“For all three of us,” I said. I’d dropped by here enough to know that unless you were being arrested, you got free Coke.
“Sorry. Right. Um, thanks, Jillian,” he said.
“This way, guys,” I said to the VanKleets.
I led them out of the office and down the hall to the vending machines. We passed Margie, the baby and the husband, who must just have been released from the basement jail. He didn’t have a black eye or a swollen face. And he looked smug. I hated that.
Once Evan and I had our drinks—Brandt refused—we went back inside the office. There was more space to sit out in the corridor, but the smell of vomit was particularly strong today.
B.J. found two folding chairs for the sons, and I reclaimed the wood chair. I decided to play dumb. “You must be visiting Mercy on upsetting business,” I said.
“I saw you looking at us in that coffee place,” Brandt said. “And I’ll venture you know exactly why we’re here.”
“I didn’t say otherwise. I’m only trying to be friendly,” I said.
“We’re not feeling very friendly,” Brandt said.
“Speak for yourself, brother,” Evan said. He swigged his Coke. “I like friendly, and you seem nice enough. So here’s the deal if you haven’t heard. Our father got himself killed.”
“Shut up, Evan. Remember what I told you,” Brandt said through clenched teeth.
“Oh, the law student speaks. Mea culpa.” Evan looked at me. “Please make me shut up, Ms. Hart. Or read me my rights. Brandt can help you with those words, since I’m sure he’s memorized them.”
“Evan.” Brandt spoke that one small name with so much contempt, I felt sorry for his brother.
“You don’t have to talk,” I said. “I know this is a rough time.”
Evan laughed. “Rough time? This is easy compared to everything that’s happened before. Except the mother unit latched on to another professor. Must be some kind of fatal attraction.”
Brandt looked ready to drag his brother out of here before he said anything else, but all this family drama came to a halt when Kara walked in the door.
Oh boy, can she stop traffic, I thought.
“Hi, Jillian,” Kara said. “Thought I’d walk down here and see what’s going on. Interesting old building.”
B.J. stood, his cheeks as rosy as two ripe peaches. “Can I help you?”
She flashed her charming smile and rested a hand on my shoulder. “Jillian’s my stepmother.”
B.J.’s eyes widened. “Really?”
“Are we like a circus act that you all couldn’t get enough of in the coffeehouse?” Brandt said.
But Kara turned that smile on him, and the tense atmosphere in the room seemed to float away. “Strangers in Mercy are probably treated that way all the time,” she said. “I’m so sorry you feel like some sort of spectacle.”
“It’s not that,” Brandt said, his attitude melting by the second. “This has been a difficult time for our family.”
“You want to get coffee and talk about it when you’re done here?” Kara said.
There are some things a forty- two-year-old woman cannot accomplish that a twenty- nine-year-old one can. Especially one who looked like Kara.
Brandt stood and offered Kara his seat.
She took it and then looked up at Brandt, her smile still shining.
He reached into his creased chinos pocket and produced what looked like a phone similar to Kara’s. “Give me your number, and I’ll text you when we’re done here.”
While this was going on, Evan leaned toward me and said, “The pretty boy gets all the action.”
I smiled. “You said he’s a law student. Are you in college, too?”
“Not right now. I’ll be heading back in the fall. If Mommy can get the boyfriend to help her with the finances, that is. There’s been a cash- flow problem ever since my now-deceased father got fired.”
“Evan,” Brandt said. “Keep quiet. Please?” Not as much disdain in his voice this time, but I was guessing that was so Brandt didn’t seem like such an ass in Kara’s presence.
“That would be no, Brandt. I’m not inclined to keep quiet just because you think I should.” Evan turned his chair, holding the Coke can between his knees. “While they bond, why don’t we? I like you, Ms. Hart. What are you doing here?”
“The officer who’s interviewing Professor Lieber is a good friend. We were together when she got the call to come in and help out. There’s an officer out sick.” A small lie about being called in, but Evan had already spilled plenty and I had the feeling there was more. Candace would want me to take advantage.
