Murder of a Cranky Catnapper

by Denise Swanson

  “Didn’t Virginia say they broke up on Tuesday and she didn’t see him again until he came to her house on Sunday?” Skye asked.

  “Exactly.” Wally narrowed his eyes. “That’s the first lie that we can prove.”

  “Could Mr. Cooperson hear what Palmer and Virginia were talking about?”

  Wally flipped through a couple more pages, then blew out a disappointed breath. “Unfortunately not.”

  “What else would help us prove that Virginia and Palmer had resumed their relationship?” Skye tapped her pen against the table edge, then snapped her fingers. “Let me see the crime tech’s list of the contents of Palmer’s bedroom and bath.”

  With a puzzled expression, Wally handed the documents to Skye. “What are you looking for?”

  “This.” She waved the inventory of Palmer’s dresser, closet, and bathroom cabinets. “There were women’s clothing, shoes, and toiletries.”

  “We know they dated and were intimate.” Wally shrugged his shoulders. “She probably stayed overnight.”

  “But”—Skye pointed her finger at Wally—“if they truly broke up Tuesday, wouldn’t she have demanded her stuff back?”

  “She might not have gotten around to it yet.” Wally shrugged again. “Or didn’t want the hassle.”

  “Possibly.” Skye wrinkled her brow. “But there are expensive items listed here.” She read further. “And there was a laminated memorial card from her son’s funeral in the pocket of one of the slacks.” Skye shook her head. “Virginia often held that card when she was feeling stressed. That’s something that she would have definitely missed and wanted back right away.”

  “Okay,” Wally conceded. “We’ll mark that down as likely evidence that they didn’t truly break up.”

  Skye continued to read the reports, then glanced up and asked, “What about the gun? The ME said that the bullet was in good enough shape to make a match.”

  “True.” Wally lifted a brow. “But first we have to find the weapon before we can compare it. A forty-five wasn’t registered to any of our suspects.” He frowned. “But now that we’re concentrating on Virginia, I could expand the search to include relatives.”

  “Check her son,” Skye suggested. “I remember her saying she was upset that when Jameson turned eighteen, her ex-husband signed for him to get a permit for a gun. The boy insisted that they needed it because, with his dad living elsewhere, he wanted to be able to protect himself and his mom.”

  While Wally made the call about the weapon, Skye glanced at her watch. It was nearly six and she was starving. She needed to get something to eat soon.

  Interrupting her hunger pangs, Wally clicked off his cell and said, “I reached out to a friend at the state police and he’ll get back to us on the permit as soon as he can.”

  “I hate to be a bother, but can we get a pizza?” Skye asked. “My lunch was a long time ago.”

  “Of course.” Wally cupped her cheek and brushed his lips over hers. “You are never a bother. Nothing is more important than you and the baby.”

  Skye took out her phone and placed the order, then as they waited for both food and information, she asked, “Will you be able to get a search warrant if Virginia’s son had a forty-five registered to him?”

  “I think so.”

  “Let’s finish studying the reports,” Skye suggested. “We have half an hour before the pizza gets here.”

  They’d finished both their dinner and their reading by the time Wally’s friend at the state police got back to them. Wally listened, took a few notes, then thanking his contact, disconnected the call.

  Turning to Skye, he said, “There’s a permit for a forty-five owned by Jameson Elders. The address on the paperwork is the same as Virginia’s.”

  “Does that mean you’re ready to re-question Virginia now?” Skye asked.

  She wasn’t eager to confront her colleague, but she had no choice. If Virginia had murdered Palmer, justice had to prevail.

  “First, I’ll ask the city attorney to get the warrant.” Wally dialed his cell. “When we serve it, we’ll bring her in for interrogation.”

  Wally made his call, then said, “We’re in luck. The city attorney is in Laurel at a local American Bar Association dinner, so he has his choice of judges. He said he should have our warrant to us in less than an hour.”

  “We still don’t have a motive.” Skye chewed on her thumbnail. “She’ll be hard to crack without one.”

