Crossing the Lion (a Reigning Cats and Dog) (2010) (14 page)

“Including his brother and sister,” I agreed. “Which
brings the concept of sibling rivalry to an entirely new level. Then again, he also named his own mother as someone who couldn’t be left off the list of suspects.”

“And what do you think, now that you’ve had a chance to meet all of them?”

“I’m afraid I have to agree that it’s not out of the question,” I said, “though I haven’t had a chance to find out enough to pin a motive on any one of them.”

“Wait a minute.” I could feel Nick’s entire body tense. “I thought you were here to keep Betty and Winston company while they paid a condolence call.”

“I am!” I insisted. “But in addition they asked me if, as a favor to them …”

Nick let out a loud sigh. “I think I know where you’re going with this.”

Abruptly, I turned on my side so that I faced him. “This whole thing is so fascinating, Nick! This huge spooky house, which you said yourself looks like something out of a horror movie, is absolutely crawling with suspects! Besides, it really seemed to mean a lot to Betty and Winston that I was willing to help figure out the truth behind Linus’s death. They were suspicious even before the results of the autopsy came in, since Linus had called Winston shortly before he died and said he thought someone close to him was trying to kill him.”

“Are you serious?” Nick cried. “That’s something that hasn’t even made it onto the Internet.”

“Winston didn’t say anything about it to the police until this morning,” I explained. “But it just makes the people in this house look more suspicious. And makes
the case more difficult to solve. Lieutenant Falcone told me—”

“Falcone?” Nick repeated, looking surprised.

I could feel my cheeks burning. “I guess I forgot to mention that he showed up here this morning. After all, this is the highest-profile case that’s come up around here in a long time, and he is the head guy. He questioned every member of the household. But he admitted that even he feels that Linus’s murder will be a tough case to crack. Believe it or not, on his way out he asked me to help!”

From the skeptical look on Nick’s face, I could tell he wasn’t quite buying this.

“It’s true!” I insisted. “He said something about becoming claustrophobic on islands—and apparently he gets seasick. Besides, he’s sharp enough to see that I can get an inside look at the goings-on in this house, which gives me a real edge.”

“Okay,” Nick said with an air of resignation. “So tell me exactly who’s in the house and what their motive might have been for wanting Linus Merrywood dead.”

Suppressing the urge to grin, I said, “Nick, each person in this place is a real character in his—or
her
—own way. For example, Tag seems like someone whose whole life is devoted to living extravagantly. He even has the car to go along with that image.”

Nick let out a low whistle. “If you’re talking about that red Ferrari that’s parked near Winston’s Rolls, I have to agree.”

“That’s the one,” I said. “Interestingly, Tag’s little brother, Brock, the youngest of the three, couldn’t be
more different. He seems to be stuck in 1967.” To drive home the point, I added, “He makes beaded jewelry for a living.”

“Ah. So Brock isn’t quite the high-powered industrialist his father was,” Nick observed.

“Neither is Tag,” I said. “No one’s mentioned what he does for a living, but I wonder if he does anything at all. Maybe Brock or Tag could have been anxious to get their hands on their inheritance sooner rather than later.

“Linus and Charlotte’s daughter, Missy, doesn’t have a career, either,” I went on. “That is, aside from doing charity work—and being the reigning queen of preppydom. She has every accessory that goes along with it, from a Burberry headband and a Chanel purse to a self-important Wall Street–type husband who’s really good at slipping into the conversation the fact that he went to Harvard.”

“What about ambition as a motive?” Nick asked. “Are any of the three in line to take over Merrywood Industries now that Linus has passed away?”

“No,” I replied. “According to Winston, Linus was pretty disappointed that none of his children possessed the qualities he thought were required to fill his shoes. In fact, he hired Harry Foss to be his right-hand man in the hopes that he’d do the job when the time came.”

Thoughtfully, I added, “Harry was here Wednesday night, which makes him a suspect, too. Especially if you factor in ambition as a possible motive. But I noticed something interesting about him: While
everyone keeps talking about how Linus was the picture of health, he’s the only one who said Linus was showing signs of aging.”

“Maybe he simply wasn’t in denial about Linus getting older, even though the members of the immediate family were,” Nick suggested.

