Cat Killed A Rat

by ReGina Welling

  Talia held up a hand to stop Lottie from finishing.

  “Don’t. There’s nothing you can say to fix this. Mark my words: from this day on, I have no sister.”

  Lottie’s face fell, but she turned and walked away without trying to argue her side of the story.

  Spinning back to face the crowd of people who were now making it a point to look anywhere but at her, Talia let her shoulders slump and then scrubbed a hand over her face before making a visible effort to shake it off.

  Pointing to Priscilla Lewellyn, she asked, “Would you keep an eye on the food table for me?”

  “Yes, of course.” Even in the heat of late summer, Priscilla always wore something knitted by her own hand. Today, it was a loosely woven scarf in a subdued color draped across her slim hips and a matching hat.

  “EV and Chloe, if you would continue with what Lottie was doing with the condolence cards?” Talia raised her voice. “And the rest of you can just go ahead and text your friends who didn’t come to let them know there was a meltdown at the funeral. Just get the gossip out of the way now so we can get on with burying the last of my family, such as it was.”

  She sailed out of the room to take her place near Evan’s coffin while a chorus of voices assured her they would do no such thing. Yet, fingers still tapped texts that would wing their way toward interested neighbors, and the atmosphere in the church was charged with that undefinable excitement that goes along with scandal.

  A look passed between EV and Chloe that spoke volumes before they did their part to set a good example for the rest of the town, knowing this topic would get a detailed discussion around the campfire that night.

  On her way toward the table where the box of cards still sat, EV made it a point to gently jostle a couple of texters with a well-placed elbow, then follow up with a pointed look that resulted in phones being pocketed by their chagrined owners.

  Only a handful of cards had been opened when Lottie had fled before her sister’s ire. She had stuffed a couple checks and a ten-dollar bill into an envelope before noting the gifts on a small pad of paper. Falling into a rhythm, EV opened the cards then murmured the name and amount of any donation while Chloe took notes.

  They were nearing the bottom when EV pulled out a business-sized envelope that felt and looked different from the others. “That’s odd; this one is addressed to Luther. It’s stamped, but not postmarked.”

  Chloe said dismissively, “Probably planned on mailing it then decided to come to the funeral instead.”

  But, when EV opened the envelope, instead of a card of condolence, she found a handwritten note. It was short and to the point.

  I thought I had made myself clear. If you don’t want all your dirty little secrets exposed, do what you were instructed to do. And soon. Or else.

  “Look at this,” EV hissed in Chloe’s ear and handed the note over while looking around to make sure no one noticed.

  Chloe’s eyes widened, then narrowed speculatively. “Well, that’s interesting.” She passed the note back to EV, who slipped it back into the envelope which she folded and, turning away from the crowd, tucked into her bra.

  “You’re not going to show that to Talia?”

  “Not right now. She’s distraught, though it doesn’t feel like a woman mourning a lover. I’m starting to think she’s exactly what she seems to be. I think we need to keep this quiet until we can figure out who actually was banging Evan on the side.”

  “Nice language for a woman your age,” Chloe teased.

  EV snorted, “I haven’t been fitted for orthopedic shoes just yet.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Under an angry dark sky that didn’t just threaten rain but promised it, EV and her prey crossed paths on the sidewalk in front of Thread, which saved her from having to seek him out. Dressed in civilian clothes, the deputy carried a ridiculously large blue-and-white-striped umbrella.

  “You figure out who killed Evan and Luther yet, or do you still think I did it?”

  “Well, good morning to you, too.”

  “Yeah, yeah, good morning. Now, spill. Have the autopsy results come back from the coroner’s office?”

  “Now, Emmalina, you know I can’t divulge information about an ongoing investigation.”

  “Call me Emmalina again and we’ll be investigating your death next, Earnest Dalton Burnsoll.” EV smiled to take the sting out of the words. Very few people ever used her given name—and none of them were forgiven for doing so—but alienating her best source of information was not a solid plan.

