I smothered a chuckle. “Maybe having Nick as your pet jewelry model isn’t such a good idea. Maybe you should look for a more docile animal—a pit bull perhaps?”
“Very funny.” Chantal stuck out her tongue, then creased her brow. “I am very tempted, but—Nick is just so handsome! And he photographed so well in the poses Remy took. I swear, I don’t know what got into him today. It was almost as if he were possessed.” She lowered her voice to a whisper at the last word.
I glanced at Nick over my shoulder. “What do you say to that, Nick?” I asked. “Are you possessed by an evil spirit?”
He hopped down from the window and sashayed over to where I sat. He reared back on his haunches and wiggled one paw in the air, while the other grazed his neck.
“Ma-ROW!”
I chuckled. “I think he just doesn’t like to have anything confining on him. I told you, he’s a free spirit. Anyway, he seems fine to me.”
“Yeah, he is now. Earlier though he was acting like a little devil. He knocked over that pouch of Scrabble tiles you had on the back counter and was pushing them all over the floor.”
I shot Nick a sharp glance. He stared innocently back at me.
“The Scrabble tiles again, huh? Maybe he just wanted to play,” I offered. “Ollie said that Nick Atkins was teaching him the game.”
“The cat plays Scrabble.” Chantal put both hands on her slender hips. “Now that I would pay to see.”
“Ollie said he was just as smart as a dog, and I don’t doubt it for a second.”
Nick blinked twice. “Er-ow,” he squeaked, then turned and dove underneath the back table. He emerged a moment later, black nose to the floor, edging out three small wooden tiles.
“Oh, ho, what’s this!” I bent over and picked up the squares. They were the same ones I’d found him playing with before: a B, an I, and an F. I set the tiles on the table and tapped my finger against the tablecloth. “That is odd.”
Chantal walked over, glanced at the tiles. “FIB,” she said. “Nick can spell?”
“No, I arranged them like that, but—it’s the second time I’ve caught him playing with these particular letters, and it strikes me as particularly odd, today especially since my visit to KMG has convinced me more than one of my little group of suspects is lying through their teeth.”
Chantal let out a chuckle. “Well, perhaps we have underestimated Nicky. In addition to being a game player, perhaps he is also psychic.”
Nick hopped up on the table, reared his paw back, and scattered the tiles back to the floor.
“Nick!” I cried, bending over to retrieve them. “Bad kitty.”
“I told you,” Chantal said, tapping her foot. “Whether you choose to believe me or not, he’s possessed by something—or someone.”
I picked up the tiles, walked over to the back counter, and slipped them inside the worn case, which I tucked promptly in the drawer. I looked down. Nick hovered at my ankles, regarding me with a watchful stare.
“You can play with them again when you learn how to behave,” I remonstrated, wagging my finger at him.
“Grr-up,” he chirped. Then he flopped down on one side and gave his manhood a good lick.
So much for discipline.
* * *
After Chantal departed, I dug out Ollie’s number and placed a call. He answered on the second ring. “Well, well. Seems as if you’re making a habit of this, Nora. Not that I’m complaining.” He laughed.
“I hope you don’t mind, but sometimes talking things out with someone else gives me a fresh perspective.” Talking it out with someone who can answer me certainly doesn’t hurt either, I added silently, giving Nick a side glance.
“Not at all. I’m used to it. Nick used to do the same thing, so talk away.”
I hit the highlights of my trip to KMG, my conversation with Patti, my almost run-in with Kevin, the conversation I’d overheard between Buck and Tabor, and finally, my findings in Alicia Samuels’s office. The only thing I left out was my run-in with Detective Daniel. I’d omitted filling in Chantal as well. I didn’t need to hear her romantic predictions right now—especially when there was nothing romantic at all about our upcoming dinner.
“Nick never mentioned an Alicia Samuels, and I never heard of her,” Ollie said when I’d finished. “It is puzzling, but you also have to take into consideration her door was unlocked, right? That means lots of other people could have just walked in and used her office, the same as you today.”
