Миранда Джеймс - No Cats Allowed

January thirteenth. Anybody could get confused and write the wrong date. I had done it often enough myself.

But just as often I wrote the day’s date without even thinking about it. Especially if I were writing a number of checks, for example, or holiday cards. I didn’t think twice about it, simply wrote the date and went on.

Perhaps the person who signed those purchase orders on Monday the thirteenth of January had done the same thing without realizing it.

I had no real proof, but I was convinced that Peter had not signed those documents, not when he didn’t show up to work that day.

What about the date the purchase orders were created?

I picked up the documents in question and examined them.

They all bore the same date, January twelfth. The day before Peter supposedly signed them. A Sunday.

Peter didn’t create purchase orders that I was aware of. I would have to check that with Melba, but I was pretty sure I was correct in this. I found a notepad and jotted that down. I would probably have a number of questions for Melba before I was done thinking this through.

Peter left in the middle of a pay period, I realized. What had happened to his final paycheck? He rarely took vacation time, so his final check would have included his regular salary along with payment for unused vacation. That would have been a pretty hefty check.

Where was it sent? And was it ever cashed or deposited?

More questions for my list, but how could I get answers? I couldn’t simply call the payroll office and ask.

Perhaps Penny Sisson could find out the answers for me. Good idea, Charlie . I dashed off a quick e-mail to her, saying I was trying to tie up loose ends with the budget. Since Peter’s salary was part of the library budget, I thought it was a pretty legitimate request if I went through Penny. I also asked whether she had any kind of forwarding address for him, or the address of a next of kin. I mentioned personal mail that needed to be sent to him.

What about Peter’s house? His car? Surely he wouldn’t have abandoned his house? He would want to sell it or at least rent it if he was leaving town for good.

I found a popular real estate website and searched for houses for sale or rent in Athena. I remembered Peter’s address because I had been there several times for holiday parties.

No listing for it on the real estate site. That didn’t mean it wasn’t for sale or rent, though. Peter could have handled it privately, or it could already have sold or been rented.

One way to find out, but I felt slightly foolish. Should I jump in the car and drive to Peter’s house? What might I find? No, I shouldn’t do that. It was crazy. Exactly the kind of thing Helen Louise, Sean, and Laura would tell me not to do.

You don’t have to go alone. There’s a sheriff’s deputy upstairs .

Would Haskell and Stewart think I had lost my mind if I asked them to go with me?

One way to find out .

All the way up to the third floor I debated with myself. Had my imagination run completely away with me? Was I seeing murder where there was none?

Peter was probably enjoying the sun in California right now. He had lived there for many years, and that would be where he’d want to go, I felt sure.

If he isn’t dead .

I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong.

Could I convince Haskell and Stewart to go along with this?

I paused on the third floor to catch my breath after my hurried climb. I almost turned back, feeling foolish again, but then I took a deep breath and approached Stewart’s door.

I had to knock a couple of times, because it sounded like they were watching a movie with car crashes. Finally one of them heard, and Haskell came to open the door. He stood aside and motioned for me to enter the dim sitting room.

Stewart turned down the volume on the television set and froze the movie mid-scene. He then rose from the sofa and turned on more lights.

“Where are Diesel and Dante?” I asked when I realized I couldn’t see them.

“They’re snuggled up on the bed,” Stewart said. “Neither one of them cares for action movies, and they wore themselves out playing earlier.”

“I’ll get Diesel for you,” Haskell said.

“No, not yet,” I said. “Actually, I need to talk to you both about something. Would you mind?”

“Of course not,” Stewart said, and Haskell nodded. He pulled up a chair for me and then joined Stewart on the sofa. Stewart leaned against him.

“I don’t want you to think I’m nuts,” I said, “but I think there might have been another murder, a couple of months ago.”

“What? Who? Who was murdered?” Stewart jerked upright.

“I think maybe Peter Vanderkeller,” I said.

“Wasn’t he the head of the library?” Haskell said. “The one who just up and quit one day?”

I nodded. “Yes. Except that I’m not so sure he left voluntarily. I’m afraid someone else arranged his departure.”

“Why do you think so?” Haskell asked.

After a moment to marshal my thoughts, I gave them a summary of what little evidence I had. It didn’t amount to a lot, except speculation, a series of if s, but I couldn’t get over my uneasy feeling.

“What are you going to do about it?” Stewart asked when I’d finished.

“Go to Kanesha at some point,” I said. “I don’t want to talk to her about it yet, though, because it’s all rather tenuous.”

“You have some plan in mind, though, don’t you?” Haskell asked.

I nodded. “I thought about going to Peter’s house to see if it’s inhabited. If someone is living there, I can ask them if they bought it or are renting and see if they have any information on where Peter is now. If it’s empty, well, that could be evidence of a sort that I’m right.”

“Or that he simply walked away from his life here and didn’t look back,” Stewart said.

“No, I don’t think so,” I said. “Peter had a thing about money. He was frugal, and I can’t imagine him abandoning his house without trying to get at least some of his money back out of it.”

“Good point. Since neither of us knew him, we’ll have to take your word for that.” Stewart rose from the sofa and tugged at Haskell’s arm.

“Why are you doing that?” Haskell frowned.

“Because you don’t think we’re going to let Charlie go by himself, do you? Come on, Mr. Deputy, and bring your gun.” Stewart grinned and batted his eyelashes at his partner.

Haskell stared at him for a moment, and I thought he was going to refuse. Then he, too, rose. “What are we going to do with the kids?”

“They can come with us,” I said. “Diesel is used to riding in the car.”

“I’ll go get them.” Stewart left the room and came back moments later with Dante in his arms. Diesel yawned as he padded behind Stewart.

Five minutes later we were all in my car. Stewart sat in the back with the animals, and Haskell was in the front passenger seat. He had strapped on his holster and gun, and I was glad he was with us.

Peter’s house was in a neighborhood about a ten-minute drive away on the other side of town. A newer development, it had been built in the 1980s. The houses were large and on good-sized lots, though some had since been torn down and larger houses built in their place.

Daylight saving time wasn’t for another week yet, and it was getting pretty dark by the time we reached Peter’s house. I parked on the street in front. I cracked the windows for Diesel and Dante, and we locked them in. Dante barked until Stewart shushed him. Diesel meowed along with the dog, but he quieted when Dante did.

The house was set back from the street and obscured mostly from view by a high hedge and several trees. We walked up the driveway until we were even with the hedge, and I saw there were a couple of lights on inside. We paused but saw no signs of activity in the house.