In the middle was a small walkway and we proceeded down it, scuffling our feet on the cement so as not to trip over anything sticking out. Pepper pointed her flashlight to the left and right as we moved slowly down the length of the building.
“There’s too much stuff in here. It will take us a year to find anything. Do you really think George would hide something that would incriminate him in here?” Pepper aimed the beam of light into a box and picked out a stapler, tape dispenser and a chair arm.
“I think it would be a good place. I doubt anyone ever comes in here. It looks like they just throw stuff in and close the door. Besides, Myrna said the light was on the morning of the fire and she never saw it on before.”
I kept an eye out of the window to look for anyone pulling into the parking lot who might catch us inside. That wouldn’t be good. There was no way I could explain being in here to Gus or Striker.
“If I was going to hide something, I’d hide it way in the back. I think we should start there and work our way forward.” Pepper picked up the pace, heading straight to the back of the building. I followed along a little slower. I was about halfway to the back when I smelled it. A pungent, oily smell, like paint. Not paint, though—turpentine.
“Over here.” I pointed and Pepper aimed her light in the direction I indicated. The light revealed a table covered with boxes. A tarp hung over the edge. We lifted the tarp and the flashlight reflected off of several silver cans with off-white colored labels. Grumbacher Turpentine.
“That’s the brand of turpentine Gus said was used in the fire,” Pepper said.
“I know. I think we found our evidence.”
“That’s great. But who can we tell? We can’t just call up Gus and tell her we broke in here and found it. She’d probably have us arrested.”
“I know and I can’t tell Striker, either. He’d be mad at me,” I said. “But I know someone we can tell who would love to have the evidence to solve the case and won’t get mad at us.”
We smiled at each other as we said the name in unison. “Jimmy.”
We’d worked with Gus’s Deputy Jimmy Ford before. In fact, I liked to think I’d helped him break his first case and gain confidence as a deputy. Pepper liked to think the confidence was from her tea. Either way, Jimmy wasn’t as straight-laced as Gus or Striker when it came to accepting the clues or our unorthodox methods.
Unlike them, he appreciated our tips, especially since we always let him get the credit for them. It was a win-win for all of us—Gus and Striker didn’t have to know about our extracurricular activities and Jimmy looked like a hero.
Pepper called him, then we made sure everything was exactly as it had been when we entered and waited for him to show up.
He pulled in with his headlights off.
“I can’t guarantee that George having turpentine will get him arrested,” Jimmy warned in a low voice as he got out of his car.
“We know. Maybe this will help.” I showed him the picture of Paisley and George and Jimmy let out a low whistle.
“She was blackmailing him?” he asked.
“Not for money. Or at least not that I know of. It was more for favors. Like a spot in the art show.”
Jimmy nodded. “We didn’t find any suspicious activity in her bank accounts.”
I held the picture out to him. “So, does the picture make it a better case?”
“Definitely.”
“What about that last picture on the camera you found with Paisley? Was that a picture of George?”
“We haven’t been able to recover the data from the camera yet.”
“But you think it could be a picture of the killer.”
“Could be. But with what you girls came up with, maybe we don’t need that. This should be good enough to bring him in. I'm not sure if Gus will charge him, but bringing him in is half the battle.”
My heartbeat picked up with excitement. It felt good to be closing in on Paisley’s killer.
“How will you say you got the picture, and knew to come here, though?” Pepper asked. She had a point. The evidence might be thrown out if it all wasn’t gained through proper channels.
“You said the picture came from her house?” he asked.
“Yep.” Neither of us mentioned Neil. If the police needed someone to testify that they'd seen George that morning, I'd talk to him and try to convince him to give it.
“Then I’m just gonna tell the truth. I got an anonymous tip telling me just where to look at Paisley’s and to come here. I did my due diligence and checked it out. We’ve been through her house once, but we still have access so it will all be on the up and up.” He tucked the picture in his pocket and patted it for good measure. “You girls leave everything to me.”
