Purrfect Cover. Purrfect Patsy. Purrfect Son

Chapter 13

“This is impossible,” said Quintin Gardner. He was an imposing man, and even at sixty-three was also an exceedingly handsome man, Odelia thought.

She’d accompanied her uncle and Chase for this first interview with Vicky Gardner’s husband, hoping to shed some light on recent events.

Mr. Gardner looked up from the picture of the dead woman. “Is this… Vicky?” he asked. “Did you finally find her?”

It was obvious from the tremor in his voice that even twenty years after her disappearance, the man still carried a torch for his wife.

They were standing in the doorway of his grand mansion, having parked in the circular driveway. Max and Dooley were eager to get inside out of the heat, and frankly so was Odelia. Uncle Alec was mopping his brow and probably could have used a cold shower. The only one who wasn’t affected by the heat was Chase, who looked his usual cool and composed self. It was he who was holding up his phone and had asked Mr. Gardner if he recognized the woman in the picture.

“We found her just now,” Chase explained. “We believe she was murdered.”

“Vicky? Murdered?” asked Mr. Gardner, who seemed as confused by all this as Odelia was feeling. “But…” He studied the picture once more. “She looks just like she did when she went missing,” he said, a flicker of a smile touching his lips, then his shoulders sagged. “I don’t understand any of this. Won’t you come in for a moment?”

Gratefully they all stepped inside, and it was a testament to Mr. Gardner’s general state of confusion that he didn’t even ask about the two cats that tripped in after Odelia.

“Please,” said Mr. Gardner, and gestured to a sitting room just off the main atrium, which was two floors high and bathed in the light streaming down from a skylight.

They entered the sitting room but instead of sitting, stood around waiting for Mr. Gardner to offer them a seat. But the older man was so discombobulated that the thought didn’t even enter his mind. At least it was nice and cool inside the house.

“I don’t understand,” the man repeated. “You say you took this picture this morning?”

Chase nodded. “The resemblance with your wife is striking, Mr. Gardner, which is why we thought to drop by here first.”

“But… how can this be?” asked the man. “Vicky would be forty-eight if she were still alive. And this girl—this woman—she’s what, twenty-five? Twenty-eight?”

“We were hoping you had an explanation for us,” said Odelia gently. “Maybe your wife had relatives? A niece who resembled her? Or a daughter, maybe?”

“No,” said Mr. Gardner, shaking his head distractedly. “We were never lucky enough to have kids. Maybe if Vicky had lived we would have started a family, but we figured we still had plenty of time.” His voice broke, the grief still palpable, even after all these years.

“Then… a niece, perhaps? Or some other relative?” Odelia insisted.

But Mr. Gardner shook his head. “Vicky was an only child, and so were her mom and dad. It’s always possible that she had some distant cousins she didn’t know about, of course, but the resemblance, my God…”

He did take a seat then, on an overstuffed black leather chair, but didn’t offer the same convenience to his guests. “Can I see that picture again, Sergeant?”

“Detective,” Chase murmured, and obligingly handed over his phone.

Mr. Gardner studied the picture closely, pinching his fingers to zoom in and narrowing his eyes as he did. Then, finally, his eyes widened. “It’s her!” he said. “Vicky had a tiny birthmark underneath her left eye. Very faint. I always thought it made her even prettier. This girl has the exact same birthmark in the exact same spot!” He almost dropped the phone. “I-I don’t believe this. And you say she was… murdered?”

“Broke her neck,” said Uncle Alec, still busy with his handkerchief. “Nothing in the vicinity of the body suggests it happened there, so someone moved the body after she died. Which suggests foul play for sure. We’ll know more in the next couple of days.”

Mr. Gardner shook his head. “This is a nightmare. An absolute nightmare.” Then he glanced up. “Do you have any idea who did this to her, Chief Allen?”

“Alec,” Uncle Alec corrected the man. “No, sir. Not yet, anyway.”

“Please find out and let me know,” said Quintin, staring off into space. He waved a hand. “Could you please… leave now, Chief Jack? I would like to be alone.”

“Of course, sir,” said Uncle Alec.

Moments later they were out on the driveway again, looking at each other with confusion written all over their features.

“What just happened?” asked Chase.

“I think Quintin Gardner positively identified the victim as his wife,” said Uncle Alec. “Which we all know is pretty much an impossibility.”

“But the birthmark,” said Odelia. “What about the birthmark?”

“Yeah, that’s got me stumped, too,” said the police chief, mopping his red neck.

“Where are your cats?” asked Chase suddenly, glancing around.

And it was only then that Odelia noticed that her cats hadn’t made it out of Mr. Gardner’s house yet. So she stepped up to the front door and rang the bell again. Only this time there was no answer.

“Oh, crap,” she said. “They’re in there.”

“Let me try,” said her uncle, and slammed the door with his fist. “Mr. Gardner, open up. This is the police!”

But Mr. Gardner, if he had heard, was giving every indication of not wanting to acknowledge this visit from the constabulary a second time in a row.