Fatal Fête in Cherry Hills

by Paige Sleuth

  Marigold swayed back a little, Tom temporarily forgotten. “Why would you think that?”

  “I heard she stole Landon from you.”

  Marigold sighed. “He was never really mine.”

  “But you liked him.”

  “I guess. But that was years ago. I wouldn’t kill him because he chose Frieda.” Marigold smiled ruefully. “Frankly, he made the right decision. Frieda’s always been more stable than me.”

  “More stable?” Kat echoed.

  “A homemaker type. I was the one who liked to sneak out to parties and whatnot, while Frieda stayed home and worked on her school assignments.”

  “Even so, you must have been upset when she went after Landon.”

  Marigold pressed her lips together. She took a long moment, as though considering how to respond.

  “Okay,” she finally said, “I admit I wasn’t happy when Frieda started dating Landon. She knew I liked him, and it’s kind of an unspoken rule that you don’t go after your sister’s crush. But she didn’t, really.”

  “Didn’t what?” Kat asked.

  “Pursue Landon. He was the one who went after her.”

  “She could have turned him down.”

  “I don’t know about that. Landon had this charm about him. He was hard to resist. I couldn’t really blame her when she agreed to go out with him, and then later when she fell in love.”

  “No matter how charming Landon was, you must have blamed Frieda somewhat,” Kat said.

  “Well, sure,” Marigold replied. “I was mad at her, but I wouldn’t have killed anyone over it. And, if I were angry enough to commit murder, I certainly wouldn’t have waited until now to do it.”

  “Are you married?” Kat hadn’t noticed a ring on her finger.

  “No, I never found the right guy.”

  “Or you never found anyone who stacked up to Landon,” Kat proposed.

  Marigold barked out a laugh. “I’m not still pining over him, if that’s what you’re thinking. And if I was, why would I kill him?”

  “Because you couldn’t have him.”

  “I didn’t want him,” Marigold insisted. “He was merely the object of a teenage infatuation, one I got over thirty years ago.”

  “Then maybe you killed him to punish Frieda for stealing him away.”

  “I would never do that.”

  Kat regarded Marigold as she tried to gauge her sincerity. She had to give Marigold credit for maintaining eye contact. Would a guilty person be capable of that? Maybe, if they didn’t regret what they’d done.

  Marigold blew out a breath. “Look. Frieda and I might have done some hurtful things over the years, but we’d never go so far as that. No matter how mad we might be, we would defend each other to the death.” She grimaced. “That was a bad choice of words. But you know what I mean. We’ve got each other’s backs no matter what.”

  Kat fingered the edge of the couch. Not having any siblings of her own, she found the dynamics between them fascinating and mysterious. What would it be like to share that kind of bond with someone?

  For that matter, could such a fierce sense of loyalty drive one sibling to kill on another’s behalf? Maybe Marigold hadn’t killed Landon for revenge so much as a favor to Frieda. Did Frieda have a reason to want him dead?

  Marigold lowered herself onto the sofa across from Kat. “I’m telling you the truth. I didn’t kill Landon.”

  “Why should I believe you?” Kat asked.

  “Because I’m here, aren’t I? I’m asking you to investigate. Would I do that if I were guilty?”

  “You might if Chief Kenny put you up to it.”

  Marigold worked her jaw for a second. “What about Frieda? You can’t possibly think she’s guilty.”

  “I don’t know her well enough to have an opinion one way or another.”

  Marigold nodded slowly. “Fair enough. Are you at least open to considering other suspects besides my sister and me?”

  “I am,” Kat conceded.

  “Then there’s just one thing to do,” Marigold announced as she jumped off the couch. Her sudden movement startled Tom into a fighting position, his back arched and his tail expanded to three times its normal size.

  “What’s that?” Kat asked.

  “Go talk to Frieda and find out who had it in for Landon.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  It was impossible for Kat and Marigold to say much during the drive to the Cherry Hills Hotel. Tom’s distressed protests from the back seat had grown steadily louder with each passing minute. Kat had to remind herself that Tom wasn’t actually being tortured, despite how his nonstop yowling might indicate otherwise. He was only acting out in response to a hatred of being confined in a cat carrier, and an even more intense hatred of car rides.