“Could be,” I agreed. “But his comment also made me wonder if he was concerned about the way Linus was running Merrywood Industries. It’s possible that could have led him to want Linus out of the picture.”

At this point, Lou must have decided I wasn’t doing a good enough job of petting him, because he went over to the other side and placed his chin next to Nick’s hand. I took over Westie duty, while Nick automatically switched from Max’s neck to Lou’s.

“But the one thing everyone seems to agree on is that Linus was a truly wonderful person,” I continued. “His assistant, Scarlett, for example, seems to have worshipped him.”

Nick blinked. “Wait—go back. Did you just tell me there’s someone named Miss Scarlet in this house?”

“Actually, it’s Miss Sandowsky. But if you forget about her having a last name, then yes, there’s a Miss Scarlett.”

“And is there a lead pipe somewhere in the house?” Nick asked, grinning. “Or maybe a candlestick?”

I rolled my eyes. By this point, the Clue comparisons had become old hat. “Both, I’m sure. But despite Tag’s rather crass speculation about what the real dynamics might have been between Linus and Scarlett, I have yet to come up with a motive.”

“What about Linus’s wife?” Nick asked.

“Charlotte?” I stopped short. “I suppose I have to consider her, too. After all, the spouse is always one of the first people real murder investigators look at. And her own son didn’t rule her out. Still, it’s difficult to imagine her being the killer.”

“Because she’s such a sweet person?”

“No, even though she seems to be exactly that,” I replied. “It’s because she seems to think the sun rose and set on Linus. Still, you’re absolutely right. As the victim’s wife, Charlotte definitely has to occupy a prime place on our list of suspects.

“So do the three servants, since they were all here that night,” I went on. “Margaret Reilly, who’s the cook and also happens to be called Cook, seems unlikely. She’s been working for the Merrywoods for practically her entire adult life. She seems extremely committed to this family.”

Nick rubbed his chin. “Something could have happened lately to make her a lot less committed.”

“You’re right,” I agreed. “We can’t rule that possibility out, though she seems to have won Falcone over. There are two other servants, as well: a creepy butler, who’s not very good at buttling, and a maid named Gwennie, who doesn’t appear to be much better at her job. In fact, I doubt the woman has ever even heard of a dust rag, not to mention a vacuum cleaner.”

“Still, being lazy doesn’t mean someone is a murderer,” Nick commented.

“No,” I agreed. “But the simple fact that they were here that night means they’re suspects. Which means I
need to find out more about their relationship with Linus.”

“Wow,” Nick said with a deep sigh. “It sounds as if you and I really have our work cut out for us.”

Gesturing toward the overstuffed nylon backpack he’d lugged into the bedroom and dropped into a corner, he added, “Or
you
have cut out for you. After all, you’re the one who agreed to help figure this thing out. As for me, I’ve got exams coming up in a couple of weeks. That bag over there is filled with law books, and I intend to use this weekend to get some serious work done.”

“As long as you can study by candlelight,” I said. “The electricity in this place seems to go out at will.”

“Oh, yeah?” Gently, he pulled me down so that we were both lying across the bed. “I could get used to that. Candlelight sounds pretty romantic.”

He slipped his hand under my shirt.

“Got any plans for the next half hour?” he asked, his voice suddenly low and husky.

“I do now,” I replied, wrapping my arms around his neck.

I only hoped that Aunt Alvira would stay put, at least for a little while.

•  •  •

Nick and I wasted no time in making it clear just how glad we were to see each other—even though we’d been apart for only one night. But then he reminded me of the pact he’d made with himself before coming
to the island: that he’d do the same amount of studying he would have done if he’d stayed home.

I was only too happy to leave him with his law books. I also left Max and Lou behind to keep him company as I headed downstairs to do some more nosing around.

Given the long list of suspects—and the fact that I’d barely had the chance to get any one of them alone—I hoped I’d find at least one member of the Merrywood household who was willing to sit down and have a chat. So I was pleased when I wandered into the conservatory and found Brock sprawled across the couch, in front of the roaring fire.

