The Cats Came Back

by Sofie Kelly

  “How about you, Kathleen?” she asked as she topped up Harrison’s cup. She indicated the coffeepot. “It doesn’t have to be the unleaded.”

  Something about the man studying the menu was familiar. I’d seen him somewhere before. But where? I concentrated on his profile and suddenly I had it. It was Derrick Clifton. I realized Peggy was waiting for my answer. “Umm, no, thanks. I’m good,” I said.

  I looked over at the counter again. It was definitely Clifton. He was clean-shaven and he’d cut and dyed his hair since the tabloid photos, but I still recognized him. I could see the scar Ruby had mentioned on his forehead. What were the odds he’d show up here? Maybe better than average. Derrick was in the area probably to stay close to Emme. Fern’s was a much better choice for food than anywhere downtown, where he was more likely to run into someone from the festival who might recognize him.

  I knew I should call Marcus, but by the time he got to Fern’s I knew Derrick would be gone and so would the chance to question him. Peggy was already back taking his order. I was running out of time.

  I smiled at Harrison. “I need to get going,” I said. “I’ll call you about our deal.”

  “You do that,” he said. “It’s been a while since I had a good steak.” He turned and glanced over at the counter. His smile faded. “You be careful, Kathleen,” he said. “Don’t do something foolhardy.”

  He knew, I realized. He didn’t know who Derrick Clifton was, but he knew that somehow the man had some connection to Miranda’s murder. The old man was sharper than most people half his age.

  “I won’t,” I promised. I slid out of the booth, leaned down and kissed his cheek. Then I made my way over to Peggy. I paid my bill, giving Derrick a quick, offhand glance. I was definitely right on my ID.

  I was waiting in the truck when he came out of the diner. It had been pretty easy to figure out which vehicle was his. He also drove a half-ton truck. His was a dark blue, the sides of the bed spattered with mud, as was the back end, which helped obscure the Illinois plates. It seemed clear that he was trying to avoid detection.

  When he pulled out of the lot I followed him. I stayed back a reasonable distance just as I would have if we were just going in the same direction. Given the first two turns Derrick took I felt certain that he was headed for the highway just outside of town, albeit via a roundabout path. I took a chance that he was on the way to one of the two motels nearby and chose the more direct route It didn’t make sense for him to be going anywhere else.

  I was at the air hose at the Kwik Trip station when the dirty blue truck pulled into the driveway of the Red Apple Motel across the road. Pretending to use the air hose let me keep an eye on the Red Apple as well as the Cadillac Motor Inn next door. Derrick parked in front of the last unit. He got out with his bag of takeout, crossed to the motel room door and knocked. He wasn’t alone. The door opened and I caught a glimpse of a woman. Was it Emme? Had she lied about leaving the area? I gambled that I was right.

  I drove across the street, parked near the front of the motel lot and walked down to that last unit on the end of the squat, stubby building. I thought about pretending to be someone from housekeeping but decided to just be myself. If I was right and Emme was the woman with Derrick, she didn’t seem to be there under duress.

  I knocked and waited. After half a minute I heard the sound of the security chain being pulled back. The door opened. Emme Finley stood there in a pair of denim shorts and a gauzy yellow peasant shirt. “All we need is—” She stopped, mouth hanging open a little, eyes wide when she saw it was me, and not the housekeeper she had probably been expecting. “Kathleen? What . . . what are you doing here?” she asked. She kept one hand on the door handle and the other on the frame of the door, blocking the opening with her body so I couldn’t see around her.

  “I need to talk to you,” I said.

  Her gaze darted sideways for a moment.

  “I know Derrick is here with you,” I said. I held up both hands. “I just want to talk, that’s all.”

  “About what?”

  “About Miranda.” I paused, wondering how to explain what I was doing there. “Ruby and Ami are my friends. I care about them and they cared about Miranda.”

  “I’ve had some messages from Ruby,” Emme said.

  I waited for her to elaborate but she didn’t.

