Catnapped! (16 page)

“It was Lexie! She killed Mort!” Helen said softly.

“What?” Jan said. A few minutes ago, she’d been giggling with Helen. Now the blood drained from her face. She was deadly serious. “Helen, what are you talking about?”

“Lexie Deener killed Mort,” Helen whispered. “He lost her money and she killed him out of revenge. She dropped her Jaguar medallion by his body. I saw it.”

“No!” Jan screamed, as if she’d been stabbed in the heart. “Not my Mort.”

As soon as she heard Jan’s scream, Helen knew she’d made a mistake. She was supposed to be undercover, but she’d gone too deep. She forgot that Jan was not a trusted colleague but part of the case.

“I beg your pardon!” The judge’s voice was frosty but equally loud. “If you ladies have something to say, share it with everyone.”

Jan collapsed against the pillar, sobbing as if she’d just heard Mort was dead.

Dee abandoned her cats and ran over to her assistants. “Helen Hawthorne,” she said, “why are you making a scene? Jan, what did she say?”

“Tell us what you said,” Judge Lexie commanded. “What did you do to that woman? Why is she crying? You’ve interrupted my presentation and I demand to know why.”

“So do I,” Dee said.

“Uh.” Helen stalled for time, trying to find a way past her blunder. The Hasher School students were silent. The only sound was Jan’s heartbroken weeping. Helen could see Valerie and her photographer edging closer to video the scene.

“Tell me or you’re fired,” Dee said.

Helen saw Jan’s desolate figure and took a deep breath. She’d wounded a good woman with her careless words. She was going to be fired anyway. Might as well go public. Maybe she could get justice for Mort and Jan.

“You killed Mort Barrymore,” Helen said, her voice faltering. The crowd strained to hear. Several people said, “What?” and “Louder.”

Helen raised her voice and said, “Lexie Deener, you killed Mort Barrymore, your financial advisor. I found him. That was your key chain medallion with the roaring Jaguar on the floor by his body.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” the judge said.

“Yes, you do,” Helen said. “You killed Mort because he gave you a bad tip and lost all your money. You can’t retire because his advice wiped out your account.”

“You’re crazy! I’ll sue you for slander!” Judge Lexie said.

“Go ahead,” Helen said. “You lost your key-chain medallion when you killed Mort at his house. You bashed in his head with a mahogany cat tower. That’s your fingerprint on the medallion! I have your prints from your water bottle in my purse. I can prove you did it.”

“Call the police,” someone yelled.

“Shut up, Helen,” Dee snarled.

Jan had stopped crying and stared at Lexie. Helen saw Valerie and the photographer shooting this heated exchange. Lexie stayed rooted to the parking lot.

“Valerie, here’s your third story,” Helen said. “Lexie Deener killed Mortimer Barrymore.”

Monday

I
t was a dog fight. A cat-tastrophe. The Hasher School Pet Appreciation Day was chaos and Helen caused it.

After Lexie Deener demanded a lawyer, she didn’t say another word. But everyone else was shouting.

Several people called the police and the Broward Sheriff’s Office. Or maybe the BSO heard the chatter on the radio about a ruckus at the school.

The school parking lot was flooded with dancing light bars and sirens, which made poor Barney the pug howl. Red and Chessie prowled restlessly in their cages, mewing unhappily.

In the confusion, Helen slipped out and called Phil and Nancie. She met Phil a block from the school and handed off Lexie’s water bottle in a plastic bag. He promised to check it for prints. Nancie said she’d wait in her office until Phil confirmed the fingerprint was Lexie’s before she acted.

The lawyer congratulated and chewed out Helen at the same time. “You’d better pray that’s Lexie Deener’s print on the medallion,” she said. “Otherwise you’ve slandered her in front of
witnesses. If Valerie runs with that story, it’s libel. Either way, Deener can sue for defamation.”

“Valerie won’t run the story until it’s confirmed,” Helen said.

“Good,” Nancie said. “Warn her anyway.”

When Helen snuck back into the cafeteria, the school was on lockdown. The teachers had quickly herded the students into the closest room. The little darlings texted Mom or called Daddy, and panicked parents materialized to carry away their children. Law enforcement determined that Lexie was not an immediate danger to the students and the lockdown order was lifted. The parents pushed their way into the building, ignoring the principal’s protests that no murder or violent act had occurred. The parents wanted their children and they wanted them immediately.

None of the Pet Day presenters were allowed to leave until the police figured out what was going on. They waited glumly, tantalized by the smell of pizza and cheeseburger sliders. Helen tried to tamp down her hunger with memories of her school’s mystery meat.

Everyone glared at Helen, and she wished she could disappear. She was relieved when Jan, her eyes red from crying, pulled her behind a pillar near the stage. “I am so sorry,” Helen said. “I shouldn’t have surprised you with that information.” She felt like something scraped out of a litter box.

