“You must be having a day and a half,” Debbie Ann said. “More trouble?”
“Toyota Corolla slowly cruising by the house,” I said. “Silver this time.”
“Mercy. Vern only just left your house. He’s making a U-ie and heading back.”
“I’m going to go back inside,” I said. “I don’t want to leave Cousin Nora alone in there.”
“Good idea. Stay inside.”
We hung up and I went inside. Nora had finished with the pizza crust and was sprinkling toppings on some of the pizzas. She looked up as if surprised to see me back so soon.
“I saw someone driving up,” I said. “Didn’t want you to have to answer the doorbell.”
She nodded slightly and returned to dispensing crumbles of cheese and sprinkles of oregano.
And then the doorbell rang.
I peered out through the peephole before answering. The silver Corolla was parked at the end of our front walkway, but I couldn’t see whoever rang the bell. Maybe some people would be puzzled and open the door to see if anyone was there. I knew better, thanks to all those mysteries Dad kept shoving into my hands. I kept looking out. After ten seconds or so a figure came into view. A woman, in her forties or maybe fifties. Blond. About my height—maybe an inch taller, which would make her five eleven. And well bundled up against the cold, which made it impossible to tell if she was skinny or fat. She was broad shouldered, though. She looked sturdy. Capable.
The cheerful version of “Deck the Halls” coming out of the little hidden speakers in the hall added an incongruously festive note to the scene.
My visitor glanced at her watch and then at the door, as if wondering if she’d waited long enough that she could ring again.
I made sure the chain was on and opened the door as far as it would allow.
“Hello.” She assumed a smile that struck me as insincere, although it was always possible that recent events had made me jaundiced. “I’m here to see Ian Meredith.” She paused, and when I didn’t respond immediately, she added, “He’s expecting me.”
Had he been expecting her? Or had he already encountered her out at the skating rink? If she were Ian’s killer, the logical thing to do would be to put as much distance as possible between herself and the crime scene. Go home—back to Wisconsin, if she were Katherine Anne Koenigslutter.
Unless she knew there was proof she’d been in Caerphilly yesterday—proof like an alert deputy giving her a warning for running a stop sign. In that case, might she think her best tactic was to pretend she didn’t know Ian was dead?
Either way, my best tactic was to stall her until Vern got here. Just keep her talking on the doorstep. Given how cold it was, that would be terribly rude if she were an ordinary guest, but I didn’t think I was obliged to worry about the comfort of a prime murder suspect.
“You must be Ms. Koenigslutter,” I said. “I hope I’m pronouncing that right.”
“You’re pronouncing it fine,” she said. “Can you tell Ian I’m here?”
“Why do you want to see him?” I said. “You’re already suing him. Wouldn’t it be wiser just to let that play out in court?”
For a few seconds her face darkened, and I was expecting her to make a more forceful demand to see Ian. Then she visibly checked her temper and spoke in a calm, almost soft voice.
“I want him to know just what he’s done to me,” she said. “I need to tell him. He ruined my life.”
“How?” I asked.
She set her jaw at first, and I assumed I wouldn’t be getting any information from her. Then she blew out a breath in a great visible cloud and an eager look crossed her face. She was a woman with a grievance. And I’d just volunteered to play audience.
“The jerk helped my half brother find me,” she said. “A half brother I never even knew existed. I knew Dad was no angel, and maybe I shouldn’t have been surprised when Elias turned up and told me we were half siblings, but I was. And maybe it sounds like some kind of good thing, finding a brother you never knew you had, but Elias Boyd isn’t anyone you’d ever want in your life. He’s a psycho.”
“I see.” I hoped I’d managed to avoid reacting when she said the name Elias Boyd. “And you think Ian helped your brother find you?”
“Half brother,” she corrected. “I don’t just think it—I know he did.” Her tone was suddenly sharp and fierce. Then she took a deep breath and smiled again. “Sorry,” she said. “It’s kind of an upsetting subject. Yes, Ian helped that creep find me. Maybe not deliberately. Maybe his company just wasn’t careful about only showing people their own information. But Elias found me through the AcerGen website, and when I complained, Mr. Big Shot Ian Meredith just laughed and said ‘What’s the big deal?’”
Yeah, that sounded like Ian.
“And I’ll tell you what’s the big deal.” Her voice was getting louder. “That creep is demanding money from me. He wants half the value of my farm. Not half the farm—half the value. He doesn’t give a damn about farming. He claims if I don’t pay him off, he’ll go to court and sue me for it, and then on top of half the farm I’ll also be out for all the legal fees and punitive damages. And I couldn’t pay him half the value even if I wanted to—the farm is mortgaged to the hilt and I’m so broke I had to borrow money to hire a lawyer to fight him. That’s what’s the big deal. And it’s Ian Meredith’s fault—him and his company. They need to pay for what they did to me.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “It sounds as if you were badly treated. But I can’t help you. Ian’s not here—”
“Then where is he?” she demanded.