  “I’m just . . . trying to figure out what happened,” I said.

  She studied me for a long moment and then dropped the hand that had been on the door frame. “Come in,” she said.

  The space was a typical motel room. A queen-size bed occupied most of the left wall, bookended by two squat nightstands. Each nightstand held a tall lamp topped with an orange shade the color of a traffic cone. The shades had likely been chosen to coordinate with the wild orange-and-fuchsia bedspread.

  There was a small drop-leaf table on the other wall, just inside the door, with a chair tucked in at each end. The bag of take-out food was on the table. Derrick Clifton was standing next to it.

  “You followed me,” he said. He glanced at Emme. “I saw her at the diner.”

  “Yes, I did,” I said.

  “Kathleen, this is Derrick,” Emme said. Her gaze moved from me to him and she smiled. “My boyfriend.”

  He offered his hand. “Excuse me for not saying it’s a pleasure to meet you, Kathleen,” he said. “But you did follow me, so I’m not sure it is.”

  “I wanted to talk to Emme—to both of you, actually.”

  “How did you know we were together?” Emme asked.

  “I didn’t. But when I saw Derrick I realized it was a possibility.” I shrugged. “It was mostly a lucky guess.”

  Derrick moved over to the bed and sat down. I leaned against the wall.

  “Everyone seems to think you left town,” I said.

  The color rose in Emme’s cheeks. “That’s because I let them think that. I didn’t . . . I didn’t know what to do. So Derrick suggested we stay here, but not tell anyone until I figured out what my next step is going to be.”

  I nodded. Her reasoning made sense to me.

  “I’ve had a couple of messages from Ruby, and one from Ami,” Emme continued. “They seem to think you might be able to figure out who killed Miranda. Ruby said something about you helping catch the person who killed her teacher.” Her voice had an edge of skepticism. I could see the same doubt in Derrick Clifton’s eyes and the set of his mouth.

  Ruby had been referring to the murder of Agatha Shepherd. I’d discovered who had killed the former school principal, and I’d almost been killed myself when the killer’s cabin was destroyed in a gas explosion.

  There was no reason for either Emme or Derrick to talk to me, and now I wondered if tailing him had been a bad idea. Was my showing up going to push them into leaving the area, going back to Chicago or somewhere, anywhere else? The only thing I could think of was to explain why I’d gotten involved in Miranda’s death in the first place.

  I took a deep breath. “As I said, I care about Ruby and Ami. And they cared about Miranda.” Nothing changed in Derrick’s expression, but Emme looked down at the floor. “I’m not saying I’m going to be able to figure out who killed her,” I continued. “But sometimes people tell me things they don’t feel comfortable telling the police. And I remember things that other people forget or don’t pay attention to in the first place.” I held out both hands and shrugged. “I’m not making any promises.” I wasn’t sure I was making a lot of sense, either.

  Derrick looked up at me, eyes narrowed, head tipped to one side. “I’m pretty much a pariah as far as Emme’s family and friends are concerned. Are you here because you think I killed Miranda?”

  Emme turned to look at him. “Don’t,” she said.

  I shook my head. “I don’t think you killed Miranda.”

  “What makes you so sure?” he asked, a challenge lightin
g up his dark eyes.

  “You love Emme,” I said.

  He glanced over at her and a hint of a smile flashed across his face. I was certain about Derrick’s feelings for Emme. It wasn’t just the way he was looking at her now, the way he couldn’t keep that smile at bay. It was also the look in his eyes I’d seen in those photos of the two of them together I’d found in the archives of that fan site online. “You wouldn’t have hurt Miranda, because that would hurt Emme and you would never do that.”

  “I’m supposed to be the jilted boyfriend.”

  I took a moment and studied him before I answered. Derrick Clifton was not what I’d expected. He was thoughtful and well-spoken. Nothing about him made me think he was some kind of vindictive ex. Emme didn’t seem frightened of him in any way. She seemed stronger with Derrick in the room. She was still profoundly sad and a lot quieter than the previous times we’d met, but she wasn’t afraid. “I don’t think the two of you were ever really broken up,” I said. “At least not for very long.”

