Cat-Eye Witness (A Klepto Cat Mystery) (17 page)

He finished his last bite of pie, took a swig of coffee and said, “Actually, they put an interesting twist on things. I can’t reveal what we’ve discovered until we’ve talked to a few more people.” He leaned forward. “I
can
tell you this, though, those photos were a big help.” He took another sip of coffee and looked over at Savannah. “Thank you, again.”

“Sure, no problem.”

“Well, it is a problem for many citizens. If they were all as forthcoming as you are, it would sure make my job easier. You’re also very observant. I like that. If you ever decide to change professions, let me know I could use a good sidekick,” he said with a wink.

***

“Ms. Clampton, Ms. Blair, please have a seat. Coffee?”

“Not for me.”

“No thanks.”

“I appreciate you coming down this afternoon.”

“What can we help you with, Detective?” Sondra Blair, Attorney-at-Law, asked.

“Well, I’d like some answers that I believe Ms. Clampton can provide and which she hasn’t offered to divulge as of yet.” He stood against the wall, his ankles crossed and his arms folded across his chest. He stared over at Iris. She looked away.

“Do you know a Mr. Fred Garfield, Ms. Clampton?” He watched as the color drained from her face and her shoulders stiffened. She seemed to be holding her breath. “Ms. Clampton?”

Sondra Blair leaned against Iris’s shoulder and whispered something. Iris sighed deeply and nodded. She continued staring down at the table in front of her. In a strained voice, she said, “Yes.”

“How do you know him?” he asked, walking toward the table and taking a seat across from the two women.

“Well, he’s a city council member. He comes into the diner. Sure,” she said, glancing up at him, “I know who he is.”

“Do you know him socially—maybe even intimately?” He leaned forward, his eyes focused on hers.

She squeaked out a weak, “No.”

“You have never socialized with Fred Garfield?”

“Not really, why?”

“Oh, Ms. Clampton, I think you know why.” He continued to stare at her.

She turned away—fidgeted with the hem of her skin-tight red-print polyester blouse. “I sometimes attend community events. He and his wife may have attended some of the same ones. I’m not really sure.”

“Was he at the fundraiser at the Forster home Saturday?”

Iris licked her lips. “Well, let’s see. I may have seen them there. I don’t recall.”

“Oh, knock it off, Ms. Clampton. You know he was there. Someone saw you on your way to your little rendezvous.” He got up and walked around to the side of the table where Iris sat, slammed his palms down hard on the tabletop and yelled, “You and Garfield were in the room together where the murder took place!”

Iris burst into tears. Sledge stood and walked to the other side of the room. He grabbed a box of tissues and scooted it across the table toward her.

Sondra Blair sat still and silent.

“Okay,” Iris said rather belligerently, after blowing her nose a couple of times and dabbing at her made-up eyes. “So what? We had some business to discuss and we met in that room, but we had nothing to do with the murder.” She looked up at Sledge. Her tone was pleading. “You’ve gotta believe me.”

As if he were reciting a dull phrase, he said, “We found your fingerprints on the murder weapon, Ms. Clampton.”

“Huh?” Iris sat rigid. She looked over at Sondra Blair.

“What?” the attorney said.

He unwrapped the blood-stained inkwell and asked, “Mind telling me how your fingerprints got on this…object?”

Iris looked over at it. Her eyes narrowed. “Hell if I know.”

“Think hard, Ms. Clampton,” Sledge said calmly. “It could be important.”

She bit her lip and stared at the inkwell begging her mind to remember. “Could someone have planted it?” she asked in innocence. “I swear, I don’t recall…” She then lifted slightly in her chair and turned toward the detective. She pointed at the inkwell. “That was in Maggie’s room, wasn’t it—um, at the Forster house? I remember it. It’s from her collection.” Excitement rose in her voice as she recalled the events. “Yes, I touched it. I don’t know why, but I touched it. It was sitting there on the dressing table. It was pretty and I touched it. That’s all,” she said. She looked over at Sledge, fighting back tears. “I didn’t even pick it up!”

Sledge, who had begun pacing around the room stopped. He now stood across from where Iris sat, one finger resting across his lips. The attorney silently took notes. Finally she said, “Detective, it should be easy enough to corroborate her statement using pressure tests on the prints. If an object as heavy as that one appears to be was picked up, the pressure would be different than if it had merely been touched, right?”

