A Basket of Murder: A Pet Shop Cozy Mystery (Pet Shop Cozy Mysteries Book 4)

by Susie Gayle

  “One thing at a time, Will. One thing at a time.”

  CHAPTER 12

  * * *

  I hype myself up a bit before we head inside the building that houses the offices of Savage Cars. I take a few deep breaths, and then I puff out my chest and hold my head high. Karen follows behind me as I march inside and demand to see Tom Savage.

  “I’m sorry, sir, he’s in a meeting,” the wide-eyed receptionist tells me.

  “He’s about to be in a meeting!” I announce boldly.

  “Yeah!” Karen backs me up.

  “With me!” I feel kind of silly, but I stand my ground. That is, until I realize I’ve never been here before. “Uh… which one’s his office?”

  Karen points. “I’m guessing it’s the one that says ‘Tom Savage, Owner and CEO’ on the door.”

  “Right. Good catch.” I stride over to the door and throw it open.

  Behind a wide oak desk, a portly fellow in a beige suit looks up in alarm, cradling a phone receiver to his ear.

  “Um, hello,” he says, confused. “Can I help you?”

  “Hi, Tom. Sammy Barstow says hi. Jerry Brahms would too, but he’s dead.” Wow. Did that just come out of my mouth?

  Tom Savage’s eyes widen to the point of falling out. “I’ll… call you back,” he says into the phone, and then slowly lowers it to its cradle. “Alright,” he says cautiously, “let’s talk. Privately.” He says the last part while eyeing up Karen.

  “Fine. I’ll wait outside,” she mutters, closing the door behind her.

  Tom Savage stays seated and eyes me up for a long moment. “I know you,” he says eventually. “You run the pet shop, right?”

  “That’s right.”

  “And you’re tight with the barber.”

  “You mean Sam? Yes.”

  Tom nods slowly, as if putting something together in his mind that I have no idea about. He gestures to an empty chair. “Would you like to have a seat?”

  “I’d like to know why Jerry is dead.”

  “Hey now…” Tom puts both his hands up in a defensive gesture. “Come on. I had nothing to do with that.”

  “No? You sure about that, Tom?”

  “For god’s sake, why would I? I’m getting what I want, and they’re getting what they want. It’s a win-win. I mean, it’s blackmail, but it’s still win-win. And I have to admit, it’s great for the town—and my image. I had nothing to gain from getting rid of Jerry.”

  Okay, now I really have no idea what he’s talking about, and I’m finding it hard to keep up my tough-guy persona with terms like “blackmail” and talk of premeditated murder.

  “Alright, Savage,” I tell him, trying to keep my voice steady. “I believe you.”

  He sighs with relief. “So are you in on this too now?” he asks. “You’re not going to start making demands of me, are you?”

  “No, I’m not. But we’ll be watching you.”

  “Yeah. Of course,” he murmurs. “Thanks.”

  I retreat toward the door, but he calls out to me again. “Wait a sec, hey. You know animals, right?”

  “Yeah…”

  “Can you tell me what’s wrong with my snake?”

  “Your… snake?” I turn slowly to see that Tom is pointing out a small glass enclosure on a side table that I hadn’t noticed before, what with all my barging in and throwing around accusations.

  “Yeah. She’s not eating lately. I think something’s wrong with her.”

  I approach the glass cage very, very cautiously, as if the creature within it will suddenly burst out. Inside, coiled in some sand, is a snake about two feet long, with a spade-shaped head and olive markings.

  “Tom,” I say slowly, “that is a tiger rattlesnake. Its venom has the highest toxicity of any snake in the United States.”

  He grins. “I know. Isn’t she beautiful?”

  “But… why… do… you… have… that?”

  He shrugs. “I like snakes. Don’t worry, I don’t handle her. I just like watching her. But like I said, she won’t eat lately, and the nearest vet that handles snakes is in the city.”

  “I can’t help you,” I tell him, backing away from the cage. The snake lifts its head and stares at me, its black tongue flicking between its jaws. My blood runs cold. “I have to go. Sorry.” Even just seeing the snake through the glass gives me the heebie-jeebies.

