A Catered Cat Wedding Page 13

  “What are you doing?” Libby asked as she watched her sister get down on her hands and knees and begin crawling around in the grass.

  After Bernie explained, Libby joined her. Ten minutes later, they’d collected a handful of the white paper scraps. Libby and Bernie moved over to the rock outcroppings. They smoothed the pieces of paper out with the palms of their hands and began to put them together.

  Five minutes later, they had the message. It read, Next time you won’t get a warning. Stop while you’re ahead. The message had been printed on a standard piece of white computer paper, in twelve-point type in the Times New Roman font, which was one of the most common fonts available.

  “I wonder if there are fingerprints on the paper?” Libby asked.

  “If there were, they’re probably not there anymore,” Bernie said.

  Libby pinched her forehead with her thumb and forefinger. She could feel a headache coming on. “Wonderful.”

  “Actually, this is good news.”

  Libby put her hand down. “How do you figure that, Bernie?”

  “Because we’re ruffling feathers. If we weren’t, we wouldn’t be getting this reaction.”

  “And the bad news, Bernie, is that we don’t know whose feathers we’re ruffling.”

  “But we will,” Bernie told her with more assurance than she felt.

  “We’d better,” Libby replied.

  Chapter 21

  Bernie pulled into their parking space next to A Little Taste of Heaven, saw that the line inside the shop was almost out the door, and cursed under her breath while Libby consulted her watch. She was surprised to find it was as late as it was.

  “We better get in there,” Bernie said.

  “Well, it is that time,” Libby noted. The hours between six and seven thirty accounted for a third of their business. Even more than their breakfast crowd, their dinner folks were tired and hungry and wanted to get their food and go home as quickly as possible.

  As the sisters headed toward the door, the lady sitting on the bench in front of the shop got up and hurried toward them. She was wearing black leggings and an off-the-shoulder white T-shirt decorated with pictures of Russian blues in various poses. The outfit would have looked good on an eighteen-year-old but didn’t do a chubby middle-aged woman any favors, Bernie decided. Neither did her makeup or hairstyle. The woman’s platinum blond hair was swept up in a ponytail, and she had on enough electric-blue eye shadow to light up a small city.

  But she looked familiar, Bernie reflected as the woman approached them. She just couldn’t put a name to the face. “Do I know you?” Bernie asked as the woman stuck out her hand and Bernie shook it.

  “’Fraid we haven’t had the pleasure,” the woman said. Then she introduced herself. “I’m Dana Ogden, head of the Longely Russian Blue Society.”

  Libby nodded. She recalled Googie saying something to her earlier about a woman wanting to speak to her and Bernie.

  “I’ve been waiting for you,” Dana said.

  “Not too long, I hope,” Bernie said as she studied the woman standing in front of her. Nothing came to mind. “Are you sure I don’t know you?” she finally asked her.

  “I’m positive.” Dana clasped her hands in front of her. “We have to talk.”

  “Can it wait?” Bernie asked, gesturing at the mass of people inside A Little Taste of Heaven. “This is a really busy time for us.”

  “No, it can’t,” Dana Ogden exclaimed. “It’s about Susie. . . .”

  Libby leaned forward. “You have information about her death?”

  “It’s about me,” Dana said. She took a deep breath and let it out. “My death. I’m in danger.”

  “Then you should go to the police,” Libby suggested.

  “I did,” Dana Ogden cried. She balled her hands into fists. “They won’t listen to me.”

  Bernie and Libby exchanged looks. Dana Ogden was definitely a little too tightly wrapped, but that didn’t mean she didn’t have something of interest to say.

  “Why not?” Libby asked.

  “Because I don’t have any proof.” Dana scrunched her face up.

  “Proof of what?” Bernie asked.

  Dana dropped her voice. “That someone’s trying to kill me, just like they did Susie.”

  “And why would they do that?” Bernie asked.

  Dana bit her lip. “I’m the head of the Russian Blue Society, you know.”

  “So you said,” Libby replied, waiting for a further explanation. None came. When a minute went by and Dana still hadn’t said anything, Libby said, “I don’t understand.” At which point Dana burst into tears.

