by Nic Saint
His phone jangled in his pocket and he took it out. And as he answered it, I saw Odelia stare at the man, her eyes suddenly wide, and her face almost as white as the sheets she was lying under.
But then Conway excused himself, got up and walked out just when Tex and Marge walked in.
Odelia stared at me, then said slowly, “The owl-shaped mole.”
“What about it?” I said.
“Conway has one. On his right hand.”
Chapter 39
Odelia had called an emergency meeting, and it was being held in her hospital room. Not the best place in the world to hold a meeting, but she had no other choice. The doctor advised against her discharging herself from the hospital, and so did her dad. And she wasn’t going to put herself in danger by going against their wishes.
Around her sat her mom and dad, her uncle Alec, and Chase, of course. They’d tried to locate Gran but hadn’t succeeded. She was off somewhere on a quest to locate the Yellow Parka MacGyver Gang and wasn’t answering her phone.
“So what’s so important?” asked Uncle Alec.
“It’s about your head, isn’t it?” said Marge. “The doctor has found a tumor!”
“No, nothing like that,” Odelia was quick to put her mother’s mind at ease. “This isn’t about me. It’s about Dany Cooper.”
“Dany? You’ve uncovered some more information?” asked Chase.
“I have. You locked up the wrong man. Wolf Langdon didn’t kill Dany.”
There were gasps of shock around her hospital bed. In a corner of the room, four cats also stirred. The nurses, understanding Odelia wasn’t going to part with her cats, even though they didn’t agree, had brought in blankets, bowls of food and water, and even a litter box. It was an unusual arrangement, but Tex had talked to the head nurse, and had convinced her it would help Odelia enormously in her recovery, and she’d grudgingly agreed.
“How do you know?” asked Chase, reluctant to let go of his main suspect.
“Remember how I mentioned Ringo?”
“The mysterious witness,” said Chase, shuffling uncomfortably in his chair.
“Ringo said he saw the murder, and led me to a second witness. Her name is Rita. And she said the thing that made the killer stand out was an owl-shaped mole on the back of his hand. I checked pictures of Wolf’s right hand. He has a mole, but it’s not owl-shaped.”
She held up her phone, and showed a close-up of Wolf’s mole to the others.
“It’s more, like, pear-shaped,” Marge said.
“Pear-shaped, owl-shaped. Who cares?” said Chase. “The guy did it. He had the parka still hanging in his closet. You saw it yourself!”
“That’s what I thought, until a man came to visit me earlier, and he does have an owl-shaped mole on his hand. Conway Kemp.”
“Wolf’s business partner? Why would he kill Dany?”
“I’ve talked to several crew members this afternoon—I have nothing better to do while I’m laid up here anyway.”
“Honey, you’re supposed to rest, not conduct a murder investigation over the phone,” said her dad.
“I know, but an innocent man is in jail, and the real killer is walking around a free man. What do you expect me to do? Besides, I feel fine,” she added waving away her dad’s tut-tutting. “The thing is, Conway was madly in love with Dany.”
“How do you know?” asked Chase, who was proving hardest to convince.
“Several people said he’d been making advances towards her ever since production started. He’s the one who discovered her, not Wolf. And apparently Con had this crazy idea of taking her to the top as her husband-manager. She fell for Wolf, though, and wasn’t interested in Con. He kept showering her with gifts, though, and asking her out, and she kept turning him down. I think he must have lost it yesterday, after she turned him down yet again. He stabbed her in a fit of rage and left the yellow parka in Wolf’s closet to frame him.”
“But we found that parka by accident. Nobody told us where to find it,” said Chase.
“I’m pretty sure Con would have put in an anonymous call to put us onto the parka. Only we beat him to it, which made things work out even better than he’d expected.”
“This is all conjecture,” Chase pointed out. “For one thing, who are these witnesses? This Ringo and this Rita? Are you going to produce them so they can testify in court?”
“We need to extract a confession from Conway Kemp,” said Uncle Alec.
