Hiss H for Homicide

by Toni LoTempio

  Nick was sitting in front of the circular staircase, tail wrapped around his paws. “Come on,” I said. “She’s not here. We’ll come back another time.”

  “Er-owl!”

  With that, he uncurled his tail and scooted up the staircase. At the top landing he paused and looked back at me as if to say: What’s keeping you, human?

  “I should leave you here,” I muttered, but my niggling sense of curiosity won out over my better judgment and I climbed the staircase, the sound of my heels muffled by the expensive carpeting that covered the stairs. A wide hallway extended itself on either side of me, and no sign of my tubby tuxedo. “Nick,” I hissed. “Where are you, you devil?”

  No response, so I moved over toward the right side and opened the first door, which appeared to be a bedroom, and a holy mess. The bedclothes had been stripped from the massive canopied king-sized bed and thrown in a ball in its center. Drawers were pulled out of the cherrywood highboy and dresser and hung limply, their contents strewn helter-skelter around the room. A high-backed chair was overturned in the middle of the floor, and the closet door was half open. I could see dresses hanging half off hangers, and a half-open suitcase was propped up against the interior.

  “Oh my God,” I cried. It certainly looked as if someone had been searching for something. A thief, perhaps? A chill ran down my spine at my next thought: Could he still be here? Had Marlene possibly caught him in the act? I stepped back into the hallway, uncertain what my next move should be.

  “Ar-owl.”

  The cry came from the left, so I moved in that direction. I saw Nick, squatting before a door at the end of the hallway; he looked up, saw me, and ducked inside. I hurried down the hall and peered into the darkened room. It was set up as an office, boasting a small cherrywood desk, file cabinet, and a laptop square in the desk’s center. “Nick,” I hissed. “Where are you?”

  “Er-rup.”

  “I hear you, Nick, but I can’t see you. This room is too dark to spot a cat that’s mostly black.”

  I felt along the wall and finally my fingers touched a light switch. I flicked it on, illuminating a table lamp that cast a rosy glow through the room—and highlighted the colorless face of the woman slumped on the floor just to the left of the desk. I sucked in my breath.

  Even though I’d never met her in person, I’d seen enough pictures on the inside covers of her books to know the woman framed in the circle of dim light was Marlene McCambridge, and she looked to be stone-cold dead.

  Four

  I made my way carefully over to the body. I took in its waxy pallor, the face frozen in a rictus of surprise, and the large red stain that spread across the front of the expensive silk blouse onto the carpet. Oh, yeah, she was dead all right. Still, I knelt down and touched the side of her neck with two fingers just to be sure. I winced; the flesh was cold and hard to the touch, and I couldn’t feel the barest thrum of a heartbeat.

  Behind me, Nick let out a sharp yowl.

  She’d been dead a while. I was no expert, but I was betting twelve hours, maybe more. I glanced over at Nick, who’d hopped up on the desk. “We’d better notify the police.”

  One ear twitched, the only sign he’d heard me. He padded over to the laptop and leaned over, his paw touching the partially opened middle drawer. He extended his nails and tapped at the wood. “Oowww.”

  “What did you find?”

  I moved over to take a look. Nestled in the drawer was what looked like an appointment book. I could see it was open to yesterday’s date. There were two names scrawled there, but I couldn’t make them out. I whipped a Kleenex out of my pocket and opened the drawer all the way to get a better look. I still couldn’t tell who the names were, so I turned the page to today’s date. Next to ten a.m. was a slightly smudged set of initials. DS, for Desiree, no doubt. Five p.m. had Morley Carruthers printed in neat letters. I glanced at my watch, thinking it wouldn’t be long before Morley showed up. I pulled my phone out of my pocket and flipped it into camera mode, then snapped pictures of both pages. Then I carefully pushed the drawer in, being careful to leave it open about a quarter inch, as it had been.

  Nick stared at me with wide eyes. “Don’t give me that look,” I said. “Technically, it’s not disturbing evidence. Everything’s still in the same place. All I did was open the drawer a bit.” I waved the Kleenex in the air. “See, no extra prints.”

