Skating Around The Law (16 page)

I opened the passenger door for my grandfather and said, “Get in. We're going to Lionel's.”

 

Lionel wasn't in his office when we arrived, but his monster truck was parked in the driveway. That told me the man was around here someplace, so we ambled down to the barn.

Elwood greeted us from his stall. Today he was wearing a big Uncle Sam top hat with two little holes cut out for his ears. Elwood was celebrating Memorial Day two days early.

I left Pop with the camel and walked down the center barn aisle to the back room. Pay dirt. There was Lionel sprawled out on the leather couch, asleep. Lionel's hair was disheveled. His jawline was covered by dark stubble, and his mouth was parted just enough to kick my imagination into full gear. God, this guy was sexy.

I leaned over him. Feeling flirtatious, I planted a light wakeup kiss on his forehead. Lionel's eyes fluttered open, and before I knew what was happening, I found myself yanked off my feet. I landed on top of his chest with a thump.

“What are you—” I managed to say before Lionel shut me up with his mouth…and what a mouth it was. His lips pressed hard against mine, and his tongue slipped in between my lips, making the lower parts of my body zing with pleasure. Lionel's kiss had definitely been worth the wait. All the reasons for not getting involved with an Indian Falls man flew out of my head as my blood pressure started to rise.

Strong hands ran down my back. They dipped enticingly under my shirt, and I snuggled closer without losing contact with Lionel's mouth. God, he felt good. My disposition was feeling better and better with every touch.

“Rebecca, what the heck are you doing over there?”

Surprised, I rolled off Lionel and smacked my ass on the hard cement floor. I blinked at Pop and Elwood both grinning from the doorway. At least I think Elwood was grinning. It might have been an effect of the silly hat.

“Lionel was asleep,” I explained, out of breath. “I was waking him up.”

Pop shot a meaningful look in the direction of Lionel's crotch. “Looks like you did the job.”

My face burned hot. I tried to sputter a response, but Lionel got there first. “Arthur, Rebecca didn't tell me you were here.”

“Don't seem like she was saying much of anything.” Pop showed all his false teeth. Now it was Lionel's turn to look uncomfortable. Served him right, I thought. A chivalrous guy wouldn't pin this mess on the girl.

I shoved myself off the floor and brushed off my jeans. Time to get to business. I stood next to Pop, straightened my shoulders, and in a matter-of-fact voice informed Lionel, “Pop and I are here to ask you about clomipramine. You didn't answer me yesterday, but I'm pretty sure you know something about it.”

Lionel's sexy mouth stayed closed. So much for respecting elders, I thought as I gave him a sharp look. Lionel's eyes darted away from mine, and I decided it was time to play hardball. “Tell me or I go to the cops and tell them you know something. I think Sean will listen to me, since I've heard he has a thing for redheads.”

Pop sucked in air, but Lionel didn't flinch. I was ready to hyperventilate. I was certain Lionel could tell I was bluffing. No way the cops would take anything I had to say seriously. Still, if Lionel knew something incriminating about one of his friends, he might not want to chance it.

Lionel glanced at me. “Okay. I might know something.”

I pulled out a chair and sat down at the table. “Spill, and make sure you don't leave anything out.”

Pop and Lionel joined me at the round table. Lionel said, “Clomipramine is a psychiatric drug. It helps people with anxiety and behavioral disorders. In my field clomipramine is prescribed for dog anxiety. The FDA hasn't given the feline version its stamp of approval, but in the past couple of months I've prescribed it for a local cat.”

“Any cat I know?” I asked, surprised at the turn the conversation had taken.

Lionel nodded. “Nothing else worked for Precious. That's why I tried the clomipramine. The drug worked like a charm.”

My heart sank as the pieces clicked together. “Agnes killed Mack,” I said. Pop looked stunned. Lionel looked sick. I was both. Mack drop-kicked Agnes's cat, and to get even Agnes fed clomipramine to Mack. I didn't like the scenario, but it made a warped kind of sense.

“I can't believe Agnes could kill someone,” I said. Taking away a library card for defacing a book I could see, but murder by cat pills was beyond me. Besides, Agnes cared too much about her cats. Wasting their meds on someone she disliked seemed out of character. I asked, “Why would she use Precious's pills? Did they have a warning label or something that could have given her the idea?”

