Fat Cat Takes the Cake (15 page)

W
hen a fit of coughing took Chase by surprise, she turned away from the counter.

“You know what you need to do?” Mallory leaned in close to talk so the customers wouldn't hear. “Take a damp washcloth and heat it in the microwave for about minute, then put it on your face. It'll clear your sinuses right up.”

“Thanks,” Chase managed to say, although her cold seemed to be in her chest by now, not her sinuses. “Gotta go.” She was horrified to think she might have infected Mallory, to say nothing of the customer she'd been waiting on.

Inger was done with lunch when she made it to the kitchen. Anna said she would relieve Mallory so the girl could eat. “But you go upstairs and rest,” Anna told her. “I'll bring some more soup over right after we close.”

Chase remembered her cat through her haze and took Quincy upstairs with her. She collapsed into her stuffed chair and sucked a cough drop until her fit subsided.

She was sick, for sure, but she felt worse about being discouraged that she couldn't find anyone to take Julie's place as the number one suspect for Ron North's murder.

Who else was there? The real estate crooks had seemed the most likely. Van Snelson, her former principal, for whom she had lost all respect, had spent the night at the high school. His actions were strange, but it didn't seem that he killed anyone. Completely separate from the murder and the real estate scam, how could he go to work every day and be in charge of teenagers when he couldn't stand them?

Langton Hail, the funny little vest-wearing guy, had been too drunk. Eddie Heath had seen him in his car the next morning, preparing to leave the parking lot hours after the reunion ended. She hoped that those two would be punished for bilking people like Hilda Bjorn, at least.

She admitted that Dickie Byrd had been a distant third choice. She wanted him to have killed Ron to avenge his wife's honor after she was accosted. But now the Byrds were on the outs. He probably wasn't interested in defending someone who had kicked him out. He hadn't spent the night with his wife, but with his mistress, the short, stacked woman who bought him Peanut Butter Fudge Bars.

Who else
was
there?

Wait! Maybe Dickie Byrd didn't want to avenge his wife's honor, but who said she couldn't avenge it herself? She was fuming mad at Ron, even threw her drink in his face.

Chase stumbled to the kitchen drawer where she had
stashed the copied pages of Ron's notebook. She spread them on the kitchen table and turned to the part that she and Julie assumed was about his serial stalking victims. J was Julie and M was Monique. He had been making the rounds of his old victims at the party. He'd tried Julie, had mashed his face into hers for a kiss. Jay had come to her rescue and nothing else had happened after that. No, Julie had
not
killed him.

But he had confronted Monique, too. She'd been piled on that night. First, her husband got stewed to the gills at his own campaign rally, which, Chase assumed, Monique had orchestrated exactly as she'd run all his campaigns in the past. He had ruined the night for himself and, most likely, for her. Then maybe Ron's attack was the last straw. She had left early, even slightly before her husband. She would have had plenty of time to kill Ron. Julie's scarf had been in Ron's pocket, so it was convenient for her to use as a weapon as her anger boiled over in the parking lot.

Maybe she started out merely accosting him, perhaps berating him. Ron was so annoying that things could easily escalate. Monique could get madder and madder. She would start yanking at her hair. Fire would come from her eyes. Her anger would overwhelm her and she would lose control and strangle him. As inebriated as he was, he wouldn't be able to put up much of a fight. Ron wasn't very large. If Monique were fueled by adrenaline and hatred, she could have gotten him into her car and driven him to the park while it was still dark. She could overcome her touching phobia in a blind rage, couldn't she?

“Yes,” she said, pumping her fist into the air. Quincy
scampered away and jumped onto the couch. “Didn't mean to scare you, little guy. But I think I have this figured out.”

She followed Quincy to the couch and dialed Detective Olson's number, but quit halfway through when another coughing fit overcame her. As she sucked yet another cough drop, she had second thoughts. What would she tell the detective? She had no evidence to support her conclusion. There were no clues. It was all supposition. If he searched her trunk he might find blood. Could she convince him to do that?

Maybe Monique would come into the shop again and she could ask her some questions. She tucked one foot underneath herself on the leather couch. Quincy sat in her lap and they both dozed.

Chase's head grew bigger and bigger. It started spinning, slowly at first. Then faster and faster. It whirled around, still gaining weight, sickening her stomach, spinning, spinning, spinning . . . until it exploded. She grunted as her skull flew apart and suspects came flying out. Snelson and Hail tumbled to the floor. Dickie Byrd flew out and stuck to the ceiling. Then Monique, yanking at her hair, spun through the air, staying suspended for an impossible amount of time. Chase grunted again.

