer roaming the halls.”

  “We’re not exactly locked up,” Paul said. “That would be bad, but at least we can come and go, within reason.”

  “That’s the point, that ‘within reason,’” Melba said. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I don’t like anybody restricting my movements.” She held up a hand to ward off protests. “Yes, I understand why it’s necessary, but I don’t like it.”

  “I don’t think any of us likes it,” I said, my tone mild. I knew Melba in this mood. She was frightened, and she didn’t like to admit that to anyone. I couldn’t blame her for being frightened. I was frightened myself, not only for my personal safety, but for Helen Louise and Diesel as well. Not to mention Melba, the Ducotes, and Benjy, all dear friends.

  “I know that,” Melba said irritably. “Being told I can’t do something makes me want to do it in the worst way.”

  Paul regarded her with a knowing smile. “So that’s the key I’ve been missing. Good to know.”

  When the import of that remark finally hit Melba—the rest of us were grinning—she did something I hadn’t seen her do since I couldn’t remember when. She blushed. Then she flapped a hand at Paul and said, “I can’t believe you said that. You’re terrible.”

  Perhaps he was, from Melba’s point of view, but Paul’s witticism broke the mood of steadily rising fear and unease in the room. I noticed that even Ellie had smiled, albeit briefly. She did look better than she had a little while ago in our room. She had taken some trouble with her appearance. She had brushed her hair and applied some makeup. She was no longer pale as a snowball, for one thing, with a little healthy-looking color in her face.

  Miss An’gel rose and motioned for Miss Dickce and Benjy to come with her. “I don’t think we all have to sit in this room and wait to be summoned. The lieutenant or his sergeant can locate us when they want us. We can discuss our group activities later. I’m going to my room to relax and read a book. I hope you will all consider doing something to relax yourselves as well. Try to keep your stress levels down.” She smiled at us as she headed for the door. Miss Dickce and Benjy followed. Miss Dickce rolled her eyes at me before she left their table. I could just hear her say, “Sister, or Her Majesty as she likes to be called, has spoken, and I must obey.”

  I had actually heard her say that once before, in an undertone, of course, because it would never have done for Miss An’gel to have heard her. Especially since we had been sitting in a busy restaurant at the time. I had struggled not to guffaw and spew iced tea all over the table, because Miss Dickce had caught me with a mouthful at the time.

  “I’m going to spend some time with my wife and kids,” Johnny Ray said, “and tell Lou the good news.” He sped out after the Ducotes and Benjy.

  Celia was the next to head for the door, but when she opened it to exit the room, Sergeant Bloesch stood there. Startled, Celia stepped back.

  “Miss Bernardi,” the sergeant said. “The lieutenant would like to speak with you now.”

  Celia appeared far from pleased at this news, but she made no demur and followed the sergeant.

  “I’m going out into the garden,” Melba announced. “I need some fresh air and sunlight. Ellie, Helen Louise, would you care to go with me?”

  Paul Bowen had started to rise, but Melba’s words made it clear that she was not interested in male company for her interlude in the garden. Was she punishing Paul for his joke? Melba wasn’t generally spiteful. Maybe she simply wanted some time with her female friends.

  Helen Louise glanced my way, saw my why-not shrug, and rose to accompany Melba. Diesel started to follow Helen Louise, and after a brief hesitation, I handed over the leash to her. It would do the cat good to get some of that same fresh air and sunshine, I decided.

  Ellie elected to go with them, a bit to my surprise. She must have been coming out of the funk that she’d been in earlier, and I thought that was a good thing. I tried not to think about her having ulterior motives, if she were the killer.

  That left me alone with Paul Bowen. I debated whether to go up to the room to read. I knew Paul only through the group, and his reading interests tended to be rather different from mine. His favorite genre was thrillers, writers like Lee Child and Michael Connelly. The only thriller writer I had read with any consistency was Dick Francis, the master of them all, as far as I was concerned.

  Paul did like a couple of older writers, however, and one of them, to my surprise, was Josephine Tey. We had once had a spirited discussion about Tey’s The Daughter of Time. I thought it a fascinating book, but based on shaky history. Paul, however, was rabidly pro–Richard III and thought it exculpated him completely from the murder of his nephews in the Tower of London. I tried to get him to read The Murders of Richar
d III by Elizabeth Peters, but he flatly refused. We had to agree to disagree at the end of our discussion if we were to remain civil to each other.

