Murder of a Cranky Catnapper

by Denise Swanson

  As the car approached the river, Skye’s heart raced—and not from concern that she was entering the Red Ragger zone. It was the darn bridge. She knew it was silly, she’d crossed the one-lane structure that would take them to Cattail Path many times, but lately she’d been avoiding it.

  The first time that she’d driven several miles out of her way rather than drive across the shaky surface, she’d told herself that her fear was due to the fact that a lunatic had tried to kill her there.

  But she knew she was lying to herself. Although she’d been forced to crash her car over the side in order to save herself, that had happened several years ago, and she’d never been afraid to drive over it before. So what had caused her sudden paranoia?

  Maybe it was the narrow planks of wood that vehicles were supposed to position their tires on in order to cross safely that scared her. Wally had been telling the mayor that the city needed to widen that bridge or at least pave it, but his recommendation had fallen on deaf ears.

  Still, the structure was in no worse shape than a few months ago when she’d crossed it several times a week. What was different now?

  The only reason she could come up with was that she was pregnant. As a psychologist, she knew that it wasn’t uncommon for people on the threshold of an enormous life-changing event to develop phobias. Even good changes—and lately she’d had a lot of those—could cause anxiety.

  After being jilted a few months before her thirtieth birthday, Skye had prepared herself for the reality that she might never find her soul mate. Never have a baby. Never have a family. Then suddenly the man she had always loved was free to love her back.

  In what seemed like the blink of an eye, she was married and pregnant. There were times she still couldn’t believe it was true and she half expected to wake up alone, broke, and unemployed. The same way she arrived in Scumble River seven years ago.

  It occurred to Skye that she was terrified that it all would be taken away. That Wally and the baby might vanish into thin air if she made one poor decision. Like choosing to cross a wobbly old bridge.

  Glancing at Mrs. Lynch, a woman who had just lost her only child, Skye felt panic clawing at her throat. What if something happened to her baby? Or to Wally? He was a police officer. That was a dangerous profession. He could be shot. Or held hostage. Or—

  Taking a deep breath, Skye forced herself to calm down. She clenched her jaw and slowly started the Lincoln over the rickety structure. A frisson of fear burned down her spine when she heard the hollow thumping sounds that the car’s tires made on the wooden boards.

  Clutching the steering wheel, she silently chanted, “The bridge is safe. I’m safe. The baby’s safe. We will all live happily ever after.”

  A few seconds later, pulse still racing and perspiration dripping down the back of her neck, she turned the Lincoln onto Cattail Path. A mile after that, she pulled the car into Mrs. Lynch’s driveway, turned off the engine, and placed the keys in the woman’s outstretched hand. They both exited the vehicle and walked up the steps to the porch of a large, well-maintained Victorian.

  Mrs. Lynch unlocked the door, then reluctantly said, “Would you like to come inside?”

  “Is there someone you can call?” Skye asked. “A relative who could stay with you?”

  “My sister lives in Laurel.” Mrs. Lynch sighed. “She’ll come over. But first, I need a few minutes by myself. Then I’ll telephone her.”

  Understanding the woman’s desire to be alone with her grief, Skye said, “You go ahead. I’ll sit on the swing here and enjoy your beautiful yard while I wait for my husband to pick me up.”

  It was a little before two when Wally’s squad car pulled into Mrs. Lynch’s driveway and Skye hurried down the steps to meet him. Skye had developed an awful hunger headache and she really hoped he didn’t have to be somewhere before he fed her. To make it worse, the baby must be pressing on her bladder because she had to pee.

  As soon as the cruiser rolled to a stop, Skye hopped in and said, “I need a bathroom sooner than later.”

  “Wouldn’t Mrs. Lynch let you use hers?” Wally shot an angry glance at the old Victorian’s closed front door.

  “She wanted some time alone to process her son’s death,” Skye explained, warmed by his concern. “I certainly wasn’t going to bother her with my little problem.”

  “You need to stop being so damn nice.”