  Emme did smile then. “No, we weren’t. I know how hokey it sounds, but we’re just meant to be together and what’s meant to be will always find a way.”

  She looked at Derrick, who responded by rolling his eyes. “You’re not going to sing, are you?” he teased.

  She made a face at him. “No, I’m not.”

  He reached up and grabbed her hand, giving it a squeeze. Then he turned his attention to me. “So if you’re not here because you think I killed Miranda, what do you want?”

  I couldn’t think of any diplomatic way to phrase things, so I just said the words. “I want to know if you can think of anyone who might want to hurt Miranda . . . or Emme.”

  Emme blinked a couple of times and turned pale. She dropped onto the corner of the bed. Derrick put an arm around her shoulders. “You think the person who killed Miranda was really trying to kill me?” she said.

  I pulled a hand over the back of my neck. “Maybe. I’m not sure.”

  “Why would someone want to kill Emme?” Derrick asked, frowning. “There’s nothing controversial about what she does. She’s a singer.”

  Emme turned to look at him. “But why would someone hurt Miranda? She was my assistant. Everyone liked her.” She looked at me then. “I can’t think of anyone who would have wanted me dead, but if it wasn’t mistaken identity, then the killer was after Miranda and that makes even less sense.”

  “This whole thing doesn’t make any sense,” Derrick said. “Yeah, Emme does have some fans who are a bit fanatical, but no one’s ever gone so far as to threaten her any more than just saying they’re not going to listen to her music anymore. It was more like a kid threatening to hold their breath until they pass out than a real threat.”

  Emme nodded in agreement. “There were a few people who weren’t happy when I said I was going back to school, but Derrick’s right, all they did was say they weren’t going to listen to my music anymore.”

  “Do you have e-mails or letters from any of those people?” I asked. I’d been around enough actors to know that some people’s adoration could turn from harmless to dangerous overnight.

  “Miranda kept a file of them. Just in case.”

  “I think you should show them to the police,” I said. “You’re probably right that none of those people are dangerous, but it can’t hurt.”

  “Okay,” Emme said. “I guess I can do that.”

  “What about Miranda’s family? Ruby said she has a stepfather and a couple of stepbrothers.”

  Emme nodded. “There’s no way they would have hurt her.”

  Derrick made a snort of derision. “That’s the truth. All three of them were always freeloading off of Miranda. They treated her like she was an ATM. With her gone they might have to actually work for a change.”

  I glanced at Emme.

  “Derrick’s not wrong,” she said softly.

  I cleared my throat. “I, uh, need to ask about those photos of the two of you that were taken at that club and ended up online. Obviously you’ve seen them.”

  Derrick rolled his eyes and Emme ducked her head, rubbing the space between her eyes with the back of a bent finger. “Just one time,” she said. “And I didn’t look at all of them. The ones I saw made me cringe.”

  “Once was enough,” Derrick added.

  “Were you drinking?” I asked.

  “I had a beer,” Derrick said. He held up a finger. “One beer.”

  “And I had sparkling water—at least I think I did,” Emme said.

  “You don’t remember that night?”

  “Not really.”

  “What do you remember?” I asked. “Do you remember being at your apartment?”

  Emme nodded. “I remember being home. Nora was out and Miranda had a date—someone she used to work with had set her up with a friend and she was nervous. She was supposed to meet him at a restaurant but then he texted that he’d been held up at work. He asked if they could at least meet at this club near his office for a drink.”

  “So she left and you were home alone.”

  Emme glanced over at Derrick for a moment. “No,” she said. “Clubs weren’t Miranda’s thing. She was going to cancel and I offered to go with her. I was kind of restless. All I had planned was watching TV and eating a giant bag of chips.”

  “You were going to be her out if she needed one,” I said.

