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

by Louise Clark

  “Excellent,” Ellen said, following the cat down the steps. “Rob’s—” She stopped, pursed her lips, then started again with careful deliberation. “Sledge’s fame will ensure that Mrs. Beck is not on her guard. She’ll be more open and speak more freely with him around.”

  Trevor nodded. Christy had the distinct impression he approved of his son’s involvement.

  “Good point,” Roy said.

  “Now, what is your excuse for barging into the office?” Ellen said to Christy. “It should be reasonable, but something that will get her talking.”

  Christy blinked. “I hadn’t thought … ”

  “Then we had better do so.” Ellen glanced at her watch. “We have time. Come inside, all of you. We’ll have coffee and plan out this operation.”

  Chapter 30

  Christy pushed the door to the Jarvis campaign office open at the same time as she knocked. “Hello? Phoebe? Are you here?” She strolled into the office. The last time she’d been here the movers were busy removing desks and emptying filing cabinets. Now the vast space was virtually empty. Even the partitions that created small cubbyholes for privacy were gone. Christy’s voice reverberated off the high ceiling and pictureless walls.

  “Doesn’t look like anyone’s here,” Sledge said, pushing the door wider, so that the automatic return latched to keep it open. He followed her into the office space.

  “No. I guess we missed her.” Christy wrinkled her brow. “But the door was unlocked. Maybe she’s gone to the washroom or something.”

  There was the sound of movement in the walled office at the opposite end of the room from where Phoebe had once sat. Christy headed that way and called again, “Phoebe? Is that you?”

  A large male figure appeared in the doorway and took up a protective stance, legs wide apart, hands hanging loosely at his side, ready for any kind of action. “Who’s asking?” There was an edge to his deep authoritative voice.

  Christy stopped abruptly. The man could only be Russell Beck. Dark haired, with a round face and heavy features, he was wearing a T-shirt that showed off his wide shoulders and muscled chest. Worn jeans clung to his narrow hips. His eyes, dark and deep-set under heavy brows were narrowed as he spoke. He looked dangerous and his presence here was definitely not part of the plan.

  Behind her, she heard Sledge swear quietly.

  Drawing a deep breath, Christy pinned a smile to her mouth and stepped forward, her hand outstretched. “I’m Christy Jamieson. I’m a friend of Marian Fleming.”

  Russell Beck didn’t move. He watched her with an impassive expression and hard, assessing eyes. “So?”

  Charming. What did Phoebe see in this jerk, beyond the obvious physical attributes? Smiling apologetically, Christy let her hand drop. “I feel like a complete fool. I’ve forgotten the address of the party.”

  Phoebe appeared in the doorway, her way out of the office hindered by Russell’s big body. She peeked over his shoulder and said, “Oh, hello, Mrs. Jamieson. What can I do to help you?”

  Christy slid the tote she carried off her shoulder and set it on the floor. The bag fell open and Stormy the Cat stepped out with careful, fastidious steps. He arched his back in an energetic cat stretch, then sauntered over to the couple in the doorway. He sat down in front of Russell and looked up, his green eyes wide and unblinking.

  “Oh,” said Phoebe, pleasure in her voice. “You’ve brought your cat.”

  Russell shot a suspicious look Christy’s way. “If you’re looking for a party, why’d you bring your cat?”

  Cause I’m a party animal.

  Now ranged up beside Christy, Sledge snorted. Russell shifted his gaze to Sledge and glared at him. Then he frowned, apparently recognizing the rock star hidden beneath the well-tailored dark suit, white shirt and navy-blue tie Sledge was wearing.

  “What party were you talking about, Mrs. Jamieson?” Phoebe asked, squeezing past her husband so she could crouch down to pat the cat. She started by rubbing the sensitive area behind his ears. Stormy purred. Phoebe laughed delightedly.

  “The one Marian Fleming is giving in honor of Fred Jarvis,” Christy said with what she hoped sounded like unthreatening good cheer. “I knew you’d be invited too, so I thought Sledge and I would stop by and get the address from you.”