Her lap was cold. Quincy had taken off when she had started stirring in her dream. She clutched her scalp, but it was intact. Her head hadn't exploded. She was going crazy with this cold and all these suspects who didn't kill Ron North. Quickly, before the details could evaporate, she reviewed everyone she had seen come flying out of her stuffy
head, which did feel super heavy still. Snelson, Hail, and the two Byrds. No, no one new. Those were all the culprits. That was rotten luck, she thought. Why couldn't her subconscious have worked out the answer? Maybe it had. Monique was the last one out and she hadn't landed anywhere. The dream had been so vivid, Chase checked the ceiling, expecting Dickie Byrd to be stuck up there. She felt doom was barely beyond her sight, maybe down the hallway.

Her door opened. Anna let herself in with her key and arrived with more soup!

“I'm so glad to see you,” Chase said. She breathed easier.

“You sound all stuffed up.” Anna busied herself heating the soup. “I'll stay and have some with you, if you don't mind. We closed up a little early and I sent Inger and Mallory home. Did you know that Inger is moving into her apartment on Monday?”

“That's great. It will be so nice for her to finally get out of that house for good. Her parents are no treat.”

“No kidding. Have you gotten some rest?”

“Yes, I woke up just before you got here.”

“I'm glad I didn't wake you.”

“You have to go to the police station with me. I had a weird dream.”

Anna raised her eyebrows. “You had a dream, so I have to talk to the police with you? Are you running a fever?”

“No, I mean . . . those two aren't related. Well, only a little bit.” She still felt slightly dizzy.

Anna put bowls and soup spoons on Chase's kitchen table.

Chase tried to explain her dream, but muddled it up.
The terrible impending-doom feeling she had awakened with was receding, thank goodness.

“So, Monique Byrd stayed in the air instead of on the ceiling—”

“Or the ground.”

“—so she killed Ron North.” Anna had a right to be skeptical when it was put like that.

“Really, though, I think my subconscious might have figured this out. She's the only person left with motive, the only one who hasn't been ruled out with an alibi.”

“Tell me her motive again.” Anna ladled her golden soup into the bowls and Chase inhaled the healing aroma.

“Ron was stalking her, so she killed him,” Chase said.

“That's about all they have on Julie!”

“They also have the fact that Ron was about to expose the real estate swindle and he thought she was part of it.”

“But that's just it. She's not,” Anna said. “Julie has said her lawyer will point that out.”

“What about all the cases where there's only one suspect, so that one gets the guilty verdict?”

“I don't know if there are all that many.”

“There are some. And one is too many if it's Julie.”

“I agree with that, but what can we do?” She gave a heavy sigh. “What are you going to say to the detective when you go to the station? After you infect him with your cold?”

Maybe she should. If he were sick, he might back off trying to get Julie charged. “I would like to point out that he should make sure Monique has an alibi. Then, when he finds that she doesn't, he should be smart enough to consider her as his new prime suspect.”

“Eat your soup and get some rest. Call him tonight, or see what you think tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow is Thursday! The hearing is—”

Anna's phone rang. She listened with a worried look on her face.

New information, thought Chase. They found something else that makes Julie look guilty. She knew it.

“I
have to go,” Anna said. “That was the florist. They can't get the light blue orchids I wanted and they'd like me to pick out some calla lilies to replace them.”

Chase was relieved it was about the wedding.

Anna's wedding was mostly lavender and blue, with some bright lime-green accents. She and Julie had ordered matching lavender dresses, but they hadn't come in yet.

“I'd better go right now and see what they have. I don't want anything too bright.”

Yes, Anna preferred muted pastels for everything to do with her wedding. Except the bridesmaid bouquets. Those were lime green. She wished the dresses would arrive and she could make sure they would be all right. If they never
came, Anna would whip out her sewing machine and make them, and she didn't need to be doing that right now.

She hadn't seen Anna's dress. No one had. Anna was keeping it a secret from everyone, including her groom-to-be, Bill.

Anna finished her soup and whisked her bowl to the sink. “I'll check on you later tonight.”

Probably to make sure I haven't gone to the police, Chase thought. But the wedding was a week from yesterday and the dresses weren't here yet. That was something she should work on. She called Julie.

“Have you heard anything about our dresses?”

“For the wedding? No. I've had my mind on a couple of other things. Can you check? I'm still at work. Gotta go.”

Chase dragged herself downstairs to the computer to look up the order. Anna had assured them she would be able to do any alterations they might need. Better than actually making them, but was that fair? Having the bride alter her own bridesmaids' dresses? Fair or not, Anna wouldn't hear of letting anyone else touch them.