We left him to do his thing. I dropped Pepper off, then collected Pandora.
I felt pretty good as I headed home. Hopefully the police could prove George was the killer. I could get rid of Paisley’s ghost and Robert and Franklin would, hopefully, go back to normal. Plus I could forget about murder and fires and concentrate on selling books. Even Pandora had given me a break and not clawed the sofa to shreds.
I went home and slept like a baby.
Chapter Sixteen
Pandora wasn’t one to hold a grudge and she wasn’t a destructive cat by nature, so she didn’t ruin the arm of Willa’s purple couch. But she did leave Willa a hairball on the shelf under the counter where she usually rested her leg. Her whiskers twitched in amusement as she pictured the look on Willa’s face when she discovered it.
Pandora felt a momentary pang of guilt about the hairball when she realized Willa had been nice enough to leave the cat door open. Pandora slipped out as soon as Willa fell asleep, listening to it flap behind her as she ran off toward Elspeth’s barn.
Trotting through the woods, she breathed in the night air, listening to the familiar sounds of the night-time creatures—owls, peepers, deer. The familiar path was comforting. She’d run it so many times she could practically do it with her eyes closed. She emerged into the clearing of Elspeth’s yard and went straight to the barn, a bubble of triumph rising in her chest.
She’d show Otis.
Pandora pushed the door open a crack with her paw and peeked into the dark barn. Dozens of green, gold and blue eyes blinked back at her. Inkspot trotted toward her from the back of the barn.
“Do you bring us news of your mission?”
Pandora slid her eyes sideways to look at Otis, who was regarding her with a smug look on his face. “I do. I found the two-faced cat.”
A collective gasp rippled through the barn.
The cats leaned closer to Pandora. Inkspot’s whiskers twitched. He looked at her sideways. “But there is no such thing as a cat with two faces.”
“That’s where we were wrong. Sure, there aren’t any with two actual faces. Not any living, anyway. But I think the scrolls meant a different kind of cat. A chimera.”
“Ohhh …” Snowflake purred. She padded over to Pandora and sat beside her. “Yes, I know of that type of cat. It is a genetic variation that causes two distinct types of colorings, making the cat’s face appear to be split equally in color right down the middle of the nose.”
“Yes, that’s right,” Pandora said. “That describes the cat I saw. The one who was saved in the fire as a kitten.”
“Ahh, so your interpretation of the scrolls was correct after all,” Inkspot said.
Pandora’s chest puffed with pride. She slid a sideways glance at Otis. “Yes, it was.”
“Then we must bring this cat into the fold,” Inkspot instructed.
"That might be easier said than done,” Pandora said.
“Why is that?” Otis asked suspiciously. “Do you not know where the cat is?"
“Oh, I know where she is. I’ve spoken to her. Her name is Hope. But she does not get outside.”
“You mean her human has locked her indoors?” Kelley swished her furry Maine Coon tail in dismay. No cat wanted to be locked indoors
.
“Not really indoors, per se. She’s on a porch. She said she couldn’t leave.”
“She has not discovered a route out?” Inkspot asked incredulously.
Most cats who were kept indoors were able to sneak out, unbeknownst to their owners. It was well known that humans thought they were keeping cats safe by locking them inside. It was an endearing quality in the humans, but one that the cats could not endure, so they tried to keep the peace and not offend the humans by pretending to stay indoors. Most cats had found clever escape routes in their home, just like Pandora’s getaway route in the basement.
“I don’t know if it’s so much that.” Pandora hesitated and looked around. “She seemed to have been kept there by another cat.”
“Another cat?” Kelly asked. “What kind of cat?”
“A white Persian named Fluff who, despite his angelic appearance, seems to be quite evil.”
Inkspot hissed. “Fluff?”
“I know, silly name, huh?” Pandora answered. “Do you know him?”
Inkspot nodded. “Indeed. He is very powerful. You’d best stay away from him.”