“We’d have to arrest him first. And on what grounds? The word of two witnesses who won’t come forward? A mole on his hand?” Chase shook his head. “This is ridiculous. Odelia, honey, I’ve gone along with this as far as I can, but you’re just grasping at straws.”
“I’m not crazy, Chase. Conway killed Dany. I just know he did,” she said.
Chase was looking at her as if this bump on her head had messed with her sanity, and she hated it.
“I’m not going to arrest a man based on some flimsy ‘evidence,’” said Chase. “We have a solid case against Langdon and I’m sure the judge will agree with me on that. How about you, Chief?”
Uncle Alec was in a tough spot. Either he sided with his niece, on the basis of evidence he would never be able to bring into court, or he sided with his lead detective, knowing he was dead wrong. Either way, he would be criticized.
“I think—” he began.
But he was interrupted by some type of loud commotion outside.
He got up, and so did the others, and moved over to the window.
Underneath Odelia’s window, on the hospital parking lot, Gran was holding up a sign that read, ‘Justice for the Pooles. Arrest the Yellow Parka Gang Now!’
“End police incompetence!” she yelled when she caught sight of her son. “Put our tax dollars to work now!”
Chapter 40
Conway Kemp was in a lousy mood. He’d offered the part of Mary Poppins to that Odelia Poole and she still hadn’t gotten back to him. He didn’t get it. Any other actor would have jumped at the chance to accept a plum part like that, potentially launching her career, and this woman preferred to stay buried in this small town and work as a stupid reporter?
Women. One was even dumber than the next.
It was late already, and he passed by the dining room on his way to the small theater Marcia Graydon had installed in the basement. He’d gotten a text from Marisa, one of the interns helping out in the script department, to meet him down in the theater. She had something urgent she needed to discuss with him that couldn’t wait.
He hated stuff like that, but it all came with the territory. When you were a producer on any project, you tried to take care of the small stuff, unburdening the creatives as much as you could. Hiring people was part of the process, and so was keeping them happy and productive.
So even though he wanted to hit the hay and zonk out, he crossed the dining room and then the few steps down into the basement. A small stage had been erected there, with a large pull-down projector screen, so the 100-seat theater could double as a private screening room.
They’d been using the theater for rehearsals and script readings, before they went out and rehearsed at the park, where the production would eventually be staged once all the pieces were in place. Until then, the theater was the creative hub of the project.
“Marisa?” he called out when he entered. The lights were doused, but there was one lone bulb lit on stage. Weird. And a little creepy. “Marisa? You wanted to talk to me?”
He crossed the room and mounted the stage, wondering where the damn girl could be. Would be typical, of course, for her to have some imagined or real emergency, only to completely forget about it a minute later.
Probably boyfriend trouble. Being away from home, and staying with a bunch of other young people at a fancy mansion in the Hamptons, things tended to get a little out of control. Add to that the stacks of weed these kids consumed, and it was a miracle Bard in the Park didn’t turn full-on Woodstock. It was the kind of stuff
Con had to deal with on a daily basis. Sometimes he wondered if he shouldn’t have stayed in the Marines. He sometimes hated these so-called creatives. Bunch of nutcases, every last one of them.
He was surprised to find a bunch of cats seated on stage. Weird. Wherever he turned these days, he seemed to encounter cats. They were staring at him, unmoving, those eyes unblinking and frankly more than a little scary, the single bulb reflected in those dark orbs.
He had never admitted it to anyone, but he hated cats. They gave him the creeps. The way they could just stare at you, as if looking straight into your soul. Brrrr.
“Marisa!” He yelled. “Where the hell are you?”
Suddenly, from the wings, a figure stepped forward. He gulped when he recognized her as... Dany Cooper! She even had the knife still stuck in her chest, blood oozing from the wound, as well as from her lips, and when she spoke, it was with a haunting undertone.
“Why did you do it, Con? Why did you kill me? I thought you loved me?”