“So you’re friends with Deputy Candace Carson? She’s pretty darn hot for a cop. Think you can make sure she’s my interviewer rather than me having to endure some stuffy police chief?”
I laughed. “I don’t think I’ll have a say in that.”
He brushed hair off his forehead and smiled. Beneath the facade, I got the sense this was a nice kid who didn’t know quite how to respond to murder. Who would?
“Had to try and see if she’d be the one I could talk to.” He gulped down the rest of his Coke and tossed the can in the wastebasket near B.J.’s desk.
B.J. was on the radio again, that piece of paper with the police codes in his hand. He was determined to use those codes no matter what.
The Sprite I’d bought wasn’t sitting well after that latte I’d consumed earlier. I stood and put my mostly full can in the trash, too, and slid the change meant for Brandt’s drink onto B.J.’s desk.
Kara and Brandt were deep in conversation, but Candace’s appearance with the boyfriend interrupted them. The look on Candace’s face when she saw Kara said it all, but she immediately put her thoughts into words. “What are you doing here?”
Brandt said, “This is a public building. That means she has every right to be here.”
Showing off his law-school learning for a pretty girl. Guys like to impress, no matter how old they are.
“Brandt,” the boyfriend, Lieber, said, “I know you’re on edge, but can you tone it down a notch? Deputy Carson has a job to do.”
“Thanks, Dr. Lieber, but I can handle this,” Candace said. “Brandt VanKleet, come with me, please.”
Brandt looked at Kara and made a motion with both thumbs. I’d seen Candace do that before and learned it was the “Text me” signal.
As Brandt followed Candace to the interview room, Evan said, “Man, he gets them all. Guess I should consider law school.”
Lieber stood by Evan and patted his shoulder. “You have a creative mind. There are better things ahead for you.”
Evan looked embarrassed and changed the subject, saying, “This is Ms. Hart, Doug. She’s a volunteer. I can see why they need one. I mean, for a police station there’s hardly anyone here.” He gestured at B.J. and said, “Except for him.”
Kara said, “I had no idea you’d gotten into volunteer work, Jillian. You are full of surprises.”
Thank goodness she didn’t blow my story. From the gleam in her eye, I could tell she was enjoying this. But that little hint of conspiracy between Kara and me didn’t get past Evan.
“What are you so happy about, Kara? Guess you haven’t lost a father lately like we have,” he said in annoyance.
“Oh, but I have,” she said quietly. The gleam was gone in an instant.
Lieber gripped Evan’s shoulder so hard, his knuckles turned white. “Cool it, Evan. I know you’re stressed, but let’s not take it out on strangers.” He turned to Kara. “Douglas Lieber,” he said, holding out his hand to shake hers.
Kara’s small step into grief was over. She introduced herself, again referring to me as her stepmother. “What are you a professor of?” Kara asked.
“I teach sociology and an occasional chemistry course. Dual PhDs,” he said. “I try not to be too boring, but fresh-men are a tough audience.”
“I wouldn’t be bored,” Kara said. “I just left my job as a newspaper columnist. I wrote
about social networking, pop culture and trends, so I’m a big fan of sociology.”
Evan looked at me with a silly grin. “Aren’t they the intellectuals? What do you do, Ms. Hart?”
“I’m a quilt maker,” I said.
“The simple life. Good for you,” Evan said.
Sarah VanKleet marched down the hall toward us, her high heels clicking on the tile. She motioned to Evan. “Go talk to Chief Baca. And remember what Brandt told you earlier.”
Evan rose, hiking up his loose jeans. “Certainly, Mommy.”
B.J. started to get up and lead Evan down the hall, but Evan said, “I read every one of those Where’s Waldo? books and found him every time. Sit down, bro.” He took off for the chief’s office.
Sarah glanced back and forth between Kara and me, her smile tight. “Douglas, who have you been talking to?”
Lieber gestured at me and said, “This volunteer who helped us earlier is Jillian Hart.” He waved a hand at Kara. “And this is her stepdaughter, Kara.”
I glanced at B.J. He was looking at me, obviously puzzled at that volunteer reference. But to his credit, he didn’t say anything about charity work he knew nothing about.