  “Would you mind staying here a few minutes and talking to me?” Paul asked.

  “Sure,” I said. “What’s on your mind?”

  Paul came over and took the seat recently vacated by Helen Louise. He stared at the tablecloth for a moment before he raised his gaze to meet mine. “You’ve known Melba a long time, haven’t you?”

  “Yes, since about the third grade, I think.” I hoped he wasn’t going to share any intimate details about his relationship with Melba. I didn’t want to know those things, and they were certainly none of my business. I loved Melba like a sister, but there are some things you don’t want to know about a sister.

  “Were y’all in the same year in school?” he asked.

  “Yes, we were,” I replied, curious to find out what he wanted to know.

  “Do you mind telling me what year you graduated?”

  I almost laughed. He was trying to discover Melba’s age. She would threaten to kill me if she ever found out about this.

  “No, I don’t mind.” I named the year, and I could see him doing the calculations. He smiled.

  “I’d like to ask you a question, Paul,” I said.

  “I’ll be forty-seven in a couple of months,” he said promptly. “If that’s what you want to know.”

  “It is,” I replied. “Thank you.”

  “Not much of a difference,” Paul said. “She’s an amazing woman.”

  “She is that,” I said. There were other things I wanted to say to him, things a protective brother might have said, but I kept my mouth shut. Melba would have skinned me alive.

  “Actually, there is something else I’d like to ask you,” I said.

  “Sure, go ahead.” Paul leaned back in his chair, evidently more relaxed now that he had the answer to what might have been a burning question.

  “Denis Kilbride was one of your clients at the bank, wasn’t he? What did you think of him?”

  Paul’s eyes narrowed, and I thought he might not answer.

  “Yes, he was my client,” Paul said. “He was a good businessman. The bank didn’t lose any money with his projects.” He shrugged. “As for what I thought of him, he was a client. I didn’t socialize with him. He ran with a different crowd in town, people who were higher fliers than I’ll ever be. I’m not meant to be part of the country club set, if you know what I mean.”

  “I do,” I said. “I’m not, either. Did you think Kilbride was an honest man?”

  “How should I know?” Paul sounded irritable now, and I wondered if I had managed to strike a nerve. I didn’t think the question was all that personal. “As honest as the next wealthy businessman, I suppose.”

  That was a politician’s answer if ever I’d heard one. Either Paul knew something about Kilbride’s business dealings that didn’t redound to Kilbride’s credit, or there was something else. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to get Paul to tell me, though.

  “What about in his personal dealings?” I asked. “For example, with your coworker Ellie.”

  “Strictly none of my business.” Paul stood and pushed his chair back. “I think I’ll go upstairs and take a nap.” He walked out of the room, leaving me on my own.

  I had struck a nerve somewhere. The question was, why?

  TWENTY-TWO

  After thinking about Paul Bowen’s abrupt departure from our conversation, I wondered whether I was putting too much weight on his actions. We were all under the strain of a double homicide investigation now, and there was no reason he had to talk to me or answer my questions. I was way too nosy, I knew that, and perhaps Paul simply didn’t want to get entangled in a situation that was none of his doing, or of his business.

  I didn’t feel that I could ask Melba about Paul. I didn’t want to put her in that position or to make her think I was suspicious of him. At least, not at this time. I would have to ask Miss An’gel or Miss Dickce about him. I figured they would know something since they did business with his bank.

  As I glanced around me, I realized that I sat alone in the dining room. Helen Louise and Diesel were probably still in the garden with Melba and Ellie. I didn’t think Melba would welcome my presence, so I decided to go back to the suite.

  I glanced at the reception desk, surprised to find it unattended. I did hear voices coming from the office behind it, and I paused near the foot of the stairs to see if anyone came out. I thought I recognized Arthur’s as one of the voices, and he sounded testy. The other came across as more placatory in tone.

  My nosiness earned its reward. Arthur strode out of the office to take up position behind the desk, and Zac Ryan followed him. I couldn’t linger where I stood, because I was in clear view of the desk. They would spot me if they happened to glance in my direction. I hurried up the stairs to get out of sight, then slowed my pace. Still, I arrived a bit breathless at the top and paused to catch my breath.

  Arthur was a handsome young man, perhaps a couple of years older than Benjy. Had Zac set his sights on a more mature target? I wondered. I had no clue about Arthur’s sexuality, and I didn’t want to assume.

