Furbidden Fatality

by Deborah Blake

  Patting the kitten absently with the hand not holding the donut, Kari told the others about the interview with Sheriff Richardson.

  “So I guess he believed me when I said that Myers and Carter were up to something funky, although the rest of the information we’d gathered was apparently old news,” she said when she was done with her story. “But I’m not sure what good that does us.”

  She nodded at Daisy. “I think you and I are still at the top of the suspect list. You because of Buster and your long-standing feud with Myers, and me because I was found standing over the body with gloves in my back pocket after we’d been seen arguing in public after the hearing.”

  “What about my aunt?” Bryn asked. “Does he still think she might have killed Myers because he was hassling me?”

  “I think so,” Kari said. “But he wasn’t exactly sharing his thoughts with me, beyond making it clear that he thought it was possible I was bringing him the information in an effort to distract him from my guilt or the guilt of one of my friends.”

  “And he was such a nice boy in school,” Sara said, clucking her tongue. “Who knew he would grow up to be so suspicious?”

  Kari laughed. “Well, you might say that’s part of his job description. Queenie, what are you doing?” The kitten had hopped down off Kari’s shoulder and was up to her usual tricks, shoving at the folder and moving it around. Before Kari could set the remains of her donut onto her napkin, Queenie had shoved the folder over the side of the desk. Paper rained down and spread out over the floor like confetti.

  “Queenie, really,” Kari said, getting down on her hands and knees to try to find all the contents. Bryn joined her, saying, “At least the new floor is cleaner than the old one.” They both picked up handfuls of paperwork, now completely out of order, and handed it up to Sara, who tried to organize it.

  “Hey,” she said. “What’s this?”

  Kari stood up. “What’s what?”

  “I don’t remember seeing this before,” Sara said, a thoughtful tone in her voice. “I wonder if it was stuck between two other pieces of paper. Or maybe it was toward the back and we just didn’t get that far the other night.”

  She held out what looked like an official form of some kind for the other three to look at. Kari narrowed her eyes at the kitten, who was seriously involved with washing her face and ignoring the rest of them completely.

  “What is it?” Daisy asked.

  “Answers to one of our questions, I think,” Sara said in a grim voice. “It’s an application to turn this building into a shelter that could be used to house animals picked up by the dog warden. It is signed by Bill Myers.”

  “That son of a gun,” Daisy said, clenching her fists. “No wonder he was trying to drive me out. He wanted the sanctuary for himself.”

  “And if he could make things really difficult for you, he could get it at a cheap price,” Kari said. “That explains a lot. Including why he went after Buster. You know, now I’m kind of sorry I wasn’t the one who killed him.”

  “Me too,” Daisy said through gritted teeth. “Heck, I’d like to steal his body from the morgue, bury him, dig him back up, and kill him all over again.”

  “As long as you’re not holding a grudge,” Sara said, nibbling daintily on the edge of a muffin and somehow miraculously not getting any crumbs on herself.

  “Do you think that’s why he was harassing Daisy so badly?” Bryn asked. “And then digging under the fence in a last-ditch attempt to cause trouble and make Kari change her mind about the shelter so she’d sell it to him?”

  Daisy nodded. “The sad thing is, it probably would have worked. If he had succeeded in getting Buster loose again and persuaded the judge we couldn’t be trusted to keep the animals safely contained, and Kari hadn’t come along with her offer to buy the place, I’m not sure I would have been able to carry on.” She pulled a tissue out of her pocket and blew her nose. “I was just so tired and worn down.”

  Sara patted her on the shoulder. “You did more with less for longer than most people would have, Daisy. You have nothing to feel guilty about.”

  “Unlike some dead dog wardens,” Kari said, more grateful than ever that the fates had blessed her with that lottery win and a little black kitten to steer her in the right direction.

  “You know, he was actually quite clever,” Bryn said in a thoughtful tone.

  “What?” a chorus of voices protested.

