Fat Cat Spreads Out (22 page)

Chase thought of that last one and was afraid he would do his business in Shadow's carrier. She reached in and pulled him out, knocking his ox horns off. It was a wonder they had stayed on while he'd streaked across the
room. Now, though, they fell to the floor. Anna swooped them up before anyone could step on them, although they hardly needed them now.

When Chase folded her cat in her arms, a dazzling sparkle caught her eye in the carrier. She reached in again and this time she withdrew what Quincy had been digging for.

It was the missing diamond collar.

S
ilence fell on the arena as, one after another, people noticed what she held.

Her hand, holding the precious object at arm's length as if it were contaminated, began to tremble. Showers of fiery sparks from the diamonds caught the bright arena lights and shot around the room. A few dabs of butter were wedged between some of the jewels. It hadn't been cleaned off since it had been taken from inside the sculpture, Chase thought. Quincy strained toward it, flicking his tongue out.

Ivan, more wild-eyed than ever, lunged for the collar, but Chase was quick enough to snatch her hand back against her chest. She narrowed her eyes and looked from one man to the other.

“You had this all the time?” she demanded, her throat tight with anger.

“No, no! I didn't know it was there,” Peter cried. “Papa, what have you done?”

Ivan grabbed her arm, but she kept her grip on the collar. In a flash, Ivan threw Chase to the floor, banging her head and her right hand against the ground, trying to loosen her grip. Quincy jumped down. Chase flinched but didn't let go.

“Police!” Anna yelled, as loud as she could, which was pretty loud. She scrambled and caught Quincy, who had leapt away from the fray.

Chase shook her head in an effort to clear the stars spinning inside her skull. Ivan straddled her, clutched her wrist, and pressed, trying to get her to release the collar. Quincy, maybe having a change of heart, jumped from Anna's arms. He pounced and bit down, hard, on Ivan's forearm. The man yowled and rolled off Chase.

The policeman Chase had seen enter was there an instant later. He lifted Ivan off the ground and held him by both arms. Chase still had the collar. She slowly rose from the floor, rubbing the back of her sore head. Other officers stayed inside the door to the hallway, beckoning a dozen more uniformed police officers inside. She could barely see the tops of their heads, but she could easily tell which one was Detective Olson because he was a bit taller than the others.

Ingrid stood behind Peter, her hands clutching her horrified face.

“What's going on?” the policeman asked. He was a
large, stern-looking man of about forty with bristly dark brown hair, an acne-scarred face, and substantial jowls.

“It should belong to us,” Ivan snarled. “The money spent on that thing should have gone to pay Peter.
She
should not have it.” He tossed his head toward Chase on the word
she
.

The officer detached a pair of plastic strips from his belt and looped them around Ivan's wrists behind his back, ignoring what Chase held. Chase could tell Ivan was rubbing the officer the wrong way.

“How did it get in your carrier?” Anna asked.

Peter shrank back. “I didn't know it was there,” he protested.

“How could you not?” asked Anna. “Didn't you bring your cat here in that carrier?”

Peter nodded. “Yes, but . . . I don't know. I didn't know it was there,” he repeated.

“Did your cat notice it was there?” Chase stepped closer, putting her face in his.

Peter frowned and looked down at the cat, who sat crouched at the foot of the stand all this time. Peter picked him up. “That's strange. You'd think Shadow would have found it.”

“Maybe he doesn't like butter as much as Quincy does,” Chase said. Quincy, in her arms again, was now licking bits of it off the collar she still held.

“I hope none of those diamonds are loose,” Anna said. “Maybe I'd better take it.”

“Has anyone called Detective Olson over here?” Chase asked.

The policeman finally took a close look at what was in Chase's hand. “This is the missing artifact, isn't it?” the man said. He held out his hand, one arm on Ivan's upper arm, and Chase gave it to him. “I'll get backup right now.” He slipped it into a paper bag and into a pocket one-handed. He waved toward where Olson stood, now surrounded by two dozen police. He took a whistle from his belt and blew it.

Chase watched Ivan. His eyes never left the collar as the man tried to summon more police.

“Why does your father have this?” Chase asked Peter. She wanted to hear someone else say it.

