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“So why did she change her will?”

“It turns out she heard some very worrying things about you,” said David.

“Me?”

“Steph, actually.” David seemed embarrassed having to say this. “I’m simply repeating what the notary told me. Evelyne said that information had been brought to her attention that Stephanie is an unfit mother, a raging alcoholic and drug addict who neglects her daughter and is a danger to herself and others.”

Steph gasped in shock, even as Jeff took her hand and squeezed it in support.“I don’t understand,” said Steph. “She said those things about me? Jeff’s godmother?”

“She did, actually,” said David. “And when I asked where she had heard these preposterous things, the notary said a letter had arrived containing several very disturbing photographs. I took the liberty of taking a picture,” he said, and suddenly the screen changed and a picture from the same collection Steph had seen before, when sent to her by the HR person from WelBeQ, came into view. It depicted her passed out on the couch, an empty bottle of vodka in her hand, drool dripping from the corner of her mouth, and Zoe alone on the floor, playing with a dirty diaper.

She closed her eyes in horror.“This is just…”

“These are doctored,” Jeff explained. “You understand that these have been doctored, right? They took these pictures and put Steph and Zoe’s faces on them.”

“Of course we understand, Jeff,” said Pauline, once David had switched the image back to the live footage from the parental pair. “You don’t have to tell us. We know Steph isn’t anything like the person in those pictures. And she would never neglect Zoe like that. But the damage is done, I’m afraid. The apartment is gone.”

“At least she donated it to a good cause,” said Steph quietly.

This was a nightmare. First WelBeQ, then Sofie Fashion, and now this. Someone was out to get her. Out to destroy her utterly and completely.

“I think I know who’s behind this,” she said. “And I’m going to prove it.”

“There is one glimmer of hope,” said Pauline. “Your father and I have been discussing things, and we think we might be in the position to offer you an alternative for Evelyne’s apartment. It won’t be as nice, of course, since Evelyne’s apartment is located in the fourth arrondissement, one of the best neighborhoods in Paris, but we may have a surprise for you.”

The screen changed once again, and a picture of a great-looking apartment building appeared. It was built in the typical Haussmannian style, with the cream-colored facade and the mansard roof with the dormer windows. Next came a series of pictures of the interior of a spacious apartment that looked simply wonderful. It was sparsely decorated, presumably by the real estate agent, but looked like an absolute dream in comparison with their cramped Brooklyn flat.

“What’s this?” asked Jeff, after exchanging a look of surprise with Steph.

David and Pauline returned, all smiles this time.“It’s yours if you want,” said Pauline. “We closed escrow last week, and were going to put it on the rental market. But now that the opportunity to live in Evelyne’s apartment has fallen through, we thought you should have it.”

Steph and Jeff’s faces must have revealed their shock, for David and Pauline laughed. “Maman!Papa!” said Jeff. “Are you serious?”

“Of course,” said David. “I never joke about real estate. And if you don’t want it, it’s still a sound investment for us, so no harm done.”

“You have got to be kidding,” said Steph.

“No, we’re not,” said Pauline. “You deserve it, after all your hard work. Jeff told us about the job you’ve just landed with Sofie Fashion, and David is already pulling some strings to land Jeff a job at a very prestigious bank in the eighth arrondissement, so Paris awaits. And frankly wecan’t wait for you to arrive, so we can finally see our granddaughter again. Because Skype is very nice, but it’s simply not the same as being in the same room.” She must have noticed something in Steph’s expression, though, for her face fell. “What is it? Something I said?”

“The job at Sofie Fashion fell through,” said Steph. “They received the same terrible pictures WelBeQ received, and also Evelyne.”

“Someone is out to get Steph,” said Jeff. “Sabotage her career.”

“Not just my career—my entire life,” said Steph.

“Have you talked to the police yet?” asked David.

“We talked to a reporter who works with the police,” said Jeff. “Odelia Kingsley. We’ve heard good things about her, and she gets results.”

“She also told us to go to the police, though,” said Steph. “To file an official complaint with the NYPD.”

“Well, you should,” said Pauline. “You can’t allow this to go on. Who knows what this person is going to do next? Post these pictures on the internet? Destroy your reputation for good? Once these things are out there, they take on a life of their own, Stephanie, darling. And before you knowit, the story goes viral and your life is ruined. So you have to stop this before it’s too late.”

“You’re right,” said Steph. “I should have gone to the police sooner.”

“Go now. Don’t wait another minute. File this complaint today,” David advised.

“I will. I’ll go right now, and tell them the whole story. Can you send me the pictures? I’m going to show them to the police. They need to stop this person.”

“Of course. I’m sending them now,” said David. “And the letter as well. I took a picture of the envelope, too. Maybe the postage stamp will tell them something.”

“I wonder where they got Evelyne’s address,” said Jeff. “Or how they even knew she was bequeathing her apartment to me. These people, whoever they are, seem to know an awful lot about us, don’t they?”

“Did you post about Evelyne on Facebook, maybe?” asked Pauline.

Jeff thought for a moment.“I don’t think so. I did mention it to a colleague, but I don’t see how she would… I mean, why would she even…”

“Just talk to the police,” David stressed again. “They’ll figure it out. It’s their job.”

And so it was decided. Steph would go to the police and get this terrible business with the slanderous letters and emails stopped once and for all.

“Where is Zoe?” asked Pauline, a constant refrain whenever Jeff’s parents called in. “How is she doing?” And when Jeff pointed the phone to their little girl, the oohs and aahs were something to behold. “She’s getting so big!”

“You have to come to Paris,” said David. “I’m sure that once you have this slander business sorted out Sofie Fashion will apologize and offer you a job. And if not them, there’s hundreds of other places that will be glad to have you.”

“Thanks, David,” said Steph. The support of her in-laws meant a great deal to her. They’d been on her side from the start, never wavering in their opinion that she was the victim in all of this, and whatever was being said about her was nothing but a bunch of malicious lies. “And we’d love to move to Paris. Wouldn’t we, honey?”

“We’ll discuss it tonight,” Jeff said diplomatically. But she could see from the sparkle in his eyes that as far as he was concerned, the decision had already been made. He’d always wanted to return to Paris, and so had she, actually. So maybe the fact that the contract at WelBeQ had fallenthrough was a blessing in disguise. Otherwise they would have spent the next couple of years out in LA, and perhaps wouldn’t even have liked it all that much.

And Jeff had given up so much for her already, moving to New York, and prepared to move to LA. So maybe it was finally time to return to his hometown.

After cooing and fussing over Zoe for a few minutes, the call ended, and they both sat there for a moment, before asking, simultaneously,“What do you think?”

Jeff’s grin spread from ear to ear. It was obvious what he thought.

“Let’s do it,” she said finally. “Let’s go back to Paris.”

“Only if you want to,” said Jeff cautiously.

She smiled and wrapped her arms around her husband.“I want to. In fact I can’t wait.”

“Then let’s do it,” he said, and planted a sweet kiss on her lips.

CHAPTER 8

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When Tex arrived home from a long day at the doctor’s office, he liked to unwind by enjoying a nice cooling aperitif before dinner. Campari, soda and plenty of ice were all it took for him to relax. Then during dinner he drank a glass of wine, and when stretched out in front of the television at night, his arm around his wife, another one or two before going to bed. It was a habit he’d gradually gotten into, and even though from time to time Marge frowned when he topped up his glass during dinner, generally she was fine with it. Even though she didn’t drink a lot herself, or only on special occasions, she didn’t mind when he did.

But today, when he opened the fridge to take out the Campari, preparatory to mixing his drink, he discovered to his surprise that it was no longer there. Which made him wonder if he’d drunk the last of it yesterday? He didn’t think so. In fact he’d only cracked open a new bottle yesterday. Or was it the day before?

He turned to his wife, who was busy tending to her containers filled with herbs, located on the kitchen windowsill.“Have you seen that bottle of Campari? I could have sworn it was still almost full.” When Marge didn’t respond, he repeated, “My bottle of Campari, honey? Have you seen it?”

Suddenly she turned on him.“I poured it down the sink,” she said, and gave him a slightly challenging look that told him something was going on, even though he had no idea what. “Along with all of your other bottles. And Vesta’s, too.”

He blinked in confusion.“But… but… but…”

“You have a problem, Tex,” said Marge decidedly. “And if you can’t see that, you’re even further gone than I thought.”

“A problem? What problem?”

“A problem with alcohol!”

He stared at his wife of twenty-five years.“I don’t have a problem with alcohol.”

“Oh, honey,” said Marge as she shook her head in dismay. “You need help.”

“What help? What are you talking about?”

“You’re an alcoholic, Tex. And the sooner you realize this the better.”

“An alcoholic! Me!”

“Yes, you.”

“I’m not an alcoholic. I can stop whenever I want.”

“No, you can’t. I found three bottles in the recycle bin yesterday morning, and another two this morning. That means that between you and my mother, you managed to drink two bottles last night.”

“I didn’t drink two bottles,” he said. “I can’t drink two bottles. Two bottles, that’s… two liters, right? I didn’t drink two liters of alcohol. Two glasses, maybe.”

But Marge was implacable.“Two bottles, Tex. Two whole bottles.”

He was shaking his head, but could already see the way the wind was blowing.“I’ll stop,” he announced. “Not one more drop of alcohol. Just to prove to you I don’t have a problem. I don’t!” he cried when she didn’t look convinced.

But instead of arguing with him, Marge handed him a flyer instead.

“What’s this?” he asked as he frowned at the thing. “Alcoholics Anon— Honey!”

“You’re going,” she said, planting her hands on her hips. And from the set look on her face he knew he wasn’t going to win this battle. So he didn’t even try.

“Yes, honey,” he said meekly.

“There’s a meeting tonight, at the community center.”

“Tonight! But…” There was that look again. “Yes, honey.”

“No more aperitif before dinner.”

“No, honey.”

“No more wine during dinner.”

“Of course, honey.”

“And no more wine when we’re watching TV.”

He sighed.“Yes, honey. No more wine.”

She offered him a very frosty smile.“Good.”

Then she turned on her heel and left the kitchen.

[Êàðòèíêà: img_4]

It wasn’t a happy Tex who showed up at the AA meeting that night. More a reluctant participant in the revels, if revels were to be had, which was unlikely. He would have argued that a man of his standing in the community could hardly be expected to get up in front of a crowd of people and announce that he was an alcoholic. It might damage his reputation. What patient in their right mind would visit a doctor who was a known drunk? A man who might be expected to perform the kind of minor surgery all family doctors perform with trembling hands?

But he knew that resistance was futile, and even though he was dragging his feet, he knew that attend he must. He did tell himself he wouldn’t get up at any point during the proceedings, and no words would escape his lips. He would sit at the back and make himself as invisible as possible. And if anyone asked, he’d tell them he was simply there as an observer. In his capacity as a medical professional, just in case someone collapsed and needed medical attention.

And so he snuck into the hall, glanced around, and quickly took a seat. He would have preferred to be in the last row, but the last three rows were filled already when he got there. But at least he wasn’t in the front. To his surprise all the chairs were occupied, and the meeting enjoyed the benefit of a full house. In front, a woman was standing, who introduced herself as Betsy Brogue. She was the chairperson, and in a few words described the AA program for the benefit of the newcomers.

And as he listened carefully, he didn’t notice how a person slid in next to him. Only when a sharp prod in the ribs caused him to look up, did he see who his neighbor was.

“Vesta!” he loud-whispered. “What are you doing here!”

“I could ask you the same thing!” she loud-whispered back.

“If you want to say something, I suggest you do it in front of the group,” Betsy called out.

But both Tex and his motherin-law quickly shook their heads, their faces having turned a light crimson when all those present turned to look at them. They shrunk in their seats and would have preferred, if possible, to have disappeared.

Fortunately no one called on them to testify or stand in front of the group, and they both kept their mouths shut, and sat in uncomfortable silence throughout Betsy’s introduction of the first speaker, in whom Tex recognized a former patient of his, and then a second and third speaker, both current patients.

This was a nightmare, he thought, as he was sweating profusely. Not only wasn’t he an alcoholic, and so completely out of place, but with Vesta present, he could be sure that pretty soon the whole town would know about his attendance, Vesta being an inveterate blabbermouth of the worst kind.

Finally the meeting ended, but as he decided to slip out quietly and unobserved, he was stopped by the chairperson herself.“First-timers?” she asked, addressing both himself and Vesta. “I think you’ll find that things are going to be a lot easier if you don’t have to face this problem alone,” she explained. “Which is why we have something called the sponsor system. Now I know that typically a sponsor is someone who’s been dry for a while, but unfortunately we’ve been seeing so many newcomers that frankly we’ve run out of available sponsors. So I’m going to take a gamble here and I’m going to put the two of you together.”

“Wait, what?!” Tex cried.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Vesta growled.

“Just bear with me,” said Betsy implacably. “I know this might seem a little unusual, but I can assure you the system works. So whenever you find yourself in trouble…”

“Tex,” said Tex with some reluctance.

“You simply call on…”

“Vesta,” said Vesta with even more reluctance.

“Vesta here. And vice versa. You’ll see that between meetings the support you get from your sponsor will prove invaluable.”

“Oh, I’ll bet it will,” said Vesta, looking distinctly unhappy.

Not as unhappy as Tex, though.“The thing is,” he said, “that we’re actually related, Vesta and me. She’s my motherin-law, you see, and I’m her son-in-law.”

“That usually goes together,” said Betsy.

“No, but you see, I’m a doctor, and so…”

But Betsy merely smiled.“Well, I hope to see you folks soon, and I look forward to hearing your personal stories.” She then placed a flyer in both their hands and tapped it smartly. “And don’t forget about the twelve steps, you two!”

They left the conference room, with Tex feeling as if he’d been hit on the head with a mallet. When he looked up, he found Vesta staring at him intently.

“That’s another fine mess you got us into, Tex,” she said with vehemence.

“Me! I didn’t get us in this mess. You did. By putting two bottles in the recycle bin last night. Marge found them, you see, and she blames me.”

“She blames me, too,” said Vesta unhappily. “And so she removed every last bottle from the house. Can you believe she even raided my room? I actually caught her looking under the mattress.”

“And did she find anything?”

“My bottle of Pinot Noir. I told her it was meant as a present for her, and what was she doing in my room, but she wasn’t having any of it. Said I was an alcoholic, and if I hoped to keep living under her roof I was going to have to start going to these AA meetings.” She shook her head. “I ask you:her roof. It’s nother roof. It’s our roof, all three of us. And the cats, of course,” she added.

“I’m not an alcoholic either,” said Tex. But when his motherin-law gave a snort of derision, he cried, “Well, I’m not!”

“That’s what they all say. Those two bottles in the bin? I didn’t put them there. And I didn’t put those three bottles in there two days ago either. Guess who did?”

“I have no idea,” he said stiffly. “I certainly never drank two bottles of wine in one evening.”

“And I certainly never did anything as dumb as putting the evidence of my drinking in the recycle bin, where I’m sure my wife would find them the next morning.” She shook her head. “For a clever guy you’re not so clever, are you?”

“I did not put those bottles in the bin. And I did not drink them.”

“It didn’t help, of course,” said Vesta, ignoring him, “that I arrived home with another two bottles of altar wine from Francis Reilly’s stock.” When Tex gasped in shock, she shrugged. “He told me that when I found myself in need of a pick-me-up I should come to the church and help myself. Even gave me the church keys.”

“He meant a spiritual pick-me-up! Not for you to raid the church wine cellar!”

“I had to, all right? Marge has told Wilbur not to sell me any more alcohol, and I didn’t feel like going to the mall, where I’m sure Marge also has her spies.”

“Marge has spies at the mall?” asked Tex, marveling at this strange new world that was opening up before him.

“Marge has her spies everywhere,” Vesta assured him. “She’s a librarian, you know,” she added, as if that explained everything.

“Look, this buddy system—”

“Sponsor system.”

“Whatever. It’s not going to work.”

“What do you mean?”

“You and me? We can’t be buddies.”

“Sponsors.”

“Whatever! I won’t do it.”

“Well, you have to. If Marge finds out that you’re refusing to play by the rules, there will be hell to pay, sonny boy.”

“You mean…”

Vesta wiggled her eyebrows meaningfully.“Ever heard of a sex strike?”

God. This was just getting worse and worse and worse!

CHAPTER 9

[Êàðòèíêà: img_2]

Steph and Jeff were on their way to Hampton Cove when it happened. They’d been discussing Steph’s visit to the police station that morning, and how unhelpful and discouraging the police officer had been, when suddenly a car cut in front of them, and Jeff was forced to perform a dangerous maneuver by jerking his wheel to the right and almost hitting the guardrail. Lucky for them he managed to get the car under control and bring it to a full stop on the shoulder.

They were both panting and staring at each other in wide-eyed shock, then immediately Steph turned round to see if Zoe was all right.

But the little girl was still strapped safely in her car seat, and was babbling happily and trying to catch a fly that had somehow managed to enter the car.

“That maniac!” Jeff cried. “He could have killed us!”

Steph’s heart was beating a mile a minute, and she said a quick prayer of gratitude for her husband’s lightning-fast reflexes and excellent driving skills.

“But I’ve got him,” said Jeff as he tapped the rearview mirror where his dashcam was mounted. “He won’t get away with this.” And then he released a stream of vituperative in his native tongue that sounded very colorful indeed!

“Jeff, the baby,” she said.

“Oops.”

“God. It’s been an eventful couple of days, hasn’t it?”

“Let’s hope things settle down now,” said Jeff as he eased the car on the road again. “Maybe we can use our time at the winery to come up with a plan.”

“What plan?”

“About the future? About my parents’ offer?”

She smiled.“I thought we already decided that?”

“I guess I wanted to double-check,” he said. Clearly he couldn’t believe his luck.

“I could see your eyes light up and I knew you were going to say yes.”

“I want to say yes,” said Jeff. “Of course I want to say yes. But there’s two of us in this marriage, and we have Zoe to think about also. We have to decide what’s best for her as well.”

“We’re already raising her to be bilingual, and I’m sure Paris has great nurseries and great schools. And of course some of the best fashion houses.”

“Not to mention some of the best banks,” said Jeff with a smile.

“So I say we take a chance on Paris.” Just like she had taken a chance on Jeff when he proposed to her, not coincidentally in a Paris restaurant on the banks of the Seine. It was, after all, where it had all begun for them, and it just felt right to go back there now, and build a new life for them.

“Your parents won’t like it,” Jeff said. “They want you here, close to them.”

“I know,” she said. She had always known this was going to be the difficulty when she married a Frenchman: if they lived in the States, his parents would be unhappy, and if they lived in France, her parents would. At the end of the day, they had to figure out what would make them happy. Where their future lay.

“It’s not forever, though, is it?” he said. “Maybe we live in Paris for a few years, and then we move here again. Let’s see where life takes us, mh?”

She dug her fingers through his curly dark hair.“You’re so wise.”

“Ha!” he said with a grin. “My hair isn’t white enough to be wise.”

“It might be white one day, like your dad’s hair. But for now I’ll settle for a wise man with gorgeous dark hair.”

“My dad’s hair has been white for a long time. It started turning grey when he was only thirty-five. So let’s hope he won’t go bald soon, because that would mean I’ll be a bald wise man.”

“I don’t mind,” she said. Though she had to admit she loved that he had a full head of hair she could slide her fingers through.

They arrived at the winery just in time for lunch, and as they drove along the long drive, past the wine fields her parents took such pride in and which had proved such a blessing both in terms of the financial reward but also the prestige and standing in the local community that success invariably brings.

They parked in the circular drive in front of the main house, and were warmly welcomed by Steph’s parents Ian and Raimunda, and her brother Kevin. And as Raimunda fussed over Zoe, every inch the proud and doting grandmother, Steph wondered when she’d break the news to them of their imminent departure to Europe. She hoped they wouldn’t be too heartbroken. Not so much over the absence oftheir daughter—they’d had to live with her absence since she left for college seven years ago—but their granddaughter, who they absolutely adored.

But when the time came to tell them about their plans, their reaction was more measured than she would have expected.

