Purr M for Murder Page 5

  She nodded, and I placed my hand on top of hers. “On the count of three, give it all you’ve got. One, two—three.”

  We both tugged at the same time, and suddenly the door flew open. We went staggering backward at the same time the body of Trowbridge Littleton, his eyes bulging almost out of their sockets, tongue lolling to the side, hit the floor at our feet.

  Chapter Four

  Kat let out an earsplitting shriek and threw her hands across her face. I, on the other hand, leaned down for a closer look at the body, an action that elicited a horrified gasp from my sister. “Syd! What in God’s name are you doing?”

  “What does it look like I’m doing?” I knelt down. I’d never been particularly squeamish, as evidenced by my love of horror movies, and I was always glued to the screen when Autopsy was on. Preston used to get up and leave the room, shaking his head every time as I sat, eating popcorn, caught up in the adventure of a real-life forensic pathologist. Before I decided to major in business and marketing, I’d toyed with the idea of becoming a homicide detective. Actually, I’d more than toyed with it. I’d actually filled out an application for the police academy. Only my mother’s impassioned plea for my safety (“I can’t spend the rest of my life worrying about you getting shot, Syd!”) had dissuaded me. I felt now, though, as if I were finally fulfilling a lifelong ambition as I looked at the body.

  Littleton hadn’t been that great-looking in life, and he was even worse in death. In addition to the bulging eyes and lolling tongue, Littleton’s skin had a slightly bluish cast to it. I touched two fingers to his neck, but I couldn’t feel a pulse.

  Kat, who could get queasy at the sight of a mere drop of blood, tugged at my arm. “Get away from him! He’s dead—isn’t he?”

  “Certainly looks that way.” I looked the corpse up and down. I didn’t see any bullet wounds, or stab wounds, or any blood, for that matter. I looked up at my sister. “What makes the skin turn blue?”

  Kat stared at me as if I had two heads. “What?”

  “What makes someone’s skin turn blue?” I pressed a hand to my head, struggling to recall old episodes of Murder, She Wrote or CSI. “Cyanosis!” I cried suddenly, snapping my fingers.

  Kat frowned. “Cya-what?”

  “Cyanosis. It’s caused by a low oxygen level in the blood or by poor circulation. I remember reading about it in one of my mystery novels.”

  Kat peered fearfully down at Littleton’s body. “You think that’s what killed him—poor circulation?”

  “It’s possible. Poor circulation could cause a pulmonary embolism or a heart attack. But if that were the case—what was he doing in that armoire?” I straightened and started to walk slowly around the office, glancing around as I did so.

  Kat was at my elbow almost at once. “What are you doing?”

  “Just looking around—trying to see if maybe there might be a clue here as to what happened.” I paused, ran my hand through my hair. I’d forgotten to tie it back, and the humidity already hung in the air, making my curls even curlier and stickier. Quite a contrast to my sister’s hair, which, of course, lay straight and perfect across her slim shoulders. “No sign of any sort of weapon,” I mumbled. “No defensive wounds, either. His guard was down. I’ll bet he knew whoever did this to him.”

  “Wow, Nancy Drew, you’re in rare form,” my sister cried.

  “I read enough of ’em as a kid. And we’ve both watched enough crime shows to know what comes next.”

  I whipped out my cell and flopped into the leather chair behind the desk as my fingers punched in 9-1-1. “May as well get comfortable. We’re probably going to be here awhile.”

  * * *

  Within ten minutes, an ambulance had double parked near the back alley, and two female paramedics—one blonde and thin as a rail, the other slightly stouter with hints of silver in her brown hair—had barreled up to the back door. I met them and led them back to the office, where they wordlessly knelt down beside Littleton. One checked his pulse, and the other shone a pencil-thin light into his eyes. At last they looked at each other, shook their heads, and then the blonde sat back on her heels and turned a quizzical gaze our way. “Are you relatives?” she asked.

