Six Cats A Slayin'

TWENTY-TWO

“Can you tell me what it is?” I asked.

“It’s about Jared,” Melba said. “I think he knows more about Gerry than he ever let on.”

“Why do you think that?”

Melba hesitated. “Something I overheard the other night made me a little suspicious. It was when she wanted to talk to him and pulled him away from me. Remember?”

I nodded. Melba hadn’t been pleased with Gerry’s behavior.

“You also remember I went over to them when I got tired of waiting for her to get done talking,” Melba said. “I heard him give a little laugh and say, Sure thing, honey. Do you think that’s her real name? Or was he just getting friendly? If it is her real name, he surely knows more about her.”

“Are you sure honey was what he called her?” I asked.

“I thought it was,” Melba said, “but it could have been Lonnie or Ronnie, maybe. Why do you ask? What do you know?”

“I found the name Ronni Halliburton in the county property tax records as the owner of Gerry’s house. Ronni Halliburton also owns three other houses in town.”

Melba appeared dumbstruck by this information, and that—all humor aside—rarely ever happened.

“Look,” I said, “if Jared knew the name Ronni, then he obviously does know something about Gerry’s business, if nothing else. He knows that Gerry was Ronni. I know you like him, but if he’s in any way connected to Gerry’s death, you don’t want to get involved with him. You have to tell Kanesha what you heard.”

“You’re right,” Melba said. “I know that. It’s just that I’m sure he’ll know I’m the one who told Kanesha.”

I understood how she felt, but she hadn’t known this man very long at all. I thought she was being overly scrupulous. I told her that.

Melba heaved a large sigh. “I’ll tell Kanesha what I heard. I can’t believe Jared killed her, but you’re right, I don’t know him well enough yet.”

“Are you going to see him again while the investigation is going on?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” Melba replied. “I’ll have to think about that.” She stood. “I’d better get downstairs. I have a few things to take care of before I go over to the sheriff’s department. I’ll text you when I leave.”

“Okay, good luck.” I watched her go. She was walking slowly and not with her usual energy. I hated that this was weighing so heavily on her, and I was concerned that the man she was so evidently interested in could be somehow involved in Gerry’s death.

Melba’s recounting of what she had heard prompted memories of the night of the party. Jared had seemed particularly unhappy about remaining in the house after the arrival of the sheriff’s department. At the time I hadn’t thought too much about the source of his unease. Simply figured that he was antsy staying in the same house with a dead woman, still deeply affected by the death of his own wife.

Now, however, I considered his behavior in the light of this fresh knowledge. Could he have killed Gerry and thus was uneasy about having to deal with the police and sheriff’s deputies? I found it hard to reconcile this, however, with the cold calculation it took for someone to slip poison in Gerry’s brandy and later steal the snifter to get rid of it.

That snifter was the sticking point. If Jared had taken it, what had he done with it? Unless he had slipped out of the house to stow it and then came back, I didn’t see how he could have hidden the thing. He couldn’t put it under his jacket. There would be no way to disguise the bulge the snifter would make. Ditto with his pants pockets. I should have thought to ask Melba whether he was gone from her side for any length of time after the murder occurred. Now was not the time to ask her that, I thought, when she was obviously so worried. I would wait.

I went back to my work and also back to doing my best to suppress any thoughts of the murder. I had Alex and Sean to worry about instead. As the minutes and hours passed, I wondered why I hadn’t heard from Sean. At two o’clock I picked up my phone to call but, after a moment, put it down again. No, I didn’t want to take the chance of waking him up. During his teenage years he could sleep twelve hours, sometimes more. He probably needed that much rest now.

I worked a little later than usual today, and thus it was a quarter after four when I locked my office and headed down the stairs. My phone rang as I was unlocking the car. I checked the caller ID. Sean. Hurriedly I slid into the car and shut the door against the chill wind.

“Hello, Dad.” Sean sounded more himself. “Sorry I’m so late in calling, but I slept until about thirty minutes ago. I came home to have a shower and change clothes before heading back to the hospital. Caroline’s gone home for now.”

“I don’t know what we would have done without her,” I said. “You’re feeling better?”

“Everyone is doing better. Cherelle is doing great with Rosie. She’s agreed to move into the guest bedroom until Alex is back on her feet. We’re hoping Alex will be home from the hospital sometime early this evening. In the meantime, Cherelle can be here for Rosie around the clock.”

“That’s great,” I said. “A huge worry off my mind. Now, how is Alex?”

“I’m heading to the hospital in a minute. They’ve had her sedated, but she’s supposed to be awake by the time I get there. She was obviously even more sleep-deprived than I’ve been. Resting and sleeping will help, plus getting the proper nutrition. I’ll call you after I’ve seen her and give you an update.”

“Give her my love and tell her I’ll come see her soon, if they’re allowing visitors.”

“Will do,” Sean said. “Thanks, Dad. I don’t know what I’d do without you sometimes.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” I said. “Go see Alex.”

I ended the call, reflecting on the change in my relationship with my son. Since he’d suddenly appeared in Athena a couple of years ago, announcing that he had quit his job as a corporate lawyer in Houston and wanted to stay with me for a while, we had regained the closeness we’d had before his mother died. My son had shed the last vestiges of adolescence, and I had shaken off the isolation in which I had cocooned myself after my wife’s death.

