The Time for Murder Is Meow

by Toni LoTempio

  Josh passed a hand across his eyes. “That’s a plus.” He glanced around. “You said Gary was with you?”

  I inclined my head toward the front door. “He went to show the other officers the body.”

  “Okay.” He paused, then added in a gruff tone, “Stay here,” before turning on his heel and disappearing inside the house.

  Mazie shuddered. “Like we’d want to go back in there.” She gave me an anxious look. “Poor Londra. Her face looked so mottled. What do you think it means?”

  I had an idea, but before I could voice an opinion, Officer Malone stuck his head outside the door and motioned to us. “Detective Bloodgood would like you to come in and have a seat in the living room. Please don’t touch anything, and he’ll be with you shortly.”

  We went inside and Officer Malone ushered us into the living room. Gary was already seated there, on a brocade-covered sofa. I sat down next to him while Mazie eased herself into a wing chair directly opposite the fireplace.

  “This is the fun part,” I said, drawing air quotes around the word fun. “We’ll be questioned about what we were doing here, finding the body, yadda yadda.”

  Mazie frowned. “Didn’t we already answer all that?”

  “Yes, but Detective Bloodgood will want more detail.” I leaned back against the cushions and closed my eyes. “Believe me, I know.”

  We lapsed into an uncomfortable silence for about ten minutes and then Josh walked in. “I just have a few questions for you three. I’ll try and keep this brief.” He hesitated, then seated himself in a wing chair to Mazie’s left, facing Gary and me. He pulled out his trusty notebook, flipped a few pages, and then raised his gaze to mine.

  “I hope finding dead bodies isn’t going to become a habit with you,” he said.

  I shifted my position on the couch slightly. “I hope not either,” I said. “It’s no fun, I can tell you that.”

  “The three of you came here together?”

  “We’ve already answered that question,” Mazie piped up, a trifle irritably, I thought. “Ms. McMillan and Mr. Presser had a question about one of the museum shipments that Londra oversaw, and I thought we could just ask her about it and settle the matter quickly.”

  “I see.” He scribbled something in his book and then looked right at me. “What shipment were you questioning?”

  “The one with the rare knives,” I said. “The one with the Tuareg knife, specifically.”

  “And why were you questioning it?”

  “Because I checked with the manager of the shop who sent them,” Gary spoke up, “and he claimed the shipment was complete, and none of the items were missing, as Ms. Madison previously reported.”

  Josh turned his gaze on Mazie. She cleared her throat. “I told them, Londra was the one in charge of that shipment. She was a very efficient worker. There must be a reasonable explanation for all this. I suggested we speak to her to clear the matter up, but instead we found . . .” She choked up again and could not go on.

  Josh leaned forward and said in a softer tone, “Ms. Madison, do you know for certain if Londra was involved with a gentleman by the name of Melvin Feller?”

  Mazie turned tear-filled eyes to him. “I can’t say for certain,” she said softly. “There have been rumors, of course, but why do you ask?”

  He didn’t answer, just scratched at his head and scribbled some more in his notebook. Abruptly he snapped it shut and looked at us. “You can all go.”

  I stared at him. “Really? Just like that?”

  Gary nudged me as if to say don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.

  “My car is back at the Chinese restaurant,” Mazie said. “Could someone drive me there?”

  “Are you sure you’re up to driving?” Josh asked. “I can have Officer Riley escort you home. You can get your car in the morning.”

  Mazie gave him a relieved look. “That would be perfect, thank you, Detective.”

  Josh took her arm and they moved into the hallway, where Officer Riley waited. I took the opportunity to whisper to Gary, “Something’s up. He had a gazillion questions for me when Amelia was murdered, and none for any of us about Londra?”

  “Well, you weren’t arguing with Londra,” Gary shot back. “Plus, three of us found the body. He’s got no reason to suspect foul play on our part.” He paused. “Something was off about her body. Didn’t you notice it? The splotchy skin, the lolling tongue.” He tapped at his bottom lip with his forefinger and closed his eyes for a moment. His eyes snapped open, and he turned back to me. “Was she allergic to anything?”