  Was that all it was, though? Zac making time with Arthur?

  Or was Zac questioning Arthur about the murders?

  I stopped in front of the door to our suite to think about the implications of this. Zac, in addition to his interest in Golden Age detective fiction, was also a huge fan of Jessica Fletcher and Murder, She Wrote. Maybe he fancied himself as an amateur sleuth. No reason he shouldn’t, I reckoned. If I could do it, so could he, or so I imagined he might have reasoned it.

  After I unlocked the door and stepped inside, however, another, more sinister thought struck me. If Zac was the killer, as Burdine had so boldly stated, was he questioning Arthur in order to find out what Arthur knew? If Arthur knew anything incriminating, would it mean that he would have to be killed as well?

  I leaned against the door after I shut it to consider what I should do about this, if anything. If Kanesha had been here and in charge of the case, I wouldn’t have hesitated—well, at least not too long—in telling her my concerns about the situation. I didn’t want anyone else to be murdered, but with Lieutenant Wesner in charge of the case, I didn’t feel all that comfortable sharing my crazy ideas. I should probably try to talk to Arthur and Zac, separately, to see if I could get anything out of them.

  Helen Louise’s voice called out, startling me. “Charlie, is that you?”

  Diesel trotted out of the bedroom and made a beeline for me. “Yes, love, it’s me.” I scratched the cat’s head for a moment before I walked into the bedroom to find Helen Louise.

  She sat, legs crossed in a near-lotus position, against the pillows and the headboard, a book in her lap. She smiled as I came forward into the room and bent to kiss her.

  “I thought you’d be in the garden with Melba and Ellie.” I sat on the bed near her.

  “That’s what I thought, too.” She smiled. “But it seemed pretty clear to me that Ellie really wanted to talk to Melba, but not to me, so I made an excuse about finishing this book and came upstairs with Diesel.”

  “How is the book?”

  “Excellent.” She laid it aside. “Only about twenty pages to go, and then it’s yours.”

  “Even better,” I said. “Did you get any idea what Ellie was so anxious to talk to Melba about?”

  Helen Louise shook her head. “No, she didn’t give any real indication. I’m sure, though, it had to be about Denis and his murder. What else could be worrying her so?”

  “If she murdered Denis and Cora both, she might be a little concerned,” I said in a vain attempt at humor.

  Helen Louise shot me a look. “Ellie could be the killer, of course. I’m not going to rule her out. But do you really think that if she killed tw
o people she’s going to confess it all to Melba in the hotel garden?”

  Diesel, who had jumped onto the bed with us when I sat on it, suddenly meowed.

  “Yes, I know it sounds goofy,” I said, looking at the cat.

  “But stranger things have happened,” Helen Louise said.

  I nodded.

  “Did anything interesting happen downstairs,” she said, “when I left the room with Diesel and the other women?”

  I shared my conversation with Paul Bowen with her, and she chuckled over his way of finding out Melba’s age. “Why are men so obsessed with women’s ages?” she said.

  “Why do women like to pretend they’re younger than they are?” I responded with a grin.

  “Did Paul have anything else to say?” Helen Louise replied.

  “Not really, but I did try to quiz him about his relationship with Denis Kilbride,” I said. “He acknowledged the business connection but said that it ended there. He said Denis ran with a wealthy crowd, people Paul indicated were above his touch socially and financially.”

  Helen Louise nodded. “I’ve seen Denis in the bistro with some of the highfliers in the past. I doubt a bank employee like Paul could afford their company.”

  “That makes sense,” I said. “Then he said he was tired and was going upstairs to take a nap.”

  “Are you trying to make some other connection between Denis and Paul?”

  I shrugged. “Not really, but I don’t know much about him. Melba hasn’t been too forthcoming about him. He does seem really interested in her. Don’t you agree?”

  “Yes, I do,” Helen Louise said. “I don’t know much about him myself, and Melba hasn’t talked to me about him either. I guess she’s gun-shy after that dentist she dated briefly. And she may feel funny because Paul is about six or seven years younger than she is.”

  “I hadn’t thought about that,” I said. “Does that really bother her?”

  Helen Louise considered the question for a moment before she responded. “I’m not really sure. I think it’s simply that she doesn’t want anyone to call her a cougar. It’s a horrible epithet.”