Fillet of Murder (24 page)

She peered through the leaded glass on the door. A shadow crossed her line of vision, but then vanished off to the left. Was she seeing things, or was Cliff still inside?

Talia felt bad about the way she'd treated him the day she confronted him in his shop. He suffered from the same addiction her dad had once battled, and she knew how all-consuming it was. She, of all people, should have been more empathetic.

An apology was in order. Cliff might reject it, and if he did, that was his privilege. She wanted to offer it anyway.

Truth be told, she had an ulterior motive. Maybe if she offered Cliff a friendly hand, he would open up to her. Even if he had nothing to do with Turnbull's death, it was clear that he had at least one shady associate. A shudder boogied up her spine when she thought about the man who'd approached Cliff in Queenie's. He'd claimed to be Cliff's cousin, but Talia didn't believe that for a second. Whoever he was, he was downright frightening.

A weird feeling suddenly crept over her—a feeling that she wasn't alone. She whirled around, and then laughed at her jumpiness. A trio of teenagers—two girls and a boy—were advancing across the plaza toward Lambert's. One of
them spotted her and waved, and she wiggled her fingers in return.

Relieved, Talia turned again and tried the door of Cliff's shop. Just as she felt it give, it slammed shut, the force sending her slightly off balance. The harsh click of a deadbolt rang in her ears.

“Cliff?” she called out. “Is that you?”

She waited for a minute, and then shook her head. Cliff knew it was her and had no intention of letting her enter. No way. No how.

Talia swept her gaze over the plaza. At times like this, when the night was quiet, she found herself envisioning the real sixteenth-century England. In her mind's eye, she saw a horse-drawn cart trek across the arcade, the driver's face haggard from a long day tending his fields. She heard the clip-clop of the horse's hooves moving rhythmically over the cobblestone, the weariness in its gait a sign that he was through for the day, ready for a night's rest.

Shaking away the vision, she crossed Main Street and headed into Queenie's, making a beeline for the pet food section. She snatched up a bag of kitty litter, and on her way to the checkout grabbed a quart of milk and a box of Rice Krispies. The broker would probably flip when she saw that a cat had moved in, but Talia refused to leave the creature in the cold another night. If she could coax her inside, then at least the kitty would have a temporary home. If Talia could find a rental that allowed pets, she might even be able to keep her.

Five minutes later, Talia swung into Nana's driveway. She started to switch off her headlamps when she spied the calico cat. Perched on the front step, the kitty gazed at Talia
through big gold eyes. She didn't flinch when Talia got out of her Fiat, or even when Talia closed the car door.

Talia gathered her purse and her purchases, and walked slowly toward the bungalow. “Hey, Bojangles,” she cooed. “Are you ready for dinner?”

She hadn't realized until now that she'd named the kitty. The cat darted to the side, but stayed on the porch as Talia slowly climbed the steps. Talia unlocked the door, surprised when the cat skittered inside.

“Success,” she whispered.

She set her things down on the sofa while the cat toured her new digs. Bojangles ambled from the coffee table to the sofa to Grandpop's unsightly tweed chair. In one graceful leap, the cat swished onto the chair. She sniffed the fabric and then curled into a circle, keeping her gold-and-black head just high enough to peruse her new habitat.

Talia laughed. “That chair was meant for you, wasn't it? Grandpop loved it, too.”

Bojangles opened her mouth and emitted a tiny mewl.

“Okay, I get it. You're hungry.”

Talia went to the kitchen and grabbed two bowls from the cabinet. She was pouring kibble into the smaller one when she felt a soft form curling around her leg. Bending low, she stroked Bo's head. “You're so adorable,” she said. “How could anyone have tossed you into the street?”

While Bo scarfed her supper, Talia set up a makeshift litter box in the bathroom. The moment the cat swallowed her last gulp, she scooted into the bathroom and availed herself of the facilities.

“You knew exactly what I was doing in here, didn't you?” Talia said. “We'll probably move your box to a better spot, but this will do for now.”

Amazed at how comfortable the cat had already made herself, Talia put away the few groceries she'd bought. She was starving, she realized. A whopping order of Lambert's fish and chips would hit the spot right about now. Why hadn't she thought of it when she was out?

On impulse, she removed her cell from her purse and punched in Rachel's speed dial. Maybe she'd be willing to bring over another pizza—Talia's treat, this time.

“Talia?” Rachel's voice seemed faint and distant.

“Hi, Rach. You sound far away. Are you home?”

“Um . . . no, not yet. I'm . . . tied up in a meeting. Can I call you back?”

“Sure,” Talia said, releasing a sigh. “Catch you later, then.”

A feeling of gloom slid over Talia. She had so much she wanted to tell Rachel—about her trip to Chet's, her news about taking over Lambert's. Not to mention that she had a new cat she might not be able to keep.