  Phoebe stood abruptly. There was a stricken look in her eyes and her mouth drooped. “I wasn’t invited.”

  “Oh,” Christy said, and tried to look bewildered, as if she wasn’t sure what she should do next. In fact, that wasn’t so far from the truth. With Russell Beck standing in front of her, there was no way she could play on Phoebe’s feelings for Fred Jarvis. The careful plan concocted in her kitchen this morning was now about as useful as stale donuts.

  Russell was still eying Sledge. “You’re Rob McCullagh? Sledge of SledgeHammer? The Sledge?”

  Of course he is. Who else would he be? Didn’t you hear Christy call him Sledge?

  Russell’s eyes widened. He looked around, then down at the cat, who was still sitting primly at his feet. “Was that you?”

  Yeah. Who else?

  Russell took a step back, bringing him in contact with the doorframe. That little act of vulnerability was only momentary, though. His eyes narrowed again and his mouth set in a hard line. He looked angry, and with it, dangerous.

  Sledge stepped forward, within arms’ length, and shot out his hand. He flashed his trademark smile and said, “How are you doing, man? I’m afraid I didn’t catch your name.”

  Russell dragged his gaze away from the cat. Meeting Sledge of SledgeHammer and sharing conversation with him was not an opportunity to be missed, after all, no matter what the situation was. “Beck. I’m Russell Beck.”

  He moved as if to take Sledge’s hand, but Stormy stood up at that moment and stretched. Yeah, yeah, yeah. Polite bullshit. Listen up! I want to talk to you.

  Russell’s arm fell back to his side. “You do?”

  Sledge unobtrusively stepped back and away, out of range.

  Yeah. This is between you and me. The others can’t hear—

  “I can hear,” Phoebe said. She sounded indignant.

  Christy and Sledge exchanged a quick look. Frank clearly didn’t want Russell to know that she and Sledge were also in on the conversation. “Phoebe, I’m so sorry to have bothered you. It’s just … ” She shrugged. “I know how close you were to Fred Jarvis, so I assumed—”

  “What do you mean, close to Jarvis?” Russell demanded, sounding hostile.

  Christy moved back a step, closer to Sledge. “Well … ” She didn’t have to pretend to be unnerved by the anger in Russell’s voice.

  Come on! Who are you trying to kid? You know exactly what close to Jarvis means. There was a taunt in the voice. Stormy sat down and licked a front paw, the picture of blasé indifference.

  They all knew that Russell Beck had a volatile temper, that he was psychologically fragile, and they believed he had killed Fred Jarvis. There was no telling what he would do if pressured. What was Frank up to?

  Russell’s jaw moved, his chin jutting forward, while his eyes narrowed to slits. All his attention was on the cat. “I know she was sleeping with the bastard. So what?”

  Phoebe slowly stood. “You knew?” Her voice wavered, whether from fear or anguish, it was hard to tell.

  Of course he knew.

  “Shut up! Yes, I knew.” He turned his attention to his wife. His expression didn’t soften, though his voice lost the edge of outrage. He sounded almost bewildered as he said, “Jesus, Phoebe, how could you betray me by sleeping with the boss? Our boss? I worked for the guy. Do you know how humiliating it was to look into his eyes and know he was screwing you? That he was laughing at me every moment of every day?”

  “That’s not true!” Phoebe cried. Her hands were bunched into fists at her side. There were tears in her eyes. “Fred knew how much I love you. He wanted to help you, to get you back on your feet with a job and rebuild your self-esteem.”

  “My self-este
em?” Russell roared. It seemed he’d reached his breaking point. He moved in on Phoebe.

  The cat bounded away. Sledge took Christy’s arm and eased her back so that she was behind him and they were both to one side of the open doorway, leaving the Becks in full view of anyone in the corridor. Christy frowned. The hall outside was quiet and she couldn’t see anyone, but Sledge’s move had been quite deliberate. What was up?

  Russell was inches away from Phoebe now. She was staring up at him, her gaze locked with his. Dismay had her eyes wide and her lips parted. “Yes! Your self-esteem. You came back from your tour of duty changed and I wanted the man I married back. The doctors said that having a job would help, so Fred checked with his contacts. He found the opening, but you landed the job.”

