A Story to Kill (7 page)

Cat and Shauna stared at the woman as she made her way up the stairway. They turned and looked at each other when they heard the door to her room open, then close. “She's taking his death pretty philosophically, don't you think?”

“I think she's weird,” Sara said. The girl walked into the foyer from the small alcove between the living room and the hallway. “Who says that about their husband?”

Sara left the house through the front door, and Cat looked at Shauna who shrugged. “Maybe he's had death threats before? Maybe she's been expecting something to happen to him.”
Maybe Linda had been hoping for her husband to pass on
. She decided to take a trip down to the station to talk to her uncle.

“You have any of those chocolate chip muffins left over from breakfast?” Cat aimed her friend to the kitchen.

“You're actually hungry? It's mid-day; you're never hungry after lunch.” Shauna pushed the door to the kitchen open. “I could make you a sandwich or a bowl of soup.”

“Just the muffins, and put several in a sack. I'm taking a treat down to Uncle Pete.” Cat grabbed her keys and wallet and stuffed them into a jacket pocket. “I'll be back soon.”

“Seeing if he knows Linda Cook is a little off her rocker?” Shauna held out the filled bag.

Cat nodded. “I want to make sure my guests are safe. At least the ones that aren't dead.”

Chapter 7

“Sorry, the chief just left.” The cheery receptionist wore an Aspen Hills official police uniform. “He was called up to the campus again. Fall semester is always a little crazy until the kids realize being away from home doesn't mean they're away from rules.”

Cat held up the sack filled with muffins. “Can I leave this on his desk with a note to call me?”

The woman waved the sack closer and took it from Cat. “I can put it on his desk.” She unfolded the top and peeked in. “Are those blueberry?”

“Chocolate chip. My friend made them up this morning.” Cat leaned closer to read the woman's nametag. “You can have one if you want, Katie.”

She pulled out the top muffin and set it on her desk. Then she peered at me. “Are you the chief 's niece? Catherine, right?”

Cat held out a hand. “Everyone calls me Cat.”

“Katie Bowman. Your uncle talks about you all the time. He's so happy you moved back to Aspen Hills.” Katie leaned closer. “Tell me about California. Did you meet any celebrities? Any actors?”

“I thought I saw Hugh Jackman in the coffee drive-up once. The car was a sweet little roadster and the guy looked just like Hugh. I mean, it could have been someone else, but the car was way too expensive for a normal guy.” Cat nodded to the muffin. “You can try the muffin. I just ate.”

“I'm saving it for my three o'clock treat. Typically, I get something out of the vending machines. I need the sugar for a pick-me-up.” Katie sighed. “Of course, then the sugar rush is gone by five and I'm dragging myself out of here. Hugh Jackman, that's so cool.”

“I think it was him, at least.” Cat leaned her arm against the high desk. “I have to tell you, meeting Tom Cook was twice as cool. Or at least it was until he was killed in one of my rooms. I mean, what's the luck that I'd have a murder the first week I'm doing this retreat thing.”

“Bad business.” Katie shook her head. “Sorry you had to open to that. I bet it will make the next session hard to fill.”

“It might if we still don't have a murderer or theory by then.” Cat peered at Katie. “You wouldn't know how the investigation is going, now would you?”

Katie leaned forward. “I'm not supposed to talk about these things, but you are family. I bet he wouldn't mind.” She turned and looked both ways down the hall. When she was certain no one was around to hear her, she muttered, “They don't have a clue. I mean, the one guy seemed like a good suspect, but Amy Potter swears they were doing the nasty all night long. And you know how that girl is—she probably wasn't fibbing.”

Yep, this was the same Amy inviting Seth over to her house for early morning troubleshooting. As she turned to leave, a thought hit her. “Hey, did Mrs. Cook talk to my uncle yet?”

Katie nodded. “Poor woman, she was beside herself. The chief had to borrow a box of tissues just to get through the interview. She really loved that guy.”

Overwrought hadn't been her experience with Linda Cook. “Do you know if she told Uncle Pete about knowing Dean Vargas or attending undergrad here?”

“I don't eavesdrop when your uncle is interviewing suspects. It's rude and above my pay grade here. I'm a level-one receptionist, so I greet people, answer the phone, and sometimes file.” Katie squared her shoulders, her cheeks pink from the emotion Cat had instigated with the question.