“Um, sure, I suppose. I’ll ask the lab guys.”

“Yes, you do that before making any accusations,” she demanded.

Sledge gave her a piercing look. “I haven’t made any accusations yet, Ms. Blair.” He then turned to Iris and asked, his tone flat, “Were you and Garfield having an affair?”

Iris looked over at her attorney and then up at Sledge.

“Ms. Clampton, I think you’ll find you’ll be better off if you tell the truth here,” he cautioned. He leaned over, put his hands on the table and looked her in the eyes. “Were you—or
are
you—having an affair with Fred Garfield?”

Iris leaned against the back of the chair as if wilting and spoke a weak, barely audible, “Yeah.”

“And that phony-baloney story you told about your hair falling on the victim while you stood their looking at him after he had died was made up, right?”

“Yes,” Iris said, looking down at her hands as they lay in her lap. She twisted a ring with a large red stone back and forth on her finger.

He stood up and began pacing again. “You were actually having a little roll in the hay that morning up in that room, weren’t you?”

“Detective,” Sondra Blair said, “that’s crude.”

He stopped and turned. “Well?” he said, motioning with his arms out in front of him. He then relaxed his demeanor and asked, “Okay, Ms. Clampton, were you making out, maybe on the bed, and some of your hair shed and later landed on the body, which was, as you know, found next to the bed?”

“Yes, I guess so,” she said in a soft voice.

He pulled up a chair and sat down. “Ms. Clampton, I talked to your son.”

She straightened her posture, and looked at him. “Oh?”

“Yes, we brought him in. Didn’t know he had hair about the color of yours. The mug shot I pulled showed him with a shaved head. He has a nice thick head of red hair, doesn’t he?”

“Yes, why?”

“I’m going to send the hair we found outside the second-story window to the lab. I didn’t do that because I expected it to all be the same hair. Maybe not.”

“What does that mean?”

He leaned his chair back on two legs. “I think he took the money, don’t you?”

“Uh, gosh, I don’t know. I hope not.”

“Would you rather we charge you for it? Are you willing to take the rap
again
for him?”

Iris looked down at her hands, twisted the ring. “No.”

“I don’t think it would be a good idea, either.”

The detective took in a deep breath and brought his chair back down so it stood on four legs. “If it makes you feel any better, Ms. Clampton, we did not find your son’s prints on the murder weapon.”

Iris looked up at the detective and let out a sigh of relief.

“Of course, he could have been wearing gloves.” After a few moments, he asked, “Was your boyfriend wearing gloves?”

“No,” she scrunched up her face. “I don’t think so.” Suddenly, she understood the detective’s implication and she gave him a disgusted look.

But Sledge didn’t notice. He was lost in thought.
I don’t know why this woman fascinates me so much. It’s not like me—nor is it kosher—to look at suspects in a personal way. I find myself hoping she’s innocent. But she’s not making it easy.

“I just love it here in our Big Sur, don’t you, Michael?”

“Sure do, honey. But then, I’m happy anywhere as long as I’m with you.”

“You mean we could have stayed home and saved money? You would have been just as happy?”

“Well, maybe not. It is great to have some distance between us and the rest of the world, especially with what’s been going on this week.”

Savannah slipped her arm through Michael’s, pulled her jacket hood up around her neck and leaned into him. “Well, I can’t think of anyplace I’d rather be right now. This is one of my favorite sights in the whole world.”

He looked over at her, a smile playing on his lips. “How do you know? You haven’t been everyplace in the whole world.”

She slapped at him with the end of her scarf. “You know what I mean.”

“Yes, honey. I love this place, too. Just being here with you, watching a Big Sur sunset over the ocean waves…what could be nicer?” He felt her pull back slightly. He put his hand on hers and squeezed. “Except loving you, my beautiful fiancée.”

“Ooooh, you’re good, mister.”

“Okay, so do you want to set a date?”

“Sure.”

“Over dinner tonight or right here in our spot?” he asked.

“Here, of course. Let’s sit down.” She led him over to the old log, remembering the last time they’d sat there and the beautiful weekend they had together after their chance meeting when she was having so much trouble deciding whether to marry Michael or not.
What a difference a few months can make,
she thought. “Is December too soon?” Savannah asked.

He whispered into her hair, “Savannah, I’d marry you tomorrow. You know that.”