“Yeah, I felt his evil. He seems to have Hope imprisoned there. The human probably knows nothing of it.” Pandora’s whiskers twitched. “But Fluff must know that Hope is special.”
“He probably plans to turn her to his evil ways … if he has not already.” Snowball slitted her eyes at Pandora. “Did this chimera try any tricks with you? She might already be on the dark side.”
“Tricks?” Pandora thought about the pen Hope had shown her. That wasn’t really a trick … or was it?
“To try to get you to act in a certain way, or change your beliefs?”
“No,” Pandora said truthfully. “She didn’t seem evil at all. In fact, I think she was trying to warn me about Fluff.”
Inkspot nodded. “That is good. If the chimera has not turned to the dark side, we must influence her toward the good and protect her.”
“How do we do that with Fluff watching over her?” Snowball asked.
Inkspot licked his paw and smoothed behind his ear. “We must come up with a way to distract Fluff so that we can talk to Hope. We can’t take her from her human, but we must let her know we are out here and she can count on us.”
“Well, how do you propose we do that? Fluff could do a lot of harm to any one of us,” Otis said nervously.
Pandora’s pink nose twitched as she remembered her run-in with Fluff. “Leave that to me. I think I know Fluff’s weak spot.”
Chapter Seventeen
I woke up the next morning to a text from Jimmy. They had George down at the station and, by the way he was sweating bullets, it looked like he was about to crack.
I sprang out of bed with renewed vigor. Paisley wouldn’t be darkening my doorstep with her fashion advice anymore, but even more than that I felt a deep satisfaction at being able to help her pass over. Maybe ‘seeing ghosts’ wasn’t all bad if I could help them out like that. I showered, dressed and ate a quick breakfast, then followed Pandora out to the Jeep. She seemed as anxious to get the day started as I was.
“Maybe I should get a new job at the police station,” I joked to Pandora, who slitted her golden-green eyes at me.
“Meoo.”
“Right. I wouldn’t do that because I love working in the bookstore. I was just congratulating myself on my good detective work.”
“Meh.” She curled in a ball and tucked her face under her tail as if to say she was not as impressed with my investigative skills as I was.
When I got to the bookstore, the regulars were already lined up at the door. They’d probably heard about George and wanted to get in early so they could have plenty of time to discuss it.
“I ‘spose you’ve heard ‘bout George,” Josiah said as he handed me a Styrofoam cup.
I nodded. “I don’t know any details, though.”
“I heard it was true that George and Paisley were having a fling.” Cordelia’s cheeks turned red. She leaned in toward us and lowered her voice. “I heard the police have the proof right down at the station—a picture.”
I raised an eyebrow, feigning ignorance. “Really? I wonder where they got that.”
“Paisley had it at her house. Rumor is she was blackmailing George. That’s why he killed her.” Hattie sipped her coffee matter-of-factly.
“Yeah, but I hear George is denying that he killed her,” Josiah said. Josiah always seemed to know sensitive information. He must have a mole down at the police station.
“George wouldn’t be the first killer to deny doing the deed,” Bing pointed out.
“Yeah, I hear it’s an open and shut case.” Hattie glanced across the street at Paisley’s shop and shivered. “Poor thing, she never had a chance.”
“Well, she probably shouldn’t have been blackmailing George,” Josiah said. “Blackmail is dangerous business.”
“Yes, and to think it was all about a spot in an art show.” Cordelia pursed her lips. “That seems like a strange thing to blackmail someone over.”
“Now, don’t forget, sister,” Hattie said. “That art show grand prize was twenty thousand dollars.”
“True, but from what I hear, Paisley didn't have a hope of winning the grand prize,” Cordelia replied.
“Maybe she didn’t realize that.” Hattie turned to me. “You saw her portfolio. Was it really that bad?”
I remembered that Paisley’s portfolio was still in the back room where I’d stored it after taking it out of my car. I never had a chance to give it back to her.
I started toward the back room. “I thought they were, but you can judge for yourself.”
