Her aunt's attorney had waited until she'd arrived to tell her the place was in terrible condition. Aunt Sylvia had been sick for years, apparently, and nothing had been done on the property. But with some patience and a large portion of the money she'd managed to save down through the years, she'd brought it back up to livable condition. She'd renovated the upper floors into an apartment for herself and started The Riverfront Free Clinic in the downstairs area that had once been her aunt's sewing shop.
When her agent had approached WRSC about doing the pet psychic show from there, they were happy to have her. She'd settled in and reacquainted herself with the place where she was born by taking long walks along the river and looking out at the Atlantic coast from Carolina Beach. But it wasn't until she'd found Baylor last year that she finally felt she fit in.
He was one of her rescued animals. She'd heard him calling as he was being born to a mother cat that was all but dead after being hit by a car outside her door. He was the only one of the litter to survive. He'd looked into her eyes and they'd fallen in love.
"What happened?" She opened the front door to the clinic after waving to the officer as he left. Danny's worried expression was mirrored by the other two people with him.
"Danny said you were arrested for murder." Jenny Harper, the clinic's official veterinarian, shook her head. "I told him he was crazy.
"They took us both in," Danny elaborated for the sake of the young red-headed volunteer who was there with Jenny. "They let me go right away. I wasn't sure why they kept MC, but sometimes these things are loco."
"I'm sure it was because she was more interesting," Jenny said.
The young volunteer from UNCWilmington smiled at Danny. Mary Catherine wasn't surprised. He was a flirt, but there weren't many girls who didn't like him.
It had been a fortunate day when she'd met him while he was looking for fares along River Street. They'd become good friends through his knowledge of the city as he helped her find hurt and lost animals.
"What really happened?" Jenny asked. "The police called and asked me a lot of questions about both of you."
"I told you," Danny answered. "We found a dead woman while we were looking for an injured turtle that MC heard. The woman was murdered. Muerto. Someone cut her throat"
"I want to hear it from her." Jenny snubbed him, as usual, with a toss of her long gray hair.
Mary Catherine repeated the story with embellishments. "I believe they think she was murdered. Poor Colin. I have to call him right away. What a shock for him! Ferndelle Jamison was his aunt."
Baylor nudged her leg with his head.
"Oh, that's right. Tommy said she wasn't alone when she died. Baylor thinks Colin killed her."
Tall and gaunt, jenny rolled her expressive blue eyes, her gray hair a cloud around her face. "The worried guy who manages the radio station?"
"Yes"
"Who's Tommy?" Jenny wondered.
"Tommy is the turtle." Mary Catherine took the yellow-bellied slider out of her purse. She'd wet him down when she went to the restroom at the police station, but he was still in pain. "Maybe you could take a look at him. I don't think it's serious. I think he might be in shock."
Jenny took the turtle from her. She'd known Mary Catherine since the free clinic opened, and nothing she told her was a surprise anymore. "So this is your only witness to the crime?"
"Yes. And he's obscure about it. He keeps repeating something about his bowl being broken and wanting something to eat."
"Poor thing." Jenny stroked his shell as she spoke to Mary Catherine. "Bruno missed you this afternoon. He acts crazy when you don't come to see him." "
I have to find him a home. He eats like a horse!" Mary Catherine shook her head. "No, Baylor, not with us. He needs a big yard he can romp in and a family to play with."
"It might help if you'd tell him not to bite everyone who comes through the door," Danny added. "I think he only likes you, MC."
"He seems to like Bernie," Jenny said.
"The handyman?" Danny's dark eyes looked hurt. "I can't believe it! He doesn't even know him."
"We haven't found the right person for him," Mary Catherine agreed. "But not tonight. I'm starving and exhausted. If you'll excuse us, we're going upstairs."
"We haven't exactly had a picnic here waiting for you, either," Jenny assured her. "I'll look at the turtle-then I'm out of here."
"Thank you." Mary Catherine smiled at them. "I appreciate you worrying about me." She sighed. "Yes, Baylor. They were worried about you too."