  “I’m not saying he was a nice guy,” the girl said. “Just that he came up with a heck of a scheme for making extra money from his job. Which I happen to know doesn’t pay very well.” When the others looked at her, she added, “I thought about applying for the position in Perryville when it opened up, but then I saw what it paid and realized I could make more working part-time as a desk clerk at the Lakeview Motel.”

  “So first he figures out a way to make more money from writing extra tickets, and gets the deputy involved in his plan somehow,” Kari said, sipping at her coffee and definitely not thinking about getting another donut. Definitely not. “Although we still haven’t discovered how he was making more money that way, since in theory all fines are paid to the town. But there has to have been some way, or he never would have gone to all this trouble.”

  “Right,” Daisy said. “And if he could buy the shelter from me for way under market value, then he could also have charged the boarding and impoundment fees when owners reclaimed their dogs.”

  “Suz and I talked about those. They can add up to a lot of money,” Kari said.

  “Especially if he was skimping on the costs of taking care of the animals,” Daisy said. “Which I’m guessing he would have.” She scowled at her coffee cup, probably imagining dogs being fed the cheapest food possible and kept in underheated kennels.

  “Huh,” Sara said. “This is interesting.” She had been examining the application more closely.

  “What is?” Kari asked. She gave up and fetched the other donut, moving the kitten off her seat when she got back.

  “There’s a letter of recommendation attached to this,” Sara said. “Saying how much money having a dedicated shelter would save the town, since at the moment they pay part of the cost toward maintaining a contract with the one they use. And suggesting that Myers would be the perfect person to run it, if they granted him the permits to buy this place for that use, since he would charge the town less.”

  “That’s convenient,” Bryn said. “Who is the letter of recommendation from, Deputy Carter?”

  Sara narrowed her eyes at the paper, as if she could see through the sheets to some hidden meaning underneath. “No, that wouldn’t have made much sense. But I’m not sure this does either. It’s signed by Marge Farrow, the court clerk.”

  “Well, I guess she would know how much the fines add up to, since the penalties are usually read out in court, and she is in charge of collecting the money,” Daisy said. “I had to write out a couple of checks to her, unfortunately, which is how I know.” She tilted her head, thinking. “I don’t think things like the impoundment fines go through her. They get paid directly to the shelter. But since she works at the town hall, it wouldn’t be surprising if she is aware of what the town spends on that kind of thing.”

  “But why would she write a letter to support Bill Myers?” Kari said. “Were they friends?”

  “Not that I know of,” Sara said, fine wrinkles appearing on her forehead. “But I can think of one reason why she might do it.”

  “What’s that?” Daisy asked.

  “If she was in on the scheme, whatever it was,” Sara replied. “In which case maybe Bill was going to give her a kickback if he got the shelter. They could have been in on it together.”

  “Wait, you mean that Bill Myers and Deputy Carter and Marge Farrow were all in on this together?” Bryn looked doubtful. “That is a heck of a conspiracy theory.”

  “I d
on’t know,” Daisy said slowly. “Think about it. We couldn’t figure out how Myers and Carter would have been making money from writing more and more high-priced tickets, since the fines didn’t have anything to do with them.”

  “But Marge Farrow is the court clerk, and handles the money from every ticket that is paid in court or for any court-related fees,” Kari said, sitting up straighter and almost dislodging Queenie, who was perched on her shoulder again.

  “Huh.” Daisy petted Tripod, who tended to follow her around like a dog. “That would explain a lot. But you’ve met Marge. She hardly seems like the criminal type.”

  Sara gave a distinctly unladylike snort. “The most successful criminals don’t exactly walk around advertising. And who better to get away with something than a middle-aged woman. Once you hit a certain age, you are nearly invisible.”

  “You’re not invisible, Sara!” Bryn protested.

  “You’d be amazed,” Sara said, a rare hint of bitterness in her normally even tone. “But I also make an effort to stand out.” She pointed at the turquoise streak in her hair. “Would you even recognize Marge if you met her outside the courtroom?”

