Fat Cat Spreads Out (8 page)

J
ulie called Chase at eleven, after Chase had arrived home, taken a bath with heavenly rose-scented salts, and gotten her flannel PJs on. The nights were getting colder and colder. She would have to break out her long johns soon so she could be warm and toasty while she slept.

“Chase, can I come by to talk?” Julie asked.

“Sure. I was getting set to watch television for a while before I go to bed.”

Julie had sounded somber. Chase wondered if there was trouble between her and Jay. She hoped not. She hadn't yet seen that much of him, but she liked what she'd seen. Julie hadn't been serious about anyone for so long. In law school, her time was taken up with studying and graduating at the top of her class, plus interning. After
graduation, she landed the job with the district attorney's office, and they kept her even busier than she'd been in school. Her schedule seemed to be easing up a bit the last few weeks. At least she had time to date.

After Chase let Julie up to her apartment over the shop, she made cinnamon-sprinkled cocoa for both of them.

“Mmm, this is exactly what I need right now.” Julie cupped the mug with both hands. “It's getting downright chilly out there. I think a new cold front went through while I was on my way here from the office.”

“Is everything going okay, Jules?” Quincy rubbed against Chase's flannel pajama–clad leg, leaving ginger-hued hairs on the black watch plaid.

“I guess,” Julie said. “But I, well, I'm not quite happy with what I'm doing.”

Chase waited. Not happy with her job? With her boyfriend? When Julie didn't continue, Chase voiced those two options.

Julie laughed. “Not with Jay. Everything is super with him. No, it's my job.”

“Has something changed?”

“Not really. I think that I've been working so hard I didn't have time to notice whether or not I liked what I was doing. I'm getting a better handle on how the system works as time goes on and as I work there longer. I have a tiny bit more time to think lately.”

Quincy jumped into Julie's lap, purring, and she adroitly saved her chocolate from spilling.

“I've noticed that. And? What do you think?”

“I think I don't want to work in the public sector.”

“Why not? I thought you enjoyed it.”

“I do, sometimes, but prosecuting has such negative connotations. I think I'd rather do something positive. And it's not enough pay for such hard work.”

“Do you want to move to the private sector because Jay works for a private firm?”

“Maybe. I know he works just as hard as I do, maybe harder, and it's basically the same field. Being a defense attorney is the other side of the courtroom from prosecution.”

“That's what you want to do? Defense?”

“Not really. Maybe. I'm not sure yet. That's what's making me so edgy lately. I really don't know what I want to do. I thought I did when I took my job, but this isn't it.”

“Isn't it good to discover that now, before you spend years and years doing something you don't enjoy?”

“I'm sure you're right. But I don't know what I
do
want to do. It's an unsettling feeling. It makes my stomach hurt.”

“Have you talked to Jay about it? I'm not a lawyer, so I don't know what your other options are. He might know better.”

“I haven't talked to him. He knows something's wrong, but I didn't want to tell him.”

“Why not?”

Julie looked at Chase's ceiling for the answer. “Maybe I don't want him to think I'm flighty. Or a person who doesn't know how to run her own life.”

Quincy abandoned Julie for Chase and got a neck rub for his trouble.

“If he's noticed something's wrong, he probably assumes it's about him. Don't you think?”

They both sipped their chocolate in silence for a moment. Then Julie spoke with a decisive air. “You're right. That's not fair, is it? If our relationship is good and is going anywhere, I have to share this with him.”

Chase nodded, thinking of how she felt when she thought Mike was keeping something from her and then it turned out that Patrice was his cousin. She and Mike weren't even serious. Not that Julie and Jay were yet either.

“I'll talk to him.” She drained her mug and stood to leave.

Chase jumped up to give Julie a good-bye hug.

Quincy, lapless, meowed and stalked off, stiff-legged.

“I'm so glad you talked some sense into me,” Julie said, giving her best friend a good hard squeeze.

“No problem, girlfriend. It might be that I let you talk sense into yourself. But I expect you to do the same for me when I need it.”

After Julie left, Chase wandered over to the glass doors that led to her balcony. It was too cold to sit out there, but she stared through the panes at the streetlights below, glowing like soft lighthouse beacons in the cold, crisp air.

She regretted she hadn't been able to bring the conversation around to asking Julie to look up information about the case against Michael Ramos. Well, Julie wasn't leaving her job tomorrow. There would be plenty of time to try to figure out how to get Mike off the hook for the murder. It was a good thing the mills of justice ground slowly. An unwanted picture of Michael Ramos nearing
a grindstone flashed into her mind. She shivered and wrapped her robe around her a little tighter.