“If you think Paris is the best for you, then Paris it is,” said her dad.

They were out on the patio, enjoying a meal as a family, just like they had done almost every weekend since Steph and Jeff had settled in New York.

“We can Skype,” said her mom as she took a sip from her glass of wine—home brew, of course. “I mean, in this day and age distance doesn’t matter anymore, does it? You can be on the other side of the world and still feel as if you’re in the same room. Like we did when you were in Paris last time, remember? When you were in your kitchen trying to roast a duck and asked me how to go about it?”

Steph smiled at the memory. Mom was right. Distance had become relative. You could talk to the person, and sit down for dinner together while you were talking. And it was true: it was almost as if you were in the same room—though not really. And she could tell that even though Mom was putting on a brave face, she was going to miss her daughter something fierce, and her granddaughter even more.

CHAPTER 10

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After lunch, Steph decided to go for a stroll. She had a lot on her mind, and needed time to process what had happened. In the space of just a few days her world had been turned upside down several times, and she felt as if she’d been through the wars. First they were going to move to LA, then that all fell apart, then she discovered someone had launched a slander campaign against her. Then the Paris job had popped up, then the offer had been rescinded again. And of course that whole business with Jeff’s godmother had been the clincher. She still couldn’t believe that the sweet old lady was gone. But more importantly that she had died believing that her treasured godson had married a woman who had proved an unfit mother and a drug and alcohol addict to boot. Such a tragedy. If only Evelyne had talked to Jeff.He could have told her it was all a web of lies.

She hoped the police would identify the person who was behind this attempt to destroy her future prospects. It must be someone with an intimate knowledge of her, though of course they could have found out a lot through her social media. Perhaps she should take Jeff’s advice, and stop posting so much on Facebook. They’d both taken the decision when Zoe was born never to post her pictures anywhere or on any platform. You never knew who might see them—the world was full of weirdos, as the events of these last couple of days had amply shown.

At least there was the amazingly generous offer from David and Pauline now. They’d actually bought them an apartment in Paris. It must have cost a fortune, and she felt she hadn’t properly thanked them. But then her mind had been a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts lately, as she had experienced a welter of emotions. So much so that she needed time to unwind, and what better place than the winery where she had spent such a happy time growing up?

She idly wandered through the fields, where the grapes were proudly growing on the vines. The sun was giving of its best, covering the world in a warm glow. And as she walked along, she felt her mood lift and her mind become more tranquil. Or at least as tranquil as could be expected under the circumstances.

“Steph!” suddenly a voice rang out behind her. “Hey, Steph!”

She immediately recognized the voice as belonging to Robbie Scunner. She turned and waved at the young man, who was the same age she was.

“Hey, Robbie,” she said, happy to see him.

Robbie was the son of the winery foreman Larry Scunner, and her childhood sweetheart. They’d dated off and on for a couple of years when they were both in their teens, but nothing had ever come of it. She’d always considered Robbie more a dear friend than a boyfriend, and once she turned eighteen and left for fashion design school in Paris—her greatest wish come true—Robbie had disappeared from her orbit. And then when she met Jeff and eventually got married, Robbie had been relegated to a treasured but distant past. She still saw him when she visited her parents, of course, and she still appreciated his company, but no powerful emotions were involved—at least from her side. Robbie had seemed more reluctant to let go of the notion that they were meant to be together.

“Back so soon?” asked Robbie when he finally caught up with her. He was dressed in his customary attire of sturdy boots, jeans and a lumberjack shirt. Put a Stetson on his head and he would have the cowboy look down pat.

“I’ve come to say goodbye,” said Steph as she shielded her eyes from the sun.

“I thought you weren’t leaving for LA for another couple of weeks?”

“The LA thing fell through,” she said, but didn’t elaborate. “We’re off to Paris instead.”

His handsome face was marred by a sudden frown.“Paris again, huh?”

“Yeah, Paris again,” she said. “So what’s happening here?”

“Nothing much. Same old, same old,” he said. She could have been mistaken but he suddenly seemed a little sullen. Probably the fact that she was leaving. She often had the impression he took it as a personal affront that she had left the winery to spread her wings elsewhere. In that sense he was of the same view as her parents, who would have loved nothing more than for her to become active in the family business. Running the winery together with her brother Kevin.

But the wine business didn’t interest her. It never had. Fashion did. Even as a little girl she loved dressing up, and even though that’s probably something a lot of girls have in common, and eventually grow out of, with her it had stuck.

“So how long will you be gone for this time?” he asked as he stared into the middle distance, refusing to meet her gaze. The conversation had quickly turned awkward, the way it often did between them.

“I don’t know, Robbie. It depends.”

“I see. Well, I guess it’s goodbye, then.” He gave a curt nod and walked off.

“Robbie—don’t be like that,” she said at his retreating back. But she could see from the stiff way he moved that he was going to prove implacable again.

She sighed. Just what she needed. A quarrel with her longtime friend.

She had spoken too soon anyway. They probably weren’t going to leave for Paris for another couple of weeks. Jeff’s mom had told them that the Paris flat had to be completely remodeled, since the couple who sold it to them had lived there for more than fifty years, and were now moving into a retirement home. Pauline said the electricity and plumbing needed to be brought up to code so it could meet modern standards before Jeff and Steph could move in, and she wanted to put in a new kitchen and bathroom as well, which might take a couple of weeks.

And anyway Jeff would need to give notice at Capital First, which would also not happen overnight.

So she didn’t know why she’d told Robbie this was goodbye. Maybe because she knew how he would react, and she wanted to get the awkwardness out of the way.

But as she resumed her stroll, Robbie and his hangups soon vanished from her mind, and she enjoyed the peace and quiet of the vineyard, which stretched around her for what seemed like miles in every direction. She’d miss this place. She’d miss the vastness of it—the tranquility. But that couldn’t be helped. She would never have been happy if she stuck around—that much she knew. And now that new adventures awaited in the City of Light, her heart was at peace with her decision.

[Êàðòèíêà: img_4]

That night Steph was sound asleep in her old bedroom—though it didn’t look anything like her old bedroom anymore since at some point her parents had decided to redecorate—when the sound of a crash awoke her.

She sat up with a jerk. Next to her, Jeff barely stirred.

For a moment she wondered if she was dreaming, but then decided that she had indeed heard a loud crash and the sound of broken glass. Almost as if a window had been smashed.

Unable to sleep unless she knew what was going on, she slipped from underneath the covers and moments later was in the corridor, listening intently. And there it was: another loud crash! This time it came from the end of the corridor, where a window looked out across the drive.

She hurried in the direction of the sound, and as she did, a door opened to her left, and her dad appeared.

“What’s going on?” he asked, tying the sash of his velvet dressing gown.

“Someone is throwing rocks through the windows,” she said.

“Christ,” said her dad, and together they made for the window.

It was as she had surmised: two panes in the multi-pane window had been destroyed, rocks lying on the carpet amongst the shards of glass.

“Careful,” said her dad as she bent down. “Don’t cut yourself.” Then he uttered a loud curse, and when she looked where he was pointing, she saw a person running away from the house. It was too dark to see who it was, but she could have sworn it was a man from the way he was moving.

“We have to call the police,” she said immediately.

“Don’t worry, I will,” her dad assured her.

Behind them, soft steps alerted her of the presence of her mom, who was coming up the stairs.

“What’s going on?” she asked. “What are you two doing up?”

To Steph’s surprise, her mom was fully dressed. “Where did you come from?” she asked.

“I couldn’t sleep so I went for a walk,” said her mother, who shared a meaningful look with her husband before becoming aware of the broken glass. “Oh, my God, what happened!”

“Someone threw a couple of rocks through the window, that’s what happened,” said Steph’s dad angrily. “We saw him running off just now.”

“Yeah, Mom, you probably just missed him,” said Steph.

“Oh, will you look at my nice table,” said Mom, pointing to the pretty piecrust table which had been positioned in front of the window but was now covered in glass. One of the rocks must have hit it, for it had fallen over, taking down the ponytail palm which it had supported. “That used to belong to my aunt Mabel.”

“No letter,” said Steph’s dad, who’d crouched down to examine the rocks.

“It’s only in the movies that they wrap a letter around a rock and throw it through the window, Dad,” said Steph. “And you better don’t touch anything. The police will want to look for fingerprints on those rocks.”

“Fat chance they’ll find anything,” Dad grumbled.

Suddenly Steph became aware that her brother was missing.

“Where’s Kevin?”

“Sound asleep, probably,” said Mom. “You know your brother. You can fire off a cannon next to him and he still won’t wake up.”

A door opened at the end of the corridor and a male figure stumbled out, looking sleepy and bleary-eyed. It was Jeff.“What’s going on?” he asked, stifling a yawn.

“Someone is throwing rocks through the windows now,” said Steph.

“Oh, no,” he said as he joined them to assess the damage. “And here I thought you didn’t have criminals in Hampton Cove.”

“Well, you better think again,” said Dad grimly. “And the worst criminal of all is that bastard Beniamino Kosinski!” And he actually shook his fist as he said this.

CHAPTER 11

[Êàðòèíêà: img_2]

Once again Odelia had been called upon to assist Stephanie Felfan in a matter of grave concern. This time a stone or stones had been thrown through a window of her family’s residence where she was staying. And since her dad had called 911, we showed up on the Stewart family doorstep bright and early, this time accompanied by Chase, in his capacity as an officer of the law.

When we arrived, remnants of the incident were partially scattered across the drive, and when we followed Steph up the stairs to the third floor, more glass could be seen, and also the two stones or rocks that had caused all the damage.

“Why do people throw stones at other people’s windows, Max?” asked Dooley, as we both studied the scene with some astonishment. Mostly Chase deals with murder and all manner of mayhem, but a knocked-out window was definitely a first.

“I’m not sure,” I said. “To make a point, maybe?”

“What point could that be?”

And there he had me. What point could this nocturnal intruder possibly have wanted to make? He hadn’t even left a note to state the reasoning behind his initiative, or made a phone call claiming responsibility, like terrorists do.

No, to be absolutely honest this stone business was as much a mystery to me as it obviously was to our humans.

Chase stood scratching his scalp, and Odelia stood looking dumbfounded.

“Oh, and one other thing,” said Steph. “Jeff and I were almost driven off the road yesterday. I didn’t tell my parents, since I don’t want to alarm them, but Jeff got the license plate off the dashcam.” And as she supplied the details to Chase, who gratefully jotted them down, she said,“My dad seems to think it’s the Kosinskis, but I don’t know. I’ve known them for years, and even though they’re not exactly great neighbors, I don’t think they’d do a thing like this. And besides, why would they? They have no reason to.”

“Who are these Kosinskis?” asked Odelia.

“Beniamino Kosinski. He’s the owner of the Kosinski Winery, along with his son Dominic. They’re our closest neighbors, and also our competitors. Dad and Beniamino have never gotten along, but I doubt he’d start throwing stones through our windows. But I just thought I’d mention it, since Dad seems to feel very strongly about this.”

“Beniamino Kosinski,” said Odelia as she wrote this down on her tablet. “And son Dominic. Competing winery.”

“There’s some discussion as to who was here first,” Steph explained. “The Stewarts or the Kosinskis. Both wineries were founded in the seventies, though neither can claim to have been the first on Long Island. The Hargraves founded that one, in 1973.” And as she gave us a brief history ofHamptons wine, Chase called in the license plate number. When he received a reply, he was frowning.

“Guess who owns the car that almost drove you off the road yesterday,” he said as he joined us again. “Edmundo Crowley.”

Steph was obviously dumbfounded.“I knew it,” she said finally, when she had recovered from the shock. “I knew he was behind this business with the slander. Both at WelBeQ and Sofie Fashion.”

“Sofie Fashion?” asked Odelia.

“Oh, I haven’t told you this yet, but there has been a new development,” said Steph. “Or developments, plural. And I’m sure Crowley is behind both of them.” And she proceeded to tell us about her latest job offer that hadn’t gone through. All because someone had sent those same photographs to Sofie Fashion, a Paris fashion house that had offered Steph a job. And as if that wasn’t bad enough, the same person had convinced Jeff’s godmother that Steph was some kind of addict. As a consequence, the woman had drawn up a new will, cutting out her godson. And to add insult to injury, she had bequeathed her vast fortune to a dog shelter!

“A dog shelter,” said Dooley, as appalled as I was. “Who in their right mind gives all of their money to a shelter for dogs? The woman must have been crazy.”

“I’m sure she had her reasons,” I said, not wanting to get sidetracked here. Though I have to say I agreed wholeheartedly with my friend.

“Now if she would have given her money to a cat shelter, that would be fine,” Dooley continued. “But a dog shelter, Max! A shelter for dogs!”

“I know what a dog shelter is, Dooley,” I said. “And truth be told, there must be a lot of dogs in Paris who could use the benefit of a shelter.” As we all know, cats are perfectly capable of taking care of themselves, but the same cannot be said about dogs, who always seem to need a human to take care of them. “So we shouldn’t judge Jeff’s godmother too harshly,” I finished my assertions.

“I guess you’re right,” said my friend. “Dogs need shelters. Cats don’t. So maybe this woman, even if she wasn’t right in the head, did the right thing.”

Not according to Jeff, though. That stalwart young man had joined us, and when he heard that the same person was responsible for almost driving them off the road, and also thwarting his wife’s chances at landing her dream job, he uttered a few choice curse words. At least I thought that was what they were. I don’t speak French, you see, and the young man cursed exclusively in his native tongue. The only thing I understood was the word ‘merde,’ which means poo.

“What’sesp?ce de merde?” asked Dooley, who had been listening attentively.

“I’m not sure aboutesp?ce, butmerde means poo,” I said. We once spent a couple of days in Paris, and I’d picked up a few words here and there from a nice French cat named Marion.

Odelia must have overheard our conversation, for she smiled and bent down, and whispered into my ear,“Esp?ce means piece.”

“So basically he’s calling Edmundo a piece of poo?” asked Dooley.

“Something like that,” I said. Obviously Jeff was very upset. And when he showed us the footage from his dashcam, I can’t say I blamed him. This Edmundo character could have killed them. Talk about road rage.

“He’s a very angry young man,” said Odelia, and that was putting it mildly.

“We’ll go and have a chat with him,” Chase assured the young couple.

“Please do,” said Steph. “I filed a complaint with the NYPD, just like you said, but I don’t think they took me seriously. They didn’t seem to think it was important enough for them to bother with.”

“I know some people in the department,” said Chase, who had been an NYPD cop himself before moving to Hampton Cove. “I’ll talk to the person in charge of the investigation and see if I can’t get them to speed things up a little.”

“Thanks,” said Steph gratefully. “I just want this to stop, you know.”

“Of course. This kind of behavior simply cannot be tolerated.”

Two more men had joined us. Steph introduced them as Larry and Robbie Scunner, father and son. Larry was the foreman at the winery, and basically in charge of the practical ins and outs of running the place, alongside Ian Stewart. And Robbie pretty much handled any job that needed doing. Larry had been in the Stewarts’ employ since the late nineties, and had even worked for Steph’s grandfather for a while, back when he was in charge of the place.

“Bad business,” said Larry, shaking his head. He was a rugged-looking man, and like his son dressed in jeans and a check shirt. His skin was the consistency of leather, and even though he wore a baseball cap, clearly he hadn’t been adhering to the generally accepted advice to liberally use sunscreen when out and about, and to stay out of the sun and seek shade when your shadow is shorter than you.

His son Robbie was also very tan, and from the occasional glances he stole at Steph, I had the impression his concern was mainly centered around her.

“Do you think Beniamino could be behind this?” asked Steph. “It’s just that my dad seems to think so.”

“I doubt it,” said Larry. “We may not always see eye to eye, but there’s never been any violence. And Ben has absolutely no reason to resort to violence now. No, whatever this is, I’m sure it’s got nothing to do with the Kosinskis.”

“Is it true you were almost driven off the road yesterday?” asked Robbie now.

Steph nodded.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” said Robbie, who suddenly seemed worked up for some reason. “Your dad tells me you could have been killed!”

“Dad told you that? But I haven’t said anything. I didn’t want him and Mom to worry.”

“I told them,” said Jeff. “After the incident with the window, I thought they should know. I also told them about the slander campaign and everything.”

Steph clearly didn’t agree with her husband in this matter, for she shook her head. Maybe she had a point. No reason to get her parents all worked up.

Suddenly Robbie Scunner turned on Steph’s husband. “This is your fault,” he said, stabbing the Frenchman in the chest with his finger. “It’s your responsibility to take care of Stephanie, and clearly you’re not up to the job, buddy!”

“Say that again and I will beat you!” said Jeff, balling his fists.

“Bring it on!” Robbie said, and the two men started pushing and shoving each other in some kind of weird tussle. The air was suddenly filled with testosterone, and at any moment they could start slugging it out like two schoolyard scrappers.

“Stop it, you two!” said Steph as she tried to come between the men. But before she could, Chase had stepped forward, and so had Larry. And while Larry held his son back, Chase provided the same service to Jeff. At this point Jeff was talking aboutmerde again, and coincidentally or not Robbie used the exact same expression but in English. Clearly these men did not like each other very much.

“Walk away, son,” said Larry in a deep, booming voice. “Now!”

“If something happens to her, it’s on your head!” Robbie yelled, and then followed his dad’s advice and did indeed walk away.

“Now they were both talking about pieces ofmerde, Max,” said Dooley.

“Well observed, Dooley,” I said. “It appears to be a popular expression on both sides of the Atlantic.”

“What’s wrong with you!” Steph cried. She had turned to her husband, and was clearly unhappy with the way he had reacted to the situation.

“He insulted me!” said the young man.

“So? That doesn’t mean you have to respond in kind.”

“Oh, whatever,” said Jeff with a throwaway gesture, and also walked off.

“What’s the deal with those two?” asked Chase.

Larry sighed, expressing a father’s frustration. “Robbie worries about Steph’s wellbeing, and when something like this happens, he feels Jeff isn’t doing a good enough job at protecting her.”

“It wasn’t Jeff’s fault that this maniac tried to drive us off the road,” said Steph. “And in fact he probably saved our lives.” She was darting a concerned look in the direction her husband had stalked off. “I better go and talk to him,” she said finally, and followed the young manto wherever he’d gone.

“The thing is,” said Larry, “and I don’t think I’m betraying any confidences here, that Robbie and Steph used to be an item. This was a long time ago, and it ended when Steph went off to Paris for her fashion school. Then she met Jeff and they moved in together in Jeff’s flat in Paris, and a year later they got married. Big wedding here at the winery. And Robbie—well, I guess he took it pretty hard.”

“He’s still in love with Steph,” said Odelia.

“Yeah, I guess he is. He’ll never admit it, though. Every time I try to talk about it, he shuts me down. But I think he feels that Steph was the one for him, and for a long time it looked as if they’d end up together. So the fact that she went and married Jeff must have stung. See, the thing is that my wife handled this kind of stuff a lot better than I ever could. Wendy died ten years ago, and we both took it hard. Robbie is a great kid, but he doesn’t exactly wear his heart on his sleeve. And neither do I. His mom, she could get him to open up. But I never could.”

We watched through the window as Robbie furiously walked away, crunching gravel underfoot. His dad sighed. His heart was clearly bleeding for his son.

CHAPTER 12

[Êàðòèíêà: img_2]

It didn’t take long for Chase to find out where Edmundo Crowley could be found. As it happens the aspiring fashion designer was staying at the Star Hotel, which is located in the heart of Hampton Cove. He admitted as much to Chase, when he called him on the number Odelia had for him. And so the detecting duo decided to pay a visit to the young man, accompanied by yours truly and Dooley.

When Chase knocked on the door of his hotel room, it was opened by a very nervous-looking Edmundo. He was also a lot paler than the last time we saw him in his Brooklyn apartment.“Hello, officer,” he said. “Mrs. Kingsley.” He gave Dooley and me a sort of blank look, but awarded us no greeting, kindly or otherwise. Instead he turned around, expecting us to follow him into the room.

“You probably know why we’re here,” said Chase.

