Let Sleeping Cats Lie: The 9 Lives Cozy Mystery Series, Book Four

by Louise Clark

  And an elected official who was a provincial cabinet minister didn’t have a busy schedule? From Ellen’s expression, she had the same thought in mind, but neither of them voiced the comment. Instead, Christy said, “You and Mr. Jarvis had a warm relationship.” When Leslie shot an alarmed look her way, she smiled reassuringly. “I saw your pain at the funeral. The way you spoke … You were more than teacher and parent, weren’t you?”

  Leslie opened a door, peeked in to make sure the room was empty, then gestured for them to come inside. “This is the music room. I think Principal Toutov told you that it’s recently been renovated?”

  “She did,” Christy said.

  Leslie flicked on the lights and they moved deeper into the room. “Principal Toutov doesn’t know,” she said on a rush.

  “Well, well, well,” Ellen whispered in Christy’s ear.

  Christy smiled at the head teacher, encouraging her to continue.

  “Fred—” Leslie wrung her hands, agitation in every tense muscle. She stared at the wall, not meeting Christy or Ellen’s gaze. “He was a lovely man. At first, I didn’t want to get involved with him, but somehow … I don’t know. Somehow I did.” She looked at Christy then, defiant. “I don’t regret our affair.”

  “No one who was involved with Fred Jarvis does,” Ellen said. There was a bite to her tone that made Leslie flinch.

  “Fred was special that way,” Christy said, hoping Leslie would continue.

  “He was.” She drew a deep breath. “We had to stop seeing each other when I became head teacher. Ms. Toutov would have realized and she wouldn’t have understood.”

  “It must have been exciting to become head teacher. I don’t mean to offend, but you’re much younger than the previous head teacher.” And a lot less self-confident and authoritative, Christy added silently to herself.

  Leslie smiled, looking relieved. “I’ve only been teaching for ten years, so it did come as a surprise when Ms. Toutov asked me to apply.” She relaxed a little and moved closer to Christy. “When Fred and I first became friends, it was only because of our shared mutual interest in ensuring Frederika received the best possible education. Then we became closer. I had a boyfriend at the time. He worked for a law firm downtown. Fred thought he was a great guy and tried to help him move forward, but he didn’t understand that my relationship with Fred was very different from my relationship with him. We split. Then, when Ms. Toutov insisted that Frederika couldn’t have the same teacher for three years running … . Well, I was going to miss her.” She sighed. “And Fred. Even then, he was planning to run for the leadership of his party. He had a lot to do and his time with me became shorter and shorter.” She smiled and headed for the door. “Becoming head teacher has been a godsend. I have so much to do that I don’t have time to miss … anyone.” She flicked off the lights as they all returned to the corridor.

  They continued the tour, but Leslie Bankes didn’t add anything to her revelations about her relationship with Fred Jarvis. Christy had the sense that she had truly cared for Fred and thought he cared for her. That she’d never really understood that she was part of Fred’s greater network. She wondered, though, if Principal Toutov was as unaware as Leslie thought. Perhaps she too had once been one of Fred Jarvis’ women.

  Now that was an interesting thought.

  She hadn’t been at the funeral though. The mistresses were all seated together in the rows behind the family. If Toutov had been there, Christy would have recognized her, and she hadn’t.

  When they returned to the principal’s office, Ms. Toutov dismissed Leslie with a curt thank you, then said to Christy and Ellen, “I’ve arranged for tea in the conference room while we finalize the arrangements. I’m sure you remember where it is?”

  Christy glanced at her watch. “Thank you, Ms. Toutov, but I’m afraid I have already spent more time than I intended here at VRA. Staying for tea is out of the question.” She held out her hand. “I will be in touch if I decide to re-enroll Noelle in the school.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Toutov said as she automatically shook Christy’s hand. She looked thunderstruck.

  “Good day, Ms. Toutov.” Christy turned away. “Coming, Ellen?”

  “Absolutely,” Ellen said.