  Kari thought about it. “Maybe? Maybe not.” She pondered for a moment. “Perhaps I should make up some kind of excuse to go talk to her, and see if I can get a better sense of the woman. I’m sure as heck not going back to Sheriff Richardson to accuse anyone else—much less the court clerk—of being involved in Bill Myers’s nefarious activities until I have a lot more than just our suspicions.”

  “I still don’t see the three of them working together. Myers and Carter are two of the worst misogynists I’ve ever met,” Bryn said, fiddling idly with one of her braids. “They both seem to despise women out of general principles. Even when he was chasing after me, Bill Myers always treated me like I was some kind of lower life form, barely capable of making my own decisions. I can’t see either of them being willing to work with a woman or trust one with anything important.”

  Daisy shrugged. “You’re not wrong there. But maybe Marge was just a minor player who did what she was told? She doesn’t seem very assertive.”

  “Don’t mistake drab for stupid,” Sara warned them. “I don’t know if Marge is wrapped up in any of this or not, but Kari, I want you to be careful if you go talk to her. Remember—somebody killed Bill Myers. It might have been an angry dog owner, or it might have been something to do with this racket we think he was running. Until we find out for sure, you need to treat every suspect as a possible murderer. Even Marge Farrow.”

  Thirteen

  Sara’s words were still ringing in Kari’s ears as she walked into the court clerk’s office, but looking at the woman sitting behind the desk, it was hard to imagine Marge Farrow hurting anyone.

  Up close, Sara revised her estimate of the woman’s age downward by about ten years. The neat but frumpy pantsuit and graying blond hair had given the impression of someone in her late fifties, but Marge had the relatively unlined face of someone in her midforties, with the exception of a few wrinkles around her faded cornflower blue eyes and the edges of her lips. A pale pink lipstick and slightly too-peachy blush did nothing for her pallid complexion, and a conservative pair of pearl earrings added to the impression of staid middle age.

  Kari was no fashion plate herself in plain jeans and a tee shirt, but she still itched to take the court clerk for an urgent makeover. Instead, she forced herself to focus on the task at hand.

  “Hello,” she said in what she hoped was a cheerful but not too perky tone. “I’m not sure if you remember me from court the other night. I’m Kari Stuart, the new owner of the Serenity Sanctuary.”

  Marge looked up from examining a complicated form that appeared to have been filled out in bright purple ink. “Oh, yes, of course,” she said, putting the form aside with what sounded to Kari’s ears like a grateful sigh. “What can I do for you?”

  “I hate to bother you,” Kari said. “But I have a few questions if you have a moment. I’m afraid this is all very new to me, and I’m still trying to figure out how everything works. I don’t want to mess up something important because I didn’t know the rules.”

  “Very sensible,” Marge said, gesturing toward the chair in front of her desk. “Although of course there are quite a few guidelines for shelters.” She got up and pulled open one of the three large gray metal file cabinets behind her and plucked out a thick sheaf of papers stapled together at one corner. “This ought to get you started.”

  “Oh, thank you,” Kari said, although Daisy had already given her a copy of both the state and town rule booklets. “I was actually hoping to get more insight into the court side of things. That’s why I came to you. For instance, I was wondering how I would know when the next court date was, since the original one had to be postponed. You know, because of, uh, the dog warden’s unfortunate demise.”

  “Unfortunate. Indeed.” Marge rolled her eyes. “Such a loss.”

  Kari hoped the court clerk wasn’t trying to be convincing, because she’d never seen anyone less grief-stricken. “I’m sorry, I was being insensitive. The two of you must have worked closely together for years.”

  “I wouldn’t say ‘closely,’” Marge said. “We crossed paths professionally, of course, since Mr. Myers was a frequent visitor to court in his official capacity, but that was the only time we saw each other.” She sniffed. “He was hardly a personal friend.”