  “No. We’re—ah—neighbors. Sort of,” said Kat. I was surprised at how calm and controlled my sister’s voice was, considering that not fifteen minutes ago, she’d shrieked loud enough to wake the dead. She started to edge toward the door. “I guess there’s nothing more we can do here,” she began, but the older woman rose to her feet and put her hands on her hips.

  “I wouldn’t leave just yet,” she said. We all cocked our heads as the faint wail of a siren reached our ears. “The police will want to interview you.”

  Kat’s face paled. “The police?”

  I gave Kat’s arm a reassuring squeeze as the younger paramedic jumped up and hurried down the hall to admit them. “Of course the police will want to interview us,” I whispered to her. “We found a dead body in an armoire, for goodness’ sake.”

  Kat nibbled furiously at her lower lip. “I hope no one from the press is tagging along. I can just see the headlines now. Shelter director and shelter’s publicity director find dead body.”

  In spite of the old adage that any publicity is good publicity, I was forced to agree. “Yeah, I have to admit, finding a dead body wasn’t exactly on my agenda for today. Or on my bucket list, for that matter. It could be worse, though.”

  “How?”

  I gave her a thin smile. “His body wasn’t very cold. I don’t think he’s been dead all that long. Which would mean we probably just missed the murderer.”

  “Yow, I didn’t think of that,” Kat admitted. She glanced at her watch. “I hope this interview doesn’t take too long. I told Maggie I’d be in early to help with the new brood of cats.”

  “Why don’t you give her a quick call? Don’t give her any details—just say we’ve run into a bit of a snag, and we might be a bit late.”

  “A bit of a snag?” Kat snorted as she took out her phone. “That seems a gross understatement to me.”

  Kat moved off into the corner to make the call, and I leaned against the desk just as the paramedic returned, followed closely by two men. One was tall and muscular, the other shorter and built like a barrel. The barrel-shaped one looked to be in his early fifties and had silvery-blond hair that looked a bit thin on top, bushy eyebrows, and a walrus mustache that drooped around his mouth. I half expected him to start twirling it any second. He wore an ill-fitting jacket and pants that might have been just a tad too tight in the waist. The taller one, dressed in a neat sport coat and pants, looked to be in his midthirties—just around my own age, which would make him a good fifteen years younger than his companion. From the way he stood, I could only see his profile, but he appeared to be the better looking of the two. He glanced over in my direction, affording me an excellent view of his face. I took in the high forehead, black curly hair that begged to have fingers run through it, sparkling blue eyes, wide, generous, and very kissable mouth—and then I gave myself a mental slap. Now was so not the time to start ogling men, particularly one about to question me regarding a possible homicide. He seemed familiar somehow, and as he drew closer, recognition stabbed through me. I gave my head a swift shake. Nope, I had to be wrong. It couldn’t be him—or could it?

  He murmured something to his companion and then walked over to where I stood. “Good morning.” He reached into his breast pocket and removed a badge. “Detective Worthington, Deer Park Homicide. I understand you found the body?”

  My mind barely registered the shiny badge he dangled in front of us. “Worthington?” I squealed. “Will Worthington! I thought that was you! You probably don’t remember me . . .”

  His lips parted in a friendly smile. “Of course I do. You’re Sydney McCall, the prettiest girl in our senior class.” He inclined his head toward Kat. “And that’s your sister Katherine.”

  For a few seconds, we just stared at each other, wide smiles on
our faces.

  Will Worthington had transferred to Deer Park High in his senior year, and we’d been thrown together when he’d been assigned to tutor me in chemistry. Conversely, I’d also been assigned to help him with English. We’d spent lots of time together in study hall and chem lab, and everyone had remarked what an odd coupling we made: the overweight boy who was a science whiz and the class cutup who was head of the cheer squad and president of the glee club. It had been the beginning of a beautiful friendship that might have blossomed into something more had we not gone our separate ways for college. At graduation, we’d promised to keep in touch no matter what, and of course, neither one of us had made good on that promise.

  “I confess, for a few minutes there, I wasn’t sure it was you. You’ve lost weight,” I said at last.

  He shot me a wry grin and patted at his stomach. “Yep. Ninety pounds. Once I decided to enter the police academy, I had to get in shape.”

