The Whole Cat Аnd Caboodle

Chapter 15

“I’ll turn off the kettle,” Liz said, heading for the stairs.

“Would you bring my purse down, please?” Charlotte called after her.

Liz nodded and lifted a hand to show she’d heard.

“I’ll go tell Mac where we’re going,” I said. I found him outside, carrying a box full of old bottles over to the planting table by the back door, where Avery was set up with potting soil, moss and some small plants.

“What’s up?” he said, setting the box on the end of the table.

I exhaled loudly. “Rose drove off with a possible murderer who she’s certain couldn’t be one because he has a floppy handshake. She’s fine, by the way.”

“Okay,” Mac said slowly.

“Charlotte and Liz and I are going to the airport to try to catch one of Arthur Fenety’s girlfriends before she leaves town.” I shook my head. “I’m crazy, aren’t I?”

Mac smiled. “You’re kindhearted and loyal and a good friend.” He held up his thumb and index finger about a quarter of an inch apart. “And maybe just a little bit crazy.”

I laughed. “How did I get myself into this, Mac?”

“They’re family,” he said with a shrug. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of things here.”

“Seriously, how would I manage without you?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said.

I ran up to my office and grabbed my purse. When I came back down, I found Charlotte and Liz waiting by my SUV, along with Mr. P. and Elvis.

“I’m coming,” Mr. P. said. “I don’t mean to be sexist, but you three need some muscle.”

He was completely serious. I didn’t dare look at Liz because I knew I’d laugh. Mr. P. wasn’t exactly the bodyguard type. On the other hand, he’d already surprised me with his computer skills so maybe I shouldn’t judge.

I looked down at Elvis. “Why do you need to come?” The cat looked at Mr. P., then back at me.

“He’s part of my security team,” Mr. P. said. I gave the two of them a once-over—Mr. P. with his trousers up under his armpits and the cat with the scar slicing across his nose. They were the most unlikely security team I’d ever seen. And I didn’t have time to get into a long discussion about it. “Get in,” I said.

Liz rode shotgun. Charlotte, Mr. P. and Elvis climbed in the back with Elvis in the middle.

The Knox County Airport is about twenty minutes outside North Harbor. I looked at my watch when we hit the highway; if we were lucky, we might catch Grace MacIntyre before she went through security. I didn’t speed, but I kept it right at the limit all the way to the airport turnoff.

The universe or someone was smiling on us because we found a parking spot. We piled out and I pointed a finger at Elvis. “Guard the truck,” I said.

He gave an answering meow and sat up a little straighter.

We couldn’t exactly run for the terminal buildings. Liz was wearing heels and I wasn’t sure about making Mr. P. move that fast, so we more or less speed-walked from the parking area.

“Which way?” I asked once we stepped inside. Mr. P. did a quick survey and pointed. “That way. She’s probably in the security line.” He spoke with such assurance that I decided to head in that direction, mentally crossing my fingers that he was right.

When Jess and I had seen Grace MacIntyre she’d been wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses, so I scanned the terminal for someone with the same dyed red hair as I’d noticed peeking out from under her cap. It was like looking for a needle in a haystack. And then I spotted her—or a person I hoped was her—in the middle of a line snaking toward the security check.

“I think I see her,” I said.

“Where?” Charlotte asked at my elbow.

I pointed. “The redhead behind the woman in the green jacket. I think that might be her.”

“Go,” Liz said. “This is as fast as I move in these shoes.”

Charlotte and I hurried across the tile floor as the line moved forward.

“What are you going to say to her?” Charlotte asked.

I kept my eyes on what I sincerely hoped was the back of Grace MacIntyre’s head. “I don’t know,” I said. “I can’t exactly start out by saying, ‘Hello. Did you by any chance kill Arthur Fenety?’”

We were almost level with the woman by then. She glanced in our direction and I recognized her face. It was the woman Jess and I had seen at Sam’s. Before I could say anything Charlotte took a step in from of me and touched her on the shoulder.

“Excuse me,” she said. “Are you Grace MacIntyre?”

“Yes,” she said frowning a little at us.

“My name is Charlotte Elliot,” Charlotte said. “And this is my friend, Sarah Grayson. Could we talk to you about Arthur Fenety?”