Over her shoulder I saw Vern’s cruiser. He went past the silver Corolla and parked in front of it. Another police cruiser parked right behind it, and my friend Aida Butler hopped out. Their cars were almost touching her front and rear bumpers. If my visitor wanted to go anywhere, she’d have to do it on foot.
Ms. Koenigslutter didn’t seem to notice them, possibly because the orchestral version of “It Came Upon the Midnight Clear” drowned out what little noise their vehicles made. The move to go hybrid when replacing the county’s aging police vehicles had been made with thrift and environmental consciousness in mind, but the new cruisers also appeared to be excellent for sneaking up on suspects.
I made a mental note to mention this to the chief. And another to tell Mother that the speakers on the front porch were a little loud.
“Just tell me where Ian is,” Ms. Koenigslutter demanded.
“I don’t know,” I said. “But I think they can tell you.”
She whirled around, and flinched when she saw Vern and Aida marching up the walk. I thought for a moment she’d turn and run. Then she apparently thought better of it.
“Thanks a lot.” She gave me one last venomous glance before turning to face the approaching officers, arms folded across her chest.
Vern and Aida stopped at the bottom of the porch steps.
“Ms. Koenigslutter?” Vern said. “Could I ask you to come down to the station with us? Our chief of police would like to interview you.”
“About what?” Her voice sounded petulant and impatient, the way a small child would react to being told it was bedtime. “You can’t make me.”
“Actually, we can,” Aida said. “You can come voluntarily, or we can arrest you on suspicion of murder.”
“Murder!” She uncrossed her arms and took a step back. “I haven’t done anything! No one’s been murdered! What are you talking about?”
“Chief Burke would like to talk to you in connection with the murder of Mr. Ian Meredith,” Vern said. “It would be a lot easier if you came with us voluntarily.”
“Oh, my God,” she murmured. “He’s dead?” And then she stood up straighter. “Well, I won’t pretend to be sorry, but I didn’t kill him.”
It took a few more tries before they managed to coax her off our porch and into the back of Aida’s cruiser. While Aida was reversing and making a U-turn, Vern ambled up the walk, and I opened the door to talk to him.
“I’m not sure whether to tell you to be careful or thank you for rounding up all our suspects,” he said.
“Well, not quite all your suspects,” I said. “There’s still Cyrus Runk. I’m hoping he doesn’t show up, though.”
“We got an unconfirmed report that he might be hiding out with a cousin over in the mountains of east Kentucky,” Vern said.
“I suppose that’s good news,” I said.
“Good news for us, maybe,” Vern said. “Bad news for Kentucky. And maybe not great news for any of us when it comes to finding him. Pretty rough country down there. Easy to lose yourself in, and I know a lot of people will sleep better when he’s behind bars again.”
“Maybe he’ll hear the news that Ian is dead and cancel any plans he has to spend Christmas in Caerphilly.”
“News hasn’t gone out yet,” Vern said. “Ian’s mother is traveling. We’re holding off the announcement until his father can reach her to break the news.”
“Understandable,” I said. “I guess that’s why Ms. Koenigslutter hadn’t heard. But I hope the chief is able to release the news soon. Because as long as Ian’s enemies think he’s still alive and staying here, they’re liable to keep showing up at our door.”
“Yeah. We’ll be doing extra patrols out here. And you take care of yourself.”
“And you do the same. Hope the weather doesn’t get too bad.”
While we had been dealing with Ms. Koenigslutter, the scattered snowflakes had given way to a light but steady snowfall. Vern looked up, nodded, and strode back to his cruiser.
I went inside and locked the door again.
I stood there for a minute or so, just staring at the door. I reminded myself that Randall was sending two of his workers to deal with the bloody ice so we could open our rink. I should go out to my office to meet them. But I was having trouble letting go of the stress my last two visitors had triggered.
And for me, the best way to deal with stress was to do something. Take care of someone. Which wasn’t all that easy to do at the moment, since Cousin Nora was the only other person in the house. Hard to think of anything I could do in the kitchen that would be more help than hindrance to her.
I glanced into the living room. The dogs were all curled up by the hearth—though since the fire was nearly out, it was more from habit than warmth.
I could fix that. I added a couple of logs to the fire. Then I poked it and blew air on it until the flames had taken hold. The dogs—Tink, Spike, and three Pomeranians—looked on with great interest. When the fire was going nicely, I sat down on the raised hearth and kicked my shoes off so I could stick my stocking feet under Tink’s warm, furry body. The Pomeranians hopped up onto the hearth and climbed into my lap.
Even Spike shifted his position so he was ever-so-slightly closer to me and sighed with contentment.
Nice that I could solve someone’s problems. I leaned back until my head was against the warm brick of the hearth and my view of the living room was obscured by all the stockings hanging from the mantel—so many of them that they overlapped and made a solid red-and-gold curtain of felt and velvet. It was a curiously restful sight.
Should I give up on trying to amuse the Canadians? With luck they’d be going home before too long. Still, no reason not to do what I could to make their life happier while they were here.
I rearranged the Pomeranians until I could reach into my pocket to pull out my phone. I called Kristyn.
“What’s up, Meg?” she asked.
