Kalico cleared his throat, gingerly lifted Perdita from his lap and set aside the tea cup. He opened a folder and handed Miss Winterjoy a diagram that Lynn recognized as a simplified version of his white board. He proceeded to point out the people who had had access to both Nancy’s car and to her gardening bag, assuming that all of them had knowledge of her allergies. He, then, eliminated neighbors, including old Mrs. Klein, assuming that they’d had little time to gain access either to Nancy’s car or her medication.
“There are two main obstacles to our concluding that these incidents were not accidents. First, there’s no physical evidence to indicate brake tampering. Mr. Alvarez, the mechanic who replaced brake pads and fluid lines after the car wreck, noted only usual wear and tear. Also, there’s nothing to indicate that the missing EpiPen was stolen. Nancy cannot remember if it was in her bag. Second,…”
Miss Winterjoy raised a hand to stop him: “Connor was supposed to have his grandmother’s brakes checked when he had the car’s oil changed. Obviously, he failed to do so, and he lied about it!” She looked meaningfully at Lynn, who wisely remained silent.
“That’s true. Nancy assumed that her brakes had been checked. We do not know if Connor directly stated that the work had been done, or why he didn’t have the brake work done with the oil change.”
Miss Winterjoy made a noise that sounded like an harrumph. “He certainly had the most direct access to the EpiPen. He was acting suspiciously—and even threateningly—when I last saw him.”
“You were snooping in his room!” Lynn interjected.
“I was not snooping. I was searching for evidence.”
“And did you find anything?” asked Kalico, as Perdita insinuated herself back onto his lap. He absent-mindedly began stroking her head.
“No. There is no evidence that the missing EpiPen fell out of Nancy’s bag or was misplaced. It is simply gone. Therefore, someone took it.”
“Or,” Lynn added gently, “Nancy simply forgot to replace it.”
“Because we old people are so forgetful?” her aunt challenged.
“Second,” Kalico raised his voice, “I cannot find a motive for anyone wanting to harm Nancy. As far as I can discover, she is universally liked and has led a blameless life.”
“No one, young man, beyond a certain age, has led a blameless life. Small thoughtless acts, little betrayals of trust, indiscretions, hurtful words, inattention—everyone is guilty, Nancy and myself included.”
“Agreed. But people usually do not murder over petty grievances. Money, power, jealousy, revenge—these are the common motives.”
“Connor would stand to inherit if Nancy were removed.”
“But, Aunt Em, Nancy is not a wealthy woman. And wouldn’t Patrick be her main beneficiary?”
“True. But I bet she left something to Connor. He is not trustworthy, he is a spendthrift, and I fear that he wants to get his grandmother out of the way.” She folded her arms, a stubborn jut to her jaw.
Both ladies turned to Kalico who squirmed under the gaze of twin pairs of blue eyes. Annoyed that his hand had stopped the delightful pets, Perdita tapped him with a paw, claws partially extended. He resumed stroking her head. “I can see why you suspect Connor.” He focused on his client. “He’s in financial trouble, having run up…” He checked his notes, “a $7,000 credit card debt. He’s living with his grandmother to cut expenses so that he can pay his father back. He’s maintaining a strong B average at UT and working approximately 30 hours a week.”
“Very laudable, I’m sure,” conceded Miss Winterjoy. “But Connor is a boy who always tries to find the easy way out. In high school….”
“Aunt Em, that’s ancient history. He learned from his attempt to plagiarize. Can’t you accept that he’s grown up?”
“Lynn, I do not understand why you insist on defending him.”
“And I do not understand why you….”
“Ladies!” Kalico intervened. “Let me finish.” He waited until they were again focused on him. “Miss Winterjoy, if someone wants to harm Nancy—and that is still a big if—I have concluded that it is not Connor.”
“And how have you reached this conclusion?” she responded too quietly for Kalico’s comfort.
He swallowed, fearing that he did not look very authoritative with a cat in his lap. He conscientiously avoided glancing at Lynn who could not disguise her delight. “Okay. Let’s suppose there is a killer out who is after Nancy. Let’s suppose that each of her accidents was engineered. Now, if we profile the perpetrator, what could we determine about him or her?”