Grace pressed her lips together and looked down at the floor for a moment. When she met Charlotte’s eyes again all she said was, “He’s dead.”

“I know,” Charlotte said. “We’re trying to find out who killed him.”

“A woman named Madeline Hamilton.”

I shook my head. “No, she didn’t.”

Grace shrugged. “She was arrested.”

“The police are wrong,” Charlotte said firmly.

“You think I killed him?” Grace asked.

“No,” I said. “But how did you locate him here? From what I understand there were a lot of people looking for Arthur Fenety.”

She laughed, but there really wasn’t any humor in the sound. “I hired a private detective.”

“When you found him, why didn’t you just call the police?” Charlotte asked.

“It wasn’t because I was planning on killing him.”

“Arthur was a very charming man,” Charlotte said.

I hadn’t been expecting her to say that but I figured she had to have a plan, so I kept my mouth shut and my expression neutral.

“Yes, he was,” Grace said and a smile flitted across her face. “He was a bit of a scoundrel, but he had his good points.” She was carrying a leather tote bag and she shifted it from one hand to the other as the line moved forward again. We were running out of time. She shrugged. “There’s no harm in telling you, I guess. I didn’t come here to get back at Arthur. I came to get him back.”

Charlotte actually looked sympathetic. I was trying just not to look surprised.

“I have more than enough money,” Grace said. “What I don’t have is anyone to share my life with.”

“I understand,” Charlotte said, nodding slowly. I glanced over at Liz and Mr. P., who were standing a few steps away. “Did you see Arthur?” she asked. We were only half a dozen people away from the security check.

“The morning he . . . died.” Grace looked away for a moment and then her gaze came back to Charlotte’s face. “He turned me down. He said the money didn’t matter; he was in love for real this time. He kissed me on the cheek and wish me well.”

“I’m sorry,” Charlotte said.

Grace nodded. “Me too. Maybe if he’d given us another chance he’s still be alive.” She took a deep breath and let it out. “My mother always said it’s just as easy to love a rich man as it is a poor one. I think it’s the same for a rich woman. But Arthur didn’t see it that way.” She cleared her throat. “And since I’m confessing my weaknesses to you I may as well tell you that I spent the rest of the day with my private detective going over all the information on Arthur that he had.”

I’d wondered how the newspaper had dug up so much on Arthur Fenety so fast. “You sent it all to the paper,” I said.

She nodded. “I did. My mother also said revenge is a dish best served cold.”

“In my experience, revenge is a dish best not served at all,” Charlotte said softly.

Grace turned and pointed to a man several people back in the line behind her. “The man in the brown leather jacket, he’s the detective I hired. You can ask him where I was on Monday.”

“Thank you,” I said.

“I hope things work out for you friend,” she said. The line moved again and she was at security.

Grace MacIntyre’s detective, Malcolm Kent, had a strong handshake, deep blue eyes, and iron gray hair in a brush cut. I introduced Charlotte and myself and explained who we were.

“Mrs. MacIntyre just sent me a text,” he said. “What would you like to know?”

“She was with you on Monday?” I asked.

He nodded. “She was. From about eleven thirty until close to three o’clock at the Fairgate Hotel. We ordered room service, if that helps.”

“It does,” I said.

“Mrs. MacIntrye asked me to give you a copy of everything I learned about Arthur Fenety. If you give me your e-mail address I’ll send it to you.”

I gave Malcolm Kent the store’s e-mail, thanked him and Charlotte and I walked over to Liz and Mr. P.

“Any luck?” Liz asked.

Charlotte shook her head. “She has an alibi.”

We headed back out to the parking lot. “There has to be an easier way to do this,” I said, fishing the keys to the SUV out of my pocket. “There has to be some way to find out which one of the women in Arthur Fenety’s life wanted him dead.”

“Wasn’t that pretty much all of them?” Liz said dryly.

Charlotte shook her head. “No. Grace MacIntyre actually wanted him back.”

Liz rolled her eyes.

“Don’t you think the woman who knew him best would know that?” Mr. P. said.

We all looked at him.

“Who would that be?” I asked.

Mr. P. looked at the three of us, a slightly baffled expression on his face. “His sister, Daisy. Has anyone gone and talked to her?”