Sarah examined the metal folding chair Evan had vacated, obviously looking for grimy police station crud. Apparently satisfied it was safe, she sat down. Lieber picked up her hand and held it between his own. She looked up at him, appearing nervous.
“That interview wasn’t so awful, was it?” he said.
“I had to provide an alibi, so yes, it was awful,” Sarah said. “Even the suggestion that I would be involved in murder is absolutely ludicrous. These people have a lot of nerve.”
“I wish I’d been home with you Friday,” Lieber said. “That would have made things easier.”
Kara waved her hand back and forth between the two of them. “So you can’t help each other out. That’s too bad.”
Douglas Lieber, it would seem, wasn’t under Kara’s spell, because he said, “Yes, too bad,” in a curt tone.
Sarah looked at Kara. “I know why your stepmother is here, but what’s your reason?”
“Just like you, I’m a stranger in town. Here for a visit. Jillian thought I should see more of the town. And for a writer, what better place to start than the police station? This is the pulse of Mercy, South Carolina.”
What a load of dirty kitty litter, I thought smiling inwardly. The girl was quick. Good for her.
“I see,” Sarah said. She again looked up at Lieber. “I want this whole sordid mess over. But I have to identify his body. I’m not prepared to walk into a morgue, Douglas.”
“Maybe they’ll allow me to do that,” he said.
“If it helps any, you won’t have to get near the body,” Kara said. “They’ll show his face on a video feed or wheel the body into a room. You’ll be in an adjacent room with a window for viewing.”
“Is that so?” Lieber said. “That should make things easier, right, Sarah?”
“I suppose.” She sighed heavily.
“You seem to know a lot about that procedure, Kara. How’s that?” I said.
“I once covered a rapper who’d come to Houston for a concert,” she said. “Rap music remains an evolving and interesting part of the social landscape. Anyway, this man was shot in a drive-by outside his hotel before the concert. Since I’d done the research on him, the crime reporter let me share a byline. Part of the story involved interviewing the medical examiner—or trying to. All I got was a tour of the morgue’s outer offices.”
As she told us the story, Kara dropped her guarded facade. She seemed like that eighteen-year-old girl I’d met so many years ago. I could tell she’d enjoyed covering that shooting, and for me, that partly explained her interest in the murders. Maybe she was meant to be a crime reporter.
“That’s horrible,” Sarah said. “Murders there, murders here. It’s making me ill.”
Lieber said, “She was trying to help you feel more comfortable with the process; that’s all. Knowledge is power, Sarah.”
“So is prayer.” Sarah bent her head, her hands clasped in her lap.
That certainly shut us all up. Sarah VanKleet remained in that position until her sons both came down the hall almost simultaneously.
She stood. “Were the officers polite with you?”
“We can leave, Mother,” Brandt said. “That’s all that’s important.” He allowed Lieber, his mother and Evan to go first, and before he left, he made that double-thumb signal at Kara again.
Down the hall I saw Candace walk across the hall and enter the chief’s office.
B.J. said, “No one told me about you volunteering. That is so nice of you, Ms. Hart.”
“I’m here to help,” I said.
The phone rang, and he picked up.
“Do you really volunteer here?” Kara whispered.
“I did today,” I said with a smile. “You did a little volunteering yourself.”
She said, “I did make a genuine connection with that family, didn’t I? I’ll have Brandt VanKleet eating out of my hand—”
“Eating out of your hand?” Candace had arrived in the waiting area without either of us noticing.
“Just a figure of speech,” Kara said.
“You keep away from our witnesses, understand?” Candace said. She was carrying a folder and said, “Let’s go back to your place, Jillian. I have to transfer these statements to my computer.”
Kara rose, her expression revealing what I interpreted as restraint. She’d wanted to fire one back at Candace, but she didn’t. Instead, she followed Candace out the door. I suddenly felt like a mother with feuding daughters. Which made me about as comfortable as a cat being subjected to a bath. I started to leave, too, but stopped to wave good- bye to B.J. before we left. He was on the radio trying to explain what a 10-58 was to poor Officer Dufner.