“Who are you?” Jan asked. “How could you spring this information about Mort’s murder like this? It’s so cruel.”

“It is. I’m so sorry,” Helen said. “I realized what Lexie did while she was talking to the students. I was wrong to blurt it out, but it may be the only way to catch Mort’s killer.”

Jan looked at Helen, her blue eyes filling with tears again. “Did that cat-show judge really kill my Mort?”

“Yes,” Helen said. “You might as well know I’m a private detective investigating Mort’s death. I went to work at Dee’s to find out more about you. I also talked to Mort’s office assistant, Carol
Berman. She said Mort gave Lexie bad financial advice and she lost her retirement money.”

Jan’s smooth, pretty face was twisted with hate. “I hope Lexie fries,” she said. “I hope she spends the rest of her life in prison. I hope—I hope she loses her damn Jaguar.”

“That will probably hurt worse than prison,” Helen said. “Lexie’s nuts about that car.”

“Dee’s furious at you,” Jan said. “If this cafeteria wasn’t wall-to-wall cops, she’d strangle you. The cats are going crazy with the noise and we need to take them home.”

“I’ll help pack,” Helen said.

“No, Dee’s going to fire you.”

“I expected that,” Helen said, hoping she hid her glee. She’d miss Jan and the cats, but not the work.

“One more thing,” Jan said. “A BSO deputy is looking for you. He wants to know why you caused this. That’s him.”

A lanky man about thirty-five approached them. His dark blond hair was threaded with silver, but he had cop’s eyes, shrewd and alert.

“Are you Helen Hawthorne?” he asked.

She nodded.

“I’m Deputy Webster Maddow. You care to explain why you caused this circus? Your stupid remarks endangered those children. I should arrest you.”

“I’m sorry,” Helen said. “But I’m a private eye with Coronado Investigations, working on the Mort Barrymore murder.” She brought out her credentials.

“The big-deal financial guy?” he asked.

“Right. He was bludgeoned in his home. A Peerless Point detective arrested the wrong person. I have proof.”

Helen told the deputy what she had: the soda bottle with Lexie’s prints, the medallion, the executive assistant who heard Lexie’s angry words with Mort the Friday before he died.

“That’s all?” Deputy Maddow asked. “Sounds weak to me. You may not even have a usable print. It’s tricky comparing a latent print from a plastic bottle to a latent from that medallion.”

“Can’t you take Lexie’s prints?” Helen asked.

“Not without her consent,” he said. “You think she’s in a mood to cooperate?”

Lexie sat near the steam table, silent and scowling like a cornered cat.

“But what about the shouting match at Mort’s office?” she asked. “Carol Berman, his assistant, heard it.”

“So they yelled at each other,” the deputy said, and shrugged. “His assistant told you Ms. Deener was angry. She swore his cat would never win a ribbon. That’s hardly a death threat.”

“But she was furious,” Helen said. “My partner and I discovered Mort’s body. Someone who was really angry beat him to death. The killer would have blood on her—probably on her shoes or clothes. You could spray her car with luminol and get it off the car seat, the gas pedal or the carpet.”

“Luminol isn’t like what you see on TV, Ms. Hawthorne,” the deputy said. “It doesn’t light up like Times Square. The glow isn’t much more than a watch dial. We’d have to tow her car to a garage, and a search warrant would be in order. Even if we did that, all we’d know was there’s blood in the car. We’d need a DNA test to prove it was the victim’s.”

Helen’s heart was thudding with fear. She was in trouble. Big trouble. She’d shot off her mouth in front of dozens of witnesses. Angry witnesses trapped in a school cafeteria. They’d happily testify that she’d defamed Lexie Deener. She glimpsed a grim future of disgrace and bankruptcy.

While she was contemplating her ruined future, Deputy Maddow said, “Wait a minute. Peerless Point. They just got police cameras.”

“You mean the red-light cameras that give you tickets?”

“No, more than that,” he said. “Police cameras are a couple dozen cams throughout their little belt that capture tag numbers and instantly check the tag against wanted vehicles. The town keeps a record of the tags. This kind of camera shows the date and time of travel to and from.

“Peerless Point is real proud of that new technology. They’ve made four arrests with their new cameras.”

“Do they even have crime?” Helen said.

“In a rich area like that? You bet. Break-ins, especially after the economy tanked. Somebody comes back from vacation and says their home was robbed. The police-cam database can help. The cam system also caught a stolen car driving through their town.”

Helen felt a slight flutter of hope. “It would help if we could prove Lexie Deener was at Mort’s,” she said.

“The system cost more than a quarter of a million dollars, and the vendor charges another nine or ten thousand a year to maintain it,” the deputy said. “Right now, the DEA is picking up the tab, but eventually the force is going to have to pay for its new toy with city money.”

