Ник Сайнт - Purrfect Murder

“I can’t imagine Hetta would kill him over unpaid bills, though.”

“Me neither. She wasn’t going to kill the goose with the golden eggs, even if he didn’t pay his bills. Besides, this murder is murder on her business. She told me she’s received a dozen cancellations already and might have to close down the lodge if this keeps up.”

“I guess lesser writers don’t want to write where the master got killed.”

“I guess not,” he said with a grin. “Oh, and I also talked to the production company that went belly up after that Indiana Jones fracas.”

She sat up. Now that was a valuable lead. “And? Any suspects?”

He studied his notes. “I talked to one of the principals, and he didn’t have a lot of good things to say about Frey. In fact I don’t think I’ve ever heard so many four-letter words in such a short space of time. But he also assured me he didn’t kill Frey. And yes, I checked his alibi,” he said before she could ask. “You’re talking to an old dog here, honey. I know how to do my job. The guy was at a party in Beverly Hills, and so was his partner. So no dice.”

“Too bad,” she said, disappointed. That was such a good lead. Then she brightened. “Maybe they hired a professional to get rid of Frey?”

He stared at her. “Odelia, honey, movie producers don’t go around having people killed. It’s Hollywood, not the Mob.”

She shrugged. “Just saying. It’s a possibility.”

“A very implausible one.”

“So, um…” She stared at the desk. “Have you heard from Chase?”

He eyed her with a humorous expression on his face. “Yeah, he told me he saw you snooping around the lodge. He also told me you almost broke your neck.”

“I didn’t break my neck,” she protested. “I would have been perfectly fine if he hadn’t started badgering me, causing me to lose my footing.”

“So he caused you to lose your footing, huh? How did that happen?”

She noticed he was grinning from ear to ear, and glared at him. He was just as bad as Max and Dooley. Did everyone think she had the hots for Chase Kingsley? “He caught me just as I was trying to get into the place.”

“You should have asked for the key,” he said, still smiling.

“I didn’t think about that,” she admitted.

“Well, you wouldn’t have found anything of importance in there anyway. We searched that place top to bottom. Went over it with a crime scene team.”

“No fingerprints?”

“Oh, sure. Lots and lots of them. That place gets rented out on a weekly basis, honey, and let me tell you, Rohanna Coral, whatever her other qualities, is a lousy cleaner. We found dust that hadn’t been shifted in years.”

“Yeah, I talked to Rohanna. She said Frey was a good tipper.”

“At least someone got some money out of the guy.”

They stared at each other for a beat. “So who killed him, Chief?”

“I’m sure I don’t know,” he grumbled. “And I’m also sure you’ll find out.”

She laughed. “And why is that?”

“You’ve got skills, honey. Skills that no one else has. So…”

She stared at him. She’d long suspected that her uncle knew about the special talent she’d inherited from his sister. Dad knew, of course. You can’t live with three generations of women and not know. Had Marge told her brother? Or had he noticed her uncommon affinity with cats growing up together? She gave him a grateful smile now. If he knew about their secret, he certainly hadn’t told anyone. “Thanks, Uncle Alec.”

He seemed taken aback. “What for?”

“For letting me be a part of the investigation. And for your confidence.”

He made a throwaway gesture. “Oh, nonsense. Anyone with a brain can see you’re a natural at this stuff, honey.”

“Chase Kingsley can’t see it.”

“Well,” he said with a grin, “Chase is new. He’s got a lot to learn about Hampton Cove and the way we do things around here. I’m sure that over time he’ll start to see what a great addition you make to the team, in a non-official capacity. Now what are your plans? Where do we go from here?”

She chewed her lip for a moment, then suddenly remembered something. “You know, when I talked to Gabby, she mentioned something about there probably being other people out there that Frey must have slandered. How about I try to find those other victims? Maybe one of them finally snapped?”

“Great idea,” he grunted. “Chase said something similar.”

“Oh, Chase is looking into that angle too, huh?”

Uncle Alec scratched his scalp. “He’s a great detective, actually.” He eyed her wearily for a moment. “You may not see eye to eye with the guy, but he’s a first-rate sleuth, and, just like you, a great addition to the team.”

She nodded. “I know. It’s just that he rubs me the wrong way, especially when he insists I’m just a nosy reporter and should mind my own business.”

“Yeah, well, like I said, he’ll get over that. I’m sure that’s just a big-city kind of thing. Now that he’s here in the sticks, he’ll see we do things differently.”

And with these wise words, he waved her off.

Chapter 17

Walking out of the police station, she wondered what her next course of action should be. How could she figure out who Frey’s other victims were? And then she got it. All manner of vile abuse these days was done on social media sites. So where better to start her search than by going through Frey’s feeds? If he’d targeted people, she was bound to find the evidence right there.

She headed back to the office and for the next couple of hours meticulously went through Frey’s Facebook page, his Twitter feed and his Instagram. She even read his blog, and when she finally had enough, her view of Paulo Frey had taken a nosedive, if that was even possible.

The man was simply a troll, and not one of the nice cuddly ones with the brightly colored hair either, but a vicious, nasty one who stalked anyone he disagreed with. He’d engaged in online warfare with so many people it was a miracle he hadn’t been killed sooner. Gabby Cleret was only the tip of the iceberg. Over the course of the last couple of years, he’d fought with so many people she wondered why people still bothered to read his books. Surely readers must have discovered what a dreadful person he was by now?

But instead of abandoning him in droves, he’d actually garnered support for his trollish behavior. A group of rabid followers, calling themselves the UnaFreyds, admired his boldness and the way he dared say what others didn’t, and had enthusiastically endorsed his attacks on reporters, actors, politicians and anyone else he didn’t agree with. When he’d disagreed with a reporter for the New York Times , they’d actually gone after the man IRL, which was short for In Real Life, by picketing his house. The man had finally been forced to move to an undisclosed location with his wife and kid.

Holy crap, she thought as she sat back. This guy was the worst of the worst. No wonder someone had taken a poker to the back of his head. The only question was who? Who of the dozens of people he’d harassed had finally taken matters into their own hands and ended the guy’s reign of terror? It appeared there were a great number of candidates. All they needed to do was check them one by one, to see if they’d been in town that day.

She quickly compiled a list of the most egregious displays of online abuse, and emailed it to Uncle Alec. Then she rubbed her eyes and closed her laptop. Tonight she had that dinner with Chase Kingsley to look forward to, and if Max was right—and she had no doubt in her mind that he was—she owed the guy an apology. She wasn’t going to offer him one, though, for his behavior against her didn’t warrant one. She wasn’t the commissioner and she hadn’t gotten him fired from his job, so why he had to be so angry with her she didn’t know. Sure, he had a bone to pick with the Post , but she wasn’t the Post . She was just a small-town reporter who had a newspaper to fill.