Claws for Alarm

by T. C. LoTempio

  “Quite brisk, actually. Thanks to the hoard of food you prepared before you left, I didn’t have to make too many sandwiches. Believe it or not, that Jennifer Aniston Garden Salad has become quite popular, surprisingly with the male customers.”

  I chuckled. “Lots of people watching their weight lately, I guess.” I studied her for a moment. “Is there something on your mind?” My friend has a horrible poker face. It’s very easy for me to tell when she is preoccupied, and I wasn’t wrong.

  She shifted in the chair. “I did another reading.” Her hand shot out, covered mine. “Do promise me you will be careful!”

  The hairs on the back of my neck pricked up. Chantal had the gift, and lately it seemed her readings were more spot-on than ever. She’d certainly been right when she’d predicted Nick would walk into my life (although she claimed it was Daniel—six of one, I say), and her last prediction about me was the reason she’d sent Daniel down to my rescue only a few weeks ago. When she was upset over a tarot reading, it was darn near impossible for me to not take her seriously.

  I swallowed. “That might be easier to promise once you tell me what you saw in the reading.”

  “I did a Fourfold Vision spread and asked if you would be able to clear your sister. The Seven of Swords appeared, reversed. That card is indicative of a hopeless situation, one that is too much for you to handle. The reading indicated you would find yourself caught in the middle of a desperate act of cunning or deception.”

  I ran a hand through my tumble of curls. “You’re right, that does sound ominous.”

  “The rest is no better,” she said grimly. “The Wheel of Fortune also appeared but reversed. It signifies an unexpected turn of bad luck, an inescapable descent due to Fate or Karma: Great changes, the result of earlier actions, that cannot be taken back. There is a bright spot, though.”

  I groaned. “I could use a bright spot. What is it?”

  “It was crossed by the King of Wands. He represents a powerful influence. The King of Wands has the ability to reverse the misfortune, but it is all tenuous. There are evil forces at work, all around you. You will have to use great skill and cunning to defeat them.”

  “Well, I’m trying.” Now was definitely not the time to tell her I’d found another dead body, too. Chantal got a bit squeamish at that sort of thing, and besides, she’d probably go back and be reading those damn cards all day, trying to find another bright spot.

  “Just be careful, chérie. Someone does not want you to find out the truth, and they will go to great lengths to prevent it. Just be on your guard.” She paused and then added, “If you get in trouble, you must call upon the King of Wands.”

  “Daniel? That might be a bit hard. Daniel’s off on a case, MIA for all intents and purposes.”

  Her head shook to and fro. “How fast we forget, chérie. Daniel’s court card is the King of Swords. This card is King of Wands.”

  “There’s a difference?”

  “Oy!” I could hear the frustration seeping into her tone. “The King of Swords is a high-energy person, a symbol of intellectual power and authority, one who has the courage and intellect to accomplish all that he desires. The King of Wands is a bit different. Whereas the other Wands court cards deal with actual creation and implementation, this King is more apt to take an idea and change the world to match his vision. He’s a natural-born leader, a visionary who sets a goal and sticks to it, makes it happen. It’s indicative of another type of person entirely.” She touched my arm. “I get the impression it’s someone you know, or have known in the past?”

  A mental picture of Leroy Samms reared itself in my mind’s eye, but as quickly as he appeared, I brushed the image away and forced a smile to my lips. “Sorry,” I said lightly. “I can’t think of anyone unless I count Nick.”

  “Sorry, the King is human, not feline.” Her gaze swept me up and down. Unfortunately, my friend can also read me like a book. “Are you certain you have no idea who it could be?”

  “Positive,” I said shortly.

  She hesitated, as if she wanted to ask something else, then apparently thought better of it. She shrugged and said, “Ollie called. He wanted to know the latest on Lacey, and how you were doing. And Lance has been asking about her, too.”

  I glanced at the clock and rose. “Well, since it’s time to close up for the day, maybe I’ll take a quick run over to the Poker Face and give Lance the lowdown in person. Maybe get a drink, too. I sure could use one.”