“True,” I agreed. “Getting back to Patti Simmons—she seemed more than a little shaken when I told her I used to report on crime back in Chicago. I know I wasn’t mistaken about her reaction. I’m just not certain which part elicited it.”
“Maybe she just couldn’t picture you hanging around people who wear five-thousand-dollar suits and carry guns. Your specialty was the mob, right?”
“Yep. Or maybe she’s got something to hide. At least I did learn one good thing—Lola’s phone is somewhere and still active, or else I wouldn’t have gotten that message when I dialed the number.” I glanced at the clock on the wall. “Well, thanks for letting me brainstorm with you, Ollie. I’ve got to start getting ready now. I’m meeting Detective Corleone. I need to find out just what he knows about all this, and I have to do it without tipping my hand on just how involved I am. Any suggestions?”
“Order club soda. Alcohol loosens lips, and you might find yourself revealing a bit too much.” I could hear the twinge of irony in his tone. “I speak from experience.”
I exchanged a few more pleasantries with Ollie and then hung up. I made sure the downstairs door to the sandwich shop was locked and the CLOSED sign in place, and then headed upstairs to get ready to meet Daniel. Nick followed, arranging himself on my comforter while I sat down on the edge of the bed to pull on fresh stockings.
My mind kept flicking back to that last sentence in Nick Atkins’s journal. What could Lola have known about her husband big enough to possibly kill over? That he was cheating on her with Patti? Maybe, if he’d been the aggressor, but from all accounts, Patti was. So then what else could it be?
I sighed. My head hurt from trying to figure all this out.
A squishing sound demanded my attention. I glanced over and saw Nick back on the floor, pushing something around on the hardwood floor with his paw. I cried aloud when I saw what it was.
More Scrabble tiles.
“How on earth did these get up here?” I demanded, giving the cat a stern look. He must have gotten into the pouch and hoarded a small supply to play with. “You have nice catnip toys, Nick. Mice, and some balls. If you lose these tiles, we won’t be able to play the game.”
He gave me a classic cat look—eyes narrowed, nose up in the air. “Yargle.”
I looked at the tiles I held in my hand. A G, an O, a T, and a V. “Gotv,” I said. I laid the tiles on the bed, moved them around. Togv wasn’t a word. I rearranged them again.
GOVT. An abbreviation for government.
“Hm,” I said, eyes narrowing. “Maybe this secret of Kevin’s has something to do with those big government contracts his company has? That might make sense—maybe Lola found out he was cheating Uncle Sam. But would he kill her over that?” I looked at Nick. “I wonder what Daniel would make of all this.”
I stepped into my skirt, pulled my T-shirt over my head, and did a slow turn in front of my full-length mirror. Now that I thought about it, it certainly was a coincidence, my running into Daniel at KMG. Our meeting seemed convenient—perhaps a bit too much so.
Something furry brushed my leg. Nick sat there, his head bobbing up and down.
“Convenient,” I murmured. “Like—like he’d been following me. But why would he do that?”
I could think of only one reason—he wanted to know how much I knew about Lola Grainger. But if he wasn’t considering reopening the case,
why was he so interested?
“Of course,” I said to Nick, “he could be interested in me, you know. And he really doesn’t have the authority to reopen the case on his own. He’s just a fill-in.”
Which begged another question—just exactly where was he from? He’d never mentioned that. What did I know about Detective Daniel Corleone, other than he was blessed with devastatingly good looks?
Hey, if I played my cards right, maybe tonight I’d find out lots of answers. But would they be the ones I wanted to hear?
My iPhone chose that moment to vibrate wildly around on my dresser. I snatched it up, thinking perhaps the good detective had to cancel at the last minute, but the number was one I didn’t recognize as local. Frowning, I answered, “Hello.”
“Nora Charles?” A man’s voice, raspy, a shadow above a whisper floated over the wire. “I’ve got to talk to you, Ms. Charles. Now.”
The voice was oddly familiar but I couldn’t quite place it. “I’m sorry. Who is this?”
An impatient sigh, and then, “Lott—Captain Lott. We spoke yesterday. I’ve got to see you, and right now.”