“I have no idea. I don't know how it got there.” Peter looked genuinely puzzled.

Patrice came running over, carrying Princess Puffball. “That's him!” She pointed at Ivan. “That's the horrible man who threatened me!” Her eyes were wild. “He wanted me to give him the collar.”

Ivan had wanted Patrice to give it to him, she said, after she stole it. He was the reason she'd put it inside the butter sculpture in the first place. “There's only one way it could have ended up in the carrier if you didn't put it there,” Chase said to Peter.

Ingrid was giving Peter peculiar looks. He glanced back at her once, then quickly away.

“Yes, you're right.” He looked at his father with sorrow in his eyes. “Papa? You took this? From the butter sculpture?”

Ivan had to have seen Patrice hide it there and gone to retrieve it.

“So what if I did? You should have it.”

Chase could see the top of Detective Olson's head as he finally made his way through the throng toward them.

“But what else did you do when you took it?” Peter's voice shook and tears flowed down his face, scrunched in agony.

“All right,” Ivan shouted. “I killed that man! He came in and saw me. I had to.”

Gasps were heard from everyone crowding around the spectacle. Chase let one escape, too, at the unvarnished confession.

“Stand back, everyone,” the policeman said. “You're not going anywhere,” he told Ivan. “Everyone stay put until the detective gets here. No one is to move an inch.”

They all watched as Detective Olson and six uniformed backup officers strode through the crowd toward Ivan. Ivan glared at everyone and hissed, showing his teeth. Chase thought he looked like an angry cat.

“That's him!” Patrice shouted again, stabbing her finger at Ivan, but staying a good distance away from him. Her mother, Mike's aunt Betsy, had made her way over and folded Patrice, cat and all, to her bosom.

Mike was right behind them. He went directly to Chase and put an arm around her shoulder.

“What's going on now?”

“Now we know who killed Oake.” She leaned into him and watched Ivan.

When Olson reached them and confronted Ivan, the fight went out of the cranky old man and he submitted to a pat-down without further resistance. He kept his mouth
shut, although he threw daggers at both Chase and Dr. Ramos.

Patrice repeated everything about Ivan's threats when he'd seen her with the collar, as one of the officers took notes.

Peter conferred with Inger briefly before following his father as he was taken out of the arena by two of the officers.

People were slowly beginning to leave the arena, one at a time, after being questioned by the police at the door.

Chase and Mike stepped aside, to the edge of the now-dwindling crowd.

“What just happened? I could see what I thought was a struggle, but too many people were in the way.”

“Quincy and I found the diamond collar!”

“Where was it?”

“In Shadow's carrier. Ivan is the one who murdered Larry Oake.”

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“Ivan tried to get it from me, but Quincy bit him on the arm. It was awesome. You should have seen it. I didn't get hurt much.”

“How about out there with the van? You got hurt there, didn't you?”

“Not really. My hands are sore and a little bruised from Hardin pounding on my knuckles, but nothing too bad.” They were a dozen yards away from where the guard held Ivan's biceps in an iron grip. “And I hurt my knees a little bit.”

“What exactly did you do?” Mike took her hands in
his and inspected them, frowning at her bandages. His hands were warm. His own knuckles looked bruised. She rubbed a finger over them.

“I hung on to the car while he tried to drive away.”

“If you had fallen off, you'd have been badly hurt.”

Chase grinned. “But I didn't. How about you?”

“My hands are sore, too, from pounding on the wall of the van,” he admitted. “Thank goodness you realized what was happening.”

“We're quite the pair, with our injuries. But why did Hardin kidnap you?”

“I couldn't figure that out at first. I startled him earlier, on the midway. He was coming out from the aisle next to the butter building. He looked panicked—I didn't know why—but just ran away. After he took me to the van and threw me inside, he was raving about something he thought I'd seen. He thinks I saw him kill someone back there behind the booths!”

“It all started when Hardin saw Ivan run away after killing Oake.”

“He saw him run from the building?”

“Yes. He told Sally, one of the travel agents, but then refused to talk about it, especially with the police.”

Mike's jaw swung open. “Why? Why wouldn't he tell anyone what he saw?”