“Good question!” Lynn exclaimed. “I like this—it’s a puzzle.”
Miss Winterjoy looked thoughtful and her eyes sparked with interest. “I would say that our murderer is not impulsive.”
“I agree.” Lynn leaned forward. “And he does not want to get caught: he wants the crime to appear accidental.”
“Good. So our perpetrator is careful, methodical, and non-confrontational.” Kalico wrote these words on a blank sheet of paper. “What else?”
“I would say that he is patient. Wouldn’t you, Aunt Em?”
“Yes. He sets something in motion by tampering imperceptibly with brakes or by taking an EpiPen, then he is content to wait for the outcome.”
“Yes, he leaves the outcome to chance or to fate or to….”
“Or to divine retribution.”
“Interesting thought. If fate or God play a part in Nancy’s death, then the murderer could justify his actions.”
“A twisted psychology certainly.” Miss Winterjoy and Lynn exchanged smiles.
Kalico wrote: Leaves outcome to fate.
Lynn’s brow creased in thought. “This person does not want to get his hands dirty. It’s not a crime of passion.”
“As the sayings goes, ‘Revenge is a dish best served cold,’” offered Miss Winterjoy.
“Shakespeare?’ asked Kalico.
“No. An old Star Trek,” Lynn laughed.
“A centuries old proverb,” corrected her aunt.
“Seriously, now,” Kalico held the list of traits up to view. “Does this calculating, would-be killer sound like Connor?”
Miss Winterjoy leaned back in her chair; her shoulders slumped slightly. “No,” she admitted. “No, it does not sound like Connor who, from my observation, is impulsive and careless and messy.” She recalled his bowtie strewn over the lampshade. “It’s a wonder that he ever gets to school or to work on time and in one piece.”
Lynn reached for a chocolate chip cookie. “I’m exhausted! But where are we now?” she asked Kalico.
“If we remove Connor from the list of suspects, we are left with people who are Nancy’s closest friends and acquaintances.” He conjured the faces of the elderly women. “Frankly, they’re not the usual suspects. Therefore,” Kalico ran a hand through his hair. “Miss Winterjoy, at this time, it is my professional recommendation that we disband the investigation.” Kalico held his breath, unsure how his client would react.
“I am correct, am I not, Mr. Kalico, that I have you on retainer for one more day?” she asked quietly.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I surmise that if a crime had been committed, your next step would be to interrogate the suspects?”
“Yes, ma’am, but….”
“Then that is what I want you to do. Find out if any of our friends had the means, the knowledge, and the motive to want to harm Nancy.” She nodded her head decisively. “After all, most homicides are committed by someone the victim knows.”
Recognizing an immovable object when he saw one, Kalico was at a loss how to respond. He pictured himself ushering each of the book circle women into Interrogation Room 3. Shaking his head, he glanced at Lynn, looking for help.
She complied. “But, Aunt, won’t the ladies find it odd if Ben comes knocking on their doors asking questions?”
“Yes. But we must be thorough—Nancy’s life is at stake.” She rose, indicating that their meeting was
over. “I will expect a full report.”
“Miss Winterjoy,” Kalico began, “isn’t there some way that I could meet with the suspects in a less obvious way?” He paused for dramatic effect. “I wouldn’t want to tip off the killer that we were on to him, uh––her.”
“He has a point!” Lynn nodded decisively. “Everyone, including two of Nancy’s co-workers who made your list, will be here tomorrow night for dinner and a book talk. Why don’t you join us? It will give you a great excuse to speak with all of the suspects.”
“Good idea. I should have thought of it myself, Lynn.” Miss Winterjoy nodded in approval.
“Wouldn’t my presence raise suspicion?”
“Not necessarily. We could say that you are there to offer professional insight into the methods of Chief Inspector Gamache,” Lynn offered.
“Good, Lynn! And that Benjamin is with us as your special guest.” Miss Winterjoy smiled broadly at the young couple.
“But I haven’t read the book!” Kalico protested.
“Then you’d better get started.” She handed him a copy of Still Life by Louise Penny.
Kalico shifted his gaze from Miss Winterjoy to Lynn. Both ladies were looking pleased with this decision. He hefted the substantial novel. Perhaps there were Spark Notes.
