Shirley Murphy - Cat Playing Cupid

"But it isn't enough," Joe said.

"But if it's the same, if it can prove that Ryder wrote the letter-"

"Forgery, if that's what the letter turns out to be, isn't evidence of murder." He looked at her intently. There was a sample of Nina's handwriting in the cold file, but could that help identify hand printing? "I want to find the gun, Dulcie. I'm going back in. There are open boxes I can get through in a hurry, and then a whole stack of unopened ones." Dragging the dark package beneath the oak's overhanging limbs and out of sight, he said, "If I can open those boxes from underneath and crawl up into them, maybe they won't notice for a while."

She peered over the edge of the roof to the patio's open door. "I'll come, it'll be faster." And she crouched to leap down.

Joe stopped her with his teeth in her shoulder.

"Come on, Joe, before they get back."

"If you come, we won't have a lookout," Joe said reasonably. "If Kit were here instead of-"

"Well, she isn't," Dulcie said shortly. "Come on . We can listen for them." And as they leaped down to the balcony, she said, "How could that slob Gibbs be an accountant? That's a respectable profession, or supposed to be."

Joe padded to the rail again, scanning the village for any sign of the absent couple.

"Gibbs owned half the firm," Dulcie said, pausing by the open screen, "but he looks and talks like he just wandered in off skid row."

"Whatever Gibbs is, Chappell is up there in Oregon, apparently shot twice, and if we can find the gun…"

"If he has a gun, won't he be carrying it?"

"You don't think he'd carry the same gun, do you? If he gets caught with that one on him…If he has that gun, Dulcie, it'll be hidden somewhere."

Dulcie looked at his determined scowl, refrained from pointing out that the murder had been nearly ten years ago, that a lot of gun trading could occur in ten years, and slipped beside him into the condo, through the open screen.

I T TOOK ALLof Joe's and Dulcie's strength to tip over a box, at an angle against the dresser, slice the tape with rigid claws, and rip open the bottom of the carton. Tunneling up inside, they dug among layers of clothes and sheets and towels and through a tangle of dog-eared paperback novels. They found no gun. They had reached the top, nearly smothered, when they heard footsteps on the outside stairs, then Ray's enraged voice just outside the front door, Ryder's angry retort, and a key turn in the lock.

Backing out of the box fast and pushing it upright, they fled for the living room just as the couple entered. Like a shadow Dulcie slid under the couch. Joe leaped into the white upholstered chair and curled up, pretending to be asleep. Why were they back so early? The two had hardly had time for a drink, much less dinner.

Ray barged in ahead of Ryder and stomped through to the kitchen; they heard him open the refrigerator and pop a beer. Ryder stood in the living room, her fists clenched as if trying to collect her temper. Joe heard Ray open a cupboard and slam what sounded like a jar onto the counter, heard him unscrew the lid and soon smelled peanut butter.

When Ryder seemed calmer, she crossed the living room and stood in the kitchen doorway, watching him.

"That tears it!" Ray snapped at her. "Your sister snooping around. What the hell was she doing in there?"

"She was having a drink. What else would she be doing? Don't be so suspicious."

"Why would she drink with a cop? He's some kind of cop, I've seen him around the station. What's she up to? Why's she nosing around, hanging out with cops? What did she say about the letter?"

"I don't know what she said. I gave it to that Max Harper, the chief, and I left. How would I know what she said?"

Ray was silent; Joe could hear him scraping a spoon or a knife into the peanut butter jar.

"I still don't understand why you wanted me to write that letter," Ryder said, "when it lays the blame squarely on you."

"I was already a suspect. Even if I didn't kill him. Ten years ago, when he disappeared, they grilled me like I was Mafia or something. I told you, if the case is being looked at again, that letter'll throw them off. Can't you understand that? If that is Carson up there, and your sister had that letter all the time, then that throws the guilt on her. And why would you care? Better her than you."

"Why would they suspect me?"

Ray's laugh was sarcastic. "Think about it. If that body turns out to be Carson, and if the cops think that letter is for real, Lindsey will look guilty as hell. But if they find out it's a fake, you're the one in the hot seat. Either way, they'll quit suspecting me, I'll be off the hook."

There was a long silence.

Ray scraped more peanut butter, most likely eating it from the jar.

"You don't think that's Carson up there," Ryder said coldly. "You know it is! You said Carson took off for Europe with your wife, you said you had proof. You said if I wrote that letter it would take the heat off you and wouldn't hurt anyone. You said that couldn't be Carson because he was out of the country, but now you're saying…" The floor shook as she moved fast across the kitchen. There was the sound of a slap and scuffling and a jar fell to the floor, bouncing.

"They never flew to Europe," she screamed at him. "You've known all along he's up there. You killed him! You made me write that letter laying the blame on my sister!"

"What difference! You hate your sister. Hell, they don't even have an ID on that body. How would they get an ID?"

"That's what DNA is for."

"Those police labs are backed up for years. You think they're going to waste time on a ten-year-old corpse?"

Gibbs, Joe thought, would freak out when he learned Oregon had already ID'd Chappell. The tomcat smiled, wondering how many felons had been taken down by their own blind stupidity.

"They'll ID him," Ryder snapped, "one way or another, and now I've set Lindsey up. You said-"

"I just want her to quit snooping around. Stop her from messing around with those cops. Why's she running with that cop, following us tonight?"

"How could they follow us? They were already in there, their drinks were half finished. You killed Carson, and now you're worried about my sister snooping on you ?"

" You talk about snooping! You went through Nina's things after she left."

"I thought I might find something to show where she went, something a woman might notice that you wouldn't."

"That's a crock," Ray snapped. "By then, you were glad she was gone…But earlier, before she started seeing Carson, you and Nina got pretty close. What secrets did she tell you, Ryder? Did she tell you where she went when she used to go off by herself? I followed her once, up in them hills," he said. "She was looking for something. Poking around those old ruins. Did she tell you what she was looking for? She damn well never told me!"

"If she wouldn't tell you, why should I! It was personal, it was about her aunt, nothing to concern you!"

"Money? Was that it?" he scoffed. "What, her crazy old aunt left buried money?"

"It was a keepsake, something of sentimental-"

"Oh, right! Nina was real sentimental!"

"Leave it alone, Ray. It was nothing that concerns you."

"Everything concerns me!" The scuffling started again. A thud shook the floor, as if someone fell or was slammed hard against the wall. Joe and Dulcie left their cover, creeping closer to look, peering into the kitchen.

"Bastard!" Ryder shouted. " You followed him up there! You killed Carson!"

"I didn't kill him! How could I when he was in Europe? I just don't like cops nosing around." There was a long silence, then, "You were crazy with jealousy when Lindsey told you she and Carson were getting married. You wanted Carson, you were hot as hell for him. You followed him up there and-"