My phone pinged—a sound I didn’t recall having heard it make before. Then I remembered Frank mentioned that he had set the video app to alert me whenever there was fresh footage to view.

I tapped the icon to open the app and stared at the screen, trying to remember what to do next. I tapped another icon, and a video opened. I saw a hand move in to rest on the sill. Then slowly a second hand joined it. In a jerky movement a head popped up quickly, but the head was covered by a black hood. All I could see was the hood. Evidently the child had it pulled close around her face, almost as if she knew she was being filmed.

The head remained in view for about twenty seconds before it withdrew. I waited to see if there was more, but the video stopped after another thirty seconds or so. I replayed the video, trying to discern any potential clues to the child’s identity. All I discovered was that the child was a fingernail-biter. Every nail that I could see had been chewed on to various degrees.

I put down my phone in frustration. Either the child had seen Frank installing the cameras and took pains to hide her face, or she was extremely bright and had suspected all along that there might be a video camera installed for security purposes. Either way, it looked like I might not get any satisfaction from Frank’s efforts.

Unless, I thought suddenly, I set a trap for her. I would give that some thought. I needed to find out where the kittens came from. They were old enough to be adopted out, if necessary, but if the child was able to take them home again, I wanted her to have that option.

The simplest trap I could set, I realized, was to leave another note on the door. I needed to place it so that the child might look into the camera on the door without realizing it. I closed my eyes and visualized the scene in my mind. I saw the child reaching for the note and snatching it from a crouching position.

No, that wouldn’t work. I had to get the child to stand taller in order to get her face as close as possible to the camera. I would have to place the note higher up. I also needed to estimate the child’s height. When I got home I could measure the height of the living room windows, watch the video again to get a reference point from the child’s actions, and go from there.

As I was about to pull out of my parking space, my cell phone announced a new text message. I glanced at it and saw that it was from the pharmacy. My high blood pressure medicine had been refilled and was ready for pickup. I sighed. I hated having to take this medicine, even though it was a low dose. If I could only follow my doctor’s advice and lose a bit of weight—and cut out some of the food I loved best—I probably wouldn’t have to take it. I hadn’t been on the medicine long, only for two months. I was due back in the doctor’s office in another month for a check on my blood pressure to determine whether the dose was effective.

I debated picking the prescription up tomorrow or the next day. I had at least two more pills, as I recalled, for the once-daily dose. I might as well pick it up today, I decided, in case I forgot and woke up on Christmas morning to find myself without any.

Instead of turning the car toward home, I had to drive in another direction, toward the town square. Milton Harville’s pharmacy occupied space across the square from Helen Louise’s bistro and the independent bookstore, the Athenaeum. After a short drive, I counted myself lucky to find an open parking space directly in front of the pharmacy. Unlike many other small towns around the country, Athena had a thriving downtown area, and parking was often at a premium at this hour.

Two people waited in line ahead of me at the pharmacy counter, and the first of them, an elderly man, querulously demanded to know why the price of his medication had gone up. Jenny Harville, Milton’s daughter, patiently explained the reason for the change—a matter of seventy-five cents, from what I managed to overhear. Finally, the man paid and left. The person right in front of me made no objection about the price of her several prescriptions and paid quickly. I stood at the counter next.

“Mr. Harris, how are you?” Jenny smiled. “And how is that gorgeous kitty of yours?”

“I’m doing fine, Jenny,” I replied. “Diesel is doing fine, too, spoiled as ever.”

“As he should be,” Jenny said. “Why else do we exist, other than to serve our feline masters?” She laughed. Jenny, I knew, had a couple of cats of her own, both Siamese, and she doted on them.

“You have one to pick up,” Jenny said, and I nodded.

While she retrieved my prescription, I looked around for her father. He appeared from behind a shelf in the dispensing area, staring at a bottle in his hand. When he looked up, he happened to glance my way. He came toward the counter.

“Charlie, have you got a minute? I really need to talk to you.” Milton looked even more stressed than usual, and I wondered if Tammy had been in the store within the last hour. She always had this effect on him.

He obviously needed to talk, and though I was eager to get home, I knew I couldn’t put him off. “Sure,” I said. “Let me pay for my drugs, and we can talk.”

Jenny shot a glance filled with suspicion at her father as she returned to the counter. From this I guessed that she didn’t know what was worrying him. She rang me up, I paid, and then Milton motioned for me to come around the counter. He led me through the shelves to the small office he shared with Jenny at the back of the store.

As soon as we were in the room, I asked him what was going on. “I can tell you’re worried about something.”

Milton leaned against his desk and rubbed a hand across his eyes. He took a deep breath before he spoke. Then his words came out in a rush.

“I’m terrified, Charlie, so sick I don’t know what to do.”

“Why? What happened?”

He looked me in the eye, and I could see the fear.

“When we got home the other night after the party, I shut myself up in my den to try to cool off. Stayed in there a couple of hours before I felt like I could talk to Tammy without wringing her neck.” He paused for another deep breath. “I couldn’t find her anywhere in the house. I’m afraid she went back to the party and killed Gerry Albritton.”