  When the feline paused for air, Kat shot a glance at Marigold in the passenger seat. “Why did we have to bring Tom again?”

  “Because Frieda won’t open the door otherwise,” Marigold replied, examining her nails. “Trust me. I sat outside her hotel room for two hours yesterday, begging her to let me in. And you know what she did? She refused! Me, her very own sister who was only trying to be there in her time of need. But she loves cats.” Marigold reached into the back seat and tapped on the carrier door. “She won’t be able to resist you, big guy.”

  The excuse sounded flimsy in Kat’s opinion, but she figured there was no point in arguing. After all, they were almost at the hotel. It made no sense to turn around now.

  Fortunately, the Cherry Hills Hotel welcomed pets, saving Kat from the hassle of figuring out how to sneak a caterwauling feline inside. Judging by the alarmed looks Tom garnered from the desk clerk and the couple currently checking in as he wailed his way through the lobby, Kat didn’t figure they ever would have made it past the automatic doors otherwise.

  “She’s in room one-thirteen,” Marigold said, leading the way.

  Kat inspected the room numbers as they moved down the hallway. “Here,” she said.

  Marigold rapped on the door three times. “Frieda? It’s me.”

  There was a pause before Frieda shouted back, “I told you, I don’t want to see you right now.”

  Marigold leaned closer to the door. “Kat Harper is here, too. And she brought you her therapy cat, to help with your grief.”

  Kat frowned. “Well, he’s not exactly a thera—”

  “Shh,” Marigold hissed, pinching her arm.

  A slight commotion could be heard behind the door. “Who did you say is with you?” Frieda asked, her voice sounding much closer now.

  “Kat Harper, the PI Kenny told me about,” Marigold replied.

  “I’m not a—” Kat began.

  Marigold pinched her arm again. “She’s here with her therapy cat, Tom.”

  At the mention of his name, Tom meowed at the top of his lungs.

  “That’s Tom,” Marigold announced. “Hear how anxious he is to meet you? He’s trained to recognize when people are in distress.”

  Kat fidgeted, uncomfortable going along with this charade. But Marigold clearly didn’t share Kat’s qualms. She gave Kat a conspiratorial wink as if they were merely playing a game.

  “Oh, all right.” Frieda’s grudging capitulation was punctuated by the scrape of a deadbolt turning.

  Marigold flashed Kat a triumphant smile that stretched across most of her face and crinkled the skin around her eyes. In that one brief instant, Kat could clearly see the resemblance between her and Chief Kenny.

  Frieda, on the other hand, looked as though she might never smile again. She swung the door open with a scowl planted firmly on her face. Her eyes brightened briefly when they landed on Tom, but darkened just as quickly when her gaze reached Marigold.

  “I’m here,” she said, her voice tight. “What do you want?”

  Marigold’s lower lip jutted out. “Is that any way to greet your sister?”

  “When the sister is you, yes.”

  “Hey, I’m here to help you.”

  Wit
hout waiting for a response, Marigold pushed past Frieda. She stood in the middle of the hotel room and lifted her chin in defiance.

  Frieda exhaled forcibly enough to rearrange the curls on her forehead. “You might as well come in too, Kat.”

  Kat obeyed, surveying her surroundings as she entered. The sight of a man’s shaving kit on the bathroom counter drew her up short. Knowing the owner of that kit was now dead sent a chill through her bones.

  The door clicked shut, and Frieda stepped past Kat. She stood a few feet away from Marigold, both of them glaring at each other. Kat hovered by the door, unsure of what to do. Frieda obviously didn’t want them here, but she was also the most qualified person to answer any questions about Landon.

  Tom broke the tension when he meowed. He poked one brown-and-black-striped paw between the carrier slats, reaching toward Frieda.

  Frieda’s face softened, and she touched the tip of her index finger to Tom’s paw. “Hey there, beautiful.” Then she narrowed her eyes at Marigold. “Are you sure he’s allowed in here?”

