Familiar Motives

by Delia James

  So I told him about searching Ramona’s apartment and about Kristen’s arrest and about Val. I told him about going to the clinic and my conversation with Rachael that had raised so many more questions than it had answered. I even told him about Mittens, although I glossed over the details of the ritual. But he got the picture.

  Sean tugged on the brim of his fedora and blew out a long sigh. I waited for the skepticism to crease his face. I braced myself. He was going to say he needed to get back to work now, because he might like me, but this much weirdness he did not need in his life. I couldn’t blame him. At all. Ever. I had known starting to date again was a bad idea. It was better we both found that out now.

  But he didn’t do any of these things. “So now you think Rachael was taking you for a ride?”

  “I don’t want to, but I do. She gave me the keys, and she was so insistent that Cheryl killed her mom, and she’s not telling me everything she knows. What else am I supposed to think?”

  “It sounds bad,” said Sean. “But there’s a lot of holes.”

  “Tell me about it. Every time I turn around, another one opens. It’s like Kenisha and Julia both said—there are too many pieces here for just one puzzle.”

  “Well,” said Sean, “maybe you need to find the corners.”

  “Sorry?”

  “My grandmother was a jigsaw puzzle fanatic. I spent a ton of Sunday afternoons eating her cookies and working puzzles. She always found the corners first, then the edge pieces, and then she’d work her way to the center. So. What are the corners? Or maybe who are the corners?”

  I frowned. “Well. Ramona.”

  “Right.

  “Cheryl and Kristen.”

  “Right. Who else? Who was there that day?”

  “Pam Abernathy, I suppose.

  “Okay, so if those are the corners, where do they go? What actually happened on, well . . .”

  “The night in question?”

  “You said it. I didn’t. What happened?”

  “Ramona died. She fell, or was pushed, off her balcony onto the rocks.” Pushed. I scraped my fork along the bottom of my bowl. Somebody’d asked about being pushed. Who was that?

  “What else?” Sean prompted.

  “Ramona’s laptop went missing.”

  “And?”

  “Ruby went missing.”

  “And?”

  “That’s the problem. I don’t know what else! If I did . . .” I stopped. “Wait. That’s not true. There were the phone calls. Kristen and Pam both got phone calls saying something was wrong with Ruby and they should check on her.”

  “So somebody wanted them there.”

  “Somebody wanted Ramona discovered?” That was not something I had considered before. “I mean, we were thinking those phone calls were just a run-up to a ransom demand or to somebody claiming the reward.” I stopped. “Pam’s call.”

  “What call?”

  “Pam got another call. It was somebody asking if everything was clear with the vet. Pam told me it was from her partner, Milo Walsh, but there was something weird about the way she did it.”

  “So, Pam got a call telling her something was wrong with Ruby, and then she got a call from somebody who wanted to know everything was all right.”

  “Not so mysterious when you put it that way. She was working late that night. She probably bolted out from the office and Milo called to check on her.”

  “If he was in the office to see it happen.”

  “What?”

  “Milo’s in New York.”

  “How do you know?”

  “He’s a regular here. Old-school guy. Drinks Dubonnet when he brings Mrs. Walsh in for Sunday date night. I had to find it specially. He told me he was headed to New York for a week or so.”

  I swirled the last of my cider with the cinnamon stick. “So, you think that either Milo knew Pam had a meeting set up with Ramona and he called to see how it went. Or Pam lied about who called.” I remembered her bout of laughter when she found out how little I’d learned from the phone call I’d listened in on. “But why would she do that?”

  “Why would she have a meeting with Ramona and not mention it to anybody?” countered Sean.

  “But she can’t have done it. She’d have to have gone to the condo, pushed Ramona off the balcony, gone away, set up an alibi and come back.” Which was scarily close to what she said when she was laughing at me. “And even then, the police would be able to tell Ramona had died a couple of hours too early for Pam’s story to hold water.” They would be able to tell, wouldn’t they? They always could on the cop shows.

