Fat Cat Spreads Out (15 page)

When she got back to the booth, Anna had opened up and it was full of buyers. The wind had died down and it didn't feel nearly so cold. The heater Anna had brought still felt wonderful.

She would talk to Anna about the cat costume during their first slow period.

Before that happened, the two Aronoffs walked by the booth, both in fur-collared coats and those Russian-looking fur hats. Chase wasn't sure it was quite
that
cold. The nutty father, Ivan, was waving his arms at his son, Peter. “What do you know about it? Have you ever seen one?”

Peter's voice sounded so reasonable after Ivan's slightly hysterical words. “I haven't, but I still think Puss in Boots isn't the best idea.” Peter held a small pet carrier.

Chase called to them. “Are you putting a cat in the contest?”

Peter smiled and held up the carrier. A black cat was in it. It looked like the cat she'd seen being boarded in
the vet clinic. “Yes, this is our cat. His name is Shadow. I want him to be Batcat. A Batman costume, but with his own ears and tail.”

“Puss in Boots.” Ivan sounded cranky. But it was hard to tell if he was or not. He always sounded that way.

Should Chase speak up and alienate the crabby man? “I think Batcat would be perfect for a black cat.”

Ivan stuck his face in hers. “What is wrong with Puss in Boots?”

Chase took a step back. “Nothing's wrong with it. It's just not . . . original.”

“No one else will do it,” Ivan said.

“I heard someone else talking about Puss in Boots.” That wasn't a lie. Mike Ramos had talked about it. But she wasn't going to use his idea.

Peter grinned and Ivan scowled and they went on their way to drop the cat off at the vet's. She wondered if Shadow liked opera.

The customers had thinned out at their booth, although the toy booth next to them was going full speed ahead. Chase cocked an ear in that direction. She was surprised that Harper had softened his voice today somewhat for the little ones. He was still gruff as could be when he gave the prices to the parents.

Sally, the tall blonde travel agent, came by and ordered four Almond Cherry Bars for herself and her partner. Chase waited on her while Anna helped a family group stocking up on Peanut Butter Fudge Bars.

“How's your jailbird doing?” Sally asked.

Chase was confused. “I don't have a bird.”

The blonde leaned over the table and lowered her voice, pointing to Harper's booth. “
That
jailbird. The ex-convict toymaker.”

“How do you know he's an ex—”

“Shh!”

Chase had inadvertently raised her voice.

“Don't let him hear you,” she said.

“How do you know he's been prison?” Chase continued softly.

“Those tattoos. That's the kind you get there.”

“How do you know?”

She waved a bejeweled hand. “One of my cousins, the black sheep of the family, was locked up for drug charges a few years ago.”

“Say,” Chase said. “You're not missing any jewelry, are you?”

She peered at her hands. “No, it doesn't look like it. Is Harper a jewel thief? Is that why he was in prison?”

“No, no, nothing like that. I mean, I don't know.”

“Well, why do you ask, then?”

She didn't want to spread Patrice's name and her weakness all over the fair. “I had a ring taken. It's nothing to do with Harper. I'm not even sure it was here.” She cringed a little at the lie. She should never have brought it up.

“See you,” Sally said, leaving with her package.

Chase got Anna's attention as she finished up a sale. “Can you think of a costume for Quincy for the Fancy Cat Contest?”

Anna held her chin in her fist, thinking. “I did think of Puss in Boots, but, as you say, that's probably too easy.
I also thought of Supercat, but if that one is going to be Batman—”

“Batcat.”

“—Batcat, then another caped crusader wouldn't be good.”

“Patrice wanted to try that jeweled collar on her cat. I imagine there would be more to her getup than that. Maybe a frilly princess dress.”

“You're right, Charity. After all, what was that cat's name? Something frilly.”

“Princess Puffball.”

“Are you talking about my cat?” Patrice, decked out in her purple caftan and gold turban, came into the booth, trailing her gauzy robe behind her. She held up a tiny pink ballerina tutu. “I wanted to show you what Princess will be wearing. Isn't it adorable?”

Anna nodded. “Very fitting for a princess.”

Chase thought it looked ridiculous, but she smiled and nodded.

“Wouldn't it be fun if Quincy came as Puss in Boots?” Patrice said. “He's the same color as the cat in the movie.”

Maybe, thought Chase, that's what was giving everyone the idea. She would have to rack her brain to come up with something. Quick. The contest was the day after tomorrow.