  Wally grunted his agreement and resumed his pacing.

  Several minutes later an idea popped into Skye’s head and she asked, “Did I tell you that Virginia’s son died of a drug overdose?”

  “I don’t think so,” Wally said slowly. “Are you thinking that Lynch might have been his supplier and Virginia just discovered that fact?”

  “That hadn’t occurred to me.” Skye’s expression was grim. “But it could be. What I really was thinking was that Virginia found out that Palmer was dealing and couldn’t handle that she’d been sleeping with the enemy.”

  * * *

  The city attorney had been as good as his word, and by eight thirty, the warrant had been served and Virginia was in the police station coffee/interrogation room. Sitting across from her, Skye studied the fourth grade teacher. Virginia was dressed in sweatpants and a ratty T-shirt, with her hair in a messy ponytail. Plainly, she hadn’t been planning to go anywhere that evening.

  Once the tape recorder was started, Wally said, “We know you killed Palmer Lynch.” He waited, but when Virginia didn’t react, he confirmed, “You’ve been read your rights?”

  “Yes”—Virginia’s tone was clipped—“but I have nothing to hide. I haven’t done anything wrong.”

  “Really?” Wally took his notebook from his uniform pocket. “Because we know you lied about your breakup with Lynch. Your possessions were still in his house, including one that Skye assures me you wouldn’t have left behind if you didn’t intend to see him again.” Wally waited a full beat, then added, “What’s more, we have a witness placing you at his house Friday night.”

  “I see.”

  Pausing before he delivered the coup de grâce, Wally leaned forward, plainly waiting for some subtle cue to continue.

  When the muscle near Virginia’s mouth twitched, he pounced. “And we know about your son’s gun. The officers will find it, and the bullet in Lynch will be matched to it.”

  “How . . .” Virginia stopped, a flicker of panic in her eyes. “I mean, I threw that gun in the river the day after Jameson died.”

  Skye hated to do it, but the information wasn’t confidential and she had no choice. No matter how sympathetic Virginia was and how awful Palmer had been, she couldn’t allow the woman to get away with murder.

  “Virginia, you told me you couldn’t bear to part with a single item of Jameson’s,” Skye said gently. “You said you weren’t even able to empty his wastebasket, which is why I’m certain that even after using the gun as a murder weapon, you didn’t get rid of it.”

  “Uh.” Virginia wrinkled her brow. “I, uh, that was different. I hate guns.”

  “Right.” Wally’s voice was knife-edged. “That’s why you used one to kill your boyfriend.” When Virginia remained silent, he continued, “You think you’ve concealed the gun so well my officers won’t find it, but they know all the hiding places.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Virginia’s voice cracked. “I didn’t—”

  Skye interrupted. She was well aware that the more times a person said, “I didn’t do it,” the less likely they would confess.

  “We know what an awful man he was.” Skye patted her arm. “And I don’t mean his sexual preferences. I’m not judging him on those. But he was involved in extortion and drugs. I’m certain there are extenuating circumstances for why you killed him and those will mean a much lighter sentence than usu
al for murder.”

  Virginia curled her lip.

  Wally abruptly leaned across the table and grabbed Virginia’s wrist. “I didn’t notice this last time we talked, but I see now that your middle knuckle is swollen and you have a bruise between it and your index finger.”

  Virginia jerked her hand away from Wally’s grasp.

  “Those types of contusions are caused by an improper grip on a handgun,” Wally explained. “A lot of first timers fire a gun the wrong way and are injured.”

  “That doesn’t prove anything.” Virginia crossed her arms. “I was making some repairs and hurt myself using a power drill.”

  “Felicia Lynch told us the only time Palmer would allow himself to be tied up without a struggle would be to reassure a new partner and persuade her to go along with his kink,” Skye said. When Virginia’s eyelids trembled, Skye asked, “Is that how you got him to cooperate? You said you’d give the whole BDSM thing a whirl if he let you tie him up?”

  Before Virginia could respond, Wally’s phone pinged and he glanced at the incoming text. Smiling grimly, he said, “We’ve got the gun.” He glanced at Skye and added, “She had it hidden in a stereo speaker.