“He's a murderer who escaped from prison and changed his name. If the police found out, he'd be going back to prison. I'm not sure why he told Sally. He was probably trying to impress her. She was good-looking and was about the only person here that talked to him. She said
she would go to the police if he didn't. I guess he thought it was worth harming both of us to stay out of prison.”

“He thought it was worth killing for, Chase. He admitted to the police that he had strangled a woman behind the booths before they drove him away. Now I know it was the travel agent,” Mike said. “He was raving that I had seen him kill her and that he would get rid of me, too.”

“How can someone not care a bit about others? How could Hardin strangle her when all she did was tell people what he had told her?”

“He doesn't care about anyone. Just about himself.”

“So there actually were two murders here. And two murderers.” Chase shuddered violently and Mike squeezed her shoulders.

They rejoined the few people left on this side of the arena, Anna and Inger among them.

“Could we keep Shadow for a day or two?” Inger appealed to Chase and Anna as soon as she saw them.

“Inger,” Anna said. “Do you know the Aronoffs?”

“I know Peter, mostly.” She looked at her feet.

“How on earth do you know him?” As soon as she said it, Chase remembered how Inger had searched the homeless shelter and that the cook had mentioned a young man. She also remembered Ivan saying he and his son were homeless after Peter had lost his job with Picky Puss. “The homeless shelter?” Chase asked.

“Yes, I met him there, delivering our dessert bars. Peter is crazy about the Harvest Bars. I didn't want to say anything. It's too soon after Zack died. Isn't it? But Peter was so nice to me.”

Anna put a hand on Inger's shoulder. She raised her chin up with the other hand. “Inger, you need to do what's best for you.”

Chase wasn't sure Peter Aronoff was the best for her. Given her nutty on-again-off-again parents, though, it would be nice if someone else were looking after her. But maybe someone who wasn't homeless and whose father wasn't a murderer.

“Peter has a new job and they haven't been in the shelter for a couple of weeks, he said.” She looked down again. “I talked to him today for a long time.” She turned tear-filled eyes to Chase. “He's awfully upset about his father right now. He doesn't know what he's going to do about that whole mess.”

“Did he know his father killed Oake?” Anna said.

“He thought his father knew where the stolen collar was, but he didn't really know about the murder. Not for long. He suspected but didn't admit it to himself.”

“He should have turned him in as soon as realized what he had done.” Chase wondered if he would be charged with obstructing justice.

“He did give the police an anonymous tip about the collar.” Inger turned on Chase. “Would you do that?” Her words were impassioned. “To your own father? Could you really do that?”

Chase didn't know.

“G
o, go!” urged Inger. “You'll be late.” It was near closing time and only three customers lingered in the Bar None. Inger had been explaining the blue ribbon to them. She did it several times a day, but she said she didn't get tired of it. The picture Chase had snapped of Quincy in the Babe the Blue Ox costume was taped to the display case next to the ribbon.

Anna and Chase both felt it would be wrong to display the Picky Puss Cat Food bags in the shop, the ones featuring Quincy all dolled up in the diamond collar. Five different images of him, in various poses, graced the bags.

He had loved the photo shoot, Chase thought. Dozens of people fussed and fawned over him, and he purred
nonstop. He even hammed it up when they shot the television ads. The one Chase liked best started with an empty metal bowl. You then saw Picky Puss kibble cascading into it. The camera panned out and left the kitchen, took the viewer through a living room and a front hallway, up the stairs, down a narrow hallway, and into a bedroom where Quincy lay in regal splendor on a gray silk cat bed, wearing, of course, the collar. Throughout the camera's journey, the sound of pouring, clattering kibble grew fainter and fainter. But when the camera—and presumably the sound, or maybe the smell—reached Quincy, his head shot up and he leapt out of the cat bed, reversed the route, and ended up chowing down in the kitchen.

The final product, which Chase had seen, but which hadn't aired yet, looked like one continuous shot. But it had been dozens of takes pieced together with fake partial rooms. Also, Quincy had refused to touch the Picky Puss food. Chase had brought some Kitty Patties with her, just in case, and the crew buried them beneath the dry food. Only then would Quincy enthusiastically dive in.