“Is something wrong, Captain?”
He gave a mirthless chuckle. “There’s lots wrong, but I think the time has come to make it right.” He hesitated and then said, “I lied to you, Ms. Charles. That last night on the boat—things didn’t go down quite like I described it.”
I gripped the phone more tightly. “What do you mean?”
“What do you think I mean? I lied.”
“Oh? How so, Captain?”
“Well, there was a lot of drinkin’ goin’ on, but Mrs. Grainger, she retired a lot earlier than the others.” He paused. “’Round about midnight, I thought I heard her out on deck. And there were scuffling sounds. Like a fight.”
“A fight? Did you see who Mrs. Grainger was fighting with?”
“No. It was pretty dark. I only saw a shadow. I went back to the galley, but not long after that, Mrs. Grainger went missing. And . . .”
“Yes?” I prompted as he fell silent.
“When I came on board today, I found some drawers open that I know I’d shut and some cabin doors open. Someone was on board here.”
I thought of Daniel and said, “Maybe it was the police.”
“I don’t think so. I think someone was on board lookin’ for something. That night, I heard Mrs. Grainger tell someone she’d found it. Maybe they’re after whatever ‘it’ is. Mrs. Grainger had a lot of hidey-holes for stuff—sometimes she could be a real pack rat.”
“Where are you now, Captain Lott?”
“On the Lady L. Pier nine, slip seven.”
“Okay. I have an appointment with Detective Corleone at seven thirty, but I’m sure if I call him—”
“No, no police.” Panic and something else tinged his voice—fear? “Listen, there’s no time, trust me. You’ve got to come here now—right now.”
The line went dead. I swore with frustration and clicked off the phone. I didn’t want to cancel my date—excuse me—appointment—with Daniel, but I felt the urgency of hearing what Lott had to say. Plus I was curious as to what Lola might have hidden. “I guess I have no choice,” I muttered. “This could break the case wide open.”
I reached for the phone, and as my fingers grazed the case, it rang again. This time the Cruz PD number showed up, and I answered. “Hello.”
“I’m really sorry,” Daniel said, sounding apologetic, “but I’m going to have to cancel tonight, Nora. The detective who was supposed to be on duty tonight had to take off—his wife’s having a baby. So I’m afraid we’ll have to put off our conversation yet again.”
I pushed my hand through my hair and inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. “Don’t worry about it. It’s fine, really.”
“I promise I’ll make it up to you. I will call you tomorrow.”
I hung up and eyed Nick. “Problem solved. He has to work.”
Nick ambled over to my purse, and now had my car keys between his teeth. He padded over to me and dropped them into my lap. I gave his head a quick pat, tucked the keys into the pocket of my jacket, and went down the stairs. As I exited the side door, I felt something furry brush my leg. I glanced down.
Nick squatted beside me, his golden eyes wide.
“Oh, no.” I unlocked the door and pushed it open. “Sorry, pal, you’re staying here. The marina’s no place for you.”
Nick turned and, tail held high, marched straight to my SUV. He squatted down beside the passenger door and stared at me as if to say, “Get a move on, human. We’ve got things to do.”
I sighed. “Okay,” I said. I unlocked the car, then walked around to the passenger side and swung the door open. “You can go with me. But you’re staying in the car—no arguments.”
Nick drew back his lips to show his sharp teeth and hissed.
“I said no arguing, dammit.”
Another hiss, louder. He jumped onto the passenger seat in one fluid motion, paw scraping against the soft leather.
I got in, slipped the SUV into reverse, and started to back out of the driveway, conscious of his golden gaze boring into me. I stole a sidelong glance. His eyes were slits, his lip curled on one side. If ever a cat could look pissed, Nick was the epitome of it right now.
“Determined, aren’t you? Okay, okay, you win. I’ll think about it,” I mumbled. “If you’re good, then maybe I’ll let you accompany me onto the boat.”
No hiss, but a slight grr emanated from between his lips. I could almost envision two horns sprouting up in place of his ears, and that black plume of a tail morphing into a pitchfork. Chantal was right—today Nick had definitely become one devil cat.