Jenny and Danny bent down to scratch Baylor's ears and talk to him. Mary Catherine dragged herself upstairs to her apartment, not needing to add to Baylor's already overly large ego. She fell back in one of her red velvet chairs and closed her eyes.
Danny called out to her as he and jenny left for the night, shutting off the lights and locking the door to the clinic behind them. Baylor slowly crept up the stairs and found a soft place to flex his claws between Mary Catherine and the side of the chair.
She didn't realize she'd fallen asleep until a loud knocking at the clinic door brought her to her feet. It was a little after midnight. She'd tried again to call Colin around 9:30, but there was no answer at his condo or his cell phone. She realized he might still be at the police station.
The knocking downstairs continued until she found her pink chenille robe and slippers, touched up her hair and applied a coat of lipstick. She still looked like she'd been asleep.
"I know there's nothing wrong with that since I was asleep," she argued with Baylor. "But I have a reputation to protect, you know. What am I saying? You can't possibly understand. You lick your fur a few times a day and everyone says you're beautiful! Never mind."
She slid open the peephole in the clinic door. The original iron bolt-and-slab door was still on the building. The carpenter who'd done her remodeling assured her it was once used to keep rowdy pirates out. Her building had been a public house in the late 1700s; closing in the early 1800s to reopen again as a hotel.
A tall, thin man dressed in a tweed jacket with patches on the elbows was standing on the stoop. He reminded her of a young Jimmy Stewart, as he appeared in Fire Creek, one of her mother's favorite movies. "Yes?"
"I'm Charlie Dowd. I found this dog in the street. No one else will help him. He's just a pup."
"Our vet has gone home, too. What's wrong with him?"
"I think he was hit by a car."
She bit her lip. The beagle puppy's thoughts of pain and fear filtered through her mind. There was no way she could stand there and not help. "Come in." She opened the door. "I'll call our vet and have her come back."
"Thank you." Charlie extended his big, raw-boned hand to her. "I'd be happy to pay, if that helps."
"I'm sure it will." She shook his hand. Nice hands. Strong and confident. "I'll call Jenny. You try to make him comfortable over there in the doggy bed. He's in a lot of pain."
"Thanks. I appreciate your help. I saw the car hit him. It just kept on going."
"People don't value a dog's life much," she commiserated as she dialed Jenny's number. The cantankerous old vet wouldn't be happy about being disturbed. "Come to think of it, some people don't overly value human life, do they?"
He agreed with her, glancing around the clinic's waiting room. "You're Mary Catherine Roberts, right? The pet psychic? I've seen the ad for your talk show on the sides of buses. I hope I didn't disturb you and your husband."
Her eyes narrowed. Was this a fishing expedition or was he immediately taken with her?
It had happened before with her third late husband. Per was immediately in love with her after they'd met at a rooftop party in Manhattan, given by a paranormal magazine publisher she worked for at the time. They were married within the week. He was wealthy, fun-loving, and wanted to take her everywhere.
Unfortunately, he'd died two years later, when a helicopter landed on him as they were about to go to the airport. It was terrible.
"I don't
have a husband," she explained, waiting for Jenny to answer. "I'm a widow."
"Oh. Sorry. I didn't mean to pry." He glanced around the room again, then eased his long, lean body into the chair by the brickedover fireplace as he continued to stroke the beagle puppy's head. "I jog past here a couple of times a week. I noticed when you moved in two years ago and opened the place. You've done a nice job."
"Thanks" She looked at the ugly green walls. "The outside looks all right, but it's been all we could do to get the equipment we need and keep the animals fed. I'm hoping to do some sprucing up on the interior this year. I couldn't have done it without all the wonderful people who've taken an interest and devoted their time and money to help the animals."
Jenny finally answered the phone and Mary Catherine told her the problem. She yawned repeatedly and promised to be there as soon as she got dressed. "Why is it an emergency always happens right after I get home? You know I wanted to see Championship wrestling tonight."