“Actually I don’t,” said Edmundo as he stood around awkwardly. It’s never enjoyable when the police come knocking on your door, and since they don’t teach the social niceties to be observed in such a contingency at school, it’s always interesting to see how different people react in quite different ways.

Edmundo clearly didn’t know what to do with himself. He folded his arms across his chest first, then clasped them behind his back, and finally decided to take a seat at a table near the window, offering the accompanying chairs to his present company.

And while Odelia accepted the offered seat, Chase remained standing, and towering over the distinctly ill-at-ease designer.

“Yesterday at eleven hundred hours you very nearly caused a collision on I-495 through the negligent operation of your vehicle,” Chase began, switching to the lingo of his trade. “thereby endangering the safety of a fellow driver. This is called reckless driving and is illegal, Mr. Crowley.”

“But I didn’t—I never—I mean I wasn’t…”

“You were filmed by the dashcam of the driver who was a victim of your illegal maneuver, Mr. Crowley. Your license plate is KDP-2022?”

“Y-yes, it is,” said Crowley, breaking out into a sweat.

“Can I ask what you are doing in Hampton Cove, sir?”

“I-I’m here as a tourist. Just-just for the beach.”

“Is that so?” said Chase, directing a stern look at the man, who was wilting before our eyes.

“S-swimming,” he stammered weakly. “I like swimming.”

“Isn’t it so that for whatever reason you have decided to start a personal vendetta against Stephanie Felfan and her husband Jeff? A personal vendetta that has resulted in a campaign of slanderous photographs and messages sent to Mrs. Felfan’s potential employers, dissuading them from offering her employment? And isn’t it so, Mr. Crowley,” said Chase, raising his voice when Crowley tried to voice a meek protest, “that destroying Mrs. Felfan’s career opportunities wasn’t enough for you, so you decided to follow her to Hampton Cove and try to drive the car she was traveling in off the road? And I put it to you, sir!” Chase said, his voice reverberating through the room like a carnival barker. “That last night at oh two hundred hours you threw no less than two rocks through a window at the Stewart residence, where Mrs. Felfan and her family are currently staying!”

“I didn’t throw no stones!” said the man, who looked more miserable than ever. Guilt was clearly written across his features, and denial was futile, but he wasn’t giving up without a fight. “Okay, so I may have cut off her car, but I didn’t even know she was in it—you have to believe me. Just my rotten luck, I guess. And I definitely did not throw any stones or send any photographs or messages. I already told Mrs. Kingsley I had nothing to do with any of that. I wouldn’t even know how to doctor pictures. And besides, why would I? I’m not that kind of guy—you have to believe me. I’m simply not!”

“All right, all right, settle down,” said Chase, holding out a big slab of a hand.

“Chase would have made a great traffic cop,” said Dooley admiringly. “With big strong hands like that he could stop any car or truck dead in its tracks.”

He was certainly stopping Edmundo dead in his tracks, for the young man swallowed whatever else he had planned to say and closed his mouth. He was staring up at the burly cop with a scared look, as if afraid he was going to hit him.

“Look, you just can’t go around driving like a maniac, son,” said Chase, switching gears and adopting a more fatherly tone. “Or throwing stones through people’s windows, just because they applied for the same job you did.”

“But I didn’t, I swear!” the man bleated weakly.

“So you’re actually going to sit there and tell me that you coming to Hampton Cove, of all places, is just a coincidence?”

“It is, I’m telling you!”

“You’re a lousy liar, Crowley,” Chase grunted.

“But I’m telling you the truth,” he said softly. He had sort of collapsed in on himself, and was sitting slumped in his chair, a miserable pile of human being.

“You’re lucky no one got hurt this time,” Chase grumbled. And he proceeded to give the designer a lecture on respect for other people’s property and the proper way to behave in traffic.

“Is he going to arrest him?” asked Dooley.

“I doubt it,” I said. “No one actually got hurt in that driving incident, and there’s no evidence linking him to the broken window, so that’s going to be hard to prove. And as far as the smear campaign against Steph is concerned, that incident is being handled by the NYPD as a separate investigation.”

“It’s possible he’s telling the truth. A lot of people come to Hampton Cove just to enjoy some fun time at the beach. And he did say how much he likes to swim.”

“It’s too much of a coincidence,” I said, shaking my head. “The same person who competed with Steph for that job ends up in the same place at the same time, and even manages to cut her off while traveling in the same direction? He’s up to something, that’s for sure.” But whatever Edmundo had in mind for whatever reason would hopefully end now. Chase’s little speech would go a long way toward accomplishing that. And if the aspiring designer knew what was good for him, he’d stop now.

Though it would have been good to know what had possessed the guy to do a thing like that. One thing was for sure: it wasn’t because he liked swimming.

CHAPTER 13

[Êàðòèíêà: img_2]

While Chase returned to the office to type up his report, and Odelia returned to her office to type up her article, Dooley and I decided to pay a visit to Kingman. We hadn’t forgotten about the equally important task we’d taken upon ourselves of trying to locate Shanille, and I thought that maybe Kingman would know more. The big cat proudly carries the proverbial badge of best-informed feline in Hampton Cove, and now was his chance to prove it.

Unfortunately when we arrived, it soon became clear that he had no idea about our missing conductor’s whereabouts either.

“It’s a mystery, fellas!” he cried, throwing up his paws in despair.

Harriet and Brutus had also had the same idea I’d had, and so the five of us organized an impromptu brainstorming session, trying to come up with some kind of plan. It’s always important to have a plan, you see, before you go off on some mission. James Bond always has a plan before he tries to save the world from yet another bomb-building evil genius located in some weirdly remote spot on the globe. But at least James gets his plans from his superiors, who are identified not by their names but by a letter. Like M. Or Q. Or maybe even Z.

“Okay, I suggest we start by interviewing anyone who could have seen Shanille before she disappeared,” said Harriet, quickly taking control of the meeting.

“But humans can’t understand us,” Dooley pointed out. “So we can’t talk to them.”

“Who said anything about talking to humans? We’re going to talk to pets, Dooley. Because wherever humans are, there will always be pets—and plenty of them, too. So all we need to do is talk to all the pets who live in the neighborhood. Someone is bound to have seen something. A car drive off with Father Reilly behind the wheel. Or a camper van parked in front of the rectory. Anything.”

“So you agree with me that Father Reilly is on vacation and took Shanille along?” I asked.

“At this point it’s my main line of inquiry,” Harriet confirmed. “The other possibility is simply too horrendous to even contemplate.”

“Alien abduction?” Dooley ventured.

“Mischief,” Harriet countered.

“What do you mean?”

“Do I have to spell it out to you?”

“Yes, please,” he said happily.

Harriet rolled her eyes, but then Brutus beat her to the punch.“What Harriet means is that something could have happened to Father Reilly. Something bad.”

“Like bad breath?” asked Dooley. “Or maybe he ate a bad apple?”

“No, Dooley,” said Brutus, adopting a grave tone. “More like a bad person did something bad to him.”

They were right. It was a possibility I didn’t like to entertain. Nevertheless, it was feasible, of course, that some gangster or gangsters had gained access to the rectory and had abducted the priest and his cat for monetary gain. Or they could still be in there, victims of what is generally referred to as a home invasion. But then a thought occurred to me. “Why would anyone target a priest?” I asked. “I mean, Father Reilly isn’t a bank manager, or the CEO of a Fortune 500 company. He’s not rich, and he doesn’t have rich relatives willing to pay through the nose.”

“You don’t know that, Max,” said Harriet. “Father Reilly may be a dark horse.”

“He doesn’t look like a horse,” said Dooley. “Though he does make a sound like a horse sometimes, when someone tells him a funny joke.”

Father Reilly did have a very pronounced laugh, but that still didn’t make him a horse. But I saw what Harriet meant. “You mean he might have some money tucked away somewhere.”

“Money or valuables,” said Harriet. “And these crooks could have found out and decided to hold him for ransom until he agrees to hand over his fortune.”

“I don’t think Father Reilly is rich,” said Kingman, adding his two cents to the discussion. “If he were, he wouldn’t be a small-town priest. He’d be a bishop by now, or a cardinal, or even the Pope. He wouldn’t stick around here.”

“He would, because he’s an honorable man,” Harriet argued. “The way I see it,” she said, and got that faraway look in her eyes she often gets when she’s about to tell a long story, “is that Francis Reilly comes from a long line of very rich men.”

“Why not women?” asked Dooley. “Women can be rich.”

“Shush, Dooley,” said Harriet. “I’m talking.”

That, she most certainly was.

“So he comes from a long line of European princes—the Reilly’s. Or maybe a long line of Irish noblemen. At any rate, his family is rich beyond measure. But young Francis understands that money isn’t everything, and so he tells his mommy and daddy that he wants to be a priest. And even though they had hoped for him to become the next Bill Gates or the next Jeff Bezos, they support the path he’s chosen.”

“I didn’t know Bill Gates and Jeff Bezos were Irish?” said Dooley.

“Dooley, shush. So Mommy and Daddy Reilly give young Francis their blessing, but the moment he starts priest school—”

“I think you’ll find it’s called a seminary,” I interjected, risking Harriet’s ire for interrupting her story.

“Fine. Seminary. Whatever,” she said with the sigh of a much-put-upon cat. “So Francis Reilly goes to the seminary when the news arrives that his parents have both passed away.”

“Poor Father Reilly!” Dooley cried.

“No, rich Father Reilly, for he inherits the entire family fortune. So now he’s rich, but he’s also a priest. So what does he do?”

“He gives all his money to the dog shelter,” said Dooley.

“What?! Are you nuts? Who in their right mind gives money to a dog shelter!”

“Our thoughts exactly,” I said with satisfaction.

“No, he keeps the money for a rainy day, because he knows that one day he will be a priest no more. One day he’ll reach the ripe old age of sixty-five and need his nice little nest egg to retire on. So he invests his money in a balanced investment portfolio consisting of US Treasury bonds and ahigh-yield savings account and goes about his priestly business… until the bad men come knocking!”

Her story had us all on the tips of our toes. Though I saw one minor flaw.“Priests don’t actually retire at sixty-five,” I said. “At least not like the rest of us.”

“Cats don’t retire either, Max,” said Kingman with a grin.

“So when do priests retire?” asked Harriet with a frown.

“It depends on the diocese,” I said.

“The dio-what?”

“It’s the district a priest is assigned to. Some retire at seventy, others at seventy-five. Like I said, it all depends on the diocese.”

“Seventy-five!” Dooley said. “That’s a long time to wait for retirement.”

“That’s it then!” Harriet cried. “Father Reilly must have been tired of waiting for his retirement, so he’s gone in search of a better diocese!”

“You’re forgetting that Father Reilly was going to leave the church so he could marry Marigold,” I said. “In which case he doesn’t have to change dioceses.”

“Okay, so maybe he took Marigold to Florida for a vacation,” said Harriet with a shrug. “And Shanille tagged along, wanting to work on her tan.”

“Of course she did,” Kingman scoffed. “Because Shanille is the kind of cat who likes to work on her tan!”

“Fine. If you have a better idea of what happened, let’s hear it,” said Harriet.

But Kingman didn’t have a better idea, and neither did any of us.

“So all in favor of doing things my way?” said Harriet.

And since we all know that Harriet always gets her way, we dutifully stuck our paws in the air. Looked like the house-to-house canvass was on. Or rather: the pet-to-pet canvass.

CHAPTER 14

[Êàðòèíêà: img_2]

Tex was staring before him with what are often termed unseeing eyes. He was between patients at the moment, and suddenly found himself in want of a pick-me-up. His last patient had been Ida Baumgartner, and the woman had given him a lot of grief by demanding that he visit her at home from now on, insisting that she was a sick woman—too sick to make the trip to the office for her appointments. He couldn’t very well point out she wasn’t really all that sick—and that there were actual sick people who needed his advice a lot more than she did.

He was feeling sandbagged, which was the customary sensation associated with a visit from that formidable woman. Which is why he was in need of a pick-me-up.

Absentmindedly he opened the bottom drawer of his desk, and reached for the hip flask he kept there for emergencies—and Ida’s visits. And he’d just unscrewed the cap and put the little metal bottle to his lips when suddenly the door of the office flew open and Vesta burst in.

“Don’t do it!” she cried, and before he could stop her, had slapped the flask from his grasp, causing it to describe a perfect arc across the office, bounce off the examination table and hit the wall with a dull thwack, causing alcohol to spill all over the floor.

“What did you do that for!” he said, appalled by this spillage of perfectly good whiskey. Immediately the smell filled his nostrils, and he sniffed with relish.

“Don’t worry, buddy,” said Vesta, patting his shoulder. “I’ve got your back.”

Belatedly he remembered Vesta was his sponsor now, and he was hers. He closed his eyes.“Oh, God.”

“I know, I know. It’s tough, but we have to power through, Tex. I’ve been reading up on this twelve-step business and the first few weeks are the hardest. After that it’s going to be a breeze. So you just hang in there, you hear me?” She eyed him keenly. “Speaking of the twelve steps, I’ve got one for you. I once destroyed all of your underwear. There, I’ve said it. Now it’s your turn.”

“What are you talking about?!” he said, feeling the strain more keenly by the second.

“Step eight! I made a list of all the people I’ve harmed, and I’m willing to make amends to them. So this is me making amends to you.”

“I see. But what does my underwear have to do with the twelve steps, pray tell?”

“You’re going to laugh,” she said, and produced a sort of high-pitched giggle, “but I once read that some men have trouble conceiving because their underwear is too tight. Squeezes the male undercarriage and… well, you know more about the human anatomy than me. Cuts off the blood supply or the oxygen to the male machinery or whatever. So when you and Marge had been married a year, and still no baby, I figured you were strapping your stuff in too tight, and so one morning I snuck into your bedroom and removed all of your underwear and destroyed it. I figured I’d get you to go commando, like the Scots, at least until you got yourself a new set. And I was right! One month later Marge gave me the good news.” She winked at him. “Listen to your dear old mom, buddy. She knows.”

He would have reminded her that she was not his mom, but there was no point. And besides, he was experiencing a spell of weakness. Vesta must have noticed, too, for she studied him closely, then said,“You’re showing all the symptoms of alcohol withdrawal, Tex. You need to talk to people. Open up.”

“I don’t think…”

But before he could stop her, she was hugging him to her chest, and patting his hair.“There, there,” she murmured soothingly. “Vesta’s here. Everything’s fine.”

“Oh, sweet Jesus,” he muttered brokenly.

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Steph was rocking Zoe on her lap, and singing softly. The baby had just been fed, and was ready for beddy-bye. They were on the patio, enjoying some quiet time. Her mom and dad were off doing whatever they did for the winery, and so was her brother. And Jeff was upstairs getting ready to go out. He came out of the house now, looking very smart in a polo shirt and fashionable white jeans. With his sunglasses and a light pink pastel sweater draped across his shoulders he could have walked straight out of a Ralph Lauren commercial.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” she asked.

“Of course. It’s going to be a chance to meet outside work, in a casual setting.”

Jeff was meeting a work colleague with whom he’d never seen eye to eye from day one. Clive Balcerak came from a long line of bankers, and for some reason that Jeff had never been able to understand, had taken an instant dislike to Jeff from the moment the latter had joined the team. Somehow he felt threatened by Jeff, seeing in him a competitor and not a colleague. It had resulted in some petty sniping, some undermining of Jeff’s authority, accusing him of all kinds of things and generally making an absolute nuisance of himself.

And now all of a sudden, and quite out of the blue, Clive had sent him a message and suggested they meet in town. It so happened that Clive’s family owned a house in Hampton Cove, and he must have heard that Jeff’s in-laws owned the well-known Stewart Winery.

“I think he wants to call a truce,” said Jeff as he kissed his wife gently on the lips. “He must have finally seen the error of his ways.”

“Or maybe someone at the bank told him this nonsense has to stop.”

“Yeah, that’s also a possibility,” Jeff admitted.

After enduring Clive’s pestering for a year, Jeff had finally mentioned his annoyance with the man’s behavior during his quarterly performance review. Chances were that Jeff’s boss had talked to Clive, and told him enough was enough. And so now Clive was ready to offer his colleague an olive branch.

“I think it’ll be great for both of us,” said Jeff. “Especially with me leaving soon, it will be nice to depart as friends, and not this weird enmity that has sprung up.”

“You’re right,” said Steph. “Of course you’re right. But if he starts accusing you of all kinds of stuff, make sure you record the conversation, you hear?”

“I will,” said Jeff as he pressed a kiss to Zoe’s little head. “See you later.”

And as she watched him leave, suddenly she got a strange sort of premonition. For a moment she wondered if she shouldn’t tell him not to go. But then she dismissed the thought. She was just being silly. This business with the road rage and the broken window was threatening to make her paranoid. And she couldn’t have that. She wouldn’t allow this man Crowley to affect her like that. It would mean he had won, and she wasn’t going to let the little creep do that to her.

CHAPTER 15

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It was late afternoon when the call came. Steph had just been updating her resume and looking at the website of one of the big Paris fashion houses for job openings, when her phone chimed. As she glanced at the display, she saw that Odelia Kingsley was trying to reach her. Having grown fond of the soft-spoken and kind-hearted reporter, she picked up with a pleasant,“Hey, Odelia. What’s up?”

But as she listened, terror gripped her heart.“It’s Jeff. Something has happened.”

“What?” she said, her voice sounding strained to her own ears. And even before Odelia spoke the words, she knew what she was going to say. “I’m afraid he’s dead.”

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Dooley and I had planned to accompany Harriet and Brutus on their house-to-house in search of clues to what had happened to Shanille, but as we got ready to move out, Odelia’s car suddenly swerved and came screeching to a halt right in front of the General Store. She opened the passenger door and yelled, “Max and Dooley! Get in the car now!”

So of course we did as we were told.

“I hope we’re not in any trouble,” said Dooley nervously. “Did you raid the fridge, Max?”

“No, I did not,” I said. “And I resent the accusation, Dooley.”

“Oh, but I didn’t mean it like that,” said my friend. “It’s just that you get hungry, and when your bowl is empty, and so are all the other bowls, you get cranky. It’s because you have low blood sugar, Max. And when you have low blood sugar you need to eat at regular intervals otherwiseyou get cranky. Like you are right now.”

“I’m not cranky!” I said, though of course then I understood that I actually was cranky. I guess I’m not used to being kidnapped by my own human in broad daylight! But then she proceeded to explain what was actually going on.

“There’s been a murder,” she said curtly. “It’s Jeff Felfan.”

“Steph’s Jeff?” said Dooley. “Oh, no!”

“Oh, yes. And what’s even worse—”

“How can anything be worse than murder!” Dooley cried.

“He was found next to a prostitute, who’s also been murdered.”

“A prostitute? Jeff?” I said with a frown. “That doesn’t sound like him.”

“No, it doesn’t, does it?” said Odelia. “Which is why I didn’t tell Steph when I called her just now.” She shook her head. “I liked Jeff, I really did. Steph is going to be devastated.”

We rode on in silence, though I could tell that Dooley was bursting at the seams to talk. Finally he couldn’t hold it in anymore. “But Jeff was so nice!”

“Nice people get murdered, too, Dooley,” said Odelia as she gripped the wheel a little tighter. “Unfortunately.”

“It must be Edmundo. First he tried to drive Jeff’s car off the road, then he threw those rocks through the window, and now he’s gone and murdered the poor man!”

“Let’s just wait and see what actually happened before we jump to any conclusions,” I suggested.

The flat where Jeff’s body had been discovered was located near the canal lock on McMillan Street. It wasn’t a pleasant neighborhood, but not all that unpleasant either, since Hampton Cove doesn’t really have bad neighborhoods. Not anymore, that is.

The street had been temporarily cordoned off, and plenty of police officers were present, talking to neighbors and doing a house-to-house, just like the one Harriet and Brutus were presently engaged in.

Abe Cornwall’s car stood parked in front of the building, and when we arrived on the third floor, the coroner was already busy examining the body. Or bodies.

Chase was also there, having arrived before we did.

“So what do we have, Abe?” he asked, nodding a greeting at his wife and her feline escort.