  “Okay, EV. I take your point.” Having also been named by parents from the peace-and-love generation, he was no more enamored of the name Earnest than she was of Emmalina and went by Dalton. Deputy Earnest didn’t quite have the same ring as Deputy Dalton did. Not that he had been using that particular moniker for very long.

  Dalton, at loose ends after selling his coffee shop to that nice young Erickson couple, badgered Nate into deputizing him just to keep himself busy. The job paid almost nothing, which was more than Dalton needed anyway, and he was finding the investigation fascinating. Nearly as fascinating as EV herself.

  “Come to dinner with me, and I’ll bring along the crime scene photos.”

  “You mean like a date?”

  “Exactly like a date.”

  His interest came as no surprise to EV, who refused to consider him in that way. She liked men well enough and took one home when she was in the mood, but she was strictly a catch-and-release kind of woman. Dalton was not the throw-him-back type, though. She could almost smell the settle-down on him.

  Just look at him, standing there all hopeful. Telling him no would be like kicking a puppy. Getting a look at those photos might be worth an awkward evening. He’d just better not try to kiss her. That would complicate things. A lot. Especially if she liked it as much as she suspected she might.

  “Fine. Pick me up at seven and don’t forget those photos.”

  EV brushed past him before he could see the satisfied smile on her face. If she played it right, he would be feeding her all the information she needed. If she had looked back, she would have seen him staring after her with a similar expression.

  * * *

  As seven approached, EV found herself wrestling with the urge to strangle her best friend with a nylon stocking.

  “This skirt”—Chloe pulled a tiered skirt in a vibrant southwestern print from where it had been shoved into the depths of the closet—“with this.” She pulled out a softly knit turquoise top. “And these shoes. White sandals go with everything.” EV didn’t ever remember buying them. “And now for the jewelry.”

  “For the love of tiny pickles. It’s just a fact-finding mission, not a real date.” All the protest netted her was a raised eyebrow and a cheeky grin. “Fine,” she grumbled. “Tart me up like a prized turkey and send me off to the slaughter.”

  “It’s a frigging date, EV. Go, eat, dance or something. Have fun.” Chloe ignored all protests, and before EV knew it, she was dressed and ready. Her hair, a lovely shade of sable with only a few strands of silver starting to show, was tucked behind ears adorned with silver hoops. A chunky silver necklace studded with moonstones lay gently on the modest neckline of the turquoise top Chloe had forced her into, and a matching bracelet circled her wrist.

  “You look amazing. Dalton’s going to freak.” Gently, Chloe turned EV toward the full-length mirror tacked on the back of her bedroom door. EV had to admit: she did clean up well.

  “Jerk blackmailed me into it. He’d better have those photos.” What in hell was that nervous flutter in her belly?

  Get hold of yourself. You’re long past feeling like a teenager.

  “Shush, he’s here.” Chloe heard the slam of a car door and peeked out the window. “He looks pretty hot. Now go. I’ll let myself out.” She wagged a finger at the older woman. “You be nice to him. You nag at me, but it wouldn’t hurt you to have a man in your life, either.”

  “Pots should not be p
ointing fingers at kettles of the same color.” EV sailed down the stairs then whisked the door open to find Dalton standing on the step with a grin on his face and one hand behind his back.

  “You’d better have those photos back there and not something cheesy like flowers or candy.” Social situations like this always made EV feel awkward. Feeling awkward made her surly. Feeling surly made her feel awkward. It was a vicious circle.

  In her mind, her rangy body and six feet of height morphed into a mass of nothing but knees and elbows that bent every which way. There was no way she would ever fit into the crook of a man’s arm like those dainty, petite women with curves always seemed to do.

  Never mind that she found those tiny, giggling damsels annoying beyond all measure; they were what every man wanted. Oh, she could have a man in her bed any time she wanted, but sex and romance were leagues apart, in her opinion. Sex was fun and easy; romance was a quagmire that could suck a woman in, then take her down to hell and leave her with nothing. That much she knew from experience.

