by Lee Strauss
He gave a pointed look at both Miguel and Rosa. “Florence Adams was most definitely murdered. We just don’t know how yet.”
12
Rosa was stunned to find Gloria at the breakfast table the next morning, a coffee in one hand and a pen in the other. She circled something with a flourish then smiled when she saw Rosa approaching.
“Who’s the early bird, now?” Gloria teased.
“I admit, I’m surprised to see you.” Rosa pulled a chair from the table and took a seat.
Gloria’s opened newspapers took up most of the table. “I’ve searched the want ads, but the only jobs available for women are secretarial or retail.” She glanced at Rosa. “It’s not like I need the money. I need purpose.”
“What happened to wanting to be a TV actress?”
“I considered what you said, and I’m not sure I’m ready to commit to something that requires going back to school. I thought I’d become a working girl and see how I like it.”
Rosa bit the inside of her lip to keep from smirking. Most women who weren’t married or mothers had no choice but to be working girls.
Señora Gomez had brought platters of fried eggs and bacon, fresh fruit, and a pitcher of freshly squeezed orange juice.
“I like clothes, flowers, and romance.” Gloria’s eyes brightened. “I know! I could be a wedding organizer! I hear it’s becoming a real profession. Look at our garden. Imagine the beautiful bouquets I could create, and I’ve got a lot of ideas for wedding dresses. I’ve been to tons of weddings—”
Gloria stopped mid-sentence, her eyes growing wide with a glint of horror as they latched on to Rosa. Rosa couldn’t stop the blush of embarrassment that crept up her neck. Her own wedding had been the last one the two had attended, and it had ended in humiliation.
“Oh, Rosa, I’m so insensitive!”
Rosa swallowed and forced a smile. “Nonsense. You’d make a terrific wedding organizer.”
Gloria sighed. “It was just an idea. I’m honestly not sure what I want.”
“What other kinds of things do you like to do?” Rosa asked.
Gloria wrinkled her nose. “I don’t know. I like to dance. I’m actually taking ballroom dance classes. You should come sometime!”
Rosa did love to dance, and the offer was intriguing. But with her recent break up with Winston, and secretly, her confused feelings about Miguel, she just couldn’t picture holding onto a strange man in such an intimate manner.
“We’ll see,” she said non-committedly. “At the moment, I’m busy with this task your mother assigned me to.”
After breakfast, Rosa straddled the Schwinn and headed back into town. Now that she was on the case, it was natural that she’d pop into the police station occasionally.
It had nothing to do with wanting to see Miguel again.
Nothing at all.
It occurred to Rosa that her American counterparts might frown at her mode of transportation, but in London, riding one’s bike was a common choice, even for the police.
The street leveled off, and she entered the outskirts of town and rode through a small industrial district with small factories, welding and steel fabrication shops, and several automotive repair businesses. She slowed the bike down as she entered the main street where the cafes and clothing stores were located. Stepping off the Schwinn, she walked a few blocks and admired the store window displays in the fashion shops. The smell of fresh pastry tempted her as she passed a bakery. A few minutes later, she emerged nibbling on a delicious custard-filled éclair while trying not to get any of it on her shirt. She grabbed her bike with her free hand and kept walking.
As Rosa rounded the side of the building, a soft mewling sound coming from behind a large metal garbage container piqued her curiosity. She leaned her bike against the building and walked towards the sound. Finding a dirty cardboard box on its side, she stooped to look inside. Two large, round green eyes peered back at her.
Oh, me bleedin’ ’eart.
The eyes belonged to a tiny brown tabby huddled against the back of the box. Rosa scanned the area for the mother or the owner, but there was nothing to be found. Returning to the bakery, Rosa asked the lady at the counter if she knew anything about the kitten.
The clerk, a plump lady with a ready smile, stared back wide-eyed.
“A kitten, just left on its own?”
“It appears so.”
“Oh, poor thing.”
“You don’t know anyone in the area who might’ve lost a kitten?” It was a pleasant way to ask if someone was hardhearted enough to leave a kitten to its own devices in a box in the alley.