Eighteen
When we got to my house, Candace carried her laptop and case files to my office. Kara left her laptop on the kitchen table, opened the fridge and popped the top on her first Red Bull of the day. She’d also taken one of her sushi packages out and asked whether I wanted some. I declined and grabbed several cans of cat food and the bag of kibble from the pantry. Then I went downstairs thinking that the cats would probably enjoy sushi if there were any leftovers. Dame Wiggins was nursing her kittens. I swear those four were twice the size they’d been when they’d arrived three days ago, especially the orange and white one. Chablis, meanwhile, was giving Wiggins a thorough cleaning about the head and shoulders. She didn’t even stop to acknowledge my presence.
But when Syrah and Merlot came up behind me at the door, that got her attention. Chablis bounded across the room, swiped at Syrah and missed, but planted a paw squarely on poor Merlot’s nose. My boys retreated to the center of the game room. Syrah, who’d stood up to a threatening stranger only yesterday, was scared to death of Chablis. Go figure.
My bossy Himalayan went back to her task of making Dame Wiggins the prettiest mom in the cat neighborhood. Wiggins, who had to be the most mellow feline I’d ever known, closed her eyes as she was treated to this massage.
I cleaned the dishes in the utility sink near the washer and dryer, and soon Dame Wiggins had fresh food and water. I could tell by Syrah’s twitching nose that he would have liked a sample, but he didn’t get near that door again. I sat down next to mom, kittens and Chablis for some kitty love. Cats have a nerve connected to each hair and are calmed by petting, but I think I was more comforted than any of the felines. My stress-relieving escape was cut short when I heard Kara call my name.
I went upstairs and found Tom talking to Kara in the kitchen. He was leaning against the counter, and they both seemed relaxed, a scene so casual and friendly, I wanted to be part of it. Maybe the stress-relieving moments weren’t over after all.
Tom held up several computer printouts. “Hey. Got ideas on new phones from your wireless provider. Want to make a trip and get you fixed up?”
“I would
love to. Let me check with Candace,” I said.
Kara said, “You think she needs to go along? Tom can protect you better than she can.”
“She just needs to know where I am,” I said. “It’s part of her job.”
“Good idea,” Tom said. “Go fill her in, wherever she’s hiding.”
I turned and went through the living room, thinking I’d comb my hair and put on some lipstick while I was at it. I sure hoped I didn’t smell like that police station.
Candace was busy typing away on her computer at my desk.
I said, “Tom’s here, and he’s offered to take me to buy a new phone. Then I expect he’ll come back here and set up the video so I’ll have my cat cam back.”
“Does that mean I have to stay here with you know who?” Candace said.
“I know you don’t exactly like her. She can be hard to like, but I’m trying my best, and I hope you will, too. But if you want to leave and help out Baca at the station, Kara’s got a gun and swears she can take care of herself.”
“The chief doesn’t need my help right now. Once he listened again to that nasty phone call—untraceable, as I predicted—Chief Baca said Morris was coming in to work no matter how sick he was. You’re stuck with me as your houseguest. Besides, I’d only be doing the same thing I’m doing now if I went to the station.”
“As long as you’re okay with this,” I said. “And I love having you as a houseguest. I’m just sorry you have to share a bed with me rather than have your own room. Be honest. Do I snore?”
“I couldn’t tell you. I was tired last night, asleep in an instant,” she said. “I’ll send the chief an e- mail that you’re heading out with Tom on an errand. A former cop can protect you just as good as I can.”
“I do need a phone. I swear no one knows I even have a landline. I sure never use it.”
“No problem; just make it quick. And pick me up a cheeseburger,” Candace said. “I’m craving red meat.” She tapped her temple. “Helps my brain.”
I laughed. “I understand. You need anything else?”
“Nope. The chief forwarded Rufus’s phone records. I need to figure out who he was talking to before he died. The chief’s waiting on the vendor records for What’s Bugging You. Maybe we’ll have evidence that the strychnine came from Rufus.”
The Cat, The Professor and the Poison Page 16