  Virginia sagged.

  “The weapon is on its way to the crime lab for ballistic testing and fingerprinting,” Wally continued. “You might as well tell us your side of the story.”

  “You won’t understand.” Virginia slumped forward. “Maybe I do need a lawyer.”

  “That’s your right.” Wally hooked his thumb in his belt loops.

  “I . . . I . . .” Virginia scrubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands and looked at Skye. “What do you think I should do?”

  “Well, you do have a right to counsel, Virginia.” Skye wrinkled her nose. “But the thing is, a lawyer probably won’t allow you to tell us your side of the story. We won’t know the mitigating circumstances of the situation.” She paused, then asked, “Do you want to call an attorney?”

  “No. I guess not.” Virginia sniffed, a tear leaking down her cheek. She obviously realized she was running out of options.

  “Well, you can anytime. But let me tell you what I think happened.” She smiled reassuringly at the woman. “I think you missed Palmer and wondered if you could bring yourself to tolerate his sexual preferences. You went to his place Friday to discuss it with him and agreed to try it out Sunday night.”

  Virginia nodded.

  “But between Friday and Sunday, you somehow found out about his drug dealing,” Skye continued.

  “When I left Palmer’s Friday night, I forgot my car keys and went back into the house through the patio door to get them from the kitchen counter. I overheard him talking on the phone about a big supply of ketamine he was expecting. I left without confronting him, but I asked some of Jameson’s friends about Palmer. They confirmed that he was supplying drugs to the kids in the school.”

  “We know.” Wally nodded.

  As if guessing the next question, Virginia shook her head. “Palmer wasn’t Jameson’s dealer, but that didn’t matter. He was poisoning other people’s children just like Jameson had been poisoned.”

  “So when you didn’t show up at his place Sunday, he came to yours.” Skye waited until Virginia jerked her head up and down, then continued, “He suggested that you tie him up as a way to ease you into the situation, and you saw it as a way to talk to him about his drug dealing.”

  “Exactly.” Virginia clenched her fist. “Once he was naked and tied to the bed, I took out the gun and told him if he didn’t stop dealing drugs, I’d go to the police. He said that no one would believe me. That I had no proof.” She straightened and spoke faster. “I never intended to kill him, just force him to stop dealing. But he taunted me. He said that drugs were an evolutionary device. The weakest people die.”

  “And you couldn’t stand him making such a cruel statement about your son,” Skye said, truly feeling sorry for the woman.

  “When he said that, my finger just squeezed the trigger.” Virginia’s chin dipped to her chest. “I panicked, and after I left his house and was home, I just hid the gun and pretended to myself that it had all been a bad dream. Like the ones I had right after finding Jameson dead in the garage.”

  “So you admit you shot Lynch?” Wally asked.

  “Yes.” Virginia nodded. “But I didn’t mean to kill him.”

  “You wouldn’t believe how often we hear that.” Wally blew out a loud breath. “But that doesn’t mean much when a man is dead.”

  Virginia’s head jerked up, then she collapsed against the back of the chair, a broken woman who clearly had nothing left to deny. Sobbing, she said, “I didn’t want to hurt anyone. But he kept pushing and pushing. He didn’t even pretend to be sorry about my son.”

  “What a jerk,” Skye muttered.

  Virginia wiped her cheeks with her palms. “Someone had to stop him.” Her expression hardened. “He should have agreed to quit. He didn’t need any more money, but he said he enjoyed the power that dealing gave him.” She sank farther in her chair, muttering over again, “I took all the power away from him. Yes. I did. I took it all away just like his kind took my son away from me.”

  Skye and Wally exchanged a look, and he wrapped up the questioning. Three hours later, Virginia’s case had been turned over to the city attorney and Skye and Wally were on their way home.

  As they pulled into their driveway, Skye said, “Keeping the gun and not even wiping her prints off the thing, it was almost as if Virginia wanted to be caught so she could tell someone her story.”