“Both dead,” said the coroner matter-of-factly. “Both shot at close range. Possibly with the gun over there.”

He was pointing to the gun that was in the hand of a woman of slim build, who was dressed in a red dress that was far too revealing for a casual afternoon meeting. It looked more like the kind of dress one would wear to a party. Next to her on the bed, Jeff was lying, the two side by side as if they were peacefully sleeping.

“Murder-suicide?” asked Chase.

“Possibly,” Abe said. “We’ll have to check to see if they both died from shots fired from the same gun—ballistics will tell us—but the scenario is a possibility.”

“They met up for an afternoon tryst, she shot him, then she shot herself,” said Chase. He shook his head. “Sad business. And both still so young.”

Abe cut him a curious glance.“You’re becoming lyrical in your old age, detective. Maybe you should write poetry. Something to fill your evenings.”

“Thanks for the suggestion, Abe, but I think I’ll pass,” said Chase dryly.

“Who found her?” asked Odelia.

“In the kitchen,” said Abe, and jerked his thumb in that direction.

When we followed the coroner’s instructions, we found a blond-haired woman being kept company by a police officer. The woman answered to the name Hailey Harper, and was the roommate of the female victim, who was called Cipriana Cilke. And as far as the officer Odelia and Chase talked to knew, Hailey was also in the same profession, and had shared the flat with her.

Chase and Odelia took a seat at the kitchen table. Obviously Hailey Harper was greatly distressed by the news of her friend’s death, and so Odelia asked if it was all right if they asked her a couple of questions. The woman blew her nose and nodded. Her face was red and puffy and her eyes even redder and puffier. Her blond hair was almost white, and I had the impression it wasn’t her natural color since her eyebrows were a velvety black.

“I don’t understand,” said Miss Harper. “She said she had a client, but I know most of her clients and I’ve never seen this person before. He must have been new.”

“You don’t think Cipriana knew Jeff Felfan?” asked Chase.

“Is that his name? No, I’m sure I’ve never seen him and neither had Cipriana. She was my best friend. We had no secrets from each other. I knew all of her clients and she knew all of mine.”

“You work alone here?” asked Odelia. “I mean you don’t have a, um…”

“Pimp? No, we work without a pimp,” said Hailey. She shook her head. “I don’t understand. She was fine when I left her.”

“When did you leave?”

“Quarter to two. Cipriana’s client was arriving at three so I had time to do some shopping and get back here before he arrived. But when I got back…” She welled up. “I found her… like that!”

“Did you know if Cipriana owned a gun?” asked Chase. He held out a plastic evidence bag containing the gun in question. “This gun, to be precise?”

Hailey stared at the gun.“Is that what he used to…”

“Actually we think it was the other way around,” said Chase. “She shot Mr. Felfan first before she turned the gun on herself.”

But Hailey shook her head adamantly.“Never! She would never do that. She was happy. She was going to leave the business and have a baby.”

“She was pregnant?”

“No, but she had a boyfriend, and she wanted to start a family with him.”

“Who is he, this boyfriend?” asked Chase, and wrote down the name she gave him, and the address. “So the gun? Was it hers?”

“No way. Cipriana didn’t own a gun. She hated guns, and so do I.”

“You’re sure? Maybe she got it to protect herself against difficult clients?”

“Absolutely not. It’s the whole reason we decided to share this flat, and why we never left the other person alone with a client. I mean, not that we were in the room with them, but we made sure we were in the same apartment, just in case.”

“So no gun,” said Chase, processing this information. “And you’re sure Cipriana had never seen Jeff Felfan before.”

“Absolutely. I would know if she had. Like I said, we shared everything and kept no secrets from each other.” She broke down at this point, and wailed, “What am I going to do now that she’s gone!”

It didn’t seem advisable to go on, and so Chase ended the interview, with the caveat that he might need to speak to Hailey again at a later stage.

“Odd, isn’t it, Max?” said Dooley. “This Cipriana woman had never met Jeff before in her life, and yet she shot him and then killed herself. Now why would she go and do a thing like that?”

“Unless she didn’t,” I said thoughtfully. “And in actual fact someone else killed them both and then staged the scene to make it look like a murder-suicide.”

“Steph isn’t going to be happy when she discovers that her husband was seeing a prostitute,” said Dooley. “Unless they had an arrangement, of course.”

I smiled at my friend.“What do you know about marital arrangements, Dooley?”

“It was all over General Hospital last week. Doctor Jake was caught having an affair with one of the nurses, only his wife knew all about it, and was having an affair with the plumber. Turns out that’s the kind of arrangement they had to keep things interesting.” He frowned. “Though Gran said only trouble could come from this, and she was right. In the next episode Doctor Jake’s wife said she wanted a divorce on the grounds of extreme cruelty and inhuman treatment. Turns out Doctor Jake’s nurse was his wife’s younger sister, and she didn’t like that.”

“No, I can see how that would break the terms of the arrangement,” I said. It gave me pause, though. If Dooley was right, and the Felfans had an arrangement whereby they could cheat, perhaps Jeff’s visit to a prostitute was a common thing in their marriage. We would have to speak to Steph, ofcourse, and I could already foresee that the conversation would be fraught with a touch of awkwardness.

CHAPTER 16

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Steph had arrived at the scene, and one look at her was enough to tell us she was heartbroken by the news. So even though they might have had an arrangement, clearly it didn’t include one of the spouses being shot to death by their casual partner.

Odelia and Chase talked to Steph in the flat’s living room, which was located at the front of the building, and looked out across the street. It was modestly appointed, with plenty of IKEA furniture in bright and pleasant colors, and I could tell that Hailey and Cipriana had enjoyed each other’s company from the framed pictures of the two of them together, mugging for the camera and goofing around.

“Is that her?” asked a teary-eyed Steph, studying one of the pictures.

“No, that’s the roommate,” said Odelia. She pointed to a picture that showed Cipriana, her glorious red hair aflame by the rays of a setting sun, her freckled face smiling as she held a small puppy in her arms.

I looked around for a sign of the puppy, but saw nor smelled a canine presence anywhere. Too bad. If a dog had been there, he might have proved a good witness.

“I don’t understand,” said Steph. “He said he was meeting a work colleague. So how did he end up here?”

“Who was the work colleague?” asked Chase dutifully.

“Um, Clive Balcerak. He works in the same department, but never got on with Jeff. So when he sent a message saying he happened to be in town, and asked to meet for a chat, Jeff thought it was a great idea.”

“Where was Jeff supposed to meet Clive?”

“I have no idea. You can check his phone.” She paced up and down the room. “So you’re telling me this woman shot Jeff and then she shot herself? But why?”

“There’s no easy way for me to say this, Steph,” said Odelia, “so I’m just going to come out and say it. Cipriana Cilke was a prostitute. She and Hailey both. This flat is where they invited men—paying customers. And the room where Jeff and Cipriana were found was the room where she didher… well, her business.”

Steph blinked as she processed this information.“Oh, wow,” she said quietly. “I did not see that coming.” But then she frowned. “Wait—are you telling me Jeff was here to have sex with this woman? No way, Odelia. Absolutely no way. Don’t you think I’d know if my husband was having sex with another woman? I would.”

“She wasn’t Jeff’s girlfriend, Steph. She was a woman men paid to have sex with.”

“Still…” She bit her lower lip as she thought about this. But then shook her head. “Uh-uh. No. Just no. Jeff would never do something like that. He wasn’t the kind of man who visits prostitutes. And besides, he was meeting Clive Balcerak.”

“It’s possible that Jeff used his colleague as an excuse to come here?”

Steph hesitated, then said in a small voice,“You know what? I don’t know. I mean, I don’t think he would do a thing like that, but I just don’t know. It’s true that these last couple of months have been difficult for us. I mean…” She made a tentative motion with her hand as she bit back tears. “Ever since Zoe was born… Well, you know how it is. Nothing much was happening in the bedroom department. So maybe Jeff was unhappy about that. And maybe he had certain… needs that weren’t being met. Needs that I couldn’t meet. I mean, men are different than women. Some men see sex as sport. Like going to the gym.”

“Yes, I know,” said Odelia quietly.

“But Jeff wasn’t like that. He simply wasn’t. He was a gentle, beautiful soul. The most wonderful man I ever met. And he was the father of our beautiful little girl. Who will have to grow up without a father now, all because of this…” She gestured to the picture of the red-haired prostitute. “Why? Why did she have to do this?”

“We don’t know,” said Odelia. “But I promise you we will find out.”

“Was she depressed or something? Was she having mental issues?”

“It’s too soon to tell. But the moment we know more, we’ll tell you.”

“Please do. Cause I’m having a really hard time understanding why this happened, you know. It’s all so… random. So senseless.”

There was nothing they could say to that, so neither spoke.

“Odelia should ask Steph about the arrangement,” said Dooley.

Odelia must have heard, for she cleared her throat.“You and Jeff, you didn’t happen to have some kind of arrangement, did you?” she asked. “I mean, some couples do, you know.”

“An open marriage, you mean? No, we most certainly did not have an open marriage. Unless Jeff had decided he wanted one and failed to inform me. But then that wouldn’t exactly constitute an open marriage now would it? That would simply be called cheating.” She looked away for a moment. “CanI see him?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” said Odelia, alarmed.

“But I want to. I want to see him. I want to say goodbye to my husband.”

“Not right now,” said Chase. “The crime scene people are busy collecting evidence and trying to find out what happened, exactly. But you will be able to see him soon, I promise.”

That seemed to satisfy her, for she nodded. But then before we knew what was happening, suddenly she was off in the direction of the bedroom. And before anyone could stop her, she was standing on the threshold, staring at the ghastly scene. Abe Cornwall looked up with a touch of annoyance. He hated to be disturbed when he was working. But he must have sensed that Steph wasn’t a cop, for he said kindly, “Let’s get you out of here, shall we, sweetheart?”

And quite willingly Steph allowed Odelia to take her by the arm, and lead her from the room. She held on for another minute or so, then broke down in loud sobs and wails.

“I don’t think they had an arrangement,” said Dooley softly.

CHAPTER 17

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For a moment there Harriet had felt out of her depth. Max and Dooley had been scooped up so suddenly and irrevocably by Odelia that it almost felt like an abduction! Clearly their services were needed elsewhere, and now it was up to her and her alone to find Shanille and save the conductor from an uncertain fate.

“Why is it that Odelia always takes Max and Dooley along on her investigations and not us?” Brutus grumbled, not for the first time.

“She takes Max along because she seems to think he’s some kind of prodigy,” said Harriet. “Which means Odelia must be dumber than she looks, cause the real prodigy is you, my sweet. You’re the real brains in this outfit, and if Odelia can’t see that, then it’s her loss.”

Slightly mollified by this vote of confidence from his mate, Brutus said,“And what about Dooley? Why does he get to go on these investigations with Max?”

“Because Max and Dooley are attached at the hip,” Harriet said blankly. “Where one goes, the other goes. It’s always been like that.” She shook her head in bewilderment. “You would think they came from the same litter, but they didn’t.”

“It may have something to do with the fact that Dooley helps Max think. At least that’s what he told me once. And also, Dooley’s mind comes up with the most surprising associations, and sometimes, quite by accident, one of those might trigger a thought process and lead Max to come up with a vital clue.”

“Whatever,” said Harriet, who had long ago decided not to bother too much with the family’s favorite pastime, which seemed to be solving murders. An icky hobby as far as she was concerned, and nothing a lady like herself should get involved with.

“So where do we start?”

“We start by interrogating Shanille’s neighbors,” said Harriet. “Like we agreed.”

Her beloved didn’t seem very keen on the prospect of talking to all of Shanille’s neighbors. And he probably had a point. It’s hard work having to talk to a bunch of pets that more often than not are scattered across a sprawling maze of houses and alleyways. Like looking for a needle in a haystack, if that haystack consisted of hundreds, perhaps even thousands of cats and dogs, each with their own hangups and quirks, and not always all that keen on helping out a fellow pet.

“Let’s go,” she said, before she lost her resolve. “We have a job to do.”

“Maybe we should wait for Max and Dooley to return?” Brutus suggested. But when Harriet gave him a censorious look that left no room for doubt as to what she thought of that suggestion, he quickly shut up.

“Whatever Max can do, we can do better,” she said. “You are a proud and capable feline, Brutus. Where is the time that you were going to take Hampton Cove by storm? Challenge Max and beat him at his own game?” It wasn’t that long ago that Brutus had arrived in town, full of piss and vinegar and strutting his stuff like nobody’s business. He was a cat’s cat. A real he-cat in every sense of the word, which was the reason she had fallen for him hard.

“I know,” said Brutus. “Somewhere along the line I seem to have lost my self-confidence. Or maybe I’ve become complacent. I don’t know what it is.”

“You’ve settled down, that’s what. Like all men who settle down you’ve lost your edge, Brutus. And don’t get me wrong, that’s not necessarily a bad thing. All bad boys lose their wildness at some point, and for good reason. Imagine being a bad boy all your life, picking fights and busting heads wherever you go.” She directed a tender smile at her beloved. “But it wouldn’t hurt if you showed some of that old fighting spirit from time to time, sugar plum. Especially when we need to find a dear, dear friend like Shanille, and help her in her hour of need.”

Her little pep talk seemed to have a profound effect on the butch black cat, for he puffed out his chest, and some of that old defiance returned to his features.

“We’re going to show Max that we’re the best detectives in town,” he said.

“Now you’re talking,” she said with satisfaction. “Let’s move out, detective!”

And so move out they did.

As expected, the expedition proved a tough slog. They talked to cats, dogs, parrots and even pet turtles resting in their tanks on the windowsill, taking in some of that nice sunshine that is all the rage in the summer. But what they didn’t find was a clue that would lead to the unraveling of the baffling mystery of cat choir’s missing conductor. Until finally a sleepy-looking canine who lived across the street from the rectory provided a glimmer of hope.

“Oh, sure I saw them,” said the raggedy old dog. His eyes were droopy, and so Harriet wasn’t sure if she could rely on this witness to have seen what he said he saw. “They loaded up the car and took off. Must be… four or five days ago now?”

“They packed up the car and left?” asked Harriet, excitement making her voice squeaky. “Where did they go? Did they pack a lot? Who was in the car? Tell us!”

“Hey, slow down, little lady,” said the dog, whose name was Bruce. “They didn’t pack an awful lot, just one suitcase as far as I could tell. That and a couple of cardboard boxes. And it was just Father Reilly behind the wheel, not his lady. Oh, and Shanille, of course. She was also traveling in the car with her human.”

“So Marigold wasn’t in the car?”

“No, she left last week. In her own car. Slammed the door on her way out, too.” He smiled at the recollection. “You should have seen Father Reilly’s face when she walked out. He didn’t look happy, I can tell you that. Was frowning and wringing his hands and pleading with her not to go. But she wasn’t having it. She just got in that car with that daughter of hers and that was that. Haven’t seen them since.”

Harriet exchanged a look of excitement with Brutus. Now this was the goods. This was the stuff. And they didn’t even need Max to get them this vital clue!

“Thank you so much, Bruce,” said Harriet.

“Yeah, thanks, Bruce,” said Brutus. “You’ve been a great help, buddy.”

“You’re welcome, Brutus.” The old dog smiled, revealing yellowed teeth. A dollop of drool dripped from his lip and splashed on the sidewalk where he was lying. It seemed to be his favorite spot to see the world go by and do some people-watching—one of the daily highlights in any pet’s life. “Funny your name should be Brutus and mine is Bruce. Almost as if we’re brothers from another mother.”

“Put it there, pal,” said Brutus, and held up his paw. Bruce obliged by bumping his own paw against the black cat’s, and Harriet could see that a bond for life had been established. So important if you were going to be a pet detective.

“Good job, sweetie,” she said as they went on their way.

“Yeah, Bruce provided us with some very important information,” said Brutus.

“Okay, so now we know that Marigold and Father Reilly had some kind of fight, and Marigold left with her daughter last week. And four or five days ago Father Reilly also left, in his own car, and with only Shanille as company.”

“Looks like Father Reilly was in a serious hurry,” said Brutus, nodding. “Which is probably the reason Shanille didn’t tell anyone where she was going. She simply didn’t have the time.” He gave Harriet an expectant look. “So now what?”

“Now…” She hesitated. Bruce had told them the direction the car had traveled in, but that didn’t tell them where Father Reilly had gone off to. For all they knew he could be in Florida right now, or lying on a beach in the South of France. “Now at least we know that Shanille is all right.If she was seen leaving in the car with Father Reilly a couple of days ago, chances are that she wasn’t abducted by aliens, or killed by home invaders. So that’s all good news—very good news.”

But frankly where did that leave them? Exactly nowhere.

And she was thinking hard when Brutus spoke those fateful words:“Maybe we should ask Max what to do next.”

“Absolutely not! We’re going to solve this mystery ourselves, Brutus.”

“Yes, of course. We don’t need Max.”

“That’s right. We don’t need Max!”

Still. She had no idea what to do. Which is when she spotted a familiar figure slinking along the street in her customary graceful pantherine way.

“Clarice!” she called out. “Hey, Clarice!”

The feral cat slowly turned, eyed them with a touch of menace in her gaze, then, when she had ascertained that she had been hailed not by a foe but by a friend, she turned and came ambling in their direction. Her expression hadn’t changed, and it was hard to make out what she was thinking at that moment. Was she happy to see them? Annoyed? With Clarice one simply never knew!

“Harriet, Brutus,” she said once she had reached them. “What are you doing here?”

“We’re looking for Shanille, actually,” said Harriet. “She hasn’t turned up for cat choir a couple of nights in a row, and we’re starting to get worried about her.”

“She left,” said Clarice as her slitted eyes took in her surroundings, flitting here and there and missing nothing. “Left with that human of hers. Father Reilly. Left in his car never to return, I imagine.”

“Never to return!” said Brutus. “But why?”

“Yeah, we figured they’d gone on holiday,” said Harriet.

Clarice produced a sound that reminded Harriet of Odelia’s car starting. It sounded halfway between a raspy cough and a metallic rattle. It took her a while to realize Clarice was laughing. “Nice holiday,” said the battle-scarred street cat. “Shacked up in the middle of the woods with no one but each other for company? Not my idea of a holiday, I can tell you that!”

“Father Reilly is in the woods?”

“Yeah, in one of those derelict shacks out there. I bumped into him last night, doing his business against a tree, the filthy animal. And I can tell you he didn’t look like a happy camper!”

“But… but why? What is he doing out there? I don’t understand.”

“He didn’t tell me why, and frankly I don’t care. Humans are a weird and dangerous species, so the moment I clocked him I took a big detour. By the same token he would have caught me and strung me up and roasted me over a slow fire.” She raised her upper lip in an expression of contempt. “Humans. Give me a break.”

“Oh, dear,” said Harriet. “Poor Shanille. Having to sleep rough like that.”

Clarice directed a look of such venom in her direction she involuntarily took a step back.“Rough! You don’t know what rough means, princess! They’ve got a roof over their heads, don’t they? They’ve got food and plenty of it, don’t they? Well then. Spoiled brats, the lot of them.”

Harriet wasn’t sure if Clarice was referring to the human race in general, or Father Reilly in particular, but she decided not to ask. Clearly she wasn’t in a good mood. “Did you see Shanille at all? Is she all right out there?” she asked instead.

But Clarice must have lost interest in the conversation, for she darted a suspicious glance at the sky, then mumbled,“Might have rain later. And lots of it.” And then, without another word, or even a glance back, she simply walked away.

“Someone should teach that cat some manners,” said Harriet once Clarice was safely out of earshot.

“I like her,” said Brutus, much to Harriet’s surprise. “She’s feisty, isn’t she?”

That, she most certainly was. And at least she’d given them the missing clue: Father Reilly, for whatever reason, was living in some derelict shack in the woods!

CHAPTER 18

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Dooley and I had been granted the rare privilege of being present in a meeting that took place in Uncle Alec’s office. Odelia’s police chief uncle liked to organize these meetings to get an update on the ongoing investigation, and give his own input when appropriate. Odelia was present, and so was Chase of course, and Dooley and myself, but only after we had promised to be quiet and not interfere.