  “How long were you sleeping with him?” Russell asked. His voice was dangerously low.

  The tears in Phoebe’s eyes trickled down her cheeks. She sniffed, then said in a low voice, “Months.”

  Russell’s menacing expression changed to one of shock. “Months? I thought it began with that trip out of town.”

  “Yes,” she whispered, and hung her head in a guilty way.

  Russell lifted his hand to strike. She cringed back, raising her arms and putting her hands in front of her face to ward off a blow.

  The cat wandered over and sat down on one of Russell’s feet. He looked up, green eyes wide. Such a tough guy, hitting a woman.

  “Shut up!” But Russell’s raised arm was frozen, the blow undelivered.

  Bet it was more fun putting a hole in the old man’s head.

  “When I asked Jarvis if he was sleeping with you, he told me I was family. That he cared for me.” Russell was still staring at Phoebe with anger in his expression, but he slowly lowered his hand. “Can you believe it?”

  “Yes,” said Phoebe. She shifted her hands to rub the tears from her cheeks.

  Russell’s lips turned into a sneer. “Well, you’re an idiot. He just wanted me to let him go on screwing you. He came up with some bull about being allies in a tough world. He thought he’d convinced me it was okay, but he hadn’t. I told him I was quitting.” He shot a smoldering look at Phoebe. “And so were you.”

  When?

  Russell frowned and looked down at the cat.

  When did you tell him you were quitting?

  “I gave our notice on Friday. He told me he wouldn’t accept it. Bastard.” Russell glared at his wife. “Then Phoebe works late that night, with him, here in this office.” His voice had hardened. There was anger and outrage in the sound, but most of all there was betrayal. “I knew what was going on. I knew you’d never leave him.”

  “Russell.” Phoebe reached out. Her tears were falling faster now, but she ignored them. “Russell, I loved Fred, but not the way I love you. He was kind to me. He made me feel special. He recognized how difficult your life as a soldier was. He helped me understand you, because he knew you came first. If you’d just asked me, I would have stopped seeing him!”

  “Sure you would,” Russell said, scornfully.

  Why did you kill him?

  Russell glanced down at the cat, who stood up, freeing his foot, then butted against his leg. Russell automatically took a step back and away from Phoebe. “I’d suspected something was going on between Phoebe and Jarvis for a long time, but on that Friday, I knew. There was only one way Phoebe would ever be mine.” He looked up and his eyes locked with those of his tearful wife. “Fred Jarvis had to be dead and gone.”

  Phoebe uttered a little gasp of dismay and lifted her hand to her mouth. Russell’s gaze hardened and his lip curled.

  The cat started to purr. He twined sinuously around Russell’s ankles, drawing the man’s attention away from Phoebe, back to the confession he didn’t know he was making.

  How did you do it?

  Frowning, Russell glanced down at the cat, who paused to stare back, green eyes unblinking. Accusing.

  “After I dropped Phoebe off at the apartment building on Saturday afternoon, I called Jarvis from an untraceable phone. I told him I needed to talk to him about Phoebe. Said I was down in the garage. I asked him to come alone. He trusted me, so he did.” Russell’s tone was matter-of-fact, calm.

  Chilling, Christy thought. Sledge must have felt the same way, for he slipped an arm around her waist and eased her further from the door, well away from the action taking place at the far end of the room.

  Russell didn’t notice. Or if he did, he didn’t care. He was talking to the cat and no one else in the room seemed to matter. Even Phoebe. “I disabled one of the video cameras the day before, so I was able to come in through a side door undetected. Then I got into position and waited. When he reached the meeting place, I stood up. As soon as I knew he’d recognized me I lifted my weapon and let him see what I planned to do. He begged me not to. Said I didn’t understand and that Phoebe would always be mine.” Russell’s lip curled. “Yeah, sure, like I was stupid enough to believe that.” He stared deep into his wife’s eyes. “I let him think he’d won me over. And then I shot him.”

  “Oh, Russell, how could you?”

