Paws and Effect (10 page)

“I came pretty close.” He swiped a hand across his mouth. “I don't want anything to happen to you, Kathleen. You understand that, right?”

I nodded. “I do. I really do. And I feel exactly the same way about you. The difference is that you're trying to protect me from something that's up here.” I tapped my temples with the knuckles of each hand. “From something you think might happen. The threat, the danger you're in is real. Here. Now. And I won't stay out of it. I can't.”

“I know,” he said.

There really wasn't anything else to say.

*   *   *

The medical examiner officially ruled Dani's death a homicide on Monday. Marcus was put on leave—with pay—and Hope was removed from the case. The chief had decided, given Marcus's connection to the victim, to bring in an outside investigator. A detective from Red Wing, Bryan Foster, took over the investigation.

“It could be worse,” Hope said that evening, sitting once again at my kitchen table with Hercules ensconced next to her chair. He seemed to like her and she him.

“Foz and I go way back. We went to the academy together. He won't shut me out completely. I can keep tabs on what's happening in the investigation under the table.”

“You trust him?” I asked, pulling up one knee and tenting my fingers on top of it.

She nodded. “I do. He won't cut any corners and he won't make any assumptions. He's going to gather the evidence and follow the facts.” She shrugged. “And so am I.”

“The chief took you off the case,” I said.

“Foz is a good cop and he'll be fair, but we both know that all the evidence so far points at just one person.”

“Marcus.”

Hope picked up her cup, took a drink and set it down again. “I can't sit on my hands and do nothing, Kathleen.”

“Neither can I,” I said.

We looked at each other across the table. “Are you sure you're in?” she asked. “You know what Marcus would say?”

I nodded slowly. “I know what he would say and yes I'm sure I'm in.”

“Merow,” Hercules said from his place next to Hope's chair.

We were all
in.

“S
o who could have wanted Dani dead?” Hope asked.

I tucked my hair behind one ear. “That's the thing,” I said. “I don't know. I met her one time.”

“Is John Keller still at the library going through those dried plant samples?”

“Wait a minute. You don't think . . . ?”

Hope waved the question away. “No. I don't think either of Marcus's friends killed Dani. They both have alibis. Keller was with Rebecca.” She gestured in the direction of the backyard. “And Travis Rosen was in Red Wing at a meeting with someone from the Department of Natural Resources.”

“That's good to know,” I said. “John should be at the library tomorrow, but he's pretty much done.”

Hope propped both forearms on the table. “Could you talk to him? See what you could find out?”

“Okay,” I said. “What do you want to know?”

“Anything you can find out about her family. We know she has a brother—Dominic McAllister. I spoke to him, and a grandmother. Did they get along? Is there any other family?”

“What are you going to do?”

“See what I can find on Ernie Kingsley.”

“The majority shareholder in the development company.”

“Yes,” she said. “How did you know?”

“Lita,” I said, getting to my feet. “More coffee?”

Hope shook her head.

The basement door opened then and Owen appeared. He had the end of a red plaid scarf in his mouth. He passed through the kitchen, giving a muffled meow as he headed for the living room.

Hope watched the whole thing with an amused look on her face.

“I have no idea,” I said in answer to her unspoken question.

She laughed. It was a good sound to hear after the tension of our previous conversation. “I thought maybe you'd taught him to put the laundry away for you.”

I laughed as well. “I did very briefly wonder if it was possible to teach him how to push the buttons on the washing machine so he could do a load of towels.”

“Merow!” Hercules interjected loudly.

Hope looked down at him. “I'm sure you could do laundry, too,” she said.

After Hope left I got my laptop and went into the living room, curling up in the big chair. Hercules
followed, jumped onto the footstool and looked expectantly at me.

“Yes, you can help,” I said.

Hercules and I spent the next hour researching Danielle McAllister and her family. Dani's parents had been killed in a plane crash when she was twelve. She'd been raised after that by her brother, Dominic, almost ten years older, and her paternal grandmother. The McAllisters were very wealthy and very conservative. The family fortune began with shipbuilding, massive wooden boats that took to the sea during the age of sail.

Dominic McAllister ran McAllister Enterprises, which was made up of, by my best guess, at least half a dozen different businesses including several hotels. I found it interesting that Dani was listed in the company's annual report as being on the board of directors but, unlike the other members, there was no mention of what she did for a living.