  “People are saying terrible things about the society and the show,” she managed to get out between sobs. “They’re saying that Susie bought last year’s first-place ribbon.”

  “And that’s why someone wants to kill you?” Bernie asked.

  Dana nodded and burst into another bout of sobbing. After a minute, Dana’s sobbing subsided to occasional sniffs. “I’m so . . . so . . . so . . . sorry,” she said, apologizing, as she fished in her bag for a Kleenex. She found one and began to dab at her eyes with it. “It’s just that I don’t know where to turn, and people said that you could help me.”

  “Why don’t you start at the beginning?” Bernie suggested. Dana Ogden’s narrative wasn’t making any sense. At least not to her.

  Dana looked down at her hands and began to twist the Kleenex into a knot. Bernie noticed as she did that her hands were reddened from work, the knuckles enlarged. “I’ve devoted my whole life to the Russian blues,” she exclaimed. “And to hear people saying that Boris’s and Natasha’s papers are fake, and I allowed them in the show, anyway, because I got paid off.” Her face crumpled, and she broke into a fresh bout of sobbing. “It’s horrible, simply horrible.” Dana hiccupped twice, then went on with what she was saying. “Just the thought that people are talking that way makes me want to crawl up in a hole and die.”

  “So, what does this have to do with your being threatened?” Bernie asked.

  “Think about it,” Dana ordered.

  Bernie did. Nothing came to mind.

  “Don’t you see?” Dana looked from one sister to the other. “That’s why Susie was killed.”

  “Because she supposedly bribed her way into the title?” Libby asked.

  “Yes. Exactly,” Dana replied.

  “I can think of lots of reasons to kill Susie, but this one would not be high on my list,” Bernie said.

  “That’s because you’re not a crazy cat person,” Dana cried. “Susie was killed because she won first place, and now I’m in danger.” Dana made a fist and struck her chest.

  “I don’t get the connection,” Bernie replied.

  “It’s obvious. For revenge. Because I awarded Boris first prize, of course.”

  “Of course,” Bernie said. Who knew that cat shows were blood sports?

  Dana grabbed Bernie by the shoulders and shook her. “You’ve got to take this seriously. I could be the next victim.”

  “I’m trying,” Bernie said. “It just seems . . . improbable.”

  “I’ve been threatened,” Dana repeated.

  “By who?” Libby asked.

  Dana took a deep breath and let it out. “Marie.”

  “Then, as Libby said before, you should go to the police,” Bernie advised. “Get a restraining order.”

  “She hasn’t said anything, but the way she looks at me . . .” Dana shuddered. “I can feel it.”

  Bernie raised an eyebrow. “Because?”

  “I told you. I awarded the ribbon to Boris instead of to Maximilian.”

  “That’s Marie’s cat’s name?” Bernie asked.

  Dana nodded. “She told me that she was going to pay me back.” And Dana shuddered again.

  “Did she say how?” Libby inquired.

  “She didn’t have to,” Dana told her. “When I heard about Susie, I knew.”

  “So why now?” Bernie asked. She could see w
hy Lucy had kicked Dana Ogden out of the police station. Her story didn’t add up.

  “What do you mean?” Dana stammered.

  “I mean, why come to see us now? Why is this such an emergency all of a sudden?”

  “Because I saw Marie,” Dana replied after a moment of hesitation. She seemed more unsure of herself. “She was walking around my house. Casing it.”

  “Did you call the police?” Libby asked.

  Dana didn’t answer the question. Instead, she said, “She’s going to kill me. I know it.”

  “So, this all goes back to the cat show?” Bernie asked.

  Dana nodded quickly. “Yes. Yes, it does,” she replied, looking relieved.

  “Why not Allison, then?” Bernie asked.

  “Allison?” Dana echoed. “I don’t understand.”

  “You called the police when Allison let Susie’s cats out at the show, didn’t you?” Bernie asked.

  “Susie made me,” Dana said.

  “But nevertheless, you were the one that did it, that started the ball rolling, so to speak,” Bernie said in a pleasant tone of voice. “How come Allison isn’t mad at you?”

