Ник Сайнт - Purrfect Revenge

“All right, all right,” I said, holding up my paws. “Let’s not get into all that. We have a murder to solve, you guys, so we better get cracking.”

“I think the dog did it,” Harriet said decidedly.

“Kane? How do you figure that? Dogs don’t swing meat cleavers with deadly force, or take out people with chloroform.”

“No, but that dog was awfully quiet when the killer was doing his business. So the way I see it is that at the very least he’s an accomplice.”

“She’s right,” said Brutus. “That dog knows something. I mean, he’s been barking up a storm, snapping at the heels of anyone in sight. So why wasn’t he barking when someone killed his human? That doesn’t make sense.”

“You’re right,” I said, and suddenly that little tidbit of information dropped down from my memory banks and into the right slot. My face lit up with the light of intelligence, or at least I think it did. “Brutus! Harriet! You’re brilliant! You just solved this case!”

“Huh?” asked Brutus.

“What?” asked Harriet.

“What are you talking about, Max?” asked Dooley.

“I know who did it! Kane told us!”

“He did? I don’t remember,” said Dooley.

“Neither did I. It was just one of those offhand comments. I didn’t even pay attention to it at the time. But now I see he gave us the killer.” I slapped Brutus and Harriet on the backs. “You solved the murder, you guys!”

Brutus puffed up his chest. “Of course I did.” He paused. “So who is it?”

Chapter 24

Odelia and Chase stood outside the police station, watching as the motorcade slowly passed along Main Street. It stopped in the middle of the street. After a moment’s delay, five Escalades parked on the side of the road.

“I wonder what’s going on,” said Odelia.

“Looks like they’ve decided to put in a little shopping,” said Chase.

Odelia looked back when her uncle came out of the station.

“And? Any luck?” she asked.

“Nope. I talked to the guy in charge. I told him everything you told me, but he insists it’s all circumstantial evidence. It didn’t change his mind.”

“Too bad we didn’t know sooner,” said Chase. “Where did this sudden brainwave of yours come from, anyway, Poole?”

She shrugged. “Just a hunch.”

He eyed her curiously. “You’ve got some great hunches, Poole.”

“That’s Odelia for you,” said the Chief. “She’s always had an uncanny intuition when it comes to crime solving. Remember that time you figured out where Sonny Start had buried the body of his neighbor’s Rottweiler? Everybody said the dog had run off, but you knew Sonny had poisoned him.”

She shared a look of understanding with her uncle. He knew her cats had found the Rottweiler, not her. She watched now as Max and Dooley came trotting up. They looked excited. “We know who the killer is!” Max cried.

She crouched down. “So? Who is it? Don’t keep me in suspense.”

“Kane told us that first day. Only I completely forgot.”

“Well, I think I know who the killer is, too. So let’s hear it.” When he gave her the name, she nodded. “Yep, that’s what I thought.”

He looked surprised. “How did you find out?”

“Thanks to you guys. You told me Kane didn’t bark when the killer struck. And then my mother told me who gave Kane to Shana.”

She rose, and saw that Chase was eyeing her wearily. “Talking to your cats again, Poole?”

“They like it when I talk cat.”

“You sound so funny when you do that. You make these little cat sounds. Makes you sound almost like a real cat. It’s the damnedest thing.”

“Yeah, the damnedest thing,” her uncle said, giving her a warning look.

Across the street, three burly FBI agents had stepped out of the first car, and checked around for a moment, probably looking for snipers targeting the Kenspeckles. Her mother was right. They really did look like the Men in Black. After a moment, they sounded the all-clear, and Camille Kenspeckle emerged from the vehicle. She was still dressed in her fur coat, Céline sunglasses on her nose, strappy black heels on her feet. She looked like a hundred thousand bucks, which was probably what she’d spent on her outfit.

Odelia watched as two FBI agents walked up to Darling’s Dress Code, one of the more popular high-end clothing boutiques in town. The agents held the door for Camille, who strutted past them and disappeared inside.

“See? I told you they were putting in a little shopping,” said Chase.

A surge of excitement raced through her. “This is our window. We have to confront her now, before it’s too late.” And before she could change her mind, she was already darting across the street in the direction of the store.

“Wait a minute!” Chase hollered, but she wasn’t going to wait until the Kenspeckles boarded their private plane and got away. The FBI was right. They had nothing but circumstantial evidence. They needed a confession.

She walked up to the store and was about to go in when the two agents stopped her. “Sorry, ma’am. Store is closed. Private client tour in progress.”

Of course. Camille wanted the store all to herself. She glanced in through the window, and saw that the Kenspeckle matriarch was browsing, a salesgirl in her wake. One more FBI agent had gone in, babysitting the reality star. She watched as Burr Newberry took a shot of the exterior of the shop and the FBI agents, who stood shaking their heads, and then also headed inside.

When this show aired, all of Hollywood would want a couple of Feds to go shopping with them. It would be the next big thing, up there with the dab.

She decided that the only way to confront Camille was to catch her off guard. She slipped into the alley two stores over, and made her way along the narrow street. Darling’s had a back entrance, from the days it was still a liquor store. Locals boozers used to hang out back there, waiting for Kinnard Daym, who ran the store back in the day, to supply them with their favorite hard liquor in brown paper bags, blithely ignoring their wives’ vetoes.

She tried the metal door, and found it neither guarded by Feds nor locked. She entered the store, and saw she was in a small storeroom. This was where Marina, Darling’s Dress Code’s current owner, kept her stock.

She opened the door connecting to the store, passed through a corridor which held the staff lavatory, and reached a painted chipboard door. She heard voices. One of them was Camille’s. She pushed the door open and peeked in. No FBI and no bodyguards. Great. She stepped inside.

Marina was the first one to react. She was a stern-faced middle-aged woman with platinum hair and an unnaturally smooth brow. She’d actually gone to school with Odelia’s mother, though Marina looked a decade younger. Her blue eyes cut to Odelia. “I’m sorry, honey. We’re closed for business right now.” She gestured to Camille, who stood holding a backless black gown in front of a full-length mirror, and whispered, “Private client viewing.”

“Actually it’s your client I’d like a word with.”

Camille spotted her. Her face clouded. “You again. What do you want?”

“I need a word in private, Camille. It’s about your daughter’s murder.”

Camille rolled her eyes. "Not again with the baseless accusations. I told you already. My family is the target of a terrorist plot. The FBI is handling things." She pointed an accusing finger at Odelia. "You tried to catch the killer and you failed. So you're done, missy. You're through."

“Just give me five minutes, and I’ll tell you who killed Shana.”

Camille stared at her, debating whether to call in the troops, or to give Odelia her five minutes. In the end, she said, “Start talking. And you,” she added, pointing at Marina. “Get out. I’ll call you when I need you.”