Depawsit Slip (Vanessa Abbot Cat Protection League Cozy Mystery Series Book 1) (2 page)

Vanessa spun around on her heel and raced back toward the bank with Detective Wheeler right behind her. She tripped on the steps and stumbled into the bank. Her friends arrayed themselves around Alfred’s body.

Detective Wheeler stared down at the body. Then he looked around. “Did anybody try to help him?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Walter bellowed.

“Shut up, Walter,” Vanessa snapped. “Don’t pay any attention to him, Detective. He’s a doctor.”

Detective Wheeler nodded. “I understand. What about the rest of you? Does anybody know CPR?”

They shook their heads. He sighed.

“I’m going to have to ask all of you to step back from the body,” he told them. “I’m going to get some of the paramedics to have a look at him, but I don’t hold out much hope for him. Please step over there.” He pointed to the rail on the other side of the bank.

“Excuse me, Detective,” Vanessa put in. “Do you mind if we get back in line for the teller while we wait? I have to get home to feed my.....” She broke off. “I just have to get home. I’m already late.”

“You can get back in line and do your banking while you wait,” he replied. “But you’re going to be a lot later. You’re all going to have to stick around while I question you about this.”

“But we didn’t do anything to him,” Ollie exclaimed. “We were standing there minding our own business.”

Detective Wheeler started to say something, but Vanessa answered for him. “Not exactly, Ollie. We were all standing around minding our own business except for one of us. One of us stabbed Alfred. If he lives, that person is guilty of attempted murder. If he dies, it’s murder.”

“Right.” Detective Wheeler started for the door. “Finish your banking, and when I get back, be ready to answer my questions.”

“So tell me what you know about the deceased.” Detective Wheeler unfolded his notebook. His pen hovered over the page.

“I know everything you want to know about him,” Vanessa replied. “I’ve known Alfred Botchweather since he was in elementary school.”

“How do you know him so well?” Wheeler asked.

Vanessa examined him. “How long have you been working in Caspar Crossing? I don’t think I’ve seen you before?”

He shifted from one foot to the other. “Not long. I just moved here.”

“I thought so,” she replied. “I know everyone in this town. It’s too small not to know everyone. You’ll get to know everyone, too. For now, though, I’ll tell you. Alfred Botchweather was the local barber. Everybody knows him. He was born here, and he went to school with my son Tom. He took over the barbershop from his father Edward when he was seventeen.”

Detective Wheeler scribbled madly in his notebook. “What else can you tell me?”

“I can tell you that a lot of people in this town—a lot of men, anyway—went to Alfred’s shop to get their news.” She paused to let him catch up on his scribbling. “They wouldn’t read the paper or watch TV. They would go down there and hang out and gossip. It was a regular sewing circle.”

Wheeler chuckled. “He sounds like a popular guy.”

“Popular?” she repeated. “No, not popular. His shop was a clearing house for local gossip, but no one liked Alfred all that much.”

“What about your son?” he asked. “You said they were friends.”

“I said they went to school together,” she corrected him. “Tom didn’t like Alfred.”

“Why not?” he asked.

“Alfred was a scheming, calculating, conniving weasel,” Vanessa spat. “You ask anyone in this town. No one liked him.”

“And yet,” he countered, “they congregated at his shop. He must have been a pretty good barber.”

“A pretty good book-maker, you mean,” she retorted.

Detective Wheeler’s head shot up. “Just say that again.”

“He kept a book,” she told him. “He took bets on games, races and elections and anything else you care to mention.”

Wheeler stroked his chin and nodded. “It’s starting to become more clear to me.”

“He also ran a gambling room in the back of his shop,” Vanessa went on. “Every penny of dirty money in this county crossed his palm. He used his barbershop as a front for money laundering.”

Wheeler wrote it all down. “I don’t suppose you have any evidence to back up your claims.”

