by Gin Jones
"I'll see if he knows where they ended up," Helen said. "Would you do me a favor in return? If you see the cat, would you let Art know? He's really worried about it, and I'm sure he'd be glad to come get it out of your garden and lock it up so it can't steal anything else."
"I shouldn't be making any calls to that house, even now," Freddie said. "What if I call you instead? You seem much more reasonable than anyone over there."
"If you wish." The cat would probably be gone before she could get a ride here, but at least Helen would be able to tell Art it had been sighted and was still alive so he could stop worrying. While she dug in her bag for a business card, she said, "Could I ask you just one more question? As one person who likes her privacy to another?"
"What is it?"
"I'm just wondering why you were so opposed to the renovations at Vic's mansion."
"Would you want to live next door to a celebrity? One who had a reputation as a gambler and a pig?" Freddie asked. "It wouldn't be so bad if he were retiring, but he wasn't. He was planning to teach classes on the secrets of poker success. Can you imagine how tempting that would be to my young boys? I've got four of them, and I'm raising them all on my own. It's hard enough to raise decent kids these days with all the temptations and distractions of the media and the Internet bombarding them every minute. I don't need an advertisement for get-rich-quick schemes right next door, too."
"Is that what you told the building department?"
"Of course not," Freddie said. "Do you think I'm crazy?"
Helen thought just about everyone in the world was crazy in his or her own way, but she'd had years of experience quelling the urge to say so.
Freddie continued, "I told them Rezendes was planning to run a business out of his home, and this area isn't zoned for that."
"Then why did they grant the permit anyway?"
"Home businesses that are run strictly through the Internet fall into a sort of gray area," Freddie said. "If there aren't any customers coming to the house, there aren't any traffic or safety concerns, so the local building department generally lets that kind of business slide. Rezendes claimed he wasn't going to have anyone coming to the house except the occasional personal friend, and since he hasn't actually opened for business, I couldn't prove differently. I know he was lying, and I'd have been able to prove it eventually. He was planning to invite his so-called personal friends, who just happened to be fellow gaming celebrities, to come participate in recorded poker games that he was going to use as teaching tools for his online classes. And if those friends brought some of their own personal friends, aka marks with more cash than brains, well, no one could blame him for that, right?"
Helen had had a similarly frustrating experience with trying to get a restraining order against her first visiting nurse. It could be difficult to make the legal system see what seemed obvious to the people experiencing the problem. Helen would probably have been as annoyed as Freddie if someone like Vic Rezendes moved in next to her cottage. It wasn't so much the gambling aspect that bothered her, as the idea of a constant parade of people passing by her house, possibly wandering into the woods that usually offered her a great deal of privacy. Helen would have been out in the garage in a flash, pressuring Tate to do whatever was necessary to make sure the local zoning laws were enforced against the bad neighbor.
"I'm sorry you've had to go through this." Helen handed her a card with her phone number. "I hope the next owner of the house will be a better neighbor."
Freddie took the card. "Whoever it is, they can't be worse."
"Good luck," Helen called out as Freddie headed back up the driveway to where yet another van was parked. It had been backed up to the garage, ready to leave on a moment's notice, and it looked like one of the vehicles Helen had tried before settling on the Subaru Forester. It had been far too large for Helen's purposes, and Jack had considered it far beneath his dignity as a driver. It seemed much more appropriate in this setting, where it would be just the right size for transporting four active boys, along with whatever sports equipment or musical instruments they might need for typical adolescent after-school activities.
Helen was buckling her seatbelt when the four angels came running outside again to resume their game. Freddie had really done an amazing job of raising such well-behaved, healthy-looking boys.
Helen had to wonder just how far Freddie would go to keep them safe from Vic's bad influence.
* * *
Jay stopped the car at the bottom of Vic's driveway and let Helen out before he left to park in front of the lavender fan-van. Three more cars had arrived and were parked behind it. About a dozen people were helping each other affix black bands around their upper arms.
One short and pudgy man wore his band around the bald U-shaped area that encompassed the entire top of his head and down an inch or two on the sides. Long, dark hair fell from beneath the band, and she couldn't tell whether it was actually growing from beneath the bald spot, or was affixed to the inside of the band like some sort of partial wig. Either way, the bare top of his head had to be freezing without a hat in this weather.
As Helen approached the gate, she heard Art's voice say, "Over here." It seemed to come from somewhere nearby, not through the glitchy intercom.
She caught a movement to the right of the gate, behind the six-foot stone wall that ran along the front property line. Art was crouched just out of sight of any casual passerby.
"Stupid remote system still isn't working," he said in a whisper. "Had to come down and manually trigger the gates."
They opened just wide enough for Helen to slip through an opening that anyone larger than she was, which was pretty much the entire adult world, would have been unable to squeeze through. As soon as she was safely inside, they closed again.
Art stayed in the shadows of the tree line as they walked toward the mansion. He didn't relax until the driveway curved to the left, and they were out of sight of the people gathered on the road.
"I never understood why Mr. Rezendes was so obsessed with his privacy until now," Art said. "Those vultures just won't leave us alone."