“So let’s hear it, people,” said the voluminous chief of police as he sat forward in his chair, his beefy arms on his desk blotter. “Tell me what’s going on here.”

In a few words Chase told his boss about the murder-suicide of Cipriana Cilke and Jeff Felfan.“Though there is some doubt about the murder-suicide theory,” he said now. “The toxicology report for Cipriana shows a high level of GBH in her blood, and it’s more than likely she wasn’t conscious when she was shot. Also there was no gunpowder residue on her hands, so she couldn’t havefired the shot. And what’s more, analysis of the gun and the bullets provided a hit in the database with a gun used in a gangland killing in New York a couple of months ago.”

“Organized crime?” asked the Chief as he listened intently. “What is a local prostitute doing with a gun like that?”

“Most likely it wasn’t her gun,” said Odelia, picking up the tale. “One of the neighbors saw a man entering Cipriana’s apartment shortly before two. We showed her a picture of Jeff but she said it was a different man.”

“Description?”

“Male. Tall.”

“Very helpful,” the Chief growled.

“Well, it is helpful,” said Chase. “Since we now have a better picture of what happened. Hailey Harper, that’s Cipriana’s roommate, left the flat at a quarter to two to do some shopping. She said a client was arriving at three, and she was planning to be back before then, since the two girls always made sure they were both in the flat when a client stopped by. So a couple of minutes after she left, this tall man must have arrived and drugged Cipriana with the GBH, which was administered with coffee, according to Cipriana’s stomach contents, then waited for Jeff to arrive. At whichpoint he must have forced him at gunpoint to lie down on the bed and then proceeded to shoot and kill him, before shooting Cipriana with the same gun, and arranging the bodies to make it look like a murder-suicide scenario. At least that’s the theory we’re working from now.”

“So who was the intended victim?” asked Uncle Alec. “Cipriana or Jeff?”

Chase glanced at Odelia, who said,“We think that Jeff was lured there under false pretenses. His wife says he was meeting a work colleague in town. One Clive Balcerak. But we called Mr. Balcerak and he claims he never sent that message. And the address in the message was Cipriana’s, so Jeff must have thought he was meeting his colleague, when in actual fact he was meeting Cipriana.”

“Who was already unconscious at this point,” said Uncle Alec, nodding.

“Exactly. So the person who let him in was most likely his killer.”

The Chief looked thoughtful.“So you’re saying Jeff Felfan was the intended victim? And not Cipriana?”

“As far as Hailey knows Cipriana didn’t have any enemies. The girls were self-employed and didn’t have a pimp, and they never got in trouble with anyone.”

“A disgruntled client?”

“Hailey says not,” said Chase. “Jeff, on the other hand, was almost killed yesterday, when his car was forced off the road in an aggressive maneuver by Edmundo Crowley. We talked to Mr. Crowley and he claims it was just a coincidence that he would have been involved in the incident. But Crowley and Jeff’s wife have a history.” He explained how Crowley and Steph had been in competition for the same job, until a campaign of slanderous emails and pictures had made Crowley come out on top, with Steph’s reputation in tatters.

“Edmundo Crowley is not a mobster, though, is he?” asked the Chief.

“No, but he could have bought the gun on the black market. Or the internet. It’s not that hard, Chief, to acquire an illegal gun. You just have to know where to look. And if he was behind that smear campaign, he knows his way around a computer.”

“Okay, fine. You better have another chat with this Crowley fellow. Though there’s a big difference between organizing a smear campaign to get rid of the competition, and actually going out and murdering a person. And besides,” he added with a frown, “if Crowley was targeting Steph, why kill her husband?”

“To further destroy her life?” Odelia suggested.

“But why? He got the job, didn’t he? Why go on? What does he have against the Felfans anyway?”

“That’s what we’re hoping to find out,” said Chase as he got up.

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“We should have asked Clarice whereabouts in the woods Father Reilly was holed up,” said Brutus. They’d been searching the woods for going on two hours now, and still nothing. His paws were hurting, and if the rumbling sensation in his stomach was any indication, he was starving, too.

“It’s very hard to give exact directions in a place this vast,” said Harriet. “It’s not like ‘Go left by the big tree, then take a right at the smaller tree,’ is it now?”

“No, I guess not,” he said, carefully eyeing a suspicious-looking branch. “Is that a snake? Cause if it’s a snake, we better don’t go near it.”

“I think it’s a branch, Brutus,” said Harriet. “Now don’t be a baby and let’s keep going. We’re intrepid detectives, remember? And when has a little snake ever stopped you from getting where you wanted to go?”

“It’s not a little snake, it’s a pretty big one,” he muttered darkly. This whole ‘Let’s find Shanille and save her from a perilous fate’ gag had sounded like a good idea at the time. If he’d known it would include having to talk to dozens of pets and having to traipse through miles of woods he would never have agreed to join the search. And besides, why was it so important they found the missing pair anyway? Clearly they had left under their own steam, and of their own volition. No crime had been committed. Nobody was dying or in danger. So why bother?

“Poor Shanille,” said Harriet. “Being reduced to living in a filthy old shack like some beggar. And to think she’s such a cultured creature. And now this.”

“I’ll bet she’s fine,” said Brutus. “I’ll bet she’s having the time of her life.”

“No, she is not,” said Harriet sharply. “I can feel it in my bones. She’s not fine.”

They’d reached another clearing—the hundred-and-sixtieth already—and once again there was no sign of any shack, derelict or otherwise. They’d come across two shacks already. One was the famous one owned by Hetta Fried, where celebrity authors came to pen their latest bestsellers in absolute peace and quiet. The other was a less luxurious dwelling, where only a few months ago a couple had been found who had also gone missing.

But unfortunately neither of these had produced a priest and his cat. The first had been occupied by John Grisham, who hadn’t looked too well pleased when two cats came trudging up and destroyed his concentration. And the second was now home to a couple of boars, who shared not even a fleeting resemblance to Father Reilly and Shanille, unfortunately.

“We should have asked Clarice to show us the way,” Brutus grumbled.

“Did she look like she would have said yes? You know what she’s like. Clarice does what Clarice wants—nothing more, nothing less. And clearly she was not in the mood to play tour guide for a pair of clueless cats.”

“We are clueless, aren’t we, snookums?” said Brutus.

“Pretty clueless, yes,” Harriet admitted with a smile. “But what we lack in skill we make up for in determination and perseverance, don’t we, sparky star?”

He didn’t know about that. He was feeling pretty low on perseverance right now. And he was just about to suggest they abandon their mission and leave it to the professionals—the police, in other words, or Odelia and Chase—when another clearing loomed in the distance, beyond a cluster of bramble bushes. And in the middle of the clearing, a shack. And on top of that shack, a chimney. And from that chimney smoke was crinkling skyward!

“Stud muffin!” said Harriet. “I think this is it!”

“I think you just might be right, sugar lips!”

They hurried in the direction of the clearing, and the moment they clapped eyes on that shack, Brutus knew they’d hit the jackpot—finally! For there, sitting on the windowsill, cool as dammit, was Shanille!

“Shanille!” Harriet cried. “Shanille, it’s us!”

“It’s us, Shanille!” Brutus echoed.

Shanille looked up, and a tired smile spread across her features.“Oh, hey, you guys. What brings you out here?”

“We’ve been looking for you everywhere!” said Harriet. “How are you?”

“As well as can be expected,” said Shanille, which didn’t sound very fine.

“What are you doing here?” asked Brutus. “And why did you leave without telling anyone?”

“Cat choir hasn’t been the same without you,” said Harriet. “I’ve tried to take over, but it hasn’t been easy.” She wisely neglected to recount the shoe incident.

“It’s Father Reilly,” said Shanille. “He hasn’t been feeling well.”

“Cancer, is it?” asked Brutus. “Hasn’t got much longer to live?”

“No, not cancer. Though at this rate I don’t think he’ll survive.”

This caused Harriet and Brutus to exchange a worried glance.

“Just take a look in there,” said Shanille, when pressed.

And so they both joined the slim gray cat on the windowsill and glanced into the shack. The sight that met their eyes was shocking, to say the least: there he lay on a cot, an empty bottle in his hand, and several more bottles on the floor next to him, passed out and looking like death warmed over. His hair was matted to his skull, his skin was mottled, and he was in his underwear, a dirty undershirt and even dirtier underpants that had once been white but were now gray and soiled.

“What happened to him!” Harriet cried.

“Marigold left, and took their daughter,” said Shanille. “So he packed a suitcase, took the car, and drove us out here, where he’s been steadily drinking ever since.”

“Some people say that alcohol is food,” said Brutus carefully.

“Only drunks say that,” Shanille scoffed. “No, I’m afraid he’ll be a goner soon. If he keeps drinking like this he won’t last another month.”

Brutus’s eyes traveled across the plank floor to several cardboard boxes in the corner of the small space. “Is that…”

“Wine, yes,” Shanille confirmed, who’d followed Brutus’s gaze. “He packed up all the sacramental wine he could find and said he’s going to drink it all.”

“We saw Gran steal two bottles from the church,” said Harriet.

“Must have been a couple of bottles Francis forgot to pack,” said Shanille.

“But Shanille, we can’t let this happen!” said Harriet. “We can’t just sit back and let the man drink himself to death! It’s too terrible to contemplate!”

“What can we do? Ever since Marigold left he hasn’t been himself.”

“Why did she leave?” asked Brutus.

“Because she was tired of waiting for Francis to leave the priesthood and make an honest woman out of her, of course. He promised her he was going to marry her months and months ago, but he kept postponing. Said he felt bad about abandoning his parishioners. About leaving the church. The man has never been anything but a priest, and frankly I think he was afraid of falling into a dark hole when he left his post. So he kept dithering and finally Marigold had enough and took off.”

“Where is she now?”

“Canada. Her parents live in Toronto, so she and Angel are staying with them for now. Until Marigold can find a job and rent an apartment. She said she wants to start a new life. Without Francis.”

“Poor Francis,” said Brutus.

“Poor Marigold!” said Harriet. “Imagine having to wait years and years for a wedding proposal, and then when finally one comes along, nothing happens!”

“Francis did talk to the bishop,” said Shanille, “and explained the situation. So the bishop said he should simply live together with Marigold, but be discreet about it. That way he could remain a priest, and be with Marigold at the same time. But Marigold didn’t see it that way. She didn’t want to be Francis’s guilty secret. If they were going to be together, it had to be official, not in secret.”

“The bishop probably didn’t want to lose a good priest like Francis,” said Brutus. “Which is why he came up with this compromise. Marigold should have said yes, then everybody would have been happy.” When both Shanille and Harriet stared at him with daggers firing from their eyes, he said, “What?”

“Are you crazy?” said Shanille. “Marigold has been in this situation for years! She felt she deserved better than being tucked away in some corner of Francis’s life. Like a leper. And she’s right.”

“I guess so,” said Brutus dubiously. He stared at the priest, who was passed out, and thought he was taking the whole thing very hard indeed. But then who could blame him? If Harriet walked out on him he would also take it hard. Though he probably wouldn’t go to a shack in the woods with a car full of altar wine.

“Okay, so here’s what we’ll do,” said Harriet. “We can’t leave him like this. So we talk to a good friend of his and she’ll get him out of this terrible situation.”

Shanille eyed her with suspicion.“What friend?”

“Why, Gran, of course!”

CHAPTER 19

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Once again our humans had decided to call on Mr. Crowley, hoping to confront him with the new suspicions that they were about to level against that uber-ambitious young designer. When we arrived at the hotel, the receptionist kindly informed us that their esteemed guest was still on the premises as far as they could tell. At least he hadn’t checked out yet.

But when we arrived on the third floor, and made our way to his room, persistent knocking didn’t yield any meaningful result. Hollering, “Police, Mr. Crowley—open up!” didn’t affect a lot of movement either. And so finally a maid was called in, who kindly opened the door for us with her passkey.

A very curious sight played out in front of us: as we entered, we had a perfect view of a man’s underpants, as he tried to scrabble through the window. The underpants didn’t give us a lot of clues as to the man’s identity, other than that he was probably male, and that he favored red polka dots on his undergarments.

He was also wearing red socks, but no shoes. And when finally Chase grabbed a firm hold of one leg, and Odelia of the other, and pulled, there was a sort of rending sound, and a loud whine as if from a caged animal, and Edmundo Crowley fell back into the room, his face red and angry, and his mood below zero.

“This is police harassment!” he cried as he put on a show of umbrage. “I will bring charges against you people, just you wait and see! You can’t do this!”

“Where were you going in such a hurry, Mr. Crowley?” asked Chase, who wasn’t the least bit impressed by the man’s diatribe. “And in your underwear, no less.”

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business, but if you must know I was trying to get some fresh air. But since this darned window is blocked, the only way I could get out was by squeezing myself through it. Stupid thing.”

“I realize that Brooklynites have a special way of doing things,” said Chase, “but this is the first time I’ve ever seen a man trying to take in fresh air by wedging himself in like this.”

“Looks to me like he was trying to escape,” said Odelia.

“Now why would he do that?” asked Chase.

“Because he’s guilty, no doubt.”

“Guilty of what, I wonder?”

“Oh, cut the theatrics, will you?” said the man. “What do you want?”

“We wanted to ask you about your whereabouts this afternoon, Mr. Crowley. Let’s say between two and three?”

“What do you mean?”

Chase sighed.“It’s a simple question. Where were you between two and three?”

“Why?”

“Indulge us, please.”

“If you must know, I was here, working on my next collection.”

“Can anyone vouch for you?”

“Well… no, actually. Why? What’s going on?”

“Two people were murdered,” said Odelia. “And one of them is Jeff Felfan, Stephanie Felfan’s husband.”

To his credit, the man blanched when the news hit him.“M-m-murdered?”

“Yes, Mr. Crowley. The man you tried to drive off the road yesterday was murdered. Do you own a gun?”

“A g-g-gun?”

“Yes, a gun.”

“N-n-no, of course not. Why would I need a gun?”

“So if we were to arrest you and get a warrant to search your computer, we wouldn’t find a search history indicating that you were in the market for a gun?”

“No! Look, I can see how this looks. And I admit that I was a little out of order yesterday, with that road incident. But I wouldn’tmurder the man. I didn’t even know him!”

“So now you do admit that you deliberately tried to drive Jeff Felfan’s car off the road yesterday,” said Chase.

“Well… yes, okay. So I was upset, all right? And a little worked up. But that stupid woman sent the NYPD to my apartment! They asked me all kinds of questions and made me look like a criminal! They even had a warrant to search my computer, and my phone, and they said that if they found anythingto tie me to this harassment campaign they’d bring charges against me and I’d go to prison!”

“It wasn’t a harassment campaign,” said Odelia. “Though with the road incident and those rocks thrown through the window last night it’s certainly starting to look like one.”

“Did you throw those rocks, Mr. Crowley?” asked Chase. He was leaning into the man, and seeing as he was still only dressed in his underwear Crowley didn’t look very confident right now. In fact he looked downright intimidated.

“Y-y-yes?” he said weakly.

“So not only do you admit using your car as a weapon, but also throwing rocks through the window of the house where Stephanie Felfan was staying?”

“Yes, all right. I threw those rocks. It’s just that… That NYPD officer who paid me a visit? She also talked to the folks at WelBeQ. Asked them to hand over the emails and the photographs they received. So WelBeQ called me and said that in light of recent developments they were going in a different direction and were no longer interested in engaging my services.” At the recollection of that phone call some of his old belligerence returned to the fore. “So Stephanie Felfan managed to ruin everything! By filing that complaint—thatunfounded complaint—she lost me a unique opportunity. An opportunity that would have changed my life!”

“So you tried to drive her off the road, then broke that window, and this afternoon you lured her husband Jeff to a flat in town and killed him,” said Chase.

“What?! No! Of course not!”

“But you were angry, Mr. Crowley. Very angry with Stephanie Felfan. So angry you followed her all the way out here to Hampton Cove. So angry you acquired an illegal gun and killed the man you knew she loved more than anyone in the world. You could have killed her, of course, but you wanted to make her suffer. You wanted her to feel your pain. Like she made you suffer when she lost you that job—a job that meant everything to you. Isn’t that what happened, Mr. Crowley?!”

He was face to face now with the aspiring designer, and Crowley stared into the man’s eyes, transfixed, and said, “Yes…” But then he seemed to realize what he was saying and quickly amended his response. “No! Of course not!”

“You killed Jeff Felfan and Cipriana Cilke. Cipriana was a prostitute, and you wanted to make it look as if Jeff Felfan had acquired her services, then was shot by her, at which point you made it look as if she shot herself.”

“I didn’t do that,” said Crowley, shaking his head. Sweat was beading on his brow, and I had the impression he had soiled himself during the interrogation. “The car and the window—yes. But I didn’t kill anyone. I’m not a murderer.”

But Chase wasn’t placated. He clapped a heavy hand on the man’s shoulder and said, “Edmundo Crowley, I’m arresting you for the murder of Jeff Felfan and Cipriana Cilke.”

CHAPTER 20

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Unfortunately for Chase, Crowley wouldn’t admit to murder, no matter how hard he leaned on the man. His phone and laptop were seized—yet again, for the NYPD had apparently done the same thing—but revealed nothing incriminating. His search history, his call and message history—nothing to indicate he bought that gun, much less hadsent a message to Jeff arranging that fateful meeting.

“I’m going to keep him overnight,” said Chase as he conferred with his boss. We were in the little room next to the interview room, with a clear view of the suspect as he sat at the table, his head in his hands. “Let him think about what he did. Maybe tomorrow he’ll be more amenable to assist us in our inquiries.”

“I don’t think he did it, babe,” said Odelia. “Just look at him. Does he look like a killer? I don’t think so. He was upset about losing the job, of course. And so he reacted out of spite. But this double murder is an entirely different thing. It’s calculated and planned. Not something you do on the spur of the moment just because you’re angry that someone made you lose your dream job.”

“That doesn’t mean anything. He hasn’t admitted to the smear campaign either, so we know he’s lying about that as well.”

“I still think we’re wasting our time here,” said Odelia.

“Okay, so let him sweat for a while,” the Chief suggested. “And in the meantime I want you back at the Stewart Winery to talk to the family. See if you can’t dig a little deeper. Maybe the Felfans have other enemies besides Mr. Crowley here. Though I have to admit he looks like the perfect suspect to me.”

“He did it, Chief, I can feel it in my bones,” said Chase.

“Which isn’t to say we shouldn’t keep an open mind,” Uncle Alec added. “So talk to Stephanie Felfan again, and her parents. Talk to her husband’s folks. See what else you can dig up. It’s only going to make your case stronger, buddy,” he said when Chase made to interrupt.

“Fine,” the detective finally said. “We’ll look at other suspects. But I’m willing to bet good money that Crowley is our guy.”

“Betting during office hours is strictly prohibited,” the Chief warned. “And now go. Find me some more suspects—this one isn’t going anywhere, I promise you.”

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When Vesta laid eyes on her old friend Francis Reilly she was shocked. The man looked terrible. In fact she had never seen him like this before. The priest was always neatly attired, cleanly shaven, perfectly coiffed, and soft-spoken. Now he looked as if he’d been through a bacchanal of Romanesque proportions.

“What do you want!” he slurred when she managed to wake him up. “Leave me alone, woman!”

“I will not leave you alone, Francis,” said Vesta with determination.

Her friend Scarlett, whom she had brought along, and also Tex, who was there as much in his capacity as a doctor but also as a personal friend of the priest, were both equally shocked and appalled.

“He’s in a terrible state,” said Scarlett, who had wrinkled her nose in abhorrence at the smell of drink and lack of hygiene. “He’s not dying, is he?”

“No, he’s not,” said Tex. “He’s drunk, that’s what he is.”

“So we need to sober him up,” said Vesta. “And get rid of that stuff over there.” She was pointing to the bottles of sacramental wine. It broke her heart to say it but she was compelled to by the circumstances. “Better get rid of them. You better do it, Tex. I can’t.”