  The cranky snipe didn’t make so much as a dent in Dalton’s smile; if anything, it became wider and more cheerful. “I know better than to try and woo a woman like you with anything so trite as flowers or candy; give me some credit.” From behind his back, he pulled a stone: perfectly oval granite, pink flecked, flattened and smoothed by the surf he’d picked it out of during his last visit to the east coast. The minute he had seen it, the stone had reminded him of EV. “I thought you could use this in your rock garden.”

  From her vantage point at EV’s bedroom window, Chloe had to suppress the urge to whoop. A man who knew her friend well enough to realize a hunk of granite meant more to EV than a diamond might just manage to drill through that cranky exterior to the strong, vital, caring woman underneath.

  EV’s mouth opened, then closed again. Blast the man for putting that flutter in her belly with nothing more than a pretty rock. She reached out to take it from him and ran her hands over the water-smoothed surface while the blush faded from her face.

  “Thank you, Dalton; it’s beautiful.” She was already picturing the garden cairn she would build with this as the peak.

  When he gently pulled the stone from her grasp, the brush of his fingers against hers sent up another little tingle that reminded her it had been long months since she had taken a man to her bed. Didn’t matter, though; Dalton would never make her list of willing playmates. He was not the kind of man who played slap and tickle lightly.

  Too earnest.

  Hah, nice play on words there; Earnest was too earnest.

  While this nonsense chased itself through her head, Dalton eased EV into his car and backed out of the driveway in the opposite direction of the one she expected him to take.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Well, I’m not going to whip out those crime scene photos right in the middle of the Mudbucket; so I figured we’d go incognito. Maybe drive over to Warren, find a little pub or a diner where no one knows us.”

  Though she’d never admit it, she was already a bundle of nerves and took his choice to heart. “Can’t blame you for not wanting to be seen with me. After all, I’m Nate’s prime suspect. Wouldn’t do for people to think we’re in cahoots. Next thing you know, you’ll be on his list, too.”

  “For Pete’s sake, EV. Nobody with half a brain thinks you bashed Evan over the head or shoved foolish Luther off a ladder.”

  She sighed and smoothed her skirt over her legs just to have something to do with her hands. “That’s not true, and you know it. Ashton Worth swears he saw me leave the church, and Mercy keeps telling everyone and their neighbor she heard Luther arguing with a woman. That’s pretty damning evidence even if it’s anecdotal. Add in the fact my fingerprints are all over the ladder—never mind that I used it when I swapped all the light bulbs in the church over to the LED type just last month—and I’m surprised every day I don’t wake up in the pokey.”

  “Ponderosa Pines is one of those places where, when it comes to gossip, one plus one equals six.”

  “Just the nature of the beast; every time a story’s told, someone puts their own spin on it.” With a wicked gleam in her eye and a twist of her lips, EV elaborated. “You remember the story of how two local teens were caught skinny dipping in Singing Creek, and how there’s barely any truth to it at all.”

  The barb missed its mark entirely. “Oh, there was truth and plenty of barely to go along with it. We were seventeen, in love, and naked.”

  “What happened between you two?” One of the few mysteries in Ponderosa Pines was the reason Marlene Burnsoll had left her husband. Both sides of the grapevine had been uncharacteristically mum on the details.

  Silence stretched between them until Dalton finally broke it. “I’m surprised you don’t already know. Aren’t you pretty high on the gossip chain?”

  “Oh, Sweetie, I’m the crucial link; but anything you tell me in confidence will never pass these lips.”

  His eyes glanced away from the road to quickly search hers to assure himself she was telling the truth. Once he was convinced, he cleared his throat.

  “Marlene fell out of love with me.”

  “Was there someone else?”

  “There was.”

  “Where did she meet him?”

  “Her. Marlene reconnected with her at their twenty-year class reunion last February.”

  “Ah. Well, I’m sorry—for what it’s worth. Marlene isn’t the love-‘em-and-leave-‘em type. Can’t see her intentionally setting out to hurt you.”

