Purr M for Murder Page 4

  I couldn’t help it—Maggie’s words came flooding back to me. “I like to think he’s searching for the perfect human, the one who will make his life complete.” I stood staring out the window a few minutes more, but the cat—if it had indeed been Toby—did not return. I closed the window and went back to the storage cabinet. I found the bottle of wine tucked far back on the top shelf. As I tucked it under my arm, I couldn’t shake the feeling that the feline form I’d seen had been Toby or the little thrill of anticipation at the idea that I might indeed be Toby’s special human.

  Chapter Three

  After a good night’s sleep, which included a dream of chasing a gold-and-white cat around my apartment, I awoke feeling refreshed and ready to take on any challenges the day might offer—including a confrontation with Trowbridge Littleton. What I wasn’t ready for, though, was my sister tagging along. Even though she’d made a couple of good points last night, I still felt it might be better if I faced him down alone. I’d dealt with people of his ilk back at Reid and Renshaw in my day, and more often than not, I’d come out the victor. I had no reason to think this instance would be any different.

  I’d set my alarm for four AM. Now I swung my legs out of bed and tiptoed quietly down the hall to the bathroom so I wouldn’t disturb Leila, although there really wasn’t any danger of that. My friend drops off and sleeps like a stone—I do believe she’d sleep through Armageddon. I showered quickly, dressed quickly in a crisp white blouse and tan slacks, then sat down at my dressing table and pulled out a small notebook. Whenever I’d had to prepare for a particularly grueling presentation at my former job, I’d always found that marshaling my thoughts into a cohesive state helped enormously. I had the feeling that I’d make out far better if I had an idea of what to say to Littleton. Going in unprepared with a type A personality like his would definitely be a mistake. I scribbled down all the points I’d thought about last night and in the shower this morning to plead my case, read them through, then crossed them all out and started over again. By the time I was satisfied, the clock read five thirty. I’d told Kat that I’d meet her at Littleton’s shop at six thirty, but I’d always intended to get there first. I shoved my notes into my oversized tote, slipped on thick-soled sneakers, and padded softly down the hall and out the front door into my Jeep. Saying a silent prayer for success, I threw the car into reverse and backed out of the driveway as fast as I dared.

  Once on the street, I drove slowly, taking in the early morning ambiance: birds chittering in the trees, the first wisps of sunrise peeping through the branches. At this hour of the morning, traffic was practically nonexistent. I drove along the residential district, admiring the neat rows of houses, most of which had been designed with a colonial feel. I passed a large redbrick edifice, an apartment complex for over-fifty-five seniors that had been erected a few years ago, as I made the left onto Main Street and the start of what was Deer Park’s commercial district. Wide sidewalks provided ample room for pedestrians who wanted to peruse the myriad of stores and restaurants that lined the streets. I turned toward the middle of Main Street, where it intersected with Park Place to cut through the park that stood in the center of town. Well-tended flower beds surrounded a large, gurgling fountain. A large pagoda-style gazebo graced the fountain’s left, and behind that stood a large flagpole from which flew the American flag and the state flag. Soon these streets would be bustling with activity, with pedestrians marching to and fro about their daily errands. But for now, all was still.

  I made a left just beyond the gazebo and onto Elm Street. This route would take me around the back of the cluster of retail stores where Littleton’s gallery was located. As I drove, I mentally went over my speech in my head. First, I’d bring up the fact that the shelter was one of the finest in the state of North Carolina, and a no-kill to boot. Second, I’d mention that several of its canine residents had gone on to become service dogs—dogs that served as companions in many hospitals and nursing homes. The shelter also had an impeccable record for adoptions, and its animals had all been given a clean bill of health by Donna Blondell, our local veterinarian. Lastly, I figured I’d appeal to the things Littleton valued most—sales and profits. I’d surfed the web before going to bed last night and had printed out several stories of successful cat cafés in Europe and other states as a sort of “product model.” All the cafés and shelters had enjoyed boosts in businesses, and some had even turned healthy profits. And to my mind, a healthy profit in one area of business couldn’t help but spill over. But was Littleton broad-minded enough to see my point of view?