“And there are no Spark Notes for this novel,” stated Miss Winterjoy, reading his mind. “There is no short cut to a great book.”
Lynn walked Kalico to his car, affirming that he would arrive for dinner and book circle meeting at 6 p.m. Wednesday evening. “The novel is wonderful and a fairly quick read. And, Ben, thank you for diverting my aunt’s attention away from Connor.”
Before he could respond, she stepped quickly forward, placed her arms around his neck, rising onto her tiptoes. Reflexively, he placed his arms around her, feeling the warmth of her body and inhaling the sweet scent of vanilla. His heart pounded, and instinctively he leaned in for a kiss. Instead, Lynn whispered into his ear. “Don’t look, but Susan Jankowsky just came out of Nancy’s house and is headed our way. I want her to see you as my, well, boyfriend, not as a detective.”
“Hello, you two!” Susan floated up to them, a vision in a swirl of blues and greens with a hint of purple. Her silver hair framed a broadly smiling face. “‘In the spring a young man’s fancy lightly turns to thoughts of….’”
“Apple pie!” finished Lynn, trying to pull away from Kalico who kept an arm around her as he turned to greet Susan.
“Not quite Tennyson’s intent, but, yes, I bring apple pie.” Susan arched an eyebrow at Lynn who pretended to ignore it. She studied the pair surreptitiously. She no doubt noticed that Lynn’s young man was not conventionally handsome—that unfortunate red hair—but he had a pleasant face, and Lynn looked happy. Aloud she said, “Costco had a buy one get one free, so I dropped a pie off with Nancy, poor dear, and am delivering one to Emelia for tomorrow’s night’s meeting.”
“I thought Jane was bringing dessert?”
“Yes, well, Jane’s confections are not always, shall we say, edible?” Susan laughed, not unkindly.
“True.”
“How is Mrs. MacLeod?” Kalico asked, tightening his arm around Lynn as she subtly tried to disentangle herself.
“Exhausted. Em wanted me to keep her company until 5:30, but she was so sleepy. I covered her with an afghan and tiptoed out.”
“I’m sure that was best.” Lynn frowned slightly. She moved out of the circle of Kalico’s arm. “Ben, I’ll see you tomorrow night. I had a lovely time.”
“Me too. Mrs. Jankowsky, nice to see you again.”
The women watched as Kalico drove away. “Lynn, do tell!” Susan looked like an elegant and exotic bird awaiting a treat.
“Nothing to tell—yet. We’ve just started,” Lynn swallowed.
“But you like him! I can tell. And he’s so much nicer than that last guy—what was his name?”
“Ah—the man who shall remain nameless. And, yes, I do like Ben.”
“I’m so glad. You deserve someone really nice.” And with that they escorted the apple pie into Miss Winterjoy’s home.
Chapter Fourteen
Kalico pulled up beside M’s’ yellow Beetle, surprised that they had both captured rare parking spaces across from the University of Texas campus. M’s emerged from her car with a folder filled with pictures of the seven-month-old Bichon Frise puppy, Pippa, tucked under her arm. The photograph showed a little white fluff ball staring out at the world with serious black eyes. She had slipped out of her collar and disappeared when her owner had stopped across from the Harry Ransom Center to chat with friends. That had been over a week ago. Her owner, Alyssa, had papered the campus with Pippa’s image.
It was a good guess that the little dog had been scooped up by someone who’d decided to keep her. Kalico and M’s planned to canvas the west campus neighborhood. They crossed 21 St., pausing for a moment to look at the Littlefield fountain and the iconic UT tower that rose behind it at the far end of the South Mall. Students lounged on the limestone wall that framed the dancing water, some with heads bent intently over textbooks; others, stretched out, enjoying the spring sun. They proceeded to the HRC, where little Pippa had escaped, and crossed the Drag, also known as Guadalupe St., a busy thoroughfare always bustling with students and traffic, street musicians and vendors.
“How could the puppy have crossed this mess safely?” asked M’s, trying to keep up with Kalico’s long strides.
For the next hour, they knocked on the doors of apartments, duplexes, lovely little bungalows, and stately homes. M’s conscientiously noted the addresses where no one answered—placing a star by the houses where she could hear a dog bark.
