Gone with the Whisker Page 4

  “You going to find out?” Eric asked.

  I thought about it, then shook my head. “Some things are best left to the imagination.”

  * * *

  * * *

  A still-sleepy Katrina and a hungry Minnie stood in line at the local diner. I’d decided against making breakfast—although since she hadn’t opened her eyes until almost eleven o’clock, calling it breakfast was questionable—and I was now questioning the Round Table decision.

  We’d been standing here five minutes and the line hadn’t moved an inch, which shouldn’t have surprised me considering it was the busiest weekend of the year, but somehow did because nine months of the year there was never any line at all.

  I stood on my tiptoes and craned my neck left and right, trying to see inside. My niece eyed me. “What are you doing?”

  “Looking for . . . ha!” I dropped down onto my heels. “Wait here,” I told her, and eeled my way through the crowd and into the heart of the restaurant, because I’d spotted a possible solution to our problem. “Hey,” I said, coming up to the booth in the back corner. “Got room for two more?”

  Holly Terpening, a fellow library staff member, smiled up at me and pushed her lovely straight brown hair behind her ears. “Hey, Minnie. We can shove over, can’t we, Brian?”

  “Sure.” Holly’s husband, Brian, a strapping man who towered over me when sitting, let alone standing, slid over and patted the seat beside him. “Make some space for Miss Minnie, Anna. You too, Wilson.”

  Anna, aged seven, and Wilson, a year older, were miniature versions of their parents. They obligingly made room and I fetched Katrina. Holly had already met her, but Brian and the kids hadn’t, so I introduced her saying, “This is Katrina, my niece from Florida and—”

  “Kate,” Katrina said.

  I blinked. I’d completely forgotten about last night’s name change. “Sorry. Kate.” I made the Terpening introductions, forgoing the description of Brian’s mining job out west, which meant he was gone three weeks out of four, and instead told Anna and Wilson that Kate’s dad worked at Disney World.

  Anna’s eyes went wide. “Does he get to ride the rides every day?”

  Kate shrugged. “If he wanted to, I guess.”

  “Do you get to ride the rides every day?”

  My niece shook her head. “I have school and stuff. But we used to go a lot when I was little.”

  Wilson started asking questions about Mickey Mouse, and I leaned behind him to look at Holly. “Did you hear about last night?” I asked quietly. “About Rex Stuhler?”

  Holly nodded. “I heard a tourist found him. What a horrible thing to happen on your vacation.”

  “It was Kate.” I glanced at my niece. “We were leaving the fireworks and she literally tripped over him.”

  Holly’s mouth opened, and at first no sound came out. Her jaw went up and down a couple of times before she could say, “The poor girl.” She sent a soft, sympathetic Mom look in Katrina’s direction. “Is she okay?”

  Was she? I had no idea, not really. She seemed fine, but how could I possibly know for sure?

  “Menus.” Carol, our waitress for the meal, put two on the table. “Not that you need one,” she said, glancing at me. “I’ll bring you coffee. What would you like to drink, miss?”

  Katrina/Kate tucked her chin toward her chest. “Coffee, please,” she muttered.

  I smiled. “Nicely done. I’ll have you in espresso by the end of the summer.”

  “It’s just I’m tired,” she said. “I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

  “How come, Kate?” Anna asked. “Was it too noisy with fireworks? Our dog doesn’t like them at all.”

  Kate shrugged. “No, I was having night . . .” She stopped, looked at Anna’s open, interested face, and said, “Having silly dreams.”

  I desperately wanted to put my arms around her and tell her it would all be okay. There she was, being nice to a child she’d just met, keeping her pain inside, while I’d mostly been wondering why she wasn’t talking to me.

  But of course she wasn’t. She barely knew me. Why on earth would she confide in an aunt she saw once or twice a year? And if she was suffering from a boyfriend breakup, that was one less person she could rely upon. Jennifer had said that Katrina/Kate had numerous friends, but not really a best friend. So who was she talking to?

  Maybe no one. And that couldn’t be good.

