Death of a Dapper Snowman (8 page)

If anyone knew my father’s true character, it was Tony. They’d cracked so many cases together, and Tony knew that my father was passionate about justice and fairness, no matter what.

Some cops would rough a suspect up, or “accidentally” trip them to get out their aggression, but not my father. He left the judge and jury work to the judge and jury, as it should be. He rarely drew his gun, and he certainly didn’t lash out at people in anger, let alone murder a neighbor in cold blood.

I shivered as the chill from the snowy bench seeped into my body.

The idea that my father could be a suspect in Mr. Michaels’ death was absurd. It was so crazy, in fact, that I wouldn’t even worry one more minute about it.

I got up from the bench and went into the veterinarian clinic to pick up the cat.

“How’s the patient?” I asked.

“Who?” The redheaded assistant stared at me with wide eyes.

“The Russian Blue cat? Male? He had the full spa treatment done today, if you know what I mean?”

“Oh!” She dashed off and returned with a sleepy eyed Jeffrey, wobbling on his feet inside his pet carrier.

I reached for the carrier eagerly.

She flinched away from me, as though I was cursed. Apparently, word of the murder had reached the veterinarian clinic. I glanced around to see who was talking about me, but we were alone in the reception area.

I reached for the carrier again, and she flinched once more.

“I’m not contagious,” I assured her. “Discovering icicle corpses is not a disease.” She didn’t even smile, so I quickly added, “I’m so sorry about Mr. Michaels, of course. The poor man. Did you know him?”

“No. I don’t think he had any pets.”

“Poor man. Such a shame,” I said.

Her posture softened each time I showed some sadness over the death of Mr. Michaels, so I kept going. The chill from the bench had made my nose run, and I sniffed as though I might start crying again at any moment.

She handed me a tissue and leaned across the counter to say, “And such bad timing. After he had just reconciled with his daughter.”

“Mr. Michaels had children? He was never even married, as far as I know.”

“He had a secret daughter. One of our other clients was in getting her dog’s nails trimmed, and she told me that Mr. Michaels just found out he had a daughter. All grown up, and he never even knew. Isn’t that something?”

“That’s shocking. Any idea who this daughter is?”

The redhead shrugged.

Right about then, Jeffrey decided he’d had more than enough of the boring human conversation. He stuck his gray paw through the door of his cage and caught me with his claws.

I let out a yelp of surprise and jerked my free arm up.

The redhead dropped to the floor, where she huddled, cowering with her arms held over her head, like I was about to murder everyone I’d come across that day.

“Everyone’s so jumpy today,” I said.

She straightened up. “Sorry. I guess I’m on edge. Anyone could be next.”

“Well, keep your eyes open and lock your doors,” I said. “But don’t be paranoid about strangers. Most murder victims are killed by someone they know.”

Her mouth dropped open. My attempt to provide reassurance and comfort had been neither reassuring nor comforting, by the look of it. So much for the truth.

Jeffrey dug his claws into my hand deeper, reminding me that my primary obligation was to him, not this redheaded stranger who smelled like disinfectant.

I gently removed Jeffrey’s claws from my skin and then gently held his paw as I leaned forward to look into his cage.

“Sorry, little man. I bet you want to go home, right?”

He blinked back at me with jade green eyes that weren’t quite focusing on my face. He curled his paw around my finger like we were holding hands. My heart melted like a pat of butter on a hot blueberry pancake. I gave the dark pads of his paw a kiss and then turned to finish paying the bill and get the after-care instructions from the assistant.

I thanked the girl, then left with the pet carrier and got us both loaded into my cold car.

I stared the engine just as Jeffrey let out the most pitiful meow.

“I know, Jeffrey. I know it’s cold. Hang on. Give the heaters a minute.”

He tried to stand up inside the pet carrier, but his legs were wobbly from the surgery and he flopped down right away. I popped open the hatch on top of the carrier and gave him some pats on the head. He started purring immediately, and bunting his head against my palm.

“Good drugs?”

He didn’t seem concerned about the tiny stitches on his private area, but I did have a cone to put around his head in case he did start pulling at them.

As I drove toward my father’s house, I kept one hand on the steering wheel and one hand in the cage, rubbing his head and chin.

“You’re such a good boy. And now that you’ve had your little snip-snip, we don’t have to worry about any kittens showing up on the doorstep asking for money, now, do we?”

Jeffrey grabbed my thumb in his mouth and gave me a love bite. It wasn’t painful at all. In fact, he seemed to be half asleep.

“Do you think that’s what happened to Mr. Michaels? Some long-lost kid showed up and started shaking him down for cash?”

Jeffrey agreed with me by gnawing on my thumb.

“But why kill him?” I asked. “And don’t say for the inheritance, because you and I both know it takes ages for wills to get changed, and if the person dies under suspicious circumstances, it’s pretty obvious who the suspect is.”

Jeffrey released my thumb and started licking it in apology. In front of the car, a squirrel darted across the street. I hit the brakes hard and slid to a stop on the snowy street. The squirrel was long gone.

I laughed and gently chided Jeffrey for distracting me from driving.

We got to my father’s street, and I looped around so I could park in the back lane and enter through the back door. I wouldn’t usually park back there, but I hoped to avoid any crime scene investigation activity.

Unfortunately, there were two people taking photos and surveying the victim’s back yard and garage.

