Copycat Killing: A Magical Cats Mystery (31 page)

She took a deep breath and slowly breathed out. Then she looked up at me. “I’m going to have Tom’s remains buried with the rest of his family.” She put a hand flat on her chest. “In my heart and my mind Neil is my father, but Tom gave me life and I want him to have a proper burial.”

“Let me know when the service is,” I said. “I’ll be there, if you’d like some company.”

She had to clear her throat before she answered. “Thanks,” she said.

We ate in silence for a few minutes. “How’s your mother doing?” I asked when most of my sandwich was gone.

“Surprisingly well,” Roma said. “I think she feels guilty about Sam.”

I nodded.

“And me.”

“You’re not angry,” I said, shifting in my seat and tucking one foot underneath me.

“I’m not.” She reached for her coffee. “My mother’s stories about Tom always made him out to be a little bit too good to be true. I guess somewhere inside I never
totally believed them. The truth didn’t hurt as much as you’d think it would.” She took a long drink from her cup. “I owe you a thank you.”

“What for?” I said

“For finding Tom’s remains.”

“That was an accident.” I picked up my own coffee. “I wouldn’t have even been standing there if I hadn’t seen something and gone to pick it up. The embankment might not have collapsed without my extra weight.”

“So what did you see?”

I held up my fingers, about an inch apart. “A little, purple buffer.”

“You mean for a manicure?” Roma asked, glancing down at her short, unpolished nails.

“No. I mean for working on a mask.”

Her eyes widened. “Jaeger.”

“Yeah,” I nodded, slowly. “Maggie was right. He did have some scam going. Maybe more than one. It looks as though Ray Nightingale was involved, too.”

Roma shook her head. “I’m guessing Maggie is on damage control.”

“She is,” I said. “It’s going to be a messy few days for the co-op.”

“That reminds me. I have a vet to cover for me for a few days starting tomorrow—I’m going to see Eddie on the road. Could you take a couple of my shifts at Wisteria Hill?”

I smiled. “Absolutely.”

We talked about the cats as we finished eating, then Roma looked at her watch. “I need to get to the clinic. Someone brought in a stray with chemical burns to her feet. We’re having a heck of a time keeping the bandages on and clean.”

“Boots,” I said.

She shook her head. “No. She doesn’t look like a Boots. She’s all white. I’ve been calling her Snowy.”

“I don’t mean Boots for a name,” I said. “I mean she needs boots, to wear over the bandages.”

She thought about it for a moment. “Interesting idea, but where am I going to find a pair of cat boots?”

I smiled at her. “It just so happens Hercules has a pair and I’m pretty sure he’d be willing to donate them to a cat in need.”

Roma smiled at me. “I’m not even going to ask you what Hercules is doing with boots. I’m just going to say yes.”

“I’ll drop them off at the clinic,” I said. “Thank you for lunch.”

She hugged me. “Thank you for, well, everything.”

After Roma left I went out to give Susan a break at the front desk, pulling on my sweater because the building still seemed a bit chilly after having been closed up for several cool, damp days. I was stacking books on one of the carts to be reshelved and when I bent to put a couple of magazines on the bottom something crackled in my pocket. I straightened and put my hand inside, pulling out the piece of paper Owen had found at the studio.

I squinted at the cramped, spidery writing. The name looked like Gerald Sherriff. Ray had said that Jaeger had given up on faking the Coca-Cola Santa for something else. Maybe Gerald Sherriff was connected somehow. Marcus would say, “Leave it alone,” but I couldn’t. I knew Maggie wouldn’t relax until she knew for sure what Jaeger had been up to.

I turned to the computer and typed the name in a
search engine. Nothing. I couldn’t find a Gerald Sherriff connected with the art world or any kind of scam.

I frowned at the scrap of paper. Maybe it was meaningless. Maybe Owen had picked it up because it smelled like tuna to him, not because it was some clue that would solve the Jaeger Merrill/Christian Ellis mystery. He was just a cat after all. Okay, a cat with some pretty good sleuthing skills that I was probably never going to be able to explain, but in the end just ten pounds of furry feline with fish breath and lots of attitude.

Mary came over with an empty book cart. She glanced at the corner of paper on the desk. “Who’s Carroll Stennett?” she asked. “The name’s familiar.”