  Skye ignored his comment and asked, “Where are we going for lunch?”

  “I was thinking we’d try that new restaurant in Clay Center,” Wally said. “But it’ll take fifteen minutes to get there.”

  Skye’s mouth watered. Everyone had been talking about Pesto’s food. Crossing her legs, she said, “I think I can make it.”

  “I can always use the sirens,” Wally teased with a lopsided grin.

  “It might come to that, but I’m okay for now.” Skye gripped her purse as he reversed onto the road and peeled rubber. “Not that I’m not thrilled with your company, but I’m surprised you’re willing to leave town with a fresh murder case.”

  “Quirk’s holding down the fort at the scene and coordinating Martinez’s and Anthony’s house-to-house canvass for possible witnesses.” Wally sped up to pass a slow-moving tractor. “The crime techs are working at Dr. Quillen’s clinic and Reid’s on his way to Laurel to drop off the vic at the ME’s.”

  “How long do you think it will take the medical examiner to give an official cause and time of death?” Skye squirmed in her seat.

  “Depends if there’s any bodies ahead of us.” Wally shrugged.

  Remembering his question to Mrs. Lynch, Skye said, “I take it that eleven p.m. to one a.m. is Simon’s estimate for the TOD.”

  “Yep.” Wally lifted a brow. “I’m hoping the ME can narrow it down some.”

  “So you don’t need to be at the PD?” Skye asked, still surprised he was willing to take the time to have lunch with her.

  “Nope.” Wally turned the car onto the road leading to Clay Center. “Next of kin is notified and I want to get my ducks in a row before doing interviews.”

  “Makes sense.” Skye recrossed her legs. She really had to go.

  “Besides, nothing is more important than you.” Wally traced a finger down her cheek. “You seemed a little shaken up after everything this morning and I wanted to make sure you had a decent meal.”

  “That is so sweet, but I’m fine—starving and in dire need of a ladies’ room—but otherwise fine.” Skye grabbed his hand and kissed his palm. “Although I am glad we can have an uninterrupted conversation because it seems like there are so many pieces to this puzzle and I don’t want to forget to tell you anything.”

  “Hold on to that thought.” Wally turned into the restaurant lot, parked the car, and got out to open Skye’s door. “Let’s find you the bathroom first.”

  After the pause that refreshes, Skye located Wally in a corner booth. He was sipping a glass of iced tea, and there was a Diet Coke with a lime wedge waiting for her. She slid onto the bench and took a long drink, then, her stomach growling, she grabbed the menu sitting on the tabletop and scanned the selections.

  Once they’d placed their orders, Skye finally looked around the restaurant. It was bright and cheerful with a wall of windows facing the street. The décor was modern, but welcoming, and the air smelled of oregano, garlic, and melting cheese.

  Skye sighed in contentment. A yummy lunch with her handsome husband was a real luxury. If she were at school, she’d be lucky to grab a sandwich between meetings. She felt a twinge of remorse, knowing she wouldn’t be enjoying this treat if Palmer Lynch were still alive.

  To assuage her guilt, Skye was determined to work on finding his killer. She might not have liked the man, but she’d do her best to get him justice.

  With that in mind, she asked, “Did the crime scene techs find anything interesting?”


  “Lynch had a concealed closet full of fetish gear.” Wally tilted his head and quirked his lips. “You know what that is, right?”

  “Of course I do. I’m not that naïve. I had a very enlightening class on human sexuality in graduate school.” Skye’s cheeks turned pink. “One of our assigned readings was The Story of O.”

  “My criminal justice courses didn’t include that book.” Wally winked. “Should I pick up a copy?”

  “Absolutely not!” Skye choked on the sip of water she’d just taken.

  “Just checking.” Still chuckling, Wally asked, “Was Lynch’s mother aware of his tastes?”

  “To a certain extent.” Skye paused as the server put a basket of warm bread on the table. “She found some magazines when she was cleaning his house.”

  “Did they discuss it?” Wally asked, tearing off a piece of the loaf.