“Yeah, does the stuff induce heart attacks or something?” Pop's eyes were wide with interest.

Lionel shook his head as he leaned back in his chair. “Not usually. The bottle says clomipramine might cause lethargy, and it says to bring the pet into a vet if it stops eating or has other symptoms. There's nothing printed on the label that would inspire anyone to use it for murder.”

Okay, now I was confused. “If it only causes drowsiness, how did Mack end up in the toilet?” I doubt he mistook the porcelain potty for a pillow.

Lionel raked a hand through his hair. “Doc said Mack had a thyroid problem. People taking thyroid medication don't take clomipramine. Combined the two drugs can cause blackouts, cardiac arrhythmias, or worse. That's what happened to Mack.”

“So if Agnes gave Mack the pills, she didn't mean to kill him.” I stood up. I paced the floor as my mind whirled.

Lionel shook his head. “Not unless she knew about Mack's thyroid condition, which I doubt. Mack never told me about that, so I don't think he would have shared it with her. The two of them weren't on the greatest of terms.”

“Besides Precious,” I asked hopefully, “do any other animals around here take this drug?”

“Not that I know of,” Lionel answered, “and people around here aren't the types to go to shrinks. At least none of them talk about going. So our options are limited.”

Damn, I thought. Having Agnes arrested was really going to ruin my day.

 

The sun was setting as I pulled into Agnes's driveway. Pop climbed out of the passenger's side and sauntered behind me up the sidewalk to the front door. I'd tried to drop Pop off at the rink, but he had played the guilt card. Hearing him say I didn't need him anymore really hurt even though I knew it was a ploy. My grandfather played dirty.

A couple of cats were on the porch, but no Agnes or Precious. I pressed the doorbell as Pop reclined against a porch railing. A few moments later, Agnes appeared at the screen door with a delighted smile.

“Rebecca, dear, it's so nice of you to drop by.” She opened the door and shuffled onto the porch in a pair of pink bunny slippers.

Pop snorted at her footwear, and I elbowed him. “Is Precious around?” I asked.

Agnes frowned. “I'm keeping her inside for a couple of days. Precious doesn't like it, but I have to. She's been hissing a lot.”

“Any reason why?”

Agnes glanced at Pop, then back at me. Hanging her head, she said, “Precious hasn't had her medication in a few days. I ran out. But don't worry. I'll go see Dr. Franklin and everything will be back to normal.”

Pop snorted. “Don't count on it.”

Agnes's eyes widened, and she shot me a fearful look. “Rebecca, what does Arthur mean by that?”

I glared at Pop. “Mack Murphy died because someone slipped him some medication. The same medication Precious takes for her…problems.”

Agnes clutched her chest. Her mouth formed the word “no.”

I shook my head. “I'm afraid so, and the minute Sheriff Jackson finds out Precious takes those pills you're going to be the number one suspect.”

“You're going to the slammer, Agnes.” My grandfather wagged his gnarled finger. “Your cat's pills killed Mack Murphy, and we know all about it. The jig is up.”

“But I didn't do anything. I swear.” Agnes pressed against the side of her house. Her voice got small and scared. “I would never give Precious's pills to anyone. You have to believe me, Rebecca. This is a mistake.”

Agnes's face was pale and her eyes were wide. A fluffy orange cat rubbed against her leg. Agnes didn't look down. She didn't smile at her baby's attention. No, Agnes just stared at me with those wide eyes.

Watching the old librarian made my heart quiver. I was putting the fear of God into a woman who looked like Betty Crocker. How awful was that? To top it off, I believed her. Agnes was scared, but it was a confused fear. This wasn't the “Oh my God, they caught me and I have to get out of this” kind of terror. Agnes looked innocent.

I put a reassuring hand on Agnes's arm. “I'm not accusing you of anything, Agnes.” I shot a look at Pop. He opened his mouth, took one look at me, and closed it. Good. Without Pop's assistance, I might get some answers out of Agnes.

“Why don't you have a seat,” I offered.

Agnes nodded gratefully. She shuffled over to a chair and sat down. “Thank you, Rebecca. You're a good girl.”

That made my heart squeeze tighter. She was thanking me after I accused her of murder. The woman was either a saint or a brilliant psychopath, and since I didn't trust Indian Falls' finest, it was my job to figure out which.

