Kitty Litter Killer (18 page)

“Complaints? What kind of complaints?”

Her chin wiggled in indignation. “He told me about how that nasty woman at the pet store called his boss and complained that he was breaking open bags of cat litter. She probably did it and just blamed him, but he got in trouble.”

“Well, I’m sorry to hear that,” I said. I thought about how charming Clark had been to Jaylene. It had all been an act.

She shook her head. “I’m sure it couldn’t have been as bad as she said, although I did pick cat litter out of the carpet in his bedroom for five minutes.”

Cat litter. Again.

Eunice clasped her hands together. “Clark is getting involved quickly in the community. He’s taking some classes at the junior college to improve himself. He’s gone out hunting with some of the men he met on the job. He’s also involved with some activities at the YMCA now. Helping underprivileged youth.”

That surprised me. He hadn’t hit me as a philanthropic kind of guy. But the thing I was most interested in was the hunting. “Does he have his own guns?”

“Oh my, well, they’re his father’s. He and his father used to go hunting, so this is like a return to his childhood.”

Clark just moved up on my suspect list.

“He also has a very nice girlfriend,” his mother said.

I stared at her. “He does?” I waited for what I knew was coming.

“Yes. Very pretty and successful. Her name is Linda.”

Chapter Thirteen

On Friday morning, I was at loose ends after updating my clue notebook with a few notations about Clark.

Like the fact that he hunted and was taking classes. I also noted that he was an actor. Saying whatever the person he was talking to wanted to hear. That wasn’t really a clue. Most people do that to a degree, but people with an agenda are manipulative. So are criminals.

Sherry called me between classes. “Hey,” I said.

“Dad isn’t telling me very much.” She sounded so down that I wished she were with me so I could hug her.

“There’s not a lot to tell, but things are progressing.” I tried to sound cheery.

After a moment of silence, she sighed. “You don’t have to fib to make me feel better.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I wish I had more to tell you.”

“Can we go over your clues one more time?” she asked.

I obliged her.

“Mrs. C., I know you’re trying hard, but this wedding has to happen. My dad hasn’t been this happy in a long time. And neither have I. We both need Abbie.” Her voice broke.

I felt tears in my eyes along with the weight of my failure so far.

I agreed. We both hung up feeling worse than we had when we started. I looked at my suspect list again. I had to find out more about Hayley and Leighton. I picked up the cell phone and did something I rarely do. I called my mother-in-law.

“Patricia.” I could tell by the tone of her voice that she was as surprised to hear from me as I was that I actually called her. “Is something wrong?”

Guilt slapped me. If I needed another indication that she wasn’t the only problem in our relationship, that was it.

“Yes, everyone is fine. I have a couple of questions for you.”

“Questions?” she asked quickly. “What about?”

“I’m just curious. What do you know about Leighton and Hayley?”

She paused before she answered. “Enough. Hayley is a good friend of mine.”

“Well, how long have you known them?”

“For nine months. Since they moved here.”

“So you know nothing about them before that?”

“Well, certainly I do. Hayley and I are friends. Patricia, what is this about?”

“I was just wondering.”

She didn’t say anything, and I knew the wheels in her head were turning. But before I could figure out a good way to distract her, I heard her quick intake of breath. “You’re trying to solve the mystery of who killed Philip Grenville, aren’t you? Because your friend was arrested.”

I had to hand it to her. My mother-in-law might be a snob, but she’s a smart one. She is, after all, the mother of the smartest man I know.

“You can’t think that Hayley or Leighton had anything to do with this,” she said. “They don’t even know Abbie.”

“Yes, well, I saw Leighton with someone who does know Abbie. And Philip. I have to follow up on all the leads.”

“Well, I’m sure you’re wrong. You’re wasting your time.” The frost in Angelica’s voice would have discouraged most anyone else, but not me. I had to find out more information. I felt a little prick of conscience and made an impulsive decision.

“Would you like to go with me and Sammie to look at her kitten? Maybe tomorrow, if Hayley is available?”