  “Because she understands,” Dana cried.

  “Unlike Marie?” Libby inquired.

  Dana threw back her shoulders and stuck out her chin. “Marie is a very vengeful person.”

  “Is that why you’re so eager to throw her under the bus?” Libby asked. “Or is there something else you’re not telling us?”

  Bernie snapped her fingers. Yes, there was. She’d just remembered where she’d seen Dana before. “You’re Dan Ogden’s mom, aren’t you?” she asked her.

  Dana blinked twice. Bernie could see Dana was trying to decide what to do. Lie her way out of it or tell the truth. After a minute, she stuck out her chin and said, “So what if I am?”

  “Didn’t the police arrest Dan for going after Marie with a golf club?” Bernie asked.

  “He broke the windshield of her car. So what?”

  “The police thought it was a big ‘So what?’” Bernie pointed out.

  “It wasn’t his fault. They should have picked her up,” Dana shot back. “She was the one who caused everything with her lying and her cheating on my son with that guy.”

  Bernie crossed her arms across her chest. “Sounds like a country-western song to me.”

  Dana scowled. “I don’t care what it sounds like to you. That doesn’t change what I said about Marie,” Dana insisted. “You don’t know what she’s like. She never forgets anything, ever.”

  “You’re not exactly an unbiased observer,” Bernie told her, thinking Marie sounded like Susie.

  “Maybe not,” Dana admitted, “but I’m telling the truth about this. My son lost his job because of her. No one will hire him now.”

  “That’s too bad,” Libby said before changing the subject. “So, is it true?” she asked quietly. “Did you take a bribe from Susie? Should Marie’s cat have won?”

  Dana’s mouth twisted in outrage. “Of course not. That’s a terrible thing to say.”

  “Is it?” Libby said. “I mean, if you did, then what you’re saying makes sense. I could see why Marie would be really upset.”

  Dana stared at her as she tried to decide what to say. Finally, she settled on, “I would never, ever do something like that.” She put her right hand up. “I swear to the heavens.”

  Bernie crossed her arms over her chest. “Well, as long as you swear to heaven, then I guess we should believe you.”

  “Don’t take my word for it. Ask Mrs. Van Trumpet,” Dana spit out. Then Dana turned and marched toward the steel-gray Infiniti parked across the street.

  “Nice ride,” Bernie said to Libby. “It looks new.”

  “It does, doesn’t it?”

  “Hard to afford on Dana Ogden’s salary.”

  “What does she do?” Libby asked.

  “If memory serves, she teaches music two days a week at the Christian Brothers Academy.”

  “Yeah,” Libby said. “I’d say she’s not buying a car like that on her salary. Is she married?”

  “Nope.”

  “A trust-fund baby?”

  Bernie shook her head. “No. Her mom and dad worked out in the mills before they closed.”

  “Maybe she won the lottery.”

  “Maybe,” Bernie agreed. “Or maybe Susie’s money bought that car.”

  “That’s a lot of money.”

  “Not if you have it, which Susie did, and you want something really badly, which Susie also did.”

  “True.” Libby turned to her sister. “So, do you believe her about Marie?”

  Bernie shook her head. “No. Do you?”

  “Nope.”

  “So why do this?” Bernie said. “Why put on this production?”

  “Simple. Because she hates Marie for what happened to her son, and she wants to see her in jail,” Libby suggested.

  “Family loyalty at work is a beautiful thing to see,” Bernie said. “Plus, if she did take a bribe from Susie, she might have decided it’s better to go on the offensive.” Bernie pointed to the store. She could see the people standing around, waiting to be served, through the windows. “We’d better get in there.”

  “Indeed, we should,” Libby said, noting the expressions on the faces of Amber and Googie. “We can speak to Mrs. Van Trumpet tomorrow.”

  “And Marie,” Bernie added. “Don’t forget about her. Maybe Dad would do it,” she mused. “That would give us a little more time.”

  Libby nodded. The clock was ticking. They needed all the help they could get.

  Chapter 22

  Day three . . .