  I made an impatient gesture with my hand. “How would I know?”

  “That was a rhetorical question,” Gary replied. “I just remember reading in a book once that the victim died from an allergic reaction, and the description of the body fit Londra to a T. Splotchy skin, lolling tongue, bugged eyes.”

  “I saw some peanut shells scattered around the floor by the desk,” I said. “But if she were allergic to peanuts, why would she eat them?”

  “A good question.”

  Gary and I both whirled around. Josh had entered the room so quietly neither one of us had been aware of his presence. I saw that he held a plastic baggie in one hand, with a sheet of paper inside, and my thoughts turned to the paper I’d seen caught underneath Londra’s chair. I gestured toward the baggie with my chin. “What have you got there?”

  Josh looked at me for a long moment and then said tightly, “Evidence that appears to clear up both Londra’s and Amelia’s deaths.”

  Twenty-five

  For a second all I could do was gape at Josh, and then I found my voice. “Both deaths? But how?”

  “Of course, nothing’s set in stone until the official coroner’s report comes in, but . . .” He held the baggie out to me. “His preliminary examination suggests an allergic reaction, just as Gary said. And then we found this underneath her chair.”

  I took the baggie with the printed note inside. I read it aloud, with Gary hanging over my shoulder:

  I’m sorry for all the trouble I’ve caused, and I don’t want to do this anymore. I killed Amelia. She knew I took the knife out of the shipment and she threatened me with exposure. I just can’t live with my guilt any longer, or with having innocent people suspected of something I did.

  Londra Lewis

  “Holy cats,” Gary ejaculated. “It’s a confession.”

  “It would appear so,” said Josh. He looked at me. “As you said, there were several peanut shells scattered about. We’ll have to check her medical records, of course, but I’m betting we’ll find Ms. Lewis had a severe allergy to peanuts.”

  “She committed suicide by eating peanuts?” I said. It sounded incredible to me.

  Josh nodded. “If her allergy was severe enough, it wouldn’t have taken much to put her into anaphylactic shock. Death would have been quick. Her blood pressure would have risen, and her air passage and throat would swell, making breathing difficult. In essence, she choked to death.”

  I tamped down a shudder. “Wouldn’t a gun to the temple be quicker?”

  “It’d definitely be messier,” put in Gary.

  Josh eyed us both for about ten seconds, then blew out a breath. “Believe it or not, I’ve seen cases like this before. Someone wants to end their life, but they haven’t got the guts to hang themselves or shoot themselves, so they either take poison, which can also act fairly quickly, or they subject themselves to something they can be fatally allergic to.”

  “It just seems a shame,” I said. “She certainly didn’t seem suicidal when I spoke to her. Plus, she’d sent me a text shortly before her death, that she wanted to talk to me tomorrow. Why would she do that if she intended to kill herself?”

  “Yes, I saw your phone number scrawled on one of the file folders.” He scratched at his head. “I can’t answer that. Maybe she wanted to confess to you, and when she couldn’t reach you . . .” His voice trailed off and he shrugged.

  I stared at him, my e
yes wide. “You mean her death is my fault?”

  “Oh, no, no,” he said quickly. “It’s just that when people are wound so tight like that, you never quite know what might set them off. We have no idea what might have been going on in her head.” He motioned toward the door. “The two of you are free to go. I’ll let you know once we verify Londra’s medical records and get the final coroner’s statement.

  I looked at Josh. “What do you think? Do you think it’s a suicide?”

  He ran his hand through his hair. “I prefer to reserve judgment until the final coroner’s report is in.” He paused and then added, “However, as I said, it would appear Amelia’s murder is solved.”

  I noticed the extra emphasis he put on the word appear, and I had to agree. If something was rotten in the state of Denmark, then it was doubly—no, make that triply—foul in Fox Hollow. I looked at Josh. “Vertigo,” I said.

  He stared at me. “I’m sorry, do you feel dizzy?”