“No, I just wondered if, when they were going in and making small talk, she'd said anything.” Cat instinctively took a step back. “I wasn't trying to say you weren't doing your job.”

Katie stared at her for a few seconds. Cat wondered if she was trying to read her sincerity from her words. “You're a lot like your uncle. You see a mystery in everything. But sometimes a death is just a death.”

“Tom Cook didn't just die.”

“Doesn't mean his wife had anything to do with the death.” Katie paused, appearing to weigh her next words. “I know she told me about her and Tom attending school here. I have no idea if she told your uncle or not.”

Cat told the police officer good-bye and left the station. She wasn't any further along in finding out who killed Tom Cook than she'd been that morning. She stopped dead in her tracks. Wait—she was trying to solve the murder? Why? Her uncle had taken her on ride-arounds when she was in high school. Mostly, she thought at the time, to scare her away from the evils of drink and drugs. The drug part had worked. She'd never wanted to even try something that took her out of control. But she had to admit, she enjoyed a frozen drink now and then, especially on hot summer days out on the deck. That had been her and Shauna's Sunday ritual. Go to the beach, sit in the sand, and pretend they were on some exotic island where they didn't have to go back to work the next day. Or night, in Shauna's case.

She pushed away the happy memory and got back to the question at hand. Why was she “investigating” Tom Cook's murder? Uncle Pete wouldn't be happy if he found out. But maybe if she could hand him some clues to the murderer's identity, he'd forgive her.

Besides, she appeased her good side, the only reason you're interested is to save the writer's retreat. Having a death the first week in business might keep people from booking 700 Warm Springs for their next getaway. Bolstered by that thought, she headed back to the house. Time to get some words on the page.

When she reached Warm Springs, she saw the group of people walking toward her, led by Professor Turner. He waved, almost knocking off his straw fedora, and paused as they met. “Good afternoon, Miss Latimer. I'm leading the team over to the library. I promised Daisy I'd show her the college's collection of Shakespeare papers, and the rest just decided to come along as well.” He grinned and looked back at the retreat guests. “I have to say, they're a determined lot. I expect to be reading all their published books next year.”

Cat scanned the group: Everyone was accounted for, and it was free writing time anyway. “Sounds like a plan.” She looked at Rose. “Call the house if you need Shauna or I to come walk you back later.”

“You could just send that handyman who took us gambling the other night. What an alpha! I swear I'm changing the hero in my next book just to honor him.” Rose poked me in the stomach. “You want to be the heroine? That way you could have your happy ending without even having to work for it.”

“Thanks, but I'm kind of a do-it-yourselfer when it comes to things of the heart.” Cat started to walk through the small crowd when a hand reached out and grabbed her sleeve, stopping her.

“Do you know who the other lady is that checked into your place?” Sara Laine stared at Cat with unblinking eyes.

She straightened herself and wanted to push Sara's hand off her jacket, but Cat held calm. “Linda Cook, Tom's wife? She came to collect the remains, but I guess with an ongoing investigation, she has to stay around.”

“She needs to leave.” Sara jerked on Cat's sleeve for emphasis.

Cat unpeeled her fingers from the cloth. The girl was beginning to act certifiable. “Look, before you go ripping up my jacket, you need to just chill. Linda's going to be around until the police release Tom's body. If you have a problem with that, you're more than welcome to leave.”

Sara narrowed her eyes. “You'd like that, wouldn't you? Then you could go into Dean Vargas's office and tell him I was unreasonable. I bet you'd even dab at fake tears to get him to look at you.”

“What are you talking about?” But Sara just turned around and ran to catch up with the rest of the group. Man, this hospitality career was going to be harder than Cat had imagined. Not only had she dealt with a murder, she had not just one but two loonies sign up for the inaugural session. This didn't bode well for the rest of the sessions. She really needed to screen the next group better.

When she reached home, she hurried into the kitchen and found it empty. A note sat in the middle of the table. She picked it up and read Shauna's neat handwriting aloud.
I've gone into town to shop. I won't forget your junk food list.

Cat grabbed a small bag of kettle chips and a soda out of the fridge. The house was empty. Even Seth's truck was missing from its normal spot out front. She was alone and itching to get some words down on the page.