Both Admiral and Corky lay beside him, stretched out on the floor and basking in the warmth of the flames. It seemed that, at least for now, they had both decided that Brock was the next best thing to their absent lord and master, Linus.

“Mind if I join the three of you?” I asked.

I offered Brock a friendly smile as I settled into an armchair that gave me a good view of both him and the fireplace. By that point the two dogs had come over to greet the newcomer. Corky’s fluffy, curved tail wagged excitedly, while Admiral’s was more like a windshield wiper on its lowest setting.

“Not at all,” Brock said, barely glancing up. “But this gray weather is sapping all my energy, so I can’t promise any scintillating conversation.”

“It is pretty dreary out there,” I agreed. “But that just makes sitting in front of a roaring fire that much nicer.”

I reached down to pat both Admiral and Corky on the head. That, of course, increased the rate of tail-wagging, which in turn prompted me to give both dogs a vigorous neck-scratching.

I froze when my fingers made contact with something hard on Admiral’s neck.

Frowning, I asked, “What’s this bump on Admiral?” I was talking to myself, rather than to Brock.

But he pulled himself up and bent over the basset hound to get a better look. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“This lump, over here,” I said, pushing back Admiral’s fur so Brock could see.

“I don’t know,” he said, sounding concerned. “I don’t spend enough time around here to know anything about his health. Aside from the fact that he’s getting on in years and that he could afford to lose a few pounds.”

“Let me see if I can get a better look,” I said.

Admiral patiently allowed me to drag him across the floor until he was underneath a lamp. Fortunately, it turned out to be one of the few in that house that had decent wattage.

I examined the small bump, wishing I’d brought my medical equipment to the island. There are probably fifty different causes for the lumps and bumps that frequently show up on dogs’ skin. They can be as innocuous as a wart or a callus—or as dangerous as a melanoma or some other type of cancerous growth that requires surgery.

“What is it?” Brock asked anxiously.

“It’s not easy to make a quick diagnosis,” I told him. “Admiral should really have a biopsy, just to be safe. But don’t get too concerned, since it’s probably something that’s not too worrisome.”

I certainly hoped so. The Merrywoods might have their quirks, but they had enough to deal with at the moment. They didn’t need an ailing house pet on top of everything else.

“Maybe you could get Admiral to a vet,” I suggested. “I know you’re not familiar with the area since you haven’t spent much time here since you were a kid, but I can give you a few names.”

“Thanks,” Brock said.

I turned back to Admiral, wrapping my arms around his neck. It was hard not to hug a lovable, sweet-natured dog like a basset. “I think you’ll be fine, Admiral,” I told him. “But it’s too bad I didn’t bring my clinic-on-wheels.”

“That’s right, you mentioned that you have one of those mobile units,” Brock commented. His concern over Admiral’s health, however limited, had at least infused him with enough energy that he’d apparently come out of his catatonic state.

“Yup,” I replied. “It has everything a regular vet’s office has.”

Thoughtfully, I added, “Almost everything. There are a couple of labs I work with that do some of the more complicated testing, and if I need special equipment—for a difficult surgery, for example—I have friends who make their facilities available to me.”

“Cool,” Brock said, nodding. “So you get to be on the move all day.”

“That’s right,” I said. “Even though I live on the North Shore, in Joshua’s Hollow, I travel all over Long Island, making house calls. My business is called Reigning Cats and Dogs. My practice is primarily for small animals, but I also treat horses.”

“That sounds fantastic,” Brock said, looking impressed. “Running your own business like that. I mean, you seem to be pretty successful.”

I shrugged. “I’ve done well enough. But the main thing, at least the way I see it, is that I really love what I do.”

“That’s my definition of success, too,” Brock agreed. “Doing what you love—and being able to make money at it.”

“We actually have quite a bit in common, don’t we?” I observed, still scratching Admiral’s neck. “The most obvious thing is that we’re both in business for ourselves. I run my veterinary practice and you have a jewelry business.”

“True,” he said, nodding.

“And I bet you’re like me in that you’d rather concentrate on the part you love instead of worrying about keeping track of finances and marketing and filing taxes.” With a rueful smile, I added, “That’s the problem with pursuing your passion. There are a whole bunch of other tasks that go along with it that aren’t nearly as much fun.”