The Great Catsby

by B K Baxter

  “And that means you’re going to back off and keep your little kitten claws out of my man.”

  “I’m not interested in Vince,” I said. “I’m just trying to find Tabby’s killer.”

  Gita rolled her eyes. “Yeah. Sure. And I love posing for pictures with Travis’s fish after he pulls them out of the river. We both have to maintain appearances. But I can see through your little cover story. You barely know Taz, and the only person you seem to be questioning is Vince.”

  “That’s because his wife was the one who was murdered!” I was becoming exasperated at Gita’s insistence that I was interested in Vince romantically. “He’s a prime suspect.”

  A sudden thought hit me. Maybe Vince wasn’t the prime suspect. Maybe it was the woman in front of me, the one warning me away from the man she wanted. Could she have decided she wanted Tammy out of the way? Maybe Dinah was only the conduit, and she turned the drugs over to Gita to carry out her jealous scheme.

  “No, he’s not,” she hissed. “Who do you think he was with that night, dummy?”

  “Of course,” I said, Vince’s alibi finally revealed. “He was with you.”

  And just like that, I eliminated Gita from the suspect list. She was with Vince, and unless Vince and Gita had acted together in coordination with Dinah, then they hadn’t killed Tabby. Besides, Gita seemed more like a spider that waited to trap her prey. She hadn’t gone after Mercy when she was married to Vince, after all.

  Even if Tabby had found out about the affair between her husband and Gita, the worst she could do was tell Mayor Travis. And if Gita planned to marry Vince, then that secret was bound to come out anyway. No, Gita wasn’t Tabby’s killer. She was just a run-of-the-mill homewrecker.

  Gita nodded. “Sheriff Rains knows it, and now you do too. So you can stop showing up at his office with your little mobile library and your fake mayoral initiatives. Vince isn’t interested in you.”

  “Thank God for small favors,” I murmured. “But while you’re busy laying your claim on Vince, I have to wonder, does Mayor Travis know? Isn’t he your beau too?”

  Scowling, Gita brandished her finger again. “Mind your own business, Librarian. You’re not going to make any friends in this town by sticking your nose into everything.”

  “Agree to disagree,” I replied, knowing I was cementing friendships by helping Stanley. “Let me just put your worries to rest. I’m not interested in Vince Means.”

  “Good. Because he’s mine. He’s finally single again, and this time, no young tramp is going to get in my way. I’m going to be the next Mrs. Vince Means.”

  “You’re welcome to the title,” I said. “Best of luck, since it doesn’t seem to have worked out so well for the other women who have held it.”

  Gita gave me a look that would have turned me to cinders if she’d had her way. She stalked off, heels clicking, leaving me at the top of the stairs that led back to the entrance I’d come in through.

  I hesitated, debating what to do next. Patrick was likely at the sheriff’s office by now, revealing everything to Rains and his men. I needed to be there to make sure I could help Rains and his team connect the dots. But I still lacked a means of connecting Dinah to the crime, beyond her likely theft of the drugs used to kill Tammy.

  Then it hit me. I might have the ability to link her to the crime scene already in my possession. It would require a detour, delaying my arrival at the sheriff’s office, but if it proved to be the smoking gun to connect Dinah without a doubt to the crime she committed, then I had no choice but to go after it.

  I raced down the steps, hoping against hope Chonks hadn’t destroyed the evidence already.

  Chapter 26

  The plantation house was dark, save for the light I always left on in the front parlor in case I came home after dark. I let myself in, expecting to find Chonks in the hall. His dinner was late, and I was expecting him to give me hell over it, but this time, the sound of my key in the lock failed to bring him running down the hallway.

  Shutting the door behind me, I headed toward the library, the last known location of Dinah Mercer’s business card. She’d given it to me, telling me to call if I wanted to sell my house to her. Now I was going to use it to lock her away if possible.

  If Sheriff Rains could get a good print off the business card, he could match it to any prints found at the crime scene. My guess was he’d find Dinah’s prints in Tabby’s car and at the auto garage.