  I waved my hand. “No, no. Vertigo is the title of a movie. Alfred Hitchcock, 1958, Jimmy Stewart and Kim Novak. Stewart plays Scottie, a detective with a fear of heights. An old acquaintance of his hires him to follow his wife, played by Kim Novak, whom he believes is going a bit bonkers. Scottie ends up falling in love with Kim’s character, but he can’t stop her when she apparently commits suicide by falling to her death from a bell tower. Later, he meets a woman, Judy, who’s her exact double. To make a long story short, it turns out it’s the same woman. Scottie’s friend hired Judy to impersonate his wife so he could fake her murder as a suicide. He knew that Scottie couldn’t follow her up to the bell tower and stop her from jumping because of his vertigo.”

  Josh’s brows drew together, making a slight ridge in the center of his forehead. “O-kay. And you thought of this movie because . . . ?”

  “Because Londra’s murder just seems too pat, too convenient. It could have been staged, just like the character Kim Novak played in Vertigo.”

  Josh stroked at his chin, his eyes slitted. “Like I said before, I’m reserving judgment until the final coroner’s report is in. You might have something there, though.” His lips twitched upward. “I guess I’ll have to watch this Vertigo. Sounds like an interesting movie. I imagine Scottie and Judy end up living happily ever after?”

  I barked out a laugh. “It’s Hitchcock, after all! But I won’t tell you the ending. I don’t want to spoil it for you.”

  He chuckled. “Thanks.” Officer Malone appeared in the den doorway and motioned to Josh. “I’ve got to go,” he said. “You two are free to go.”

  “Gee, thanks,” I murmured at Josh’s retreating back. I raised my eyebrow at Gary and he followed me out the front door and onto the porch. I leaned against the railing, crossed my arms over my chest, and said, “Okay, Gary, I know you’ve got an opinion you’re dying to share. What do you think?”

  “You’re not going to like it.” He pursed his lips. “I’m not sure I agree with your theory that Londra’s death was staged.”

  “You think she did it?”

  “If she was involved with the Feller guy, then there’s a good chance she did take that knife out of the shipment for him. Amelia finds out about it, accuses her of theft—you said that they were going at it in the park pretty good that day, right?” At my nod he went on, “So maybe Amelia threatened to turn her over to the police unless she returned the knife, and maybe she snapped. She got the knife, wrote that note to lure Amelia to the museum, and killed her.”

  “Nice theory, but it’s got more holes than Swiss cheese. For one thing, that note wouldn’t have lured Amelia to the museum. The note only said that someone had discovered her secret. Amelia called me and told me to come to the museum.”

  Gary considered this a moment then said, “Maybe it was a habit of Amelia’s to go to the museum on Sundays. Londra would have known that, and she could have left the note where Amelia would find it. She’d have been watching, since she only lives a stone’s throw away, and once she saw Amelia go inside, she followed her, waited for her chance, and killed her.”

  “Maybe,” I said, “but I don’t think so.” I glanced at my watch. “It’s after ten. Let’s see if Mel Feller’s arrived back from his gambling junket yet. If so, we might be able to get some answers out of him before he learns of Londra’s death.”

  “You’d quiz the guy and not tell him what happened to his lady friend?” Gary shook his head. “That’s pretty cold, Shell.”

  I looked at him. “So’s murder. And I’m not writing Feller off as a suspect.”

  • • •

  As luck would have it, Melvin Feller was just going up his front porch steps when Gary and I pulled up in front of his house. I was out of the car and running toward him before Gary could even put the car in park. “Mr. Feller,” I called out. “Wait. May I speak with you a moment?”

  Mel turned at the sound of my voice. His clothes, a tan blazer and matching pants, looked wrinkled and his eyes were bleary-looking and bloodshot. He wiped at his beak of a nose with the back of his hand and said in a whiney tone, “It’s getting late and I’m tired. What’s so important, Miss . . . ?”

  “McMillan. Shell McMillan. I promise we’ll be brief. This will only take a moment of your time.”