  I hurry out to find Karen sitting in the waiting area, flipping through a magazine. She tosses it aside when she sees me.

  “Well? How’d it go?”

  “It’s not him,” I say quickly, without stopping.

  “No? How can you be sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Then why did he stop playing racquetball with those guys?” she asks, following me quickly.

  “Too busy.”

  She shoots me a lopsided, confused glance, but unlocks the car and doesn’t push the issue. Once we’re back in the car, Karen grins. “So, how’d that feel, taking charge?”

  “Not great,” I admit. “It felt kind of…dirty. It’s just not me.”

  She shrugs. “But you got the answers you were looking for.”

  Yeah, I think. And then some. As much as I want to know what Sammy is into with Savage, I don’t think I’m quite ready to have that conversation just yet. Like Karen said, one thing at a time—and the thing at this time is still to discover who committed the murder.

  Instead I tell her, “Let’s head back over to Jerry’s house and see if Carla’s home.”

  CHAPTER 13

  * * *

  Karen eases the car to a stop at the curb outside Jerry’s house at the same time that Carla’s car pulls into the driveway. She gets out, sees me in the passenger seat, and puts her hands on her hips, looking unhappy and impatient.

  “Stay here,” I tell Karen. “Let me handle this.” No offense to Karen, but she can be a tad gruff and I don’t want to push Carla’s buttons.

  I get out and put on a big smile as I head up the driveway. “Hi, Carla.”

  “What do you want, Will?”

  “I, uh…” Is there a friendly way to accuse someone of lying to the police? “Well, some new information has come to light, and I thought you might want to know. By the way, how did things go for Garrett?”

  She shakes her head and looks up. “The judge denied him bail, so my son gets to sit in jail until his arraignment. As you can probably guess, I’m having what is likely the worst twenty-four hours of my life, so please don’t take this the wrong way, but unless you have something that can help Garrett, I’d really like to be alone right now.”

  Even though she’s being curt, I notice a small glimmer of hope in her eye that maybe I brought some good news.

  “I’m sorry. I’m not any closer to figuring it out.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  Well, it’s now or never, I guess. “Carla, I know that you were with Blake at the coffee shop last night.”

  Her gaze immediately turns hard and angry. “So?”

  “So, that means that you lied to the police, and to me. I’d just… like to know why.”

  She sticks a finger in my face. “That is none of your business.” Carla turns on a heel and strides toward the house.

  Jeez. The woman just lost her significant other, and might lose her son too, and here I am threatening her. But still… if there was even the slightest chance that she or Blake was involved, I wouldn’t be doing any justice by not pushing the issue. Grab the bull, right?

  I take a deep breath and call after her, “The police would probably be interested to know that.”

  She stops. “Are you trying to intimidate me, Will?”

  “No. I just want the truth,” I tell her honestly.

  She folds her arms and the scowl never leaves her face, but she motions toward the house with a jerk of her head. “Come in.”

  “Alright.” I hold up a hand to Karen to signal, five minutes, and then I foll
ow Carla up the walkway, into the living room she shared with Jerry. She shrugs out of her coat and takes off her shoes before saying another word to me.

  “Are you going to tell the police on me?” she asks finally.

  I shake my head. “Not unless there’s reason to believe it’s important to Jerry’s case.”

  “I had nothing to do with it. Honest to God.” Her eyes blur with the threat of tears. She blinks them back and motions for me to sit on the couch, and then takes a seat in an armchair facing me.

  “You’re right. I told Jerry that I was working a late shift at the hospital, but Blake and I did meet last night. We were discussing what to do about our son. Ever since the divorce, Garrett has been acting out, and getting worse. I suggested we send him to talk with a therapist, but it’s expensive. I told Blake that if he cared about his son, we should split the cost. Blake insisted that Garrett didn’t need therapy, and refused to pay for any of it.” She shakes her head. “The deadbeat. Ever since Garrett turned eighteen, Blake’s been off the hook for child support. He hasn’t lent a dime.”

