CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

 

 

Maverick bounded up the steps and in through the door Dad held open, joining CJ’s young puppy, Renegade, in a race around the kitchen. CJ whistled. Renegade sat. Maverick sat. I sat. I had to learn that trick.

“Tell me about the will,” CJ said. The dogs dropped onto the carpet in the doorway. With their heads on crossed paws, their big eyes ping-ponged back and forth, waiting and watching.

Dad pulled a warm baguette from the oven and filled four bowls with one of Ida’s fragrant beef stews. While we savored the delicious supper, Carlee and I told CJ more than he wanted to know. When his spoon scraped the bottom of the bowl, he asked, “Why would Carlee and Ana get her house?”

“I think Miss Grace wants the two of you—” Renegade’s paws slapped across the linoleum and slid to a stop next to Dad. “Excuse me. The three of you to move out of your dinky apartment. She owned a modest home with a kitchen and a yard and neighbors. She never had children of her own and adored Carlee and Ana. She took pride in being able to provide something special for the girls. They went through quite an ordeal.”

“Do you think Carlee is in danger?”

I shivered, thinking how close we came to losing both girls to an evil man who methodically trafficked girls on the fringe. But he chose the wrong girls. They had an entire brigade take him to task. CJ rescued Carlee and Ana the first time on sheer principal because of the man he is, but now his concern ran deeper.

“The provisions of the will are dependent upon proving who killed Miss Loehr. I heard, from a reliable source, that the cause of her death was strychnine.” Even at the best of times, CJ was hard to read. Knowing Carlee could possibly be at risk made his face implacable.

“I’d like to meet Jordan Quintz.”

“Da-ad,” Carlee said. The look on his face could have melted a snowman at thirty degrees below zero. “Thanks for dinner. But we’ve got to go. I have homework.” She shrugged into her coat and gloves. When she came out from under her stocking cap, she caught the disbelieving looks on our faces. “Lorelei brought candy, puzzles, chuckles, gossip, and assignments.”

CJ lifted Carlee from her wheelchair. Dad collapsed it and rolled it behind them. Before they reached the door, Maverick and Renegade roared to life. CJ and Dad stood stock still while the dogs snaked between them toward the back door. CJ whistled and the dogs sat. I nabbed their collars, pulled both pups behind the table and knelt next to them. Then we heard the knock.

Dad leaned the wheelchair against the wall and pulled open the door. In his most deferential voice he said, “Chief Christianson. What can we do for you?”

My curled fingers tightened around the nylon and I whispered to the dogs, but it could have been to Dad too. “Be good.”

“I received a complaint from Jordan Quintz. He thought he heard someone creeping around outside the house.” Funny. I didn’t think Ronnie made similar inquiries when I caught Jordan trying to break in here and I knew who the guilty party was. “Lo and behold, we found tracks to and from the window and one belonged to a dog. They ended at the street but we’re canvassing the neighborhood for witnesses.” He eyed Maverick and me. “Katie, you wouldn’t know anything about that would you?”

“I’m sorry Chief Christianson. That was my dad,” Carlee said. Her dad hitched her higher and cinched her closer. “I asked him to check out the house and make sure the doors were secure. You know it may be mine soon, and I don’t really know the man staying there. Did you see anybody, Dad?” He shook his head from side to side, with all honesty, as he hadn’t seen anybody.

“And I suppose you scoped out the Loehr home with Ms. Wilk’s dog?” Ronnie pointed to Maverick who hung his head and looked, to me, as guilty as a dog possibly could. Renegade took that moment to break free from my hold and sidle next to CJ. She sat and cocked her head, batting her beautiful golden eyes at Ronnie.

“Meet Renegade,” said CJ.

“Ah-ha. Please call in if you see anyone else sneaking around.” He handed a business card to Dad. “I think the Farleys are organizing a community watch. Maybe you can join them. Can I help you, Dr. Bluestone?”

“Thanks, but I’ve got her. However, if you would carry the wheelchair, then Harry would not have to go out in the cold.”

Ronnie took the chair from Dad, and they were out the door.

“What gives, Dad? You have an odd look on your face.”

Dad took a deep breath. “Dorene called.” He stopped talking. Maverick nudged his hand. “The bond could be a lot.”

My insides turned to jelly. “Ida won’t get out on bail?”

“It sounds like Ronnie will do everything he can to keep her in jail. But it’s time to ’fess up. What did you see at Grace’s?”

“I saw Jordan, but he should be there. I kind of peeked in the window and I saw him searching through some books and papers in her music room, tossing them around and throwing some to the floor. I didn’t see anyone with him, but I thought I heard someone.” I shrugged. “He was looking for something. I think it’s time we paid Mr. Quintz a condolence call.”

My phone buzzed. “It’s Pamela.” I accepted the call. “Hi. You’re on speaker with my dad and me.”

She took a deep breath and launched into a tirade atypical of our neighbor. “Ronnie paid us a visit. He scared Emma and I was so angry that I wasn’t thinking when I told him I hadn’t seen anyone at Grace’s. But Katie, I saw you. What on earth were you and Maverick doing? Why were you peeping through the window? What has gotten into you this time? I owe you and Maverick, and will always owe you and Maverick for taking care of my Emma, but I want to know what I’m getting myself into.”

For the third time, I recounted the terms of Miss Grace’s will, adding Carlee’s little white lie.

Pamela breathed heavily. “I’d do anything for Ida too. That horse’s patootie. What’s Ronnie thinking? He can’t believe that Ida’s a murderer. It looks like he’s trying to arrest someone for the high-profile crimes, which might give him a leg up in the search for a chief.” She growled. “Sheesh.” I heard a small voice in the background. “Mommy’s fine, honey. Go back to bed and I’ll be right there.

“Katie, I’ve got to go. Can I sign you up for our neighborhood watch? I need to submit a list to Ronnie to get him off my back.”

“Absolutely.”

I heard a sharp intake.

“Pamela? What’s wrong?”

Her voice cracked. “Pull up the Columbia Sentinel Master Gardener files from a year ago. Look for Ida’s winning entry.” She called out, “Coming, honey.” Then said, more quietly, “I have to go.”

Dad keyed the information into my laptop and shook his head. “Now what are we going to do?”

Ida beamed from a full screen photo in the special section from the online version of the Columbia Sentinel, parting the shiny, deep green leaves of a tall plant in a clay pot and held her hand under a round fruit, resembling an orange. Dad summarized the caption. “She took first place in the exotic plant category.”