Ник Сайнт - Purrfectly Hidden. Purrfect Kill. Purrfect Boy Toy

“He can talk to Dan, and he can lean on him. Make your life difficult.”

“Why is this so important anyway? Who is this Laron person to the Mayor?”

“The Mayor is giving Charlie Dieber the keys to the city. He’s hoping it will attract a lot of attention. The kind of attention a town that caters to the tourist crowd wants. And poking around and trying to associate Charlie and his girlfriend, or indeed the Weskits, with Chickie Hay’s murder is bad for business. So he wants the investigation conducted quietly. Discreetly. And most of all he doesn’t want Charlie being interrogated by the police on the night he’s being awarded the keys to the city from the hands of the Mayor.”

“Fine,” said Odelia, rolling her eyes. “So all we have to do is wait until tomorrow and we’re in the clear?” She didn’t want to cause trouble for her uncle and Chase, or indeed Dan. And it wasn’t as if the Weskits or Charlie and Jamie would skip town all of a sudden. They were all famous figures and famous figures have a much harder time laying low.

“Oh, sure. Tomorrow we can interview them as much as we want. Just not tonight.”

“Okay, then. So where are we so far?” asked Chase, giving Odelia a wink.

“Not very far,” said the Chief. “We talked to everyone involved, except the foursome currently holed up at the Hampton Cove Star, and we’re not much the wiser for it.”

“We did make an arrest,” Chase reminded him. “We have young Olaf behind bars.”

“Pretty sure young Olaf is innocent,” grumbled Odelia’s uncle. “I spent two hours grilling the kid and nothing. My gut feeling is that he’s got nothing to do with this.”

“So let’s list them up,” said Odelia. “Tyson was being paid by Laron Weskit to spy on Chickie. Find out what record companies she was talking to.”

“But would he kill her over that?” asked Chase. “Not likely. Tyson is a security guy, taking money from Weskit, but he had no motive whatsoever to murder Chickie.”

“He did say she could be tough to work for.”

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean he was going to kill her,” the Chief pointed out.

“No, you’re right. It takes a lot more than being a demanding employer to make people want to wring your neck,” said Odelia. “So who else do we have?”

“I made a list of all the people on staff,” said Uncle Alec, tapping a piece of paper on his desk. “These are the people who were in the house at the time of the murder, and so all of them could theoretically have killed Chickie.”

“Long list?” asked Odelia.

“Too long,” Uncle Alec grumbled. “Cooks, maids, security, gardener, assistants… About a dozen people in all.”

“This is a nightmare. Plenty of suspects but nothing conclusive. And no witnesses.”

“As I said, though, not much of a motive,” said Chase. “These people might not have liked their employer, but there’s not a single one among them with a criminal record.”

“What about the family?”

“Only the mother and the sister were at the house this morning,” said Uncle Alec.

“Motive?”

“Not one that I can see,” said Chase. “Both mother and sister were dependent on Chickie’s success. With her gone, the goose that lays the golden eggs is also gone, and even though they probably stand to inherit a fortune, that money will run out.”

“Her death is likely to generate an enormous income stream, though,” said Odelia.

“In the short term, yes, but not in the long run. And why would Yuki kill her own daughter? Or Nickie kill her sister? I don’t see a motive, do you?”

Odelia shook her head. She didn’t see a motive there, either.

“Moving on, we have Jamie Borowiak. And we have Shannon Weskit.”

“Both have motive and Jamie definitely had opportunity. She was there that morning, and could have come back. And Shannon Weskit could have snuck in unseen.”

“Apparently anyone could have snuck in unseen,” Uncle Alec grumbled.

“What about the coroner’s report?” asked Odelia. “Anything that stands out?”

“Nothing,” said the Chief, sagging a little. “No fingerprints, no DNA—at least not so far. Almost as if our mystery killer is a ghost.” He sighed. “Where are the days when a killer would leave a nice footprint right outside the window? Or a set of fingerprints?”

“All the bad guys watch CSI nowadays,” said Chase.

Odelia and Chase got up as if on cue. “I need to start working on my article,” she said.

“Are your cats all right?” asked Chase.

“Oh, yes, they’re fine. A little shook up, but nothing a bowl of kibble won’t fix.”

“They didn’t find anything either, I assume?” asked Uncle Alec.

“Apart from that clue about Jamie and the fact that the bodyguard was in touch with Laron Weskit, nothing so far,” she admitted.

“Well, at least it’s more than what we found,” said Chase.

“Tell them to keep digging,” said Uncle Alec. “They’ve come through for us before, and I have a feeling we’re going to need every helping paw we can get.” He laughed at his own joke. “Get it? Lend a helping paw ?” When no laughter ensued, he shook his grizzled head. “Kids these days. No sense of humor.”

Chapter 18

Odelia had dropped us off at the house before racing off again, and frankly I was happy to be home. This sleuthing business can be fun, but today it had taken a lot out of me, and I couldn’t really be bothered to find out who had killed whom, to be honest.

The first thing I did was eat my fill, then I proceeded to this week’s favorite spot, and as I made myself comfortable on the windowsill, which offers a great view of what goes on out in the street, I heaved a contented sigh and finally started to feel like myself again.

Dooley had joined me—plenty of space on the sill—and was smiling benignly.

“Maybe our purpose in life is simply to nap, Max,” he said now.

“You know what, Dooley? I think you’re absolutely right. I mean, some individuals are born to be presidents and leaders of nations, while others, like us, are simply born to nap. And frankly I’m absolutely okay with that. It’s a fate I’m completely at peace with.”

“Me, too,” Dooley said, and my eyes were already starting to drift closed.

“Hey, you guys!” suddenly a shrill voice sounded from the floor. I made the effort to shift my gaze to that particular spot and saw that Harriet and Brutus were among us once more.

“Hey, Harriet,” I muttered. “What’s up?” Not that I was dying to know, but even though my purpose in life may be to raise the art of napping to new and greater heights, that still leaves me with a basic respect for the niceties of social interaction.

“Guess what? I’m making my big debut tonight! Yay me!”

“Debut?” I asked. “Debut as what?”

“As a singer and stage presence. I just found out Gran is performing at the Hampton Cove Star tonight, and when I told her about my great ambition to be a singer, she invited me to perform one song as part of her act. She’s been contracted to do two songs, and she’s graciously offering me part of her allotted time for my debut. Isn’t that just great?”

“Amazing,” I said, not the least bit interested. “Wonderful. Fantastic. Knock ‘em dead.”

“Who is she going to knock dead?” asked Dooley.

“It’s just an expression, Dooley,” I said.

Harriet looked annoyed. “You don’t have to be rude about it, Max,” she said. “Just because you don’t have any ambitions in life other than to lie on your flabby belly doesn’t mean you should be demeaning to the rest of us, who have a higher calling.”

“I’m not being demeaning,” I said. “I said knock em dead, didn’t I?”