  I stood in the middle of the room, trying to remember where I’d stuck the card, when I heard a noise, almost like the squeak of door hinges. I was alone, so I chalked it up to the mystery sound that still haunted my nights. I’d yet to locate its source, but I’d been distracted by my investigation lately, so I hadn’t put much effort into it, despite my desire for another visit from the handsome handyman.

  I remembered pulling Dinah’s card out of the litter box and sticking it in a copy of The Great Gatsby. But which copy? And where had I put it?

  I picked up the nearest copy, the one Chonks had tossed on my foot, and paged through it, but there was no card inside it. I located another copy and grabbed a cover in each hand, spreading the book open and shaking it, hoping a card would fall out.

  None did.

  I cursed under my breath, wondering why I hadn’t stuck the card somewhere more secure. Forcing myself to think hard, I remembered that the card wasn’t the only thing Dinah had given me. I also had the map. Char and I had spent some time looking it over, so I knew our fingerprints would be on it as well, but maybe Rains could still pull a clean print off the map if I couldn’t locate the car.

  I saw another copy of Gatsby on the long table behind the sofa. Snatching it up, I shuffled through the pages, hoping this was the correct copy.

  Suddenly, a yowl sounded in the hall, and I heard the rush of little cat feet. Chonks burst into the library, meowing frantically at me. He stood on his back legs, reaching up at me, his claws sinking through the thin material of my slacks and hooking into flesh.

  I bit back a cry of pain and bent down, gently removing his claws from my leg. “What’s going on, Chonks? Did you finally remember I hadn’t fed you yet?”

  Chonks ran in circles, his mewling urgent. This wasn’t his typical annoyed “feed me” protests. Something was wrong.

  “Chonks, are you—”

  I heard a noise behind me and my heart jumped into my throat. The sound was too close to be made by the “ghost” in my walls. I turned just in time to see Dinah rushing toward me, a needle in her hand.

  I did the only thing I could think of. I threw the copy of Gatsby at her head.

  Dinah blocked it with her other arm, and then she was on me, shoving the needle deep into my arm.

  I fell backward against the table, letting out a shout that was more fright than pain. Almost immediately, I felt weak. Whatever was in the needle Dinah put in my arm was having an effect, and fast.

  My knees buckled and I fell to the floor, landing on my stomach. Still, I wasn’t willing to give up. It was clear now that Dinah was a cold-blooded murderer, which meant I had to get away or risk ending up like Tabby Means.

  I started to crawl across the floor, pulling myself forward, my muscles an uncoordinated mess.

  Dinah watched me with the detachment of a child watching a worm work its way across a sidewalk after a storm. “It’s too bad it had to come to this,” she said, her tone almost sad.

  I wanted to answer, wanted to tell her I’d do whatever she wanted, but my mouth wouldn’t work. Darkness was creeping into the edges of my vision, and I stilled, pressing my head to the rug and closing my eyes.

  The last thing I heard before I lost consciousness was Chonks’s angry yowl.

  When I woke, I was so groggy for a minute I didn’t realize that I was now sitting up. I attempted to stand, which was when I realized that I’d been tied to one of the heavy leather chairs in front of the library fireplace.

  I blinked, taking in the scene around me. Dinah paced the
rug much like I’d done earlier, muttering to herself. Although I hadn’t known the woman for long, she’d always presented herself as being smart, professional, and driven. Now I could see that was only a façade. The cracks were showing, and the Dinah facing me now was half-crazed, talking to herself forcefully while obsessively clutching a ring of keys in her right hand.

  It didn’t take long for her to realize that I was awake. She came forward, crouching to look me in the eyes. “We could have done this the easy way, but I appreciate a tough negotiator,” she said, her smile friendly as if she’d forgotten she’d drugged me and tied me to the chair.

  I had no idea what she was talking about. “You should let me go,” I said when my voice returned, albeit scratchy like a wool turtleneck. “You’re not going to make this situation any better by hurting me.”

  Dinah laughed. “I think you’re confused about the reality of this situation,” she said. “You might think you drive a hard bargain, but I can assure you, I’m much harder.”

