The Chocolate Cat Caper (24 page)

We managed the whole conversation without looking each other in the eye. Joe got clear to his truck, then turned and came back. “A house this old—I guess you’ve got a Michigan basement.”

“Sure do.”

“You might want to keep Yonkers out of there. He’d probably think it was a big sandbox. You might be fighting the odor for quite a while.”

I waved good-bye and made sure the basement door was shut. Champ was prowling around the living room, exploring behind the television set and under the coffee table. He seemed contented. I gave him a toy from the sack Joe had brought, then went into the bathroom to put on make-up. I left the door open, ready to respond to any unusual noises.

As I curled an eyelash something began to gnaw at my mind. Something Joe had said. Something about the house.

Michigan basement. That was it. “I guess you’ve got a Michigan basement.”

Well, so what? Joe grew up in Warner Pier—home of the Victorian cottage and the 1900-era West Michigan farmhouse. There were also lots of newer houses in Warner Pier, of course. But Joe himself could well have been raised in a house with a Michigan basement. No, it wasn’t what Joe had said that was bothering me about the Michigan basement. It was something else. Something to do with pizza.

“Oh, my Lord!” I jumped and nearly yanked my eyelashes out. Then I whispered. “Duncan Ainsley.” I stood there staring into the mirror in horror, remembering my chat with Duncan Ainsley after eating pizza the night before.

As I was leaving the Dock Street, I’d made a joke about the Michigan basement, and Duncan had said something like, “Is that what those sand-floored basements are called?”

If Duncan Ainsley hadn’t known what a sand-floored basement was called in Michigan, how had he known what I was talking about? How had he known that our basement had a sand floor unless he’d been in Aunt Nettie’s house?

Duncan Ainsley had been our burglar. I was sure of it.

Or perhaps he’d been one of them. He must have been Marion’s boyfriend, the person who bought the black lace nightgown. And he’d helped her kill Clementine Ripley and then to break into Aunt Nettie’s house to find the food-service gloves. He’d even mentioned plastic gloves later.

I ran to the telephone, ready to share my latest deduction with somebody, anybody. Then I realized that the phone wasn’t working. The repairman was due that afternoon.

The cell phone. I could use it to call 911.

But all of a sudden I didn’t want to call. I didn’t even want to stay at Aunt Nettie’s. It simply seemed too spooky. There were too many trees, too many bushes to hide behind. And Duncan Ainsley had already found it easy to break in. I had no reason to think he would be coming back, but I wanted out of there. I wanted to be around people. I decided to load Yonkers into his carrier and go to town.

“Champ!” I yelled. “Yonkers! Here, kitty, kitty!”

I ran into the living room. No sign of him. I went back into the bedroom and checked under the bed and in the closet. I closed the bedroom door tightly so I’d be sure he wouldn’t circle around me and go back in there. Then I started to search the rest of the house. I got down on the floor and looked under things. I looked in closets and behind furniture. And I called, “Here, kitty! Here, Yonkers! Com’on, Champ.”

When I got to the kitchen I grabbed the can of cat treats off the cabinet and rattled them. “Here, kitty!” There was still no response. I went into the back hall. “Darn you, Champ,” I said, “if you’ve crawled behind the washing machine . . .”

And I heard a meow.

It wasn’t behind the washing machine. It was behind me. I whirled. The basement door was ajar.

“Oh, no! I thought I checked that door! Champ, if you’ve gone down in that basement—”

I pushed the door open and turned on the light. I tried to make my voice enticing. “Here, kitty! Here, Yonkers. I have a nice treat for you.” I rattled the can.

Again I heard that meow. It was back in the corner, behind the brick pillar that held up the fireplace.

If I went back there, that darn cat might dash around the other side of the pillar and beat me to the stairs. That would be okay, I decided. He’d be easier to catch upstairs. I started after him. Champ had evidently been having a big time down in the basement. The sand floor was all churned up.

Then I noticed Aunt Nettie’s afghan. It was lying in the middle of the basement, wadded up into a sort of nest.

“Darn you, Yonkers! You dragged that afghan down here. I hope you haven’t ruined it.” I rattled the treat can. “Nice kitty. Nice Yonkers. Come to Lee, sweetie.”

