Alibis and Amethysts (11 page)

Sierra didn’t answer right away, and looking into her eyes, Jaye swore she could see
the wheels in her mind spinning madly. She wouldn’t have been surprised to hear that
her friend was even contemplating a name change to go with her nascent criminal career.

“With Raffles,” Sierra said with a smile. “We can do it with Raffles’s help.”

Chapter 14

“Well, what did your mother say?” Jaye asked. She and Daniel had just been seated
at a scarred wooden table in the back room of Finnegan’s Fajitas. Even though Bryn
was working at the crystal shop, this was the first time Jaye had allowed herself
enough time for a sit-down lunch instead of just gobbling a protein bar on the run.
And since the afternoon’s agenda included trying to pick Quinn Finnegan’s brain, she’d
asked Daniel to meet her at the restaurant.

“She didn’t say much of anything,” Daniel replied. “She told me I must have imagined
the ‘we know something you don’t know’ look when you showed them the photo of Raffles.”

“Maybe your grandmother was in the room, so she couldn’t speak freely?” Jaye said.

“I asked her that, but she told me she was alone.”

“Do you think we imagined that look?”

“Not for a minute,” Daniel replied. “Those two raised me—I know all their looks. Besides,
they were yelling at each other when we got there, then they saw Raffles's picture,
and suddenly they were acting like coconspirators. What would that mean to you?”

“That they know more about Raffles than they’re willing to admit,” Jaye conceded.

“Exactly.”

“How do we get them to talk—assuming torture is out of the question?”

“Maybe we shouldn’t eliminate that possibility just yet,” Daniel said wryly. “Somehow
I doubt tears will work like they did when I was little.”

Jaye sighed. “I don’t know if curiosity can kill a not-a-cat, but it’s already doing
a number on me.”

A waitress arrived to take their order, followed closely by a busboy who brought a
basket of tortilla chips with both mild and spicy salsas. Jaye decided it was as good
a time as any to fill Daniel in on Sierra’s latest brainstorm. If he was now part
of their investigative team, he had a right to be kept in the loop.

As Daniel listened, his brow lowered over his eyes and he started popping tortilla
chips into his mouth like a chain-smoker going through a pack of cigarettes. He didn’t
even bother to dunk the chips in the hot salsa he loved.

“Whoa,” he said, interrupting before Jaye was finished, “you can’t be serious.”

“Well, Sierra certainly is, and I have to admit I’m coming around to her way of thinking.
Time is marching on, and we need to find evidence that points to a murderer other
than Sierra or me.”

“That’s what the police are for.”

“What if Brock and Anastos are just going through the motions, because they’ve already
decided we’re the guilty ones?”

“Slow down, Jaye. I’ve always known the detectives to be stand-up guys. And risking
an arrest in the interests of
avoiding
prison doesn’t seem like the smartest game plan.”

In spite of his even tone, Jaye knew he was completely opposed to the idea. He ate
when he was stressed, and he was only a few chips away from gnawing on the wicker
basket itself. Having expected him to be all for pushing the envelope, she was surprised
by his reaction and beginning to wish for a margarita instead of the club soda parked
in front of each of them. No, she reminded herself, she needed to be sober if she
was going to ferret information out of Quinn. Ditto for Daniel, who had an afternoon
of off-road Jeep tours to navigate over some tricky terrain.

“What makes you think the police didn’t already strip Peggy’s place to the studs?”
he went on.

“Of course they did. I even used that argument with Sierra at first. But here’s the
thing—from what we’ve heard, Peggy was paranoid about her privacy. A person like that
wouldn’t keep a diary or log of any kind on her computer. She’s much more likely to
have used a ballpoint pen and paper to chronicle her complaints and whatever it was
she claimed to have against Adam Grayson. And she would have stashed it somewhere
clever.”

“Clever or not, don’t you think the police would have found that too?” Daniel pushed
the empty basket away as if it were the source of his frustration. “They’re not exactly
rookies you know.”

“But they’re men. I think a woman has a better shot of putting herself in Peggy’s
shoes. Even if there’s only a slim chance we’ll find something useful, we need to
try.” Before they could continue the debate, the waitress arrived with their lunches—a
spinach enchilada for Jaye, a chimichanga and a bowl of chili for Daniel.

After she walked away, Daniel studied Jaye for a minute, tapping his soup spoon on
the table as if he were trying to come to a decision. “Your mind’s made up?”

Jaye nodded. “You know I can’t just leave it in fate’s hands.”

“In that case,” he said, “let me know what I can do to help.” Then he dug into the
chili as if he hadn’t eaten in a week.