  I doubted it, but I was going to give it the old college try.

  My plan was to park as close to the rear of The Brush and Canvas, where Littleton’s office was located, as I could, to facilitate a quick getaway in case I needed to make one. I rounded the corner, frowning as I noticed all the cars—then I realized that they must be spillover from the popular Gold’s Gym, which was just a block away. I was just about to give up and go back to park by the café when I spied a narrow parking space right at the very end of the block, between the curb and a gleaming white Lincoln Continental. It took me four tries, but I finally maneuvered my convertible into the spot without banging the Lincoln. I glowered at the car as I opened my door and squeezed out. As I rounded the car, my eye fell on the license plate—TLITTLE—and I sucked in my breath. This had to be Trowbridge Littleton’s car. It figured. Well, at least this meant he was in his store.

  I could see the rear entrance to The Brush and Canvas at the end of the alleyway, just a few yards away. Now that I was so close, the butterflies were starting to fly around in my stomach. I squared my shoulders and lifted my chin. It reminded me of the time I’d faced down the CEO of a popular jeans company who wasn’t entirely on board with the ad campaign I’d designed. I’d gone toe to toe, presented my arguments, and in the end, we’d reached an agreeable compromise. I was hoping for a repeat performance today.

  I hoisted my tote onto my shoulder and moved forward past the rear entrances of the other shops. City Jewel, Devon McIntyre’s jewelry store; Hats Off, Grace Topping’s establishment; The Fin and Claw, Buck Noble’s eatery; to name a few. My heart started to beat faster as I approached The Brush and Canvas. As much as I hated to admit it, I didn’t have a good feeling about confronting Littleton.

  Oh, for heaven’s sake, Sydney. Littleton’s nothing more than a bully. You’ve faced lots worse than him. Just get it over with.

  A few more steps, and I was at the back entrance. I cupped my hand over my eyes and peered through the glass portion of the glass-and-wood door. The interior was dark, but I could make out a small entryway with a corridor beyond. A faint glow emanated from somewhere in the store’s rear—the office, no doubt. Well, if a light was on, Littleton must be in there. I glanced around for a bell but saw none. Great. I raised my hand, rapped sharply on the glass.

  Nothing.

  I frowned. Maybe he wasn’t here after all. Maybe he’d had car trouble and had to leave the vehicle overnight. My hand rested lightly on the door handle, and I gave it a tug. Much to my surprise, it turned easily, and the door swung inward on rusty hinges. I stepped over the threshold cautiously. “Mr. Littleton,” I called out in a hoarse voice. “Are you here? It’s Sydney McCall.”

  No answer.

  I closed the door softly behind me and let my gaze skim over the room. I saw boxes stacked to one corner, a few frames, empty of canvas, pushed up against one wall. There was a small desk shoved in one corner, its middle drawer yawning open. Several low-hung shelves boasted miniatures, pewter figurines encrusted with semiprecious stones, a few odd plaster pieces of sculpture. The light glistening at the end of the narrow corridor beckoned to me, but still I hesitated. “Mr. Littleton?” I called again. “Are you here? It’s Sydney McCall, you know, from Friendly Paws Animal Shelter?”

  Still no response.

  I drummed my fingers on the side of my tote. Okay, I had a few options. I could retrace my steps, go back the
way I’d come like I’d never been there, and return later with Kat, or I could just march down that corridor into Littleton’s office and have it out with him. Neither was particularly appealing. If I had to tell the truth, I was losing my zest for this whole undertaking. Maybe Kat’s original assessment had been correct: leave it alone and let it die a natural death. I cast a wary eye down the corridor, then jumped as something brushed my elbow. I whirled around, hand at my throat, and relaxed slightly when I saw my sister standing there. “God, Kat,” I cried, “what are you trying to do? Give me a heart attack?”

  “You were so deep in thought, you didn’t hear that door creak.” Kat gestured toward the half-open door.