There was a customer service phone number listed on the website, but when she called it, a message said they had hours of eight to five Eastern time. It was five thirty and Central time, besides.

She sent an e-mail inquiring about the delivery date. There were no tracking numbers to trace where they were. She was getting a sinking feeling about the dresses. At least she and Julie had shoes. She'd been surprised when Julie told her she had bought Chase's for her and, amazingly
enough, they fit perfectly. Better than any she had tried on. Julie knew her shoes. The dresses wouldn't have to match them since Julie had chosen a contrasting shade of dark blue. That and the bouquets were the exceptions to the “all pastel” rule Anna had laid down.

She trudged upstairs, probably puzzling Quincy, who wasn't used to going up so soon after he had come down. The soup sitting in her bowl on her kitchen table had cooled, but there was plenty left in the pan on the stove. She poured in the cold soup and heated it up. When it was warm, she ate it all, then fell asleep again on the couch.

When she awoke in the morning, she had a vague recollection of moving to her bed in the night. As her eyes opened, Quincy stood up and started complaining. Oops! She hadn't fed him his nighttime din dins. It was a wonder he hadn't awakened her during the wee hours. Maybe he'd tried but she had slept soundly.

After she hurried to the kitchen and fixed his morning meal, she stretched, realizing she felt good. That soup had revitalized her and finally knocked out the cold.

Then she realized it was Thursday! Julie's hearing was tomorrow! She had to draw attention to Monique Byrd today. She watched Quincy eat, puzzling out what to do. Monique didn't have a place of business, except maybe the vacant storefront she and Dickie rented for his campaign headquarters. It was doubtful his campaign would continue, now that they had split. Monique might or might not be home, but Chase didn't want to call to find out. Wherever she accosted the woman, she wanted to take her by surprise.
Ideally, Monique's car would be somewhere close and Chase would find an excuse to look into the trunk.

That's as far as her thinking had gone. How on earth could she come up with an excuse to at least peek into the trunk? Monique wouldn't let her, of course, because Ron North's blood would be there, but she wanted to hear her refuse to open it. That, to Chase, would be an indictment. More like a verdict.

She called Julie. “Do you have a sec?”

“I'm due for a short break in ten. I'll call you back.”

When Julie called, Chase had eaten and was ready to lay out her latest conclusion. “Help me think of an excuse to look into Monique Byrd's trunk.”

“Um, her car trunk?”

“Yep.”

“Why do you want to do that?”

“To see if she'll refuse to let me.”

“I'm sorry, girlfriend. You've totally lost me.”

She was making it a habit to lose people lately. First Anna, now Julie. “I'm pretty sure she killed Ron North and that means there's blood in her trunk. So if she won't let me look at it, that means she killed him. His body was transported, right? It had to be in a trunk, right?”

“Some of what you said is logical, but what's that first part again? Why do you know she killed him?”

“She's the only suspect left who wanted to and doesn't have an alibi.”

“Chase, I can't see her lifting a man's body into her trunk. She couldn't weigh more than one-twenty. Besides, he was strangled. How much blood would there be?”

“Okay, DNA. His DNA has to be there.”

“She's not going to be afraid you'll find DNA with your naked eye.”

Chase had to admit Julie was right. “Well then, how am I going to prove to Detective Olson that she killed him? As for lifting him, she would be full of adrenaline and he's not very big.”

“He wasn't very big.”

“That's what I said.”

“No, you said he's not very big. Present tense. Anyway, I have to get to work. Love you.”

Chase hung up, knowing that Julie suspected she was still sick and was raving feverishly. People were arriving below. She heard the door to the kitchen open and close twice. It was time she showed up for work.

In spite of what Julie must think, Chase felt much better this morning. She hummed “Climb Ev'ry Mountain” from
The Sound of Music
in the shower. She felt like that's what she needed to do, climb every last ever-lovin' mountain so she could clear Julie. In fact, she almost felt like she
could
climb one. It was so good not to be achy anymore. She was singing the words now, as she got dressed and racked her brain for a solution.

“Who's that tripping down the stairs so lightly?” Anna called when Chase showed up.

“You sound like the ogre talking to a Billy Goat Gruff.” Chase laughed.

“Well, someone's in a good mood. Is that new boyfriend working out?”

Chase frowned. “He's not my boyfriend. Quit saying that. I'm having a hard time getting rid of him.”

“Maybe you're not trying very hard?”

She shrugged. No, she sure wasn't. “Anna, what are we going to do about Julie? I know Monique should be in jail, but—”

Anna held a finger to her lips and Chase heard Monique's voice out front.