She headed up to the third floor and locked herself into her office. Seth had set up a visual security system that monitored the front and back door. It only came on when someone entered the house, so she'd have plenty of time to rejoin the group when they arrived back from their library trip. But all of the crew had carried their laptops, so Cat was certain they were going to take some writing time at the majestic building. Writing by a window in the stacks had always made Cat feel like a real author, even when she was an undergraduate English major. The library had instilled a sense of calm in her as she pecked away at the keyboard and wrote her first novel.

The novel that had never been picked up, even though Michael had praised her for her lyrical prose. The next book she'd written in secret, just for her enjoyment. When that one had been finished, she'd shipped it off to several potential agents who had asked to see her next project.

She'd gotten five offers of representation. From nothing to five in less than a year. She'd been dumbfounded. She interviewed the agents, then went with her gut and hired the woman who Michael had advised against even querying. And she'd never regretted the decision. Husbands may come and go, but a good agent is in it for the long haul.

Now, writing the last book in her three-book deal, Cat felt pressure to make this book the best of the three. To wow her readers.

An hour later, with a scene complete, Cat rose and took her chip bag to the window. Finishing off the last few chips, she watched the street, wondering when she'd have to give up the solitude. She enjoyed hosting these retreats, but like most authors she was an introvert, so having this many people in her house drained her.

Thank God for Shauna, she thought. The girl loved people and talking and was a perfect ying to Cat's yang, at least in the hostess category. Most of the time, Shauna would be handling the guests, moving them from scheduled activity to free time without Cat even having to be in the area. Cat wasn't stupid. She knew people would sign up for the retreat to meet a real author. One with connections. She'd lucked out when Tom Cook had arrived. Cat's work wasn't even in the same league as this guy. But now that he was gone, she'd have to be more attentive to the group.

She saw something run across the backyard out of the corner of her eye. Coyote? Or maybe just a stray dog? She'd been hesitant to get a pet mostly because the animal might be considered food for the larger animals that stalked the area at night. They were too close to the national park for her to believe it wasn't a possibility. What if one of the guests had an allergy? There were so many things to consider for her new business.

Cat settled back down to her writing chair and dug back into the fictional world. A bang from the attic caused her to jump. “Damn, Seth, keep it down up there.”

She focused back on the writing. Before long, another bang jerked her out of the story. She saved the document and pushed her chair back. She needed another soda anyway. It was time to give Seth the rules of the house, including times he could make noise in the attic. She had a deadline coming up and she had to meet her daily word goals.

Had to.

She started upstairs to the attic but paused when she heard the front door open. Stepping back down to the third floor landing she called out, “Who's that?”

“Good afternoon to you as well,” Seth called back up to her, as he came up the stairs. She met him on the third-floor landing. He now stood in front of her, a bag from the local hardware store in his hand. “I ran out of finishing nails, and I wanted to finish up a sample of the window seating today. I think you're going to love it. Of course, you'll have to make decisions on the upholstery, but we can do that next week.”

Cat stared at the bag. “So you were upstairs in the attic working, but then you went to the store?”

“Yep. See the evidence?” He jiggled the bag with a laugh. He started to step around her, but she grabbed his hand, stopping him. He studied her face. “What the heck's up with you? Don't tell me you're mad about last night. I thought we had fun.”

“No. I mean, yes, I had fun. But this isn't about last night. When did you get back from the store?” Cat squeezed his hand, wondering if she was going to pass out.

“Are you all right? You saw me walk in with the bag, what, thirty seconds ago? A minute if you count my parking the truck?” He leaned closer. “You don't look so good. Do you need to sit down?”

She pointed to the ceiling. “I was writing and heard something in the attic.” She paused. “Wait, I might have seen something in the backyard earlier. I assumed it was a dog or a coyote.”

“When did you see the dog?”

Cat shrugged. “I don't know. An hour ago? I took a break from writing, stood in the window for a few minutes, then saw something cross the yard. I wasn't looking straight at it, so it could have been anything.”

“And the noise? When did that happen?” Seth was calm and rubbing her upper arms.

She stepped away from the touch. “I guess about ten minutes ago. I ignored the first one. Then, when it happened again, I came out to tell you to be quiet.”

His lips turned up on the ends a bit at that one.

“What? I'm a writer. I need my quiet time to get anything done. Or at least not banging.” Cat looked up at the ceiling. “But it wasn't you up there.”