  Nick gave a yodel of approval.

  I examined the photos on my camera. They’d come out a bit dark but would have to do. I slid the phone back into my pocket and noticed Nick had moved his rotund body back onto the floor and was sniffing alongside the body. As I put out my hand to shoo him away, I heard a loud pounding on the front door, followed by the clanging of chimes as someone with a heavy finger pressed on the doorbell. This was rapidly followed by a gruff voice calling out, “Police. Open up.”

  Good grief. What were the police doing here?

  I took the stairs two at a time, Nick at my heels, reached the bottom landing, and flung the front door open. My jaw dropped as I met the startled gaze of the person on the other side.

  “What are you doing here?” Leroy Samms and I both chorused.

  I took a step backward and Samms pushed past me into the foyer. “Responding to an anonymous 911 call. The person said they saw a suspicious character lurking around here.” He cocked his brow at me, intimating he thought he knew just who that suspicious person was.

  I drew myself up to my full height. Even so, I still fell a bit short of Samms’s impressive six-three frame. “Sorry to disappoint you, but I came in through the door.” I inclined my head toward the sliding glass door, visible through the parlor door. “It was open. I did ring the bell first, but no one answered.” I paused. “I was going to call 911 myself. I wanted to report the dead body.” I said the last in a calm tone I knew would infuriate him.

  I wasn’t disappointed. Samms froze in his tracks. Slowly, very slowly, he turned around to face me.

  “What!”

  “I wanted to report the dead body,” I repeated. “It’s proper procedure, correct? I know what a stickler you are for procedure.”

  “A dead body.” He sucked in a sharp breath. “And here I thought you found your quota for the year.”

  I resisted the impulse to stick my tongue out at him. “Sorry, I guess I’ve still got a few to go.”

  His lips set in a grim line and then his gaze fell upon Nick. “I see your body-sniffing cat is here, too. I should have expected that.” He shifted his gaze to me. “Where is it?”

  I ignored his barb about Nick, but I was hard-pressed to stifle a grin as a soft growl reached my ears. “Upstairs. End of the hall.”

  He trudged up the stairs. After a second I followed, Nick close behind me. Samms went into the office and I watched from the doorway as he knelt down beside Marlene, put his fingers to her neck, as I’d done only scant moments before. He straightened, whipped out his cell phone, and I heard him say, “I need backup. Porter house. 10-45D. Pronto.”

  He pocketed his phone, turned and caught my eye. “You found her like this?”

  “I’ve already said yes.”

  “I suppose you know the identity of the corpse, too?”

  I squared my shoulders and said with a curl of my lip, “As a matter of fact, I do. Marlene McCambridge. She’s an author.” I paused. “A romance author.”

  He grunted softly and pulled a notebook from his pocket. “Yeah. Tiffany Blake, right? Pretty racy stuff.” He laughed outright at my raised eyebrows. “What! I don’t live in a cave, you know. Not that I’m a fan,” he added quickly, “but I may have glanced at a chapter or two somewhere along the line. What’s so funny?”

  I chuckled. “Sorry. It’s just I can’t picture you as a fan of romance novels.”

  His lips twitched upward. “I didn’t say that I was, or that it was my book I might have glanced at.” He ducked his head and started to flip through his notebook. “Wonder why such a celebrity would choose to sta
y here, in an out-of-the-way rental property and not a luxury suite at the Hilton?”

  “Maybe she needed some R&R, or some alone time. She might have wanted to go somewhere, you know, where nobody knew her or would think to look for her.”

  “Someone found her,” he said dryly.

  “The bedroom’s a mess,” I volunteered. “Looks as if someone might have been hunting for something. Jewelry, maybe, or cash.”

  “Robbery?”

  “Maybe.” I glanced around the room. “I’m no expert, of course, but it appears the shot was fired at close range, which could be an indication she knew her assailant.”

  He made a motion of doffing his cap. “Thank you, Dr. Watson. I’ll be sure to take your observations under advisement in my investigation.” He scribbled something in his notebook, snapped it shut. “So. You never answered my original question. What are you doing here?”