  “This is a pet-friendly establishment,” Kat assured her.

  “Then there’s no reason to keep him confined to a cage.” Frieda shut the bathroom door. “Go ahead and let him out.”

  Kat moved farther into the room and set the carrier on the floor. Tom came slinking out as soon as she released the door latch. He rubbed his face against Kat’s sneaker before sniffing at his new surroundings.

  Frieda sat on the edge of one of the room’s two queen-size beds and watched him. After a moment, she asked, “What exactly makes him a therapy cat?”

  Kat smiled sheepishly. “He’s not really.”

  Frieda scowled at Marigold. Evidently she was used to being duped by her younger sister. It made Kat wonder whether lying was second nature to Marigold. Had she fooled Kat earlier too, when she’d claimed not to have anything to do with Landon’s death?

  “Kat here has agreed to catch Landon’s killer,” Marigold said.

  “I agreed to help,” Kat clarified.

  Frieda cocked her head. “How long have you been a PI?”

  “I’m not. I work in an office.”

  Marigold let out a shrill laugh and swatted Kat on the shoulder. “You’re so modest.”

  Kat took a step away from her. “I’m not modest, and I’m not a PI.” She was no longer willing to continue misleading Frieda now that she’d let them inside. “I’ve just happened to help solve a few recent crimes.”

  “And now she’s going to solve Landon’s murder!” Marigold chirped.

  Frieda’s lips puckered. She didn’t look convinced. Kat couldn’t blame her. In Frieda’s eyes she had just gone from a private investigator with a trained therapy animal to a common office drudge who happened to own an unremarkable house cat.

  Marigold pulled out the chair tucked under the desk bolted to one wall and sat down. “So, Kat, about who might have killed Landon . . .”

  Frieda hadn’t kicked her out yet, so Kat figured she might as well ask her questions. “Frieda, I was curious whether Landon had any enemies that you know of.”

  Frieda frowned. “Enemies?”

  “Anyone who might have wanted to see him . . . gone.”

  Frieda sat up. “No, of course not.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Well, no. But why would Ken invite Landon’s enemies to his birthday party?”

  “I understand Landon grew up here.”

  “Yeah.” Frieda made a gesture that encompassed Marigold. “We all did.”

  “Landon was a player,” Marigold blurted out.

  “Mari!” Frieda scolded.

  “What?” Marigold tilted her chin up. “It’s true.”

  Kat twisted toward Frieda. “Is it true?” She had gathered as much from Belinda and Colin Bridges—at least, if Landon hadn’t changed his ways in the past three decades—but she wanted to hear it from Frieda directly.

  Frieda’s face flamed. “I suppose there might be a teensy bit of truth to that.”

  “A teensy bit?” Marigold scoffed. “Try a huge, whopping truckload of truth.”

  “All right.” Frieda tossed her hands in the air. “So Landon liked to flirt a little. So what? He still didn’t deserve to die.”

  “No,” Kat said slowly, “but his behavior might have made the wrong person jealous.”

  “You’re talking about me.” Frieda’s tone was like ice.

  Kat shrugged.

  Frieda glared at her sister. “Is this why you came over here? To accuse me of murdering my husband?”

  “Just the opposite,” Marigold said. “We’re trying to dig up more suspects. And if you don’t like our questions, you have nobody to blame but yourself. You asked me to help find Landon’s killer, remember? How are we supposed to do that without asking questions?”

  Frieda didn’t say anything, continuing to shoot daggers at her sister. Oblivious to the mounting tension, Tom jumped onto the bed and nudged Frieda’s elbow with his head. When that wasn’t enough to get her attention, he meowed.

  Frieda’s face transformed as she shifted her gaze to the cat. She cradled Tom’s head in her hands and made kissing noises at him. Tom rewarded her by revving up his purring and snuggling into her lap.

  Kat watched him in awe. Maybe he would make a good therapy cat.

  “So, Kat,” Marigold said, “you think Landon’s womanizing is what got him killed?”

  “I don’t know,” Kat replied. “But so far it’s the only questionable thing about his lifestyle that’s come to light.”