  Katrina sighed and rubbed her eyes. “Hope that coffee comes soon. I’m still pretty tired.”

  I glanced at the Terpenings, and saw that the foursome was focused on the breakfast-or-lunch decision. Leaning forward, toward Katrina/Kate, I put my hands on the table. “Kate,” I said softly, “I know how you feel. About finding . . . a body.”

  “Doubt it,” she said stiffly.

  I hitched a little closer. “It has happened to me.” More than once. “Your dad doesn’t know, and neither does your mom or grandparents.” Mostly because I didn’t want to deal with what would surely have been my mom’s overreaction. “But Aunt Frances does.”

  “Yeah?” Kate looked me full in the face. “How long did it take for the nightmares to stop?”

  “Honest truth?” I asked. She nodded, but I hesitated, not wanting to tell her that I still occasionally woke shouting out for help, still sometimes sat straight up in the middle of the night with my heart beating too fast.

  “It gets easier,” I finally said, “when the killer is arrested and put in jail.”

  “In jail?” she asked, staring at the table. “You know, that might help.” She spoke with, if not animation, at least interest. “If that guy was in jail, I bet I could sleep. I mean, right now, he’s still out there, when Mr. Stuhler is dead. If the killer was in jail, that’d be a sort of closure, right?”

  “Sure,” I said.

  Kate looked at me. “How long did it take to arrest the killer?”

  That depended on which murder she was talking about. “We found out—”

  My niece cut right into that. “What do you mean ‘we’?”

  Uh-oh. “Well . . .” I stared at her questioning face, trying to form the appropriate words. “Um.”

  “Did you help the police? I bet you did.” She leaned forward, talking fast. “You know the sheriff, don’t you? And that really cute deputy? You know all of them. And I bet you looked into that murder yourself and helped put the killer in jail.”

  I patted her hands and smiled. “Not if you ask Detective Inwood.”

  “You’re not denying, which means you did.” Kate almost glowed. “You helped out with a murder investigation and got your own closure. The best ever kind of being proactive.”

  Um. “That’s one way to look at it.”

  Kate grabbed my hands. “So help me get my closure. You’ll help that detective and figure out who killed Mr. Stuhler and . . . and . . .” She blew out a fluttery breath. “And then I’ll be okay to go to sleep again.”

  I held her hands tight, because her face was two shades paler than it had been yesterday afternoon, because her fingers were trembling, and because she was biting her lower lip to keep from crying.

  “Absolutely,” I said.

  Chapter 3

  The next morning, the first morning of Katrina’s life as a retail clerk, I bounced out of bed early enough to get us a proper breakfast of doughnuts and bagels from Tom’s, the local bakery. Tom, who had to be the skinniest baker in the history of the world, had a soft spot for the bookmobile and not only gave me a reduced rate on the bag of cookies I picked up every bookmobile day, but in the summer also let me in the back door so I didn’t have to stand in line.

  Being the morally upright person I aspired to be, that morning I stood in line like everyone else, and made friends with the people on either side of me. We’d reached the Facebook friend stage and were approaching an exchange of cell numb
ers when it was my turn at the counter. Five minutes later, I had a bright pink bag in hand, waved good-bye to my new friends, and hurried home.

  When I got back to the houseboat, Katrina was in the shower, using far more water than I would have liked. I went all out and put the breakfast options on a plate and even found napkins that didn’t have a restaurant name on them. Eddie had nestled himself into Katrina’s sleeping bag, but when I removed the clear plastic lid from the cream cheese, he opened his eyes a small sliver.

  “Not for you, pal,” I said.

  Katrina’s hair dryer went on. Eddie’s eyes flipped wide open. In one sudden motion, he leapt to his feet, off the sleeping bag, and onto the floor, where his scrambling feet found purchase on a small rug. The rug crinkled up under him, and for a second he looked like a cartoon cat, feet moving furiously without forward motion. Then his paws hit the floor and he shot forward like a rocket.