“Fine. You can come with me. But you stick close, y’hear?”
“Er-up.” That little stinker blinked twice, turned around in a circle, then lay down on the seat and promptly closed his eyes, the corners of his lips tipped up in an almost human expression of triumph.
Oh, sure. He knew I’d give in. How could I not? If I were to be entirely truthful with myself, I was glad to have someone else along on this quest—even if my companion was of the four-footed variety.
SEVENTEEN
Dusk was settling in as I parked my SUV near the marina. Nick, curled up in a ball on the backseat, jerked to attention as I shut the motor off. I got out and walked around to the passenger side and opened the door. He stretched his forepaws, then hopped out, landing in a furry ball at my feet. I cast a rueful glance at my dinged rear fender as I locked the car and then started toward the pier, Nick trotting right along beside me. Midway down I halted and pulled a slip of paper from my sweater pocket.
“Pier nine, pier nine.” I gave a quick glance around. “How do I find pier nine? There are no numbers on these things. Must one be psychic, like Chantal?”
Nick regarded me for a moment, his head cocked to one side. Then he ambled over to one of the slips and squatted over to one side.
“What, tired already? Come on—help me find pier nine.”
When he made no move to get up, I moved closer. As I approached him, he sprang up, and I saw what his body had covered—the numbers were posted off to the side of the slips, not in the middle. I’d been looking in the wrong spot—how helpful of Nick to show me the error of my ways.
“Well, thanks,” I said to him.
“Er-ul,” he trilled, whiskers tipping up just a tad.
“Yes, I can tell you’re pleased with yourself. Maybe Chantal’s not that far off the mark. Maybe you are psychic,” I said. “Or psycho.”
His whiskers twitched, and he fell into step beside me as I continued on down the line. We passed pier thirteen—twelve to the right, and then suddenly nine loomed in front of me. My eyes widened at the sight of the sleek boat that was the size of a small airplane. Sure enough, the name Lady L was emblazoned in scarlet script along it
s side. A slight breeze sprang up, and I wrapped my thin cardigan more tightly around my shoulders. Even though it was early April, the temperature was barely sixty degrees—colder than usual for this time of year in Southern California. We approached the boat, and I saw the gangplank was down—an invitation to board. I shivered involuntarily. It was quiet—almost too quiet.
Nick must have sensed it, too, because he pawed at my legs.
We stepped onto the deck and Nick turned around in a circle, head lifted. I felt a chill steal through my entire body, and I squared my shoulders. “Well, if this were a Thin Man movie,” I said to Nick, “the first thing we’d find here would be Lott’s body, staring sightlessly into space.” I took a quick glance around. “We’re okay so far. No body.”
Yet, I added silently.
The boat was pitch-dark; apparently Lott had been afraid to put on a light. Good thing I’d come prepared. I dug into my other pocket for my mini-flashlight, courtesy of the good people at QVC, and switched it on. A bright circle of light cut into the blackness. “Captain Lott,” I called, my voice just above a stage whisper. “Captain Lott, it’s Nora Charles. I’m here and I’m alone, as you requested. Where are you?”
The yacht was silent—deadly silent.
At my feet, Nick let out a little bleat. “Yeah, Nick. I know. I don’t have a good feeling about this, either,” I muttered. I moved forward, my eyes darting to and fro, looking for some movement, a shadow, anything—some assurance that another living person was aboard the vessel.
“Captain Lott,” I called again, a bit more loudly this time. “Are you here? It’s Nora Charles. I’m here, and alone, as you requested.”
Suddenly I stopped still. Had I imagined it, or had I just heard the faintest sound—a creak, like an unoiled door closing ever so softly? I turned in that direction, then jumped at the sensation of needles digging into my calf and looked down to see Nick, his claw clamped firmly around my leg, as if imploring me to go no farther.
I hesitated, then raised my voice again. “Captain Lott? Are you here?”
Meow If It's Murder (Nick and Nora Mysteries) Page 15