  He hesitated, then stepped back and let out a loud sneeze. He wiped his nose again with the back of his hand before looking at me again. “What do you want?”

  “I understand that you have a relationship with one of the museum workers, Ms. Londra Lewis.”

  That blank expression again, and then he passed a hand over his eyes. “Sorry, my brain doesn’t work right so late at night.” He barked out a short laugh. “It was a bad day at the casino, all around. No winners, except the slot machines and blackjack table.” He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry? What was the question?”

  “You have a relationship with Ms. Lewis?”

  “Londra?” He waved his hand. “Sure, I know her. Why?”

  “You more than just know her, don’t you?” I persisted. “I’ve heard from many sources the two of you are quite close.”

  He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and leaned heavily on the porch rail. “Well, if we are, that’s really no one’s business, now is it? And why would that interest you?”

  “I don’t know if you’re aware, but a shipment of rare knives was recently received by the museum, and there appears to be some difference of opinion as to whether all of them reached their destination.”

  His eyes narrowed. “And that would involve me . . . how? It’s no concern of mine if the museum got gypped on a shipment. I mean, if they’d voted me to the board, I might care, but since I didn’t get on . . .” He lifted his shoulders in a gesture that implied he couldn’t care less.

  I pressed on, determined. “I understand you’re somewhat of an expert on antique knives, and that Londra . . . consulted with you on the subject?”

  “I wouldn’t call it consulting. She may have asked me one or two general questions about knives.” He puffed out his chest. “I am sort of an expert on the subject. It’s been a hobby of mine for quite some time.”

  “Did she ask you about a particular type of knife? A Tuareg knife?”

  “She may have. I don’t rightly remember. I answer a lot of questions about knives for a lot of people, and I never had to keep track of who asked what question,” he snapped, then held up his wrist, tapped at the face of his watch. “If that’s all you want, like I said, it’s very late and I’m tired. If you need any more information, I’m sure it’ll keep until morning?”

  Mel’s recalcitrant attitude was a sure sign I wasn’t going to get any more out of him. I plastered a phony smile across my lips and said, “Of course. Thank you for your time.” I turned and started down the steps as Mel fumbled in his pocket for his keys. On the third step, I stopped. “One last thing.”

  He looked over his shoulder at me, still fishing in his pocket. “What?”

  “Was Londra allergic to peanuts?
”

  There was no mistaking the look of surprise on his face. “Peanuts? She was? Wow, well, that would explain why she never ate peanut butter, I guess. If that’s all, I’ll say good night.” He whipped the key out of his pocket, turned it in the lock, and then disappeared inside, letting the door slam behind him. I stared at the closed door for a minute, then turned and walked swiftly toward Gary’s parked car. He’d had to do a U-turn to find an open parking spot. He shot me a look as I opened the passenger door and got inside.

  “You should have waited for me,” he chided. “I might have been able to get more out of him.”

  “I doubt it.” I tapped my chin with my nail. “He didn’t know if Londra was allergic to peanuts.”

  Gary turned the key in the ignition and then turned his head to look at me. “What?”

  I drummed my fingers on the armrest. “He didn’t know if she was allergic to peanuts. Don’t you think he would have, if they’d really been in a relationship?”

  Gary shrugged. “Maybe not. I’ve dated women and not known every single thing about them.”

  “But they were supposed to be in a serious relationship. Londra stole knives out of a shipment, ostensibly for him. You’d surely think he’d know.”

  “Maybe he does—did. Maybe he was lying.”

  “No, I don’t think so. He looked genuinely surprised when I told him.”

  Gary shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “It’s not that unusual. You can’t tell me Pat knew everything about you. The fact you like half-and-half instead of milk in your coffee, and when you drink tea you always wind the teabag string around your finger while it’s steeping.”

  “There’s another possibility. Maybe Londra wasn’t the woman Mel was dating.”

  “If not Londra, then who—ow!” he cried as my nails dug into his forearm. “Don’t do that.”