“You’re not helping, Michael,” she scolded playfully.

“December’s fine.”

What about December fifteenth? It’s a Saturday.”

“Hey, you’ve already been thinking about this, haven’t you? Did we come all the way out here for nothing?”

She looked over at him, a seductive look in her eyes. “Nothing, you say? Nothing? Oh are you naïve, my dear husband-to-be,” she said, running one hand under his jacket and around his waist.

“Allll right!!” he exclaimed. “Let’s go back to the room.”

“Not until the sunset’s complete.”

“You’re torturing me, girl.”

“Don’t worry, it will be all better soon.” She winked at him and gave him a hug. He reached down and kissed her softly at first, then they both let the passion run wild in the moment.

***

It was twenty-four hours later. Savannah rested her head on the back of the car seat. She reached over and rubbed Michael’s right arm. He dropped it onto the console and she slipped her hand into his. “I can’t believe it’s Sunday already, and we’re headed back home.” She looked over at him. “I had such a wonderful time, Michael.”

He smiled over at her, winked and said, “Meeeee, too.”

“So,” she sat upright, still holding onto his hand, “the wedding is December fifteenth. That’s about two months away. What do we need to do?”

“One month, twenty-eight days, six hours, fourteen minutes and three seconds.”

“Funnneee,” she said. “What are you, some sort of mathematician?”

“I’m a man of many talents,” he teased.

She reached over and rubbed his thigh. “Oh yes, I’ll attest to that, Dr. Ivey.”

“Keep that up, Missy, and I’ll be pulling over.”

“Promise?”

The two of them laughed. She stretched toward him and kissed him on the cheek. She then settled back and was silent for a moment before saying, “Okay, here are my thoughts about our wedding. I’d like to have the service at the church where Auntie and Max go. I’ve been wanting to start attending, anyway. Would you like to go there some Sunday?”

“Yeah. That would be fine.”

“I believe they have a hall that accommodates around a hundred people and, I don’t know about you, but I don’t want a wedding larger than that. I’m thinking intimate. We should probably plan to have the wedding and reception inside. It will be December in Northern California, after all.” She hesitated, saying, “Jump in any time.”

“You’re doing just fine. You and I seem to want the very same things.” He patted her knee. “I have no complaints—only compliments.”

“Wow, this will be easy. Okay,” Savannah turned toward him and pulled her feet up under her in the seat before continuing. “I’m thinking I’ll wear a red wedding dress with lots of sparkly things—rhinestones and sequins. My bridesmaids will wear purple mini-dresses with green rickrack. I want you to wear a purple polka-dot tux and a pink cummerbund. We’ll serve our guests grasshoppers, unless you want to make it potluck and ask everyone to bring their least favorite food.”

“Huh? What are you talking about?” he asked, a scowl distorting his handsome face. “That sounds horrid.”

She laughed, mostly at the look on his face. “Oh, so you do have an opinion. Just checking. I was afraid you were going to be one of those boring yes-dear husbands.” “Absolutely not. I will wear pants, just the same as you do.” He glanced at her, smiling flirtatiously. “I hope you will wear a skirt sometimes, though. I love you dressed up all femmie.” He then pounded his fist against the steering wheel for emphasis, “But I am not wearing a purple polka-dot tux. No way!”

Savannah couldn’t stop laughing. She’d start to speak and break up again.

“You’re sure Giddy,” Michael said with a wide grin. “What’s tickled your funny bone?”

“You,” she said between giggles. “…the look on your face…”

He moved his head slowly from side to side. “Glad you find me entertaining.”

After Savannah was able to control her fit of laughter, the couple rode in silence for several miles. Finally, Savannah said, “Michael I read in the paper a few days ago that they had the funeral for Marvin Byrd. You know, I just can’t stop thinking about that young man, Steven. I wonder how his family is doing. It’s just such a sad thing to happen when there are kids still at home.”

Michael sucked in a quick breath. “Oh, forgot to tell you, I talked to Steven the other day.”

Savannah twisted toward him in her seat. “You did? Where?”

“Well, I was picking up a few things at the grocery store. He saw me and came over to say hello. He looked better—was more smiley. He was shopping for his mom.” He glanced over at her with a chuckle. “…it was either babysit the five-year-old or do the shopping.” He adjusted his position in the driver’s seat. “He said the family’s doing okay under the circumstances and…oh, they got the car back.”