“I really want this to work,” Helen said. “But Peerless Point has already arrested Mort’s estranged wife for his murder. If you say you’re looking for another suspect in a cleared case, will the police help you reopen that investigation?”

“No, but they don’t need to know,” Maddow said. “The little towns often don’t do their own investigations. They have to ask the sheriff for help, but for whatever reason this time Peerless didn’t. We have powers countywide so we can start a parallel investigation. This would be a perfect gateway.”

“I don’t think the Peerless Point detective ever looked at anyone but Mort’s wife, Trish,” Helen said. “She really ticked them off.”

“What did she do?” the deputy asked.

“Wanted them to put out an Amber Alert on her cat,” Helen
said. “When the officer refused, she did the ‘Do you know who I am?’ routine.”

“That’ll do it,” he said. “I know someone there I can ask to have that license plate traced for me. Do you remember the date and approximate time of the crime?”

“Sure,” Helen said. “It was Sunday night. Mort held up his arm to defend himself, and his watch took a direct hit at six p.m. I don’t know Lexie’s tag number, though.”

“It’s sitting right outside,” he said.

“Oh. Right,” Helen said. “Thanks. I don’t know why you’re helping me after all the trouble I caused.”

“Because Ms. Deener’s not acting like an innocent woman. You accuse her of murder in front of witnesses. She threatens to sue, which makes sense. But then she refuses to talk to anyone and wants a lawyer.”

“That is her right,” Helen said.

“Maybe so, but it’s not how an innocent person acts,” the deputy said. “Now she’s got me curious.”

“Mort’s house is at Forty-two Peerless Point. Big white house with all the arches.”

“I know it. Wrought-iron gate, buncha statues and red bougainvillea. Good. That stretch is where most of the cameras are. I’ll see if her car was anywhere near his house around six Sunday night.”

“Could be she was visiting him,” Helen said.

“After he lost all her money and she made a scene at his office, she stops by for a friendly Sunday-night chat? I don’t think so. If her car was nowhere near his house, I’ll forget about it, and you, lady, are in big trouble.”

Helen’s cell phone buzzed. “May I get that?” she asked.

He nodded. It was Phil. “No luck on the print,” he told Helen. “It was too smudged. We’ll have to get her prints.”

“Working on that now,” Helen said. “I’ll fill you in as soon as I have something.”

The police were letting the Pet Day presenters leave, except for Helen and Lexie Deener. Helen tried to help pack up the cats, but Dee turned on her. “Get away from here,” she hissed. “You’re fired. Without references. And I’m docking you a day’s pay.” She stalked away.

Jan came over to say good-bye. “Thank you,” she said. “You gave me a terrible shock, but now that I’m calmer, I understand why you did it. I hope you get Lexie. Are you coming to Mort’s funeral Thursday?”

“I’ll try,” Helen said. “What about your job?”

“Let Dee fire me,” Jan said. “I’m going.”

“I enjoyed working with you,” Helen said. “I wish I could tell the cats good-bye.”

“I’ll give them extra scratches,” Jan said. “They’re all too used to people leaving suddenly.”

Dr. Bob, the veterinarian, saw her hauling the carriers and offered to help. Jan smiled at him, and he took Chessie’s show cage and curtains. They made a handsome couple, the black-haired, blue-eyed Jan and the boyish vet. Maybe it was his profession, but Helen thought he followed her with puppylike devotion.

Helen paced the cafeteria, keeping far away from Lexie, glowering in her corner. The leopard-spotted insets on her suit rippled, and Helen thought the show judge’s blood-tipped nails twitched whenever she looked Helen’s way. She could almost feel the waves of hate rolling off Lexie.

“Helen!” Valerie breezed in, hair perfect, smile glowing, trailed by the tubby, grumpy photographer. “I had no idea Pet Appreciation Day would be so exciting. I have to head back to the station now, but I can’t thank you enough.”

Helen saw a tow truck pulling into the lot and Deputy
Maddow loping into the cafeteria. “You might want to watch Lexie Deener,” Helen said.

The deputy showed Lexie a warrant and said, “Ms. Deener, your car was photographed in the vicinity of Mortimer Barrymore’s Peerless Point home between five forty-seven and six-oh-six the night he was murdered. I have a warrant to examine your car, and I’m going to take you into custody for questioning. You have the right to remain silent . . .”

“No!” Lexie screamed, as if she’d been knifed through the heart. “No, you can’t.”

“The hell I can’t,” the deputy said.

“You can’t tow my beautiful car with a hook-and-chain truck. You’ll damage the paint. You’ll ruin the transmission! You have to use a flatbed truck. Don’t hurt my beautiful Blackie!”

Deputy Maddow finished cautioning Lexie Deener, but it took four deputies to take her into custody. She fought like a wildcat.