Chase looked at the clock behind the counter in the shop. “You're right, Inger. I'd better get changed. Do you need Anna to help out?”

“No, I'll clean out the cases. She's busy in the kitchen.”

Inger radiated the glow of motherhood. Now that she was seeing Dr. Ingersoll and taking prenatal supplements, Chase and Anna worried about her much less. She was back living with her parents, but was moving into her own apartment in a week. She had gone out with Peter on official
dates twice, but seemed to be cooling toward him. Or was that wishful thinking on Chase's part? Peter had Shadow with him in his own apartment now. Chase had kept him for three days, but Shadow and Quincy were not the best of friends. Quincy had kept Shadow pinned down under Chase's bed most of that time.

Inger had seen the therapist Mike recommended but had “graduated” from therapy after only a few sessions.

Chase took off her smock in the kitchen and put it in the basket of soiled linens. Anna was putting away the baking pans and utensils she had washed. Quincy was on counter patrol, inspecting for stray crumbs. Julie came in through the back door.

Chase paused a moment to take it all in.

Her shop. Her own shop. Hers and Anna's. She was living the life she wanted to live, making delectable treats that made people happy. And she had the best family and the best pet in the world.

“I only have a minute,” Julie said. “Jay and I are on our way to a movie. Anna, you wanted to show me something?”

“I want to show both of you.” Anna reached into her apron pocket and pulled out an envelope. “I got this today.” She tossed it on the island countertop. The envelope was plastered with colorful stamps. The name in the upper left corner was Elsa Oake.

“Where is she?” asked Julie, picking up the envelope and extracting a sheet of paper.

“Read it,” Anna said.

Chase extracted two photos from the envelope as Julie read:

Elsie and I decided we love Costa Rica. The place Larry rented is perfect. We've decided to buy it. We sent for Grey and want to stay here for a few months a year, or maybe year-round. Any time you want to come down and visit, we'd love to have you. Bring Quincy if you can.

“Let's see the pictures,” Anna said. Chase showed them one of Lady Jane Grey against a jungle background, her leg securely fastened to a perch. The other was of Elsa and Eleanor—which was which was anyone's guess—on an impossibly white beach, surrounded by gentle waves from an aquamarine sea, backed by a matching cloudless sky, and swaying palm trees.

“Maybe we should visit,” Julie said.

“With Chase's new website drawing in a record amount of business, we might be able to afford it.”

When Chase had finally shown the website to Anna on Tuesday, after sending the remaining dessert bar photos to Tanner Monday night, Anna was thrilled.

“This is beautiful,” she said, clicking through the pages. She grinned at Chase. “So this is why you took all those pictures.”

Chase had had no trouble getting her to agree to pay Tanner from the Bar None account, which was nice and healthy after selling so much at the fair.

*   *   *

Mike talked about
the last time they had been to this restaurant, when they had eaten outside a few weeks ago. It was much too cold tonight. The temperature had dropped twenty degrees since the day before. Besides, it rained, gently, all the way to Lord Fletcher's. The Wharf, the outdoor dining area, was closed for the season. It was November, after all. Chase remembered her disappointment that their time together hadn't been more romantic on that visit.

He said a few words to the maître d' and they were ushered to a table beside a large window. When the waiter brought the wine, he joked with Mike about the fact that, again, the Twins had had no chance of making it to the World Series. After a few one-liners, the waiter asked Mike, “What's the difference between dirt and the Minnesota Twins?”

Mike puzzled over it for a few seconds. “I give up.

“Nothing much,” said the waiter. “They both always get swept.”

The two men chuckled and the waiter left to put in their order.

Chase was happy to see Mike laughing. “You're in a great mood tonight.”

“Not being a murder suspect will do that to a person.” His deep, dark eyes twinkled in the soft candlelight. The waiter had poured them each a glass from a bottle of red wine that Chase suspected cost quite a bit more than she would pay if she were buying. Mike had insisted it was his treat tonight.

“Well, I never suspected you,” Chase said. They clinked glasses and she sipped. “Mmm, this is yummy.” The rain pattered against the window beside them and ran down in rivulets.