  Chantal laid her hand on my arm. “Whenever you need to go back, just say the word. Remy understands I’m on call here until this whole mess with Lacey is straightened out.”

  I gave her a quick hug. “Thanks. You’re the best. I’ll probably head back there tomorrow after closing. I need to put together a plan of attack first.” I looked around for my purse and saw Nick, lying in front of the refrigerator, purse under his fat belly. I sighed and walked over to reclaim it. As I bent down, I saw Nick’s paw snake inside the side pocket.

  I narrowed my eyes. “What are you doing? Looking for food?”

  I shook the purse and bit my lip as the object of Nick’s desire came clear. I snatched up my Mickey Mouse watch from the floor and slipped it in my jacket pocket.

  “What am I going to do with you?” I said to the cat. “I’m not even going to try and figure out how you got this out of my drawer . . . again. But what is this fascination with Mickey?”

  “Er-OW!” Nick jumped up and pawed the air. I caught a glimpse of a crumpled bit of paper near his rear and bent down to retrieve it. I smoothed it out, recognized an advertisement that had come in the mail a few days before.

  “What did you want with this advertisement for Finn Crisp crispbread?” I said, glancing sharply at the cat. “Oh, how I wish you could talk. You are trying to tell me something, aren’t you?”

  He blinked twice, then sat back, raised one leg, and began to groom.

  “Good God! Mickey Mouse watches, bread advertisements, what next?”

  I started to place the advertisement on the counter, then stopped mid-motion as a sudden thought occurred to me. I remembered back in Chicago tracking down a story where the victim had been drugged—or slipped a Mickey Finn—slang for tranquilizer. Pitt had been a big man, and strong. He’d also been stabbed right through the heart.

  What man would stand there and let someone stab him right through the heart? Someone who didn’t expect it or someone who’d been drugged.

  I knelt down and rubbed the white streak behind Nick’s left ear. He responded with a guttural purr. I snatched my cell out of my purse and punched in Samms’s number. When it went to his voice mail, I left a message suggesting he check the decanter in Pitt’s office for traces of drugs, particularly tranquilizers—a suggestion I was pretty certain would go over like a lead balloon—and then hurried off to the Poker Face.

  * * *

  “Hey, Nora. We were just talking about you. How’s Lacey?”

  It was a little after three when I stepped through the door of the Poker Face. I paused in the doorway, letting my eyes adjust to the dim lighting from the harsh glare of the afternoon sun, and saw Lance behind the bar. I caught a bit of motion out of the corner of my eye, and the next minute Louis Blondell stood in front of me, an anxious expression on his pinched face.

  “Hey, Nora,” he said. “How are things going? Any luck finding out who really iced old Pitt?”

  I slid onto a barstool, propped my elbows on the counter, and shook my head. “Lots of possible suspects, all with far better motives than my sister, but no evidence to tie any of them to the crime. At least not yet.”

  “Ah, well, I’m sure something will turn up,” Louis said. He fiddled with his tiny moustache with the tips of his fingers.

  “Damn straight,” Lance said with feeling. “Lacey’s no killer, right, Nora?”

  “If she were I’d have been de
ad long ago,” I said ruefully. “We used to have some catfights, back in the day.”

  “You can say that again.” Lance chuckled. “I remember a few doozies myself.” He eyed me. “Get you a drink? It’s on the house.”

  “Yes, a good stiff one, please. I don’t usually imbibe so early in the day but, heck, after the last few days I can use one.”

  “Hey, it’s after five o’clock somewhere in the world, right? And I’ve got just the thing.” A few minutes later he placed a cool-looking drink in a frosted glass in front of me. “White gin and tonic,” he said in response to my questioning look. “Packs a good punch, and it seems to me that’s what you need, right about now.”

  I took a sip and set the glass back down. “Strong, but it’s good.”

  “It’s a London dry, the most common of the seven types, but the best, for my money.”

  I took another sip and slid a glance at Louis. “How’s the magazine doing this month?”