A
t lunchtime, Chase volunteered to get sandwiches for both of them. She was getting a second wind. Her headache had receded, and she felt so much better than when she had gotten up. Anna wanted turkey and Swiss, and Chase was hungry for a meatball sub.

“I'll stop in and see Quincy first,” she said to Anna as she was slipping on her coat and leaving the booth.

Anna gave her a smile that meant she knew Chase was also going to see Dr. Ramos.

On her way, Chase pondered the costume situation. Yes, Quincy was the color of the Puss in Boots cat, but Chase definitely didn't want to do that. It was way too obvious. What
did
she want to do? Something brilliant, something that would wow the judges. If they were going
to enter, she wanted them to win. Quincy was also the color of marmalade. Could she coax him to curl up on a huge piece of fake toast and BE marmalade? Not likely.

She hummed “Put on a Happy Face” from
Bye Bye Birdie
as she walked past Patrice's booth. Yes, she was in a much better mood. Maybe it was because she was away from Inger and Elsa and Eleanor.

Sometimes, when an old show tune popped up on her lips or in her mind, unbidden, she was taken straight back to her childhood, after her parents' deaths, when she began living with Anna. Her surrogate parent and grandparent, all rolled into one, was an aficionado of musicals. Anna and Chase, and sometimes Julie, would pile into Anna's gold Pontiac. It was the pride and joy of both the Larsons. Anna's husband didn't care for musicals, so it was always a girls' night out. Anna would do it up right, with dinner before the show at a nearby restaurant, a leisurely walk—if it wasn't raining—to one of the theaters in Minneapolis that showed musicals in the summertime, and usually good seats that Anna had purchased well ahead of time. Chase loved sitting in the plush seats, imagining she was one of the characters, usually the female lead, and that she could sing like they did. She couldn't, and wasn't very musical then or now, but, somehow, a lot of those old tunes had stuck with her. She still liked to go to musicals and sometimes, when their busy schedules allowed it, she and Anna and Julie would all do a rerun of those long-ago days, minus the Pontiac.

Patrice's fortune-telling booth seemed to be doing well. The purple gauze cloth drape that served as a door
was closed, which meant she had a customer. The usual lavender scent hung outside the booth, drifting to the midway and dissipating with the competing aromas from the food court.

Madame Divine kept her booth so dark, she could have hidden the cat collar there after she stole it from the display and before she stuffed it into the sculpture and most people would never have seen it. She was, as Mike said, flaky. What had possessed her to cram it into a butter sculpture? The collar hadn't been there when Mike tried to retrieve it. Stolen, no doubt, by the person who murdered Larry Oake. The same person who threatened Patrice. Did it make sense that Patrice might have the collar now? That she had murdered Oake? That she had set her cousin up as the number one suspect? Chase shuddered. She hoped not.

The jewelry booth was next. Could one of them have taken it? Chase hadn't spoken to them much, but they were a little old couple, rather dowdy and ordinary-looking. Just the type to get away with things because they looked so innocent. They knew jewelry, Chase presumed. Would they be tempted by such a dazzling item?

Passing the butter building, she detected extra bustle there. More people than usual were dashing in and out. Maybe they were all getting lunch. It was almost noon. Mara Minsky rushed out and ran into Chase.

“Oh, sorry,” she said. “We're in such a hurry to finish up. Everyone in there”—she jerked a thumb at the doorway behind her—“is crazy right now.”

She was ready to hurry past, then recognized Chase.
“Oh, you're the one Daddy insulted the other day. I'm so sorry about that.”

Karl Minsky hadn't insulted her. He had threatened her. There was a big difference. Had she seen that? Or maybe he'd told her? Chase thanked the young woman and started to go on.

“He didn't really mean it. He's so awfully upset that the policeman thinks he murdered that poor man,” Mara said. “He's beside himself. He gets, well, mean when he's upset.”

“Your father needs to learn not to threaten people. That could get him into a lot of trouble.”

“He's been so desperate to win that prize money. It would make such a difference to us.”

Chase took a step closer to her and spoke softly. “Maybe you shouldn't go around saying that.”

She frowned. “Why not? I think everybody knows it.”

“Think about it, Mara. That attitude gives him a perfect motive for eliminating his chief competition.”

Mara sucked her breath in through rounded lips. “Oh. Oh. Okay. I won't go around saying it anymore. But that can't make people think he murdered the poor man. Daddy was with me when that man died. I told the detective that. My father couldn't have done it.”

Chase could see that Detective Olson might call Minsky's alibi weak. If all it depended on was the word of his very loyal daughter, it was shaky indeed. She still hadn't told Detective Olson about her most recent encounter with the awful Karl Minsky and his threatening behavior.