  I frowned. “What are you doing here?”

  Her eyebrows rose. “I knew darn well you’d pull something like this.”

  I feigned innocence. “Like what?”

  “Like confronting him without me. I’ve been hanging around across the street since five forty-five, waiting for you to show up.”

  I gave her shoulder a little shove. “Well, sorry you got up so early and made the trip for nothing. You can go on back home or over to the shelter, I don’t care which. I can take care of Littleton.”

  Kat shrugged my hand away. “You didn’t hear a word I said yesterday, did you? I’m the one who should take care of him. I’m the shelter director and the one who should be settling things, not you.”

  “Maybe so, but showing the shelter cats was my idea.”

  “Our idea,” she amended. “I agreed to it, remember?”

  Kat’s gaze dropped to the floor. I touched her arm. “Is there anything else you want to tell me? Something else I should know about Littleton?”

  Kat’s shoulders squared, and this time she did meet my gaze. “I think you know all you need to,” she said. A low sound emitted from her throat, a cross between a groan and a laugh. “Is he even here? You’d think he’d have come out by now.”

  My gaze skittered toward a closed door over on the left. “Maybe he’s stuck on the toilet and his legs fell asleep and he can’t get up.” Voicing it aloud made me break out in a wave of giggles, and Kat joined in.

  “That’s a depressing visual,” she gasped when our laughter subsided. She peered down the corridor. “A light’s on down there.”

  “Yes, but it’s pretty faint. I think it’s just a night-light, or he was working back there and forgot to turn it off or something. If he were here, he’d surely have come out by now.”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that,” said Kat, starting to push past me. “He’s good at ignoring people he doesn’t want to talk to, and after yesterday, I’m sure we’re number one on that list.” She reached into the bag on her shoulder and whipped out her phone. It only took a few minutes for her to call up her flashlight app. “It puts a strain on the battery, but it sure beats those little minilights I used to carry,” she chuckled. She aimed the beam at the hallway. “Shall we?”

  I hesitated. “You know, now that I think about it, I—I’m having second thoughts. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.”

  Kat chuckled. “That’s usually my line, Syd.”

  “Yeah, but think about it. If Littleton’s in a particularly vindictive mood, he could accuse us of breaking and entering.”

  “How is it breaking and entering? The door was open, was it not?”

  I paused. “Yes it was,” I admitted. “But this isn’t our property, and technically the store isn’t open for business yet. He could have us arrested for trespassing.”

  Kat shrugged. “I think we could probably argue that point. I spent a lot of last night tossing and turning, and this morning I decided that he’s just not worth all that energy. I refuse to be bullied by him any longer, and I know you feel the same. So let’s just find him and have our say before we lose our nerve.” And with that, Kat called out Littleton’s name.

  And got no answer.

  I touched my sister’s arm. “Maybe we should go and come back later,” I murmured. “We might have a better perspective on things after a good breakfast.”

  Kat gave her head a firm shake. “Nope. I’m here now, and I’m going to see this through.” She raised her voice and called, “Ready or not, Mr. Littleton, here we come. We want to talk to you calmly and rationally about the shelter issue.”

  “I think we’re wasting our time. He’s probably not even back there. Maybe he stepped out for something?”

  Kat snorted. “The only other place open this early is the gym. I doubt he’d even set foot in there, unless he was desperate for a drink. I understand they have a very nice juice bar. Besides, he wouldn’t want to run into his wife. She’s always one of the first ones there every morning.”

  I stopped and shot her a quizzical look. “How do you know all this? Oh, wait, let me guess. Diane Ryan, right?”

  “Right.” She started down the hall. “Come on. If he just left the light on, then we’ll shut it off for him—save him a few dollars on his electric bill. We ought to earn some brownie points with him for that.”

  I sighed. Well, it had been my idea in the first place. In spite of the trepidation I felt, I had to agree. Might as well see it through.

  We moved down the corridor and after a few minutes spied an open doorway from which pale light spilled. The office, no doubt. As we started forward, I reached out and grabbed Kat’s arm.