  “What do you think? I came to see Ms. McCambridge.”

  “I figured that. Why?”

  I swallowed. I certainly wasn’t going to say anything about Desiree, or my mission of mercy concerning their partnership dissolution, at least not until I’d spoken with her. I decided playing it cool was my only option. “Like you, I was in the neighborhood.”

  The annoyed look morphed into a full-out glare.

  “Fine.” I held up both hands in a gesture of surrender and said the first thing that popped into my head. “I came out here to try and get an exclusive interview.”

  “An interview? Really?” He rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand. “Since when does Noir publish interviews from schlocky romance authors?”

  Schlocky. Hm. I glanced quickly at the corpse, half expecting Marlene to rise up and smite Samms for that remark. “It’s not for Noir,” I said quickly. “I was going to freelance it. Marlene was quite a hot ticket in certain literary circles. I’m sure there are plenty of romance magazines, traditional and online, who would jump for an in-depth interview from half of Tiffany Blake. The pay’s pretty good, and I could use the extra cash. I’ve been thinking of buying a smoothie machine.”

  “Well, that certainly sounds logical.” He leaned in a bit closer to me and leaned over so his lips were level with my ear. “But I’m not buying it.”

  “Too bad, because it’s the truth.”

  “No, it’s not. I can tell. You do a funny thing with your face when you lie.”

  “I do not!” I cried, and my hands flew instinctively to my face. “What funny thing?”

  “Your nose kind of squinches up, and your eyes get really, really wide and bright.”

  “They do not.”

  “Do too.” He aimed an accusing finger at my nose. “You did it in college, and you’re doing it now.”

  Darn, where was a mirror when I needed it! I rubbed at my nose, then scrubbed the back of my hand across my face. “Don’t be silly. I’m just tired. It was a very busy afternoon at Hot Bread.”

  “So I heard. That new television might end up being more of a nuisance than a magnet for new business.”

  My eyebrows drew together. “How on earth did you hear about that? Wait, don’t tell me. Did you talk to Lacey?”

  He ignored my question and made a shooing motion with his hands. “It’s time for you to fly away, little bird. Take Buster here and go back to Hot Bread, where you belong.”

  Nick looked at Samms and let out a low growl.

  “What’s with him?” Samms asked.

  “For one thing, his name is Nick. For another, I don’t think he likes you,” I said.

  “Ah.” Samms looked from Nick to me. “Something the two of you have in common, eh? Now run along. I can’t have the two of you contaminating the area any more than you already have.” His hand cupped my elbow and started to push me toward the door, but I dug in my heels.

  “One second. Why are you here?”

  “I told you. Someone called in an anonymous tip. I heard the 10-66 come over the radio—that’s suspicious person, by the way—and since I was in the area I said I’d check it out. Little did I dream it would turn into a murder investigation with the Queen of Finding Dead Bodies right in the thick of it. Take my advice, Red. Get yourself another hobby.”

  Ignoring his sarcasm, I jerked my hand from his arm and waved it impatiently. “I don’t need another hobby. And you’re missing my point. Why are you answering police calls? You’re FBI now, aren’t you? Do they investigate local crime now? I knew the Cruz PD was shorthanded, but—”

  He cut me off with an impatient gesture. “That’s what I like about you, Red. The way you jump to conclusions. You take a button and you don’t just sew a vest around it. You go for the whole dress.”

  My redhead temper started to flare, but luckily for Samms, the jangling of the doorbell cut off further conversation. We went downstairs in stony silence, and Samms opened the front door to admit two more policemen. I knew both of them. One was David Dougherty, who I knew was also studying law in his spare time, and the other was Stephen Kellett. Kellett had been a staple on the Cruz force for years. Both men’s eyes widened a bit at seeing me, and then Kellett looked at Samms.

  “Where’s the body?”

  “Upstairs. Did you call the coroner?”

  “Yep,” Kellett nodded. “He’s on his way.”