Vanessa pointed at him. “You just ask Captain Jameson when you get back to the police station. He’ll show you all the files on Alfred W. Botchweather. He could botch a haircut like nobody’s business, but he never botched a financial transaction in his life. He kept every penny under wraps.”

“Did he have enemies?” Wheeler asked. “I mean, did he have anybody gunning for him for unpaid bets or outstanding money-laundering?”

“That’s what I’m telling you,” Vanessa told him. “He never left any bet unpaid. If you won a bet, he paid, and he paid right away. If you—I mean, if one—gave money to him to be laundered, you got it. No questions asked, no delays, no hassle. He knew his business, and it wasn’t giving haircuts. That’s for certain.”

“If that’s true,” Wheeler asked, “why would anybody want to kill him?”

“Maybe he knew too much,” Vanessa suggested. “Maybe he knew about money being laundered that someone didn’t want him to know about. Maybe he took bets from someone he shouldn’t have taken them from. Or maybe he just said the wrong thing to the wrong person. You play dirty, you’re going to get dirty. That’s what my mother always said.”

He looked up, and their eyes met. “What about you? Did you have any reason to hate him?”

“Hate him?” she asked. “I didn’t hate him. I didn’t like him, but I didn’t kill him, if that’s what you mean.”

“That’s not what I mean,” he told her.

“I know what you mean,” she replied. “You want to know if I had any motive to kill him. I don’t. I kept as far away from Alfred and his dealings as I could.”

“Tell me what you’re doing in the bank,” he told her. “You said you were in a hurry to get home.”

She blushed. “I’m depositing some money. I run a business, and I’m making my evening deposit before I go home.”

“What’s your business?” he asked.

“I’m President of the Cat Protection League,” she told him. “We run that Opportunity Shop on the corner just down the street. I mean,
 
I
 
run it. I also take care of abandoned and mistreated cats that come to us for help. I have to get home to feed them.”

He glanced down the street. “You take care of them at home?”

She nodded.

He buried his smile in his notebook. “A cat lady. Well, it sounds like you’re clear on this one. What can you tell me about the other people who were in the bank with you? Do you know if any of them had a beef with the deceased?”

Vanessa frowned. “Well, there’s Penny. I can’t think of whether she ever had anything to do with Alfred. Then again, you couldn’t spend any time in this town without running afoul of that man. I really don’t know about Penny. Then there’s Walter.”

“The doctor?” he asked.

She nodded again. “If I had to guess which of them had the most to do with Alfred, I would say it’s him. Walter knows everyone in town, and Alfred would have gone to Walter for treatment.”

“Treatment for what?” Wheeler asked.

“For his condition, of course,” she exclaimed. “Oh, I forgot. You don’t know. Alfred had a bout of meningitis when he was a child. It affected his brain somehow. I’m not sure on all the medical details, but some people say that’s why he was such a heartless menace. They say it killed the part of his brain that allowed him to relate to people normally.”

“Do you believe that?” he asked.

Vanessa shrugged. “I don’t know. All I know is that Alfred had to go to Walter on a regular basis for check-ups and MRIs and all that sort of thing.”

“They wouldn’t be doing MRIs here in Caspar Crossing, though, would they?” he asked.

“No,” she agreed. “Walter would refer him to specialists in the city when he needed something. But that’s another thing you might want to think about. Alfred had to go through Walter every time he needed or wanted something.”

Wheeler shot her a grin. “You sound like a real detective.”

Vanessa blushed again. “I’m just talking here.”

“There’s just one thing,” he went on. “You’ve given me a reason why the barber would want to get rid of the doctor, not the other way around.”

“Like I said,” she replied. “I’m just talking here. I don’t know who killed Alfred, and I don’t pretend to have the brains to figure it out.”

“Oh, you’ve got the brains, all right,” he told her. “How would you like to help me solve this crime?”

Her eyes widened. “I couldn’t do that. I’m just a lonely old cat lady.”