I sat down in the chair next to Agnes. “Agnes, the last time I was here, you said you'd forgotten to give Precious her medication. Did you give it to her after I left?”

Agnes started to nod up and down, but then her head changed directions and bobbed side to side. “I couldn't find it.” Her hands clutched her faded pink skirt. “I always leave the bottle on the windowsill in the kitchen. Then one day the pills weren't there. It was just like what happened to my last set of teeth.”

Pop's expression went from threatening to sympathetic. “Nothing worse than losing a good pair of teeth. I did that a couple of years back. I had to suck soup for four days before Doc Singe got me a new pair.”

“Took me over a week,” Agnes said. “They had to be made special by another doctor in Minneapolis.”

I hated to break up the bonding moment, but I had to ask, “When was the last time Precious had her pills?”

Agnes scratched her head. “Over a week ago. I'm afraid I don't know the exact day, but
Wheel of Fortune
was on. I always give it to her during
Wheel of Fortune
. My nephew hates watching it with me, but Precious likes the lights.”

Wheel of Fortune
was on six days a week. No help there. I tried a different tack. “What did you do when the pills went missing?”

“I searched all over the house for them. I even checked my garbage for the pills before putting it out on the curb.”

“Garbage pickup is on Friday,” Pop said with authority.

“That's right.” Agnes nodded. “The last day Precious got her pills was a day or two before that. I'm sure of it.”

Agnes and Pop looked pleased with their powers of deduction. I was less impressed. Knowing when garbage got picked up wasn't going to help prove Agnes didn't kill Mack.

“Agnes, did you call Dr. Franklin about the missing pills?” Lionel hadn't mentioned getting a call, but it wouldn't have been the first time Lionel had hidden the truth.

“No,” Agnes admitted as her head drooped. “I wanted to. Precious really needs her pills, but I didn't know what to tell Dr. Franklin.”

“How about the truth?” I asked. That seemed like the obvious choice. Of course, that might not work if the sweet little old lady had used the pills to bump off the pesky handyman. Then the truth might not look so good.

“I can't say I lost them,” Agnes protested. “People will think old age is making me lose my mind. They won't let me live alone anymore, and all my babies would be taken away from me.”

Now I was really confused. Who needed medication more, Precious or Agnes? “People lose things all the time, Agnes,” I said.

“Yeah,” Pop chirped. “I lose my keys all the time. Nobody's saying that I'm losing my mind.”

“That's because you have a nice family, Arthur.” Agnes dabbed at her eyes with her shirtsleeve. “My nephew is looking for a reason to put me in an old folks' home so he can get his hands on my house and my savings. If I admit to losing the pills, he'll say that's proof I'm senile. The courts aren't nice to senior citizens. They'll rule against me. Then what will happen to all my babies?”

Several fat tears rolled down Agnes's face. Pop immediately handed Agnes his handkerchief. While she wiped her face, he patted her shoulder and asked about her health. They compared aches and pains as my mind kicked into gear. The explanation about the pills was strange enough to be true. Face it. I wanted it to be true. Problem was, Pop had trouble keeping secrets. I needed to find out who took those pills before Pop spent a whole day at the senior center. Agnes would be a goner for sure if anyone else found out about Precious's pills.

Too bad I didn't have a clue how to track down the pill thief. Maybe Agnes's greedy nephew would.

“Hey,” I said, stopping Pop mid-colonic-sentence. “Who's your nephew, Agnes? Do I know him?”

Agnes leaned down to pet a fluffy cat. “I don't know. He moved here a couple of years ago after you left for the city. His name's Tom. Tom Owens.”

Tom Owens? I screwed up my face. Visions of a wasted guy with drool hanging out of his mouth popped into my head. Tom Owens was one of Mack Murphy's poker buddies. The only one I hadn't talked to since cleaning out his wallet. At the time, a drunken football coach hadn't seemed like a good source of information. I'd just changed my mind.

 

I awoke the next day disoriented by the sounds of Britney Spears. Then I remembered where I was—Mom's apartment with its fabulous gourmet kitchen. Pop and I had eaten well last night, and I'd sent him home too stuffed to grumble about my new living arrangements. All part of my nefarious plan.