Black Cat White Paws Read online

  Hoyt heard the animal before he saw it. An impatient, plaintive meow from the kitchen. He walked toward the sound and saw Checks perched in front of a door he guessed led to a basement, crying as if it were lost.

  “What’s going on, bud?” Hoyt said, staring down at the cat. It was black with white paws, and it was very interested in something behind that door. “What’s your name?”

  Cats can’t talk, so it could not tell the sergeant its name was Checks and that it had no intention of being carried away by animal control, having hidden instead in one of several top secret locations it kept around the house.

  The cat cried one more time, then hurried into the living room.

  Hoyt stared after it but did not move. The animal had been trying to tell him something, and once it was finished it felt no need to stick around.

  Placing his hand within inches of the service pistol holstered on his belt, he turned back to the door and waited, listening. A full minute passed. Finally, easing his palm onto the grip of his gun, he reached out and grasped the door knob with his free hand.

  He swung the door open and came face to face with Maggie Dahl and Gerri Lerner. No one shrieked. There were no sudden moves. Just three people in a dead woman’s house staring at each other.

  CHAPTER Ten

  “WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?” Hoyt asked.

  He was gazing into the stairwell where Maggie and Gerri stood gazing back.

  “We could ask you the same thing,” Gerri replied.

  “No, you can’t. I belong here. This is a crime scene. My crime scene. And right now you look like criminals to me.”

  “That’s ridiculous!” Gerri cried.

  Turning back slightly, Maggie said, “Oh, shut up already. He’s right. I told you this was a bad idea.”

  “Please step off the staircase,” Hoyt continued. He moved back, making room for them to come up into the kitchen. “And don’t touch anything. You’ve already contaminated the scene.”

  “Why would you say that?” Gerri asked.

  “Because it’s true, Ms. Lerner. I have no idea where you’ve been in this house, what you’ve touched … or removed.”

  “We haven’t touched anything!” said Gerri. “We just got here for godsake. And I resent your implication we’ve removed anything. We’re not thieves.”

  “Oh, pardon me, of course I should take your word on this. Why wouldn’t I believe two burglars? That’s what you are for the moment. Now let’s walk carefully into the living room and have a conversation that’s going to determine whether you leave on your own or in the back of a patrol car.”

  The women stayed silent after hearing they might be arrested. For what, and when, would be determined by their answers to Hoyt’s questions. Maggie hoped they could get through this without Gerri saying something foolish or offensive. Her sister had been speaking her mind all her life, sometimes with disastrous results and three times to divorce attorneys.

  Hoyt let them walk in front of him as they went into the living room. He remained standing while Maggie and Gerri took seats on the couch.

  “Now,” Hoyt said, giving them a moment to compose themselves, “how did you get into the house?”

  “I have a key,” said Maggie. “Actually, it wasn’t in my possession, but Alice told me where she kept it. A lot of homeowners keep keys outside in case they get locked out.”

  “Are you a homeowner, Sergeant Hoyt?” Gerri asked, feigning sweetness.

  Hoyt ignored her. “I’ll be taking that key when we’re finished here. Now tell me why you’re in the house. Keep in mind how it looks, and tell me the truth.”

  Maggie thought a moment. She knew lying was not an option and would only get them deeper into trouble. She took a breath and said, “I … we wanted to see if there was anything here that might give an indication of why Alice was killed, maybe even who killed her.”

  “Was there a starting point for this little excursion? Or did you just plan to look through everything and see if the person responsible for Alice Drapier’s death left a written confession in a drawer somewhere?”

  “We were looking for the money,” Gerri blurted.

  Maggie felt her hopes sink. Her sister had just made things worse: now they would look like robbers as well as murderers.

  “Let me explain,” Maggie said.

  “Please do.”

  “People talk, Sergeant, as you know.”

  “Do I?”

  “It’s a small town, or not a very big one. I didn’t know Alice well, but I’d heard things about her. I never called her ‘Crazy Alice,’ by the way.”