“I know you didn't.” He sipped, too, then set his glass down and took both her hands in his. Both of them had healed quickly from their injuries, although Chase still shuddered when she thought about how close they had come to being killed. “I'm not sure I'd be alive right now if it weren't for you.”

Chase ducked her head, embarrassed. “Oh, sure. Something would have happened.”

Mike lifted her chin with a finger to look into her eyes. “You happened. You wouldn't give up, and you found me in the nick of time.”

Yes, she had. She had to admit to herself she had saved his life. It was entirely possible that Frank Hardin would have killed him. She didn't want Mike to be grateful, though. She wanted something else from him. For the rest of the meal, they chatted easily, on the surface, about Quincy, about the parrot, Grey, whom Chase sort of missed, and about the Aronoffs. Inger was still seeing Peter, but not regularly. Inger became more confident with each passing day. Her baby was showing now, and she rubbed her tummy unconsciously when she was working behind the counter, out on the floor, or helping in the kitchen. She was turning out to be a competent baker with a good imagination for putting new ingredients together.

They also talked about the infinite, interminable wedding plans for Anna and Bill.

“It'll all be over by Christmas Day,” Mike said.

“And not a moment too soon. If a ‘simple' wedding is this complicated, I wonder how much energy an elaborate one would take.”

Mike's answer was an enigmatic smile. The rain sprayed in a sudden spurt, clattering against the windowpane. “How's Julie doing with the new job?”

“She hasn't started yet. She gave notice last month and will begin at Bud's real estate firm in two weeks. She's so excited about it. For the moment, she's busier than ever, studying up on that aspect of the law every spare moment.”

“She finds time to see Jay, doesn't she?”

“Oh yes. He says it's like she's walking on air, and she says it feels like she lost twenty pounds.”

Mike snapped his fingers. “I keep forgetting to tell you, I weighed Quincy on the last day of the fair, before the contest.”

“And?” Mike was smiling, so maybe this would be good news, Chase thought.

“He was down a half pound.”

Chase knocked her back against her chair in astonishment. “With everything he ate? Everyone there was stuffing him.”

“He also got a lot of exercise.”

Chase nodded. Yes, he'd gotten out numerous times and had run the length of the midway with every escape, sometimes more than once.

That last burst of raindrops seemed to have been the final hurrah. She glanced out the window where the moon was peeking through drifting clouds.

“So he's not really fat,” Chase said. “He needs more exercise.”

Mike grimaced. “That might be splitting hairs. He could stand to lose another pound or two, but this is a very good start.”

The doctor might not agree, but Chase decided that what Quincy needed was more exercise in the future. She fingered the silver-and-turquoise ring that Anna had given her. It was finally resized and she didn't have to worry about it falling off, unless she started losing weight. She didn't think that would happen any time soon.

“What ever happened with Dr. Drood?” Chase asked. “I felt sorry for him, after I calmed down over the way he acted. He was out of his depth.”

“Yes, he was. His name was left on a referral list inadvertently. It's off now, so that should fix the problem of calling him up to sub. My friend insisted on paying part of what I paid Drood, since he felt responsible. He wasn't, of course. Anyone could have made the same mistake. His credentials, from when he was active and had his own practice, were good.”

Chase didn't ask Mike if he'd paid Dr. Drood for a whole day at the fair. She knew the answer.

After they ate, they donned their coats and scarves and strolled onto the wooden deck to watch the moon send its stripes onto the water. The rain had stopped completely now and a half-moon was still playing peekaboo through ragged fringes of clouds. A slight breeze blew across the deck, the air fresh and dry after the shower.

Chase shivered slightly and Mike put his arm around
her shoulders. She had such a warm feeling about the meal she had just eaten, but the strange thing was, she couldn't recall what any of the dishes had been. They had all been flavored by Mike's smiling, dancing eyes and his soft, expressive lips.

He must have felt the same way, because he held her tighter and tighter, until they were embracing face-to-face. It felt so natural to look up at him and to finally—at long last—kiss those lips that had been tempting her for so long. They felt decidedly something more than grateful. So much better than she'd been imagining. Tender, delicious. The kiss went on and on . . .