*   *   *

The next morning,
at the Bar None booth at Bunyan County Fairgrounds, Chase arrived well before Anna. In fact, Anna slid behind the table as the first customers wandered in.

“Good news,” Anna said when she arrived, breathless. “Inger's parents took her back. I dropped her off this morning.”

“Good grief, Anna. They should have picked her up. Did they apologize for all the trouble they've put you to?”

“I didn't actually see them. Inger asked me to drop her off in front of the house. I made sure she got in, though. Frankly, I didn't feel like talking to them. I might have been tempted to say something I shouldn't. But look. I stopped off to get this.” Anna held up a small space heater. Each booth had been provided with an electric power strip so they could plug in lights after it got dark. A pole lamp stood in the back corner of each booth, but there was no provision for heat.

Chase, who hadn't taken off her wool coat yet, was glad to see the heater. “It won't blow out the power, will it?”

“The man at the hardware store said it takes the least power of any of their heaters. Since this is such a small space, it should work well here.”

It did. Soon the booth was toasty warm. Anna shed her down parka and Chase took off her heavy coat. Fairgoers were ducking in to warm up, especially those who
hadn't bothered to check the weather before setting out and weren't dressed warmly enough.

When a break came for them, Chase asked how it went last night with Elsa Oake.

“It was her earring, all right.” Anna perched on the edge of the folding chair to rest her feet.

Chase poured hot cider for both of them from her thermos. She was glad she had thought of that when she woke up. “Did you have any trouble finding her?” She took the other chair and sipped, savoring the cinnamon and nutmeg.

“Nope, no trouble at all. I walked right up and asked the clerk at the front desk of the Crowne Plaza if they could dial her for me. Elsa gave me her room number over the phone.” Anna lowered her voice and bent close to Chase. “I will say that she was a little tipsy.”

“Mourning her husband?”

“I'm not sure. She doesn't seem too sorry he's gone.”

“Surely she's not
celebrating
his death?”

Anna shrugged as a group of teenagers meandered in.

When the lunch rush was over, Chase said, “This morning Mike asked me if I'd meet him for a late lunch today at the clinic. Do you mind?”

“Not at all. It doesn't sound like the most appetizing place to dine.”

“I'll get to see Quincy an extra time. He seems lonely when I pick him up at night. He purrs so loud and nuzzles so hard.”

“It's good for him. Makes him appreciate you more.”

Chase laughed. “I'm not that hard up that I need my pet to pine for me.”

The truth was, she hadn't seen much of Mike either since the fair started. Just dropping Quincy off and picking him up, and maybe an odd other time or two. That trick of not seeing much of Dr. Ramos was working on her, making her want to be with him more.

“I have yet to ask Julie if she can get any info from the police on the case against him,” Chase said.

“Do you want me to ask her? She's coming over to my house late tonight. You're welcome to come, too, but we're planning our shoe thing.”

Anna and her granddaughter both loved shoes—and boots. Every fall, they planned their shopping excursion for days. “You're going next week?”

“Yah. Now that the weather has turned cold, they'll start selling out.”

Chase knew, from listening to the plotting that the two of them did, that there was a fine line in timing. A smart shopper couldn't go too early or too late. They'd want the shoes to be on sale, but for the stores to still have a good selection. Anna and Julie both came back from their Fall Shoe Safari with more than they could wear. That was Chase's opinion. She was more of a minimalist, shoe-wise.

“Did I tell you what Elsa said about that little Winn guy?” Anna asked as Chase slipped into her coat and wound her scarf around her neck to leave their cozy booth.

“No. Winn Cardiman? When I spoke to him, he seemed upset that Oake was carving the same thing he was, Babe the Blue Ox.”

“Yes, that's the one. Elsa said he and her husband had
a loud shouting match the day they were moving into the sculpture place. Cardiman saw Oake's sketches, according to Elsa, and accused him of copying his idea. Oake insisted that he'd drawn his sketches weeks ago and accused Cardiman of the same thing. A bystander separated them when it looked like they might come to blows.”

“Has she told the police that?”

“She didn't say whether she has or not. But she seems to think he's the one who killed Larry Oake now.”

“Where did this go down? Did other people see what happened?”

“Elsa said the actual fight was by the food trailers.”

“I should check with Detective Olson, then. He could try to question people who might have witnessed the argument.”