  “That’s kind of you.”

  “We were at the store this afternoon and someone came in.”

  “She forgot to put the Closed sign up,” Gerri added, as if it were a telling detail.

  “She knew from the rumor mill that Alice was dead, and she said something about money … apparently there’s long been gossip about the Drapiers keeping cash in the house. And we thought …”

  “What a perfect motive for murder?” said Hoyt. “Did you think the perpetrator left the money in the house?”

  “I don’t know what I thought,” Maggie said, frustrated. “I just believed that Alice was killed for some reason other than being in the wrong place at the wrong time. I knew you’d think I could have something to do with it—I’m the one who found her dead. And we just thought we might uncover some clue about the whole thing.”

  Hoyt waited a moment, then asked, “Why do you think she wasn’t in the wrong place at the wrong time?”

  “Because she wasn’t killed here,” Gerri said.

  “Really? And how do you know that?”

  “Sergeant,” Maggie said carefully. “I could tell last night from looking around the kitchen that she wasn’t beaten to death there. It took a while to register, but then it hit me. There was no blood anywhere but where her head was, no signs of an attack.”

  “So you’re a detective now.”

  “Not at all. Listen, it was a difficult day all the way around, starting with Alice wandering into my house looking for her damn cat.”

  Hoyt looked surprised by the new information. “She wandered into your house? What does that mean?”

  “I came downstairs yesterday morning …”

  “I wasn’t here yet,” Gerri said. “I was still in Philadelphia waiting for the movers.”

  “Anyway,” said Maggie, impatient with her sister’s interruption, “I had the bad habit of not locking the front door. David was always on me about that, but after so many years in New York City I just … I don’t know … I wanted to think I lived in a place where you can leave your door unlocked.”

  She waited a moment, expecting Hoyt to comment. When he didn’t, she said, “I came downstairs and Alice was standing in my living room, looking around. I confronted her about it, nicely, and she said she was looking for her cat. The same cat that got me over here last night.”

  “And told you we were in the basement,” Gerri added, apparently blaming the cat for everything.

  “So,” said Hoyt, “not only did you find her dead, but you may have been the last person to see her alive, apart from whoever attacked her.”

  Maggie felt her stomach tighten. Things were quickly going from bad to worse. “I sent Alice on her way and went about my business. That was the last I saw of her until I found her in the kitchen last night and called the police.”

  Hoyt stood there looking at them. “Was that something she’d done before, walk into your house uninvited?”

  “No, not my house specifically, but it was something she was known for,” said Maggie. “I suppose that’s why they called her Crazy Alice behind her back, that and having seven cats.”

  Maggie could see Hoyt thinking about what she’d said. She wondered if he was making the same educated guess she was: that Alice Drapier’s habit of going where she was not wanted or expected had contributed to her sudden death.

  “I have the authority to arrest you,�
�� Hoyt said, “and I could charge you with breaking and entering.”

  “We had a key!” protested Maggie.

  Ignoring her, Hoyt continued. “But I’m going to let you go. I think you’re more inept than anything—”

  “Well,” sniffed Gerri.

  “—and I have things to do, obviously. For now I’m going to take the two of you at your word and reserve judgment.”

  “Thank you so much,” Gerri said, quickly standing up.

  “Wait just a moment. I will not forget finding you here. You’re technically and legally intruders, even if you used a key. I’m letting you go for my own benefit—I don’t need the distraction of filling out paperwork over this. Finding a murderer is my priority and as much as I’d like to close the case, I don’t think either of you are the type to bludgeon someone do death. I could be wrong. But you did help in a blundering way.”

  Maggie could see Gerri was about to protest again, offended at being treated like misbehaving schoolgirls. She clenched her jaw and glared at her, silencing whatever her sister was about to say.

  “For all we know the person who killed Mrs. Drapier knew where that key was, too,”

  Hoyt said. “I’m going to want to question both of you again.”