  I was tempted to say that he’d never posted his photo on Facebook, but then that would be tantamount to admitting that I’d glanced at it over the years—more than once, in fact. I smiled. “Well, you look good.”

  “Thanks.” His lips split in a genuine smile as his gaze raked me up and down. “So do you. Your hair is a bit lighter than I remember.”

  I ran my hand self-consciously through my hair. Apparently he’d never felt the urge to check out my Facebook photo. “I put in some gold highlights to brighten it up. It was such a dull, mousy brown.” Or at least that’s how Preston always used to describe it.

  “It always looked great to me.” There was an awkward pause, and then Will cleared his throat. “You’ve lost most of your southern accent.”

  “I guess I have. That’s what happens when you live up north for twelve years.”

  “Yeah, I heard you were knocking ’em dead in New York, New York. That’s why I was surprised to see you here in Deer Park.”

  “Yeah, well, the big city isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.” I shifted my weight from one foot to the other. “I came back to help Kat with the shelter.”

  “I know what you mean about big-city life. It can wear you down. I transferred here from Raleigh just last week.” He smiled again, and I was reminded of how much I’d liked him in high school. He might have been overweight, but Will had always been a total gentleman; he’d always been the guy who could make me laugh, no matter how bad my day had been—and he was also the first boy I’d ever kissed.

  Now, it seemed, he’d also be the first detective to ever interrogate me in a possible murder investigation.

  Kat had finished her call and now came up to us. She did a double take and then said, “Wow, Will Worthington! You look great. But what are you—” She stopped speaking as her gaze fell on the badge he still held in his hand. She paused and looked from him to me and back to him. “Wait—you’re the homicide detective?”

  He nodded. “Yep. I’ll be working this case with my partner, Detective Bennington.” He motioned toward the barrel-chested man who was speaking with the blond paramedic.

  Kat managed a thin smile. “He looks a little on the mean side to me.”

  “More addled than mean,” I said. “With that wrinkled jacket and blank stare, he reminds me more of Columbo.”

  Will chuckled. “What’s that they say, appearances can be deceiving? My partner might appear a bit discombobulated on the outside, but he’s one sharp cookie.”

  “That’s right. Make no mistake, miss. I’m way sharper than Columbo.”

  I jumped. Bennington had come up behind us, and now he tugged at the lapel of his rumpled jacket as he regarded Will with narrowed eyes. “Everything all right here, Detective?” he asked. “Or do you need me to take over questioning?”

  Will shook his head. “No, it’s fine. I’ll handle this.”

  Bennington regarded us for a minute, then turned and walked back over to the paramedics. Will looked after his partner for a second, then pulled a small notebook and a pen out of his breast pocket, flipped a few pages, then held the pen poised. He looked right into my eyes. When he spoke, his tone was all business. “You said both of you found the body. May I ask where that was, exactly?”

  I pointed to the armoire. “Inside that wardrobe. He fell out when we jerked open the door.”

  Will paused in his scribbling, lifted a brow inquiringly. “You opened the wardrobe door? Why?”

  “It’s a beautiful antique,” Kat answered. “When I saw it, I couldn’t resist. But the door was stuck, it wouldn’t open. So I asked Syd to help, and when we pulled hard on the handle, the door flew open, and Littleton just . . . he just kinda fell out.”

  As Will scribbled on his pad, I said, “I didn’t notice any gunshot or knife wounds on the body. There is a bluish cast to the skin, though.”

  Will glanced up. “Pretty observant of you, Syd.”

  “Yeah, well, I read a lot of Nancy Drew growing up.”

  “I remember.”

  I glanced up sharply, tempted to ask what else he remembered, but his expression had turned impassive. He tapped on his notebook with the edge of his pen. “The ME will determine the cause of death. Why don’t you walk me through what happened. How did the two of you come to be in Littleton’s shop so early?”

  “We had something we wanted to discuss with Mr. Littleton, and we thought the earlier the better,” I said.

  “I see. And just what was the nature of this discussion?”