  “You can’t deny he liked to turn on the charm.” Marigold looked at Frieda when she said the words, as though waiting for her sister to concur.

  But Frieda didn’t meet her eye. Instead, she concentrated on petting Tom.

  “Did you notice him flirting with anybody at the party?” Kat asked Marigold.

  Marigold huffed. “A better question would be whether I noticed anyone he didn’t flirt with.”

  “Hey.” Frieda raised her head. “That’s not fair.”

  “Is it really?” Marigold challenged.

  Frieda clamped her mouth shut, then pried it open to say, “He only hit on women.”

  Marigold snorted. “Okay, fine. I’ll give you that.”

  Somehow, Kat didn’t see that tidbit doing much to whittle down their pool of suspects. Even if Landon had limited his advances to the female population, he very well could have left some irate male partners in his path.

  Frieda plucked a few of Tom’s hairs from her blouse. “I should mention, these past few months he’d started acting rather funny.”

  Her change in demeanor prompted Kat to stand up straighter. Was Landon’s widow finally going to reveal something useful?

  But when Frieda didn’t say anything more after a full ten seconds had passed, Kat realized she would have to draw the information out of her. “Funny how?” she asked.

  “Secretive, I guess you’d say. Recently, like in the past year, he had taken to checking the mail.”

  “The mail?” That didn’t sound like the promising lead Kat had hoped for.

  Frieda lifted her eyes up. “I’ve always been the one to bring in the mail. But lately Landon had started grabbing it before I got home from work.”

  “Maybe he was trying to do more around the house,” Marigold proposed, but her voice was weak, as though even she didn’t believe it.

  “My first thought was that he had a pen pal,” Frieda said.

  “You mean someone he was exchanging love letters with?” Kat asked.

  Frieda nodded miserably.

  “That’s rather old-fashioned, isn’t it?” Marigold put in.

  Frieda shrugged. “It also leaves less of a trail than texting or emailing.”

  She had a point there. “You never saw any of these letters?” Kat asked.

  “No.”

  “Did you ever witness Landon writing to this person?”

  Frieda shook her head. “I checked his computer once,
in case he typed out his replies, but there was nothing. And I’m pretty sure he destroyed whatever she sent him right after he read it. I spied him in the den shredding an envelope once, a couple months ago. When he noticed me, he jumped like I had poured water over his head. That’s when I first started thinking there might be something off about him bringing in the mail.”

  Kat’s heart sank. Without a trail leading back to Landon’s mail buddy, it was unlikely they would ever find out who it was.

  “Do you have any reason to believe this person might have been at Chief Kenny’s party?” Kat asked.

  Frieda wrinkled her brow. “No, I don’t suppose so.”

  “Unless she’s somebody from high school,” Marigold interjected. “Could be she and Kenny are friends now, and he invited her to Imogene’s.”

  Kat thought back to her breakfast with the Bridges. Landon’s only ties to Cherry Hills seemed to be the ones he’d formed during his high school days.

  Now she just had to figure out who from his past would still resent the man enough to want him dead thirty-some-odd years later.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “Kat, you’re here,” Imogene Little said. She waved Kat inside her house with both hands.

  Kat stepped into the foyer. “I told you I’d be right over. You sounded pretty insistent on the phone.”

  Imogene slammed the door shut but didn’t move into the living area. Instead, she stood there, wringing her hands together. “Yes, well, I was curious whether you’ve made any headway on this murder business.”

  “Shouldn’t you be asking Chief Kenny that? Or Andrew?” Or Raoul Leon, Kat thought, although she still felt a spark of doubt when she recalled the way he’d gone about her witness interview.

  “I just hate to bother them.” Imogene sagged against the foyer wall, her imploring eyes boring into Kat’s. “And I was under the impression Marigold had gotten in touch with you—to request your assistance in clearing her and Frieda.”

  Kat gaped at her. “How did you know that?” She had only left Frieda’s hotel room an hour ago.

  “I have my sources.”

  Sometimes Kat forgot how well connected Imogene was in Cherry Hills. Although, in this case, she suspected her friend’s ‘source’ was the police chief himself.