  “No. In fact, she regrets not confronting him.” Skye broke off her own slice.

  “Between the kinky sex, the drugs, the catnapping, and everything he was promising for the school board president election, Lynch was a man with a lot of secrets.” Wally dragged the bread through the dish of olive oil and popped it into his mouth.

  “I wonder which one got him killed?” Skye asked, then frowned and added, “And with all of Palmer’s secrets about to become public, let’s hope no one else is in danger.”

  CHAPTER 10

  Women and cats will do as they please, and men and dogs should relax and get used to the idea.

  —ROBERT A. HEINLEIN

  “Good point. Any time secrets get revealed, people get hurt.” Wally licked the oil off his fingers. “Any guess which one of Lynch’s secrets caused his murder?”

  “Well, since he was naked, I’d go with sex as a motive first.” She hesitated, then said, “Which means Virginia is the . . .”

  Noticing that their server was approaching, Skye paused as the woman placed their lunches in front of them. After asking if they needed anything else and acknowledging their refusal, she left them to their meal.

  Immediately, Skye bit into her veggie panini and moaned. The roasted peppers, mushrooms, red onions, lettuce, tomato, and provolone cheese tasted heavenly. Either the chef was really good or she was really hungry. Probably both.

  Wally watched her in amusement, then sampled his rib-eye steak sandwich. A Texas native, he was a carnivore, and he often told Skye that he liked vegetables—in their place on the side of his plate.

  “I was thinking along those lines too,” Wally said after he swallowed. “So tell me about the girlfriend. You mentioned that you work with her.”

  “Virginia teaches fourth grade. She has three of the boys in my counseling group in her class. So after the initial pet therapy session started out so badly, I talked to her to make sure the kids were okay. That’s when she mentioned dating Palmer.”

  “Is she divorced, widowed, or never married?” Wally asked.

  “Divorced.” Skye sampled her French fries and nearly swooned at the salty goodness.

  “How long had she and Lynch been seeing each other?” Wally asked.

  “I’m not sure.” Skye wrinkled her brow, thinking. “Mrs. Lynch said that her son divorced his wife a little over a year ago, and Virginia was his first serious relationship after he and his ex went their separate ways.”

  “If Virginia told you last Monday they were going out, their breakup was less than a week ago.” Wally ate half of his baked potato before he said, “We need to know what caused her to end things.”

  “Definitely.” Skye finished her Panini. “I really like her, but sadly, Virginia is our most likely suspect.” Skye brightened. “Unless, after she dumped him, Palmer hooked up with someone else.”

  “At the very least, Virginia should be able to tell us about his alternative lifestyle.” Wally polished off the last of his sandwich.

  “Speaking of that, was there anything odd in the garage?” Skye pushed her empty plate away. “Anything to explain why Belle attacked the tech?”

  “Not really.” Wally signaled the server and asked for the dessert menus. Once they were delivered and the waitress walked to another table, he said, “The usual. His car, a lawn mower, a snowmobile, a motorcycle, a boat—”

  “Wow. Palmer really liked his toys. He must have been pretty well off.” Skye scanned the list of tempting treats. “Or in a lot of debt.”

  “Good point.” Wally took out his note pad and jotted something down. “We need to get a warrant to look at his financial situation.”

  “But nothing in the garage to give us an idea about the cat’s behavior?” Skye asked.

  Before Wally could answer, the server returned. Skye had intended to skip dessert, but she caved in and asked for the fudge cake. She’d do a few extra laps at the pool the next morning. After all, chocolate was plainly God’s way of saying he liked her a little curvy. And she didn’t want Juniorette to feel deprived.

  Once the waitress left, Wally said, “We found a cage. It had food and water, but no litter box. Judging from Bingo’s fastidiousness, my guess is that Belle refused to pee where she slept—it was a fairly small pen—so she managed to somehow open the latch.”

  “I wonder if she thought that the crime tech was the person who locked her up and she was defending herself,” Skye mused. “From what I’ve seen during the therapy sessions, Belle seems pretty darn smart.”