  I shifted my weight to my other foot. “Friendly Paws has teamed with Dayna’s Treats and Sweets for a cat café event to benefit the shelter. For a nominal fee, people can have their coffee and goodies in a room with shelter cats that are available for adoption.”

  Will glanced up, and I could see a light of interest in his eyes. “I’ve heard of those cafés. They’re mostly in Europe.”

  “There are a few in the States, big cities mostly. This will be the first event of its kind in North Carolina. We’re hoping to increase revenue for both the café and the shelter.”

  “Let me guess. That idea didn’t sit well with Littleton?”

  Kat and I both shook our heads in unison, and Kat exclaimed, “I should say not! He was in the shop yesterday, and he made his feelings pretty darn clear. He thought having the cats around would be detrimental to business. Heck, he thought the shelter in general was a detriment to the town.”

  “A sentiment you two didn’t agree with,” he said slowly.

  “I should say not!” Kat returned, her cheeks starting to flame. “Syd and I tried to reason with him yesterday, but he didn’t want to hear it.”

  “And that’s why you decided to come here this morning?”

  I nodded. “Yes. I put together a pretty good argument of pros for the event. I was hoping to appeal to his sense of business acumen.”

  “Why did you feel this was necessary? Had he threatened you?”

  “Not in so many words,” I said carefully. “But he did say yesterday that he was determined to put a stop to the proceedings and that we hadn’t heard the last from him.”

  “Mm-hm.” Will made another notation in his book. “So when was the last time you saw Littleton?”

  “Yesterday around one thirty.” I cleared my throat. “If that’s all the questions you have, we need to get going.”

  He snapped his notebook shut. “You’re free to go for now,” he said, “but I will probably need to talk to you some more later on.”

  “That’s fine,” I said. “We’ll be here.”

  The corners of Will’s lips twitched slightly. “Good to know.”

  * * *

  Once we were back out on the street, Kat hauled off and punched me in the arm—hard.

  “Yow!” I cried. “What was that for?”

  “For thinking that you could come here and face Littleton without me, for one,” Kat said. “I knew you had your fingers crossed last night.”

  I rubbed at my arm. “Can’t put anything over on you, can I?”

  She gave
me a shrewd look. “So how did it feel, seeing Will Worthington again after all these years? I heard he was back in town, but I had no idea he’d become a detective—homicide, no less. Wasn’t that always your secret ambition?” She cut me a sidelong glance. “Funny, isn’t it, how you two came back to Deer Park almost at the same time. Like karma or something.”

  “Well, I’d rather deal with Will than his partner, Columbo Jr.,” I said. “Come on, let’s get my car and get to the shelter. I hope Maggie isn’t too worried.”

  We walked through the alleyway, and when we were almost at the spot where I’d parked, I suddenly stopped short. “Hey,” Kat cried as she ran full tilt into my back. “What’s wrong?”

  I pointed to the empty space beside my car. “There was a white Lincoln there when I came, parked pretty badly. The license plate read TLITTLE. I thought for sure it was Littleton’s car, but if it’s gone . . .”

  “A white Lincoln? That’s his wife Petra’s car,” Kat said. She glanced around and then pointed to the gym. “She must have parked it here instead of the gym parking lot, like she usually does. I wonder why.”

  Another disturbing thought occurred to me as I slid behind the wheel. It would have been impossible for Littleton’s wife not to have seen the ambulance and police cars parked in front of her husband’s shop. Why hadn’t she come to see what was wrong?

  Unless, of course . . . she didn’t have to. Because she already knew.

  Chapter Five

  It was a few minutes past seven thirty when we arrived at the long, one-story gray brick building that housed the shelter. We walked around to the back entrance, pausing before the nine-foot-tall chain link fence that housed the exercise pen. Viola was inside, watching as a tan-and-white puppy ran happily back and forth. She gave us a wave as we let ourselves in through the back door and were greeted almost instantly by Sissy. She was cradling a gray-and-white kitten in her arms. “Did you guys see anything on your way here?” the teen asked.