Behind Mara, one of the sculptors opened the door and hurried out. Chase did a double take, peering inside the building.

Mara was starting to walk away, so Chase touched her sleeve. “Mara, did I just see Winn Cardiman inside there?” She had glimpsed that distinctive monkey-like face and those prominent ears.

She turned back to Chase. “You could have. He's here.”

“I thought he took himself out of the competition and went home.”

“He did. Maybe he forgot some tools or something.”

Maybe he was returning to the scene of the crime, like murderers often did.

She ducked into the largest building on the fairgrounds and walked toward the back, where the vet clinic was. Before she rounded the corner, she heard two men's voices.

“No, she couldn't wear the collar, Papa.”

It was Peter Aronoff again, talking to Ivan, his wacky father. She stopped to listen.

“Yes, she can. It should be ours. Shadow should wear it. That company should not have cut you. It was wrong. They don't know good people when they have them. They owe you for making us homeless.”

“I got a severance package, Papa. Picky Puss doesn't owe me anything. I've told you a million times. Your talking is getting me into a lot of trouble.”

Chase didn't catch Ivan's grumbling response. Did this conversation mean that they actually had the collar and were arguing about using it in the competition?

“Anyway,” Peter said, “even if I'd gotten a better
severance, we would have run through it by now. That fancy collar has nothing to do with me. Nothing to do with us. But it's all you're talking about. And now, because of your big mouth, that detective thinks I killed the guy. I don't exactly have an alibi.”

Ivan grumbled again. The two men appeared from around the corner, and Chase started walking so they would think she had arrived a second ago. Ivan still wore his fur hat, but Peter's was stuffed into his pocket, a bit of fur poking out.

“Hi there,” she said with a smile. “How's it going?”

“Hi,” said Peter. “We were discussing the costume for Shadow.”

“Weren't you doing Puss in Boots?” Chase said, with a glint of devilment in her eye.

“That is what I keep telling him,” Ivan said. “Puss in Boots. Perfect.” He flung his right arm out for punctuation.

“Thanks,” Peter said with an ironic twist to his mouth. It turned into a smile, though, so Chase knew he'd gotten her little joke. Ivan must not have remembered discussing it in front of her previously.

“But I'll bet he'd look better as Batcat,” she said, not willing to side with Ivan against his son.

Now Peter gave her a full grin. Chase thought she might like Peter, in a little-brother sort of way, if she got to know him better.

“We go now,” Ivan said gruffly. The Aronoffs took off quickly. The son didn't have an alibi? Did Detective Olson really think he was the killer? Or maybe the detective
was good at giving all the people he questioned the impression that they were the prime suspects.

Elsa came hurrying up behind Chase after the two men left and before Chase could continue to the vet clinic. The older woman looked worried.

“My purse is gone,” she blurted when she was still fifteen feet away.

“Where did you lose it?”

“I have no idea! I would know where it was if I knew where I lost it, wouldn't I?”

“What does it look like?” Chase vaguely remembered that she carried a red purse.

“It's very expensive. Red tooled leather with my monogram in gold.” Elsa panted, but Chase thought it wasn't from exertion. She was very worried about losing her purse. Chase would be, too, if she had lost hers. What a horror it would be, canceling credit cards and worrying about identity theft.

There was a metal bench in the hallway. Chase guided the distraught woman to it and sat beside her, trying to calm her down.

“We need to think of every place you've been today and when you noticed it missing.”

“Every place.” Elsa squinted and frowned. “We got here and dropped Grey off.”

“Yes, I was there for that. Ellie was with you.”

“And then we had something at the food court. I had it then because I paid. Ellie is very cheap that way. Always wants me to pay when we eat together.”

“What time was that?”

“Not too long ago. We looked at some exhibits first.”

“But you had it at the food court. And Ellie was with you. Where is she now?”

“She's trying to retrace our steps.”

Chase wondered why they had split up but didn't ask about it. “Then where did you go after you ate?”

“We came here”—she gestured toward Mike's office—“to say hi to Grey.”

That couldn't have been more than two hours after they had dropped off the parrot. “Then where did you go?”

“I went to the jewelry booth. When I wanted to buy a pair of earrings, I noticed my purse was gone.”

Thieves at the jewelry booth? “How big is it?”

“It's very small.” She indicated six inches square or so with her hands. “Do you think the jewelry seller lifted it? Pickpockets are sometimes very clever.”

“You were at the vet's right before you missed it. Have you looked there?”

“That was going to be my next stop.”