  Phoebe’s anguished wail masked the sounds of activity by the main doorway. Christy saw Patterson dart into the room, with Quinn following behind. He paused in the doorway, using his cell phone.

  Patterson held her service weapon in both hands and had it trained on Russell as she advanced toward him. “Mr. Beck, step away from your wife and hold your hands away from your body.”

  Stormy turned his attention to Phoebe, butting her leg with his head, easing her out of the way. Come on, Phoebe. Let’s go over to Christy and Sledge.

  Wide-eyed, her skin blotchy from her tears, Phoebe backed away from her husband. Stormy twined around her, shifting her so that her stumbling footsteps moved her out of the danger zone, to the relative safety behind Patterson, with Christy and Sledge.

  Quinn came into the room to stand beside them. “Back up is on the way,” he said.

  Patterson nodded. “Russell Beck, you are under arrest for the murder of Frederick Jarvis.”

  Chapter 31

  The gym doors opened at precisely nine o’clock, allowing parents to file inside to find seats on the chairs that had been set up in the big, echoing room. It was the last day of school and time for the end of year wrap up. In a few minutes, once the family members were all seated, the student body would be allowed to enter, by class, with the littlest students first.

  There was hot competition amongst the parents for prime seats, so after a quick consultation, Christy and Ellen decided to find a place against the wall and stand. Christy was carrying Stormy in her tote. Ellen had her tablet and was prepared to film the whole event. Both Stormy, whose head had just emerged from the mouth of the tote, and the tablet would benefit from the improved view over the heads of seated parents that standing would give.

  The excited chatter died off as parents settled and it became obvious that there were no more adults waiting to enter. The principal and her staff busied themselves making sure that everything was set-up as it should be. Then one of the kindergarten teachers, her class in a somewhat orderly queue behind her, entered and paused. The principal nodded. The students began to file in, to settle in front of the rows of seating for the parents.

  “They are surprisingly well behaved,” Ellen said from behind the tablet where she was monitoring the scene she was filming.

  You do know that everything you say will be picked up by the mic, don’t you?

  “Of course I do.”

  Christy chuckled. Frank’s comment hadn’t been recorded, of course. Good thing only family would be watching the video.

  Since Burnaby worked on an elementary and high school only model, with no middle school between the two, this was the last year the grade seven students would be in this school. They all shuffled into position at the front of the gym, on stage, as it were, as the senior students.

  The ceremony began with one of the teachers presenting a slide show, featuring p
ictures taken of the children at events throughout the school year, then songs were sung, retiring or transferring teachers were thanked, and finally the grade seven graduating class received diplomas and medals as reminders of their years in the school. With that completed, all the students cheered, the principal wished them a happy summer, and the assembly was over.

  The children filed out of the gym with a good deal less decorum than when they’d come in. They would go back to their classrooms to pick up the last of their belongings and receive their final report cards. Their parents would join them there.

  Christy and Ellen let the rest of the parents exit before them. Not only were they hugging a side wall with parents exiting the rows all around them, but Christy wanted to give Noelle as much time as she could to savor the day.

  Rebecca Petrofsky found them as the crowd thinned. “Wasn’t that fun? I love the last day of school assembly. The kids are so full of enthusiasm and the teachers are mellow and everyone is nostalgic for the year passed. I always shed a tear or two,” she said, grinning with rueful amusement.

  Christy laughed. “I did enjoy it. Thanks for suggesting I come.” Rebecca hadn’t suggested, she’d announced that Christy couldn’t miss it, but no matter. The result was the same. She turned to Ellen. “How about you, Ellen? What did you think?”

  “This was nothing like the end of the year at VRA.”

  That was certainly true. There the last day of school was a full day. The morning was regular classes, while the afternoon featured a lecture by someone worthy of note. Final report cards were handed out as the students exited their classrooms for the last time, along with study assignments to be completed over the summer months so that the children would be prepared for the new year in September. No one cheered and there was no loud babble raised by excited voices.

  “I like this better.” Ellen tucked the tablet into her purse and missed Christy’s look of relief.