In the silence after my question, I realized I’d surprised her. That’s when I knew I needed to make some changes. It was time to be an adult and try to cross the bridge of hostility and reach out to my mother-in-law. Then it would be her choice to accept me or not.

My offer distracted her from my questions about Leighton. We agreed on a time, and she said she’d check with Hayley and let me know if it wouldn’t work. After I hung up, I went to the kitchen and dropped into a chair. My overly stuffed purse sat on the table. I needed a distraction, and a good one was sitting right in front of me.

I dumped the contents on the table, pulled the trash can next to me, and began sorting. Pens from coins. Important receipts from old grocery lists. I was about to drop what looked like an old list into the trash when I realized it wasn’t my writing. And I didn’t recognize the torn paper.

I laid it on the table in front of me and smoothed it out. The scrawl was strong and looked masculine. And it was only partial:
. . .to meet with you. We have to talk. It’s important. Can you meet me Sunday afternoon at the store?

It was the signature that made my heart flip over.

Philip Grenville.

Sunday afternoon. When Philip got his black eye. Where had this come from? I banged my fist softly against my forehead. Not from Sammie. She never added her collections to my purse, just kept them in her pockets. Store? Then I remembered how Chris had knocked my purse over in Adler’s Pet Emporium. Jaylene had scooped up stuff off the floor at her feet. After Henry had rifled through the drawer under the cash register. I’d seen some of the papers from that drawer fall to the floor. Could this note have come from the Adlers’ store?

I didn’t have time to think about it because my cell phone rang. I actually remembered to check the caller ID and wished I hadn’t because suddenly I wanted to throw up.

“Hello?”

“Mrs. Cunningham, this is Detective Reid.”

“Yes?” I asked.

“I wonder if you could come talk to me at the state police barracks, say, in an hour?”

“All right,” I said, dread tightening my stomach. She explained where the barracks were.

I pushed the End button on the phone and picked up the scrap of paper I’d found in my purse. I knew a responsible citizen would give this to Detective Reid. But I didn’t like her; therefore, I didn’t want to help her. I punched Nick Fletcher’s number into my phone.

“Hey, Mrs. C.,” he said as a greeting. “I’m in the middle of something. Is this important?”

“Yes.” In a rush, I told him about the scrap of paper and going to see the detective.

“Give it to her,” he said without hesitation. “It could help Abbie.”

His words were like a slap. I was so busy not liking Detective Reid that I’d failed to think of the bigger picture. “Okay. I’ll do that.”

“Listen, anything could help right now.” He took a deep breath. “I gotta tell ya, Mrs. C., things aren’t lookin’ so good for Abbie right now.”

I dropped Chris off at Gladys’s house. Corporal Fletcher’s last words kept rolling through my mind as I pulled up to the state police barracks. I felt a tremor of nerves as I approached the door.

Inside, I was immediately escorted to a plain white interview room. Unlike the sheriff ’s office, this room had seen much better days. I was surprised that Detective Reid didn’t keep me waiting long. She bustled in, carrying a folder, a pen, and a bottle of water.

“Can I get you anything before we begin?” she asked. “Like some water or a cup of coffee?”

“No, thanks. I just had lunch. But before we begin, I have something to give you.” I pulled the scrap of paper from a pocket in my purse and handed it to her.

She glanced at it, her eyes widening as she read it. Then she looked back at me. “Where did you get this?”

I explained everything while she watched me with emotionless eyes.

When I was finished, I said, “I’d just found it when you called me.”

“Mmm.” She sounded like she didn’t believe me, but it was hard to tell, since she always sounded like that. “I’d just like to cover a few additional points today.”

“Okay.” I sat back to wait for the conversational hail to begin.

She opened the file, slipped the scrap of paper I’d given her inside, and turned to another page. Then she looked up at me.

She tapped a stubby-nailed finger on her notes. “Your mother was overheard to have said something about shooting Philip.”

Of all the things I thought Detective Reid would say, that wasn’t one of them. My surprise must have been evident on my face. Her eyes narrowed. I wanted to kick myself. One point for her. Zero for me.

