Claws for Alarm (16 page)

“You're part of the law team?” she asked. Her beady eyes pierced right through me, like a lion considering its prey. Not a good feeling. I nodded, and she gave me the evil eye as she handed me back my purse and waved me through. I could have sworn she mumbled, “You don't look much like a lawyer,” as I passed.

We were shown into a room even drabber than the last time, with only two benches and a long table, no windows. A few minutes later a guard appeared with Lacey. She wore the same navy pants and shirt, and her hair appeared just as unkempt as the prior time. I wondered if they'd ever let her shampoo it at all. I noticed an angry pimple popping up on the middle of her forehead as she sat down. Her expression, oddly enough, appeared hopeful.

Once the guard had moved across the room, she leaned forward slightly. “Have you got good news? Are you close to finding out who really killed Pitt?”

I gave a little shake of my head, and my stomach plummeted as her face fell. “That's why we're here, Lace. The investigation seems to have stonewalled. Unless we can come up with something, things don't look good.”

She slumped back on the bench, the corners of her lips drooping farther down. “Oh.”

I cast a cautious look across the room at the guard and then leaned forward a bit. “Lace, I just know deep in your subconscious there's some sort of clue. I know it. We need you to think, and think hard. Is there anything you can remember about that night—even that day—that was odd, out of the ordinary?”

My sister let out a deep breath. “I've been doing a lot of thinking about it. I was just so upset, you know. At that low grade, at what he said . . . I think I blocked everything else but my anger out of my mind.”

“And now?” I prompted as she grew silent.

“Now I'm trying to remember just what else happened. Details, anything, you know. But it's hard; it really is.”

“Sometimes when one feels pressured, or under great stress, it can have an adverse effect on their memory,” Peter interjected.

“Well, sitting in a jail cell sure is stressful.” Lacey shot Peter a grateful look. “I'm sure I have you to thank, though, for the fact I'm in a solitary cell.”

He smiled. “I may have had a bit to do with that. Can't promise anything, though, if you get sent to Chowchilla.”

“We won't let it get that far,” I cut in, and reached a hand out to Lacey. The guard saw me and turned. I pulled my hand back, twisting it with the other in my lap. “I know it's hard, but you've got to try and think. I know you. Something's
buried in your subconscious, I can tell. You've got to try and dig it up.”

“I've been trying, honest.” Her hand fluttered up, pulled at a strand of hair. “Don't you think I'd like to take a decent bath, start looking halfway human again?”

“You look fine,” Peter assured her.

She managed a smile. “Aren't you kind. But I know the truth. I want nothing more than to get out of here.”

I looked at my sister simpering at Peter. I looked at Peter almost beaming at Lacey. Wow, I hadn't seen this coming. They were attracted to each other, not that it was necessarily a bad thing. Rather, I thought Peter might actually exert a calming influence on my sister, provided she didn't have to spend the rest of her life in an orange jumpsuit making license plates.

“We both want you out,” I said. “So think! Help us get you free, please.”

She coughed lightly. “I think Julia was standing there when Pitt told me to come by his office later. As a matter of fact, the more I think of it, the more positive I am. Julia had to overhear.”

I shook my head. “That's not a viable lead anymore.”

Lacey frowned. “Why not?”

“Because—” I glanced over at the guard and then leaned over as far as I dared. “Because Julia is dead,” I whispered.

“Dead!” Lacey and Peter both cried out together. The guard's neck snapped around, and we all got a scathing look. “Dead?” Lacey repeated in a softer tone. “Good Lord, how?”

“Strangled, apparently. She was found in the Billings Warehouse last night.”

“Are you certain?” Peter asked. “It hasn't been on the news yet.”

“I'm positive. I'm the one who found the body.”

“You?” they chorused again. This time the guard took a giant step forward.

“You're going to have to contain yourselves,” he said stiffly, “or we're going to have to conclude this interview early.”

Peter made the appropriate apologies, and that seemed to mollify him. When he was once again safely on the other side of the room I continued, “Julia was my prime suspect. As it turned out, she was working with the police. Did you know they suspect Kurt Wilson is dealing in forged paintings?” I'd addressed the question to Peter, but it was Lacey who answered.

“Really? Wow, that might explain it then.”

I pinned her with a sharp gaze. “Explain what?”

“I saw Taft one day in town, at the public library. He was engrossed in a book. I thought it was odd, because Taft isn't exactly the type to frequent the library. He got up to go back down one of the aisles, and I walked over and took a quick peek at the cover.” She wrinkled her nose. “It appeared to be a book about art. The title was odd,
Provenance
.”

I shook my head. “Never heard of it.”