  “Okay,” said Sean. “That covers Pam, then. What about Cheryl? Where was she?”

  I didn’t know. I hadn’t thought to ask. Which was, all things considered, a little embarrassing. “You’re kind of good at this.”

  Sean touched his hat brim. “You can thank Grandma McNally and her jigsaw puzzles.”

  I raised my mug. “To Grandma McNally.” I drank the last of the cider.

  “So, what are you going to do now?” asked Sean.

  “I’m going to find out where the missing corners were,” I said. “Starting with Cheryl Bell.”

  39

  DECIDING TO TALK with Cheryl was easy. But first I had to find her. Fortunately, when it came to the location of newsworthy individuals in Portsmouth, I had an inside source.

  As soon as I got back to the Jeep, I called Frank. Yes, in fact, he did have Cheryl’s phone number. Yes, he would give it to me. On one condition.

  “What condition?” I asked, maybe just a bit nervously.

  “That Seacoast News gets an exclusive when you find the cat.”

  I paused a full ten seconds to make sure I’d heard this properly. “If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em?” I asked.

  “Yep,” he said. “Promise me you still respect me?”

  I promised. I probably even meant it. In return, he gave me Cheryl Bell’s cell phone number. I wrote it on the front of the sketch pad on my passenger seat and hung up.

  • • •

  “I’M ONLY TALKING to you for one reason.”

  This was Cheryl Bell’s greeting when she pulled open the door to her suite at the Harbor’s Rest hotel.

  Hello to you, too. I didn’t say that. I just followed her as she turned her back and stalked into the suite’s living room. The cream-colored curtains were closed, but all the lamps were turned on. Their harsh light showed how carefully Cheryl had made up her face and caught in the highlights in her skillfully dyed hair. She was dressed for business in a tailored skirt suit and two-inch heels. Three different Aldina bracelets clinked and jingled on her wrists. She’d worked on this appearance, on this persona, and she wasn’t going to give it up anytime soon.

  She sat down dead center on the squared-off beige sofa and crossed her ankles. She did not invite me to sit.

  “I need to know what the police are saying,” she said bluntly. “Do they really believe Kristen killed Ramona Forsythe?”

  This was the very last thing in the entirety of the known universe that I expected Cheryl Bell to ask. To put it mildly.

  Unfortunately, my surprise showed.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” Cheryl announced. “You expected me to be breaking out the champagne.”

  Because you might be the real killer. I squashed the thought. I reminded myself I knew nothing for sure.

  She sighed sharply. “Well, maybe this will help move things along. While I know Kristen is guilty of a number of things, murder is not one of them. And, if she goes to jail, I’m going to have a much harder time getting the money I’m owed.”

  I opened my mouth. I shut it again.

  Cheryl Bell tapped her heel restlessly. “Well?”

  What could I say? “Yes. As far as I know, the police really do think Kristen
killed Ramona.”

  “What kind of idiot does she have for a lawyer to let things go this far?”

  I couldn’t answer that. “They also think she was trying to frame you for it.”

  Cheryl actually looked bored. Okay, I wasn’t the first to bring her this particular news. “Did Lieutenant Blanchard tell you that?”

  “As a matter of fact, he did. But, quite frankly, I’m a little surprised that you’re repeating it.” She rubbed her hands together, and her bracelets jingled.

  “And I’m a little surprised you’re talking to me instead of him.”

  “Yes, well. Our priorities have . . . diverged recently.”

  Even though you offered to lie for him if he needed it? I thought, remembering the conversation I’d overhead while looking for my napkin under my table in the dining room.

  “Well, now that you’re here, you might as well go ahead. Ask it.” She glared at me. “Oh, never mind. I’ll say it for you. You’re wondering if I really did kill Dr. Forsythe.”

  “Actually I wasn’t,” I said, which was the truth.