Now I could see him. He was digging at something. “Well, Joe warned me,” I said. “We’ll have to scoop the poop. But we’ll worry about that later. Come on, fellow.”

“Meow!” Yonkers batted at something on the floor, behind the brick pillar. But he didn’t run away from me.

“What have you got?” I leaned over to look.

And I saw the toe of a tennis shoe.

I hesitated just long enough to take a deep breath before I jumped for the stairs. But that was long enough for Duncan Ainsley to jump after me.

He caught me before I got to the top.

“L
ee? Lee! It’s me, Duncan!”

knew that. Duncan had his left arm around my chest and his right hand over my mouth. And he was trying to tell me who he was?

“I didn’t mean to scare you.” His voice was right in my ear. “I came to the kitchen door. I called out, but you didn’t answer. Then I saw the cat. He pawed the basement door open and went down. I was sure you wouldn’t want him there, so I went down after him.”

The words were rolling off his tongue glibly, but he hadn’t relaxed his grip. “I feel like a fool,” he said. “I’m going to let you go now. Okay?”

The guy was unbelievable. He expected me to swallow this story?

But maybe if I hadn’t already figured out that he must have been our burglar, maybe I would have bought it. I decided I’d better play along with him. I nodded my head, and he let go of me. Slowly, beginning with the hand over my mouth.

It was time for my dumb blonde from Texas act. “Oh, Duncan! You skeered me! We’ve had two burglaries, you know. Besides a murder. Ah was just sure the murderer had gotten in here.”

He chuckled. “You’re safe, honey.”

I didn’t like the way his eyes narrowed. I moved away, up two steps, dropping my eyes and trying to look demure. Actually I was looking to see if I could kick him where it would really hurt and shove him back down the steps. But he moved with me, staying too close for me to try it.

“Why didn’t you jes’ call out?” I said. Let him answer that one.

“I’d gone down after the cat on an impulse, and I knew I was going to feel stupid. I thought I’d wait until you went to another part of the house and sneak back up.”

He came out into the back hall and flashed that broad, country-boy grin, then dropped his head to give me the look that had charmed millions out of his celebrity clients. “Oh, Lee, I do feel like a fool!”

He was a strong fool. The grip he’d had on me had proved that. And he wasn’t letting me get far enough away from him to feel sure that he might not grab me again.

I sidled into the kitchen, and Duncan stayed right on my heels. “I’m sorry I didn’t hear you. What can I do for you? I mean, why did you come by?”

He looked really blank for a moment. Then his tongue got right to work. “I had a piece of business I needed to take care of before I could leave this mornin’, and I had to wait a few minutes. And I just thought I’d like to see you one more time. So I dropped in.” He grinned triumphantly.

I tried to look as if I believed him. “Would you like some coffee?” I said.

“Oh, that sounds wonderful.”

I reached for the pot—yes, I was picturing pouring the scalding coffee over him—but he reached around me and grabbed it before I could.

I took a mug from the cupboard over the pot. “We used up all the crook—the cream,” I said. “But I can get you some milk.”

“No. I take it bank.” Duncan’s face looked furious for just a moment. Then he forced a parody of his country-boy grin onto his face. “I take it black,” he said. He filled the mug, and the two of us stood there, looking at each other. Neither of us was being successful at pretending this was a social occasion.

When Champion Yonkers came up out of the basement and walked past Duncan, tail lashing, it was a welcome distraction. “There you are,” I said. I scooped the cat up and held him in front of me, like a shield, or maybe like a weapon. If Duncan came closer, would the cat claw on command? The idea was laughable, but I wasn’t laughing.

Just then I heard a strange ringing noise.

“Is that a cell phone?” Duncan said.

“It is!” I’d almost forgotten the cell phone Chief Jones had left for Aunt Nettie and me.

“Shouldn’t you answer it?” Duncan said.

“I don’t have to.”

“I think you should.” He wasn’t smiling now.

I put the cat down and followed the sound into the bedroom. I found the phone on Aunt Nettie’s bedside table. Duncan was right behind me. As I reached for the phone, he grabbed my arm. “Don’t tell anyone I’m here,” he said. He didn’t even try to hide the threat that time.

