Copycat Killing

23

He didn’t exactly look innocent—that’s hard to do when your fur is all messed up, you have dirt on your nose, and one ear is turned inside out—but he tried.

I glared at him. “You are a very bad cat,” I said in my sternest voice, although it was a struggle not to laugh with his ear like that. “I’m taking you home and shutting you in the bedroom.”

The moment the words were out of my mouth I knew they were a mistake. He just vanished again.

If I couldn’t see him I couldn’t grab him. I knew from experience that even if I lunged over to the passenger side, Owen would just jump out of the way. He wasn’t above meowing and then moving just to throw me off. Not only had I apparently been mooned by a cat; it also looked like I’d been bested by one in a game of wits.

“Fine, you win,” I said, “but if you’re coming with me the least you can do is nose around and see if you can find some kind of clue about what Jaeger Merrill was up to.”

The cat appeared beside me on the seat again. His ear was still turned inside out but his demeanor had changed from faux-contrite to cocky.

“Ear,” I said, pointing.

He swiped at it with one paw, turning it right side round again.

I tightened my seat belt, backed up and then pulled out onto the road again. “And you can’t let Maggie see you.” I turned right, watching the road carefully because there were still patches of standing water. “You’ll have to do your look of adoration from afar.”

I heard muttering noises from beside me but at least he didn’t go invisible again. “You know one of these days someone is going to catch us having one of these conversations and that’s going to be very hard to explain,” I said. Then I laughed because here I was having a conversation with a cat about having a conversation with a cat.

I pulled into the tiny parking lot behind the River Arts building and Maggie waved from the back door. I grabbed one of the canvas bags I kept in the truck for grocery shopping and scooped Owen into it before he could pull yet another disappearing act. I put my purse in next to him, grabbed the date squares and got out of the truck.

“Peter called,” she said, holding the door open for me. “He’ll be here in a minute. Do you mind if we wait for him?”

“I don’t mind,” I said, handing her the date squares. “Did he say what he wanted?”

“No.” Maggie slid a hand over her hair. “Just that it had something to do with Jaeger—well, Peter calls him Christian.”

“Maybe Peter found some family.” Owen was moving restlessly in the bag and I set it on the floor between my feet before Maggie noticed and asked me why the tote bag was squirming.

Peter’s four-wheel drive SUV pulled into the lot then and he got out and walked across the pavement. He was wearing jeans and a denim shirt, his hair back in its usual ponytail.

“Hi Kathleen,” he said when he saw me. “How’s your head?”

“All right,” I said. “Not nearly as bad as it looks.” I gestured to his hand, which was still bandaged. “How’s your hand?”

He smiled. “Not nearly as bad as it looks.” He turned to Maggie. “Maggie, it looks as though I’m definitely going to be taking care of Christian’s estate. Could we set up a time so I can see what’s in his studio?”

“What’s tomorrow morning like for you?” she asked.

“Is eight too early?”

She shook her head. “No. That works for me.”

His face grew serious. His mouth worked and then he said, “Maggie, do you have a lawyer?”

“Why? Do I need a lawyer?” Maggie said, frowning.

He brushed a hand over his neck. “The police did a routine check of Jaeger’s car—it had been towed because it was left parked on the street. There were a couple of masks, packed to be mailed in the car.”

Maggie looked at Peter. She was clearly puzzled. “I know,” she said. “Some of the artists like to wrap their own artwork when it’s going to be sent somewhere. Ruby does. Jaeger did.”

“Do some of the artists use twenty-dollar bills instead of Styrofoam peanuts for padding?” he asked, dryly.

Maggie went completely still. I couldn’t even see her breathing. “What?” she finally said.

“There was ten thousand dollars stuffed in the back of the two masks. The address they were being sent to is a mail drop in Chicago.” He studied her face. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking from his expression. “You’re sure that Jaeger did all the packing?” he asked. “Not you?”

“Of course I’m sure,” Maggie said slowly.

“Peter, what’s this about?” I asked.

He held up a hand, but his eyes never left Maggie’s face. “Give me a minute, Kathleen,” he said. “What about the packing supplies?”

“Other than the money?” she said, anger adding an edge of sarcasm to her voice. “Those all came from the co-op. And there would have been an invoice and a mailing label.”

“Did you print those?”

“Yes, on the store’s computer.”

“Okay,” Peter said thoughtfully and I got the impression he was cataloging everything Maggie said in some mental filing system.

“Wait a minute,” she said. “The police don’t think I had anything to do with that money being hidden in Jaeger’s masks, do they?” Her shoulders were rigid.

He shrugged. “That I don’t know. But before you talk to them again—because they are going to want to talk to you—I think you should get yourself a lawyer.”

“Peter, no one’s going to seriously believe Maggie was involved in some sort of scam with Jaeger are they?” I asked.

“I can’t say for certain,” he said. “I wouldn’t have believed he was forging artwork again, but I can’t come up with any other explanation for that much money stuffed in a couple of masks.”

“Okay, let’s start from the premise that Jaeger was doing something illegal again.” I looked directly at Maggie for a moment before turning my attention back to Peter. “That doesn’t mean Maggie was his partner in crime. Ask anyone. They weren’t exactly getting along. If”—I held up a hand—“if he was working with someone, it’s more likely someone from his past. That’s where the police should be looking, at the people Jaeger—Christian—knew back then.” I didn’t see the point in saying anything about Ray Nightingale to Peter.

“Good to know I have your trust,” Peter said dryly.

“I’m sorry, Peter,” I said. “I didn’t mean you.”

“I know what you meant,” he said. He focused on Maggie again. “I’ve heard there are some…inconsistencies in Christian’s finances. Are they going to find anything off in his sales through the store?”

“No,” Maggie said.

He studied her face and seemed satisfied with whatever he saw there. “All right,” he said. “If the police want to talk to you again, I’d be happy to represent you. You have my card.”

She nodded.

“I’ll see you in the morning, then,” he said. He nodded at me and left.

“That little…” Maggie shook her head and pressed a fist against her mouth. She didn’t swear and she was struggling to find words to describe Jaeger.

I put a hand on her shoulder. “Mags, Peter is a lawyer. I’m not saying he’s overreacting, but keep in mind it’s his job to take everything, every small detail, very seriously. Just because that money was hidden in the masks doesn’t mean the co-op is involved in any other way. And no one, no one—not even Marcus—is seriously going to buy you as Jaeger’s cohort.”

“I have to talk to Ray, Kath,” she said. “If there’s any chance he knows anything…”

“Okay,” I said. “Tomorrow. I’ll come with you.”

She nodded and pushed the sleeves of her T-shirt up to her elbows. “So do you really think Jaeger’s past caught up with him somehow?”

“I think it is possible. Like I said to Peter, he wouldn’t have been hard to find. That auction that Abigail and I went to had some nice artwork, as well as old photographs and rare books. I’m pretty sure there were people from out of state there, as well as from out of town. Jaeger could have easily met someone who knew him as Christian, maybe just by chance.”

There was a loud crash from upstairs, just as I realized the bag between my feet, where Owen was supposed to be waiting, had gone limp.