  “Except for habitual criminals”—Wally’s smile was grim—“most people find it hard to handle the guilt of what they did.”

  Skye was silent as they parked, went inside, and fed Bingo.

  Finally, as they walked upstairs and into their bedroom, she said, “It’s difficult to feel happy about putting Virginia away. She’s a good teacher and a caring human being. She’s a much better person than Palmer Lynch ever was.”

  “But we can’t let murderers go free, even if we don’t like their victims.” From behind her, Wally slid his arms around Skye’s waist. “Although it’s tough to see someone like her throw away her life.”

  “You’re right on both counts.” Skye laid her head back on Wally’s chest. “I bet in the end, Palmer Lynch was sorry he ever messed with a mother’s love.”

  Wally rested his hands on Skye’s stomach. “A lesson he should have learned a lot sooner.”

  EPILOGUE

  Happy is the home with at least one cat.

  —ITALIAN PROVERB

  It was Friday night, three weeks since Skye and Wally figured out who had murdered Palmer Lynch. School had officially ended that afternoon, and to celebrate the beginning of summer break, Wally, Skye, Loretta, Vince, Abby, and Linc Quillen were all having dinner together at the Country Mansion in Dwight.

  “You should have seen Trixie’s face when the Dooziers arrived for the GIVE ceremony.” Skye laughed, clutching Loretta’s arm as they walked up the sweeping cement stairs that led to the restaurant’s entrance. “Especially when they kept pouring into the gym. Just the amount of camo and cleavage was enough to make several parents change seats.”

  “I’m not surprised.” Loretta chuckled. She waited for her husband to open the double glass doors, then swept inside, tugging Skye along with her. Leaning close, Loretta said, “From what I’ve heard, Bambi’s award might be the first anyone in that family has ever won at school.”

  “Maybe she’s the start of a new generation of Dooziers,” Skye said, scanning the enclosed porch, where she and Loretta had paused to allow the rest of their group to catch up to them.

  The white lace curtains rippled in the breeze of the open windows, and people sat on white wicker sofas and chairs relaxing until their tables were ready. Skye smiled at Wally as he guided her and Loretta through anot
her set of doors, then along with Vince, he went to speak to the hostess.

  While the men checked on their reservations, Skye glanced at Abby and Linc, who had lingered a few steps behind the rest of the group. The pair had been dating for a couple of weeks, and according to Abby, they were really hitting it off. Skye watched as they examined a beautiful wooden staircase, along with the half-oval antique china cabinet and old-fashioned oak icebox displayed against its rails.

  “Ah.” Loretta’s gaze followed Skye’s and she said, “I think those two might be on their way down the aisle soon.”

  “Seriously?” Skye snickered. “They’ve been on, like, three dates and you’re ready to marry them off?”

  “Must be the baby hormones.” Loretta narrowed her eyes. “I usually couldn’t give a crap about anyone else’s love life.”

  “Right.” Skye hid her smile. Her sister-in-law liked to pretend to be tough as nails, but Scumble River was softening her city girl heart.

  Spotting the green crystal-stemmed goblets on the glass-enclosed shelves that hung on the opposite wall, Skye remembered that she’d noticed them the last time she was at the Mansion. There were a dozen similar ones in the china cabinet in her own dining room.

  She’d inherited them along with the house from Mrs. Griggs and had meant to have them appraised to see if they were valuable enough to sell, but had forgotten. Although maybe that was just as well. Mrs. Griggs’s spirit had haunted her from the time she’d moved into the house until her wedding night. Once Skye and Wally returned from their honeymoon, the old woman’s ghost hadn’t reappeared, and her policy was to let sleeping poltergeists lie.

  Nudging Skye out of her thoughts, Linc and Abby joined Skye and Loretta just as Vince and Wally walked over and Wally said, “Our table’s ready.”

  An enticing aroma of cinnamon and freshly baked bread floated from the bakery as the six of them followed the hostess down a narrow hall. The Mansion was famous for its pastries and Skye had saved up her calories all day so she could splurge tonight.