The lunch rush was winding down by the time they’d had their fill. Daniel hurried
off to jostle the insides of another batch of eager tourists, and Jaye moseyed over
to the bar where Quinn was wiping down the counter. There was no one hanging out there,
so she didn’t need to ask to speak to him privately.

“Daniel driving you to drink?” Quinn asked with a laugh that puffed up his cheeks
and crinkled the skin around his pale blue eyes.

Jaye laughed along with him—fellow merchants enjoying a joke together. “Not yet.”

“So what can I get you?”

“A minute of your time?”

Quinn’s unruly eyebrows hitched up with curiosity. “That depends.”

“It’s about Peggy,” Jaye said, watching for his reaction as she pulled herself up
on one of the bar chairs.

“It seems like everything is these days,” Quinn grumbled. The jovial expression he
wore like a uniform was supplanted by a grimness that made his face almost unrecognizable.
“I wish they’d figure out who killed her already.” He’d lowered his booming bass to
a raspy whisper. “Then maybe the rest of us could get on with our lives.”

Jaye was impressed. With one disgruntled remark, he’d managed to paint himself with
a believable coat of innocence. But was he actually innocent, or had the art of survival
simply honed his acting skills? She resisted the urge to echo his sentiment. Commiserating
with him might help win his trust, but what if he repeated her words to the wrong
people? “How well did you know Peggy?” she asked instead.

“Not well, but more than enough to suit me,” Quinn replied, looking like he’d just
tasted curdled milk. “Why?”

“I didn’t know her at all, and yet I’m a suspect in her death simply because I found
her.” Jaye had decided to go with the “pitiful me” approach, since Quinn seemed to
be the type of man who would come to the aid of a damsel in distress. It wasn’t a
role she respected or enjoyed. If her life had taught her anything, it had taught
her to be self-reliant. But she couldn’t afford to be a purist right now. She needed
information, and by the most expedient means. Damsel in distress fit the bill quite
nicely for this interview.

“Count yourself lucky that you didn’t know her better,” Quinn said. “That woman always
had an ax to grind. She must have had a blow up with every person in this town at
one time or another.”

“I heard she complained about the smells from your kitchen getting into her baked
goods,” Jaye said, making sure her tone indicated how ridiculous she found the idea.
See—you can trust me, Quinn.

“All the time. She’d come over here with one of her baguettes and wave it in my face
while she ranted at me. A couple of times I thought about grabbing the bread and stuffing
it down her throat.” Quinn must have realized how loud he was getting, because he
dialed down the volume again and glanced around the restaurant as if worried that
someone might have heard him. Jaye looked too, but of the few diners left, no one
had turned in their direction.

“Even if what she claimed was true,” Quinn went on, “the aromas from here would only
have enhanced the flavor of the crap she sold. It beats me why she opened a bakery
in the first place. From what I could tell, she didn’t enjoy baking and she didn’t
have much of a knack for it. She did have some die-hard customers, though. Just proves
there’s no accounting for taste. But for the majority of us,” he said, patting his
substantial abdomen, “it was a real godsend when Sierra opened Cravings!”

Jaye wondered if Quinn’s doctor shared that opinion. “So, who do you think killed
Peggy?” she asked, to keep him from riding his tangent off into the sunset.

“Beats me. But between the two of us,” he whispered, leaning closer to her over the
bar, “I’m all for pinning a medal on whoever did it.”

“Too bad the killer isn’t proud enough to come forward. It would sure make my life
easier,” Jaye agreed.

Quinn heaved a sigh. “Ain’t that the truth?”

“Some folks are saying it had to be Adam Grayson.” Jaye was hoping she could tempt
him into naming his choice for the most likely killer. “Others think it was her next-door
neighbors. And even though no one will say it when Sierra and I are around, I’m sure
some of them are convinced we’re the killers.”

“No one mentioned Elaine Feldman?” Quinn asked.

“Elaine?” He’d caught Jaye by surprise. Elaine hadn’t said anything even mildly suspicious
when Jaye had talked to her. In fact, she’d managed to put Jaye on the defensive.

“You didn’t know Elaine was Grayson’s fiancée a few years back?” A smile was once
again hitching up Quinn’s cheeks. Being the purveyor of news clearly appealed to him.
“He gave her quite a rock too, which she kept and made into a pendant.”

“Wait a minute—you mean Grayson dumped her for Peggy?” That would make a fine motive.

“Well, not quite,” Quinn admitted. “He broke it off with Elaine at least a year before
he took up with Peggy.”