“I have,” Peter said excitedly. “It chronicles an investigation of art fraud. Specifically, paintings.
Provenance
refers to the paper trail that establishes a work of art's authenticity.”

I frowned. “You're right. That is an odd choice of reading material. I wonder why he would be interested in that.”

Lacey shrugged. “I don't know. I thought it might be because he worked at the gallery.”

I stared at her. “What? He works there, too?”

“Oh yeah. You didn't know? Taft is the one who got Julia her job there.”

Well, that was an interesting development indeed. “Are you sure?”

“He bragged about it often enough. How much money he made on the side, how this could open up new opportunities for him, yada yada. Julia said she was struggling, so he got her in. He offered to get me in, too, but I turned him down.”

“Which was probably a good thing.” I tapped my finger on the table, thoughts racing. Why would Taft be so interested in a book on art forgery, unless . . . Was he also working undercover? Or could he have something to do with the actual forgeries? Either seemed a good bet.

I switched to the reason I'd come to the jail. “I happened to be in your room the other day, Lace, and you had a visitor. Jenna Whitt.”

Lacey's eyes widened slightly. “Jenna? What'd she want?”

“She said she thought she might have left something in your room, but I got the impression she was just there to snoop around.”

“Oh geez,” my sister grumbled. “I told her I didn't have her damn leather pouch. I guess she didn't believe me.”

“A leather pouch?”

“Yeah. She cornered me right before Pitt's class, the day of the murder. She wanted to know if I'd maybe picked it up by accident when we'd left the Modern Art History class. I told her no, and if I had, I would have reported it to lost and found. I guess she didn't believe me.”

I drummed my fingers on the table. “You're certain this
pouch was leather? It couldn't have been made of something else, say burlap, perhaps?”

Lacey gave her head an emphatic shake. “Nope. It was leather. I know because I saw her with it a few times.” She held up her palm. “About so big, and really old and grubby looking. You know how leather can get. All faded and scuffed.” She let out a huge sigh. “She said she needed to find it but it wasn't even hers.”

“It wasn't?”

“No. Said it belonged to a friend of hers, and it had his medicine in it. He'd be real upset if she lost it.”

“Medicine?”

“Yeah, tranqs, I think. She said her friend had panic attacks.”

“That doesn't make any sense. If her friend needed the tranqs for his attacks, why would he give her the pouch?”

“Supposedly he'd misplaced it a few times, and she was hanging on to it for safekeeping. It sounded pretty fishy to me, but . . .” Her eyes rolled skyward. “I told her I didn't have it, and she should go ask Julia. I'd seen her with a similar pouch earlier that day. It might have been Jenna's or it might have been hers. Who knows? I really didn't care.” She paused. “And now that Julia's dead, I guess we'll never know, will we?”

I
let myself in the back door of Hot Bread a little after two. The store itself looked deserted, and Chantal was nowhere to be seen. Nick trotted off to his favorite spot in front of the refrigerator, and I set my overnight bag down in a corner and slipped out of my light coat. I was just making my way over to the register when the side door opened and Chantal walked in. “
Chérie
, you are home!” She hurried forward to envelop me in a bear hug to end all bear hugs. “I was not expecting you until later.”

I extricated myself from her grasp and gave her a smile. “Thanks for watching the store for me. I thought I'd get home in time for the lunch crowd, but it took a bit longer at the jail than I expected.”

“Ah. Well it is good to see you. Both of you.” She turned to Nick, beaming. “Guess what! I have finished half a dozen new collars, Nicky. Just for you! What do you say to that?”

His rotund bottom gave a brisk wiggle, and then he dive-bombed underneath a table.

I laid my hand on Chantal's arm. “He'll get over it.”

She waved her hand carelessly. “Oh, of course he will. Once he sees what I have whipped up, he will be anxious to wear them. At least I hope he is. Remy is planning to take some photos of Nicky to use in a brochure he designed. He plans on sending it to all the top retailers in the county.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the tablecloth move ever so slightly, and the tip of one black ear emerge. Modesty is definitely not one of my feline's virtues.

“I'm sure if you offer Nick some catnip he might be persuaded.”

Satisfied purring sounds rumbled beneath the table. I chuckled. “He can be bought so easily,” I whispered.

Chantal took my arm, and we walked to the table farthest in the back. Once we were seated, she looked me straight in the eye. “How is Lacey holding up?”

“Not bad, considering. Peter and I visited her this morning, and then we found out the DA's pushing for the trial to start this week.”

Chantal's eyes widened and one hand went to her throat, rubbed lightly. “
Mon Dieu!
That fast?”

