Purrfect Heat

Chapter 6

Just when their order arrived—an espresso for Chase and a latte for Odelia—Chase got a call from Chief Alec.

“Uh-oh,” he said, disconnecting. “Looks like I gotta run. The Chief managed to locate Serarols.”

“The chef?”

“He’s down at the station now, and he’s asked me to be there when he questions him.”

“Just go. I’ll take care of your espresso.”

He grinned. “I’m sure you will.” He took the espresso and downed it in one gulp. “Just so happens I love espressos, though, so tough luck.”

“You’ll keep me in the loop, right?”

“Sure.” He got up and threw a few bills on the table. “Thanks for the chat—and the update on the world of cats. It was fun—and instructional.”

“See you later, Chase.”

She watched him leave, and noticed not for the first time that he moved with a catlike grace. Like a tiger. Or a panther. It also occurred to her he was a lot more dangerous than she thought when he first just moved into town. She’d never figured she’d ever fall for the cop, and now she found that he was on her mind a lot more than she knew how to handle.

She looked down, and saw that Max, Dooley and Brutus had left. She hated to disappoint them, but she’d already agreed to take Diego in, and she couldn’t go back on her word now. She was pretty sure it would be fine. When Brutus just arrived, Max and Dooley had been equally distraught. And look at them now. They were like buddies these days.

She took a sip of her latte and thought about the case. With so many suspects, it was going to be a matter of deciding who had most to gain from the celebrity chef’s murder. And who’d been in the position to carry out the murder. She imagined it would have had to be a person with considerable physical strength, as it was a tough feat to hoist the chef into the oven.

She looked out across the street at the restaurant, and saw a woman sashay in her direction. She recognized her from several covers of Star Magazine. Cybil Truscott, the soon-to-be ex-wife of Niklaus Skad. And as luck would have it, she was heading straight for the coffee shop.

The woman, large sunglasses on her nose, her hair a lustrous shiny red, her skin a milky white and dressed in designer threads, was carrying three shopping bags in each hand, all from luxury boutiques. It was obvious she’d just gone on a shopping spree. To celebrate the death of her husband?

Cybil took a seat at the next table, and Odelia leaned over. “Excuse me, but aren’t you Cybil Truscott?”

The woman smiled, and took off her sunglasses, shaking out her gorgeous mane of red curls. “Yes, I am. And you are?”

“Odelia Poole. I’m a reporter for the Hampton Cove Gazette.”

The woman’s smile widened. “Ooh, I love reporters. And they love me.”

Of course they did. Ever since Cybil got married to Niklaus Skad, she’d been tabloid fodder, her pictures appearing on more covers than any other starlet or socialite or celebrity wannabe. She’d been a cocktail waitress before she met Niklaus, and now she wasn’t just famous, she stood to gain a substantial fortune after the death of her husband.

“My condolences,” she said now. “I just heard about your husband.”

“Yes, shocking, isn’t it?” She glanced across the street. “And that’s where it happened. Such a sad ending for such a brilliant man. Then again, there is a certain poetic justice in the fact that he would die in the oven of one of the restaurants he was singling out for his notorious brand of abuse.”

“I didn’t know you were in town,” Odelia said.

“Yes, I’m on vacation. I’m staying at the Hampton Springs Hotel.”

“Did you know your husband would be in town?”

“I had no idea! Of course we hadn’t been in touch lately. We only communicated through our lawyers. Ever since I filed for divorce Niklaus broke off all relations.”

Which stood to reason. She had accused him in several TV interviews of domestic violence and of assaulting her. There were even rumors of him forcing her into accepting a trio with the housekeeper. Odelia had the impression a lot of the stories Cybil had dished were simply a way to get as much out of the divorce as possible. Hoping her famous husband would pay her a large sum of money just to shut her up.

“So you didn’t see him last night?” she asked innocently.

The woman threw her head back and laughed. “Oh, honey, I have to hand it to you. You may be writing for some local rag, but you’re good at what you do. You’re trying to figure out if I killed my husband, aren’t you?”

“Well, you do have a solid motive,” she admitted.

Cybil gave her a shrewd look. “I know what you’re thinking. Niklaus was never going to allow me the divorce settlement I was aiming for. Why not kill the man instead and take it all? And you’re right. With him gone, I stand to inherit his entire fortune. The houses in New York, Vail, Los Angeles, Paris, London and Antibes. The business empire he built. The royalties to his bestselling books. The cars, the yachts, the private jet… You name it, I will get it now. But did I kill him? Of course not. I may be a money-grubbing social climber, like the papers will undoubtedly point out—and Niklaus’s friends and ex-wives have done for years—but I’m not a murderer. Besides, I have one of those things you need when someone is killed. What’s it called? An amoeba?”

“An alibi?”

She snapped her fingers. “That’s it. I’ve got me one of those. Ironclad one, too.”

“And would you care to share your alibi with me?”

She laughed again. “Oh, darling. You’re good, but not that good. I think I’ll keep that for the police. If or when they decide to haul me in for questioning.”

“I work with the police, actually. My uncle is Chief of Police.”

“I see. So that’s why you’re so nosy. And here I thought you were going to write a nice big front-page article about me.” She pouted.

“I will write a nice big article about you,” Odelia promised.

“But only if I tell you about my alibi, right?”

She smiled. “I’ll find out soon enough anyway.”

“From your uncle. I see.” She waved an airy hand. “Just ask the pool boy at the Hampton Springs Hotel. He’ll tell you all you need to know. With all the saucy details you gossip hounds are so crazy about.”

“Thanks,” she said. “I will talk to him.”

Cybil winked. “There’s even pictures. Lots and lots of them. And video.” Then she looked across the street at the yellow-and-black crime scene tape and sobered. “I did like him once upon a time, you know. Niklaus? He was a vulgar man with a cruel streak, but he had passion. Lots of passion, if you know what I mean.”

Odelia had an idea she knew exactly what the woman meant. She didn’t want to know, though. She wasn’t that kind of reporter.

“When we first got together we went at it like bunny rabbits.” She seemed to shake herself, and gave a slight shrug. “But passion fades, and money doesn’t, so…”

“So you decided to cash in your chips before he did?”

“You are smart. What did you say your name was?”

“Odelia Poole.”

The woman took out her smartphone, and before Odelia could stop her had snapped a selfie of the two of them together. She then flicked her long fingernails across the screen for a few seconds and gave a tiny smile. “Done and done,” she said, holding up her phone for Odelia to read.

“Chatting with Odelia Poole, who’s no fool!” she read. “Nice.”

“You don’t have to thank me when the endorsement deals start rolling in, darling. Call it giving something back to the community. After all, I can afford it.”

Odelia left the coffee shop feeling a little queasy. She didn’t know whether Cybil Truscott was a murderer or not, but she was sure she was not a very nice person.