I picked up the phone and punched the right button. “Hello.” Ainsley held his head close to mine. I knew he would be able to hear what was said.

“Lee?”

“Chief Jones?”

“Yah. Has your aunt left?”

“Yes, she’s probably at the shop by now.”

“I’ll call her there. But I thought you ladies might want to know about those gloves.”

“Oh?”

“The lab found one fingerprint inside.” He paused for dramatic effect. “It belonged to Duncan Ainsley.”

I couldn’t say anything. And somehow I couldn’t look at Duncan.

“Yep. The state police are on their way out to that B-and-B where he’s staying,” the chief said. “With any luck he’ll still be there.”

The chief hung up.

So Duncan Ainsley had used those food-service gloves, the ones with the trace of cyanide on the outside. At this point, that was no surprise.

The surprise was that the chief had hung up so quickly I hadn’t been able to give him a hint that the state police were not going to find Duncan Ainsley out at that B-and-B. And I was sure that Duncan had heard every word the chief said.

For a minute I was sure that he was going to kill me. But I decided to give the good ol’ Texas girl act one last effort.

“Oh, my!” I said. “I’ll call the chief back and tell him there’s some mix-up. They’re actually suspecting
you
in the death of Clementine Ripley. We all know Marion McCoy did it. She even confessed!”

A smile played over Duncan Ainsley’s mouth, and for the first time in my life I was grateful for my dumb blonde reputation and for the twisted tongue that kept that reputation intact. I lowered my head and batted my eyes. Then I held up the phone, ready to punch it.

Ainsley, of course, snatched it away. “No, not now.”

“But, Duncan, you’ve got to talk to the detectives, to get all this straightened out. There’s obviously some mistake.”

“You’re right, Lee. I do have to do that. But I can’t do it yet. I have to get hold of a piece of evidence first.”

“Evidence?”

Ainsley nodded. I could almost see his brain churning, trying to come up with some explanation simple enough for a dumb blond to accept.

“The police probably know about one thing,” he lied. “Marion and I had a business arrangement. When I reveal the details, it will clear me completely. But Marion had the—the papers. I told her to put them in a safe place, and the id—” His voice broke off, and he gulped twice before he went on. “She put them in a bank box.”

“Oh, Duncan!” I almost squealed. “Now she’s dead! That means you can’t get hold of them. You’ll have to tell the authors—the authorities—right away. They’ll have to find her key and open the box. Will they have to get a court order?”

Ainsley smiled more confidently. Apparently he did think I believed this wild tale. “Actually, we held the box jointly.”

“Oh, good! Then you can get into it yourself.”

“Yes, but not until the bank opens.”

Suddenly I believed that Duncan was telling me the truth. “You mean it’s here in the Warner Pier bank?”

“Right down the street from TenHuis Chocolade.”

“Oh, my goodness.”

“So I need your help, Lee.”

“But what can I do?”

“Let me stay here. Just for an hour. Until the bank opens.”

“Of course, Duncan.” I maneuvered past him. “Let’s go back in the kitchen and sit down. I bet you haven’t had any breakfast.”

The next hour was the strangest I’ve ever spent or hope to spend. Duncan followed me into the kitchen. I tried to make him believe that I was cooperating, but maybe I tried too hard. He never eased his vigilance. He never let me get more than an arm’s length from him, no matter how stupidly I prattled away.

I was able to get in a few self-protective remarks. “In a practical sense,” I said, giving him my dumbest smile, “your timing is good. I have to have that cat downtown at nine a.m.”—I moved the time back by a couple of hours—“or the cat breeder will come out here looking for him. And that’s when the bank opens.” I resisted saying we could kill two birds with one stone. No sense giving him ideas. But maybe I had given him the idea that I’d be missed fairly quickly.

I glanced out at the empty driveway casually. “Where did you park your car?”

“I hid it down the road, Lee. In some bushes. Like I said, I feel like an idiot over all this, but that car’s too noticeable. The cops would pick up on it the minute I drove down Dock Street. And I do need to get to that bank box before I deal with them. I’m afraid you’ll have to drive. You do have a car here?”

“Oh, yes. Like you, I decided my van was too noticeable. It’s hidden at the neighbor’s house so the reporters can’t find it.”