Easy come, easy go. Jaye felt a bit deflated. For a moment there she thought she’d
hit suspect gold. “Then why would she be carrying a grudge against Peggy? Adam must
have dated other women during that year.”

“Sure, but nothing that lasted more than a month or two. Elaine believed she’d win
him back one day. At least until he and Peggy hooked up.”

And Elaine was suddenly back in the running. “And you know this because . . . ?”

“I overheard a conversation between Elaine and one of her friends when they were having
lunch here,” Quinn admitted, looking slightly sheepish. “What can I say? Owning this
sort of establishment, you come by certain information. But any good bartender and
restaurateur knows how to keep his mouth shut if he wants to stay in business.”

Jaye didn’t bother to point out that he wasn’t doing a very good job of it at the
moment. Maybe he considered murder an exception to his rule. “Then you think Elaine’s
the killer?”

“I never said that,” Quinn quickly backpedaled. “I’m just surprised you haven’t heard
anyone mention her name in connection with the case. Can I count on you to keep what
I’ve told you in the strictest confidence?”

“I’ll be as tight-lipped as a priest.” Almost, anyway. She was going to have to tell
her partners, of course. And if the police came to arrest her or Sierra, she might
use it to distract them, like tossing a T-bone to a junkyard dog you’re trying to
keep at bay. She definitely wouldn’t let on to Elaine what she knew or how she’d come
by it if she happened to talk to her again. She made Quinn a silent promise in that
regard. She was about to ask him if he had any insights into other possible suspects
when Luisa Finnegan came out of the kitchen carrying a large crate filled with clean
glassware.

“
Querida
, let me help you with that,” Quinn said, hurrying out from behind the bar.

“I don’t need any help,” Luisa said, maneuvering around him. She set the crate down
on the bar with a glass-rattling thud. Then she looked at Jaye and shook her head.
“He’s only chivalrous when he has an audience. Otherwise he wouldn’t notice if I was
lugging around a baby grand.”

“Not true,” Quinn protested, clutching at his chest. “She breaks my heart when she
says things like that.”

“Doesn’t the man look tortured?” Luisa demanded, although she seemed to be having
trouble keeping a straight face.

Jaye had the feeling they both enjoyed having an audience. She murmured a thank-you
to Quinn for his time and excused herself before she could be drawn into a marital
improv they’d clearly riffed on in the past.

Chapter 15

Raffles proved to be a quick study. Quicker in some ways than Jaye. After closing
and locking the door and windows to her apartment, Jaye took the not-a-cat outside
to see if she could figure out how to get back in. The animal immediately bounded
off as if this were one of her usual outings. Of course, Raffles had no idea what
was expected of her. Jaye had forgotten to take that little detail into account when
she’d planned the experiment and had no choice but to wait for her eventual return.
She paced around the building trying not to be impatient, until Bryn came outside
to ask if there was a problem. Jaye assured her everything was fine and then went
up to the apartment where her pacing wouldn’t raise any further questions. An hour
later, thoroughly disgruntled over the time she was wasting, she made herself a cup
of coffee and took it into the living room, where she almost sat on top of Raffles,
who was curled up on the couch.

The good news was that the not-a-cat had figured out how to get back inside. The bad
news was that Jay still had no idea how she’d done it. Discounting the possibility
that Raffles had somehow outmaneuvered the laws of physics and simply walked through
the walls, there were two choices left—the chimney that led to the furnace in the
basement or one of the small slotted vents that led into the ductwork for the air-conditioning
system. If the animal had taken the route down the chimney, it would have led her
into the basement, where she would still have faced the dilemma of how to get into
the apartment itself. One of the vents had to be the answer, but they seemed too small
to accommodate her, and Jaye couldn’t shake the feeling that Raffles had ways and
means beyond her imagining.

Sierra suggested they conduct the next trial at her house, since to the best of their
knowledge Raffles had never been there. An unfamiliar house would be a better testing
ground anyway, since Peggy’s house would presumably be unfamiliar to the not-a-cat
as well. On Monday, in order to eliminate any possible distractions, Sierra dropped
Frosty off at day care with the promise of a nice long hike that afternoon.

This time Jaye waited until Raffles returned from her usual morning rounds before
scooping her up and putting her in the car. Hopefully, she wouldn’t feel the need
to go running off as she had during the first trial. To cement the deal, Jaye brought
along a can of tuna.