Chapter 10
 

I got out
of my car and left Jeffrey’s pet carrier in the passenger seat so I could grab the snowman’s top hat I’d accidentally removed from the crime scene that morning.

I brought the hat over to the fence and held it out for the crime scene investigators.

“This was on the snowman,” I said, then explained how I’d walked away that morning without realizing I had the hat on.

The male crime scene investigator snatched the dapper top hat from my hands and whisked it into a plastic bag while muttering about the broken chain of custody.

“The hat is from a local costume shop,” I said. “Did you know Mr. Michaels had a hobby? Shoplifting. He stole that hat. I was telling Officer Milano all about it earlier today. Did you find any stolen jewelry inside his home?”

“Ma’am, this is a crime scene.” The investigator looked up at the sky, which was turning midnight blue already. “Leave the investigation to the professionals.”

“I’m just trying to be helpful. I asked around downtown today, and it sounds like he mostly stole small things. A pack of gum, or shoelaces. That doesn’t seem like a motive for murder, but perhaps if he hit Ruby’s Treasure Trove?”

The investigator gave me a look of suspicion. “Who are you again? Are you the idiot who stomped all over the crime scene?” He leaned over the fence and looked at my boots. “Yes, those appear to be the same little boots that crushed away valuable evidence. Are those children’s boots? You have small feet.”

“These are women’s boots,” I said with a huff. “And don’t call me an idiot. I didn’t know the snowman was a crime scene.” I pointed to the house behind me. “This is my father’s house. I’m just here cat-sitting for him, and it was Jeffrey who got his kitty paw prints all over the scene.”

The crime scene investigator stepped back, like he’d just realized he ought to be afraid of me. “You’re Finnegan Day’s daughter? I’m sorry, ma’am, but I really can’t discuss an ongoing investigation with you.”

“But we weren’t discussing anything. I was giving you some tips, as a concerned citizen. Did you find any jewelry? Or any paperwork about changes to a will?”

“Please call the office and go through the official channels.” He gave me a curt nod and rushed over to the woman he was working with. They spoke for a moment in hushed tones, then started walking toward the house.

“Do you know about his daughter?” I called after them.

They stopped walking, and the man said, “I’m sorry, but we can’t discuss the case with you, ma’am.”

“Fine. Don’t discuss it. Just… scratch your head if you already knew Mr. Michaels had a secret daughter he was back in contact with.”

The two of them looked at each other, neither moving to scratch their heads for a full minute. That meant they hadn’t known about the daughter.

“I only just heard about the daughter myself,” I said. “Someone in town mentioned it to me. You should pass that along to whomever’s in charge of the investigation.”

The male investigator said, “Rumors are not evidence. We don’t have enough of these plastic baggies to hold a tenth of this town’s rumors.”

“But even a rumor holds the seed of a truth, doesn’t it?”

The two of them looked at each other for a moment. The woman leaned in and said a few things to the man in a hushed tone. He replied, and they talked quietly for a moment.

I started smiling, thinking they were taking me seriously.

The woman straightened up and said to me, “You’re Stormy Day, right?”

“Yes,” I said hesitantly.

“Then it’s true you invented one of those big social networking sites? It was all your idea, that came to you in a dream, and you stayed up three days coding it?”

I laughed, way louder than was appropriate for a crime scene. “My knowledge of computer coding extends about as far as setting the coffee maker to burn a pot of coffee before I wake up.”

She shrugged. “That’s not what I heard.”

I sighed. “Fine. You’ve made your point. Rumors are not always the truth.”

The guy gave me a hopeful grin. “Hey, do you have any good stock tips? I’ve got a few dollars, and I like to play the markets.”

I frowned at him. Of course I had stock tips, but he wasn’t getting them from me. I’d gone cold turkey on that whole world, for my own mental health. And my head was finally clear of it. I wasn’t going to break my finance-world sobriety, so to speak, by giving this guy investment advice.

“We shouldn’t be talking to her,” the woman said to the other investigator. “She is the daughter of our suspect.”

I clenched my fists and yelled, “My father is not a suspect!”

They both gave me horrified looks, like I was about to jump the fence and beat them senseless. Why were people so freaked out by a petite woman raising her voice?

The investigators held up their hands and told me to be calm.

I answered, “I’ll be calm if you stop barking up the wrong tree. My father served this city with everything he had. Now leave him alone, and go follow up on all your leads, rumors or not. That’s what real cops do.”

They nodded and promised they would.

With that straightened out, I returned to my car, got the dozy-eyed cat, and used my key to let myself into my father’s house. The kitchen light was on, which meant Pam was home.

Yelling at the investigators had worked me up to a stormy state. Pam had better not say one word about my haircut. If she compared me to a woodchuck, I was going to show her what a woodchuck does when it’s riled up.

Chapter 11
 

“Pam!” I called out
as I entered the kitchen.

Nobody answered, but I heard the floor creak and assumed she was nearby.

I called out, “I guess you know all about what’s happening next door? Did the crack team of investigators already interview you?”

Her voice came weakly, “Yes. It was just awful.”

I kicked off my snowy boots and walked over to the living room with the cat carrier still in one hand. The television was on, but Pam wasn’t in the room.

“Pam? Are you hiding? Don’t jump out from a closet at me. I don’t think my nerves can take it after today.”