I nodded grimly. “The circumstantial case against her is airtight, according to the DA. The fact she was found standing over the body and then fled the scene carries a lot of weight. Peter was going to file a motion to delay, but he didn't think it would do much good. As of now, the trial is scheduled to start Thursday.”

“Eeks. That's only three days from now.”

“Yep. Which gives me even less time to figure out who
really murdered Pitt and Julia Canton. I've got a very strong feeling the two are connected.” I sighed. “What have you been up to? How was business?”

“Quite brisk, actually. Thanks to the hoard of food you prepared before you left, I didn't have to make too many sandwiches. Believe it or not, that
Jennifer Aniston Garden Salad
has become quite popular, surprisingly with the male customers.”

I chuckled. “Lots of people watching their weight lately, I guess.” I studied her for a moment. “Is there something on your mind?” My friend has a horrible poker face. It's very easy for me to tell when she is preoccupied, and I wasn't wrong.

She shifted in the chair. “I did another reading.” Her hand shot out, covered mine. “Do promise me you will be careful!”

The hairs on the back of my neck pricked up. Chantal had the gift, and lately it seemed her readings were more spot-on than ever. She'd certainly been right when she'd predicted Nick would walk into my life (although she claimed it was Daniel—six of one, I say), and her last prediction about me was the reason she'd sent Daniel down to my rescue only a few weeks ago. When she was upset over a tarot reading, it was darn near impossible for me to not take her seriously.

I swallowed. “That might be easier to promise once you tell me what you saw in the reading.”

“I did a Fourfold Vision spread and asked if you would be able to clear your sister. The Seven of Swords appeared, reversed. That card is indicative of a hopeless situation, one that is too much for you to handle. The reading indicated you would find yourself caught in the middle of a desperate act of cunning or deception.”

I ran a hand through my tumble of curls. “You're right, that does sound ominous.”

“The rest is no better,” she said grimly. “The Wheel of Fortune also appeared but reversed. It signifies an unexpected turn of bad luck, an inescapable descent due to Fate or Karma: Great changes, the result of earlier actions, that cannot be taken back. There is a bright spot, though.”

I groaned. “I could use a bright spot. What is it?”

“It was crossed by the King of Wands. He represents a powerful influence. The King of Wands has the ability to reverse the misfortune, but it is all tenuous. There are evil forces at work, all around you. You will have to use great skill and cunning to defeat them.”

“Well, I'm trying.” Now was definitely not the time to tell her I'd found another dead body, too. Chantal got a bit squeamish at that sort of thing, and besides, she'd probably go back and be reading those damn cards all day, trying to find another bright spot.

“Just be careful,
chérie
. Someone does not want you to find out the truth, and they will go to great lengths to prevent it. Just be on your guard.” She paused and then added, “If you get in trouble, you must call upon the King of Wands.”

“Daniel? That might be a bit hard. Daniel's off on a case, MIA for all intents and purposes.”

Her head shook to and fro. “How fast we forget,
chérie
. Daniel's court card is the King of Swords. This card is King of Wands.”

“There's a difference?”

“Oy!” I could hear the frustration seeping into her tone. “The King of Swords is a high-energy person, a symbol of intellectual power and authority, one who has the courage
and intellect to accomplish all that he desires. The King of Wands is a bit different. Whereas the other Wands court cards deal with actual creation and implementation, this King is more apt to take an idea and change the world to match his vision. He's a natural-born leader, a visionary who sets a goal and sticks to it, makes it happen. It's indicative of another type of person entirely.” She touched my arm. “I get the impression it's someone you know, or have known in the past?”

A mental picture of Leroy Samms reared itself in my mind's eye, but as quickly as he appeared, I brushed the image away and forced a smile to my lips. “Sorry,” I said lightly. “I can't think of anyone unless I count Nick.”

“Sorry, the King is human, not feline.” Her gaze swept me up and down. Unfortunately, my friend can also read me like a book. “Are you certain you have no idea who it could be?”

“Positive,” I said shortly.

She hesitated, as if she wanted to ask something else, then apparently thought better of it. She shrugged and said, “Ollie called. He wanted to know the latest on Lacey, and how you were doing. And Lance has been asking about her, too.”

I glanced at the clock and rose. “Well, since it's time to close up for the day, maybe I'll take a quick run over to the Poker Face and give Lance the lowdown in person. Maybe get a drink, too. I sure could use one.”

Chantal laid her hand on my arm. “Whenever you need to go back, just say the word. Remy understands I'm on call here until this whole mess with Lacey is straightened out.”

I gave her a quick hug. “Thanks. You're the best. I'll probably head back there tomorrow after closing. I need to put together a plan of attack first.” I looked around for my purse and saw Nick, lying in front of the refrigerator, purse under
his fat belly. I sighed and walked over to reclaim it. As I bent down, I saw Nick's paw snake inside the side pocket.