“I like canvassing, Ben. It’s like a great treasure hunt. At the next door, we may find Pippa.”
“Or not,” Kalico grumbled. “My feet hurt, and we only have another hour or so of daylight.”
“Come on, old man.” She pulled him along toward a small gray and white house, tucked behind tall Pecan trees and blooming Carolina jasmine.
M’s pressed the doorbell and waited. The high- pitched yip of a puppy could be heard. The door opened about two inches, and a woman’s voice asked, “Yes?”
“Good evening,” Kalico began. “We’re searching for a lost puppy, and wondered if you could help us?”
The door opened to reveal a woman in her late twenties. She was wearing a thick, fuzzy pink bathrobe over black sweat pants. Her light brown hair was mussed, and the gray eyes behind think tortoise shell glasses blinked against the light.
“So sorry. We didn’t mean to wake you.”
“No problem.” She looked over the rims of her glasses at Pippa’s picture. “I haven’t seen him.”
“Her. Could you keep an eye out? Perhaps, when you walk your dog?”
The woman stiffened and began to close the door. “I don’t have a dog.”
M’s thrust a picture into her hand. “Our number is on the poster. Just in case…” But the door had closed firmly; the dead bold clicked.
“Let’s call it a day,” suggested Ben.
“But that woman has a dog. Why would she lie?” She stared at the closed door, and shrugged, not wanting to leave. The sound of footsteps rushing toward them made them turn.
“Missy! Ben! Hey, M’s! Hey!” A tall redhead in bright blue shorts and an over-sized gray sweatshirt engulfed her in a bear hug.
“Katie!” M’s managed to gasp as her feet left the ground.
“Oh, Melissa! And Benj. What a great surprise. What are you doing on campus?”
“Hi, Sis. We’re looking for Pippa.”
“Hi, Katie. No time to talk,” declared M’s, disentangling herself from her one-time-best friend’s embrace. “On the job, you know.” She showed her Pippa’s photo.
“Poor little lost girl. You and Ben will return her to her owner.”
“Let’s hope so. Nice to see you, but we have to run.” M’s started to turn away, not seeing the pleading look Katie c
ast at her brother.
“I could use a cup of coffee before we tackle this block,” Ben said.
“Yes. Let’s have a coffee. Missy, I haven’t seen you in months. C’mon. Let’s go have coffee and catch up. Please.”
“Sure, M’s and I will join you at Starbucks.”
Ten minutes later, settled in comfortable chairs, the girls sipped frothy chai lattes as Kalico drank a black coffee and watched the girls interact. Katie, elbows on the table and cup cradled under her chin, leaned forward willing M’s to engage. M’s, her black jeans and tee accenting the pallor of her skin, looked down at the table. Her shock of short and spiked electric green hair, today tipped with blue, evoked whimsy.
“Love the hair.”
“Liar,” asserted M’s, but her tone was light.
“No, really. I do. It’s exciting. In fact, I’ve been thinking of cutting my hair and perhaps going blue or even black.” Katie swept a strand of thick red hair behind her ear.
M’s snorted. “Never! A redhead’s hair is a part of her identity! Isn’t that what your mom said that time we got into the food coloring and tried to become brunettes like Katie Perry?”
“Yes! I’d forgotten….”
“Besides, your hair is a ‘dazzling autumn sunset.’ Remember Bobby Brent’s Ode to Katie in the 9th grade?”
The girls laughed and for a moment it seemed to Ben like old times when the girls had been inseparable besties. Katie leaned forward. “Okay, Missy—sorry, M’s—give. What’s the story behind Ben and the new woman in his life?” She grinned mischievously. “Mom is thrilled. I think she’s started to write wedding invitations!”
“Hey, leave my love life out of your conversation.”
“What love life?” shot back Katie.
“Touché.”
M’s glanced at Ben before jumping in. “Her name is Lynn, and she’s the niece of one of our clients. Didn’t you meet her last night? She helped rescue Stanley.”
“No. I had to stay late on campus. Midterms start this week.” Stress lines momentarily appeared on Katie’s brow, then as quickly disappeared. “Mom said that sparks were flying between them.”
Maybe Murder Page 12