C
hase pondered the options on her way to the clinic to see Mike and Quincy. She dawdled, shuffling through the sawdust and crunchy leaves, making a detour to stop at the food vendors. Cardiman was angry with Oake. So was Minsky, Mara's father. So was his own wife, Elsa. She would list all of these to Detective Olson soon.

Chase didn't have to go far to contact Detective Olson. He was in Mike's clinic when she arrived carrying their sub sandwiches.

After she pushed the door to the clinic room open with her hip, Detective Olson asked her to remain in the outer room until he was finished. A sign on Betsy's desk said she was gone for lunch. Chase sat on one of the plastic
chairs in the tiny reception area, shivering. The room was cool, but she wasn't shivering from that. The homicide detective's face had held such a serious scowl. Was he going to take Mike away again?

She was relieved when the detective swept out of the room without hauling Mike along with him in handcuffs.

“Detective Olson, wait.” Chase jumped up, still clutching the sandwiches. “I found out something you should know.”

He stopped and closed those gorgeous dark blue eyes for three seconds. “Chase, are you trying to investigate again?”

“No, no, nothing like that. It's just that Elsa Oake was talking to Anna. You know, Anna Larson?”

“Your business partner. Yes, I remember her.”

“Elsa told her that Winn Cardiman had a terrible fight with Larry Oake, in front of a lot of people. He was still very angry when I ques—when I talked to him, too.”

“Believe it or not, we have interviewed Mr. Cardiman.” He looked irritated.

“But did you know about their fight?”

“You mean a physical altercation? Blows were exchanged?”

“No, only an argument, as far as I know. But you could find others, by the food trailers, who saw it.” She gestured with one of the sandwiches in that direction.

“Maybe we could. But I don't see what good that would do us.” He crossed his arms across his chest. It was a nice view, but she wasn't in the mood to appreciate it.

“Cardiman,” she continued, “seems desperate to win the competition and he thought Oake was copying his own idea.”

Olson's look softened and he uncrossed his arms. “He's not that desperate, Chase. He's dropped out of the competition.”

“Dropped out? After all that angst?”

“He said he didn't need the money, or the hassle. He's packed up and gone back home to Waterloo, Iowa.”

“Well, I'll be darned.” Chase plopped back down on the chair.

A man rushed in cradling a howling dachshund in his arms as Olson exited. The man disappeared into the clinic room and Chase waited while the howling gradually subsided, becoming pitiful little whimpers, then a happy yip. The man came out smiling a few minutes later. The small dog looked contented, too, wagging its tail so fast it blurred.

That's where Mike found her when he came looking for her. “Did I hear you talking to the detective before that emergency?”

“Yes. As usual, it got me nowhere. What was wrong with that poor puppy?”

“Just a tiny splinter. She's a big drama queen. Well, a little drama queen, but a good one.”

Mike led the way into the examining room. The clinical smell, while not overpowering, didn't provide the best luncheon ambience. Chase thought eating at the reception desk might have been better. Mike took one of the sandwiches and sat at the small desk to unwrap it. “Where did you hope to get with Detective Olson?” he said with a grin. He unfolded a metal chair for Chase.

“I hoped to get
you
off the hook. What did he say to you?”

Mike frowned. “I'm afraid he's going after someone else now, too.”

Why was he frowning? “Isn't that good news?”

“No.” His brown eyes held hers. They were sad. “He's going after my cousin Patrice.”

Chase scraped her chair closer to the desk to set her sandwich on it, too. “What's going on, Mike?”

Their elbows nearly touched. She could feel the warmth of his body. Flushing slightly, she scooted over a bit.

He had just bitten off a mouthful. Chase waited patiently for him to finish. He took a swig from his water bottle before he answered. He was obviously playing for time, getting his reply ready.

“There's a lot going on,” he said. “Have you heard that a diamond cat collar is missing from the display in the main building?”

“Yes. I saw the case myself and the empty cushion. It says it was donated by the Picky Puss Cat Food Company. Patrice's grandfather seems pretty upset with her.”

“Victor Youngren? What do you mean, he's upset?”

“I overheard that Patrice filched the collar.”

“Where did you hear that?”

“I . . . I happened to overhear her talking to someone.”

“Yes, she did take it.”

“From the display? I'm trying to picture that.”

“Patrice does rash things sometimes.”

“That's one word for it.”

“She told me she wanted to try it on her cat to see if it would fit. Her cat is—well, she makes Quincy look thin.
This is so hard on Viktor. He's scheduled to start radiation in two weeks. Chemo will come after that.”

“He has cancer?”