  Of course, since it was the houseboat, he couldn’t go very far, but he did go as far forward as possible; up on the dashboard, pressed against the windshield, back arched, fur fluffed, and growling the teensiest bit.

  I looked at him. “I suppose you don’t want me laughing at you?” Hair dryers did not pair well with my curly mass, and the boardinghouse was big enough that he’d been able to hide from the noise of Aunt Frances’s morning routine, so Eddie had never dealt with up close and personal exposure to the evil things.

  “Mrr!”

  “Right.” I padded up to him and scratched the side of his head, murmuring soothing phrases like “You’re the best cat this houseboat has ever seen, she didn’t mean to scare you, she doesn’t know hair dryers are the enemy, you’ll get used to it, I’m sure you will.”

  His fur soon de-fluffed and the two of us were sitting outside on the houseboat’s deck, soaking up the morning sun, when Katrina came out, a glazed doughnut in one hand and a naked bagel in the other. “See you tonight,” she said. “Not sure when I’ll be back.”

  “You’re leaving already?” I tried to sit up from the chaise lounge, but Eddie was making it difficult. “I didn’t think you had to be there much before ten.”

  After breakfast yesterday, I’d sat down with Katrina/Kate and essentially forced her to write down her work schedule. Which was complicated, what with three part-time jobs and all, but after a while I started to see the pattern. We’d spent the rest of the day in mild accord and I’d been looking forward to chatting with her over breakfast, just like Aunt Frances and I did during the winter.

  “Mitchell texted me and said I could come in earlier.” Katrina shrugged. “Not sure I need to learn much more about toys, but I’m awake so I might as well go in.” Then, before I could say another word, she’d hopped off the boat, onto the wood-decked pier, and was gone.

  I looked at Eddie. “Now what?”

  He jumped off my lap, pawed open the screen door to the houseboat—something I had no idea he was able to do—and slipped inside.

  “Well.” I stretched and stood. My intentions when I’d scheduled this as a vacation day had been to spend time with Katrina, but now that she was working, the day was empty of plans. I pushed away the temptation of my To Be Read book pile, wandered inside, and put the remaining parts of breakfast back into the waxed bag.

  Five minutes later, Rafe had scarfed down a chocolate-covered doughnut and was slathering cream cheese on a pumpernickel bagel. “How is the teenager formerly known as Katrina doing this morning?”

  “Still not talking about it. But she’s not sleeping well.” About three in the morning, her sobbing had pulled me out of a deep sleep. I’d gone up to talk to her, to give her a hug, to make it all go away, but she’d been snoring softly by the time I got there.

  I hesitated, wanting to tell him everything, but also wanting to protect my niece’s privacy. “Last night she had bad dreams and I’m sure they’re related to the murder. She slept fine until two nights ago.”

  “What are you going to do?” Rafe asked through a mouthful of bagel.

  Easy question. “Find out who killed Rex Stuhler.”

  Rafe swallowed and grinned, his teeth white against his tanned skin. “Surprised it took you this long to say that out loud. Want some help?”

  “Depends,” I said. “Will it be the good kind of help or the interfering kind?”

  “Whatever kind you want.” He held out his hand to seal the deal with a handshake, then pulled it back. “On the condition that you talk to your sheriff buddy, or at least your detective friends.”

  My buddy the sheriff was Kit Richardson, a woman who seemed to intimidate almost everyone except me. At five foot nothing, I’d inured myself to intimidation early on in my career, otherwise I’d never have managed to achieve any professional goals. My detective friends were Hal Inwood, a sixtyish downstate transplant, and Deputy Ash Wolverson. Ash was a friend of Rafe’s and was training to be a detective. I’d also dated him for a few months, but our relationship had never truly kindled and we’d parted as we’d started—friends.

  “Deal.” I extended my hand and Rafe used it to pull me in for a kiss. Which was nice, and went on for some time. But even good things come to an end, and when we eventually went back to the pastries, I told Rafe what little I knew about Rex Stuhler.

  “He and his wife own a pest control company.” I swallowed a bite of apple fritter. “He was about fifty, and he grew up around here somewhere, but I don’t think it was Chilson. Petoskey, maybe?”