"I'm sure they'll lose interest in a day or two," Helen said. "Sort of like the cat will come home when the excitement of being outdoors wanes, assuming we don't find it before then."
"I hope so," Art said. "It's just that Broadway's not as healthy as she looks. She's got an enlarged heart. Common in Maine coon cats and nothing to worry about as long as she gets her daily pill, but I'm not sure what happens if she misses more than a couple of doses. I was always responsible for pilling her, but Mr. Rezendes could do it if I wasn't here. Now, it's just me, and I've got to keep her safe and healthy until the estate decides what to do with her. I owe Mr. Rezendes that much. And more."
"We'll just have to find her then," Helen said, heading over to where the purple Adirondack chairs were still set up. Not exactly the right weather for sitting outside, but she doubted the chairs were meant for anything other than as a reminder that the home was owned by self-proclaimed royalty.
"I don't suppose you know anyone who wants a cat?" Art said. "In case the estate wants it put up for adoption, I mean."
Helen immediately thought of a cat-obsessed woman she'd met a few months ago while investigating the disappearance of a friend of Betty and Josie. Francesca, if not her cat Mel, would be thrilled to have another cat, but she was on a severely restricted income and probably couldn't afford the extra vet bills that a cat with a known health condition required. "I can't think of anyone right now, but I'll let you know if I do."
"Right. Well. So how do you propose to find Broadway?"
"I brought some tuna." Helen dug it out of her yarn bag. "The cat must be hungry by now. Unless you think maybe one of the neighbors is feeding it or has taken it in."
"The only real neighbor is Freddie Wade. The other sides of the property abut conservation land, so there's no one within a mile or so in any of those directions. There's no way she'd have anything to do with B
roadway. She hates everything to do with this place, from the owner—well, she hated Mr. Rezendes and she'll probably hate the next one just on principle—to the construction workers and even the cat."
Freddie might have had a good reason for disliking the cat if it had really stolen her property. Helen was about to ask if Art knew anything about the purloined items when her train of thought was interrupted by a bellow from inside the mansion.
"Where's Arthur Hendricks? I want to talk to him right now."
Helen recognized the voice as belonging to Detective Peterson. Now it was her turn to want to stay out of sight. "I'll start looking for the cat while you go see what he wants."
"Sorry." Art sighed. "I'd help you search, but the investigators can't do anything without me. I never realized how easy a boss Mr. Rezendes was until the cops showed up. They've got me ready to turn in my resignation, but there's no one to give it to. Besides, I've never quit on anything before, and I'm not going to start now."
Art scurried off, and Helen continued over to the purple Adirondack chairs where Broadway—what a ridiculous name for a cat—had appeared yesterday. It was as likely a spot as any to search, and it had the virtue of being out of the line of sight of anyone indoors. Anyone like Detective Peterson.
Helen dug the single-serving can of tuna out of her yarn bag and popped the top, hoping that if the cat was anywhere nearby the sound would catch its attention, and then when it came to check it out, the smell would be too much to resist. It was probably more than ready to be caught, anyway, after being outside overnight in this weather.
She left the opened can on the seat of one of the Adirondack chairs. The cat didn't immediately appear, and it was too chilly to stand and wait for more than a few minutes. Besides, the cat might be less inclined to come eat if a human was hovering over the food. A little walk would be best, both for keeping her warm and for convincing the cat that it was safe to come out of hiding.
Careful to stay within sight of the chairs, but out of the line of sight of any mansion windows, Helen wandered over toward the side yard's tree line about two hundred feet away.
Once in the shade of the trees, she could catch glimpses of Freddie Wade's big white house. The trees were only about fifty feet deep, and then there was a grassy side yard between them and Freddie's house. With the animosity between the two property owners, Helen had expected to see a solid fence, perhaps even a barbed-wire-topped chain link fence that would have kept out any visitors larger than Broadway. As far as she could tell though, there was nothing but the trees to separate the properties. Someone had even cleared away much of the underbrush, so while there weren't any well-defined paths, there weren't any brambles or thick vines that would have made it difficult for a trespasser to cross the wooded area. Anyone could have crossed Freddie Wade's front yard, which was open to the street, and then made his way through the woods to Vic's mansion, bypassing the security system on the gate. But would anyone other than Freddie Wade have known about that easy access?
An excited meow startled Helen into remembering why she was in Vic's yard. The official reason, anyway. She looked over her shoulder to see the tortoiseshell cat chowing down on the tuna. With her dysfunctional hip, Helen couldn't run back there, but it might be just as well. Sudden movement would only scare the cat away.
Helen limped back toward the house as quickly as she could while trying to look nonchalant. By the time she arrived at the chair, the cat had finished the food and was perched on the arm, having an after-dinner bath.
"Hello…" She couldn't bring herself to use the cat's official name. "Hello, Tortie."
The cat kept calmly washing its face, so Helen moved a little closer. "Would you mind if I patted you?" She held out her hand for the cat to sniff.
The cat took an extended smell of Helen's hand and seemed to conclude that it was time for a nap. It lay down monorail style across the back of the chair and stared at Helen.