I narrowed my eyes. “What are you doing? Looking for food?”

I shook the purse and bit my lip as the object of Nick's desire came clear. I snatched up my Mickey Mouse watch from the floor and slipped it in my jacket pocket.

“What am I going to do with you?” I said to the cat. “I'm not even going to try and figure out how you got this out of my drawer . . . again. But what is this fascination with Mickey?”

“
Er-OW!
” Nick jumped up and pawed the air. I caught a glimpse of a crumpled bit of paper near his rear and bent down to retrieve it. I smoothed it out, recognized an advertisement that had come in the mail a few days before.

“What did you want with this advertisement for Finn Crisp crispbread?” I said, glancing sharply at the cat. “Oh, how I wish you could talk. You are trying to tell me something, aren't you?”

He blinked twice, then sat back, raised one leg, and began to groom.

“Good God! Mickey Mouse watches, bread advertisements, what next?”

I started to place the advertisement on the counter, then stopped mid-motion as a sudden thought occurred to me. I remembered back in Chicago tracking down a story where the victim had been drugged—or slipped a Mickey Finn—slang for tranquilizer. Pitt had been a big man, and strong. He'd also been stabbed right through the heart.

What man would stand there and let someone stab him right through the heart? Someone who didn't expect it or someone who'd been drugged.

I knelt down and rubbed the white streak behind Nick's left ear. He responded with a guttural purr. I snatched my cell out of my purse and punched in Samms's number. When it went to his voice mail, I left a message suggesting he check the decanter in Pitt's office for traces of drugs, particularly tranquilizers—a suggestion I was pretty certain would go over like a lead balloon—and then hurried off to the Poker Face
.

*   *   *

“H
ey, Nora. We were just talking about you. How's Lacey?”

It was a little after three when I stepped through the door of the Poker Face. I paused in the doorway, letting my eyes adjust to the dim lighting from the harsh glare of the afternoon sun, and saw Lance behind the bar. I caught a bit of motion out of the corner of my eye, and the next minute Louis Blondell stood in front of me, an anxious expression on his pinched face.

“Hey, Nora,” he said. “How are things going? Any luck finding out who really iced old Pitt?”

I slid onto a barstool, propped my elbows on the counter, and shook my head. “Lots of possible suspects, all with far better motives than my sister, but no evidence to tie any of them to the crime. At least not yet.”

“Ah, well, I'm sure something will turn up,” Louis said. He fiddled with his tiny moustache with the tips of his fingers.

“Damn straight,” Lance said with feeling. “Lacey's no killer, right, Nora?”

“If she were I'd have been dead long ago,” I said ruefully. “We used to have some catfights, back in the day.”

“You can say that again.” Lance chuckled. “I remember
a few doozies myself.” He eyed me. “Get you a drink? It's on the house.”

“Yes, a good stiff one, please. I don't usually imbibe so early in the day but, heck, after the last few days I can use one.”

“Hey, it's after five o'clock somewhere in the world, right? And I've got just the thing.” A few minutes later he placed a cool-looking drink in a frosted glass in front of me. “White gin and tonic,” he said in response to my questioning look. “Packs a good punch, and it seems to me that's what you need, right about now.”

I took a sip and set the glass back down. “Strong, but it's good.”

“It's a London dry, the most common of the seven types, but the best, for my money.”

I took another sip and slid a glance at Louis. “How's the magazine doing this month?”

“Good.” His hands fiddled with the bottle of Samuel Adams on the counter in front of him. “I got a lot of inquiries as to why there was no offering from you this month. It appears you've become quite popular.”

“Why wouldn't she?” Lance said. He pulled a rag from underneath the counter and proceeded to wipe down the bar. “You're lucky to have Nora, Louis.”

Louis's hand shot up. “I'm not disputing that at all. Her recount of the Grainger case made quite a splash, one I'd like to continue.” He eyed me. “There is the column we talked about, you know.”

I wrapped my hand around the stem of my glass. “The PI tips? Kind of hard to do that when I'm not a PI.”

Louis lifted the bottle to his lips and took a swig. “Hey,
you could go for a license. I've got every confidence you'd get one with no problem.”

“I'm certainly getting enough practice. Lacey's case alone is a PI's dream, or should I say nightmare.”

Louis pushed his empty bottle off to the side, and Lance reached under the counter, put a fresh one in front of him. He looked at me. “You said there were plenty of other suspects, right?”

“Plenty from my POV, but apparently not from the DA's. Since Lacey was caught standing over the body and then saw fit to flee the scene, they think they have their perp.”