  Methinks the lady doth protest too much? Kari thought. Or maybe it was just a statement of fact. She really couldn’t tell. The court clerk was extremely hard to read.

  “Oh,” Kari said. “Okay.”

  “You will get a letter notifying you of the next court date,” Marge said. “The judge is only waiting for a report from the new dog warden, so it should be sometime within the next week or two. Did you have any other questions?” She glanced back down at her paperwork, as if it was starting to look less annoying than the current conversation.

  “I was wondering about fines,” Kari blurted out, thinking she should have prepared for this better. She would never make it as a private investigator. It was a good thing that had never been one of her career goals. “Like, how much the fine would be if one of the dogs got out before we could get the fence fixed. The police still won’t let us have any contractors come work on it, you know, because it is still considered a crime scene.”

  “How frustrating for you,” Marge said. She still seemed perfectly innocuous and friendly, and Kari was beginning to feel foolish. They’d clearly jumped to the wrong conclusion somehow. There was no way this woman was a criminal, especially not a violent one.

  “It kind of is,” Kari said.

  “Well, the fines start at twenty dollars for a loose dog, for the first occurrence,” the clerk said. “That’s doubled if the animal isn’t wearing his or her tags. It can mount up surprisingly fast.” She rose again and went to a different cabinet (F for fines instead of S for shelter regulations, from what Kari could tell). While she was up, Kari happened to notice a grouping of photos on the corner of the desk. They were angled so they could be seen from either side, with deceptively simple frames that looked like they could have been some kind of antique brass or even dull gold.

  It took her a moment to recognize the central figure in the pictures as the woman in front of her, since the settings were more exotic than anywhere one would have expected to find the drab civil servant. There was one photo in front of the pyramids of Egypt, and another on a pristine white beach at what looked like a high-end resort. Another showed her with her arm around a pleasant-looking man with short blond hair, standing in front of an expensive sports car.

  None of them looked like the kinds of things anyone could afford on a court clerk’s salary. Maybe the man was her husband and he made most of the money?

  “Those are great pictures,” Kari said when Marge sat back down again and handed her the list of d
og-related fines. “I’ve always wanted to travel, but somehow I’ve never managed it.”

  “You really should do it,” Marge said with the closest thing to a smile Kari had seen. “I love going places I’ve never been.” She pointed at the picture of the car. “Would you believe that was taken after the winning race at Monte Carlo? That was the driver of the car that won.” A dreamy look brightened her face. “He was very sweet.”

  “Oh,” Kari said. “That sounds like quite an adventure. I thought maybe he was your husband.”

  “Ha, I wish,” Marge said. “I live with my elderly mother and a Siamese cat named King Tut.” She pointed at the picture of the pyramids. “As you can see, I have kind of a thing for Egypt. I’ve been three times.”

  Kari’s eyebrows rose involuntarily. “Wow,” she said. “That must get expensive.”

  “I’m very careful with my money,” Marge said, pressing her lips together and giving Kari a suspicious look. “You know, now that you’ve won the lottery, you might want to consider taking a couple of trips yourself. Long ones.”

  “Uh, well, that sounds like fun, but I’ve got the sanctuary to deal with now,” Kari said.

  “If you keep it,” Marge said in an offhand tone. “I heard there might be some questions about the permits for the work being done out at the shelter. Plus there are all those noise complaints from your neighbor. Not to mention being the number one suspect in a murder investigation.”

  She gave Kari a sympathetic look that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “No one would blame you if after your name is cleared, you decided to give up the whole thing as a bad idea and leave town altogether. You might want to think about it.”

  Picking up a pen, she put slashes through three sections of the form in front of her in rapid succession and then whacked a large DENIED stamp down on the top so hard it made Kari jump.

  “Was there anything else?” Marge asked in a cool tone. “Because if not, I have work to do.”

  “Right, sorry.” Kari pushed her chair back with an unfortunate scraping noise. “Thank you for all your help.”