  “See if you can pull any prints out of the office and the upstairs bedroom, for starters.” He flicked his thumb at me. “Okay, Nora, thank you for your cooperation. You’re done here.”

  “Are you sure you don’t need me to hang around? I might be of some help.”

  “Yes, your crime scene experience is invaluable but I’ve got this.” He pointed again toward the front door. “I might have some more questions for you later.”

  “Fine. I have nothing to hide. You know where to reach me.”

  “Indeed I do. Oh, and not a word to anyone. I don’t want even a whisper of this getting out until I’m ready to make an announcement.” He rubbed at his chin. “You know how the media gets, especially when a celebrity’s involved.”

  I really couldn’t take offense at that, because I had once been a part of that very media, and I did know how they could sensationalize a story. “You can trust my discretion. Mum’s the word. By the way, a reporter from the Cruz Sun might show up here. Paul Jenkins. His editor wanted him to do a story on Marlene.”

  Samms gave me a brief nod. “Thanks for the heads-up.” He made a shooing motion with his hand. “Run along now.”

  “Oh, and if you find you need some help with the investigation, don’t hesitate to call—”

  He swung the door shut right in my face.

  “I guess he doesn’t want my help,” I blustered. “Some nerve, right, Nick?”

  I looked down at the cat. Nick gave a sharp yowl and raised one paw. I could see he had something caught on his nails.

  “What’s that you’ve got?” I reached down and disengaged the object, held it up. It was a strand of hair, dark blonde in color. I slid Nick a glance. “Where’d you get this, Nick? Not the crime scene, I hope?”

  If a cat could look innocent, Nick had mastered the art. He widened his eyes, and his pink tongue darted out, licked at his lips.

  “Well.” I turned the hair over in my hand, then slid it into my pocket. “Since I can’t prove just where you got it, there’s no use telling Samms about it. He’d only make fun of us anyway.” I looked again at Nick, who’d turned away from me and now had his gaze fixed on the stucco house across the street. I followed his gaze and saw the curtain on the second floor move back, very slightly, as if someone had been peering around the edge.

  So I hadn’t imagined seeing movement over there earlier. More than that, I had a pretty good idea who’d called 911. Either they had vision like a cat or a good pair of binoculars. And if they’d seen me, who knows what else they might have noticed?

  Nick rubbed against my ankles. “What do you think, Nick? Worth looking into?”

  His yowl of assent was all the encouragement I needed.


  “Right on. Maybe we’ll get lucky and find out just who phoned in that anonymous tip.”

  Five

  We hurried across the street and up the short flight of steps to the front door of the stone and stucco house. Like most homes built in the French Country style, the house had a square, symmetrical shape with windows balanced on either side of the entrance and a steep-hipped roof. The front door was a smooth mahogany, with a stained glass mosaic inlay. I pressed the intricately carved doorbell, and instead of the usual ding dong or brrring heard instead several different animal sounds. I recognized a duck, a loon and a lion reverberate through the building. Well, that was different. I waited a few minutes, then pressed the bell again. This time I heard a dove cooing, as well as the sounds of a sheep and even the snort of a pig. Any minute now I expected to hear the strains of “Old Macdonald had a Farm.”

  “Hello,” I called loudly. “Anyone home?”

  Still no answer. Either their hearing wasn’t as good as their vision or they wanted to stay under the radar. I glanced at my watch. Nearly five o’clock. I pulled my phone out of my pocket and flicked it on. Desiree’s number was there, all right, but she hadn’t left any messages. No doubt she’d worked herself into a nervous snit by now, a snit that would no doubt get worse once I delivered my news. I slid the phone back into my pocket and motioned to Nick, who squatted at my feet. “Come on, Nick. Whoever’s in there apparently doesn’t want company. We’ll come back another time.”

  Nick looked up, almost seemed to shrug, and then turned and started down the steps. When I opened the door of the SUV he hopped right onto the passenger seat, turned around twice, and then curled up in a tight ball, paws tucked in, head resting gently against the leather seat. A second later I heard the sound of light snoring.