“When was that?” I asked, even though I remembered very clearly because it had bothered me at the time.

She glanced at her notes again and back at me. “The day before Philip was shot.”

“My mother says a lot of things, including that one day I’m going to kill her. You can’t take what she says seriously.”

“Does your father own a rifle?” Another zinger. And she got me again.

“Doesn’t everyone around here?” I volleyed.

“That doesn’t answer my question.” She slapped her pen down on the table.

If she thought she was going to intimidate me, she was wrong. However, I couldn’t lie to her. “Yes, my father owns several guns. So do a lot of men in this county, some of whom would have loved to see Philip dead.”

“Answer my question,” she snapped. “Does he own a rifle?”

“Yes,” I said.

“What kind?”

“Two.” I took a deep breath. “A regular shotgun and a 30.06.”

She eyed me with her flat glance. “Don’t make things rough for yourself, Mrs. Cunningham. And remember what I told you. Don’t interfere with my investigation.”

I stood and slung my purse over my shoulder. “I’ve done nothing to prevent you from doing your job. I gave you something I found. I’ve answered any question you’ve asked me. Am I free to go?”

She stood, too. “Yes. You may go.”

I walked from the barracks to my car, shaking. I’d always had a deep regard for law enforcement officers, despite what I’d said to Eric about their attitudes, but Detective Reid was pushing my limits.

Back at home, I was standing in front of the clothes dryer folding socks, wondering if I would like doing laundry any better if I had a large laundry room like Hayley’s. With lots of storage and a top-of-the-line washer and dryer. With a family our size, laundry is one chore that’s never done in our house. I don’t particularly enjoy it, but at the moment, I was glad for the seemingly insurmountable pile of clothes waiting to be sorted then washed, dried, and put away.

I turned my attention to a basket of dirty clothes and began checking pockets. As usual, I found stuff in Sammie’s pockets. A screw, a stone, and an empty Tootsie Roll wrapper. I shook Angelica’s words from my mind.

This was normal behavior for a kid.

My interview with Detective Reid had left me with a feeling of foreboding that I couldn’t shake, like I was waiting for the other shoe to drop. So when my mother called me an hour later in a frenzy, I wasn’t surprised.

“Trish, your father just called me. The police have a search warrant, and they’re taking his hunting rifles from the barn. I had trouble understanding him on the phone. He said something about Buddy, but he was so upset, I couldn’t understand him. I can’t be there. I have to go down to the state police barracks for an interview.” Her words were breathless, not like her normal harsh tone.

“I was just there myself. Watch out for Detective Reid—”

She interrupted me with a string of words about the detective that was surprisingly uncomplimentary, even from my acerbic mother. Under normal circumstances, I might have been shocked and amused. However, my concern right now was my father. He was such a calm man. That Ma said he was unintelligible on the phone meant he was very upset. Things were bad.

“I should stop by the farm first,” my mother said.

“You don’t want to keep the detective waiting,” I said. “It’ll just make her nastier. How about I go over to the farm and see what’s going on with Daddy.”

“Good.” I heard the relief in her voice. “Thank you.”

When I arrived at the farm, the last state trooper was pulling from the driveway. I pulled up next to the house and hopped from the car, wondering if Daddy was in the house or the barn. His truck was next to the barn, but that meant nothing. I headed to the house first. Then I heard the squeal of the barn door and turned to see Daddy walking from the barn with Buddy lying limp in his arms. He didn’t see me.

“Daddy?” I dropped my purse to the ground and ran to meet him.

He glanced in my direction and stopped.

When I reached him, he had tears on his cheeks. I didn’t need to be told. Buddy was dead.

“What happened?”

He swallowed. “The stress was too much, Sugar Bug. If I’d known they were coming, I would have put him in the house.” He laid Buddy in the back of his truck with such gentleness that I began to cry. Then he turned to me. “I’m going to bury him in the field. Will you come with me? Your mother wouldn’t be able to do it, even if she were here.”