“I’ll do it,” said Scarlett.

“No!” said Vesta, who knew how much her friend loved a good glass of wine. “Maybe just leave them. Some bum who visits these woods might get lucky and find them.”

“We can’t leave them here!” said Scarlett. “That’s some perfectly fine wine!”

“You’re on the wagon, remember?” said Vesta.

After she and Tex had gone dry, she had convinced Scarlett to do the same. Her friend had always been a social drinker. A drink for every occasion. But lately she was also drinking when she wasn’t visiting people or going out. Once Vesta had even found her passed out on the couch, an empty bottle of Prosecco on the floor. So it was high time that she joined the AA—in fact the whole town should probably join that fine organization. But perhaps that was too ambitious. For now she would suffice with her closest friends and relatives. Like Francis Reilly.

“And you’re saying he’s been like this since Marigold left?” asked Tex.

“Yeah, he was dragging his feet on the marriage business, so she left him.”

“That’s a little harsh, isn’t it?” said Scarlett who was making sure she didn’t touch anything located in the shack, and clearly couldn’t wait to get out of there.

“Harsh or not, the man took it badly, and it’s up to us to be there for him.”

“Maybe we can ask Marigold to come back?” Scarlett suggested. “The moment she hears about what happened, she might have a change of heart.”

“I doubt it. Now let’s get Francis out of here, shall we?”

“I’m not touching that,” said Scarlett with a look of distaste. “He smells.”

“So take a bath when we’re done. I’m sure you’ve touched men in far worse conditions.”

Scarlett shot her an indignant look but finally relented.“Fine. But I’m not going in the shower with him. You’ll have to do that.”

“I’m not going in the shower with him!”

They both looked to Tex, who sputtered,“I’m not taking a shower with him!”

“Why not? You’re the doctor,” said Vesta with perfect logic. “And you’re a man.”

And so it was decided. And as they took Francis under the armpits—which were pretty ripe, Vesta had to admit—they managed to get the priest out of the shack and into the car, which they’d driven along the old dirt road that led deep into the woods.

When Harriet and Brutus had told them what had happened, it hadn’t taken Vesta long to take decisive action. Now that she was following the twelve-step program, she felt as if she had finally found her true purpose in life: helping people, even if they didn’t necessarily want to be helped. Like Francis. But it was for his own good. So she’d assembled her troops: Tex and Scarlett, and here they were, executing her plan. First they were going to clean him up, then they were going to put some fresh clothes on the man, and finally they were going to keep an eye on him, making sure he ate his three square meals a day, and no alcohol!

And so they took the ailing man of the cloth home. Tex removed those clothes, such as they were, and somehow managed to get the man into the shower. It wasn’t easy, for Francis Reilly was a big man, and wasn’t very helpful. In fact once the water hit him he struggled and yelled like a cat being given a bath. Tex was soaking wet, the bathroom was soaking wet, in fact everything was wet, but luckily so was the priest, who at this point looked a little more alert than before.

“Tex?” he muttered, as if he’d seen the Holy Ghost. “Is that you?”

“It is. Now let’s get you into some fresh clothes and into bed,” Tex said.

“Bed? But I don’t want to go to bed.”

“Well, you’re gonna, whether you like it or not. You’re not well, Francis.”

“Oh, all right,” said the man, possibly realizing that resistance was futile.

And it was with a renewed appreciation for the hard work nurses did, that Tex dressed the man, and then tucked him into bed to sleep off his five-day bender.

Feeling that his work was done, Tex removed himself from the scene. At this point he could have used a nice pick-me-up, but instead he opted for some dry and clean clothes for himself and a swig from the Coca-Cola bottle in the fridge.

In the bedroom, the sleeping priest was being watched over by two women. They were satisfied that they’d done all they could—or at least Tex had. “A fine job well done!” said Vesta when the mission was accomplished. “Now all we have to do is keep an eye on him.”

“I’ll do it,” said Scarlett. “The poor man. Being left by his wife.”

“Marigold wasn’t his wife,” Vesta pointed out. “That was exactly the problem.”

“Well, anyway. He’s still handsome for his age,” said Scarlett, who had warmed to the man now that he was clean and sober. “Though he could use a haircut.” She sighed. “All he needs is a good woman to look after him.”

“Scarlett,” said Vesta warningly.

“What? I’m just saying. Sometimes all a man needs is the love and support of a good woman. It just might be the making of him.”

“Please tell me you’re not envisioning yourself in that role? Just keep an eye on him. And when he starts thrashing about or demanding a drink, be tough and say no. Can you do that? Can you say no to a man?”

Scarlett’s face flushed with indignation. “Of course I can say no to a man. Who do you think I am?”

“Well, mind that you do. We’re all relying on you.”

And as she left the bedroom, she heard Scarlett mutter,“I can say no to a man. Just you wait and see.”

CHAPTER 21

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We were back at the winery, for more interviews with more people, trying to shed some light on the life and times of Jeff Felfan.

“So has it been decided that Cipriana wasn’t the intended victim?” asked Dooley.

“Yes, I think so,” I said.

“So she was murdered just so the killer could make Jeff look bad?”

“It certainly looks that way,” I agreed.

“Poor woman. At least whoever did this could have showed her the common courtesy of murdering her for who she was, not for the purpose she could fulfill.”

I eyed my friend keenly.“That was a very insightful thing to say, Dooley.”

“I can be insightful.”

“I know you can.”

Odelia and Chase were talking to Steph once more, out on the patio, where she was sipping from what looked like a cup of tea. The housekeeper now brought out a tray with more cups and saucers, and a big pot of tea for the visitors. There were also cookies on the tray, but as far as I could tell no kibble.

“They always forget about us, don’t they, Max?” said Dooley sadly.

“Very often,” I agreed. Especially the people who didn’t have pets themselves, like the Stewarts, forgot that cats have needs—mostly in the food department.

But we could be strong and skip a meal. It was going to be tough, but we could power through, for the sake of bringing the killer of Steph’s husband to justice.

“I knew Jeff wouldn’t have paid a visit to a prostitute,” said Steph after Odelia had finished telling her about the newly acquired insight that Jeff’s murder was actually a premeditated affair, and that Cipriana had been drugged before she was shot—and not shot by her own hand either, since she would have been unconscious by then. “So have you talked to Clive Balcerak? He’s the one who lured him to that flat.”

“We’re going to talk to him soon,” Chase promised. “How well do you know the man?”

“Not well, I’m afraid. I’ve never even met him. He worked in the same department as Jeff, but they never got on. Clive had started a couple of months before Jeff, and for some reason felt threatened by him. You see, Clive is a very ambitious man, and wants to make a career at Capital First. And somehow he got it into his head that Jeff was the man to beat. He’s extremely competitive.”

“Enough to kill your husband, you think?”

“Like I said, I never met the man. But from what Jeff told me he has a ruthless streak. There was an error in the books one day, and Clive was quick to spread the rumor that Jeff was responsible, and was going to get fired soon. That kind of thing. It made it very unpleasant for Jeff to work there. Though he also got a lot of support from some of his other colleagues. And his direct manager wasn’t fooled by these rumors. He even reprimanded Clive on one occasion.”

“I’ll bet he didn’t like that.”

“No, he didn’t. But at least things became better after that.”

“Can you think of anyone else who had a grudge against your husband, Steph?” asked Odelia. She had poured some tea from the pot and was sipping from it now, nibbling on a cookie as she did. And ignoring Dooley and me as we both stared at her. I mean, it’s pretty tough to have to watch other people eat when you don’t have anything to eat yourself! Talk about being selfish!

“No one,” said Steph decidedly. “Jeff was such a sweet man. Everybody loved him. His colleagues—except Clive, of course. But also his family, his friends. No one ever had a bad word to say about him. He was so kind and so wonderful.” She brought a distraught hand to her face as she remembered her husband, and tears sprung to her eyes afresh. “It’s just so hard, you know. I miss him so much…”

“I know you do,” said Odelia, who had scooted forward, and was rubbing the woman on the back. “And I’m sorry we have to ask you all these questions.”

“No, it’s fine. You want to catch the person who did this, and I want to help you in any way I can. Just ask me anything.”

“So no enemies that you can think of?” Chase reiterated.

“None. Jeff had no enemies,” said Steph. “We’re all devastated here. Jeff’s parents most of all, of course. They’re flying in tomorrow from France. They’re going to be a great support to me—and I want to be there for them also.”

“We would like to talk to your parents,” said Chase. “Are they around?”

“Yeah, they are. I’m not sure about my brother, though. He keeps disappearing on me. Last night with the window being busted he didn’t even show up. And this morning I wanted to tell him about what happened with Jeff and I couldn’t find him.” She shook her head. “This family is falling apart, that’s the truth.”

“Where is your brother now?” asked Odelia.

“I have no idea. I caught him just before you arrived, and when I asked him where he was this afternoon, he said he went for a drive. He keeps going for drives for some reason. Even when everything is going to hell, he…” She raised her hands and dropped them in her lap in a gesture of desperation. “It’s all just so… so utterly and completely…” But words failed to describe how she felt. Which I could certainly understand. And so we left, and went in search of her dad.

[Êàðòèíêà: img_4]

We found Ian Stewart in his office, where he oversaw the day-to-day business of running a successful winery. Even though I had expected him to be amongst the vines, or stomping grapes in a big vat with his bare feet, he looked more like a banker or a businessman in his clean shirt and tie and sitting behind his desk.

He got up when we entered, and shook Chase and Odelia’s hands with a strained grimace. “Terrible business, simply terrible,” he said. “We’re all devastated here. Especially Steph, of course, who’s gone completely to pieces.”

The detecting duo took the offered seats in front of the man’s desk and Chase asked the inexorable question: “To your knowledge, did your son-in-law have any enemies, sir?”

“Oh, no, absolutely not. The man was loved by everyone he met. He was French, of course,” he added, “so if you want to know about his life before he came to America you’ll have to talk to his parents—who are flying in tomorrow, by the way.”

“Yes, Steph told us,” said Odelia. “So you can’t think of anyone who might have wanted to harm him?”

“I thought you already had a man in custody?” asked Ian as he leaned back.

“You’re well-informed, sir,” said Chase.

“I called Chief Lip just now. He told me about this man Crowley. Apparently he’s the one who threw a couple of rocks through my window last night. So what makes you think he isn’t the one who killed my son-in-law?”

“We’re looking at all possible angles, sir. Crowley is one possibility, but there may be others.”

“So he hasn’t confessed, has he? Too bad. It would be a weight off my daughter’s mind if she knew the man responsible for Jeff’s murder has been caught.”

“So anyone you can think of who might have wanted to harm your son-in-law?” Odelia asked, reiterating her question.

“Well, one name springs to mind, of course. Though not necessarily as someone who would harm Jeff in particular. More the whole family, I guess.”

“And what name would that be, sir?” asked Chase.

“Beniamino Kosinski. His family and mine have been at daggers drawn for years. A feud that dates back to the eighties. I actually thought he was the one who busted my window last night, though now it seems I was wrong. But I certainly wouldn’t put it past him to kill Jeff. The man is ruthless and will stop at nothing to get back at us.”

“Even commit murder?”

“Oh, absolutely. No doubt about it. In fact it surprises me it’s taken him so long. He’s been hurling threats at us for years, and minor acts of sabotage.”

“Sabotage, sir?” asked Odelia.

“Well, he opened the taps of one of the big fermentation tanks once. We lost gallons and gallons that night. Couldn’t prove it, of course, but who else would do such a thing? And then there was that infestation of vine weevils, of course.”

“Vine weevils?”

“Nasty bugs. Eat away at the vines, severely damaging young vines. One spring morning they were suddenly everywhere. Larry figured the Kosinskis must have brought them in to infect our vines. Lucky for us Larry is a genius, and he managed to get the pests under control before they could do too much damage. That little stunt could have cost us the entire crop that year.”

“And you think it was Kosinski?” asked Chase.

“No doubt in my mind that he was behind it. So you see, the man is dangerous.”

“There’s a big difference between scattering weevils across a couple of vines and murdering two people, though, Mr. Stewart.”

“He’s escalating, that’s what I’m trying to tell you. Every year it gets worse, and if he’s not stopped, he might murder us all in our beds one night. Jeff was just a warning, you see. Part of the family but not really. He’s telling us that we’re next. He’ll go after the kids first,then me and my wife. But I’m taking no chances.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve taken the necessary precautions. I’m installing an alarm system—something I should have done years ago—and I’ve told Larry to hire some extra men to stand guard at night. Make sure Kosinski doesn’t stand a chance.”

The door to the office opened and Steph’s mother walked in. “Oh, I hope I’m not interrupting anything?” she said.

“Please join us, darling,” said Ian. “I was just telling Detective Kingsley and his wife about Ben Kosinski, and how I’m convinced he’s the one who killed Jeff.”

“Do you agree with your husband about the role Kosinski played in the death of your son-in-law, Mrs. Stewart?” asked Chase.

“Oh, absolutely. The Kosinskis are bad news, both Beniamino and his son Dominic. Dirty tricks and sabotage and now murder. Wouldn’t surprise me.”

“See? I told you,” said Ian. “Ask anyone, and they’ll tell you.”

“The gun that was used to kill Jeff and Miss Cilke… we have reason to believe there is an organized crime connection,” said Chase.

Ian turned to his wife with a triumphant expression on his face.“Didn’t I tell you? The Kosinskis are in bed with the mafia—I’ve been saying it for years! They’re being bankrolled by the Polish mafia, and have been doing their bidding. Laundering money, possibly drugs—and guns, of course.” He nodded seriously. “Look, I’m not saying Beniamino or Dominic personally pulled that trigger. But they know people—mobsters—who’d happily do the job for them. Can’t you see? This proves what I’ve been saying all along: the mafia is trying to take over the Long Island wine industry, and if we let them we’ll all perish.” He tapped his desk with an insistent finger. “We have to stop them in their tracks, detective. Before it’s too late. Or else you’ll have a whole spate of killings on your hands soon.”

Suddenly we heard a voice behind us, and when we turned around, we saw a young man standing at the door opening. He looked angry, and his eyes were blazing as he took in the scene. He must have been listening for a while, and overheard the conversation, for he now said,“I don’t believe this!” And stomped off without another word!

“Kevin!” Mrs. Stewart yelled. “Kevin, come back here!”

“Oh, just leave him be,” said Ian. “Can’t you see what’s going on?”

“What’s going on?” asked Chase, who was as bewildered as we were.

“Just family business,” said Ian. “You’ll have to forgive Kevin. He’s young.”

“So that was Kevin,” said Odelia as she got up and headed to the door. But before she got there, the loud roar of a car engine being turned over sounded. It was so loud it made the windows in the office rattle.

Odelia hurried to the window to look out, and so did Dooley and me. We were just in time to see a bright red Ferrari race off at considerable speed, the tires spitting up gravel as it did.

“And he’s off again,” said Ian with a touch of exasperation in his voice. “As usual when things get hard.” He shook his head in dismay. “I hate to say this, detective, but my son isn’t the most mature person in the world. Then again, like I said, he’s still young. I’m sure he’llgrow out of this phase eventually.”

“He’s been in this phase for a long time now,” said Raimunda, who looked distinctly concerned.

“He’ll be fine,” Ian said. “He has to get it out of his system, that’s all.”

He didn’t say what exactly his son had to get out of his system, though, and I had the feeling he wasn’t going to tell us. He placed both hands flat on his desk, plastered a smile on his face and pushed himself into a standing position. “Now if there’s nothing else…”

CHAPTER 22

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The Kosinski Winery might be located right next to the Stewart Winery, but that didn’t mean we could simply pop over. It took us about half an hour to get to the main entrance to the winery owned by Ian’s much-despised neighbor, and when we got there it took a while before we were allowed to enter through the gate. Only when Chase showed his badge did it finally swing open enough for the cop to pass through in his squad car.

“They’re not so keen on visitors in this place,” said Odelia’s husband as he navigated the drive up to the main house. We passed spreading fields of grapevine, which offered an impressive sight I have to say. Now I’m not a grape connoisseur, per se, but I can appreciate how some people are.

“I wonder how they taste,” said Dooley.

“Bitter, I’ll bet,” I said.

“No, sweet,” said Odelia. “Grapes are very sweet, with just a touch of bitterness.”

“So many grapes,” said Dooley. “Who’s going to eat them all?”

“They turn them into wine,” said Odelia. “Basically they first crush and then press them, squeezing out the juice, to which yeast is then added, to start the fermentation process. The sugar in the grapes turns into alcohol, and eventually the wine is bottled. Some of the best wines in the country are made here.”

“Odd,” I said. “How humans like to drink wine so much.” I once had a lick of the stuff, and have to say I didn’t care for the taste at all. Very bitter, I thought.

When we finally arrived at the house, which had been built in the hacienda style, Odelia suddenly called out,“Look, it’s Kevin’s car!”

And indeed it was. The same red Ferrari we’d seen pulling out of the Stewart driveway now stood parked in the Kosinski driveway. Odd, that.

“Could be the same type of car,” said Chase. “I’ll bet red Ferraris are popular.”

“No, I think it’s the same one,” said Odelia as Chase parked right next to the expensive sports car. “So what is Kevin doing here?” Then a thought must have occurred to her, for she added, “Let’s hope he’s not out for revenge!”

Chase directed a look of concern at his wife, and instantly got out of the car and hurried up to the house. And just as he got there, the door opened and a man strode out. He was sporting dark sunglasses and rocking a ponytail, and was dressed in faded jeans and a black leather jacket. He looked more like a rock star than a vintner.

“Did a young man arrive here just now?” asked Chase, gripping the man’s outstretched hand and giving it a quick shake. “Kevin Stewart? Only that’s his car over there and we have reason to believe he may wish you harm, sir. You are Beniamino Kosinski?”

“That’s right,” said the winery owner. “But you can call me Ben. And as far as Kevin is concerned, I wouldn’t worry too much about him if I were you. He’s in and out of this place all the time, and has never caused us any trouble yet.”

“He’s a regular visitor?” asked Chase.

“That’s right. Does that surprise you?”

“Well, his parents seem to think—”

“That I’m the devil in disguise?” The man laughed a hearty laugh. “Still up to his old tricks, is he, Ian? Well, I can promise you I’m not as bad as he makes me out to be. So what can I do for you, Detective Kingsley? I have to say I was surprised when they told me you suddenly showed up here out of the blue. But I’m always willing to help the police with their inquiries, so let’s have it, shall we?”

He took us into the house, then out the back onto the patio, where the humans took a seat in wicker chairs around a small table where a couple of wine bottles stood on display.

“Yours?” asked Chase as he picked up one of the bottles.

“Yep. Finest wine in the county. Though Ian might disagree.”

“Do you also happen to know Ian’s son-in-law, Mr. Kosinski?”

“Ben, please. Yeah, of course. Jeff. Though I’ve never had the pleasure of actually making his personal acquaintance. But I know of him, absolutely.”

“So you never actually met Jeff? Face to face, I mean?”

“Nope. But then the Stewarts and the Kosinskis don’t exactly socialize. We keep ourselves to ourselves, and they do the same, and that’s the way it’s been for as long as I can remember. We did send Steph a present for the wedding and she sent us a very sweet note back, thanking us for our kindness. She’s a good kid, Steph. Kevin, too.” He frowned and shifted in his seat. “But what’s all this about? Did something happen with Steph’s husband that I should know about?”

“You haven’t heard?” asked Chase. “Jeff was murdered this afternoon, along with one other person.”

“Christ,” said the vintner, looking instantly distraught. “What happened?”

“That’s what we’re trying to find out. But Ian tells us that you might be—”

“Involved in that young man’s death? God—has he completely lost his mind?”

“He seems to think that you might be out to harm his family,” said Odelia.

“I know. He’s been spreading rumors about me for years. How I’m a member of the Polish mob, and how I run a drug racket, and launder money through my wine business. I’ve always let it go, even though by rights I should have pressed charges against the fool for defamation of character. But Ididn’t want to stir up a hornets’ nest, so I just let it slide. But if he’s accusing me of murder now, I might want to have a word with the man. And maybe talk to a lawyer this time, cause he’s taking things too far.”

