Fat Cat Takes The Cake

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.”

A knock sounded on the door and Ms. Bjorn let Professor Anderson Fear into the living room. Chase glimpsed his blue fat-tire bike leaned against her porch railing. He peered at Chase, then took off his steamy glasses and wiped them on the tail of his plaid shirt. As usual, his hair stuck up in places and his clothing was rumpled and disheveled. Exactly right for a professor, Chase thought.

“We were talking about you, Andy, this very minute. I’ll get you some hot chocolate.” Ms. Bjorn bustled out of the room to her kitchen.

“Chase Oliver,” the man said, finally placing who she was. “Do you know how soon your friend Ms. Larson can talk to both of us?”

“I know that she’s taking this pro bono, so has to squeeze visits in. She was here yesterday, but you must have missed her. Ms. Bjorn was telling me about the guy who made the offer to her.”

“I guess I missed seeing her,” Professor Fear said.

Hilda Bjorn came back with a steaming mug for the professor.

“You’re not having any?” he asked Chase.

“No, we have to get going. But you go ahead. You’re probably cold from your bike ride.”

He perched on the edge of the couch cushion, which sagged halfway to the floor with his slight weight. “It’s not that cold yet. It’s above zero. Did you tell Chase about the man? What was his name?”

“Vance,” Ms. Bjorn said.

“What does he look like?” Chase asked.

“A great big egret, one of those white ones. A snowy egret.”

“Is he tall, short?”

“No, more medium height, I think. He was very nice.”

“Ms. Bjorn, please promise me that you’ll talk to Professor Fear before you sign anything. Make sure you do that, okay?”

“Yes, Hilda,” he said. “Don’t sign anything at all unless I’m there.”

“All right, but I think you young people are being too suspicious.”

“Maybe we are, but it’s better to be safe,” Chase said, and headed out.

Hilda Bjorn closed the door after them, clucking, and shaking her head. In general, Chase thought Ms. Bjorn was on the ball, but her idea of house prices was stuck in the year that she bought hers and was sadly out of date. Just the thing an unscrupulous land broker would count on.

Then it clicked. Van Snelson? Heard as Vance Nelson. Mr. Snelson, however, was not a land broker. He was a high school principal. She would talk to Julie about all this again tonight when Jules was off work. And she must remember to mention seeing Dickie Byrd with—whoever that was. Right out there on a public sidewalk. Did the man have no sense of self-preservation, what with his election coming up? He had never gotten academic honors in high school, but he had won elections. Was there such a thing as being election-smart and not smart-smart?

Rounding the last corner to the parking lot behind the Bar None, Chase was surprised to see Eddie Heath leaning against a bright yellow Smart car. He broke into a glowing smile when he saw her coming.

He waved, so Chase returned the gesture. But she wondered what he was doing here, behind the shop. It was closed today, so he probably wouldn’t find out where she’d gone from anyone inside. Anna was still here, as evidenced by her blue Volvo. She didn’t usually answer the door when she was alone, though.

“Nobody answered your doorbell when I tried it,” he shouted. “I was about to leave when I saw you.”

When she got near, she greeted Eddie. “Hi. We’ve been on a walk. Did you need some dessert bars?”

“Nope.” He grinned again.

“That’s good, because we’re closed today. But I could get some if you’re interested.”

“I’m more interested in the shop owner right now.”

He was flirting with her! Her high school crush had come around to see her after the reunion. She was conscious of a faint blush spreading up from her neck as she recalled the tingle she’d felt when they touched that night. “Are you . . . are you here for the tour I promised you?”

“Maybe. But I thought I could buy you lunch first.”

Was he going to apologize for dumping her right before their high school prom? No, Chase, she told herself. Don’t bring that up. It’s water under the bridge.

“Have you eaten?” he asked.

“No. Sure, I’d like that. I’ll be out in a minute.”

She scooped Quincy up and ran up the stairs to deposit him in the apartment. She wet her hands and patted her hair into place, then ran a tinted gloss over her lips. Then, for good measure, even though she knew she was about to eat, she swished some mouthwash.

As she checked her teeth in the mirror, Mike Ramos’s face popped up in her mind. This wasn’t a date, she told the imaginary Mike, it was merely getting together with an old classmate. Who I bumped into when I went to the reunion without you. Because you finked out at the last minute.

Crossing her fingers, she hoped going to lunch with Eddie Heath wasn’t the wrong thing to do.