  “Beats me.” Wally smiled at the server as she brought his tiramisu. He waited until she poured coffee for each of them—decaf for Skye—and left, then said, “Probably a mystery we’ll never solve.”

  “Too bad cats can’t talk,” Skye mumbled around a mouthful of fudgy bliss.

  “If they could, Bell might be our prime witness.” Wally grinned at her obvious pleasure in the cake. “But since she’s refusing to cooperate, let’s figure out who else we need to interrogate.”

  “Besides Virginia”—Skye put down her fork and held up a finger—“Dr. Wraige and Pru Cormorant.” Skye summarized the conversation she’d heard after church between the school superintendent and the English teacher, concluding with the statement that Dr. Wraige had promised to keep an eye on Palmer and handle him if he became a problem. “We need to know what the issue was and why Pru thought they couldn’t trust him.”

  “Absolutely.” Wally sipped his coffee. “You mentioned overhearing others that were beginning to catch on that Lynch might be making a lot of promises he wouldn’t be able to keep. Any names?”

  “Tony Zello and Nate Turner.” Skye stirred sweetener and cream into her decaf. “And a deacon named Joel. I can’t recall his last name.”

  Wally made a note, then took Skye’s hand and said, “You know that I’ll have to talk to Charlie.” She winced and he stroked her palm. “He and Lynch were in a very public battle for control of the school board. There’s no way I can avoid questioning him.”

  “I understand.” Skye blew out a breath. “Let’s just pray he has an alibi.”

  “That late at night, most people won’t,” Wally warned gently.

  “Our only hope is that he had one of his many girlfriends sleep over.”

  “That’ll be awkward.” Wally’s lips twitched. “Probably not an interview you want to sit in on.” Sobering, he added, “Anyone else we need to consider as a suspect? You said Lynch and the grade school principal had words over the pet therapy.”

  “If you think Caroline Greer might be a suspect due to that incident, you’d have to add me to that list.” Skye raised a brow as she sipped her coffee.

  “Don’t worry, darlin’. You have the best alibi of anyone.” Wally leered playfully. “You were in bed with the chief of police.”

  “Lucky me.” Skye smiled widely. “Still, Caroline should be at the bottom of our list. She didn’t seem very threatened by Palmer.”

  “I trust your instincts.” Wally nodded, then
asked, “Anyone else?”

  “I hate to say it, but Dr. Quillen.” Skye bit her lip. “If he figured out that Palmer was the catnapper, he might have done something rash. Dr. Q loves his animals and would be incensed if one was mistreated.” She perked up. “But he wouldn’t have left Belle in the garage.”

  “If he knew she was there.” Wally ate the last bite of tiramisu and crossed his arms. “I’m definitely having a conversation with him.”

  “Hmm.” Skye pressed her fork into the chocolate crumbs on her plate and licked the tines. “How about Palmer’s ex-wife? According to his own mother, he dumped Felicia because she was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis. I’d sure as hell be furious if you divorced me because of an illness that I had no control over.”

  “Which I would never do,” Wally assured her, leaning across the table to press a soft kiss to her lips. “Until death do us part.”

  “I know.” Skye kissed him back. “How about his employees? He owned a string of shops in several of the surrounding small towns.”

  “The Dollar or Three stores,” Wally confirmed, signaling the server for their check. “There are four or five of them, right?”

  “Let’s see.” Skye closed her eyes. “They’re in Scumble River, Clay Center, Brooklyn, and . . . I think there’s one more location.”

  “I’ll have Martinez check it out.” Wally dug his wallet out of his back pocket. “Do you need to use the bathroom again before we go?”

  Although Skye wanted to snap at Wally for treating her like a child, she forced herself to smile sweetly at him. “Probably a good idea.” Because, in fact, she really should empty her bladder in case something came up on the way home.

  The fifteen-minute ride could easily turn into something a lot longer. It would be so embarrassing to have an accident while in hot pursuit of a possible murderer.