  “Whenever you need to,” Maggie said. She was anxious to get out of the house.

  “I’ll take that key now.” Hoyt pulled a small evidence bag out of his jacket pocket and held it open.

  Realizing her fingerprints were on it, and that the killer’s might be too, Maggie gently pulled the key from her pants pocket and dropped in into the bag.

  “Through the front door, please,” Hoyt said.

  He walked them to the door and opened it. Yellow crime scene tape was draped loosely in a diagonal across the open frame. He carefully stepped under it, motioning for the women to follow.

  Maggie did not look back as they walked quickly across Alice’s lawn. She didn’t need to: she felt him staring at them all way the back to the house.

  CHAPTER Eleven

  “THAT WAS A CLOSE CALL,” Gerri said. “And a warning. The police know what they’re doing, let them do it.”

  They were in the kitchen, Gerri sitting at the table while Maggie walked repeatedly between the stove and a storage cabinet.

  “What are you looking for? You’ve gone back and forth three times now.”

  “I don’t know,” said Maggie. “I thought of having coffee but it’s too late. I’d never get to sleep. I might not anyway.”

  “Are you hungry? I can make you some soup.”

  “God no. Food is the furthest thing from my mind.” Turning to Gerri, she said, “Do you think we’re being watched? I had the strangest feeling …”

  “Watched by who?”

  “I don’t know. The police, certainly. He let us go just now, Gerri. Is that natural? Maybe he let us leave because he has backup, you know, someone parked outside the house.”

  “Of course. They’ve tapped the phones, and a crime unit moved into the house across the street and set up a telescope. They’re staring at us right now.”

  Maggie leaned over the sink and peered out the window.

  “Oh, for chrissake! We’re not being watched. He let us come home because he knows we had nothing to do with it. Besides, he told us he didn’t want the hassle. They have to fill out a dozen forms when they arrest people. It would just be a huge waste of his time. What do you think of him, by the way?”

  Maggie stepped back from the sink and looked at her sister. “How do you mean? Are you asking if I think he’s good at his job?”

  “I mean, don’t you think he’s attractive?”

  “Seriously? We just barely escaped being arrested for burglary and you’re fantasizing about the guy?”

  “It’s been awhile.”

  “I’d say so. I would also point out that he’s at least ten years younger than you are.”

  “That never stopped me.”

  Maggie’s eyebrows shot up. She knew she shouldn’t be surprised that her sister had a sex life, it just wasn’t something they’d ever discussed.

  “You’re remarkably flippant.”

  “I’m not flippant at all,” said Gerri.

  “Unserious, then.”

  “You know, Maggie, I think it’s time to go to bed. I might say something you don’t approve of and I’d rather not end the night like that.”

  “I agree. I’m tired, too. If I lie down, my mind will stop racing eventually. And I didn’t mean to upset you. I just want you to acknowledge the gravity of the situation. Sergeant Hoyt let us go tonight because it suited him. That may not always be the case.”

  Gerri was getting up from the table when the sound came again. That sound. The cat’s meow that was now familiar to them both.

  “Oh, Jesus,” Gerri said. “Not that damn cat again.”

  They both stood in silence, waiting for the cat to stop crying. It did not.

  “He wants in,” Maggie said.

  “Don’t let him.”

  “But he’ll just sit outside the front door and cry all night.”

  “Use ear plugs.”

  “I don’t have ear plugs.” Maggie made a decision. “I’ll let him inside, just for the night.”

  “That’s what I said about my last husband when we met. Listen, Maggie, I’m going upstairs. You do what you have to, but if that cat cries all night I’m putting it in the basement.”

  They left the kitchen. Gerri headed upstairs while Maggie went to the front door and opened it.

  Checks stopped meowing and looked up at her. Maggie had the feeling his plan had succeeded and he knew it. Staring down at him, she remembered he needed medication for high blood pressure. She’d thought it was an odd thing for a cat to need when Alice had said it.