  “Shine your light over there,” I hissed. “I thought I saw something move.”

  Kat turned the flashlight in the direction I indicated, and we both jumped at the sight of two gold eyes caught in the beam. Kat dropped the flashlight, and it clicked off. A loud merow echoed in the darkness.

  “A cat,” Kat breathed. “What do you know? Littleton has a cat!”

  “Maybe,” I muttered. I’d only had a quick glimpse, but I could have sworn that not only was the cat large and yellow, but its face was the same one that had peered through the kitchen window at me last night—Toby? Heck, anything was possible. “It might have been a stray. He could have gotten in the back door, same as us.”

  “You’re probably right. I can’t picture Littleton being a pet owner.” Kat had retrieved the flashlight and switched it back on. She played the beam around, but the cat was nowhere to be found. “Hmm, well, we seem to have scared him off. Come on, let’s see what’s in there.” Kat moved forward, and as she moved the beam of light, I caught a flash of white on the floor in the spot where I’d seen the cat.

  “Wait a sec,” I said. I bent down to have a closer look. It was a small square of paper, dirty around the edges. I picked it up gingerly. It was damp around the side, and I could see teeth marks—apparently Toby, if it had been him, had been having a nosh on it when we’d startled him. I turned the paper over. The words were cramped together, but they looked like Kahn Lee. Reflexively, I shoved the paper into the pocket of the light jacket I wore and motioned for Kat to continue walking. As we approached the open doorway, I called out again.

  “Mr. Littleton, it’s the McCall sisters. We need to speak with you.” When silence greeted us once again, I said to Kat, “Is it my imagination, or is this starting to seem like a bad episode of Murder, She Wrote?”

  We were in the doorway now. A large desk was at the far end of what appeared to be an office. The light was coming from a small lamp perched on the edge of the desk, and as we crossed the threshold, it flickered and then went out. Kat shone the pencil-thin beam of the flashlight around the room, letting out a sharp cry as it hit the wall nearest us. “Light switch,” she squealed, and a minute later, the room was filled with a harsh fluorescent light.

  I glanced around. Yes, this was definitely an office, and not a very tidy one at that. There were several file cabinets pushed up against the far wall, and two of the drawers in the one on the left were half-open. Papers were strewn across the desk, and some file folders had dropped onto the floor and were scattered across the Oriental rug. I crossed over to the desk to take a closer look, pausing as I caught sight of something glinting just t
o the left of the desk. I bent down and saw a few slivers of dark-blue glass scattered there.

  “Good Lord,” my sister exclaimed. “For someone always so fastidious about his appearance, he certainly likes to work in a mess.”

  I frowned, looking around for something that might be broken but seeing nothing. “It looks more to me like it’s been ransacked. Someone was searching for something. What do you think, Kat? Kat?”

  My sister had moved over to the far corner of the room and was standing before a large wardrobe. “Wow, this is beautiful,” she said, lifting a hand to run it over the smooth exterior. She balled her hand into a fist and rapped it against the wood. “Solid oak. I saw a picture of one like this in a catalog. French. Dates back to the late 1800s. I wonder what it’s doing in his office.”

  “Who knows? Maybe he keeps his suit jackets in it,” I said. “Why do you care, anyway?”

  “It’s such a beautiful piece,” my sister murmured. “It seems out of place in this office. I wouldn’t mind having something like this,” Kat said, running her hand once again across the smooth wood.

  She gave the handle a tug. “Hmm. The doors seem to be stuck.”

  I waved my hand impatiently. “Oh, for goodness’ sake, leave it alone. Must you examine it now?”

  She shot me an appealing look. “Give me a hand, won’t you? You’re strong. Maybe if we both pull on the handle at the same time, it’ll open.”

  I knew my sister. Once Kat made up her mind about something, she was like a pit bull with a bone. I knew when it was futile to argue with her. “Okay, fine. But if we get this open, one quick look and then we’re out of here.”