  Rafe reached into the pink bag and pulled out a powdered doughnut. “All that will be in his obituary. It might be on Birtrand’s website already.”

  The local funeral home was a few blocks away. I glanced in its direction. “Really? I didn’t know obituaries would go up so fast.”

  “Sometimes yes, sometimes no. Depends on the family.”

  I frowned. “How do you know this?”

  “Because I grew up next door to Birtrand’s. I know more about being a mortician than anyone who isn’t in the business should.”

  The idea creeped me out a little, so I nodded and went on. “The only other thing I know about Rex is he was big into bicycling and cross-country skiing. He’d been looking for books about establishing and running nonprofit organizations. He said he was helping create a group supporting a new nonmotorized trail connecting Chilson to Petoskey.”

  Rafe looked down at his dark gray T-shirt, which was lightly dusted with powdered sugar. He gave it a halfhearted brush, smearing the white, and said, “None of that sounds like it should have led to murder.”

  I sighed. “No, it doesn’t.”

  But something had, and my niece was suffering, so I was going to do my best to figure out who had killed Rex. And a good start to doing that was to figure out the why of it.

  * * *

  * * *

  I stepped inside the front door of the sheriff’s office and looked around at the lobby. Empty. Was I the only one who ever walked in like this?

  The deputy at the front desk slid open the glass door. “Morning, Minnie.”

  “Hey, Carl. Still on light duty?”

  Carl rubbed his shoulder. “Had to have a third surgery a few weeks ago. If this one doesn’t take, I’m toast. This desk stuff is driving me nuts.” He shook his head, then summoned a smile. “So what’s up with you? Hang on,” he said, tapping his nose. “You were with the kid who found the murder victim during the fireworks. You want to talk to Hal and Ash?”

  I nodded. “Are they here?”

  “Inwood’s out on a call, but Ash is in the back. Just a sec.” He slid the window shut and picked up the phone. I could see his mouth moving, then, still on the phone, he opened the window. “Go on back, he’ll be right there.”

  The interior door made a buzzing sound and I reached for the handle. “Thanks,” I called over my shoulder, and walked down the hallway. I made a right turn into a small windowless room and sat
in what I’d long ago come to think of as my chair, in front of a bland laminate-topped table that looked like it had been born in a decade when every man except members of the military sported long hair.

  I looked at the ceiling tiles, which for years had been discolored with a water stain that, to me, looked exactly like a dragon. Last fall, however, due to a leak in the fire suppression system, all the tiles had been replaced and the dragon was a thing of the past.

  Ash came in, saw me looking up, and laughed. “The ceiling isn’t as much fun now, is it?”

  Sighing, I said, “Hard to believe I’m missing a stain.”

  “Yeah, sometimes you have to be careful what you wish for.”

  More like always. “Thanks for making time for me,” I said.

  “No problem.”

  He leaned back, and once again I was reminded what an incredibly good-looking man he was. Square jaw, great hair, and the legs of someone who spent his free time running and biking. He was also kind, smart, and funny. Why our short stint of being girlfriend and boyfriend hadn’t sparked was a mystery we’d both shrugged off to the bizarreness of human chemistry.

  “Have you or Kate remembered anything else from the other night?” he asked.

  I looked at him blankly. Kate? Who was Kate? Oh. Right. “No. At least not yet.” In the last couple of years I’d been entwined with a number of incidents that had introduced me to police investigations. One of the things I’d learned was that most people’s memories worked like mine did, like a filing cabinet that didn’t have folders, wasn’t organized in any way, and had one big label of miscellaneous.

  “Do you have anything new?” I asked. Then, because I knew I was about to get the can’t-discuss-an-ongoing-investigation talk, added, “Anything that you can tell me about?”

  “Well.” Ash rubbed his chin, roughing the stubble. For me that noise was equivalent to the proverbial fingernails on a chalkboard, so maybe the answer to our nonspark was simpler and far more shallow than I wanted to think.