“I have another information-gathering mission for you,” I said. “Any chance you could eavesdrop on the Canadians, or maybe start a conversation, and find out what foods they’re missing? Not that what my cousin Nora has been serving isn’t delicious, but I don’t get the feeling it’s what they’re used to.”
“Actually, I can tell you one thing already,” she said. “Something called poutine. I’ve overheard half a dozen mentions of that—including one half-hour discussion about where’s the best place to get it in Toronto.”
“I’ve heard of it,” I said. “I’ve never had it, though.”
“Apparently it’s French fries topped with cheese curds and a special gravy,” she said.
“Doesn’t sound appealing to me,” I said. “Then again, I don’t want anything on my fries but a little salt and a lot of fresh-ground pepper.”
“Not even ketchup?
“Tomatoes belong in salad and pasta sauce,” I said.
“What are cheese curds, anyway?” Kristyn asked. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of them except in the nursery rhyme. You know, ‘Little Miss Muffet sat on a tuffet, eating her curds and whey.’”
“I looked it up one time,” I said. “Curds and whey is the old-fashioned name for cottage cheese.”
“Seriously?”
“Yup,” I said. “I always figured Miss Muffet was just as happy when the spider came along and gave her an excuse to go find something more exciting for dinner.”
“Canadians put cottage cheese on French fries?”
“Maybe the gravy makes the difference,” I said. “Or maybe without the whey the curds are a lot different. I’ll let Cousin Nora figure it out. Thanks for the suggestion.”
I could tell Nora. But not right now. I didn’t want to disturb the sleeping dogs. And surely there was something useful I could do while sitting here?
I picked up my phone again and called Kevin. Normally he tended to let most calls go to voicemail. Should I feel flattered that he took my call? Or was it only a sign of how worried he was?
“What’s up?”
“You’re still at the Mutant Wizards office, right.”
“Right.”
“I won’t interrupt you for that long,” I said. “But I do have a mixed bag of good and bad news. What should I start with?”
“Surprise me.”
“CatLady517 showed up here a little while ago.”
“Oh, my God.”
“That’s the bad news,” I said. “The good news is that she behaved badly enough that Horace and Vern hauled her down to the police station.”
“Badly enough that they’ll charge her with something?” Kevin sounded anxious—exactly what had CatLady517 been doing to spook him so?
“I have no idea,” I said. “I’m sure they will if they can, because that would make it a lot easier to keep her around until the chief has had a chance to interrogate her. Maybe it’s just a coincidence that she showed up here the day Ian was murdered, but I bet he’ll want to make sure.”
“Do they still do that thing where they lock people up until they can figure out if they’re too crazy to be running around loose?”
“As far as I know, but these days I think you have to be pretty crazy to qualify.”
“Trust me, she’ll qualify. You should see the stuff she posts in our Facebook group and the message forums.”
“Forget about me seeing it—maybe the chief should see it?”
“I’ve deleted a lot of the worst stuff,” he said. “I could probably come up with copies of some of it. Maybe I should work on that tonight. And who knows what else she’s posted in the last couple of days.”
“You haven’t looked?”
“I’ve been too busy with the AcerGen project,” he said. “I’ve recruited an assistant admin who lets me know ASAP if Cat Lady posts anything really outrageous. And while I love our fans, sometimes settling their arguments and quashing the latest conspiracy theories is the last thing I need when I get home from a twelve-hour workday. So no, I haven’t looked since—damn, since Sunday. I’ll catch up tonight, if I have any energy left.”
“I hear you,” I said. “And not that I want to put any more pressure on you, but have you had any luck figuring out how Katherine Anne Koenigslutter and her lawyer knew Ian was here in Caerphilly?”
“Not yet. I can’t find any mention online of him being here, so I don’t think they found out that way. Best I can figure out is that maybe a disgruntled employee has been leaking Ian’s whereabouts to people known to have an ax to grind with AcerGen.”
“One of our Canadians?” I asked. “The ones staying with us, I mean.”
“Doesn’t have to be,” he said. “I doubt if he’s that popular with the ones back in Toronto, either.”
“It would make me feel a lot better if we knew how people were finding out. Oh, by the way, I solved one mystery—Elias Boyd is the half brother Katherine Anne Koenigslutter didn’t want to meet. Apparently he’s trying to claim half of her inheritance.”
“No wonder Koenigslutter is upset. I’ll still see what I can find out about him when I have time. Anything else?”
“Isn’t that enough?” I asked.
“Yeah. Later.”
Reassuring that Kevin would focus on learning how Ian’s enemies were finding their way to our door. But it sounded as if he’d already started trying to figure it out and hadn’t found anything. That was unsettling. And it was downright annoying that the AcerGen project was keeping him so busy that he might not be able to get to it until he got home.
Nothing I could do about it. Well, I could always try looking online myself—searching for some mention of Ian and Caerphilly. But what were the odds I could find anything Kevin had overlooked?
I put the phone down and concentrated on doing Rose Noire’s yoga breathing.
It was almost starting to work when the doorbell rang again.