Джанет Кантрелл - Fat Cat At Large

“Should I go?” asked Chase.

“No, maybe you can help.”

“Help with what? What’s his problem now?” She might need some background before he made it up the stairs and arrived at Laci’s door.

“He’s going through some horrible things. He’s frantic.”

Chase had seen Ted before when Laci thought he was upset. But she’d never been able to detect distress in the guy so far.

When Laci opened her door, Ted grabbed her and held her in a boa-constrictor clinch until he noticed Chase on the couch.

“Oh,” he said, stepping back. “Hello, Ms. Oliver.”

He looked awful. His light brown hair, usually combed to minimize the premature retreat at the forehead, stood up in places and lay in messy wisps in others. His carefully cultivated three-day stubble had grown to be a week’s worth. Maybe he really was upset this time.

“Can I get you something?” Laci sounded formal toward him. Maybe that’s because Chase was there, or maybe it was because she had so recently almost lost him to someone else.

Chase cast Ted for the part of Hilda’s young man. She briefly considered Krystal, Ted’s former companion, for the role of the floozy, but didn’t think the woman had had any tattoos.

“A beer?” He sank onto the chair Laci had vacated.

When Laci brought him a can, Chase had to make an effort to contain her shock. Laci kept beer in her apartment? That was hard to picture. Although she did include a linen napkin.

“Tell Ms. Oliver about the . . . you know.” Laci perched on the footstool next to Ted’s chair.

Ted belted down half the can of beer and wiped his mouth on his sleeve, ignoring the napkin. “It’s about my dad.”

“Yes, it’s terrible,” Chase said. “I don’t know how I’d deal with—”

“No, not that he’s dead. Well, that’s bad, but . . . just before he died, I mean, I thought maybe I could, I don’t know, talk to him, get him back together with Mom. I mean make him come to his senses.”

Laci was nodding slowly, her eyes large and soulful and sympathetic. Maybe she’d been right that he was broken up about his parents’ impending divorce. Chase wondered why he would be appealing to his father when it seemed his mother had kicked her husband out. Maybe to improve his dad’s behavior so she’d take him back?

“Mom was seeing that creep Iversen, and I thought Dad should know about it. I followed him home after he was in your shop that day.”

Doris was seeing Iversen. Interesting.

“The day he was killed,” Laci said, in case no one knew that.

“I wanted to go into his condo and talk to him, but right after he goes in, this woman shows up. I mean, I’ve seen her before, but I think I didn’t want to admit it.” He paused.

“Admit what, Ted?” Chase asked.

“That he has a mistress. Pretty sure that’s what she is. Or a hooker.”

The floozy that Hilda Bjorn saw? So Ted was the young man.

“So, after she goes in, I figure I’ll wait until she leaves. But it’s making me sick to think about them in there. . . . Anyway, she leaves pretty quick. I figure I need to go in now, but I’m not fast enough. Before I can cross the street, Mom shows up. She leaves even sooner. She runs out. She’s all shocked-like. I’ve never seen her look like that.”

Ted paused to finish the can. He handed it to Laci, who hurried to bring him another.

“Did you go inside then?”

After popping the new brew open and taking a sip, he replied, “Well, see, I mean, Mom has this, this big red splotch on her jacket when she comes out. It’s her tan jacket, so it really shows up. She stops at the bottom of the stairs and notices it. Then she takes the jacket off and throws it in the bushes.”

Big red splotch? Hiding the jacket? That sounded awfully suspicious. In fact, it sounded like Doris killed Gabe. If Ted was telling the truth.

SEVENTEEN

Chase wanted to talk to Julie about what Ted had said. If it was true, it sounded like his mother had to have killed his father. No wonder the poor guy was so distraught. After Ted had mentioned the jacket, Chase remembered it—light tan, with epaulettes held by huge gold buttons. She’d seen it when Doris was in the shop that day.

As she walked home from Laci’s apartment, she pondered what Ted might be saying after she left.

A sudden gust sent the fallen leaves dancing down the sidewalk before her. The weather was not only turning cooler. The day had turned darker as low clouds rolled in to hide the sun.

The lovebirds had cried out for privacy with their lingering glances and deep breathing, so she’d left Laci to comfort Ted. Chase would be beside herself if she were in his situation.

But had he told her the truth? Could he be rotten enough to want to implicate his mother in his father’s death? He could, she thought, if he was the one who had killed him. His version jibed, somewhat, with Hilda’s. But he could still have committed the murder and be blaming his mother. Hilda had left out Doris being there. And Iversen. Maybe she wasn’t there, although Chase would bet Iversen was. She was beginning to think she should forget about relying on the old woman’s witness. She didn’t sound senile when you talked to her, but Chase had to admit she didn’t know any senile people and had no idea what they should sound like. Maybe they sounded perfectly normal, like Hilda.

Chase kicked at a clump of oak leaves. The wind caught them and tossed them into the street. A ray of sunshine broke through the restless, milling clouds, then disappeared just as quickly. She pulled her jacket collar up. If only Julie were more available to her today. This was an important step in Julie’s career, assisting on a big, public case (even if it was one that sent her grandmother reeling), but Chase wished it weren’t happening right now. She had to talk to someone.

Almost home, she dialed Anna, who didn’t answer. The wind blew more fiercely across the open parking lot, moaning through the tree branches. She could taste the crispness of the coming season in the air.

Next, as she crossed the lot to her door, she tried to call her new acquaintance, Mike Ramos.

“Chase, good to hear from you. Are you ready to bring Quincy in so I can reweigh him?”

She’d forgotten all about that. Was it Saturday he had suggested she do that?

“Oh, oh yes. Could I bring him in today? The shop is closed.” She’d see him face-to-face, which would be even better than phoning. She’d talk to him there.

He said she could come right away since his waiting room was empty, so she opened the door to the stairs to go up and get Quincy.

The tabby cat had noticed that the apartment door hadn’t latched all the way the last time she left. He’d spent the morning searching the apartment, but hadn’t been able to find any more of the treats, the best-tasting thing he’d had to eat for a long time. He nudged the apartment door open and expanded his search to the stairs. Just as he reached the bottom, the treat maker opened the door that led to the parking lot. He slipped through before she could react and ran outside, on the chance that there might be something good to eat out there.

Chase gave a sigh. She knew she shouldn’t call after him. That would only excite him and make him run farther away. But he wasn’t running. He scampered to the large trash bin and crouched, tail twitching, peering underneath with that intent predator cat stare. Chase crept up behind him. Before she could stoop to pick him up, he scooted, quick as a cat’s blink, around behind the trash bin. She cursed under her breath at the pain that seared her back.

She called his name softly, wishing she had one of those Kitty Patties. Again, she snuck up behind him. This time, he stayed put, intent on his prey. He reached an agile paw behind the large bin and clawed, bringing out a scrap of material.