Talia thought of calling her mom, but she knew they'd have to talk about Nana's house, and she wasn't up for that. Instead, she made herself a peanut butter and jam sandwich, took a fast shower, and crawled into bed early.

She awoke to the jingle of her cell phone, along with a moist nose tickling her ear. “Hullo?” she muttered, horrified to see from her bedside clock that it was only 5:47. She cupped Bo's silky head.

“Tal, I wanted to catch you before you heard it on the news.”

“Rachel?”

“Of course. Who else would call you at this hour? Didn't you tell me that the girl who works for Bea was going out with a guy named Pug?”

“I did? Yeah, maybe, I guess so.” Talia's senses went on full alert. “Why, what happened?”

“He's dead,” Rachel said. “Someone bashed him over the head behind the burger joint on the Pittsfield-Lenox Road late last night. The paramedics rushed him to the hospital, but he didn't make it.”

Bea sat at the small table, her coffee untouched and her face ashen. “I can't believe this is happening,” she said. “I don't even know what to think anymore.”

“I know,” Talia said quietly. “I don't, either.” She slung her purse and jacket over the hook on the kitchen door.

Bea dabbed her eyes with a crumpled napkin. “Poor Whitnee. The girl had enough stress to start with, what with her classes and that oddball of a mum. And now this . . .” Her words trailed off, and she sipped her coffee, grimacing when she found it cold.

Talia poured herself a cup of coffee, added a touch of milk, and sat down opposite Bea.

“Oh, Tal, you don't think they'll accuse Whitnee of killing him, do you?”

That's precisely what worried Talia, except she carried it a step further. Could Whitnee have had a hand in Pug's death?
Maybe she'd confronted him over seeing another girl? Bashed him over the head in anger and killed him unintentionally?

And why had Rachel known so much about it at five in the morning? Rachel claimed Talia had told her about Whitnee seeing a guy named Pug, but Talia couldn't recall ever mentioning him to her.

“Bea, I honestly don't know. Whitnee obviously won't be coming in today, so you and I have to pull ourselves together, okay?”

“But . . .” Bea sniffled loudly. “What if the coppers come in and ask if we know anything? Oh, I wish Whitnee hadn't told us about finding Pug with that other girl!”

“I know.” Talia's voice rattled. “But she did, and if we're asked about it, we simply have to tell the truth.”

They spent the next few hours in near silence. Talia gave the floor in the dining area a thorough washing, and then wiped down all the tables and chairs with lime-scented cleaner. Moments before opening time, a hard knock at the entry door made her jump.

The police.

Talia unlocked the door and it flew open, knocking her slightly off kilter.

“Oh God, did you hear what happened?” Whitnee rushed in, her face puffy and her eyes bloodshot. She tossed her book bag onto a table and sobbed for several minutes. Talia tried hugging the girl, but Whitnee pushed her away, tears flowing down her cheeks at an alarming rate.

Bea made her take a few sips of hot coffee. “Aw, Whitnee, why did you even come in? With everything that's happened, I surely don't expect you to work today.” She pushed a strand of greasy hair away from Whitnee's face. “You've had a terrible shock, luv, and you need to take care of yourself.”

“I . . . couldn't stay home anymore. My mom was, like, driving me nuts, and I know the cops'll want to question me. They'll say . . . they'll think I hurt Pug, and I didn't!” A hoarse sob burst from her. “Plus, I have an exam tomorrow and I've gotta study for it.” She swiped the back of her hand over her leaky eyes.

Talia fetched a tissue for her. “I'm sure your professor would let you take a make-up exam. Would you like me to make a call for you?”

Whitnee ignored Talia's offer. “I'll stay here and work, if that's okay, Bea. I can prob'ly, like, squeeze in some study time on my breaks.”

Bea bit her lip. “Of course, luv. If that's what you want.”

The lunch rush kicked into gear. Whitnee pulled herself together and made it through, even adding a tepid smile to her voice as she took phone orders. At Bea's urging, she managed to swallow a few fries and a helping of mushy peas. But as soon as business quieted, Whitnee burst into another round of tears. “I . . . I think I'd better go,” she told Bea. “I can't get Pug out of my head. I wish the cops would just question me and get it over with.”

Talia, too, wondered why the police weren't all over her. Wasn't the victim's “significant other” the first one they usually questioned?

Bea made Whitnee promise to call if she needed anything. Whitnee thanked her and left, without so much as a backward glance at Talia.

Taking advantage of the midday lull, Talia took a break and made a fast dash home to check on Bo. The darling little calico was curled up on Grandpop's old chair, looking as comfy as if she'd slept on it all her life. She greeted Talia with a soft purr and a head butt, and then went back to her
nap. After ensuring that her new charge had food and fresh water, Talia returned to Lambert's.