  Chapter 27

  VRA was located in the Point Grey area of Vancouver, across town from Christy’s Burnaby townhouse. She’d taken the precaution of asking Rebecca Petrofsky to pick up Noelle this afternoon, but she wanted to be home as soon as possible. Tonight was the first night of the end of year school concert. It began at seven and the students were expected to be in their classrooms by six pm, which meant she needed to have dinner ready much earlier than usual. She also planned to go to the concert both nights, so she wanted the kitchen cleaned up before she left.

  Though it was only two-thirty, traffic was already heavy on West Broadway, the main street to and from Point Grey. She tapped on the steering wheel as she waited for a light to turn green and diverted herself by thinking about the murder. “Have you noticed that Fred Jarvis’ mistresses are getting younger and younger?”

  “Hardly unusual,” Ellen said. “Men like Jarvis have inflated views of their own virility. Most likely he thought he was God’s gift to women.”

  Christy laughed. “I never thought I’d hear you use that particular phrase.”

  “I use it with considerable distaste,” Ellen said.

  Christy glanced over. Ellen was staring out the windshield. There were blooms of pink on her cheeks. Okay then, time to move on. Ellen had relaxed a lot of her prickly ways since she’d moved into the Burnaby townhouse, become a second parent to a pre-teen, and started a romance with a man who teetered on the edge of swashbuckling. The old Ellen still lurked within her, though, prim, precise, and proper. Back to the investigation.

  “Leslie Bankes was what, early thirties maybe?” The light changed and the car edged forward.

  Out of the corner of her eye Christy saw Ellen nod. “She said she’d been teaching for ten years. It fits.”

  “I got the impression she and Fred were still friends, but they weren’t casual lovers the way he was with Marian Fleming.”

  Ellen was silent for a minute, then she said, “You’re right. I hadn’t considered that. I did notice, though, that her boyfriend wouldn’t play Fred’s game. He split with her when he found out she was having an affair with another man.”

  “Yeah. Now that is a distinct change from Fred’s usual pattern. Leslie said the boyfriend was a lawyer and that Fred had offered to help him move up in his law firm. The boyfriend apparently rejected his help.” She slowed as a car from the inside lane booted it to jump ahead of her into her stream of traffic. “I wish we’d found out the boyfriend’s name. Do you think he might have been angry enough at Fred to be the killer?”

  “We don’t know anything about him,” Ellen said. “But I think it’s unlikely.”

  Traffic bunched up at yet another red light, this one at a Skytrain station corner. Pedestrians streamed across the intersection. The light would probably be a long one. Christy turned to look at Ellen. “Why?”

  “Timing,” Ellen said. “Leslie became Head Teacher a year ago. She began her affair with Fred at least a year before that, maybe two. If the rejected boyfriend was angry and wanted revenge he would have acted sooner.”

  Christy tapped the wheel again. “Good point. Still, it would be nice to be able to check him out and cross him off our list.”

  “I’ll talk to Trevor. He knows most of the law firms in town. He can investigate.”

  “A big list to process when you don’t have a name.” Christy pursed her lips. “I could talk to Patterson. She may not be aware Leslie was one of Fred’s mistresses. It would be easy for her to interview Leslie, find out her boyfriend’s name, then interview him.”

  “Patterson said the case was closed, remember? She won’t help us.”

  Christy thought she might, but she knew Ellen would never forgive the detective for arresting her an
d forcing her to spend a couple of days in lock-up. The memory skewered her perception of the detective.

  “Besides,” Ellen said. “We do have some clues. The law firm has to be one in which Fred felt he would be able to exert influence. That means either the firm was the one he used for his personal legal needs or one that supported him politically. Trevor can work with that.”

  “Trevor it is, then.” The light changed and the last pedestrian made it safely to the other side. Christy inched slowly forward. Officially, jaywalking wasn’t allowed, but it happened. She passed the station and picked up speed. “If Trevor connects with the boyfriend, we’ll have to find out if he rejected Fred’s help because of his personal values or because he just thought it was odd.”

  “A generational thing, you mean?”