  “Then you’re an idiot.” She drew herself up. “I’m about the most obvious suspect there is in this whole mess. The answer, however, is no, I did not kill her. I had no reason to.”

  “You did if she wouldn’t let you take Ruby,” I said.

  Cheryl Bell looked at me steadily for a long time. Although her perfectly made-up face didn’t shift even a little, I could see her making up her mind. She was deciding what to tell me, and how much, and she wasn’t going to be rushed.

  Of course, during that whole time, she was watching me, too, and what she saw made her grin. It was not a pleasant expression. In fact, it reminded me a lot of Lieutenant Blanchard. No wonder the two got along so well.

  “Oh, dear. The good doctor certainly had you fooled, didn’t she?” Cheryl clasped her hands in front of her chest and made her eyes go wide. “The sweet, tenderhearted veterinarian!” She blinked rapidly several times. “Well, let me tell you something that’ll wipe the dew out of those eyes. After our little tête-à-tête in her waiting room, Ramona Forsythe contacted me. She offered to hand over Ruby in exchange for ten thousand dollars.”

  “She came to you?” It is possible that a tiny bit of shock crept into my voice.

  “Yes. Your kind, self-sacrificing veterinarian offered to sell one of her patients.”

  I knew in that moment that if I opened my mouth, I would only start stammering. Cheryl Bell leaned back in her chair, crossed her legs at the knee and looked at me the way Alistair looks at a fresh can of tuna.

  “I suppose you’re about to protest that she never would have done such a thing?”

  I wanted to, but I couldn’t, because I remembered everything Frank had said about Ramona’s debts. I also remembered how tense and worried Ramona had gotten when Cheryl had first walked in on me, Ramona and Kristen just a few short days ago. Could that really have been a sign of the guilt she felt about what she was planning to do?

  I also remembered my talk with Enoch Gravesend about intellectual property and the Attitude Cat brand, and how the possibility of a fraud and a scandal at Best Petz might threaten the worth of that brand.

  “Why would you even bother?” I asked. “I mean, you had to know that Ruby wasn’t as important to the Attitude Cat brand. The important thing was how the brand looked to the public.”

  “You think I’m just making a nuisance of myself with this lawsuit to see how much money I can get out of Kristen?”

  “Yes,” I said, because sometimes honesty really is the best policy.

  Cheryl seemed to agree. “Well, you’re right. That’s exactly what I’m doing. I thought . . .” She shook her head. “I thought Kristen would settle by now. Or Best Petz would, or Abernathy & Walsh.” She frowned. “I can’t for the life of me understand it. Settling is the smart thing. The easy thing. Why drag us all through this?” She didn’t wait for me to answer. “You know, Ms. Britton, I thought I had my life all figured out. I mean, I was a classic. I was pretty. I had brains, ambition. I’d gotten hold of a little money. I was going to make a new life in the big, bad city. I even landed a rich husband. I thought, ‘This is it. I’m good now. I’m safe.’ But look at me.” She spread her perfectly manicured hands. “Back in the small time, trying another hustle. But it seems I’ve lost my touch.”

  I swallowed. The edge was gone from Cheryl’s words. No. That wasn’t quite true. This was a different edge. Just as sharp, but with a ring of weary truth I hadn’t heard before.

  “Why would you tell me any of this?” I asked.

  “Because you’re in this up to your neck,” she said. “Oh, don’t look surprised—or innocent. I’ve been a hustler; I can spot another.”

  Was that what I was? Maybe. Kind of, anyway. It was not a comfortable idea, but I set it aside. What mattered right now was that Cheryl Bell was at least acting like she wanted to lay her cards on the table. If that was the case, I wasn’t about to deny her the chance.

  “So what did happen the night Ramona died?”

  Cheryl glanced toward the curtained windows. It seemed to me she was making up her mind about how far she was really willing to let this conversation go.