He smiled again and put his notebook away. “Have it your way. Now tell me about the plumber.”

“Ollie?” she asked. “I don’t think Ollie ever went in for all that gambling and betting, but you never know. He could have been in debt to Alfred, or Alfred could have crossed him in some other way. I really don’t know.”

“What do you know about that plumber?” he asked. “You seem to know all about everybody in this town.”

“I told you,” she replied. “You can’t live in Caspar Crossing without knowing everything about everybody. We’re one big happy family here.”

“The plumber,” he prompted. “I don’t suppose your boy went to school with him, too.”

“He’s too young,” Vanessa replied. “Ollie’s seven years younger than Tom. But I know his mother and his aunt and his sister. And I know his wife’s family.”

“Wife?” Wheeler asked.

Vanessa nodded. “He’s married with three children. His mother lives in that house right over there, and his sister lives around the corner with her husband and two children. They come into the Shop all the time. Ollie's children are wonderful. They read a lot of books, and they love Henry.”

“Who’s Henry?” he asked.

Vanessa laughed. “Oh, sorry. I forgot. He’s one of my cats, and he likes to sleep on top of the books. He likes romances best. Ollie’s kids come into the shop just to pet him.”

Wheeler smiled. “Ollie doesn’t sound like the gambling type, but as you say, you never know. Did he have any financial trouble?”

“I’m sure I wouldn’t know,” she replied. “Most of the time, when a family is in trouble, it shows. Don’t you agree? A man with a gambling problem can’t keep his family happy, and Ollie runs a successful business doing plumbing work in this town.”

“You might be right,” Wheeler agreed. “On the other hand, a man with his own business can keep financial indiscretions secret better than others. His wife and family might never find out about it, at least until he dies and they start looking through his books.”

“Maybe that’s what happened to Alfred,” Vanessa suggested.

“Except that none of his family were in the bank,” he countered.

“That’s true,” she admitted.

He slid his notebook into his pocket and turned toward the door. “You’ve been very helpful. You’re free to go.”

Vanessa picked up her handbag. “Thank you. I hope you find out who did it.”

“I will,” he replied. “I would offer to walk you home, but I have to interview the other suspects. I hope you don’t mind.”

She stopped at the door and smiled up at him. “I don’t mind.” He sure was handsome, and nice, too.

He held the door open for her. “Have a good evening.”

“You, too,” she returned. “Have a good evening, Detective Wheeler.”

“Call me Pete,” he told her. “Everybody does—everybody, except murder suspects, that is.”

She laughed. “All right, Pete. I’ll see you around. If you need to talk to someone about the case or get any more local information, just come by the Opportunity Shop. The Shop is open six days a week, but I live just upstairs from it. You can find me there whenever you want.”

“Thank you,” he exclaimed. “That would be very helpful.”

Vanessa put another log on the fire and crossed the room to her chair. Three or four cats lounged on every chair in the room. When she got to her own chair, she scooped up an armful of cats, sat down, and then rearranged the cats on her lap. They settled down and went back to dozing in the heat of the fire.

Vanessa closed her eyes and stretched her legs out in front of her. “What a day! I’m not sorry to get home at last. Who would believe someone would stab Alfred Botchweather in the back in the middle of the bank? I never thought I’d live to see the day.”

Tapioca lifted her head and Vanessa rubbed the side of her neck.

“I know. I was terribly late getting you your dinner,” Vanessa told her. “I promise I’ll never let it happen again. But it was an emergency, you see. It’s not every day a man drops dead in front of God and everybody.”

Tapioca closed her eyes and leaned into Vanessa’s hand.

“I wouldn’t let you go hungry for all the tea in China,” she went on. “You know you’re the most important thing in the world to me.”

Bronwyn jumped up onto the side table at her elbow and almost knocked over the lamp.

“Yes, yes,” Vanessa crooned. “You’re much more important to me than that handsome detective. You don’t need to worry about him, my lovely.”