Fat Cat Takes the Cake (9 page)

C
hase thought about Bart Fender as she waited on other customers. If he couldn't taste sweet things, he probably wouldn't be back. Probably a good thing since he barely fit into the store. In fact, she wondered if all that bulk was natural. It was possible he took performance-enhancing drugs. But he came into contact with young high school athletes daily. She hoped his bad habit—if that was the cause of his massive body—wasn't rubbing off onto his students. She was so glad she wasn't going to high school now! Back then, as far as she knew, the principal hadn't been raking money from the school system and she was sure the coaches weren't taking illegal drugs.

As she was counting change for one of the regulars, Mrs.
Cray, she saw Mr. Snelson walk past on the sidewalk. She must have stared at him, because Mrs. Cray turned around to see what was getting Chase's attention.

“Oh, Mr. Snelson,” she said. “He's quite a character.”

“You know him?” Chase asked.

“Why, yes. I clean the high school, you know.”

“No, I didn't. How long have you been doing that?” The last Chase knew, Mrs. Cray was cleaning offices at the university.

“I started this year. Mrs. Snelson got me the job. She works in the office at the U, you know.”

Chase didn't know that either, but was more interested in what Mrs. Cray knew about the principal. She would not have to ask, though. Mrs. Cray was the chatty sort.

“It was kind of strange last weekend. There was that big thing, you know. The reunion.”

Chase nodded. She did know that.

“So they asked me to clean on Sunday instead of Saturday, my regular day. There's one thing I don't like about that man.”

She paused for effect while Chase waited for her to go on. “He told me on Sunday that he can't stand teenagers. Do you believe that? I mean, I never heard such a thing. He can't stand teenagers? Why does he have that job? That's what I'd like to know.”

Aha, thought Chase. After all of those years confronting the pupils, dealing with truants and kids who didn't care if they never finished school, or athletes who assumed the school owed them something, it sounded like he'd had enough. That was, no doubt, why he was getting into real estate.

That evening, Mike rang the bell at the rear door before the tidying-up in the kitchen was completed.

“Oh, there's Mike, Anna,” Chase said. “He's early.”

Anna grinned. “I'm glad you're back with him. There's something about that other—” She stopped short as Mike strolled in.

“Ready?” he asked.

“I can be in two minutes. Have a seat and a leftover Lemon Chiffon Bar.”

Mike hoisted himself onto a stool and Anna set the goodie on a paper towel in front of him. She was asking him if he'd like lemonade with that as Chase ran up the stairs to pass a brush through her hair, wriggle into a clean pair of jeans, slip on a fresh sweater, and swish some mouthwash. She found herself humming “Tonight” from
West Side Story
and realized she was truly happy she wouldn't be eating vegan food tonight, to say nothing of being with Mike.

The Italian food at Mike's discovered restaurant was perfect. Or maybe it was so delicious because of her recent experiences with Eddie. The man himself was delectable, but eating with him was not.

Mike didn't seem inclined to talk about Eddie, which relieved Chase.

“You'll never guess who came into the clinic today,” he said.

The question didn't call for an answer, which was good, because Chase's mouth was full of lasagna. Good beefy, cheesy, noodle-y lasagna.

“Mrs. Snelson. She said her husband's the principal of Hammond High.”

Chase finished her bite of goodness. “Is she a new customer for you?”

“Yes, her dog is a new patient. I don't think she's had him for very long. Was he the principal when you went there?”

“Yes. He was at the . . . Yes, he's been there forever.” She stopped talking, not wanting to mention the sore subject of the reunion.

“She mentioned that. She said he's having trouble adjusting to the dog.”

Mike warmed her heart with his smile and topped off her wineglass with the Chianti Reserva he had selected. Its full-bodied taste was perfect with the robust Italian flavors. The candle on the table flickered and danced, helping create an intimate space where only the two of them and the table of delicious food existed.

“What does that mean? Have they never had a dog before? I don't think they ever had children.” She forked another piece of lasagna. Yum.

Mike swirled some of his spaghetti carbonara, but didn't take a bite. “Sounded like he might be allergic. She hasn't had him long. He's a tiny lap dog, teacup Chihuahua.”

“Is he cute?”

Mike shrugged and took his bite. After a bit he said, “I prefer more natural breeds. This one is neurotic.”

Chase thought a lot of Chihuahuas were neurotic. “Can you be allergic to such a tiny dog?”