She dropped her cane and made sure her feet were planted solidly before attempting to grab the cat. Just as she started to reach for it, the cat's ears flicked, the head spun to look over its shoulders, and then it hissed.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Helen followed the cat's gaze to see Nora Manning coming from the mansion's entrance. She wore designer jeans and a dark blue sweater with a gorgeous aquamarine silk scarf formed into a cowl. Helen might not like the woman, but her taste in scarves was exquisite.
"What are you doing here?" Nora said.
"I was just going to ask you the same thing." With Vic dead, there was no risk of him saying the wrong thing and needing a handler to fix it for him. Perhaps Nora hadn't been here for business but had a personal relationship with Vic. After all, no one had said exactly why Nora had shown up at the library event. Helen had just assumed it was on behalf of someone in the gaming industry, most likely the management of the new casino in Springfield, worried that its star player might embarrass them. She had always believed Nora had hit on Helen's ex-husband for purely professional reasons, but it was possible the woman was personally attracted to older men, or at least to their aura of power.
Nora tugged at the scarf, rearranging the already perfect folds. "I was invited. You weren't."
"Art asked me to help find…" Helen had to force herself to say the ridiculous name for an animal, "Broadway."
"Broadway? The famous one?" Nora unfolded her arms and hummed a few bars of the song, revealing a voice that was as lovely as the rest of her physical attributes. "You're about a hundred-fifty miles north of where you'll find the neon lights, if that's really what you're looking for."
"I prefer to stay out of the limelight. Broadway is the name of Vic's cat."
"He had a cat?"
"I'm surprised you didn't know about it." At least that resolved the question of whether Nora had been here for business or other reasons. Since Nora was unaware of the supposedly beloved pet, it was unlikely she had any kind of personal relationship with Vic. If they'd been friends or something more intimate, surely Vic would have mentioned the cat at some point, and Nora would have recognized its name.
Nora shrugged. "I'm not much of an animal person."
Helen wanted to delve deeper into what Nora was doing here at the mansion, but the lupus fog chose that moment to settle in more densely. She couldn't find any words, let alone the requisite cunning ones to get a straight answer out of a woman whose job it was to spin the truth.
Nora filled the awkward silence. "Vic's entire property is considered a crime scene. You should probably leave before the detectives find you here."
"Too late for that." A deep female voice said from behind Helen, startling her.
Helen turned to see a tall, solid-looking black woman in her late twenties. Her hair would have fallen to the bottom of her ears except that it was teased and gelled into a helmet shape that looked tougher than Kevlar. She wore a white blouse with a severe navy pants suit that looked brand new.
"I'm—" The woman patted the left chest pocket of her jacket and then looked down, as if startled to find nothing but fabric there. She then pulled back the edge of the jacket to reveal a police detective's badge hanging from a narrow belt. "I'm Detective Almeida. And you are…?"
"Helen Binney. A friend of the victim." Maybe she could get some information out of this young officer. In the past, Helen had picked up quite a few clues from Detective Peterson, who had enough experience to know better but hadn't even realized what he was letting slip.
First, though, she needed to keep from being tossed off the grounds. Helen gestured back toward the purple Adirondack chair and the empty tuna can. "I was looking for Vic's missing cat, and I almost had it before you two showed up and scared it away."
Detective Almeida shrugged and said, "If it came home once, it will come home again. I'm sure you've done all you can."
"Art tells me that the cat needs daily medication, and he has to keep it healthy until he can hand it off to whomever ends up with it, or he'll be a quitter, and
that's not like him." Helen knew, somewhere in the barely accessible depths of her brain, that she was rambling incoherently, but she couldn't seem to stop herself. For once, she was talking to a detective who at least appeared to be listening intently.
Helen's words just kept tumbling out. "It's a beautiful cat, and I'd hate to think something might happen to it. Judging from Art's anxiety, I wouldn't be surprised if the cat is actually his boss now. Vic didn't have any family, and he apparently doted on his pet. Probably left the entire estate to it."
When Helen finally wound down, Detective Almeida said. "Why don't I take your name and contact information so we can let you know if we could use your assistance once the scene is completely cleared?"
"That's not necessary," Helen said, opting to believe the offer was sincere and not, as she suspected, merely attempting to placate the annoying civilian. "Detective Peterson knows me and knows how to get in touch with me."
Almeida's dark, thick eyebrows rose. "You're known to the police?"
Nora's more delicate eyebrows rose even further, and her lips took on a gloating edge. "Circumstances really have changed for you since you left Boston."
"It's not what you're both thinking." Helen knew better than to mention the other bodies she'd been involved with. "I was here when Vic Rezendes's body was found."
"Have you already given your official statement to the lead detective?" Almeida asked.
"I talked to Peterson Sunday." He hadn't paid much attention to her, and she doubted anyone who worked with him would be any better. Still, she had to try to make sure they considered all the possibilities. "There's something else you should know, something I didn't realize before. While I was looking for the cat, I noticed that there's no fence along the side property line. Anyone could have gotten onto the property through the neighbor's yard without going through the security at the gate."