  “Ramona called about an hour after we . . . met,” she said, choosing her words carefully. “She said she had a proposal and asked me to meet her downtown. I did, and she offered to sell me Ruby. I agreed, and we made our plan. I paid her five thousand up front. She would leave her apartment door unlocked so I could get in. I went to her place and I brought a cat carrier with me. Somebody was bringing in groceries and they held the door. I went in.”

  I tried to keep my forehead from furrowing. There was something wrong. That ring of truth I’d heard in her voice a minute ago had faded. Now she was almost reciting.

  “As she promised, the apartment door was unlocked,” Cheryl went on. “So I went in, but the place was empty.”

  “And you didn’t think it was strange that Ramona wasn’t there?”

  “I thought she was out establishing an alibi.” Cheryl laughed bitterly. “Ironic, isn’t it? The idea was that she was going to let me take the cat while she was on an emergency call or, well, something. But when I got there, I looked everywhere I could think of, and there was no cat.”

  My inner Nancy Drew was prodding me. Something was not quite right with what Cheryl was saying or how she was saying it. But I couldn’t put my finger on exactly what.

  “Where did you look? Was it in the bathroom or under the couch . . . ?” Or under the bed?

  “I don’t remember, exactly. I was getting scared. The longer I couldn’t find her, the more certain I got that I was being set up.”

  “Why would Ramona try to set you up? I mean, if you’d already paid her.”

  “I assumed that somebody else paid her more to run a double cross.”

  “Who?”

  “Hmm. Let me think. Who was in touch with Ramona Forsythe who would also have an active interest in blackening my name?

  “You mean Kris.”

  “Of course I mean Kris. If she could get it out there that I was trying to buy Ruby from her veterinarian, how is that going to make me look to the judge?”

  “But Kris wasn’t even in town.”

  “You don’t have to be in town to offer a payout.”

  I hated to admit it, but she had a point.

  “What did you do then?” I asked.

  Cheryl hesitated, and I felt the pause all the way down to my bones. Inner Nancy tapped her foot impatiently. “Nothing. I got out of there as fast as I could.”

  “And you didn’t try to call Ramona afterward or anything?”

  “Ms. Britton, if you’d just offered to buy stolen property from someone and they stood you up, would you call them back?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well
, I do, unfortunately. So, no, I didn’t call. As things turned out, I’m glad I didn’t. There.” She spread her hands. “Now you know, and you can go tell all your Nosey Parker friends.”

  That expression dropped so casually made me sit up a little straighter. “Cheryl . . . did Lieutenant Blanchard warn you about me?”

  She lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. “As a matter of fact, he did.”

  “And he warned you not to talk to me.”

  “He had a whole list of people I shouldn’t talk to. Starting with Frank Hawthorne, but he was too late there.”

  “So why aren’t you listening to him?”

  The corner of her mouth curled up into a tight sneer. “It’s not my job to make Blanchard’s life easy for him. Not anymore.”

  Inner Nancy was pacing now. I tried to tell her to sit down and be patient.

  “So.” Cheryl stood. “There you have it. I was a fool and now I’m a murder suspect. And, as it so happens, I have an appointment I have to get ready for. You can show yourself out.” This was an order, not a request.

  I got up. I picked up my things, but something Cheryl had said was nagging at me. It perched on the tip of my brain, but I couldn’t quite make it show itself.

  “Ms. Britton,” said Cheryl softly, so I looked up at her again. “You seem to be friendly with Kristen, or at least Kristen’s friends. You want to see her cleared. So do I, because as little as I like to admit it, I need her.”

  Which was why her interests had diverged from Blanchard’s. Blanchard wanted to see Kristen in jail. That was when Inner Nancy Drew gave up trying to be subtle and gave me a sharp elbow to the back of my brain.

  “Cheryl,” I said. “When you got into the apartment, did you notice anything strange? Anything you could put your finger on that told you something was really wrong?”

  She glared at me. “Beyond the fact that the cat was gone? Nothing. Everything looked perfectly normal, at least as far as I could tell. I’d never been in Ramona’s home before.”