  She gave me a faint smile. “If the guy seemed okay, I’d get an Uber. If anything felt off to either one of us, I’d stick around and we’d leave together.”

  I’d used a similar plan back in college with my friend Lise. We’d even had a code word, “aardvark,” which meant, “Don’t leave me alone with this guy.” “So who got to the club first?”

  “We did. Miranda had a glass of wine and I had sparkling water with lime. We’d been sitting there maybe five minutes and Derrick walked in. I couldn’t believe it. He looked around, saw us and came right over to the table. He said that I’d sent him a note asking him to meet me there.”

  I held up a hand. “Wait a minute. An actual note? Not a text? Not an e-mail?” I looked at Derrick. “You didn’t think that was odd?”

  Derrick shook his head. “No. That was just Emme. She’s been doing that for years.” I remembered Ruby saying Emme had written her a good-bye note.

  She shrugged, almost embarrassed it seemed. “I like writing real notes and letters,” she said. “It just seems more personal. I’ll use any kind of paper and just about anything to write with.”

  “Do you still have the note?” I asked.

  “No,” Derrick said. “I must have thrown it out.”

  Emme played with the hem of her yellow shirt. “I didn’t send it. I couldn’t have. First of all, I didn’t know where Derrick was staying, and second, I didn’t know I was going to be at that club until Miranda’s date asked her to meet him there instead of at the restaurant where they’d planned.”

  “Which means there’s no way anyone else could have known,” Derrick added.

  “Did you talk to anyone before you left the apartment?”

  Emme shook her head. “And neither did Miranda. She couldn’t have left a message for Derrick, because she was with me from the time she got the text about meeting at the club until we actually got there. Anyway, she wouldn’t have done something like that to get me to talk to Derrick. She was my best friend.”

  Derrick pulled a hand back over his neck. “I think it was a setup. Some kind of screwed-up fan trying to get back at Emme and make her look bad just because she’d decided to put her singing on hold for a while. It was just bad luck that Emme actually showed up.”

  I made a face. “You’ve lost me,” I said. “Are you trying to say you think some unbalanced fan of Emme’s got you to the club with the plan to somehow get you to do something stupid and, what? Embarrass Emme somehow? That doesn’t
make a lot of sense.”

  The two of them exchanged a look. “Not embarrass Emme,” Derrick said. “Hurt her. I think the idea was to drug me and take some compromising photos of me with some other woman. When they showed up online it would have hurt Emme. I think the whole thing was just planned out of spite.”

  I nodded slowly. The whole thing made a weird kind of childish sense.

  “And then when Emme showed up out of the blue—”

  “The person just changed their plan a little.”

  It was as good an explanation as any. I turned to Emme. “Do you mind if I ask why the two of you broke up? It’s pretty clear you’re crazy about each other.”

  “I listened to other people instead of my own heart,” she said. “I know that sounds like a line from a romance novel, but it’s the truth.”

  “And I acted like a jerk,” Derrick said with a wry smile.

  Emme smiled, then reached up and laid her hand against his cheek for a moment. She shifted her attention back to me. “The last straw, so to speak, happened when I was singing at a club in Grand Rapids. Derrick punched a guy at the bar. Bouncers threw them both out. That was it. I was done.”

  Derrick didn’t say a word. His gaze was locked on Emme.

  She glanced down at her feet for a moment. “I didn’t find out for close to three weeks that Derrick had actually punched the guy because he was harassing the bartender. Derrick had already told him to leave the woman alone. Guy put his hands on her and Derrick punched him.”

  “This is where I’m supposed to say I’m sorry,” Derrick said.

  It was clear he wasn’t. And while I thought there were better ways to have handled the situation, I liked how he’d come to the defense of someone being bullied by a creep.

  I sighed. “Let’s go back to Derrick coming over to your table. What did you do?”

  “I told him I didn’t want to talk to him,” Emme said. “I remember watching Derrick walk over to the bar with Miranda, and that’s really the last thing I remember clearly until the next day. Miranda had to fill in the details for me.”