  It was ten thirty the following morning and it was drizzling out as Sean Simmons walked out of the flat above A Little Taste of Heaven and got into Marvin’s Kia. At least it wasn’t a hearse, Sean reflected as he shut the door and put his seat belt on. At least these days Marvin was driving his own car. So that was a little better. And he hadn’t brought his pet pig with him. So that was a lot better.

  But really, even without the pig, the whole situation sucked. Marvin as chauffeur. Sean sighed the sigh of the put upon. Jeez, the guy had many virtues, but driving wasn’t one of them. Even with GPS, he couldn’t find his way out of a paper bag. Sean shook his head in wonder. If you’d told him twenty years ago that he wouldn’t own a car, that someone would be driving him, he’d have told you, you were crazy.

  But Libby had been correct. Unfortunately. His Chevy wasn’t worth putting ten thou into. Requiescat in pace. Well, at least he still had his license. They could have that when he was in the ground. So, he could always rent a car if he needed to. He wasn’t completely at other people’s mercy.

  “Ready?” Marvin asked Sean.

  “As ready as I’ll ever be,” Sean replied. He rolled down the window as Marvin pulled away from the curb. When Marvin was out of line of sight of the shop, Sean instructed Marvin to go to the end of the street and take a right and then a quick left.

  “But that’s not what the GPS says,” Marvin objected.

  “That’s because we’re not going to talk to Marie. We’re going to the old Connor estate,” Sean told him as he took out a pack of cigarettes from his pants pocket, tapped the pack on the dashboard, and extracted a cigarette.

  “But that’s not where Libby wanted us to go,” Marvin said nervously.

  “That’s where I want to go,” Sean told him. He was an “It’s better to ask forgiveness than permission” kind of guy. Always had been, always would be.

  “But . . .” Marvin turned to look at him.

  “Watch the road,” Sean yelled when Marvin narrowly missed an SUV turning into the intersection.

  “Sorry, Mr. Simmons,” Marvin muttered. He was a good driver. He was. Except when he was with Libby’s dad.

  Sean checked to see that Marvin’s eyes were on the road. When he was satisfied that they were, he resumed talking. “As I was saying,” Sean said, “I want to look at the crime scene first.�
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  “But . . .”

  “I’ll take care of Libby,” Sean assured him. “After all, it doesn’t do to get the father of your girlfriend angry at you, does it?” Sean asked.

  “I guess not,” Marvin said as Sean lit his cigarette. Which made him even more miserable.

  Sean looked at the expression on Marvin’s face, took pity on him, and said, “You know, she knows.” He sat back and exhaled. “Both my daughters do.”

  “They know what? That we’re going someplace else?” Marvin asked, this time careful to keep his eyes on the road.

  “No. That I smoke,” Sean said. “We just pretend that I don’t. So, don’t worry,” Sean said to Marvin. He patted his arm. “It’s not like you’re keeping a big”—Sean made his voice go all dramatic—“dark secret from my daughter.” He eyed Marvin. “Feel better?” he asked.

  “A little,” Marvin admitted.

  “Good,” Sean said. He took another puff of his cigarette and flicked the ashes out the window. “It’s not as if I get to smoke one of these that often anymore,” he observed. And then he spent the rest of the ride thinking about what he was going to do when he got to the old Connor estate.

  It had stopped raining by the time Marvin drove through the gate. The place had definitely changed, Sean decided. He’d been there fifteen years ago, if he remembered correctly, for a domestic abuse complaint that had been phoned in by Mrs. Wellington and emphatically denied by Mr. Wellington, who had sworn that Mrs. Wellington’s broken arm had occurred when she took a header down the stairs.

  And despite Sean’s best efforts, Mrs. Wellington had changed her mind and agreed with her husband when Sean had taken her statement. Sean shook his head. He recalled he’d felt bad leaving, but there’d been nothing he could do about that.

  Then everything had been immaculate; then there hadn’t been neon sculptures of cats on the lawn or pictures of cats painted on the shutters. He couldn’t imagine what the neighbors had said when they appeared. That was not true. He did know what they’d said. They’d complained to the town board, which in turn had complained to Susie, who had spent enough money to make the problem go away.