“That doesn’t say Carroll Stennett,” I said. “It says Gerald Sherriff.”

Mary shook her head at me. “I may need glasses, but I can see. Whoever that is writes like my mother did. I think it’s some style of penmanship they used to teach in school. Look.” She pointed to the first letter in the name. “That’s a C not a G, and that’s an L at the end, not a D.”

I held the piece of paper up to the light. The shakiness of the writing made it hard to distinguish the letters, but now that she’d pointed it out, I could see she was right about the C and the L.

“Mary, you’re a genius,” I said.

She patted her gray curls. “I know. It’s a curse sometimes.” She exchanged the empty cart for a full one and went back to the stacks.

I typed Carroll Stennett into the search engine box. It took a while to find the connection and I probably would have missed it altogether if the source of the story hadn’t been the
Mayville Heights Chronicle
. I leaned back in the chair and reread the article on my screen.

Carroll Stennett had lived and died—about a year and a half ago—in the house he’d been born in, the old family homestead out near Wild Rose Bluff. He had no close family other than a great-nephew by marriage. An eccentric, reclusive old man, most people figured he barely had two cents to rub together. Of course they were wrong. He owned all the land around his run-down farm—several hundred acres—and had a stash of government bonds in a safe deposit box. The bonds had been left to a church-run summer camp for underprivileged kids. The land had been left to the great-nephew.

Peter Lundgren.

Peter, who had kept Jaeger Merrill’s secret about who he really was.

Peter, who had jumped in to help Maggie after Jaeger’s death.

Both Maggie and Ruby had said the reason Jaeger had been successful as a forger for so long was his ability to forge the provenance for his artwork—the documents that provided their authenticity.

He’d forged a letter for Ray. Was it possible that Jaeger had created a document for Peter too?

I looked at my left hand. I’d needed only a small bandage this morning on the place where I’d torn the skin on the basement railing at the co-op. I thought about the bandage I’d seen on Peter’s hand. He said he’d fallen in his office’s parking lot.

That’s what he said.

Was I wrong? I wanted to be. Peter had been advising Ruby about the money she was inheriting from Agatha Shepherd. He’d even uncovered a piece of evidence in the case against Agatha’s killer. And he was helping three of his younger siblings get an education. Then I
thought of what Roma had said about her mother’s stories about Tom:
They always made him out to be a little bit too good to be true.

Like Peter.

I pulled a hand back through my hair. I remembered Jaeger’s body, mostly submerged in the cold, filthy water in the co-op basement. What if…what if that hadn’t been an accident? What if…someone…had pushed him down those stairs or held him under the water. Whatever Jaeger had done, he didn’t deserve that.

I’d told Maggie I didn’t believe Ray had pushed Jaeger, but could Peter have done it? The problem was, I didn’t have any real proof tying Peter to anything illegal, just a piece of paper my cat had found in the hall outside Maggie’s studio. Even Erle Stanley Gardner and Perry Mason couldn’t make a case with that.

I could call Marcus and tell him what I suspected. Would he take me seriously with no evidence?

Or I could call Peter and try to find out a little more about his relationship with the dead artist. What would be the harm in that?

I looked at the phone. I looked at the piece of paper on the desk in front of me. For a moment I thought about deciding the way we used to resolve things when I was eight: one potato, two potato, three potato, four.

I exhaled slowly and then I reached for the phone.

P
eter showed up at the library at exactly quarter after eight. Right on time. I unlocked the front door and let him in, locking it behind him again because I didn’t want anyone wandering in and interrupting us.

My heart was pounding and my palms were sweaty. I wasn’t so sure this was a good idea anymore. I could hear my mother’s voice in my head telling me to act confident even if I didn’t feel it, although she probably would have rescinded the advice if she’d known how I was using it.

Peter faced me, hands in his pockets, his back to the checkout desk. “Okay, Kathleen,” he said. “You said on the phone that you have proof that Christian—Jaeger’s death wasn’t an accident.”

I nodded.

“And you said you didn’t want to go to the police.”

“I don’t,” I said.

He shifted restlessly from one foot to the other. “Are we going to keep playing games or are you going to tell me why you called me? I assume you want legal advice.”

