Миранда Джеймс - Six Cats A Slayin'

“If it’s there, she will.” Melba rose, giving Diesel a last rub on the head. “I’d better get going. You’re probably ready for a little peace and quiet.”

“I’m fine,” I said. “Before you go, would you like to look in on the kittens?”

She hesitated. “Oh, why not?”

Diesel trotted ahead of us to the living room. He sat by the cage and watched the kittens, all asleep at the moment.

“They’re so precious,” Melba said.

“One or more of them could be yours soon,” I said.

“Have you found out where they came from?” she asked.

“Yes, earlier today.” I told her about the note I had left. “Turned out to be Tommy Russum, the solo boy soprano in the choir at Helen Louise’s church.”

“Did he give you the full story behind his bringing them to you?”

“Yes, the case of the mean old stepfather, according to Tommy,” I said. “His stepfather is a cardiologist, Henry McGillivray. I often see him and Tommy’s mother, Ellen, when I go to church with Helen Louise.”

“I’ve heard the name,” Melba said. “He’s supposed to be top-notch, but that’s all I know about him.”

“He can be a little gruff, in my experience,” I said. “Never downright rude, but he always gives the impression that he doesn’t have much time.”

“Those people are always irritating,” Melba said. “Usually think they’re way more important than you.”

“That might be the case with Dr. McGillivray, though Ellen McGillivray is a genuinely warm and friendly person,” I said. “I know nothing about Tommy’s father, though I think he passed away when Tommy was small.”

“So the good doctor doesn’t want cats around the house?” Melba asked.

“According to Tommy,” I said. “I’m trying to make up my mind whether I should try to talk to the man and Mrs. McGillivray about the situation. I don’t want to cause trouble for Tommy, but it really burns me up that Mr. McGillivray seems to be ignoring how important those kittens are to the boy.”

“I hope you do talk to him,” Melba said. “The man needs to learn a little compassion, seems to me.”

“We’ll see,” I told her. “I expect we’ll see them at the church on Christmas morning. I’m not in the mood to tackle him right now.”

“Good luck,” Melba said. “See you Sunday.”

Diesel stared after her forlornly as she headed out the door. I felt curiously flat myself, now that the murder investigation was so close to an end—provided, as always, that there was reliable evidence for Kanesha to make an arrest.

“How about we go play with the kittens?” I said to Diesel, and he warbled and darted toward the living room. I followed slowly, continuing to think about the investigation.

Odd how it seemed to happen like this pretty much every time. Insert one previously unknown piece to the puzzle, and things shifted around and gave you a much more complete picture. Putting together Gerry Albritton’s background and finding the connections with the two siblings and her adoptive sister had been the key.

Jincy Bruce was an outlier. There was still the matter of the embezzlement. She and Gerry appeared to me to be the only suspects. Surely Jared Carter wouldn’t embezzle from himself. Jared was even more of an outlier than Jincy. Unless his relationship with Gerry was more than simply a business arrangement? Things could have turned ugly if Jared hadn’t known Gerry’s full story. He might not have understood the true significance of her use of the name Ronni Halliburton. Did he know anything about Ronnie Halbert? That would be for Kanesha to figure out.

As much as I detested Deirdre Thompson, now that I knew so much more about her, I wasn’t sure she really was the murderer. I simply thought she was the nastiest of the bunch and the most likely to kill to protect her family name and her money. People had murdered in the past for each of those reasons on its own. Combined, they became even more powerful. Billy and Betty were probably motivated by the desire to protect the family name. Billy was a politician, and he might have ambitions for a higher office than that of city councilman. Betty might want to protect her brother as well as herself. Chip Camden was high-powered, and they moved in pretty important circles in town and in the state. He also nursed political ambitions, and a scandal like the truth behind Gerry Albritton’s identity might harm his chances irreparably.

I realized I had been standing in front of the cage, blind to the kittens who were now awake and wanting to be let out. Diesel had been meowing at me, too.

“Sorry, kids,” I said. “Time to play.” And time to push all thoughts of murder out of my brain for a while. I settled down to enjoy the kittens and think about them instead.

THIRTY-FIVE

To my great joy and relief, Sean informed me before lunchtime the next day, Christmas Eve, that Alex felt strong enough to spend time with the family that evening. I happily scrapped my rather chaotic plans to try to take Christmas Eve to her and instead concentrated on everything I needed to get done around the house.

Despite my inability to carry a tune in a bucket, as the old saying went, I scurried around the house that day singing snatches of my favorite Christmas songs, chief among them “Silent Night” and “Joy to the World.” Not for the first time did I wish that the joyful noise I was making could be in tune as well. Both my children had pleasant singing voices, especially Laura, who had done musicals in high school and college. It had to have come from their mother’s side of the family, because I didn’t remember that either of my parents could sing any better than I could.

Stewart helped bring the decorations down from the attic, and he had arranged for a friend with a pickup to deliver the tree he had picked out at a local Christmas tree farm. The tree was scheduled to arrive no later than three this afternoon. That would give us time to get it set up before family started arriving around four thirty. We would start decorating the tree together then.

The doorbell rang a little after two, and I went to answer it, expecting to see Sean’s friend with the tree. It took me a moment to recognize the man on the doorstep. Dr. Henry McGillivray, noted cardiologist, and stepfather to Tommy Russum, appeared to be in an irritable state of mind.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Harris,” he said. “If you have a few minutes, I’d like to talk to you about my son.”

“Certainly, I’ll be happy to talk to you about Tommy.” I stood aside and motioned him in. I noted with interest, and approval, that he referred to Tommy as his son, not as a stepson.

A tall, powerfully built man who exuded an air of authority, Henry McGillivray was around forty. He seemed uneasy, however, and that surprised me. All the times I had seen him in church, he never appeared in the least unsure of himself. He had impressed me as a man who was always in control and was a stickler for detail.

After taking his overcoat and putting it on the rack in the hall, I led him to the kitchen. I didn’t want to confront him with Tommy’s kittens right away.

“Please have a seat,” I said. “Can I offer you something to drink? Sweet tea, a soft drink? The mulled cider isn’t quite ready yet.”

“No, thank you,” McGillivray said. “I don’t want to take up too much of your time.”

“Don’t worry about that. I’m glad you came by,” I told him as I took my place at the table. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you about Tommy and his kittens.”

In a brusque tone he said, “I’m happy to reimburse you for any expense you’ve incurred because of them.” He reached inside his jacket.

“There’s no need,” I said. “Tommy actually gave me money to help pay the expenses.” I watched him closely. He was obviously surprised at this information. His hand faltered, and then he pulled it back.