  “Yeah. Archie doesn’t seem to have had a problem sharing his wife with Fred. Both men were Baby Boomers or Gen Xers. Free love, all that sort of stuff. What if Archie and Fred shared a bunch of unwritten expectations and Fred knew how to tap into them? But Fred wouldn’t be able to do that with a man who was half his age. Maybe that’s why Fred’s charm didn’t work on the boyfriend.”

  Ellen made a tut-tut sound. “Roy and Trevor are the same generation. Can you see either of them participating in Fred’s bizarre lifestyle?”

  Christy laughed. “No, I guess not. Okay, let’s follow the mistress connection then. He split with Leslie once she was head teacher. Do you think she was jealous? That she might be angry enough to kill him?”

  “I see the same problem with that theory as I do with the boyfriend as the killer. The timing is off. It’s too long between the break up and the murder. Think, Christy! If she wanted to kill Fred, she would have had more opportunity before he entered the leadership race and was surrounded by extra security.”

  “Okay. We move on. He always had a woman at hand. Who did he turn to next, then?”

  “Another teacher?” Ellen suggested.

  “Maybe, but … ” Christy shook her head. “I don’t think he needed to. With Leslie as head teacher he could be sure that little Frederika would still get the special treatment he wanted her to have. He didn’t need her classroom teacher. Besides, it would have looked very odd if Frederika continued to have the same teacher for another two consecutive years, when it contravenes VRA rules. Questions would be asked.”

  “Fred Jarvis used women,” Ellen said. She sounded disapproving. “He was able to make them like it, but he chose women for their usefulness not their appearance or their personalities. So what was important to him a year ago? If we can figure that out, we might be able to discover who his latest mistress was.”

  “Something going on in his family? He used his relationships to smooth his children and grandchildren’s paths.”

  “Possibly,” Ellen said. “I think his political career is a more likely target, though. When did he start his run for the leadership?”

  “About six months ago,” Christy said.

  “Perhaps not from his leadership campaign, then. I expect he was the kind of man who needed constant female companionship. He would have had a new woman in the wings when he set Leslie up in the head teacher position.”

  A memory tugged and Christy frowned. “What if he was putting his campaign team together long before he threw his name into the contest?”

  “You think the new mistress is someone involved in his leadership campaign?”

  “Yeah,” Christy said. “Remember Fred’s funeral? The girl who guided us to our seats? She was close to tears, obviously broken up by Fred’s passing. At the time, I thought it was normal upset. You know, the kind someone feels for a friend or a co-worker they’re close to. But I didn’t know Fred’s habits then.” She tapped the wheel impatiently. “Do you remember if she ended up sitting behind the family row, with the rest of the mistresses?”

  “Let me think.”

  Christy shot her a quick look and saw that Ellen had her eyes closed as she tried to visualize the scene. Christy dealt with traffic and let her ruminate.

  Finally, Ellen said, “I’m sorry. I can’t remember.”

  Christy sighed. “Well, it was worth a shot.”

  They drove on, passing Boundary Road where East Broadway became Lougheed Highway. Traffic flowed easily now. They’d reach home in plenty of time for Christy to make dinner and get Noelle to her classroom on time.

  “I wonder what she’s doing now,” Ellen said suddenly.

  Christy shot her a quick look. “Who?”

  “The young woman. Assuming she was one of the mistresses, I wonder if Fred’s network has looked after her and found her a new job?”

  “If it didn’t, she’ll be out of work,” Christy said, speaking slowly as thoughts formed.

  “I doubt Letitia will keep in contact with the mistresses. It would fall to Olivia Waters or Marian Fleming, the most senior and influential mistresses, to help her out.”

  “I doubt Olivia would do it. She had feelings for Fred, but I don’t think she was ever bought into the broader mistress network thing.”

  “Marian and Archie might, especially if she has skills Archie could use for his campaign.”

  “Possibly. I wonder if she’d talk to us?”

  Ellen laughed. “No harm in asking.”

  Fred Jarvis’ campaign office was located in a repurposed warehouse in Yaletown. It was a large space, and once had probably bustled with people. Now it echoed with the clang of movers shifting metal desks, while others packed up paper files from tall filing cabinets. The crash of empty metal drawers closing brought Stormy’s head popping out of the tote bag Christy carried him in. The cat’s eyes were wide. Though Frank assured Christy that Stormy was fine, Christy kept her arm tight against the side of the tote.