“No, honey. No one in the building has said anything about a kitten or a cat.”
Rosa bought another pastry for the woman’s troubles. Just as she was about to step outside, a middle-aged woman wearing a simple day dress, hat and gloves, entered. Rosa’s eye’s widened in recognition.
“Mrs. Davidson?”
The lady’s somber expression turned into a smile. “Rosa? Is it really you?”
“Yes, madam. I’m back for a visit.” Rosa added a quick amendment. “Only just arrived. How’s Nancy?”
Nancy Davidson had been Rosa’s very best friend during their high school years. Sadly, they had lost touch over time.
“Nancy’s married, as you might know. Eddie’s a good enough fellow.” The way she said it made Rosa doubt the woman’s convictions. “All the girls are doing fine. My youngest, Marjorie’s finding it hard to settle, but in time, I’m sure.”
Nancy was the oldest of four girls. Marjorie was close in ages to Gloria and they were good friends.
“Please let Nancy know I’m around,” Rosa said. “I’d love to see her again.”
“She’s very busy with her three boys.” Mrs. Davidson cocked her head. “You knew about them? I love them to pieces, but oh, they can be a handful.”
Rosa smiled, though in truth she hadn’t heard beyond the first one. “Please say hello for me.”
“I will. You take care, honey.”
Rosa had thought coming back to Santa Bonita would be like coming home, but in many ways it was like visiting the ghosts of one’s past. She still couldn’t face the library, which was a real shame. Rosa lived for the knowledge one could find in libraries. One’s private collection could only go so far when it came to one’s need to expand one’s mind.
Shaking off the regrets of things she couldn’t change, Rosa focused on her present company, the small abandoned brown tabby.
“Well ’ello, me ole mucker,” Rosa said in a cockney accent. “Wot’s the likes of you doin’ out ’ere on yer own then, eh?”
It mewed again, and Rosa felt her heart melting like Julie’s ice cream cone. She sighed and then reached in and gently grabbed the thin, trembling kitten. Cradling it in the crook of her arm, she guessed the little thing was about two months old. She checked under its tail to identify the gender.
“Hey, little boy, I’ll bet you’re hungry, aren’t you?” She broke off a piece of her pastry, and the kitten eagerly licked the custard from Rosa’s fingers with its tiny sandpaper tongue.
Now what? Rosa thought as she fed the kitten a few more pieces. She noticed a store on the street that sold kitchen and bath wares. While concealing the kitten, she purchased a cotton tea towel. Then, much to the amusement of the lady at the cash register, she carefully wrapped the kitten in the towel until just its tiny furry head was exposed. The kitten softly purred.
“What am I going to do with you?”
The kitten sleepily opened one eye, looked at her, and then closed it again.
Oh dear. Rosa’s heart had just been ambushed. Rosa gently placed the kitten into her basket and mounted her bicycle. “I wonder how you’re going to like England?” she said as she started toward the police station.
Miguel’s eyes immediately fell on the sleeping kitten in Rosa’s arms as she entered his office. “I’ve named him Diego,” Rosa announced before Miguel had a chance to say anything.
“Interesting name. It’s, Spanish.” He had a slight smirk on his face.
“I had some children’s picture books that my parents bought me when I was a child. They were called The Adventures of Deputy Diego. He was a fearless and intelligent cat detective who solved many crimes in his Barcelona neighborhood. He was brown too.” She kissed the tabby on the top of his head.
“Does this cat show any aptitude for police work?”
“He likes pastry.”
“Well, that’s a start.” He nodded. “But I’m out of extra police notebooks,” Miguel said simply. “Officer Diego will have to buy his own.”
“I found him on my way here, and I couldn’t just leave him beside a garbage bin.”
“You know, in America, we have something called the SPCA.”
“I know, I know. We have something like that in England too.” Rosa looked at Miguel and pretended to pout. “Diego is destined for bigger things than the SPCA. I’ll quickly run him home after our meeting.”