Talia was starting to get concerned about Rachel. She'd texted her several times, to no avail. Something was definitely off with her friend.
Yet one more thing to worry about
, she thought, as she and Bea closed up for the night.

They were putting on their coats when Bea noticed Whitnee's book tote hanging on the back of the door. “Ah, the poor girl left her bag here.”

“I'll drive it over to her,” Talia offered. “Do you have her address?”

While Bea looked up the address, Talia lifted the tote off the hook. It was heavier than she'd realized, and one end slipped off her hand. Two textbooks tumbled to the floor, along with the same glossy magazine on which she'd seen
W + P
inscribed inside a heart. Retrieving the books, Talia stared at the mag in disbelief. She saw now that it was a bridal magazine—a May issue. Had Whitnee been planning a wedding?

Talia stuffed the books and the magazine back inside the tote. Poor Whitnee—she really had been in love with Pug. She'd been planning their wedding and all the while he was flirting, if not worse, with other girls.

Bea located Whitnee's address, and together she and Talia headed for their cars. Anxious to get to the hospital, Bea watched Talia get into her Fiat and then zoomed out of the lot. Talia flipped her a wave and was hooking her seat belt when her passenger-side door abruptly opened. A man jumped inside.

Talia screamed.

“Stop squealing like a girl,” Cliff Colby said. “I'm not going to hurt you—I just have to talk to you. Pull out of the lot and hang a left. I'll tell you where to go.”

“Why do we have to go anywhere?” Talia gripped the wheel to keep her hands from shaking. “Why can't we talk right here?”

“Because I don't want anyone seeing me with you,” he snapped, flicking a look at the passenger-side mirror.

Well, that didn't sound good. She stole at glance at him. Even in the darkness of her car, she saw that his eyes looked wild. No, not wild—terrified.

“What is this, a toy car?” he whined, his knees pressed almost to his chest. “Doesn't this seat go back any farther?”

“Use the side lever,” Talia said, getting angry now. “You have a nerve complaining about the seat, you know that? Who invited you to take a ride with me, anyway?”

He jammed the seat back as far as it would go. “Just go,” he said. “This'll only take a few minutes. I promise!”

Sure. Like it only took a few minutes to kill Phil Turnbull.

Her heart in her throat, she followed his instructions. Left on Main, right on Baboosic. When she snuck a look at him, his large hands were jiggling in his lap. Did he have a weapon on him? She didn't think so, but she definitely wasn't going to let her guard down.

They followed Baboosic for over a mile. When he ordered her to pull in behind a long-defunct skating rink at the edge of town, her insides cartwheeled. The abandoned parking lot behind the rink was huge, bordered on one side by deep woods.

“Over there, near those pines. I don't want someone spotting this stupid turquoise car. Could you have picked a brighter color?” he griped.

Talia felt like bopping him on his oversized head. Instead, she parked the car but left it running. She considered
throwing her door open and making a run for it, but Cliff's legs were so long she'd never get away. Plus, something told her he wasn't actually dangerous. It reminded her of what her dad always told her about the occasional garter snake that wandered into the yard—
it's more afraid of you than you are of it
.

“I have things to do, Cliff,” she said. “What do you want?”

Cliff cast a glance in his side-view mirror, then swiveled in his seat and pointed a crooked finger at her. “I want you to
stop
coming into the Clock Shop and to stay away from me. You're a nosy broad, and you've already caused me no end of trouble.”

“What did I do?” Talia squealed. “I offered to help you!”

“Yeah, well, your kind of help's gonna get me killed. I got a loan shark on my tail, and he thinks you're an undercover cop.”

Talia gawked at him. “A cop! What are you talking about?”

“Don't play dumb. Classy-looking dame like you? You show up out of the blue and start slinging haddock in that fish joint. Then you start haranguing me, following me.”

“I did not—”

“He thinks you've been watching him for weeks, and that you and me have some kind of sting operation going. I tried telling him I only met you a few days ago, but he thinks I'm lying.”

“That man who was in Queenie's—he's the loan shark, isn't he?”

“Yeah, good guess, Einstein. Here, wait while I pin a gold star on you.”

“Cliff,” Talia said, furious now, “all I want is to get Bea off the hook for Turnbull's murder. If it helps, I will not even speak to you again or go near your shop.”

“Good.” He blew out a long, stale, oniony breath. “Now drop me off behind the diner. I left my car there this morning.”

“You realize I could report you to the police?” Talia threatened. “And that I probably will,” she added with false bravado.

“Go ahead,” he said bleakly. “Right about now, jail's the one place I'd feel safe.”