“Where were you this afternoon between two and three, Mr. Kosinski?” asked Chase.

“I told you to call me Ben,” said the man frostily, then glowered at the cop. “Are you calling me a murderer now?”

“Just a routine question, Ben,” said Chase smoothly. “So we can eliminate you from our inquiries.”

“Well, I was here, of course. At the house. And I’ve got about a dozen people who can confirm this.”

“Looks like you’re off the hook then,” said Chase with a tight smile.

“Look, this nonsense about the mafia is exactly that: a lot of nonsense. Kosinski may be a Polish name and I may have some Polish blood owing to some great-great-grandfather, but I’ve got nothing to do with the mafia, Polish or otherwise. I run a respectable business, and if Ian Stewart thinks he can try and destroy my good reputation I’ll see him in court. And I mean that. He’s gone too far this time. There’s only so much I’m prepared to take from that man.”

“Is there anyone else you can think of who might want to harm the Stewarts?” asked Odelia. “Or Jeff in particular?”

“Like I said, I didn’t know Jeff personally, but what I can tell you is that when Steph got married to the guy there was one person who was extremely unhappy about it. And that person was Robbie Scunner.”

“Larry Scunner’s son.”

Ben nodded.“Steph and Robbie used to date in high school, but when she left for college that ended. Not that it was ever anything serious, mind you. Just a boy and girl affair. At least to Steph it was never serious. But to Robbie it was. That young man suffered when Steph broke it off with him. Sulked for months. His dad even thought he might never recover. See, his mom died when he was a young boy, and so when Steph left, it must have done something to Robbie’s psyche. Now I’m not a psychologist, but it doesn’t take a genius to see that’s one very damaged kid. So it’s hardly surprising that he wasn’t happy when Steph finally returned from France with Jeff Felfan in tow. Kevin tells me that when Steph and Jeff tied the knot Robbie was dressed in black. And told everyone he was in mourning.”

CHAPTER 23

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Once outside, and on our way back to the car, we looked around for Kevin, but he proved as elusive now as he was before. His car was gone, and so, presumably, was the man himself.

“Tough guy to pin down,” said Chase.

“Yeah, he seems to come and go as he pleases,” said Odelia.

In light of what Ben Kosinski had told us about Robbie Scunner, our humans decided to pay another visit to the Stewart Winery for a little chat with the foreman’s son. And possibly Kevin Stewart, who kept eluding us somehow.

We found Robbie Scunner in the warehouse where the large stainless steel tanks were housed, which are used to ferment the wine. As we had learned, this was the best way to give white wine its crisp flavor, whereas red wine is fermented in oak barrels, giving them a smoother, creamier flavor, often with notes of vanilla and oak. Not that I cared one bit how wine tasted. To me it was all vinegar, but then I’m just a cat, so what do I know?

Robbie was checking some gauges on the tanks, and when he saw us looked none too pleased. It immediately made me suspicious of the man. As they say: an innocent person has nothing to fear from a visit by the constabulary, whereas a guilty man might become shifty-eyed and wary, just like Robbie right now.

“Chase Kingsley, Hampton Cove Police Department,” said Chase, briefly holding up his badge. “And this is my wife Odelia, civilian consultant. Can we have a quick word, Mr. Scunner?”

“Sure,” said Robbie, wiping his hands on a dirty rag. This time he was dressed in clean blue coveralls, and not in his cowboy do. “Is this about Steph’s husband?”

“Oh, so you’ve heard about that, have you?”

“Who hasn’t? It’s big news around here.”

“First off, could you tell us where you were between two and three? Just a routine question. We’re asking everyone.”

“I was right here,” said Robbie, gesturing to the giant metal tanks.

“Can anyone corroborate that, Mr. Scunner?”

“Sure. Ask my dad. He’ll tell you.”

“That would be Larry Scunner?”

“That’s right.”

“So how well did you know Mr. Felfan, sir?”

“Not very well. I mean, I’ve seen him around, of course. But the Felfans spend most of their time in New York, and only come out here for the weekends.”

“Only we saw you and Jeff go toe to toe last night, almost coming to blows.”

“Yeah, that was unfortunate,” said Robbie, scratching his scalp. “I overreacted when I heard that their car had been driven off the road that morning.”

“You and Steph used to date, is that correct?”

“Years ago,” said Robbie. “We were high school sweethearts, but that didn’t last very long.”

“Oh? We heard it lasted a couple of years. Until Steph went off to Paris and the relationship ended.”

Robbie laughed nervously.“I wouldn’t exactly call it a relationship. Just kids fooling around, you know. Nothing serious. Well, you know how it is at that age.”

“We have it on good authority you took it very seriously,” said Chase, studying the man closely. “And that when Steph broke it off you were heartbroken.”

“Who told you that?” said the young man, frowning now. “That just isn’t true.”

“And when Steph married Jeff you wore black at the funeral, and told anyone who would listen that you were in mourning because Steph had married another man. That you’d always think of her as the one, no matter who she married.”

“That was a joke! I figured that’s what people were thinking, so I just made a joke. I didn’t mean it. And doesn’t everyone wear black at a wedding? Well, except the bride of course, who’s in white.” He tugged at his ear. “Look, I don’t know who fed you this garbage, but you’ve received some bad information, detective. I’m not hung up on Steph. Like I said, there was never anything serious between us, and anyway, that all ended a long time ago. I’ve moved on, and so has she.”

“So you didn’t bear a grudge against Jeff Felfan?”

“Of course not! I wished them well. I wishedhim well.”

“One more question, Mr. Scunner. Do you own a firearm?”

“No, I don’t. Why would I need a firearm?”

“Where can we find your father?”

“He’s inspecting the vines,” said Robbie, pointing in the general direction of the wine fields.

“Thank you, sir,” said Chase, and that was that.

“Did you believe him?” asked Odelia once we had put some distance between ourselves and the foreman’s son.

“Nope,” said Chase. “He was lying through his teeth. The question is: what was he lying about?”

“I think he’s still in love with Steph,” said Dooley. “And I think it’s all very romantic.”

“It’s not so romantic if he killed Steph’s husband,” I pointed out.

“He must have been overwhelmed with grief when Steph left. And then when she came back with a new boyfriend, and announced they were getting married, that must have really hurt.”

“He says that wasn’t the case.”

“Oh, but he was lying, Max. Even Chase says it.”

“Mh,” I said. “It’s possible.” I was hedging my bets. Though I had to admit Mr. Scunner hadn’t exactly come across as truthful. And that we needed to add him to our list of suspects, that was obvious. Unless his dad irrevocably supported his alibi. In which case he was in the clear.

But try as we might, we couldn’t locate Larry Scunner in the vastness of the vineyard. It was a lot of ground to cover to find one man, of course, and so Chase and Odelia decided to give it another shot tomorrow. He wasn’t going anywhere.

[Êàðòèíêà: img_4]

“Dad,” said Robbie urgently. He’d found his dad in his office, where he spent a lot of his time. “When the police ask you where I was this afternoon, I was right here, all right?”

Larry Scunner’s leathery face screwed up into a network of tiny wrinkles. “What are you talking about? You weren’t here. You weren’t anywhere near the winery.”

“I know, but that’s none of their business. I told them I was here, and that you could vouch for me.”

Larry eyed his son with interest.“This wouldn’t by any chance have anything to do with Jeff Felfan being murdered, would it?” His frown deepened. “Son? You’re not in any trouble, are you?”

“No, Dad. I was in town on some personal business. And it had absolutely nothing to do with Jeff. But you know what the cops are like. They’ll keep digging and asking questions and before you know it they’ll think I killed Jeff.”

“Now why would you go and kill Jeff Felfan?” asked his dad quizzically.

“I wouldn’t! I didn’t, I just told you.” His dad was being exasperating again. “Look, just tell them I was with you all afternoon, and then everything will be fine.” But as he left, he could tell that his dad wasn’t convinced. He was staring at him with that same worried expression onhis face he often got.

He hated to do this, of course. He hated lying to his dad. But that couldn’t be helped. If he told the old man what he’d really been up to that afternoon, all hell would break loose. And that was the last thing he needed right now.

CHAPTER 24

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Steph would have preferred to spend the rest of the day in her room—possibly the rest of her life. But that wasn’t how she was built. And besides, she had Zoe to think of. Her little girl needed her, and would need her more than ever in the future, now that she had lost her dad. Not that she would know until she was much older. Perhaps it was a good thing thatshe was still so young, and wouldn’t remember her dad or what happened to him. But at the thought of Zoe not even remembering Jeff, she choked up, and that box of tissues came in handy.

She left the house for a stroll, hoping it would do her good, when she bumped into Robbie. Frankly she wasn’t in the mood to see him right now, and hoped he wouldn’t be his usual surly self. But he looked repentant about his outburst the day before and said, “I’m so sorry about Jeff. I just heard what happened.”

“Thanks, Robbie,” she said. She could sense he wanted to say more, or was expecting her to say more, but she wasn’t ready to talk about it yet, and so she quickly moved on. The last thing she wanted right now was to talk about Jeff. She knew she wouldn’t be able to hold it together if she did.

She was crossing the driveway when a red Ferrari came roaring in her direction. It braked with a spray of gravel and she watched as Kevin got out.

“Where have you been?” she asked. “The police are looking for you.”

“Let them look,” said Kevin curtly, then must have realized he was being a jerk, for his expression softened. “I’m sorry. I should have been here for you. I’m so sorry about what happened to Jeff. Do they know yet who’s responsible?”

Steph shook her head.“They think it might be the guy who busted our window last night. They’ve got him in custody. He says he didn’t do it, though.”

“They all say that,” Kevin scoffed. He took off his aviator sunglasses and leaned against his flashy new car. “So why did he do it? Did Jeff know the guy or what?”

“I don’t think so. He was applying for the same job I was, and launched a vile campaign against me, to try and make sure I didn’t get the job, and succeeded.”

“The world is full of dangerous people,” said Kevin with an airiness that seemed hardly appropriate under the circumstances.

“Dad seems to think Beniamino had something to do with it, though,” Steph continued. “Well, Ben and Dominic both. He figures they might want to get back at the family, but instead of targeting one of us, they went for Jeff instead—like a warning.” She shook her head. “It sounds crazy, Iknow, but at this point I’m ready to believe anything.” When she looked up, she noticed to her surprise that Kevin was staring back at her with eyes blazing with anger. He was actually shaking with rage, and his face was all twisted up. “Kevin? What’s wrong?”

“Leave Ben and Dominic out of this,” he growled. He’d balled his fists and his face was working. “It’s just like Dad to try and pin this on them. But they didn’t do it. They would never do anything to hurt us. That’s just Dad… being Dad.”

“I know. I don’t buy it either,” she said. He looked away, then, and she wondered what was going on with him. These sudden mood swings, this unprovoked anger—this wasn’t the Kevin she knew. “I was looking for you last night, and also this morning,” she said. “You keep disappearing on me, Kev.”

He seemed to have simmered down.“Like I said, I like to go for a drive. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but running a business is tough. I get stressed, so I jump in my car and take off. Feel the wind in my hair… It’s the only way to unwind.”

His explanation didn’t ring true to her. As long as she remembered, Kevin had been famous for shirking his responsibilities. Even though nominally he was being trained to be Dad’s successor, he wasn’t pulling his weight. Not by a long shot. “Dad works you too hard, is that it?” she asked.

He didn’t respond well to the slight note of sarcasm in her voice, and suddenly lashed out, “You have no idea, do you? Whileyou’re off gallivanting in Paris and Rome and New York, designing your fancy outfits, I have to put up with Dad’s crap on a daily basis. This place is hell, Steph. I wish I could escape—just like you!”

And with these words, he escaped her company, stomping off like a recalcitrant teen. She stared after him, wondering what had gotten into him all of a sudden. Kevin had never been easy to get along with, but lately he was becoming truly insufferable. She wondered why. It definitely wasn’t because Dad worked him to the bone. Quite the contrary. Dad still took on more work than was good for him, and had a hard time delegating, even though he should.

No, something else was going on, and if she wasn’t feeling such a complete mess after what happened to Jeff, she would try and get to the bottom of it. Now, she simply didn’t care. Compared to that personal tragedy, nothing mattered.

Maybe nothing ever would again.

[Êàðòèíêà: img_4]

Unseen by Steph or Kevin, their mother had been watching them from the second-story window. She saw Kevin storm off, like he seemed to do a lot these days, and Steph leave to go for a walk—again. Things weren’t going well for her and Ian’s offspring. She glanced in the direction of the office block, and saw that she wasn’t the only one who was spying on Steph. Robbie, half concealed behind the entrance door, had been watching the girl intently. He now made to follow her froma safe distance. Christ, she thought. He looks like a stalker.

Raimunda shook her head.“Robbie is acting strange again,” she said.

Behind her, Ian was checking something on his phone.“Mh?”

“Robbie is following Steph around like a little puppy.”

“Maybe he thinks that with Jeff out of the way he’ll get a second chance?”

“Maybe. Would that be a good idea, you think?”

“Mh?”

“God, Ian! Stop looking at that damn thing and listen to me for one second, will you?”

Ian looked up, a blank look on his face.“What’s that?”

“I was asking your opinion about something.”

“What?”

“Steph and Robbie.”

“What about them?”

“Do you think we should encourage them becoming an item again, now that Jeff is gone?”

Ian thought about this for a moment, then shook his head.“I don’t think that’s a good idea. And I think you know perfectly well why it’s not a good idea.”

“Mh, I guess,” she said. “Too bad, though. If Steph and Robbie got together again, she would probably take more of an interest in the winery, wouldn’t she?”

“I doubt it. Steph never had any interest in the business. And neither does Kevin, by the way. Where is that boy, anyway? He keeps disappearing on me.”

“He went for a drive. He just got back.”

“He went for a drive in the middle of the day? Doesn’t he have anything better to do? I swear to you, Rai, that kid will be the death of me one of these days.”

“Don’t let him get to you. You’ve got enough on your plate as it is.”

“That, I do,” said Ian, and was lost in his phone once more.

CHAPTER 25

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Shanille had never gone to one of these so-called AA meetings before. Oh, she’d heard about them, of course, and her human had often advised his parishioners to attend meetings—especially those who showed up drunk in the confession box. But she never thought she’d see the day when Francis himself would attend a meeting. He still looked out of sorts, which was understandable since he’d only just sobered up, after going on a marathon bender.

At least he’d had the good sense to do it where no one would see him. He could have passed out drunk in the rectory, but he’d felt that wouldn’t be the decent thing to do. And so instead he’d found that old shack, had grabbed several boxes of booze, and had started trying to drink away his misery.

Shanille could have told him that he was asking for trouble. He made a promise to Marigold, after all. That he would leave the priesthood for her. But after several months, he still had yet to make a move, and so finally Marigold’s patience had run out, and she had—quite correctly, in Shanille’s view—assumed that Francis was never going to leave the church, and so instead she had left him.

And even though her human was still holding onto a sliver of hope that she would change her mind, Shanille didn’t think she would. She had gathered all of her belongings, and had taken off with her daughter to yonder shores. Canada, of all places, where she had family. A new life for Marigold, and for Francis Reilly, of course. At least now he wouldn’t be torn between his calling and his girlfriend.

She watched on as Francis settled in the last row, right next to Tex Poole, Vesta Muffin and Scarlett Canyon, who were also attending the meeting. Odd that she would know so many people here, Shanille reflected. She didn’t see the appeal of alcohol herself. It tasted horrible, in her opinion. But then she was a feline, of course, and in that sense superior to her human contemporaries, who were weak and simple-minded creatures, easily seduced by all manner of temptation and vice. Francis said it often: the spiritis willing, but the flesh is weak. Though as far as she could tell from her extensive experience, both the human spiritand the flesh were equally weak.

At least Francis had her to keep an eye on him. Which is what she’d done out there in the woods, though she hadn’t been able to stop him from succumbing to the temptation of the demon alcohol. She was going to have to up her game if she still wanted to have a human to cater to her needs in the future. Admittedly the experience had given her a great jolt. Andmade her realize how fragile her existence was. Francis could have died, and then where would she be? At the pound, probably, being pawed by snotty-nosed brats and their annoying parents.

No, if she was going to keep Frances as her keeper and carer, she needed to make sure he didn’t fall off the wagon again. And as she listened to this woman Betsy Brogue drone on and on about the twelve steps, the first glimmer of an idea started to form in her mind. Step one: convince the others. But in light of recent events, she didn’t think that would be hard. Step two… But beforeshe could come up with a twelve-step program of her own, Betsy Brogue announced that Francis’s sponsor would be none other than… Scarlett Canyon!

Oh, dear, Shanille thought as she closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them again, Scarlett was covering the priest’s face with kisses. Very inappropriate! Not to mention probably borderline blasphemous! Clearly Miss Canyon saw in Marigold’s departure a chance to bag herself a man of the cloth!

And so for the next half hour, cat choir’s conductor came up with a revised version of the twelve-step program. In her personal view, a superior version.

[Êàðòèíêà: img_4]

You know that things are returning to normal when cat choir is being conducted by the one and only Shanille once more. After an absence of several nights, one of which had dissolved into turmoil and recrimination, Shanille was back! And she came filled with plans. Though those plans, oddly enough, had nothing to do with music, and everything to do with alcohol!

“I attended the AA meeting this evening,” the iconic conductor revealed, “and things are looking bad, you guys.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Did you know that Vesta is attending these AA meetings, and Tex, too?”

“Yeah, I did know that,” I said. “Marge made them. She found some empty bottles in the recycle bin and so assumed her husband and mother had become alcoholics.” Though to be honest I thought she was probably exaggerating. Neither Tex nor Gran were exactly the epitome of the raging drunk. But then Marge tends to overreact sometimes. I had the impression she would make them go for a while, and then forgive and forget and things would return back to normal.

“It’s not enough,” said Shanille decidedly. “In fact it won’t do!”

“What’s not enough?” I asked.

“Yeah, what won’t do, Shanille?” asked Dooley.

“Let’s wait until the others are here,” said Shanille, cleverly building up the suspense. “Where are Harriet and Brutus? And where is Kingman?”

We glanced around, and saw that Harriet was surrounded by a group of her admirers. She was regaling them with the tale of how she had personally saved not only Father Reilly, but also Shanille herself from a terrible fate. Shanille would surely have died, if Harriet hadn’t gone into those woods, with considerable risk to her own personal safety, and had found Shanille, and had rescued her.

Brutus now wandered in our direction. He didn’t look all that happy, I thought.

“Is everything all right, Brutus?” I asked.

“Fine, fine,” he grumbled, indicating not everything was fine.

“It’s Harriet, isn’t it?” said Shanille. “She’s telling everyone how she saved my life and she’s not even mentioning you.”

“No, she is not,” said Brutus with a deep sigh.

“She didn’t actually save me, you know,” said Shanille “I was just so worried about Francis that I didn’t want to leave him alone for even one second.”

“Oh, let her tell the story,” said Brutus. “If it makes her feel better.”

“Okay, so maybe we’ll start without her,” said Shanille. She must have realized that once Harriet gets going tooting her own horn, it can take all night.

“Wait, there’s Kingman,” I said. And true to form, Kingman came waddling up, greeting cats left and right, and waving to everyone like the Pope riding around in his popemobile. “Hiya, fellas,” he said once he’d joined us. “Glad to see you looking so fit and healthy, Shanille. Good thing Harriet saved your life, isn’t it? Who knows what would have happened if she hadn’t. Probably eaten by wolves. Or a bear.”

“I was fine!” Shanille cried. “Nobody saved me!”

“Sure, sure,” said Kingman quickly. He turned to me. “What’s this I hear about some wine merchant being gunned down by a Chicago hit squad? Or was it the Columbians?”

“He wasn’t a wine merchant,” I said. “And he wasn’t gunned down. Well, he was shot, and so was the woman he was with.”

“Not his wife, eh?” said Kingman, giving me a wink. “Found in the bed of some prostitute, mh? Saucy stuff. Your human writing a front-page article, no doubt?”