“There’s no time, he’ll have to come with us.” He grabbed the keys from the wall and motioned for Rosa to follow him.
“What? Where are we going?”
“To an address on Chambers Street. That’s just down the beach from the pier where Miss Adams was killed.”
“Have you found another witness?”
Miguel shook his head. His expression grew serious. “Not exactly. There’s been another murder.”
The house on Chambers street was a small but well-kept rancher that overlooked the Pacific. Next to the house was a public stairway. Rosa recognized it as the same one she had witnessed a man trying to kiss Florence Adams, the same man who’d been watching Rosa when the body was found.
Two marked police cruisers were parked in the driveway, and an officer beside the front door snapped pictures of the house and yard. Rosa gently took Diego and placed the sleeping kitten on the seat beside her.
“It might get too hot in the car for the cat,” Miguel cautioned. “This isn’t London.”
Rosa nodded, scooped up the kitten, and opened the door.
“Good morning,” Miguel said to the man as they approached. “This is WPC Rosa Reed on loan to us from the London Metropolitan Police.”
The officer with the camera, a middle-aged man in an ill-fitting uniform, stared at Rosa and then down at Diego with disregard. He refused to meet Rosa’s eyes when she shook his hand.
“Where’s the body?” Miguel said.
The officer pointed to the back of the house. “On the deck overlooking the beach. We just got here fifteen minutes ago and are still searching the place.”
Rosa placed Diego on a padded chair in the living room. The kitten sneezed once, rubbed its paw over its nose, and then fell back asleep.
The house consisted of one bedroom just off the hallway, a bathroom, and a combined living room and dining room with an attached galley kitchen. A full bay window presented a spectacular view of the Pacific Ocean and the sandy beach that extended for miles on either side.
On the sundeck, two more officers stood over a prone figure on its back, clothed in khaki shorts, a green Hawaiian shirt, and a thin-knit cardigan partially torn off.
After making introductions, one of the officers handed rubber gloves to both Miguel and Rosa. “His name is Jason Brewster. We’ve been watching this guy for a while. Works as a chartered accountant, but we suspect he dealt cocaine to Santa Bonita’s wealthier folk. An early morning jogger coming up those stairs from the beach spotted him through the rail.”
Rose leaned over the body as she pulled on the gloves then glanced at Miguel. “This is the man I saw with Florence Adams on the night of her murder.”
“You’re sure?” Miguel asked.
“Quite. He had on the same shorts and sandals, only I think his Hawaiian shirt was blue.”
Miguel bent down to examine the neck. “Same scratch marks on the throat.” He then picked up the man’s left hand and pulled out a magnifying glass from a small kit he had brought along. “Blood traces. My guess—his own.”
He handed the magnifying glass to Rosa, who examined the fingers and then nodded in confirmation. After gently prying open the mouth, she looked inside with the magnifier then checked the eyes—bloodshot. She glanced at Miguel. “Mystery asphyxiation.”
Paying close attention to the exact route one would take from the sliding glass doors to where the body lay on the floor, Rosa studied the sundeck. Her father had taught her that a detective should notice every detail, no matter how small, when coming into a fresh crime scene. Anything out of place, a picture askew on the wall, an unfinished cup of coffee, or a note scribbled on a scrap of paper, you never knew what would tell the story.
Rosa returned to the living room and headed for the galley kitchen. Miguel followed her.
“He may have started choking here.” Rosa pointed to the refrigerator door, not quite closed shut. “Then, walked, or rather stumbled past this sideboard, or buffet, as you call it.” An embroidered runner balanced from the edge of the wooded sideboard as though a hand had haphazardly swiped at it. On the floor was a turned over plate with two broken chocolate cookies strewn beside it.
“He bumped against this lamp.” Rosa glanced at a table lamp with the lampshade askew and then walked to the sliding glass doors. “Before going out on to the deck and collapsing . . . perhaps he intended to cry for help to anyone on the beach below.”
Rosa noticed all the officers in the room had stopped to stare at her. Miguel had a slight smile on his lips.
