Джанет Кантрелл - Fat Cat Takes The Cake

Chase pecked Anna on the cheek as she returned to the warm kitchen. “You already are nearly perfect, dear Anna.”

“Oh, go on.” Anna smiled as she started extracting baking supplies from the bags and strewing them onto the granite counter.

“Wait. Before you get started, I’d like to show you something. Did Julie tell you about what she found at the reunion?”

“I guess not.” Anna shook her head in puzzlement.

Chase ran into the office to get the notebook.

The cat, left in the office alone, set out to declutter the desktop. An offensive object sat on the corner. It was small and black. The cat batted it to the floor. That didn’t seem to satisfy him, though. A loose sheet had fallen out. He shoved the extra piece until it was out of sight underneath the desk. He had nearly gotten the notebook there, too, when his mistress came into the office.

“Now where is that thing?” Chase’s eyes searched her desk, then her toe kicked the notebook. “Oh, I’ll bet you cleaned off the desk, didn’t you?” She gave Quincy a head rub and took the notebook into the kitchen to show Anna.

“What do you make of this?” she asked.

Anna leafed through it, puzzling over the arcane notations. “Do you have any idea what these pertain to? Are PRINCE and PHOTO and BIRD the names of . . . animals, people?”

“I haven’t figured it out. They’re things, right? One is a person, one is an object, and one is an animal.”

Anna handed her the notebook. “You got me.” She frowned and shrugged, then started setting out ingredients for her Batter Battle creation.

“We think we might know what some of the things in pink mean.” She explained what Julie and she had figured out about the stalking dates and initials.

“Charity, I have to keep practicing until I don’t make any mistakes. I’m not nearly there yet and I don’t have time for games.”

At Chase’s shocked expression, Anna softened. “I’m sorry. I know a man is dead and this isn’t a game to you. But if you don’t know what anything means, those writings are useless. I’m sure the police can figure it out. Don’t they have experts to do that kind of thing? You say Julie found it. Why do you have it now?”

“I ended up with it. Wouldn’t it look better for me to turn it in than Julie? I don’t want them to suspect her any more than they already do.”

“I’m sure they’ll get to the truth, find out who did what, and won’t blame Julie for anything.”

Although Chase didn’t hold out much hope for that—after all, Niles Olson wasn’t familiar with any of these people—she hoped Anna was right. The next thing she had to do, after she copied the pages, was to give the notebook to Detective Olson.

SEVEN

The rest of Tuesday, Chase’s second day off, was jam-packed. She dropped the notebook off at the front desk of the police station—Detective Olson wasn’t in, to her relief. She didn’t want to explain to him where the notebook had been until now.

Today she absolutely had to buy shoes. Unlike Julie and Anna, she took no delight in that exercise. Those two put together a strategy days in advance and planned their shoe excursions like battles. Chase merely shopped for footwear when she had to. And her sneakers had a hole in the toe. It was time.

She needed wedding shoes, too, but had to get those with Julie along so they would match. At least she was spared shopping for gifts for Julie and Anna this year. They had decided, with the wedding and the busy season at the shop, not to give one another anything for Christmas.

Before sneaker shopping, she decided to take Quincy out for some more leash training. She needed to train herself on how to attach the harness, too, so that he wouldn’t slip out of it when she left a strap unfastened. It didn’t take much for that little guy to figure out where the weaknesses were. She didn’t expect more dead bodies, but it wouldn’t do for him to get loose on a sidewalk and run into the street.

She made sure the harness was snug and all the fasteners were in place. Getting Quincy out the back door required a bit of coaxing. That figures, she thought. If the door were left open a quarter of an inch, he’d be sneaking through it in a heartbeat. But make it easy for him, and he didn’t want to budge. They made it into the parking lot and proceeded toward the sidewalk, passing through the shade of a tree planted at the corner.

Chase decided to turn south, toward the river. She looked up and down SE Fourth Street when they reached it to see if any large dogs lurked. Or any small dogs, for that matter.

Her least favorite politico stood outside a small bar half a block away. She had no desire to speak to him, to have to lie about why his campaign poster wasn’t in the window of the Bar None, so she turned away and walked the other direction.

Then what she’d seen registered and she did a double take. Dickie Byrd wasn’t looking in her direction at all. His gaze was glued to the face of the woman in his arms. She sure wasn’t his wife, Mona. Chase couldn’t help herself. She stopped, dumbfounded. She watched as Dickie bent toward the woman and their lips met. Quincy twined around her legs, not wanting to stop now that they were on their way.

The woman was a lot shorter than Mona, and a lot more stacked. Where Mona was delicate, fluttery, this woman was solid. Even accounting for her down jacket, she was heftier than Dickie’s model-slim wife. And she had no qualms about extra-long and passionate public kisses.

Chase pulled herself away and walked on. Quincy trotted with her happily. Moving was better than standing still in this weather. And here Chase had thought Dickie might be a suspect in Ron North’s death, defending his wife’s honor from her stalker. Not hardly! He was wadding up his wife’s honor and kicking it to the curb.

She might as well circle around and head north to Hilda Bjorn’s house and check on the woman. From the information Julie had, she thought Ms. Bjorn had described the principal as the man who made the very low offer on her house. That made no sense.

Chase was glad the real estate case was taking Julie’s mind off the murder investigation. At least, she hoped it was.

Quincy bounded up the few steps to Hilda’s front porch. He knew and liked the old woman. A small, vibrant woman in her late eighties, dressed in a blue velour pantsuit, opened the door. Her wire-rim glasses winked in the frosty sunshine and her face wrinkled with joy.

“Two of my favorites! Come in, Chase. Come in, Quincy. Let me see what I can rustle up for you.”

Chase followed her into the small, snug living room. “Please don’t, Ms. Bjorn. We have only a few minutes.” Not quite true, but she didn’t want the woman stuffing Quincy with tuna fish or, worse, cookies. “I would like to ask you about the man who offered you some money for your house. My friend Julie Larson told me a little bit about it. She’s working on this for her real estate office.”

“My, there are a lot of people involved, aren’t there? Well, it’s a great deal of money.”

“How much exactly did he say?”

“He said at least twenty thousand!”

“You know, that’s not very much for this house. It’s a desirable neighborhood. If you do want to sell, you could probably get a lot more.”

“Oh, but Mr. Nelson said I had to make up my mind quickly or the offer would go down.”

“Mr. Nelson?”

“Yes, I remembered his name this morning because I had a boyfriend named Vance once. His name is Vance.”

Vance? “Did he show you his real estate credentials?”

“Oh, you sound just like Professor Fear. He’s very suspicious of this nice man. I can’t imagine why. I didn’t think to do that. He looks honest.”