“I—what—this isn’t happening,” he stammered, staggering back. “What’s going on?”
“Oh, I’m real, Con. As real as you. I can’t seem to find peace. Not until I know why you did it. Why, Con? Why did you kill me? I liked you. I know you liked me. You kept saying it all the time. And sending me those gifts. Those expensive perfumes, clothes, underwear…”
“I did like you—I mean I still do—I… Oh, God!” A creature suddenly scurried through his legs and he yelped, then fell to the floor. He watched with dread as Dany approached.
He couldn’t help but notice how pale her face was—so horribly pale, all the blood having drained from it and out of that wound.
On the floor there was a steady drip-drip-drip of blood as she walked.
“Why, Con?” she repeated. “Can’t you see? I need to know. Why did you kill me? I still had so much to live for. So much talent. So much life. Wasted. Because of you.”
“I didn’t—I don’t…”
“I was so young. And you killed me. You destroyed me. You’re responsible…”
“It’s your own damn fault!” he screamed as another cat scurried past him, then hissed, and moved on. This wasn’t happening! Was he going crazy? He must be. Ghosts didn’t exist, did they? But Dany seemed awfully real. There was even some dirt caked to her hair, and the side of her face. Even her clothes, the same clothes she was wearing when she died, were streaked with mud. She’d dragged herself here straight from the grave!
“Why did you kill me, Con?” she said, repeating the same mantra, as she drew inexorably closer to him, still that steady drip-drip-drip of blood. Thick, dark liquid oozing out of her, now flowing from her mouth—out of the corners of her eyes—her nose—her ears!
“Stop! Don’t you come near me!” he yelled, crawling back towards the edge of the stage. “You brought this on yourself. You didn’t want me. I asked you again and again. I would have given you everything. Not like Wolf. That loser would never have left his wife for you. Never! He couldn’t. She was his lifeline. His financial backbone. Without his wife, he was nothing, and the company was nothing. I told you, but you wouldn’t believe me. You kept hoping he would leave his wife but I told you—he wasn’t going to do that.
“Oh, why did you throw yourself away on that loser?” he lamented. “Why? And then when I told you, you just laughed. You laughed! I declared my everlasting love and you threw it back in my face! So I lost it. I had the knife in my hand from peeling an apple so I stabbed you. I never meant to hurt you. How could I! I love you, Dany. I love you! Oh, I’m so sorry…”
He collapsed into a blubbering mess of mucus and misery. She was upon him, bending over him, dripping her blood on him. He felt it. In his hair. Then she reached out a hand and touched him and he screamed!
“No—don’t take me with you!” he yelled. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!”
“And you should be,” Dany said. Only her voice had suddenly taken on a different timbre.
And as he looked up into her face, she smiled. He blinked. “What’s going on?”
From across the stage, several people now came walking out. He recognized Marisa, the intern who’d texted him, and Bernice from makeup, Janice from the costume department, but also that police chief, and Detective Kingsley.
“Conway Kemp,” said the Chief sternly. “You’re under arrest for the murder of Dany Cooper.”
He snapped his head up, to take in Dany again. “Dany? What’s going on?”
“I’m not Dany, Con,” said the woman, as she accepted a paper towel from Bernice and started wiping away her makeup. “But if I were, I’d tell you that you’re a monster. And that you’ll be punished for what you did to her.”
And only then did he recognize her as Odelia Poole.
Oh, darn it.
Chapter 41
Our humans were all seated around the table in Marge’s backyard. Tex was incinerating burger patties on the grill, with the expert assistance of Alec and Chase, while Gran was listening intently to Odelia and Marge trying to make a few things clear about this case.
“So there never was a yellow parka gang?” the old lady asked, looking confused.
“No, there wasn’t. Those were all random accidents that just happened to happen on the same day,” Marge explained
“But the mast of the pirate ship? That was tampered with, right?”