“It wasn’t like that,” I said with a touch of exasperation.

“What’s this town coming to, huh?” said Kingman as he glanced in the direction of a pretty female. “Mobsters and hitmen, shootings and prostitutes. Pretty soon this place will be the crime capital of the country, if you ask me.”

“Well, nobody is asking you, Kingman,” said Shanille. “So let’s discuss this idea of mine, shall we? So four of our humans have succumbed to the drink devil already, and if this keeps up, I’m sure many more will follow. And as I see it, it’s our responsibility to keep them from strayingfrom the path. Humans have a name for this. They call it a sponsor. A person you can call when you feel weak, and in need of a drink. The system is clearly flawed, though. Scarlett Canyon is supposed to be Francis’s sponsor, and Vesta is Tex Poole’s sponsor and vice versa. I mean, that must be some kind of joke, right? So I’ve come up with a plan.”

“I like your plan, Shanille,” said Dooley happily.

Shanille stared at him.“I haven’t even told you yet.”

“I know, but I can tell it’s a good one. I like it already.”

“Okay. So my plan is to launch our own sponsor system. Each of us will be assigned a human, and we’re going to follow that human around and make sure they never touch a drop of alcohol again in their life!”

“Why am I here?” asked Kingman now. “Unless I’m mistaken, Wilbur isn’t part of this AA business, is he?”

“No, he is not, but he should be. I hate to break it to you, Kingman, but your Wilbur is a drunk.”

“No, he’s not. I mean, he drinks, but he’s not a drunk.”

“Every person who drinks is by definition a drunk,” Shanille insisted. “It’s the nature of the beast. Humans are weak. They simply cannot control themselves. They drink one glass, then another, then another, and before you know it, they’re lying passed out on the couch, snoring through another episode of The Simpsons.”

“Homer Simpson!” Dooley cried. “He’s so funny!”

“No, he’s not,” said Shanille sternly. “Homer Simpson is a drunk.”

“But—”

“So here’s what we’re going to do. I’ll keep an eye on Francis, obviously. You, Brutus, will keep an eye on Vesta.”

“Me! Why me!”

“Okay, fine.” She glanced in my direction, and immediately I shook my head.

“We’re in the middle of a case, Shanille. I can’t follow Gran around all day.”

“No, we’re following Odelia and Chase around all day instead,” said Dooley. “They’re not drunks, but they are spending a lot of time at a winery, so they might be turning into drunks very soon now. It’s too soon to tell, though.”

Harriet, who had finally managed to tear herself away from her group of admirers, said,“What did I miss?”

“FuSSy,” said Shanille.

Harriet frowned.“What did you just call me?”

“FuSSy, or Feline Sponsor System, is the new project we’re launching to get Hampton Cove to go dry,” Shanille explained. “Yes, Dooley, what is it?”

Dooley, who had raised his paw, now piped up,“Shouldn’t it be FeSSy? Only there’s no U in feline, you see.”

“I don’t like FeSSy,” said Shanille. “FuSSy is better.”

“But—”

“Okay, so Harriet, I’m assigning you and Brutus to Vesta and Scarlett. You will keep an eye on them at all times, and make sure they don’t touch a drop of alcohol.”

“Who will keep an eye on Tex?” asked Harriet.

“Mh… I see what you’re saying. Okay, so here’s what we’ll do. Brutus, you get Tex. And Harriet, you take Vesta and Scarlett both, seeing as they seem to spend practically all of their time together anyway.”

“So just to be clear,” said Harriet. “What do we do when we see one of our humans reaching for a drink? I want to get this exactly right,” she explained.

“Good question. The moment your human reaches for a bottle, you use your own judgment to prevent them from imbibing that poisonous liquid.”

“But what do we do, exactly?”

“Look, all of these people are in the AA, right? So they have taken a pledge to stop drinking. So as far as I’m concerned, the moment they touch a drop of alcohol, all bets are off. And I mean claws, teeth, ear-splitting caterwauling, the works. They get the full treatment. You make them stop, no matter how, okay?”

“Okay, Shanille,” said Harriet, and I could tell from the sparkle in her eye she was looking forward to this new mission.

“So let’s do this, folks,” said Shanille, rubbing her paws together.

“You mean, no rehearsal tonight?” I asked, much disappointed.

“No rehearsal. Our humans need us, especially now. When they’re alone in bed at night, yearning for a drop of that evil stuff, they need us more than ever. So let’s get this show on the road, people. FuSSy to the rescue!”

CHAPTER 26

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The Felfans, David and Pauline, were arriving at the airport at ten o’clock, and Steph had volunteered to pick them up. Her dad had suggested they send a car round, but she wanted to do it herself. She wanted the first face they saw to be hers, and not some unknown driver. And besides, she wanted to tell them what was going on face to face, and in the privacy of her own car, instead of being surrounded by the rest of her family.

She didn’t know why, but her folks had never really warmed to the Felfans. Maybe it was the cultural difference, even though she thought at the time that being a vintner, her dad and David Felfan would have a lot in common. Even though he wasn’t a vintner himself, the fondness the French have for wine in general and French wine in particular is well-known.

But the few times the two parent pairs had met, the atmosphere had been convivial but the firm friendship that Steph had envisioned and hoped would spring up hadn’t blossomed. She herself adored her in-laws though. Both David and Pauline were warmhearted people, and from the moment Jeff introduced her, they had accepted her as their own daughter, and she’d felt as home in their Paris apartment as she did in Hampton Cove—or perhaps even more so.

She had told herself to stay strong, but the moment she saw their faces as they walked out of the airport terminal, she broke down in tears, and so did both David and Pauline. And for the next five minutes the three of them clung to each other like survivors of some terrible tragedy, which in effect they were.

“I can’t believe he’s gone,” said Pauline finally. She was a fine-boned woman, dressed with impeccable taste, who was hiding her eyes behind large sunglasses, and the moment she removed them, Steph could see why: she had probably been crying from the moment she’d received the terrible news that her son was dead.

David, too, looked gaunt and pale, and clearly hadn’t slept since the news had hit. “How are you holding up?” he asked, offering her a weak smile.

“As well as can be expected,” she said. Which wasn’t very well indeed.

“Have the police given you any more information about this man they arrested?” asked Pauline. “Is he the one who killed our boy, you think?”

“They haven’t told me more than what I already knew,” she said.

“And the man in charge of the investigation? Is he any good?”

“Yes, he is. My dad tells me he has a very good reputation.” He was odd, though, to be investigating Jeff’s murder accompanied by his wife and her two cats. Like some kind of weird quirk. But as long as he got results, that was all that mattered.

They walked to where she had parked her car, and for a moment they sat there, as Pauline glanced at the small rosary that dangled from the rearview mirror. It had been her present to Jeff and Steph. She said it would protect them. And it had, when that maniac had tried to drive them off the road. But it hadn’t protected Jeff when he had been lured to his death. Maybe he should have worn a second one, though she doubted that would have stopped whoever was responsible.

She put the car in gear, and soon they had left New York’s heavy traffic behind and were traveling East along the Long Island Expressway.

“We’ve talked about what happened, your father and I,” said Pauline now. She always referred to themselves as her mom and dad, which she actually loved. “And we still want you to come to Paris and live in the apartment we’ve bought for you.”

“Oh, I don’t know, Pauline.”

“Please think about it,” said Pauline softly. “It’s what Jeff would have wanted. It’s the home for you and Zoe, and the place where your heart can heal. Surrounded by the beauty and the things you love the most—and the people who love you the most,” she added quietly. “Not that yourparents don’t love you, of course,” she hastened to add, feeling that perhaps she had stepped on some toes.

Steph assured her that she hadn’t. But she felt it was too soon to think about the future. First she wanted to bury her husband, and get through these next couple of days. And then there was the investigation. She didn’t think she’d be able to consider her future until the man who killed Jeff was brought to justice.

“Where’s Zoe?” asked Pauline.

“At the house,” said Steph. “You’ll see her soon.”

Pauline nodded, satisfied.“Maybe it’s a good thing that she’s too young to know what’s going on,” she said, echoing the exact thought Steph had had herself. “Though growing up without a father…” She placed a hand on Steph’s shoulder. “At least she has her mother, and her family, who love her very much.”

All through this, David had hardly said a word. Steph glanced over to him, but he was keeping himself to himself. Once again, she thought he looked very haggard. As if discovering that he’d lost his son had aged him overnight.

Later, when she was showing Pauline and David their room and explaining about meal times, Pauline took her aside and said quietly,“David isn’t well.”

“Are you worried?”

“I am,” her motherin-law confessed. “He says he’s going to quit politics. Says he can’t do it anymore. And he’s going to retire from the law practice.”

“So he won’t run for mayor?”

“No, he’s giving that all up.” She darted a look of concern in the direction of her husband, who was lying on the bed with his eyes closed, clearly exhausted. “He says there’s no point now that Jeff is gone. There’s no point to any of it.”

“Give it a couple of weeks,” Steph suggested. “We are all going to have to process this in our own way, and so is David.”

“I don’t know. I’ve never seen him so sure of something before. As if Jeff’s death has put things in perspective. Made him realize what’s really important. And clearly being the next mayor of Paris isn’t as important as he thought it was.”

She could understand that. She was also re-evaluating her life now. Trying to figure out what she wanted to do. Fighting for that job at WelBeQ seemed so pointless now. Even though it had seemed so important a couple of days ago, she simply didn’t care now. Or the job in Paris. Or any job, for that matter. All she wanted was to have Jeff back. But that wasn’t going to happen.

A soft rap sounded at the door, and when she opened it, her mother said that the police had arrived, and could they have a quick word with David and Pauline, if they felt up to it?

CHAPTER 27

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David and Pauline Felfan looked as shellshocked as any couple who had recently lost their son could look. As they sat in the downstairs salon, listening to Chase introducing himself and Odelia, they hardly seemed to be paying any attention at all. For a moment I wondered if they even spoke English. I knew that Chase didn’t speak French, and Odelia must have wondered the same thing, for she suggested we bring in Steph so she could translate.

But then Pauline held up a slender and bejeweled hand and said,“That won’t be necessary. Though are you sure you want my husband here? He isn’t feeling well, you see.”

“It’s the jet lag,” said David, clearing his throat.

He cut a tall, imposing figure, or he would have done, if he hadn’t looked so pale and drawn. With his full head of gray hair and his fleshy face, he certainly looked like a man who made a deep impression on people. Even now, when he was clearly feeling under the weather.

“I’ll be fine in a moment,” he assured us, though he wasn’t fooling anybody. “Steph told us you have a man in custody. But she also told us you haven’t given her a lot of information about him. Is he the man who killed my son, detective?”

“I’m afraid we had to release the person we had in custody. He’s admitted to certain facts, but not the murder, and since we can’t prove his involvement, for now he’s a free man again. But he’s still a suspect, and we’re doing everything we can to build a case against him, though we’re keeping our options open, and are also looking at other possibilities.”

“I have a possibility for you,” said David, sitting up a little straighter. “Perhaps Steph told you about this, but I was going to run for mayor of Paris. Now with Jeff gone, I no longer have plans in that direction. But when my son was still alive…” He broke down for a moment, with Pauline reaching out a concerned hand. But he quickly recovered, clearly eager to stay strong. “When Jeff was still alive, there was every chance that I was going to win that election and be the next mayor. My main opponent was a man named Bill Cymbal. Now, of course, with me out of the way, he’s going to win. And so I’ve been thinking about this all through the flight to New York, and I’m convinced that Cymbal is behind the murder of my son.”

“Oh, David,” said Pauline, who seemed taken aback.

“You see, the man is ruthless. Absolutely ruthless.”

“You don’t possibly think…”

“No, but I do think,ch?ri. Steph told us that the gun used to murder my son is connected to an organized crime syndicate. Well, that proves it, doesn’t it? Cymbal is a smooth operator, and he would never get his hands dirty, but he would know how to hire a professional killer and order a hit on my one and only son, knowing it would utterly destroy me. And that’s what he wants. He wants to destroy me. And I’m afraid to admit, Detective Kingsley, that he has succeeded. I’m officially withdrawing my candidacy. I’ll announce it the moment we land in Paris.”

“Please reconsider, David,” said Pauline. “You’d make such a great mayor. And you know how proud Jeff was of you.”

“It was me who was proud of Jeff,” said David quietly as a lone tear slid down his cheek. “And I just wish I would have told him before it was too late.”

“He knew,” said Pauline. “He knew how proud we were of him and Steph.”

For a moment, no one spoke, unwilling to ruin the moment. But then David cleared his throat,“Well, there you have it. Your killer is the next mayor of Paris.”

[Êàðòèíêà: img_4]

“I didn’t know a mayor could be a killer, Max,” said Dooley.

“I guess anyone can be a killer, Dooley,” I said.

The interview was at an end, and the Felfans had left. I had the impression they were going straight to bed. This jet lag business clearly was a big pain.

“Yes, but a mayor has a responsibility to take care of people, not to murder them.”

“One doesn’t exclude the other. You can take care of some people and murder others.” Though frankly this story about Mr. Cymbal reaching across the Atlantic to murder the son of his political opponent seemed a little far-fetched. If he wanted to hurt David Felfan’s chances of becoming the next mayor wouldn’t he resort to the usual stuff? Like spreading nasty rumors, perhaps, or hiring a private detective to dig up dirt on the man? Murder seemed a little risky. No matter how careful you were, sooner or later a connection might be made, and not only would Cymbal not be mayor of Paris,but he would find himself an inmate of its penal system. And I didn’t think a man like that would take the risk.

Chase had gone in search of Steph, wanting to have another word with Jeff’s widow, and in the meantime we were waiting in the nice salon. On the walls paintings had been placed depicting vineyards down the ages. It all looked very pleasant and very bucolic. Which reminded me of something.

“Did you know that Tex and Gran have joined the AA?” I asked.

“Yeah, Mom told me,” said Odelia with a smile. “They’re each other’s sponsors, if you can believe it.”

“Oh, I can,” I said. “And Father Reilly and Scarlett are in the same boat. Though the pleasure is entirely Scarlett’s, I imagine.”

“Father Reilly’s wife has left him,” Dooley explained. “Though she wasn’t actually his wife, because he’s not allowed to get married. So his bishop told him to carry on with Marigold in secret, but she didn’t like that, and now she’s gone to Canada with her daughter, and Father Reilly has become a drunk.”

“Poor Francis,” said Odelia, shaking her head. “He really loved Marigold.”

“And now he loves the bottle,” said Dooley. “But Shanille is watching him. She’s launched the FuSSy brigade, and they’re going to stop their humans from drinking alcohol no matter what. ‘All bets are off,’ she said. Those were her exact words.”

“What does that mean?” asked Odelia with a frown.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” I said. “But it doesn’t bode well for your dad and grandmother.”

“I still can’t believe Mom made Dad attend AA meetings,” said Odelia. “I mean, does he drink more than he should sometimes? Yes, he does. But he’s not an alcoholic, and neither is Gran.”

“They’re not alcoholics, but they can’t stop drinking,” said Dooley.

“Not being able to stop drinking is the definition of an alcoholic, Dooley,” I said.

“No, it’s not. An alcoholic is a member of the AA. As long as you don’t join the club, you’re fine. But of course Marge had to go and sign them up, so now they’re card-carrying alcoholics and they’ve got the official AA badges to prove it.”

Odelia’s lips quirked up into a smile at Dooley’s peculiar logic. And I had the impression she had more to say on the subject, but Chase walked in with Steph Stewart and so we were plunged back into our investigation of Jeff’s murder.

CHAPTER 28

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Chase gave Steph the same news he gave Jeff’s parents: that they had to let Edmundo Crowley go, since they didn’t have the evidence to bring charges against the man.

“So… you’re simply going to let him walk?” asked Steph, who didn’t take too well to the news.

“We investigated the man’s computer and phone, and found no evidence that he hired someone to murder your husband, or obtained the gun to carry out the murder himself. And we showed Crowley’s picture to a witness who saw a man enter Cipriana Cilke’s flat yesterday afternoon shortly before she and Jeff were shot, and she didn’t recognize him. Furthermore, the search of his phone and computer shows no evidence that he was behind the campaign that got you dismissed from consideration for the WelBeQ position. So unless he has a second computer, or is a very clever operator, he might notbe the guy we’re looking for.”

Steph’s eyes were wide and concerned. “Crowley wasn’t behind that slander campaign?”

“At this moment we have no reason to assume that he was.”

“I don’t believe this. What about the NYPD investigation?”

“We’re going to liaise with them on this. They’re carrying out their own analysis of the man’s phone and computer, as well as the results of the search of his apartment. And we’re going to pay a visit to the officer who’s in charge of that investigation. But unless they come up with something solid and conclusive…”

“But if Crowley didn’t do it, then who did?”

“The investigation is still ongoing,” Chase assured her. “We will get to the bottom of this, Steph.”

“Crowley did confess to throwing those rocks through your window,” Odelia said, “and also the reckless maneuver that had Jeff pull over. He says he did that after he found out that your complaint with the NYPD cost him the WelBeQ job.”

“They didn’t hire him?”

“No, they didn’t,” said Chase. “The NYPD contacted them and asked them about his candidacy, and afterward they decided to hire a different candidate.”

“Oh, God. And now you’re saying he wasn’t even behind that campaign. So I cost an innocent man his job.”

“Like I said, the investigation is ongoing, so it’s too soon to draw any conclusions.”

“This is all such a mess.”

“Don’t beat yourself up too much,” said Odelia. “There will be other job opportunities for Mr. Crowley. And for you, as well.”

“One other thing,” said Chase. “Your father-in-law seems to think that his political opponent may be behind Jeff’s murder. One Bill Cymbal?”

“I’ve heard about him from Jeff. He’s a pretty shrewd politician. Though in spite of his maneuvering David was still leading in the polls, with Cymbal trailing far behind, so David would probably have won. But now he’s saying he wants to retire from politics. Pauline says it’s because of the shock of Jeff’s death, and that he might reconsider. But I’m not so sure. David is the kind of person who doesn’t make decisions lightly. And once he’s decided something he doesn’t backtrack.”

“What do you think about his theory that Cymbal killed your husband?”

“Honestly, I don’t know,” said Steph, shaking her head. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s all right,” said Odelia. “We just wanted to check with you. By the way, we’ve been trying to talk to your brother, but we seem to keep missing each other. You wouldn’t by any chance know where we can find him, do you?”

“He’s around,” said Steph vaguely. “Though he keeps going for drives.”

“We saw his car parked at the Kosinski place yesterday,” said Chase. “Any idea what he was doing out there?”

Steph frowned.“Kevin at the Kosinski Winery? No, I don’t know what he was doing there. My family and the Kosinski family aren’t exactly on speaking terms.”

“Clearly Kevin is.”

“I’m sorry, but you’ll have to ask Kevin about that.”

And from the look of determination on Chase’s face, he would.

“Okay, we’re almost through,” said Odelia kindly, when she noticed that Steph seemed tired and had started to become irritable. “We talked to Robbie Scunner yesterday. Now he claims he was at the winery at the time of Jeff’s murder, but—”

“Robbie wouldn’t harm Jeff,” said Steph immediately. “You’re barking up the wrong tree there.”

“The thing is that Beniamino Kosinski told us that Robbie took the end of your relationship badly, and that he told people at your wedding that he was in mourning. So clearly he wasn’t a big fan of your husband, Steph.”

“It’s all such a long time ago. I’m sure he got over it by now.” But her words lacked the true ring of conviction. Clearly she knew something she wasn’t telling us. And Chase, being the good copper that he was, pounced on it.

“We talked to Larry Scunner, and after a lot of hemming and hawing he came out and admitted that he couldn’t positively swear one hundred percent that he’d seen his son at the winery yesterday afternoon around the time Jeff and Cipriana Cilke were killed. First he claimed that Robbie was here, but the man is such a terrible liar that it didn’t take long before he broke down and admitted that he hadn’t seen him when he first said he did. When I asked him why he lied, he mumbled something about being confused and getting his times mixed up. Though it wouldn’t surprise me if Robbie had asked his dad to lie for him.”