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

“I think I may have found something, Max,” he said, and led me deeper into the bedroom the couple shared. There, hidden underneath the bed, was a letter. I plunked down to read it, and soon was smiling from ear to ear.

“You did it, Dooley,” I said.

“I did?” he asked, a smile spreading across his features.

“You solved the murder!”

Now all we had to do was get this letter out of that room and into Gran’s hands.

Chapter 28

When Vesta saw the breakfast buffet she nearly swooned. She’d always been a big fan of breakfast buffets, and one of the things she liked most about going on holiday was staying in hotels with a big breakfast spread. The dining room was bright and airy, and smelled of freshly brewed coffee, freshly baked pastry and freshly squeezed orange juice. She hurried over to the buffet, picked up a tray, and soon was loading up on croissants, muffins, toast, scrambled eggs, those delicious little sausages and yummy spring rolls.

By the time she returned to her table, the eyes of the others were on her tray and Laron had to laugh. In spite of what his semi-permanent frown indicated, the man had a pleasant laugh. “Vesta! You can’t possibly eat all of that!”

“Watch me,” she growled, and plunked down her tray.

Across from her sat Charlie and Jamie, the lovey-dovey couple, although from the looks of things Jamie wasn’t as lovey-dovey this morning as usual.

“That tribute song for Chickie you sang last night was beautiful,” Vesta told the young woman, deciding to get the ball rolling and see what the outcome was.

Jamie gave her a sweet smile and swept her long auburn tresses over her shoulder. “Thanks, Mrs. Muffin. I thought it was only fitting, us being best friends and all.”

“Terrible loss,” said Laron, shaking his head. “Absolutely terrible.”

“Do they know who did it yet?” asked Charlie, removing an arm that seemed to be permanently glued in place on his girlfriend’s back to pick up a bread roll and start picking at it without much excitement.

“No, not a clue,” said Vesta.

“Oh, that’s right,” said Shannon. “You’re familiar with the way the police work in this town, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, my son is chief of police,” she said. “And so far he’s got nothing. Zip.”

“Too bad.”

“Yeah, if he doesn’t get results soon they’re calling in the state police,” said Vesta, watching carefully how the others responded. Apart from a raised eyebrow from Shannon, there was no response. Either these were some very cool cucumbers or they had no clue about what had happened.

“I think it was probably a prowler,” said Laron. “Has to be. They’re always attracted to people with money. He came in, bumped into Chickie, and that was her fate sealed.”

“You mean like the men who broke into your room last night?” asked Charlie.

“Sure. Wouldn’t surprise me if it was the same ones. Only time will tell, though.”

“They do have one man in custody,” said Shannon as she took a sip from her herbal tea. “A superfan. In other words, a stalker.”

“Yeah, I think I heard something about that.”

“He’s not a serious suspect, though,” said Vesta. “No motive, for one thing. I mean, he’s her self-declared number-one fan. Why would he go and choke her to death?”

“Mental health issues?” said Shannon. “Happens more than you know. Most of these stalkers are sick in the head, Vesta.”

“Did Chickie ever mention anyone threatening her?” asked Gran.

Shannon shook her head. “Last time I talked to her she was the one threatening me.”

“She was a tough cookie,” her husband agreed.

“What did she threaten you about?” asked Gran.

“Oh, this and that,” said Shannon vaguely.

“She was upset that I refused to sell her back the rights to her music,” said Laron. “But why should I? She was the one leaving me, and signing with another company. So why should I hand her back her music with a nice bow on top? That’s not how it works.”

“You were going to hand the rights back to her, though, isn’t that right, Laron?” asked Charlie.

“Yeah, for the right price. Not the peanuts she was prepared to pay for it.”

“We were in the middle of negotiations, and at this point the lawyers had taken over,” said Shannon.

“Too bad,” said Charlie. “She was one talented lady.”

Jamie had been conspicuously silent, but now burst out, “She wasn’t that talented, Charlie. All of her greatest hits were written by other people, and the few songs she wrote herself didn’t do well.”

“Yeah, but at least she wrote some of her own stuff,” said Charlie, clearly taken aback by this sudden outburst. “Most singers don’t write anything. They all buy songs from professional songwriters.”

“Oh, so now you’re having a go at me, are you?”

“No, I didn’t mean—”

“Okay, so I don’t write my own music. That doesn’t make me a lesser singer, does it?”

“No, of course not. I just wanted to—”

“Oh, forget about it,” said Jamie, and promptly got up and stormed off, her face a thundercloud.

Uh-oh, thought Vesta. The cats were probably still upstairs, snooping around.

“Excuse me,” she said. “Have to powder my nose.” And she quickly got up and went in pursuit of Charlie’s girlfriend.

She saw her entering the elevator and cursed under her breath. Then her eye fell on the staircase. Taking a deep breath, she waltzed into the stairwell, and started mounting the stairs as quickly as she could. In spite of her age she was in excellent fettle, the advantage of working as a doctor’s receptionist—and when she exited the stairwell on the fourth floor saw Jamie as she placed her keycard against the door and opened it.

“Jamie, hold up!” Vesta yelled, and hurried over.

“What is it?” asked Jamie, none too friendly.

“I’m sorry. You’ll probably think me some gossipy old lady, but it pains me to see a beautiful young couple like you and Charlie going through a bad patch. I can tell how much Charlie loves you, and you’re clearly very fond of him, so…”

Jamie’s pout intensified. “He had no business telling me singers who write their own material are superior to singers that don’t. Lots of artists buy their songs, and does anyone call them out for it? No, they don’t. Charlie himself doesn’t write his own stuff.”

“I’m sure he didn’t mean it like that,” said Vesta, raising her voice so her cats, if they were still inside, could get the hell out of there.

“No need to shout,” said Jamie, still pouting.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I’m a little hard of hearing, and you know how it is, you start to talk louder because you think everybody is hard of hearing. Look, if you want my advice, I don’t think Charlie meant anything by what he said. He’s obviously crazy about you.”

“I guess so,” said the girl, who was, Vesta now realized, very young indeed. Maybe not even twenty yet.

“Lighten up a little, honey,” said Vesta, adopting a motherly tone. “Life is too short to make a mountain out of every molehill, and your relationship will only suffer.”

“I know. It’s just that… he drives me crazy sometimes. He’s so annoying, you know?”

“That’s because you’ve been cooped up together in here for too long. Maybe you should go for a walk. Get some fresh air.”

She nodded. “Maybe I will. It’s true that Charlie and I have spent an awful lot of time together. And maybe I need to clear my head. Thank you, Mrs. Muffin. You’re very kind.”

“You’re welcome, Jamie. And it’s Vesta.”

And as Jamie passed into her room, Vesta glanced beyond her, and could just see Dooley’s tail as it disappeared into the next room.