“Construction error. That mast could have dropped down any time. Someone had glued those two pieces together instead of using bolts. The glue didn’t hold and the whole thing came crashing down.”
“But I saw a man dressed in yellow,” Gran insisted.
“Probably the person who lives in that house, wearing a yellow sweater,” said Odelia.
“What about you, Tex?” Gran bellowed over the sound of the sizzling burgers. “You saw a man shove that flowerpot from the windowsill, didn’t you?”
“Quite frankly I never saw anyone,” said Tex, a little sheepish. “I saw movement, but that was probably just the window flapping, which was the reason the pot dropped down in the first place.”
“I don’t get it,” said Gran, shaking her head in frustration. “I was so sure there was a gang targeting us.”
“No gang. Just a bunch of freak accidents,” said Odelia.
“But stuff like that never happened to us before!” Gran insisted. “So why did it happen now?”
Odelia nor Marge had an answer to that.
“I think I know what happened,” said Dooley.
We were all seated on the porch swing, and we stared at Dooley.
“Why is that?” asked Harriet.
“Because the universe wanted to demonstrate just how well-protected the Pooles are. And what better way to do that than by engaging them in a series of near-fatal accidents?”
Those were some real words of wisdom, and coming from Dooley, too!
“Sounds plausible,” I said. “If you accept that there is a universe that’s wise and conscious.”
“Of course there is,” said Dooley. “Why else would it have placed us in this family, with such nice people? That can’t be a coincidence, can it?”
It was a tough proposition to ponder, and my head was already hurting.
“I don’t know about all of that,” said Brutus. “I’m just glad I ended up where I am.” He gave Harriet a tiny nudge, and she giggled.
“So am I,” she said.
The two love birds quickly tired of our company, and hopped off the porch to celebrate their newfound reconciliation in their favored rosebushes. The sinkhole had been filled up by Gran, and the bushes had been made cat-safe once more.
“There’s one thing that still puzzles me, though,” said Dooley.
“What’s that?”
“Why weren’t there any fingerprints on the knife Conway used to kill Dany?”
That was a question I could answer. “He wiped them off. Before he took off.”
“So it was a crime of passion?”
“It was. He did
n’t plan to kill her. It just happened. And he couldn’t believe his luck that no one had seen him.”
“So why did he try to frame Wolf? Wasn’t he supposed to be his best friend?”
“He secretly hated Wolf for seducing Dany and playing fast and loose with her.”
“He did it all for love,” said Dooley with a sigh.
“He did it because he couldn’t accept that when a woman says No, she means No.”
Just then, Chase sat down on the porch next to us, leaned his arms on the back support and glanced the other way. “So what’s all this about a witness named Ringo, huh?”
He glanced in our direction, as we stared back at him, dubious.
“Do you think he understands us now?” asked Dooley.
“I’m not sure. Tell him something.”
“Hello, Chase!” Dooley said with emphasis. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”
Chase laughed. “I must be going crazy. Talking to a bunch of cats.”
“I don’t think he can understand us,” I said.
“No, I don’t think so either.”
“Oh, God,” said Chase, glancing up at the sky. “You know? I don’t know about you guys, but there’s something really funny going on with this family. The way all the women keep chatting with their cats, as if they can actually understand a word they’re saying. And how Odelia keeps dragging mysterious witnesses from her hat.” He shook his head. “If I put my detective’s cap on, I’d say she does actually... talk to you guys. Which, as we all know, is impossible.” He glanced over to us. This time we just stared at him, without uttering a word.
Was Chase onto Odelia’s secret? That wasn’t good. Or was it?
Chase laughed. “See? I’m doing it again. Talking to a bunch of dumb animals. Let me just make one thing perfectly clear.” He leaned in, and lowered his voice. “This family may be weird, but I love the hell out of them. All of them—even Odelia’s pain-in-the-ass Granny. And I know that you do, too. So let’s make a deal, all right? I’m going to promise to take good care of you guys, if you promise to take good care of Odelia. Deal?”