  “What is going on here?” I finally asked, unable to process her rambling. “What do you want? To shut me up? To keep me from going to the cops? Well, it’s too late. Your cousin is already there, telling them everything.”

  Color drained out of Dinah’s face. “What did you say?”

  I bit my lip as I suddenly realized she wasn’t here because she’d found out I was snooping around, trying to find out who really murdered Tabby Means. My best option was to play it off and bring the subject back to the real reason she was here.

  “I… I don’t know. I’m still groggy from whatever you shoved into my arm. What bargain are you talking about?”

  Her face was shuttered, but she still replied. “For this house. You wouldn’t let me buy it from you, so now I’ll buy it from your estate.”

  My eyes widened. Had Dinah just threatened to kill me because I wouldn’t sell her my house? “You’re serious.”

  “As an open house with a full seafood buffet. We’re going to close this deal tonight.”

  “You can have it,” I said, fear making me quake. “I’ll sign the house over to you. Just let me go.”

  Dinah chuckled. “So you can go back on your word the minute the ink dries? I think I’ll just wait until after you’re in the ground. I’ll be able to pick up the house for a song, and I won’t have to worry about you involving the authorities. Like my cousin has apparently.”

  It seemed my change of subject wasn’t enough to make Dinah forget what I’d said about Patrick. She might be crazed, but she wasn’t stupid. Putting the pieces together wouldn’t take long, and I knew my chances of living through this were slim.

  “Why do this?” I asked, figuring there was no reason not to ask. This was my chance to get the story straight from the perpetrator’s own lips. “Why murder people just to get their properties? I know it’s not a vast scheme to make a killing in the real estate market.”

  Dinah scoffed. “I’ve told you my plan, but you clearly had no faith in me, like all the others. I’m going to build the best historical museum anyone has ever seen, and it’s going to bring tourists from all around to our little town, to see the past come to life.”

  “Yes, your historical museum. But you can’t do that without Vince’s cooperation, right?”

  Scowling, Dinah straightened, putting her hands on her hips. “You’re smarter than I gave you credit for. That, or you’re nosier.”

  “Vince said he wasn’t going to sell to you, so it seems like your museum dream was going to stay just that. A dream.” I knew it was risky, talking to her like this, but I didn’t care anymore. I was going to learn the truth about Tabby’s death, even if it was the last thing I did.

  And it looked like it just might be.

  “That’s where you’re wrong,” she said. “Vince is going to sell to me. I’ve already ensured that I’ll get the property I need.”

  Remembering the map, I asked her how she figured he’d leave his family’s land and the house generations of Means had occupied just for her dream. Dinah shook her head. “Maybe you aren’t so smart. I don’t want the Means estate. It’s a lovely house, but it’s just another plantation house. My ambition is bigger.”

  My brow furrowed, considering what she’d said. Picturing the county map from the records office, I went over in my mind the properties belonging to the Mercers. I’d assumed she planned to build the museum on the area of overlap between the Means land and the plot belonging to the Mercers. If Dinah wasn’t interested in the Means property, however, then she must be planning to build somewhere else.

  Patrick said she was trying to get the property at the end of the block. And the only other place where the Mercers and the Means owned property side by side was…

  The realization hit me, and I couldn’t believe I hadn’t seen it earlier. “You’re going to build downtown. You don’t want the Means’ estate. You want American Auto Garage.”

  Dinah crossed her arms over her chest, considering me like an animal trainer might consider a clever seal learning to clap her fins together for fish. “That’s right. I’m going to rebuild New Orleans, the way it was when my family founded this town. But instead of another plantation house like the myriad folks can see all up and down the river, I’m going to have a whole block of historical buildings. They’ll be staffed by docents in costume, and folks can shop, eat, and breathe history. It will be a gold mine.”

  “You’re forgetting one little thing,” I said. “Vince Means vowed to never sell to you.”

  “I haven’t forgotten anything. Why do you think I killed Tabby Means? Vince is going to sell, and in fact, he’ll thank me for taking the property off his hands.”

