Fillet of Murder (19 page)

It was nearly eleven by the time Rachel left Talia's. They'd figured out how to use Jill's tea infuser, and over a pot of strawberry-orange tea they sat in Nana's cozy living room and talked for over an hour. Well, mostly Talia talked and Rachel listened.

Talia filled Rachel in on everything—her run-in with Cliff Colby and his creepy stalker, Jill's bizarre revelations, and Talia's conversation with Misty at the spa. She stopped short of telling her about Bea's offer to sell Lambert's to her. If Talia decided to accept the deal, it would be more fun to surprise Rachel with the news.

Rachel had been unusually quiet, which was definitely out of character. At least twice Talia had caught her staring at the wall, her blue eyes unfocused and her brow creased. Talia didn't press her. If something was up, Rachel would tell her when she felt the time was right.

In the kitchen, the groceries she'd bought at the variety store that morning were still where she'd left them on the counter. She stuck the loaf of wheat bread into Nana's metal breadbox, and then pulled the cat food out of the brown grocery bag. She still hadn't checked the local animal shelter's website to see if anyone reported a lost cat. Would the calico kitty still be prowling the neighborhood? Or had she found her way to back her real home?

Talia opened the door that led to the tiny backyard and turned on the outside light. The scent of burned leaves mingled with the night air, reminding her of how much she loved fall in the Berkshires. In the two side windows of the bungalow adjacent to Nana's, a pair of brightly lit pumpkins beamed from their respective sills—one with a cockeyed grin and one with a scary snarl. The sight made Talia smile, and she called out to the cat in a singsong tone. “Kitty, kitty, are you out there, kitty cat? Would you like something to eat?”

She waited a few minutes and called out again, but the cat still didn't appear. Talia didn't know whether to feel relieved or disappointed. She was just closing the door when a figure popped around the corner and into the yard. Talia gasped and almost did a high jump as a middle-aged woman ambled toward her.

“Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry I startled you,” the woman said. She stood about ten feet away, her sandy, shoulder-length hair blowing in the cold breeze. “I knocked on your door earlier this evening but you weren't home. Were you looking for the little cat that's been hanging around?”

“Yes,” Talia said, her heart still pounding. “I didn't know if she had a home or not, but I bought her some food today.”

The woman stepped toward Talia and offered her hand.
“I'm Vicki Grayson, by the way. My partner and I live three houses down.”

“Pleased to meet you, Vicki. I'm Talia.” She stepped outside into the frigid night and accepted the woman's handshake.

“That cat used to belong to old Mrs. Sennott,” Vicki explained. “She died unexpectedly, and her nasty excuse for a son tossed the poor creature in the street to fend for itself. The cat had never been outside before, so she doesn't know what to do. We've been leaving food for her, but haven't managed to catch her yet. She's an elusive little devil, but she really needs to go to the animal shelter.” Vicki's voice was a light sound that made Talia feel at ease.

“I fed her some tuna last night,” Talia told her, putting a silent curse on the man who'd so callously abandoned the cat. She hugged her arms to her chest. “She actually crept pretty close to me. I guess she was really hungry.”

“Hey, listen, you look like you're freezing,” Vicki said. “I just wanted to fill you in about the cat. One of these days, Grace and I will have you over for coffee and cinnamon cake.”

Talia smiled wistfully at her. “I'd love to, but I don't think I'll be here that much longer. You probably noticed the
FOR SALE
sign on the lawn.”

“Oh yeah, right,” Vicki said. “That's too bad. I can tell you'd have been a nice neighbor. Anyway, it was great meeting you. I'm sure we'll chat again before you move!”

Talia said good night and closed the door, feeling her shoulders droop. How was she ever going to turn her grandmother's house over to strangers? Everywhere she turned she saw Nana.

She couldn't count the times she'd plopped herself in one
of the vinyl kitchen chairs, watching Nana stir a pot of meat sauce over her ancient electric range, her curly gray hair fluffed around her kindly face. Nana would always insist that Talia taste-test the sauce, just in case there was too much of this or too little of that. Naturally, it was always perfect. Next to the stove, the old Zenith radio on the counter would be pumping out big band numbers from the forties. The station was so far away that the songs were more static than music, but Nana didn't seem to notice.

Squashing away a tear, Talia removed two plastic bowls from Nana's cupboard. She filled one with water and the other with a blend of dried and canned cat food, just in case the kitty preferred one over the other. She was setting the bowls down on the front step when she spied a timid feline face peeking at her from behind her Fiat.

“Here you go, sweetie. Eat it while you can,” she said in a choked voice. “Pretty soon I'll be looking for a new home, too.”

•   •   •

On Sunday morning, Talia awoke with a new resolve. She called the Wrensdale police station and demanded to talk to the chief. He wasn't due in until ten, she was informed. Did she wish to leave a message?

“No thanks,” she said, and disconnected.
I'll pay him a surprise visit.

Rachel's play at the Pines was today, and Talia was eager to see the performance. She also looked forward to seeing her folks, whom she'd been avoiding since Thursday. She loved the daylights out of them, but their concern for her occasionally bordered on the obsessive.

Luckily, the desserts she'd promised to bring were all
taken care of. She'd called Peggy's Bakery early that morning and ordered several dozen assorted cookies and brownie squares. Talia felt terrible for giving the baker ridiculously short notice, but she knew Peggy kept a hefty supply of baked delights in her freezer just for such emergencies.

After gulping down a bowl of soggy Cheerios, she fished through her closet for something appropriate to wear. She loved the lilac cowl-neck dress she'd bought when she first started her job at Scobey & Haight. Not only did it flatter her petite frame, it made her look a tad taller. Then she remembered—it was one of Chet's favorites. She gave it a hard shove to the back of the closet. Instead she chose a pair of chocolate-brown ankle pants and her bottle-green tunic sweater. She topped the sweater with her absolute favorite scarf—the ladybug scarf—wrapping it twice around her slender neck and securing it with a knot.