  Ellen immediately took control. She looked around the room, zeroed in on one of the workers who was better dressed than the others and was holding a clipboard. “You,” she said, pointing at him in an imperious way.

  The young man looked up, his eyes open in surprise. Then he frowned at Ellen. “Are you talking to me, ma’am?”

  “Indeed I am, young man.”

  He slanted a worried glance at the desk shifters, apparently to make sure they would be able to continue their task without his careful observation of them, then he hustled over to the doorway, where Ellen and Christy stood. “I’m sorry,” he said. “The office is closed due to Mr. Jarvis’s … ” His voice drifted off as if the word death was too difficult for him to utter.

  “We are not here to find Mr. Jarvis,” Ellen said. The young staffer looked bewildered and opened his mouth to speak, probably to ask them why the hell they were there then. Ellen forged on, not giving him an opportunity to interrupt. “We wish to speak to his assistant. The young lady who planned his events.”

  “Phoebe?”

  “Possibly,” Ellen said, looking down her nose with regal authority, as if that would be enough to silence any doubts this young man would have about strangers who didn’t know Phoebe’s name wanting to see her.

  Good one, Aunt Ellen. Way to get us kicked out.

  Ellen sniffed and glared at the young man.

  Who was now frowning heavily. “I’m sorry, but—”

  “We’re friends of Letitia Jarvis,” Christy said, smiling at the young man, who really wasn’t all that young, she thought. He was looked to be close to Frank’s age, if Frank was still alive. There were lines around his eyes, and brackets at the corners of his mouth. His air of incompetence was probably the result of being overwhelmed by the rapid, cataclysmic changes in his life.

  At Letitia’s name the young man’s round, undistinguished face, cleared. “Of course,” he said. “Phoebe’s clearing out her office. Back corner.” He pointed to the far end of the big room where three cubicles had been erected using moveable fabric partitions.

  Christy thanked him, Ellen shot him another of her imperious looks and the staffer scuttled back toward the desk movers, yelling as he went, because they’d apparently bot
ched something during his absence.

  Phoebe was sitting on a rickety looking typist’s chair in front of a steel single pedestal desk. She was working on a computer, apparently deleting files, when Ellen and Christy appeared at the opening to her small pod. Papers littered the desk. A plaque that read Phoebe Beck (Ms.) hovered precariously on the edge of the desk, at risk of plunging to the carpeting below.

  Christy cleared her throat. Ellen said, “Good morning.”

  Phoebe looked up. Her eyes were swimming in tears, her skin was blotchy, and her nose red, all evidence of her grief. A grief that was too strong to be for a boss she enjoyed working for or a job she loved doing. “Can I help you?”

  Her voice was nasal, thick with tears, the tone flat and without energy. Christy and Ellen had planned to pretend they were interested in learning if there were any further memorial events planned for Fred, but Christy quickly adjusted her strategy. “We came to offer our condolences.”

  Phoebe frowned. She wheeled the rickety chair away from the desk and turned it so she could look at them directly. “Why?”

  Ellen raised her brows and shot Christy a ‘yes, why?’ look. Christy ignored it and smiled at Phoebe. She put the tote on the floor and opened the top wide. Stormy stepped out, shook himself indignantly, then sat on his haunches and looked up at Phoebe. “We know about you and Fred,” Christy said. She made her voice as soothing as she could and smiled what she hoped Phoebe would consider a commiserating smile.

  Phoebe didn’t notice. She looked down at Stormy and said, “This is the cat who spoke to Mrs. Jarvis during the funeral.”

  That’s me. I didn’t know you were listening. I don’t think Letitia was.

  “Of course she was,” Phoebe said. There was energy in her voice now. She sounded indignant.

  Could have fooled me. Stormy jumped up into Phoebe’s lap, then put his front paws on her shoulder as he lifted his head to lick her chin.

  Phoebe giggled.

  Ellen glanced at Christy. “This is interesting.”