Sierra met them in her driveway. As soon as Jaye and Raffles exited the car, Jaye
handed the tuna to Sierra, who opened it under the not-a-cat’s watchful eye and then
took it with her into the house. Raffles seemed torn between wanting to follow Sierra
and the tuna inside, and wanting to explore her new environment. She looked longingly
at the front door through which she’d seen the tuna disappear, then scanned her surroundings,
ears pricked forward in curiosity. Since Jaye hadn’t given her breakfast, the tuna
won out. With nimble fingers, Raffles tried the front and back doors. When she found
them locked, she checked each of the windows. Also all locked. Without a moment’s
hesitation, she leapt onto the trellis at the side of the house and, using it like
a ladder placed there for her convenience, scampered up to the roof.

Jaye had to relocate to the curb in order to keep her in sight, at which point she
realized that if any of the neighbors were outside they would also have a great view
of the not-a-cat. She glanced around, hoping it was still early enough that most people
were inside getting ready for their day. So far, so good—there wasn’t a soul outside,
not even a dog walker.

Up on the roof, Raffles had gone straight to the chimney, which she circled a couple
of times, apparently perplexed by the metalwork cap on it designed to keep animals
out. Then she sniffed around the vent pipes from the kitchen and the two bathrooms.
Jaye had to bite her tongue not to yell for her to stay away. If the animal became
stuck in one of them, Jaye had no idea how they would get her out. Perhaps having
come to the same conclusion, Raffles backtracked to the edge of the roof and started
to descend the trellis. But a third of the way down she stopped short. From her vantage
point, Jaye couldn’t tell what the not-a-cat was doing, so she hurried back through
the gate into the side yard.

Directly below her now, Jaye could see that Raffles had stopped beside a small louvered
vent. Her hind legs still on the trellis, she was leaning toward the vent and tugging
at the narrow metal slats with her hands. The more frustrated she became, the harder
she tugged, until Jaye was sure she was going to tumble off the trellis. She had no
idea if a not-a-cat could survive what was at least a ten foot drop, but all she could
do was hope for the best. If she called up to the animal, she might distract her,
making the situation even more perilous. Then Jaye seized upon the one thing that
might work. She could bring the tuna outside and put an end to Raffles’s arduous quest.
She was about to do just that when the not-a-cat let out a trill of victory and disappeared
through the vent.

“I can’t believe she was able to squeeze through there,” Sierra said, filling two
mugs with the green tea she’d made while she waited inside. Raffles was making comical
lip-smacking noises as she ate her tuna breakfast from a plate on the kitchen floor.

“I told you—she can fit through incredibly small spaces.”

“But she has bones and joints, not to mention a skull.” Sierra carried a plate of
chocolate chip scones to the table. “Try one—I was up until after midnight perfecting
the recipe.”

“It’s like she can make her joints lie flat,” Jaye said, helping herself to one of
the scones. “I have no idea how she does it. Her head is actually easier to explain—she
has such dense fur there, it looks much bigger than it is.”

“Okay, then. Why question success? Unless Peggy’s house is hermetically sealed, Raffles
shouldn’t have any trouble getting in there one way or another. Now all you have to
do is teach her to unlock the front door, and our mission will be ready to launch.”

Jaye broke off a piece of the scone and popped it into her mouth. “Ummm,” she groaned
with pleasure. “These are ridiculously good. Do you realize I’ve gained five pounds
since I moved here and you made me your taste tester?”

“I’m sure I can find someone else to take on the job,” Sierra said, calling her friend’s
bluff. “I bet Daniel would be willing to step in for you.”

Jaye laughed. “Don’t you dare—I never said anything about quitting.” They lingered
over the tea and scones for another half hour; then Sierra went off to keep her promise
to Frosty, and Jaye took Raffles home to get on with the training. She’d arranged
for Bryn to open the shop and run it by herself for the day. But when Jaye pulled
into the crowded parking lot, she realized she hadn’t worked out how she was going
to get Raffles past everyone in the shop and up to the apartment. She could let the
not-a-cat go free. After all, she’d proven more than once that she could gain access
to the apartment. But Jaye didn’t want to waste any more time, and there was always
the possibility that Raffles might go off on one of her three-hour jaunts first. That
left only two ways for them to go up to the apartment together. Jaye could shimmy
up the tree beside the building with Raffles under one arm, or she could take her
through the shop. Okay, since she wasn’t much of an athlete, there was only one realistic
option.

She tucked the not-a-cat under her Windbreaker, holding it closed as she entered the
shop. She did a slalom run around the customers and was making a beeline for the stairs
when Raffles took exception to her mode of transportation, sprang free of Jaye’s grasp
and popped out of the jacket, not unlike the birth of the alien in the old Sigourney
Weaver flick. At least the animal was quick about it, leaving just a few stunned expressions
in her wake, one of them on Bryn’s face.