  “Okay,” I say slowly. “Then why lie to the police about it?”

  She sighs. “At first it was just my knee-jerk reaction. I’d already lied to Jerry about it, so I stuck with my story. I thought about telling them the truth afterwards, but I realized it might throw suspicion on me—I mean, meeting with my ex-husband the same night? You know what people would assume.”

  Yeah, I do know, considering the thought crossed my mind—not to mention Tony’s and Karen’s, too.

  “But… why lie to Jerry about it in the first place?” I ask her. “If you were really meeting for Garrett’s sake, don’t you think Jerry would have understood?”

  She nods. “Yeah, he would have. He was a good man. But I just didn’t want him to worry any more than he already was.”

  “What do you mean, worrying more?” That’s news to me—Jerry seemed to have it all together. “What was he worried about?”

  “I’m not sure. He wouldn’t talk to me about it. If I asked, he’d just say, ‘it’s nothing, it’s nothing.’ I know it wasn’t money; we got by just fine. I think it had something to do with Mr. Casey.”

  “Why do you think that?”

  “I heard him muttering in the garage one day, something about ‘the old man.’ That’s what they call him, right?”

  “Yeah, they do. Do you think Mr. Casey is sick or something?” Considering that he’s looking to franchise Sockets & Sprockets, it could be that he wants to grow his legacy before he kicks the bucket.

  Carla shrugs. “Like I said, I don’t know.”

  “Just one more question. Did Jerry ever mention the name Tom Savage to you?” I’m just playing a hunch, but maybe whatever had Jerry so worried had something to do with the underhanded deal he had with Savage.

  “The car guy from the radio?” She shakes her head. “I think Jerry used to see him at the rec center, but he hadn’t mentioned him in months.”

  “Okay.” Well, so much for my hunch. “Thank you, Carla. I’ll leave you alone now. But if you need anything, anything at all, I hope you’ll give me a call.”

  “Thanks, Will. And if you find anything out… please, do the same.”

  “I will.”

  I head back outside and get into the car, thinking.

  “How’d that go?” Karen asks.

  I give her the brief rundown of our conversation.

  “So Jerry knew something about Mr. Casey that had him worried,” Karen recaps. “What do you think it could be? And more importantly, do you really think that old man has it in him to tip a car?”

  I shake my head. “No, I don’t think Mr. Casey did this… but I think whatever had Jerry worried might be a good thing to know. Let’s see if we can’t find the old man.”

  CHAPTER 14

  * * *

  The Casey family has had roots in Seaview Rock since before it was even called Seaview Rock. One of Barton Casey’s ancestors was a partner in a fish hatchery that opened here and was partially responsible for the boom into what is our present-day town. Eventually they sold their shares, and these days they own and operate a gas station, the auto body shop, and a couple of other local business. The old man only runs Sockets & Sprockets; he leaves the other business interests to his kids (which is a weird thing to say, considering they’re all older than I am).

  The Casey house is a huge colonial-style building up on the hill, which really isn’t a hill at all but just the area that us locals call the ritzy part of town where the wealthy folk live. We head up there first and ring the doorbell, but no one answers.

  After failing there, we decide to head down to Sockets & Sprockets. Sure enough, Mr. Casey’s sleek black Lincoln is one of two cars in the lot—the other one being my dormant SUV. The sign on the door to the shop says “Closed,” but I give it a little tug and find it’s unlocked.

  “Should we just… go inside?” I ask.

  Karen rolls her eyes and pulls the door open. A bell chimes somewhere inside; a moment later Mr. Casey hobbles out from a rear office and frowns at us. He’s pushing seventy, almost completely bald, and uses a cane to help him get around.

  “Sorry, we’re closed today,” he says hoarsely.

  “We know, Mr. Casey. Sorry to intrude like this. We just want to ask you a couple of questions, if we may, about Jerry Brahms.”

  His frown deepens, the wrinkles in his face pinching together. “About Jerry? Why? Who are you?”

  Karen and I exchange an uneasy glance. I shake my head at her, just a little bit. There won’t be any grabbing bulls by horns here. “Mr. Casey, maybe we can all have a seat and chat,” I suggest. “Please. It’s important.”