After a bit of digging going all the way back to her college years, I found some photos of Dani with her brother and her grandmother at several charity events sponsored by her family's company. I noticed Dani was usually dressed down just a little—no elegant black dresses with four-inch heels for her. And the truth was she was stunningly beautiful in a flowing, gauzy skirt and flat sandals.

“I'm starting to think Dani's environmental work may have been her way of rebelling a little. It looks like she may have been the black sheep of her family.

“Mrr?” Hercules asked, his black-and-white head tipped to one side—mostly so he could view the computer screen without having to move from the spot on my lap where he'd settled.

“No, I don't think being a black sheep is anything like being a black-and-white cat,” I said. I had no idea what he'd actually been asking me, but my answer seemed to satisfy him.

*   *   *

John came into the library just after ten o'clock the next morning. Tuesdays were busy, so I'd been keeping an eye out for him and I met him at the door.

“Hi, Kathleen,” he said. “Is the meeting room free? I just need to go though a few more plant samples that look promising.”

“The room is still yours,” I said. “I just made a cup of coffee. Do you have time for one?”

He nodded. “That sounds good.”

I took John up to the staff room. He sat at the table while I poured coffee for both of us. I thought about all the cups Marcus and I had shared in the same space.

“Cinnamon roll?” I asked, bringing over the plate Mary had brought in with her. “They're wonderful, I promise. Mary made them and she has some sort of secret ingredient I haven't been able to wheedle out of her.”

I hoped that the combination of coffee and one of Mary's sweet cinnamon creations would put John in a talkative frame of mind.

“Hey these are good,” he said, taking a large bite.
He chewed and swallowed, gesturing with one hand. “Was Abigail serious when she told me that Mary is a kickboxer, or was she pulling my leg?”

“She was serious. Mary has been regional and state champion more than once for her age and weight class.”

“But she looks like Little Red Riding Hood's grandmother.”

I laughed. “And she could take you down faster than the Big Bad Wolf.”

“I'll remember that next time I ask to use the printer.” John grinned, then his expression grew serious. “Kathleen, how's Marcus doing, really? It's ridiculous that the police are even looking at him as a suspect. He hadn't talked to Dani—or any of us, for that matter—in years. It was just that we met that morning the two of you walked into the restaurant. And then he kills her? C'mon!”

“It doesn't hang together because Marcus didn't do it.” I hesitated. “John, was there anyone who had a problem with Dani, maybe a conflict over a project or some kind of environmental issue?”

He slumped back in the chair. “You always get a few crackpots who call us tree-hugging hippies or crunchy granola space cadets but that's all it's ever been—words and a couple of times protestors with signs.”

“What about with this project?”

He made a face. “When the different groups banded together to stop the Long Lake project Ernie Kingsley requested a meeting. He offered to make a
large donation to every group if we'd all drop our opposition to the project.”

I raised an eyebrow. “I take it that didn't go well?”

“No, it didn't. But my point is that Kingsley is a businessman. He solves problems by throwing money at them. Not by throwing a body over an embankment.”

“What about her family? Could someone have gone after Dani as a way to get to her brother or her grandmother, maybe?”

John brushed crumbs off the front of his shirt. “I don't know that much about her family's business dealings. They own three or four fancy hotels. They're the largest manufacturer of sails in the world and they also run several wind-turbine farms. Not a whole lot of controversy or reasons to kill anyone there. She was very close to her brother and her grandmother. They were really proud of her work. And if there was any problem I think Dani would have said something to me. We were pretty close.” He held up a hand. “As friend, nothing romantic.”

I remembered Dani's bio in McAllister Enterprises' annual report. If her family was so proud of her work why wasn't it mentioned? “What about since you all got here?” I asked. “Did you have any run-ins with anyone about the resort plans?” I rubbed the space between my eyebrows with one finger where a headache was forming. “I'm sorry for putting you on the spot with all these questions.”

John leaned forward, putting both hands flat on the table. “Don't apologize. You're worried about Marcus.
I get that.” He hesitated, opened his mouth and closed it again.

“What is it?” I said.

“I don't want to offend you or give you the wrong impression.”

“But.”

“Is it possible someone from around here killed Dani?” Before I could say anything both of his hands came up off the table. “I don't mean on purpose, Kathleen. I mean by accident. He—or she, I guess—came across Dani working out there, they got into some kind of an argument and things just got out of hand. This kind of project can stir up strong feelings on both sides. I've seen it before.”

I couldn't tell him what Hope had shared, that Dani had been hit by a car and her body moved. Even though there were strong feelings on both side of the development proposal I just couldn't believe that anyone in Mayville Heights felt so strongly that they'd run Dani down over it and then dump her body. I knew these people. I knew what they were capable of and it wasn't murder. Not over this.