  Dalton stared straight ahead. “No, she struggled with it for months before she told me. I want her to be happy.”

  “You’re a good man, Earnest Dalton Burnsoll.” EV reached out and laid a sympathetic hand on his knee. When his face burned red, she realized he might have taken it for more than the gesture it was and snatched her hand back like his leg was on fire.

  “And what about you, Emmalina Valentina Torrence? Are you the love-’em-and-leave-’em type? How is it you’re still single?”

  “Oh, you know me. I’m a social butterfly, flitting from flower to flower but never lighting in any place for too long.” It was a warning that any attempt to become romantically attached to her would not end well for him.

  Pulling into the parking lot of Little Bill’s diner saved Dalton from the backlash he would surely receive if he had uttered any one of the number of retorts that sprang to mind. It’s a smart man who knows when to shut up and cut his losses.

  Finally, after what felt like an eon to EV, she was swallowing the last morsel of an unexpectedly well-cooked steak. Little Bob knew his way around a sirloin.

  Every time Dalton tried to turn the conversation personal, EV trotted out another bit of ridiculous town gossip to keep him distracted, and whenever his gaze turned warm, she deflected by asking about his family. And still, he dragged their time together out for as long as possible by pressing dessert on her. But, since it turned out Little Bob also had a way with blackberry pie, EV let him slide until the last bite of flaky crust tinted dark with berry goodness was gone.

  Then, when Dalton did not immediately pull out the photos, EV folded her arms and gave him her best stink-eye.

  “I held up my end of the bargain; now it’s your turn,” she pointed her finger and tapped it on the table. “Consider it an intermission from the date portion of the evening.”

  “Agree to go dancing with me on Friday, and I’ll even let you look at the preliminary coroner’s report.”

  Regardless of the way she saw herself, EV never lacked dating opportunities. There were more eligible bachelors in Ponderosa Pines than single women, but that wasn’t what drew men to her. Something about her independent nature challenged them to try and tame it, which was exactly what repelled her the most.

  Leaning back in her seat, she tilted her head and studiously considered Dalton. Smart, funny—she ticked of the pros in her mind—didn’t puff out his chest like a Neanderthal or talk down to her,
not bad looking. Then the cons—divorced less than a year, likely to want something more serious than her usual roll-in-the-hay-then-call-it-a-day type of relationship.

  “What kind of music would we be dancing to, and when do I get to see the report?”

  Now it was his turn to consider her. Picturing her in cowboy attire doing some type of two-step or line dance seemed all kinds of wrong. Ditto for swing. He ventured a guess, “Hard rock, and you can see the report right now.”

  “Done.” She circled her hand impatiently for him to hand over the photos and report while he tried to hide a grin behind one hand and use the other to rifle through the messenger bag hanging over the back of his chair. When he finally pulled out a tablet and switched it on, EV was getting close to the end of her patience. Resisting the urge to bounce in her seat, she watched him tap open a folder and finally got her first look at how Luther had died.

  Without thinking, she pulled the tablet across the table and spun it so she could see better, then began flipping through the images. Luther lay with feet tangled in the bottom rung of the ladder, head twisted at an unnatural angle, and unseeing eyes staring straight ahead. Whoever had taken the photographs had captured the scene from every direction. EV flipped through them twice before closing the file and opening the one labeled with Evan’s name.

  When the first image sharpened into view, EV’s eyes widened before she turned away, swallowed hard to dislodge the lump in her throat, and hoped she wouldn’t embarrass herself by throwing up on the table. Not even the biggest jerk in the world deserved to die like that.

  Dalton reached across the table intending to pull the tablet away from her, to close the folder and hide the stark images where they could no longer put sadness into her eyes.

  “No,” she said, putting her hand on it. “I need to see. People are saying I did this; I need to know what they think I’m capable of.”

  When she looked a second time, the blood seemed less shocking—less vividly red where it matted and clumped in his hair then spread across the floor. Next to his head lay the murder weapon. A heavy stone paperweight.