“Sure. Size doesn't matter. What got me, though, was what she was saying to me, as a perfect stranger. She brought up your reunion and how awful the murder was. Then she
repeated, several times, that her husband and a business colleague were together at her house all night, so they couldn't possibly have known anything about the killing.”

“Why would she talk about that with you?”

“The more she went on, the more I thought she was trying to convince me. And, I should add, the more I thought she was lying. Why she would need to tell me this, I don't know.”

“Maybe,” Chase said, “she was rehearsing her story for the police.”

“D
etective Olson, please.” Chase had called the station Saturday morning after the homicide detective didn't answer his cell phone. She heard her back door opening. A minute later Anna called up the stairs that she was here. Chase ran to the top of the stairs and motioned to her that she was on the phone. Anna nodded and proceeded into the kitchen. Quincy slipped down the stairs. She would have to make sure he got into the office before they opened for business.

“Yes?”

She tried to detect his mood from that single word. He didn't seem angry or abrupt this time. The receptionist probably told him who was calling, so that must have meant she wasn't on his bad side at the moment.

“I talked with my friend Dr. Ramos last night. He told me that Mrs. Snelson, who owns a little tiny dog, was talking to him about her husband being with Langton Hail all night after the reunion.”

“Yes, that's also what she told us.”

“Well, don't you think that's odd?”

“It's odd that a married couple has a friend over? No, I don't think so. Why would you?”

“But all night? It's not something people go around saying. She's, well, she's protesting too much. Know what I mean?”

“Yes, I've read Shakespeare.” He was silent for a moment. She heard Anna humming the chorus of “Dancing Through Life” from
Wicked
in the kitchen as she waltzed, Chase was sure, from counter to stove to refrigerator.

“Okay, Chase,” Niles Olson said. “I agree it's a strange thing to talk about. How well does she know Dr. Ramos?”

“Not at all. She's a brand-new customer at his clinic.”

“I'll make a note. Thanks for calling.”

That was a tiny bit of progress, Chase thought. There must be a guilty secret there, some fire under the smoke. It made some sense that, if Hail were too drunk to drive, he might go home with Snelson, since he lived close to the school. She needed to think this through. Later.

Right now, she needed to get to work. It was Saturday, with only a week and a half to go before Christmas. The closer the holidays got, the more people craved sweets.

The pudgy tabby was enjoying himself immensely. He didn't usually get this much time in the kitchen in the morning.
Normally, his feeder person let him downstairs, then herded him into the office straightaway. While she lingered upstairs on the phone, though, the older woman was content to let him wander the room, trolling for tidbits that hadn't been mopped up the night before. If they were there, he couldn't find them. Too soon, the feeding woman came downstairs and shut him into the office. He checked to make sure the paper he'd hidden was still under the desk. This room was never cleaned nearly as thoroughly as the kitchen. Otherwise, it wouldn't still be sitting there, right where he had stuffed it.

“How was your date last night?” Anna asked, as soon as Chase took care of corralling Quincy and came to help get the day started.

“Very nice.”

“I can tell from your smile.” Anna set up a racket getting out the metal baking pans.

Chase cocked her head, recalling part of her conversation with Mike. “He said that Mrs. Snelson is one of his new customers.”

“That's our principal's wife? Our principal who wants to do real estate scams?”

“Yes, indeed. And he was most likely being blackmailed for that. Even so, maybe he didn't kill Ron North. He and the little guy he was with spent the night at Snelson's house. What about Dickie Byrd? He might be a better suspect. I doubt he'll get elected. If even
I
have seen him with another woman, I'll bet a lot of other people have, too. In fact, Ron
North was probably planning on blackmailing him.” She was recalling the “BIRD” on the blackmail book. It didn't have a dollar amount next to it, but surely it would have if Ron had lived longer.

Mallory and Inger arrived at the same time, bringing a burst of frigid air in with them from the parking lot.

Chase sniffed the air. It smelled moist, like it might snow soon.

“You're both early,” Anna said.

“It's been so crazy,” Inger said, “I thought I would get a head start.”

“Here are the trays of dessert bars for the case.” Anna pulled some from the refrigerator and Mallory and Inger both started carrying them to the front.

The morning wore on with a few deliveries and lots of customers. After Chase and Anna got several batches of bars baked, filling the shop with the aromas of cinnamon, lemon, and cherry—which blended surprisingly well—Chase decided to get started on payroll. Monday was the fifteenth and she would pay Mallory and Inger then.