I tucked my hair back behind one ear with a gesture that I hope looked smooth and unconcerned. “Actually what I want is two hundred and fifty thousand dollars,” I said.

His mouth twisted in something that looked like a smile but wasn’t. “Excuse me?”

“Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars,” I repeated and my voice didn’t quaver at all.

He shook his head and pulled his keys out of his pocket. “I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing Kathleen, but I don’t have time for this.”

I held up a crumpled corner of paper. “You probably can’t read this because the writing is so small and it’s not really that easy to read even if you’re up close to it, so I’ll just tell you that it says Carroll Stennett.”

I made a show of looking at the writing and then I turned the paper so it faced him again. “Actually it says Carroll Stennett, Carroll Stennett, Carroll Stennett, Carroll Stennett and Carroll Stennett to be exact.”

He was unfazed. Nothing changed in his demeanor or expression or even his voice. “So?” he said.

“So Carroll Stennett was your great-uncle. He left you a lot of land in his will.” I crossed my free arm over my chest.

“Yes, he did.”

I smiled, hoping it didn’t look as fake as it felt. “A handwritten will that Jaeger Merrill—or Christian Ellis if you prefer—forged.”

Peter smiled back at me. It wasn’t warm and it wasn’t real. “Really? Was this will an oil painting or did he make it out of old gears and broken spoons?”

“Funny,” I said. I let the hand holding the scrap of paper drop. “Jaeger created the provenance—all the
various documents—that proved the authenticity of the artwork he forged. You knew that. You were his lawyer. Creating a handwritten will was a challenge, but one he was up to, especially since you could provide him with writing samples.”

He looked around the empty library and then focused his attention back on me. “And you figured all this out from a scrap of paper with my uncle’s name on it?”

I checked the bit of paper again and then put it in my pocket. “Pretty much. That and the fact that Jaeger put his portfolio and the puzzle box he made in with some of Maggie’s things. You must have been furious when Maggie called Marcus Gordon instead of you when she found them. They were his insurance policy.”

Peter crossed his arms casually over his chest. “An insurance policy? Because…?”

I felt like I’d swallowed the metal kettle ball Maggie liked to work out with. “Because Jaeger was blackmailing you. He didn’t trust you. He knew it didn’t matter what their differences were, if something happened to him, Maggie would take those things to the police.”

“If that were true, wouldn’t the police have come to talk to me by now?” he asked. He seemed so at ease standing there and I couldn’t help noticing how much bigger he was than me.

“They’re missing the most important piece,” I said, reaching into my other pocket and pulling out the cap to a fountain pen. “This is part of the pen Jaeger used to make that will for you. The other part was in the puzzle box. The police will be able to compare it and the ink inside to the handwriting of the will. Once they know they should look at the will.”

Peter’s jaw tightened. “What do you want?”

“I told you,” I said. “Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”

“I don’t have two hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”

I put my hand back in my pocket. “You can get it.”

“I could,” he said.

Something had changed in his voice and his body language. He took a step toward me and I automatically took a step backward, glancing over my shoulder as I did.

“Detective Gordon’s not coming,” he said.

My mouth went dry. “I uh, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I stammered.

“Now that’s a lie,” Peter said, shaking his head. “You tried to set me up, Kathleen. You thought I was stupid enough to fall for this little Miss Marple subterfuge.”

“Where’s Marcus?” I said. My voice shook and so did my hands still jammed in my pockets.

Peter looked at his watch. “Larry Taylor’s pretty good with his hands. He got that old pump working over at the co-op. The thing about that gas powered motor is it needs lots of ventilation.”

Both my hands were squeezed into tight fists. I needed to stay focused and keep him talking. “You did something to that…that pump. Is Marcus there? Is Maggie?”

“Maggie is in her studio. I just talked to her. As for Detective Gordon, I’ll stipulate that we’re not going to see him.” He took another step toward me.

I knew if I tried to bolt for the door he’d grab me. “Why did you kill Jaeger?” I asked. “Was he blackmailing you?”

Peter held out both hands. “Classic mystery moment,” he said. “The detective gathers all the usual suspects in the library and then unmasks the killer. I’ll give you
points for the setting, but the detective isn’t coming. And I’m not answering any of your questions.”