I grabbed the portfolio, brought it back out front and set it on the coffee table between Hattie and Cordelia. Hattie flipped it open and we bent our heads over it to look at the first picture.
The picture showed the large, plate glass window from the Atlas Hardware store located at the very end of Main Street. The picture had been taken at an angle so as to emphasize the reflection, which showed the Blueberry Queen float in the Founder’s Day parade. We all stared at the blurry picture of Tamara Pritchett in her Blueberry Queen gown, waving her scepter.
“Yeah, I guess that one isn’t so great.” Hattie flipped to the next page—a similar photo, this one taken in the drugstore window and showing clowns.
“I don’t know about you guys, but I don’t think she had a prayer of winning that grand prize.” Bing reached over Hattie’s shoulder and flipped to the next page. “Especially not with some of the other artists, like Maisie, as her competition.”
“Good thing, too,” Josiah said. “I know Maisie was hoping to win that money. She got wiped out, what with Ted’s medical bills and all.”
Maisie’s husband, Ted, had died the year before after a long battle with prostate cancer. I didn’t know Maisie needed money, though. That put things in a different perspective. I thought about the charm I'd picked up in the alley. I immediately felt guilty about even suspecting Maisie when there was a mountain of evidence pointing to George and he’d already been arrested.
"Lucky for Maisie the judges have no influence over who wins the prize," Bing said. "Otherwise she would have to recuse herself from the contest or from the judging."
"That's right," Hattie nodded. "It's not well advertised that the prize winners are voted on by the people who attend the show and everyone always forgets to go to the voting booth and cast their vote."
“Oh, my. This was probably the last picture of Amanda.” Cordelia had turned to the next picture. Her petal pink painted fingernail tapped one of the faces. It looked exactly like Brenda.
“How do you know that’s Amanda and not Brenda?” I asked.
“They were identical twins. It was always so hard to tell who was who. But we worked out a system.” Cordelia and Hattie smiled at each other.
“That’s right,” Hattie said. “Amanda always parted her hair on the left and Brenda always parted hers on the right. That was the
way you could tell them apart.”
I felt a little queasy looking at the picture, knowing that it was the very last one taken of her alive. The fire had happened that afternoon, so Cordelia’s theory that it was a last picture of Amanda was probably correct.
“Meow!” Pandora leaped onto the coffee table and pushed her way over to the portfolio. For a second, it appeared as if she was actually looking at the picture and then she flopped down on it and rolled on her back begging to be scratched.”
Hattie laughed. “Just like a cat to put themselves right in front of what you’re looking at so that you have to look at them.”
We all laughed with her. Anyone with a cat knew that was true. If I had a dime for each time Pandora had gotten on top of the newspaper, in front of my computer screen, or in between me and a book I was reading I’d be rich.
“Well, I don’t think we need to look at any more of these, anyway.” Bing gestured toward the portfolio. “I’m sure we’re all in agreement that she didn’t have a chance of winning the grand prize.”
“It doesn’t really make much of a difference now, I suppose,” Hattie said.
Everyone nodded their assent just as the bells over the door jangled and Striker walked in.
“I see the Mystic Notch grapevine is in full bloom.” Striker nodded at the regulars. “I assume you’ve all heard the news about George.”
“Yup.” Josiah swigged down the rest of his coffee. “Is he giving you all trouble down at the station?”
Striker narrowed his eyes. “Now, where did you hear that?”
Josiah simply shrugged.
“So, George really did kill Paisley?” Hattie asked.
“We don’t know that for sure. We got some clues from an anonymous source.” Striker leveled a look at me that told me he might have some suspicions about who this anonymous source was. “It was enough to bring him in, but we still need to establish a timeline. So far, all we know is he had means and motive.”
I thought about how Neil had told me he’d seen George that morning. I must have been hanging around with Pepper too much because I kind of felt sorry for Neil and didn’t want to put him through the police questioning unless I had to. “What if you had someone who could place him at the scene around the time of the crime?”
A Mew to a Kill Page 12