  “Good.” His hands fiddled with the bottle of Samuel Adams on the counter in front of him. “I got a lot of inquiries as to why there was no offering from you this month. It appears you’ve become quite popular.”

  “Why wouldn’t she?” Lance said. He pulled a rag from underneath the counter and proceeded to wipe down the bar. “You’re lucky to have Nora, Louis.”

  Louis’s hand shot up. “I’m not disputing that at all. Her recount of the Grainger case made quite a splash, one I’d like to continue.” He eyed me. “There is the column we talked about, you know.”

  I wrapped my hand around the stem of my glass. “The PI tips? Kind of hard to do that when I’m not a PI.”

  Louis lifted the bottle to his lips and took a swig. “Hey, you could go for a license. I’ve got every confidence you’d get one with no problem.”

  “I’m certainly getting enough practice. Lacey’s case alone is a PI’s dream, or should I say nightmare.”

  Louis pushed his empty bottle off to the side, and Lance reached under the counter, put a fresh one in front of him. He looked at me. “You said there were plenty of other suspects, right?”

  “Plenty from my POV, but apparently not from the DA’s. Since Lacey was caught standing over the body and then saw fit to flee the scene, they think they have their perp.”

  “Knowing Lacey, she probably panicked. Her first inclination would be to run.” Lance shook his head. “What about the wife? Don’t they normally look at the spouse in a murder case?”

  “They do, and they did. She has an ironclad alibi.”

  He set down his rag and cupped his chin with his hand. “I’m usually suspicious of people who have ironclad alibis. Why, nine times out of ten they can be broken. Just watch Law & Order.”

  “This is real life, not a TV show,” I said, finishing my drink and pushing my glass toward Lance for a refill. “But in this case I have to agree with you. It just seemed a bit too pat, too perfect to me.”

  “What was her alibi, if I might ask?” Louis leaned forward.

  “She was at a fund-raiser party. People did see her there, and pictures were taken, but there were none for the exact time of the murder. I searched Google for the distance from the party locale she mentioned to Pitt’s office. It came in at just under three miles. She could easily have made it up and back and no one probably would have noticed she was gone.” I sighed. “Unfortunately, it doesn’t prove she actually left. And without proof . . .” I stopped speaking as a sudden thought occurred to me.

  Lance glanced over at Louis and jerked his thumb at me. “See that face. That’s the face she usually gets on when a lightbulb has gone off in that pretty little head of hers.” He held the refreshed white gin and tonic aloft. “None for you until you spill. What idea popped into that brain of yours?”

  I reached for the glass, but Lance held it out of my grasp. I made a face at him and then said, “Just this: Events like that fund-raiser party are always a nightmare. There are too many people and, oftentimes, too little parking. Giselle’s got a fancy-schmancy car. No way would she trust parking it to a valet. She’d park it herself, and if she planned to make an early exit, she’d park it where there was easy access.” I reached for the glass again, failed, then said, “You wouldn’t have a laptop here by any chance?”

  Louis was already reaching underneath his stool. “I do.” He opened it, powered it up. “What am I looking for?”

  “She was at a party in Sea Cliff the night of the murder. The VanBlandts’, I’m pretty sure.”

  Louis pulled up the white pages, plugged in VanBlandt. “Six of ’em, but only one in Sea Cliff. Percy VanBlandt the Third. Chauncy Court.” Louis’s fingers flew over the keyboard. “If we pull up the town site it should be able to tell us what streets have parking restrictions. Ah, there it is!”

  A swift perusal confirmed the fact Sea Cliff—and Chauncy Court in particular—had no parking restrictions. I nodded. “So. She could have parked the car there and taken it out, undetected, at any time.” I paused, my eyes slitted in thought. “Althea Pitt—that’s Pitt’s first wife—was particularly insistent that the police check her alibi. It makes me wonder why. At first I thought it was just bitterness and a desire to see Giselle convicted of the crime, but maybe not. Maybe Althea knows something.”

  “What could she know?” Lance asked.