Mary Catherine apologized, thanked her, and hung up. "She's on her way. Can I get you a cup of tea? I know I need some." "
I wouldn't want to put you to any trouble."
"Not at all. I'll be right back." She went upstairs and put on some water for tea, but also threw on an ankle-length, deep purple dress, applied a little more lipstick, ran a brush through her hair again, and spritzed on a little Chanel. It might be ridiculous, but there was no point in missing any opportunities. She didn't plan to re-marry, but who knew when husband number five might come her way.
She poured the fragrant green tea into two cups, then went carefully downstairs again. Baylor had stayed with the man, watching him. He reported that he had gone behind the counter and looked at a few things. Bruno barked from the back, starting a storm of howling from the clinic's other patients.
Mary Catherine's eyes narrowed farther as she handed Charlie his tea. It was her fault for being so eager to impress him. She'd have to be more careful who she let into the clinic unsupervised. Who was he? What did he want? She wasn't worried about the clinic. Everything was clean and up to code. But he could be a reporter. They were obnoxious at times.
"Thanks." He sipped the tea, patting the beagle's head. "I knew your Aunt Sylvia, you know."
"Really?" Mary Catherine usually wasn't one to put off saying what needed to be said. But this time she wanted to know why he was really there. She hoped he hadn't hurt the dog to get in there at that hour and see her.
"Funny, she never mentioned you."
"We were out of touch for many years because of a stupid feud between her and my mother. I guess she thought of me when she died because she didn't have any other family."
He lifted one brow. "What about her son?"
That was a surprise. "I didn't know she had a son" He had to be a reporter. Too bad. He was a distinguished-looking man with his graying brown hair and chestnut eyes. Quite charming. Too charming, she agreed with Baylor who flexed his claws then sat very still, glaring at the man. She almost laughed at her attack cat.
"I think you should know I'm a private investigator. That's what I do for a living." He pulled out a business card and slid it across the table to her. "One of my clients is Sylvia Caldwell's son."
"Oh?" She sat opposite him on another lime-green vinyl chair. "Is that why you were rifling through my papers while I was upstairs? If you're here to blackmail me or something, Mr. Dowd, you might as well forget it. I have the legal documentation on this building. I'm sorry Aunt Sylvia didn't have a better relationship with her son. And if you hurt this poor dog to get in here-"
"I wouldn't do that, Mrs. Roberts" He smiled at her and sipped his tea, apparently not worried about her revelation. "But my client is interested in learning more about you. He'd like to meet to talk about buying this place back from you. For sentimental reasons."
"I'm not interested. As you know, I've put a lot of time and money into restoring this building. It suits me the way it is. I'm not selling." "
I understand. Do you really believe you're a pet psychic? Or is it an act?"
Jenny stumbled into the clinic with her princess pajama top on over her jeans, slippers on her feet. "Where's the dog?"
Together they took the puppy into the back office where he could be examined. Mary Catherine was surprised when Charlie waited for her to come back. Baylor sat on the counter watching him, waiting for an excuse to pounce. "If you're really interested in the puppy's welfare, call after ten in the morning and we should know something more about him."
"You didn't answer my question, Mrs. Roberts," he reminded her. "Do you really believe you can talk to animals?"
"How do you think I knew you rifled through my papers?" She smiled as she walked to the door and held it open for him. "Good night, Mr. Dowd."
The morning paper brought news of the police investigation into the death of Mrs. Ferndelle Jamison. "Mrs. Jamison was found in her home on Market Street by a taxi driver, Danny Ruiz and Mary Catherine Roberts, a radio talk show host," she read aloud to Tommy and Baylor. "She's survived by her nephew, Colin, whose parents were killed in a boating accident off the coast two years ago."
Baylor looked up from his breakfast and smacked his lips.
"We don't know that, do we?" She chastised the cat. "Just because you don't like him doesn't mean he killed his parents and his aunt. You take a dislike to most people when you meet them. Colin is a good man, despite his affectations."