The Wrensdale police department, located a block away from the arcade, was housed in a dark red brick building that it shared with the public library. Parking was limited, unless you drove an official car. Talia was sure she'd have to circle the block a few times to snag one of the precious spots on Main Street. But then, like a watery mirage shimmering in the desert, a prime space appeared. Right in front, too.
Score!
Talia put on her signal, and was swinging her Fiat into the space when a car growled past her on the left, nearly nipping the Fiat's back end.

“Jerk!” Talia said.

The car that nearly hit her roared off down Main Street. She hopped out of her Fiat just in time to see the vehicle screech to a jerky stop behind a car at the next traffic light. Out of nowhere, a patrol car came from behind her, lights flashing and siren wailing.

Talia laughed. “Now you're in trouble,” she said, watching the officer signal to the driver to pull over.

Inside the station, she was met with a wall of Plexiglas that stretched at least twelve feet. Behind the glass, a young officer with a pimply face was sipping black coffee from a foam cup.

“Good morning, ma'am,” he greeted her.

“Good morning. I'm here to see Chief Westlake, please.” She tried to sound formal, as if she actually had an appointment.

“Name?”

She gave him her name and looked at her watch. It was twenty minutes past ten.

The officer set down his cup, picked up his phone, and punched a single button. “Chief? A
Talia Marby
is here to see you.” He pronounced her name slowly, as if she were visiting from a distant planet. After several seconds, the officer hung up. He nodded at the row of molded plastic chairs that rested against the wall behind her. “Have a seat.”

Talia sat. She'd promised Rachel she'd be at the Pines by eleven, so she hoped Derek wouldn't make her wait long. Unfortunately, it was a good twenty minutes before he finally sauntered out from behind a locked door. His face looked drawn, weary from lack of sleep, but his blue eyes were sharp as a condor's. He folded his arms over his chest. “What can I do for you, Talia?”

Talia gave him her phoniest smile. “Can we talk for a few minutes? Privately?”

Westlake propped one fist under his sculpted chin. “What about?”

“Oh, for God's sake, Derek, you know what about,” she
snapped, and then immediately softened her tone. “I have some information that might be helpful. About Turnbull.”

Derek worked his lips into a faint smirk. “Then follow me.”

That was way too easy,
Talia thought, a thread of unease winding through her. She followed Derek into his office, her black heels clicking against the worn hardwood floor far too loudly for her liking. At the doorway to his office, she stopped short. Sitting erect in a chair opposite Derek's desk was Sergeant Liam O'Donnell from the state police detective unit.

O'Donnell stood abruptly and grasped Talia's hand. “Ms. Marby, we meet again.” He gave her a crisp nod and waited until she was seated beside him before lowering himself into his own chair.

“I didn't expect to see you here,” Talia said to O'Donnell. She threw Derek a dark look. Was it too late to turn and flee? She'd played right into their trap. Now she was like a helpless fly stuck on a roll of flypaper.

Derek sat in his snazzy-looking swivel chair and leaned forward. “Ms. Marby says she has some information for us,” he said to O'Donnell.

“Excellent. I'm anxious to hear it.”

Oh goody.

Talia took in a long breath and then launched into her story, starting with Cliff Colby and his admission that he borrowed money from Turnbull, and ending with Kendra's interest in the lighting shop and Turnbull's life insurance policy.

O'Donnell folded his huge hands over his chest. “You haven't told us anything we don't know, Ms. Marby. Is there anything else?”

Talia swallowed. “You . . . knew all that?”

O'Donnell gave her an impatient nod. “We did. This may come as a shock to you, Ms. Marby, but we're quite experienced at interviewing potential suspects. Now, if that's all—”

Talia shifted in her chair, which she was fairly sure had morphed into a block of concrete. “Did you check with the people at the spa to see where Kendra was while Phil was being murdered?”

O'Donnell's eyes flashed. “So it's
Phil
now, is it? How well did you know him, Ms. Marby?”

Talia would've sworn she saw an amused gleam in Derek's eye. “I barely knew him at all,” she huffed. “And what I did know, I didn't like. Don't get me wrong, I certainly wouldn't do anything to harm the man. I only meant—”

“We know exactly what you meant, Ms. Marby.”

If you call me Ms. Marby one more time,
she was tempted to say,
you'll be wearing those polished shoes of yours as earmuffs.

Oh, who was she kidding? She didn't have an aggressive cell in her body.

Derek finally took pity on her. “Talia,” he said gently, “we realize you're trying to help, but you have to trust that we know what we're doing.”

“I do, and I appreciate it,” Talia said.
Not.
They were treating her like a child, and it was seriously ticking her off. “But I'm willing to bet neither of you has ever indulged
in a spa experience. For example, there are times when someone is left alone in a room, lying on a table with cream glopped all over her face. Think how easy it would be for that person to dash out the back entrance, drive to the lighting shop to murder Turnbull, and be back before anyone noticed she was gone.”

Not that easy,
Talia suddenly realized. Running it through her head that way made her see how silly it sounded.

If only she could tell them about Misty's phone call.

“Or perhaps,” O'Donnell said, “she could claim she was having gastrointestinal issues and needed to use the head. Why, she could drag that out for almost an hour, couldn't she?”

Talia felt her face flame.
They already knew.
But how?

“Yes,” Talia said quietly. “Yes, she could.”

“By the way, Ms. Marby, how did you know about Ms. LaPlante's visit to the spa Wednesday evening?” O'Donnell asked her.