  Chapter 27

  Dinah moved toward the long table behind the sofa, where I could see her purse was sitting. She dropped the ring of keys inside, then fished around in the purse’s contents. I heard the unmistakable rattle of pill bottles. I knew then that there wasn’t much time left, but I still hadn’t figured out all of Dinah’s plan.

  She was obsessed with history, obsessed with bringing New Orleans back to the way it had been. Dinah didn’t see her wicked scheme as stealing from others but as reclaiming what had once belonged to her family. She was righting a wrong, turning back the clock, reversing the Mercer’s decline.

  But why Tabby? She’d already had a tarnished reputation around town. How did killing Tabby help restore the Mercer name?

  “If you wanted to make Vince sell to you, why murder Tabby? Why not kill Vince and buy the property you wanted from his estate?”

  She frowned as she continued to dig in her purse. “Because if Vince dies, the Means properties get tied up in a trust that is divided between the remaining Means family. The rot runs deep in that family. I knew they’d be fighting over their shares for ages, locking the properties up in probate. By the time they hit the market, it would be too late.”

  “But what role did Tabby’s death play? I still don’t understand why you’d waste time killing her.”

  Dinah scoffed. “She was a distraction. Vince might have seen reason if he wasn’t so concerned with that little hellion. But that wasn’t the only reason taking her out was convenient.”

  She came forward, a bottle of pills in her hand. I knew that my continued existence depended on stalling her for as long as I could. I tried to follow her logic. Why would she benefit from having Tabby out of the way?

  “If you were trying to force Vince’s hand, why not leave Tabby’s body at home where he might be blamed for the crime? With Vince in prison, it might be easier to convince him to sell to you.”

  Shaking her head, she continued her approach. “Vince would never go down for killing Tabby unless the sheriff himself saw him pull it off, and even then, it was iffy. Vince has the deepest pockets in town, meaning he can afford expensive lawyers to fight back for him. Those lawyers would be sure to work hard on figuring out who the real murderer was, which meant I would be more likely to get caught.”

  “Then w
hy dump Tabby’s body and stage a suicide that you knew everyone would see through?”

  Dinah laughed. “I wanted them to see through it. I wanted them to think someone had killed her, probably Vince. You see, I didn’t need him to go down for the crime, just to have enough people believe that he could have done it. The scandal would do my work for me.”

  I thought about what she was saying and realized suddenly how it could work. “You chose the auto garage to dump the body so that people would associate it with the murder.”

  “Correct. A thing like that works well to drive down property values. And if everyone in town started calling it ‘the place where Vince dumped his wife’s body,’ it might suddenly sound like a good idea to Vince to sell it to me and let me tear it all down.”

  Eyes wide, all I could do was shake my head. The depth of her plan was awe inspiring. “How did you do it? How did you get close enough to Tabby without her realizing what you were planning?”

  “Easy. The same way I got close to you. I just let myself in the back door.”

  “You have a key to my house,” I said lamely. “Of course. Your cousin built it, right?”

  Nodding, Dinah’s smile was sweet. “That’s right. You’d be surprised how much of this town used to belong to my family.” I didn’t have the heart to tell her I wouldn’t be. After all, I’d seen the records myself. “So don’t feel bad. I have keys to lots of places. Including the Means mansion.”

  “But the Means place never belonged to the Mercers,” I pointed out.

  “Correct. The key came from my Great Aunt Olivia Mercer, who became Great Aunt Olivia Means a few generations ago. Her children donated a few boxes of her things to the historical preservation society, and among her possessions were a couple keys. Very fortuitous keys. I added them to my collection. You’d be surprised how many people have random keys laying around. I’ve been collecting them since I was a child.”

  And now her collection was large and diverse enough that she was able to enter a variety of buildings around New Orleans. Homes. Businesses. It was a disturbing thought. I thought about Dinah as a girl and the determination she must have had, trying all keys she’d collected, figuring out which key matched which lock. A lifetime of letting herself into places she didn’t belong.