“Well,” she continued hesitantly, “this means if he was poisoned like Florence Adams was, it had a delayed reaction. There’s no overturned glass, so if he drank the poison, it didn’t hit him immediately. Neither cookie on the floor has any bites taken out of them, so if the poison was in a cookie, he had already eaten the whole thing. There are no other half-eaten foods here that I can see and no bits of food in his mouth. So, he either drank or ate the poison, and it took a while to take effect. We can guess he was looking into his refrigerator when the effect of the poison hit him because it’s ajar. He then stumbled out to the sundeck clawing at his throat.”
Before anyone could respond, a loud crashing sound came from the bedroom. Rosa and Miguel rushed to the room. On the wooden floor, a drinking glass had broken into several pieces. A little of what appeared to be orange juice was splashed across the hardwood floor. On the top of the dresser sat Diego, calmly staring down at the mess. He then looked up at Rosa with his head slightly cocked to one side and meowed.
“Oh no, Diego!” Rosa cried. She reached for the kitten and picked him up. To Miguel, she said, “I’m so sorry. I completely forgot about him.”
Miguel joined Rosa, who now stared at the spilled juice. They looked at each other.
Miguel turned to Officer Richardson who waited in the doorway. “We need photographs, someone to collect this broken glass, and a sample of this liquid for evidence. Also, check to see if there is a pitcher of juice in the fridge.”
Officer Richardson perked up at Miguel’s instructions. “Yes, sir.”
Leaving the police to search the house further, Rosa and Miguel drove back to the Police station, and Rosa couldn’t keep from apologizing about Diego.
“It was very unprofessional of me to let him out of my sight. He contaminated evidence.”
“It’s possible the glass had already been tipped over,” Miguel said. “At any rate, no real damage was done.” He gave her a warm sideways glance. “Let’s maybe just keep this little tidbit from Delvecchio.”
Rosa appreciated the grace he extended to her, and was quite sure none of the other members of his team would’ve gotten off so easily. It helped that Diego was frightfully adorable.
“Two murders in one week.” Miguel blew air out of his pursed lips. “You would think this was south central LA! I’d wager a guess the post mortem will reveal that we have two victims who died from the same poison. There’s someone out there with motive w
ho knows them both.”
Rosa hummed in agreement. “And we already know there is a connection between the two victims. I saw them together on the beach.”
“Exactly.” Miguel kept his eyes on the road. “Shirley Philpott remains our prime suspect, but then there’s Vanessa Forrester as the possible spurned lover in a love triangle. What possible motive would either of them have to kill Jason Brewster?”
Rosa had the same question. “The one thing that connects them all is the party at the beach—an event organized to raise money for a specific charity.”
“Why don’t you dig around a bit more on the subject of that CPRF charity? Maybe you can ask your aunt a few more questions. I’ll interview Vanessa Forrester.”
“Do you think it might be a better idea for me to be the one to talk to Vanessa?” Rosa asked. “In my experience, if a detective is going to interview a lady about a possible affair or love triangle, the truth could be more forthcoming if that detective is a woman.”
“Hmm, yes, you’re probably right.” Miguel pulled the cruiser into the police lot. “Or . . . maybe if I took Diego with me to interview the former Mrs. Clarence Forrester, her guard would drop. I mean—” He gifted Rosa with a grin. “—as we have seen already today, women can’t resist a kitten.”
“Diego isn’t ready for police work,” Rosa said protectively.
“He’s got to earn his badge at some point.”
“Nooo.” She pulled Diego closer to her chest.
“Okay, we’ll give him a few days. Then we’ll deputize him.”
“He’s not even house-trained yet!”
“I honestly don’t think Detective Sanchez is either, and yet they let him work here.”
“Pffft,” Rosa said. “C’mon Diego. Let’s get you home before Detective Belmonte tries to draft you into public service before you’re ready! Besides, it’s time to meet your new family.”
13
“Oooh, what do you have there?” Gloria squealed.