  “Well… alright.” He motions for us to follow him into the rear office, where he settles into a comfortable-looking leather chair while Karen and I take seats in the pair of guest chairs on the other side of the desk.

  “Mr. Casey,” I begin, “I know this is going to sound harsh, but we have reason to believe that Jerry was… murdered.”

  The old man nods gravely. “I know. Tony told me about that boy getting arrested.” He shakes his head. “Kids these days. They just do whatever they please, don’t they? Poor Jer. He was the best mechanic I ever met.”

  “Then Tony must have also told you that we don’t believe that Garrett did it.”

  Mr. Casey’s brow furrows, his caterpillar-like eyebrows nearly meeting in the center. “No. Tony said he’s certain the boy is guilty. That kid of Carla’s always hated Jerry.”

  I exchange a nervous glance with Karen.

  “Um, speaking of Carla,” I say, “she told me that Jerry’s been worried lately, but wouldn’t tell her why. Would you happen to know why, Mr. Casey?”

  The old man sighs. “Truth be told, the shop hasn’t been doing so well,” he admits. “That’s why I want to franchise. If this location goes under, it’ll be the end of Sockets & Sprockets.”

  “Franchise?” Karen says. “That’s the first I’m hearing about this.”

  Mr. Casey’s cell phone rings from atop the desk. He picks it up and squints at the screen, and then turns it towards us. “My eyes aren’t what they used to be. Who’s calling?”

  I lean forward. “It’s Tony.”

  “Ah. Give me one moment.” He answers the phone. “Tony, my boy! Uh-huh. Sounds great. Sure. I’m just sitting here at the shop, talking with…” He cups the speaker and asks me, “What’s your name again?”

  “Will Sullivan.”

  “Will Sullivan,” he tells Tony. “Yes, about poor Jerry. Okay then, see you soon.” He ends the call. “Tony was scoping out a new location in Langford, about a half hour from here. He told me that you should stick around; he’s on his way back and wants to talk with you.”

  “Wait,” Karen says suddenly. “Tony is the one franchising the shop?”

  “Of course,” Mr. Casey tells us. “I don’t want some random investor that’s on
ly looking to make a quick buck. I need someone I can trust; someone that knows the business.”

  “Mr. Casey, how long have you been working on the franchise deal?” she asks.

  “Oh… almost two years now, I think. But we’re finally ready. We plan to sign the paperwork before the end of the week.”

  I can tell that gears are turning in Karen’s head, but whatever she’s thinking she’s not willing to say openly. Instead she stands and says, “I’m just going to use your restroom, if you don’t mind.”

  “By all means,” Mr. Casey tells her.

  “Will, why don’t you keep Mr. Casey company for a few minutes?” She briefly widens her eyes at me, the signal for I’m not really going to use the bathroom.

  “Sure.” She leaves the office. I smile awkwardly at Mr. Casey, unsure of where to go from here.

  “So, Will, what do you do?” he asks.

  “I own a pet shop downtown.”

  “Ah, a fellow entrepreneur! Wonderful. Tell me, have you ever thought about franchising? See, here’s how it works…” He launches into an explanation of the finer points of expanding your business while I smile and nod. Franchising is definitively not my style; in fact, I’ve turned down more than one offer to sell the pet shop to large corporations. But hey, to each their own, I suppose.

  My cell phone chimes in my pocket. It’s a text, from an unknown number. It says, Ask him who does his bookkeeping. For a moment I’m terribly confused, until I remember that I don’t have Karen’s number in my phone anymore. She’s texting me from elsewhere in the shop.

  “Uh, Mr. Casey, to be honest, I’m not terribly interested in franchising,” I tell him as politely as possible. He frowns a bit. “However, I am in the market for a new accountant. Who does your bookkeeping?”

  “Oh, can’t help you there,” he says. “I do all the accounting myself.”

  “Ah. I see.” Under the desk, I text her back. He does.

  My phone chimes almost immediately. Come here a sec.