She greeted Quincy with a head rub as he jumped up onto the desk, settling beside her keyboard. She toiled over the tax tables and state forms for an hour, then stood, ready for lunch. Quincy jumped down and dislodged a business card he'd been lying on top of.

“What's this?” Chase bent down to pick it up. “Vita Life for a Vital Life,” she read, puzzling over it. Then she turned the card over and saw a name and room number. She remembered it now. This was the card Bart Fender
had given to Julie at the reunion. Julie had handed it to Chase and Chase had ended up taking it home. Where had it been until today, a week later?

“Quincy Wincy, did you hide this somewhere? You naughty boy.” He was developing a habit of secreting away what must be treasures to him. Maybe he was part dog. Or squirrel.

Bart had told Julie that Dillon would like visitors, but the women who had been talking about her said she was in a coma. Chase remembered Dillon as a volleyball player, clean cut and always bouncy. The women said she had attempted suicide. That didn't square with the cheerful pony-tailed blonde whom Chase remembered. Maybe she and Julie should look in on her and at least find out what was going on. Bart had said something enigmatic about her parents in the shop, too. This was a small mystery, and Chase liked to solve mysteries. She would call Julie tonight and propose they visit on Monday after Julie got home from work.

When Chase went out front so Inger could have lunch, she saw a few lazy flakes circling toward the pavement outside. She hadn't checked a weather report for days, but Mallory assured her that several inches were expected. Chase had filled a watering can in the kitchen and bent to water the poinsettias. Their leaves had started to curl slightly, so they should welcome a drink. She hoped they would stay pretty until Christmas.

“If it starts accumulating, we'll send you home,” Chase said, looking out the windows again. “You and Inger. There's
no reason for you to have to battle the roads before they're plowed.”

Mallory gave her a grateful smile. She had been smiling at the customers more, but Chase thought she forgot about it sometimes, especially when she was rushed and got harried.

A woman in a bright red cloth coat came in and stomped the flakes off her shiny black boots. Her nose and cheeks were almost as red as her coat. Black curly hair framed her round face. After she'd perused the goods in the case and picked out a mix of Lemon and Peanut Butter Fudge Bars, she struck up a conversation with Mallory, who had greeted the woman with a friendly smile that had been returned. Chase nodded to herself when she saw that.

“I'm so glad I found this place. We're entertaining tonight and Van wanted a nice dessert.”

“How did you hear about us?” Mallory asked.

Chase was listening in, curious about the mention of “Van.” Was she the principal's wife? This woman was the only customer in the store at the moment, so Chase helped bag her choices.

“I found you online,” she said. “I searched for desserts and your webpage popped up. It's so attractive and the pictures look delicious.”

“I'll have to let our web designer know,” Chase said. She would also let Anna know that the efforts she'd been against were paying off.

Anna hurried into the salesroom with some filled boxes to restock the dwindling supplies on the round tables.

“My husband wants to make a good impression tonight. It's for a job.”

Chase snuck a peek at her credit card when she handed it over the counter to Mallory. Sure enough, her last name was Snelson. “Are you related to Van Snelson?” Chase asked.

She nodded, beaming with a proud smile.

“He was my principal at Hammond High,” Chase said. “I saw him at the reunion last weekend. Were you there?”

“No, no, I didn't go. He said he would be busy talking to important people.” She frowned to emphasize how important those people were.

“He spent a lot of time with Mr. Hail, the real estate developer.”

“Yes, yes.” She brightened. “Van is going into real estate. Langton Hail has been advising him. Langton knows a lot about it. In fact, they spent the rest of the night together and Van didn't come home until the next morning.”

Hm, that wasn't exactly the story she had told the detective. “Is he going to resign as principal?” Chase asked.

“Oh my.” The woman's hand flew to her cherry-red cheek. “That's not . . . I'm not . . . He hasn't announced anything yet.”

Anna gave Mrs. Snelson a curious glance, then retreated to the kitchen.

“Don't worry,” Chase said. “I won't tell anyone.”
Except Detective Olson
.

Mrs. Snelson signed the bill and took the bag Mallory handed to her. “These will be perfect. They'll love them. I'll be buying more soon.” She left with a cheery wave, her faux pas forgotten.

The snow was coming down thicker and the wind was picking up, swirling the flakes in mad, intricate, dizzying patterns.

Chase wished she could see a pattern that led to the real killer of Ron North.