  He didn’t budge. “Well,” Maggie said, stepping aside. “Come in, then. You can stay for the night. Tomorrow I’m taking you to a vet—I can at least do that for poor Alice—but you’re not coming back here, you understand me? I’m not a cat person. I’m not a pet person. I don’t even have plants, so don’t get any ideas. What do you eat, by the way?”

  Checks sauntered into the entryway and waited.

  “Fine, I get it,” said Maggie. “You won.”

  She headed back into the kitchen with Checks close behind. “I’ve got some tuna, I hope that suits you. Otherwise you’re out of luck.”

  She discovered minutes later that tuna suited the animal very well. He gobbled it up from a small bowl on the floor while Maggie went upstairs to try and sleep.

  David always looked the same in Maggie’s dreams: 47, handsome, thin, with a self-assured smile he’d often used to get his way. Like when he wanted to uproot them and move to Lambertville. He’d assured her there was nothing to worry about, they had the financial resources, and they had each other. Everything else would sort itself out.

  “So what are you going to do?” he said. He was sitting naked on the edge of the bed. He’d always slept that way, even when Wynn was a child and known to come bursting into their bedroom uninvited. He had always been comfortable in his nakedness, unlike Maggie who slept in a nightgown.

  She sat up and stared at his back. It was another of her lucid dreams—those dreams in which she knew she was dreaming, but could not control it.

  She mouthed her words, unable to get them past her lips with any sound.

  “What are you saying?” he said over his shoulder.

  She tried again, making no sound or sense. Finally she slapped her chest in frustration and managed to shout, “Do about what? … What, David, do you want me to do something about? About this?” She indicated the bedroom, his naked presence in it. “I can’t do anything about it. You’re dead. You’re sitting on our bed. You’re asking me what I’m going to do about something without telling me what that something is.”

  He turned further toward her, twisting at the waist. “The dead woman, of course. Alice Whatshername. I’m glad we were nice to her, I’ll say that.”


  Maggie let herself fall back on the mattress. “Oh for godsake, David. I can’t do anything about it. It’s enough her cat has moved in for the night. Tomorrow it’s out of here. I won’t have two more beings in this house, Gerri’s more than enough.”

  “You owe it to her—”

  “Excuse me?” she said, cutting him off. “I owe her finding out who killed her? I don’t think so, David. And don’t smile at me like that, it was always infuriating … well, not always, only when I knew you were trying to get your way with it. No, I don’t owe Alice anything.”

  “He wanted you to find her.”

  She stared at him. Surely he didn’t mean the killer had wanted her to find Alice’s body. “Who are you talking about?”

  “The cat, of course. He came over here crying because he wanted you to find her.”

  “That’s crazy.”

  “Is it?” he said, before turning back around, facing away from her again.

  She felt herself reaching out, wanting desperately to touch his back, to feel his skin on the tips of her fingers.

  “He knows, Maggie, and he’s trying to tell you.”

  “Knows what? That he’s hungry? That’s about all cats know, and when it’s time for a nap.”

  “He knows who killed her, but you see … ” He turned back around for a last look at her. “Cats can’t talk. They can’t open doors. They can’t ask questions.” And then, that infuriating, amazing, heart-melting smile. “That’s what he expects you to do.”

  David began to fade, growing fainter with each effort Maggie made to reach her arm to him. She was mute again, trying to speak, to say how hard her days and nights were without him. He knew that, didn’t he? Wherever he’d gone, if only out into the universe, he knew how much she missed him … he had to.

  She woke up suddenly, and she knew it was the real world, the waking world. The dream had been almost as vivid as the darkness she now peered into.

  She pulled back quickly, startled by a shape not two feet in front of her. Checks was sitting on David’s pillow, purring.

  Maggie reached out and stroked him, which only made the purring more insistent.