Mary Catherine went on to read about Ferndelle's many charitable contributions to the city. Again, she was touched by the nearness of the death. Somehow it seemed so personal to her. She hadn't known Ferndelle Jamison, yet she felt intimate with her after finding her lying there in her own blood, so helpless in her nightclothes.
"I know you're hungry," she consoled the turtle. "But all I have is a little lettuce. That will have to do until I can get something else."
The funeral arrangements hadn't been announced, according to the paper. "Probably because they're going to do an autopsy on her," she told the cat. "They know something isn't right. I'm sure we're not the only ones to question it."
There was a knock on her private door and she glanced at the clock. It was too early for jenny or a volunteer to be there. For a moment, she thought it might be that nasty Charlie Dowd again. Her heart fluttered in her chest. She opened the peephole a crack. "Yes?"
Detectives Abraham and Angellus stood outside in the misty morning air. "We have a few more questions, Mrs. Roberts. Could we come in?"
Hi Mary Catherine!
Roger, my terrier, escaped from the garden one day when my son was out visiting a friend's new house three miles away. I was amazed when Roger turned up at the friend's new house. My son went there by car. There is no way he could have left a scent and Roger had never been taken to that address before.
Do you think he's psychic?
FOUR
"YOU WANT TO ARREST Tommy?"
Detective Abraham frowned and looked at the turtle in the bowl on the marble kitchen counter. "We don't want to arrest it... uh ... him. We want to do forensic work on it. Him. It might have a fingerprint on it. Him. Damn!"
"You mean you want to cut the poor thing open?"
"No, Mrs. Roberts," Detective Angellus broke into the conversation. "Whoever did this didn't leave much behind to help us. We think there was a struggle between Mrs. Jamison and her assailant. We believe that assailant used the glass from the broken bowl to cut her throat. The turtle was in the glass bowl. It's possible the person who killed her might've touched the turtle. He might have a fingerprint on his back. We could take that off without hurting him at all."
They were sitting at Mary Catherine's kitchen table, a shaft of sunlight from the wide windows illuminating the scene. She poured them each a cup of the chamomile tea she'd received from that wonderful woman in Charlotte whose Great Dane had a problem with ghosts. "I don't like it."
"We can get a court order," Detective Abraham threatened. "The turtle could be an important part
of this investigation, as stupid as that sounds."
"That won't be necessary," she decided, "if you'll let me be there to make sure he isn't hurt."
Abraham moaned and shook his head.
Detective Angellus shrugged. "What difference does it make?"
"I suppose it doesn't." Abraham frowned at Mary Catherine. "All right. When can you bring him in?"
"I have a show to do this morning," she said. "I can have him there by one."
"That's fine. Thanks." Angellus nudged his partner and sipped his tea. "This stuff is pretty good."
"Please try not to handle him anymore than you have to," Abraham explained. "When you pick him up, use rubber gloves. Put him in a sealed plastic bag-"
"He'll suffocate!" she protested. "He's a living, breathing animal."
"Okay. Fine. This is a long shot anyway. It's probably already too late, even if anything was ever there." Abraham drank some of his tea and made a face. "People drink this stuff?"
"It's very soothing," she assured him. "I'll be as careful as I can with Tommy. But you might be right. I had our vet look at him last night. I don't know if you'll find anything useful."
"Great!" He glanced at the tea and got to his feet. "Bring him by and we'll take a look. He might be our only clue."
"Don't you mean witness? He told me there was another person there when Mrs. Jamison died. He saw everything that happened, even if he can't adequately describe it. He saw the killer leave when it was over. I hope we won't need police protection for him."
"Police protection?" Angellus finished his tea and got to his feet. "I'm not writing up the request for that."
"Don't ask," his partner grunted. "It's a turtle, for God's sake! The DA would laugh us out of his office."
"He knows what he saw," Mary Catherine said. "If you don't think the DA would like to hear it from a turtle and a pet psychic, you'd better get busy finding this other person yourselves."
The Telltale Turtle (The Pet Psychic Mysteries) Page 3