  “Damned if I know.” I closed my eyes. “It could be possible Althea saw something that placed Giselle at the school at the time of the murder.”

  “If that’s the case, she would have told the police,” Louis said practically. “After all, if she wants to see the woman convicted of murder, you’d think she’d be shouting it from the rooftops.”

  “Maybe what she saw would place her at the murder scene,” suggested Lance. “Although out of everyone, she’s got the least motive, right?”

  “Right. But what if she wasn’t the one who saw . . . whatever?”

  Lance’s brow puckered in thought, then he brightened. “The son, right? She could be protecting the son?”

  “But what might he have seen that could be so incriminating?” asked Louis. He was hunched forward, elbows splayed on the counter, a look of keen interest on his face.

  “Maybe one of them was out that night and happened to drive by the school. Maybe they saw Giselle’s car parked there, or something,” I said.

  “Possible,” Lance agreed. “But how could one prove that?”

  I lurched forward, almost toppling over the stool, and gestured impatiently toward the laptop. “Look up the Pitt Institute in St. Leo. It’s on Northumber Court. See if there are any parking restrictions by the school.”

  Louis grabbed the laptop, started typing. A few minutes later he let out a little mew of triumph. “There sure are. Three places, and one is in the very front of the school. No parking allowed on Wednesday nights. The murder occurred on a Wednesday, correct?”

  I clapped my hands. “The only way I could prove Giselle was at the school would be if she parked illegally, and if said car received a parking ticket.”

  “It would be easy enough for Samms to check out, right?” Lance asked.

  “It would be if the DA weren’t so positive he had the right perp in custody. The red tape to get this info could take weeks.” I sighed. “Why, oh why, did I never learn computer hacking when I worked in Chicago?”

  Louis flexed his fingers. “Well, lucky for you I used to be a pretty good system hacker, back in the day.”

  Lance grinned. “Me, too. And old habits die hard. Hacking’s like riding a bike—you never forget.”

  I looked from one to the other. “Do the two of you honestly think you can hack into the St. Leo police database?”

  Louis puffed out his chest. “Darlin’, I can hack into the New York City police database. As a matter of fact, I did, once.” He flexed his fingers. “Haven’t done it in a while, but Lance is right. I might be a bit
rusty, but . . . one never forgets.”

  Lance glanced at the clock on the wall. “It’s a good hour and a half till my happy hour crowd comes in. I’ll get us all fresh drinks, and let’s see what we come up with.” He gave me a huge grin and rubbed his hands. “Boy, talk about memories . . . This is gonna be fun!”

  * * *

  To Louis’s credit, it only took him forty-five minutes to come up with the information that a parking ticket was issued to a vehicle with the license plate TRPHYWF at 10:37 p.m. on the night of the murder.

  “She’s one careless doll,” Louis remarked, taking a swig from his fresh bottle of Sam Adams. “She parked in the NO PARKING zone right in front of the school. Didn’t even bother to hide the car.”

  I let out a low whistle. “Well, that’s a break. It definitely sheds a whole new light on things. The ticket itself places her at the scene of the crime at the time of the murder, and while it isn’t in itself enough to convict her of murder, it would go a long way in raising reasonable doubt in the minds of a jury.”

  “And get an acquittal for Lacey,” Lance added excitedly. “So, now what happens? Who do you give this information to?”

  I fished my cell out of my purse and punched in Peter’s number. When he answered I said quickly, “Peter, it’s Nora. Get in touch with Samms and have him go through the parking ticket records for the night of the murder, particularly for a vehicle with the license plate TRPHYWF. Tell him it’s urgent and he should forgo the paperwork . . . No, I can’t tell you any more than that, but trust me. Have him do it ASAP. And don’t mention my name unless you absolutely have to. Even then, tell him he’s not on a need to know basis.”

  I rang off and Lance cocked his brow. “That should go over big.”

  “Yeah, just as big as my earlier tip, I’m sure.” I slid off the stool. “Well, thanks for all your help, guys. You’ll visit me when Samms hauls me off to the slammer for interfering in a police investigation, right?”