But I didn't say any of that. All I did was nod and say, “You're right. It has stirred up a lot of complicated feelings.”

“I need to get to work,” John said, pushing back his chair and getting to his feet. “Look, from what I've seen the police here seem to know what they're doing. Let them do their job, Kathleen. It'll work out.”

He headed for the stairs and I put the dishes in the
sink. I hadn't learned that much about Dani except that based on what John had said, the conclusions I'd made after my online research seemed to be wrong.

*   *   *

I took my lunch outside to the gazebo and called Hope. I told her what I'd discovered. It didn't take very long.

“I didn't find out much about Ernie Kingsley, either,” she said. “Nothing that isn't part of the public record. His grandfather started Kingsley-Pearson. They made their money with car dealerships. They own fifty-six of them. But other than saying Ernie is a shrewd businessman, no one will say anything else about him.” I heard her sigh. “At least not to me.”

The breeze off the water blew my hair against my face. I brushed it back. “How about you see if you can find anything more about the McAllisters' and let me see if I can learn more about Ernie Kingsley?” I said.

“Why not?” Hope said. “You couldn't do any worse than I have so far.” She said good-bye with a promise she'd call me with whatever she found out about Dani's family.

So how could I find out more about the developer? Everett? I knew he liked Marcus and if I went to Rebecca she'd nudge her husband to help. Then I remembered Rebecca telling me that Everett was going to Japan on business for a few days. Who else could I talk to? Lita? I didn't really want to put her on the spot.

I broke my brownie in half and ate it, hoping somehow inspiration would find me. And then it drove
into the parking lot in the form of a delivery truck bringing two boxes of easy readers for our Reading Buddies program.

“Simon Janes,” I said aloud. There were no cats to murp their agreement to my idea and the robin in a nearby tree didn't seem very interested.

Simon Janes was the father of Mia Janes. She'd come to the library as a student intern and worked out so well that I'd hired her part-time. I knew Simon's company was involved somehow in commercial real estate. Maybe he could tell me something, anything, about Ernie Kingsley. It was worth a try.

I finished my lunch and went back inside. “I just have to make a call and then I'll be down to take over,” I said to Susan, who was at the desk sorting books.

“Take your time,” she said. It looked like she'd secured her updo today with a couple of demitasse spoons. I'd learned a long time ago that there was always going to be a sense of whimsy to Susan's fashion choices.

Upstairs in my office I looked up the number I wanted and after a moment of hesitation punched it into the phone. The phone at the other end rang twice before it was answered. “Good afternoon, Simon Janes's office,” a polished, professional voice with just a hint of huskiness said.

“Hello,” I said. “It's Kathleen Paulson from the library calling.”

The professional voice got a little warmer. “Hello, Ms. Paulson. Mia works for you. She's told me how good you've been to her. Is everything all right?”

“Everything is fine,” I said. “Mia has been a wonderful asset to the library. She's a hard worker and everyone from the preschoolers at story time to the seniors book club adores her.”

“I'm not at all surprised,” the woman on the other end of the phone said. “So how may I help you?”

“I was hoping to get about ten minutes of Mr. Janes's time,” I said. “It doesn't have anything to do with Mia.”

I'd met Simon Janes the previous winter at a fundraiser for the library's Reading Buddies program. He was outspoken to the point of being rude, in my opinion—very different from his quiet, soft-spoken daughter. However, Mia had clearly inherited some of her father's confidence. When the expansion of the Reading Buddies program had been put at risk because we hadn't raised enough money, Mia—according to her father—had called him on his brash behavior and pointed out that he could easily afford to fund the program, which he did, with a check from his personal account.

I'd seen Janes several times since then when he came into the library to pick up his daughter. And more than once I'd caught him watching me, a bemused look on his face. He didn't look away and he didn't seem the slightest bit embarrassed at being caught.

“Would eight o'clock tomorrow morning work for you?” the woman with the lovely voice asked.

“Yes, it would. Thank you,” I said, relieved that she hadn't asked me why I wanted the meeting. I got directions to Janes's office, thanked her again and hung up.

Abigail and I were in the workroom, late that afternoon, opening the boxes of readers when Susan poked her head around the doorway. “Call for you, Kathleen,” she said.

“Thanks,” I said, getting to my feet and brushing bits of paper and packing materials off my hands. I went into my office to answer the phone.