“It's a small growth and we hope it will be taken care of with the treatments. But I can tell it's weighing on him. And now this business with Patrice. Again. He had to retire earlier than he wanted to. He worked full-time until six months ago, when he started feeling tired all the time.”

The poor man. “So she wanted to take it home that night?”

“Yep.”

“Why didn't she just ask Daisy for permission to try it on her cat?”

“She likes to get away with things. I think that's part of the thrill for her. Not so much having the stolen items as the excitement act of swiping them.”

“If that's the case, maybe she wouldn't mind giving me back my ring.”

“She stole your ring?” Mike's mouth dropped open.

Chase nodded. “It was pretty slick. She took it right off my finger when she shook hands with me.”

Mike rubbed a hand over his mouth. “I'm so sorry. I'll talk to her about it.” He pressed his lips into an angry line. “About the collar . . . She said she was going to put it back early the next day.”

“Why didn't she?”

“She told me that a man came into her fortune-telling tent and saw it.”

“She left it out for everyone to see?” This was sounding nuttier and nuttier.

Mike gave a weary sigh. “I told you, Patrice is—”

“Rash. You didn't say she's crazy.”

“I don't think she's crazy, exactly. She's a . . . borrower. Once she borrowed her mother's ruby earrings and wore them to high school. The problem with that was that she forgot to take them off for softball practice and lost one of them jumping to catch a ball. She was an outfielder.”

Chase shook her head at the behavior. The woman wasn't a borrower. She was a thief.

“Another time, she borrowed her grandfather's truck and destroyed his next-door neighbor's prize roses. He had to pay the neighbor a ton of money to replace them.”

“So she's also a bad driver.”

“Not now. She's a pretty good one. But she was fourteen when she did that.”

“Oh. I think I'm seeing a pattern here.”

“Yes, if she wants something, she takes it. She always intends to give it back.”

“So she was going to take the cat collar home, then put it back into the exhibit?”

“Yes, but that man scared her and she decided, instead of putting it back right then, to hide it next door.”

“In the butter building.”

“In a butter sculpture.”

“Yuck! It would get all oily.”

“Diamonds are pretty hardy. I'm sure it would wash. It would have been okay, if only . . .”

Chase waited for Mike to continue filling in the last of the blanks of the story as she finished her sandwich in the interval.

Mike put down the rest of his sub beside a pile of folders. “Patrice asked me to retrieve it. I didn't think it would be that hard.”

“Did Quincy sneak in there with you?” She saw Quincy's ears perk up at the mention of his name. He stood up and paced a bit. The glossy black cat in a cage next to his gave him a look of boredom, then ignored him.

“He might have. As soon as I got into the building, I saw the body on the floor.”

“Did you call the police?” Chase asked.

“I was about to. Before I got my phone out, Quincy jumped up onto the table and started licking Babe the Blue Ox.”

“He does like butter.” Her sub was a little dry. It could probably use some butter. At least more mayo.

“The cavity in the leg was obvious,” Mike continued. “Patrice had tried to smooth it over, but she's not a professional sculptor by a long shot. I punched through and reached into the cavity, but it wasn't there anymore. Before I could try to get my phone out again, Elsa opened the door and started screaming. I was still groping around inside the Blue Ox.”

“And you told her you went there to retrieve Quincy.”

“It's all I could think of.” His deep brown eyes were troubled. “And now the detective has decided to focus on Patrice.”

“Did you tell him that story?”

“No, but her mother did—part of it. She didn't tell them that I was there to get the collar, just that Patrice had put it there. Betsy has never gotten along well with
her daughter. Betsy is a . . . She's an orderly person. She likes everything kept neat and tidy.”

“And I take it Patrice is more . . . disorderly?”

“She's the creative type, I've always thought. I think the world of my cousin, but she is different.”

“Are you going to finish that sandwich?”

Mike handed her the last little bit of his sub.

“I thought Quincy might like a bite.”

“That is
not
what he should be eating.”

“Just the meat?”

“It's pepperoni! No, not even the meat.”

Mike seemed awfully grouchy today, Chase thought, walking back to the Bar None booth after a brief Quincy cuddle.

Mike should come clean and tell the police why he was really there. He could get himself into all kinds of trouble if he didn't. He probably didn't want to put suspicion on Patrice. However, her mother had done it for him. What a mess!

She peeked into the butter building and, sure enough, Winn Cardiman's station was empty. Even his sculpture was gone.

Was he innocent of Larry Oake's death, or was he cleverly trying to throw everyone off?