“What
was
that?” she gasped, her eyes locked on Raffles’s disappearing hindquarters.

“Just a stray cat,” Jaye said as calmly as possible. Nothing strange going on here.
“I found her in the parking lot playing ‘dodge the cars.’ I was afraid she was going
to get herself killed, so I grabbed her. She looks like she could use a meal too.”
She was becoming so proficient at making up stories, maybe she should become a novelist.

“I think you’ve just adopted yourself another cat,” Bryn said, turning back to Jaye.
“They know when they’ve found a cushy setup.”

A white-haired lady standing nearby was shaking her head. “Are you sure what you’ve
got there is a cat? I’ve had cats all my life, and I’ve never seen one like that before.
You best be careful till you can get it over to a vet and make sure it isn’t diseased
or something.”

Jaye thanked the woman for her advice and ran for the stairs before Raffles came back
down to see what was taking her so long.

***

Early the next morning Raffles’s introduction to locks began. Step one: Jaye showed
the not-a-cat how to open the simple lock on the apartment door from inside, repeating
the word “open” as she did it. Raffles tilted her head first to one side, then to
the other, as if a better angle might help her fathom what her pal was trying to tell
her. Step two: Jaye took the animal’s hand and held it under her own so they could
open the lock together when she said “open.” Within a couple of minutes Raffles understood
what was required of her and was more than happy to oblige. In fact, she really seemed
to be getting into it— with or without the magic word. Jaye had accidentally created
a monster. Since she needed to be able to lock her door for the sake of security,
another round of training was necessary to teach Raffles
not
to open the lock unless she was specifically told to. It turned out to be a vastly
more difficult concept.

Once Jaye was sure Raffles understood the rules, it was time to give her a final exam.
Jaye turned the lock and closed the door behind her. The moment it clicked shut she
realized her mistake. She hadn’t taken her key. No problem. She had faith in all the
training Raffles had just completed.

“Open the lock,” she called to her star pupil. There was no noise from the other side
of the door. No sounds of the lock mechanism turning, no clicking of the animal’s
nails on the hardwood, nothing. Jaye raised her voice and called out to her again,
ordering her to open the lock. Still nothing. She tried demanding Raffles open the
lock, followed up by begging and finally a last-ditch attempt at bribery. Nothing.
In the end, Jaye had to go down to the shop to use the phone and call a locksmith.
An hour later she walked back into her apartment to find the not-a-cat fast asleep
on her favorite love seat.

Although there was still the matter of showing her how to open a deadbolt from inside,
Jaye had to wait until after the shop closed for the night. The only deadbolt she
had was on the front door of the building. It shouldn’t be difficult to open even
that kind of lock from inside if the key was still in it, but what if it wasn’t? In
her paranoia, Peggy might have taken to stashing it away in the general vicinity of
the door so it was easy to grab when she was home and wanted to lock up. To cover
this possibility, Raffles needed to be taught to look for it. Jaye tried to turn this
part of the lesson into a game. In order to keep the animal from seeing where she
was planting the key, she slipped a small paper bag over Raffles head. Raffles immediately
made it clear that she didn’t care for the idea by tearing her way out of the bag
and causing collateral damage to Jaye’s shirt in the scuffle. Time to rethink her
strategy.

Sierra arrived fifteen minutes later with bits of bread dough dotting her hair.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were in the middle of baking?” Jaye asked when she saw
her friend.

“Because what you’re trying to do is more important than perfecting a seven-grain
peasant bread. What happened to your shirt?”

“Raffles and I had a difference of opinion about my teaching method.”

“Where is she anyway?”

“In the bedroom sulking.”

“Raffles,” Sierra called out sweetly. “Raffles.” A moment later the not-a-cat dashed
into the room and launched herself into Sierra’s arms. She barely had time to brace
herself for the impact. “Poor baby,” Sierra cooed, once she’d regained her balance.
“What did your mommy do to you?”

“Thanks,” Jaye said wryly. “You’re a big help.”

“Well, right now she needs to trust at least one of us.”

Jaye explained what she’d been trying to do when Raffles turned into the Tasmanian
Devil.

“I’ll take her outside while you hide the key,” she said, taking charge. When she
brought Raffles back in, she set her down with instructions to find the key. Ninety
seconds later, the not-a-cat did. They repeated the exercise until both women were
satisfied that they’d prepared her as best they could for their first attempt at breaking
and entering.