Ник Сайнт - Purrfect Alibi

“You can’t use that title.”

“Too bad. I already did.”

“ Desperate Housewives is a famous TV show, Gran.”

“I’m sure it’s not.”

“Besides, you’re not a middle-aged woman and Hampton Cove isn’t the suburbs.”

“You’re just jealous because I thought of it first.” She pointed her phone at us and Dooley and I stared up at her.

“Are we going to be in this movie, too, Gran?” asked Dooley.

“Of course you are. What would life for a desperate housewife be without her trusty pets? Now smile for the camera, you guys. Big smiles.”

I could have told her that cats don’t smile. Instead, we meowed. That seemed to satisfy her inner desperate housewife for she said, “Excellent,” and tucked her phone away.

“You’re not filming the suspects,” said Odelia.

“Of course I’m filming the suspects. I filmed Drood, didn’t I? And I filmed Ackerman—before and after he tumbled off his perch.”

Odelia turned to her grandmother, looking absolutely horrified. “You didn’t!”

Gran patted her phone. “This is going to be a very special episode of Desperate Housewives . The one where Vesta and Odelia solve the murder of a famous writer.”

“You can’t film our murder investigation! That’s…” She flapped her arms like a desperate chicken. “Unethical not to mention people could sue for breach of privacy!”

“Poppycock. Cops does it all the time.”

“They have people sign release forms!”

“I don’t think so. People love to be on TV.”

The elevator had arrived on the second floor and jerked to a stop. The doors slid open and we all walked out. My paws sunk into the plush carpet and I couldn’t resist the urge to dig my claws in and do a little stropping. What? It was a very nice carpet!

Meanwhile, the Desperate Housewives feud was still ongoing.

“Gran,” said Odelia warningly, “put away that phone. Now!”

“I’m a vlogging detective! I can’t vlog without my phone!”

Odelia made a grab for Gran’s phone, but the old lady deftly held it out of reach.

“Gimme that,” Odelia grunted.

“Over my dead body,” Gran returned.

“That can be arranged.”

“You would strike your poor old grandmother?”

“I thought you were a desperate housewife?”

“You are being very rude, young lady,” said Gran, trying a different tack.

Just then, the door Odelia had knocked on swung open, and a heavyset woman with curly gray hair and horse-faced features appeared. She didn’t look happy to see us.

Immediately Odelia plastered a pleasant smile on her face. “Mrs. Ackerman? My name is Odelia Poole and this is Vesta Muffin. We’re civilian consultants working with the Hampton Cove Police Department and we would like to ask you a few questions about the death of your husband Chris Ackerman. May we come in?”

The woman’s eyes shifted between Odelia and Gran. Finally, she asked gruffly, “Why are you filming me?”

“Police procedure, Mrs. Ackerman,” said Gran swiftly. “To protect ourselves from potential lawsuits we’ve been legally advised to film any contact with the general public.”

“Huh,” said Mrs. Ackerman.

“Yup. Cops have body cameras. Civilian consultants have to make do with these.”

“Weird,” the woman commented, but then shrugged it off and bade us all entry.

Chapter 21

Odelia didn’t like Gran’s latest obsession. This Desperate Housewives thing could jeopardize their entire investigation. Then again, Gran was a smooth talker. She could probably talk her way out of any jam. Years of diligently watching every single soap opera out there had equipped her with a battery of ready-made quips or strategems to get her out of trouble. At least Mrs. Ackerman had been so distracted by Gran’s filming that she probably hadn’t even noticed that Max and Dooley had inserted themselves into the room.

“Take a seat,” Mrs. Ackerman said, gesturing at two chairs placed near the window. “This won’t take long, I hope? I just lost my husband and I’ve got a funeral to plan.”

She didn’t exactly seem overwrought with grief. Then again, we all have different ways of dealing with loss, so maybe being businesslike about it was Mrs. Ackerman’s way.

“This definitely won’t take long,” Odelia assured the other woman as she took a seat. “So where is your son? I thought you said over the phone he’d join us?”

“Trey!” Mrs. Ackerman bellowed. “Get in here!”

A connecting door opened and a lanky young man strode in. He had a pale, thin face and a buzzcut and looked more like a drug addict than any drug addict Odelia had ever met.

“This is Trey,” said Mrs. Ackerman, indicating the young man. “Trey, these two are from the police, apparently.”

“Thank you so much for your time, Mr. Ackerman,” said Odelia.

“Have you found my father’s murderer yet?” asked Trey, giving them a glum look.

“My uncle does have someone in custody,” said Odelia. “My uncle is the chief of police.”

“You made an arrest?” asked Mrs. Ackerman. “Why weren’t we informed?”

“The guy didn’t do it,” said Gran, who’d placed her phone on the table, propped up against a potted mini-cactus, where it continued filming the scene.

Odelia gritted her teeth. “What Vesta means to say is that the person who was arrested denies all involvement. He does, however, admit that he stole certain valuables from Mr. Ackerman’s person.”

“Valuables? Like what?”

“Diamond watch, money, iPhone,” said Gran. “That kind of stuff.”

“The bastard,” muttered Trey.

“Yeah, he’s a piece of bad news, all right,” Gran admitted. “But as far as I can tell he’s not the killer.”

“That’s up to the prosecutor to decide,” said Odelia pointedly. “What we’re here to determine is if perhaps you noticed something last night when you went to visit your husband at the library?”

Mrs. Ackerman exchanged a quick glance with her son, who turned to look out the window, arms folded across his chest. His mother, meanwhile, plunked her heavy frame down on a settee and cast down her eyes. “You’ll probably know this already, but my husband and I… we were in the process of getting a divorce.”

Gran’s eyes went wide, and she quickly cast a look at her phone. This was the stuff she wanted featured on Desperate Housewives . “A divorce?” she asked. “You mean he was involved with another woman?”

Mrs. Ackerman frowned, and so did Odelia. “As a matter of fact he was,” said Mrs. Ackerman. “He was having an affair with his editor. She’d recently gotten a job at a different publisher and had enticed Chris to change publishers as well.” She heaved a deep sigh. “My husband was about to embark on an entirely new life, Miss Poole. Without his wife of thirty years, and without the publisher responsible for his success. And all over a woman.”

“Who’s this editor?” asked Gran.

“Her name is Stacey Kulcheski.”

“Is she staying in town?” asked Odelia.

“I don’t think so. At least I haven’t seen her.”

“So why did you join your husband at the library last night?”

Mrs. Ackerman briefly wrung her hands. “I—I decided—we decided to try and talk to him one more time. He didn’t even know we’d flown in. He was quite surprised when we suddenly turned up out of the blue. You see, my husband had stopped taking my calls.”

“Our calls,” her son corrected her.

“Our calls,” said Mrs. Ackerman with a vague smile. “Ever since he packed up his things and walked out on us we’d had no way of getting in touch with him. So when Trey saw he was scheduled to speak at your local library, we decided to confront him.”