“A dozen of those new ones. The pumpkin ones.”

“The Harvest Bars?” Mallory asked.

Chase and Anna stood silent, listening. Chase hoped a clue would drop. Anna, she was sure, was relieved Monique hadn't seemed to hear the fact that Chase wanted her in jail.

“And a couple of Peanut Butter Fudge Bars for your husband?”

It occurred to Chase that a lot of husbands like those. Even Ron liked—peanuts! There might be peanuts in Monique's trunk.

“Definitely not.”

Chase couldn't stand it anymore. She grabbed some replacement boxes and pushed through the double doors, aiming for the round table nearest the kitchen. “Oh, hello, Monique. How nice to see you here.” She hoped her wide eyes looked surprised.

Monique answered with a frown.

“I'm sorry. Is something the matter?” Chase was putting on the best innocent, helpful face she could.

Nothing. Only more frowning.

“By the way,” Chase tried again, “the reunion was such
a good idea. I'm sure it was you who thought of having it. It's so terrible that tragedy had to ruin the wonderful memories of that night.”

“It actually wasn't my idea. It was Dickie's.”

“Ah. Well—”

“I told him it was stupid. No one has a fourteen-year reunion.”

“It's too bad—”

“My idea was to invite the whole class to a fund-raising dinner. That way, we would know who his supporters were.”

And raise funds, Chase added silently.

“And it wouldn't be limited to our high school graduating class, either,” Monique said. “I have favors all around town I could have called in. I hated the thought of kicking off his campaign in a rinky-dink high school gym. I would have rented a hotel downtown, or the Minneapolis Club.”

“You belong?” That was a swanky, exclusive place.

“No, but I know someone who does. He would gladly have arranged it. But no. Mr. Know-It-All Dickie Byrd had to hold a replay of the high school prom, complete with horrid punch and basketball hoops, with bleachers folded up at the sides.”

“I agree about the punch, but—”

“Also complete, I might add, with the bad boys spiking it.”

“There was one difference.”

Monique shook her head. “Yes, we're all too old for that nonsense now.”

Chase had been going to mention the murder in the parking lot. Monique's car sat at the curb in front. “Can I help you out with that?”

Monique held up her one box of dessert bars and raised her eyebrows.

“Oh. I thought you bought a lot more.” No, she didn't think that, but she was desperately fishing for a way to get Monique to open her trunk. “You know, I think I have a flat tire.”

“That's too bad.” Monique moved toward the front door.

“You don't have a jack I could borrow, do you?”

“No idea. You're welcome to look. I have Triple-A. If I have a jack, I'll never use it.”

Rats. She didn't have any objection. Or was she smart enough to figure out why Chase wanted to peek into her trunk and was trying to throw suspicion off herself?

“Could I? I'll be right out.”

Chase ran into the kitchen and borrowed Anna's jacket off the hook by the rear door. “Be right back.” She couldn't take the time to run upstairs for her own coat.

Monique was staring into her open trunk when Chase got out there. “What does a jack look like?” she asked.

“I think it's that thing over there.” Chase pointed to the jack that was strapped to the sidewall. The trunk was tidy and clean. It looked brand new.

“Help yourself.” Monique waved at the jack and set her purchase on the floor of the trunk.

Would she put food where she had transported a dead body? There was certainly no blood. No peanuts either, unless Monique had just removed them. Traces of peanuts wouldn't prove anything anyway, now that she thought about it. But, as Julie had pointed out, there could be piles of DNA that were undetectable with the human eye.

“You know”—Chase was thinking fast—“I don't think
this jack will fit my car.” That might even be true. Monique drove a Toyota and Chase a Ford Fusion. “Thanks anyway.” She put her hand on Monique's arm, knowing how she hated to be touched.

“You always were a little different.” Monique jerked her arm back, brushed off her sleeve, got into her car, and drove away.

Chase made a face and repeated her words aloud. “You always were a little different.” She decided to add something of her own. “And you were always nuts, Monique.” As much as she hated to admit it, Monique acted entirely innocent. And that trunk was pristine. It was true that DNA would be invisible, but surely something would be amiss if a dead body had been transported in it. That carpeting looked like nothing heavier than a box of dessert bars had ever been set on it. She argued with herself that a good vacuuming would fluff up the fibers after Ron's slight form had crushed them. If he'd ever been there.

When she went inside, she wasn't needed in the salesroom, so she retreated to her office to think. Were any of the suspects on her own list ruled out completely? Were any of them even good possibilities? Were there any reasons for her not to lose hope?