Murder of a Cranky Catnapper (8 page)

“Mrs. Lynch.” Skye glanced at Wally and he nodded his permission. “I'm the police department psych consultant, Skye Denison-Boyd.”

“May's daughter?”

“Yes.” Skye moved around the barricade and took the woman's arm. “I really think it's best if we sit down so we can tell you everything.”

Mrs. Lynch frowned and said, “I may be old, but you don't have to coddle me.”

“Did Mom tell you that I'm expecting my first baby?” Skye asked stroking her stomach with her free hand. When Mrs. Lynch nodded, Skye said, “I've been on my feet all morning and could really use a rest.”

“Of course.” Mrs. Lynch glared at Wally and Quirk. “Men have no idea what it's like to be pregnant. When I was carrying Palmer, my ankles used to swell up to the size of cantaloupes and Palmer Senior, may he rest in peace, would tell me walking would help.”

“Wally's been trying to get me to go home and take it
easy,” Skye defended her husband. “But I promised your friend Dorothy Snyder that I'd stick around until I was able to speak to you.” Skye patted the older woman's shoulder. “Dorothy wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Something bad has happened to Palmer.” Mrs. Lynch's face paled.

“I'm afraid so.” Skye tugged on the older woman's hand. “Let's sit down in your car and I'll tell you what I can.”

Mrs. Lynch nodded, tears already seeping down her wrinkled cheeks.

Skye assisted the older woman onto the passenger seat of the Lincoln, but before she could close the door to walk around the car, the crime scene tech came running out of the detached garage. Blood was dripping from scratches on his face and arms and he yelled, “Someone needs to catch that damn cat or I'm going to shoot it.”

You will be lucky if you know how to make friends with strange cats.

—COLONIAL PROVERB

S
kye was torn. She couldn't very well leave Mrs. Lynch crying in her car to see what was going on with the cat in Palmer's garage. And since crime scene techs didn't carry guns, she wasn't too worried that the kitty was in any real danger from the guy. Then again, she was anxious to make sure the animal was captured safely.

As Skye vacillated, Wally sent Quirk off to stand guard in the backyard and motioned for her to return to his side of the barricade. She patted the older woman's hand, promised to be right back, then walked over to her husband.

When she reached him, he said in a low voice, “Don't share any details with the vic's mother before I get back from dealing with the cat.”

“Not even that he's dead?” Skye whispered. “I already inferred that.”

“Nothing.” Wally turned toward the detached garage, then paused and added, “On second thought, maybe you should come with me.”

“Why?” Skye's chest heaved in indignation. “You don't trust me?”

“That's not it.” Wally wrapped an arm around her and smiled. “You have a way with cats. Maybe you can get him to come to you on his own. We can't afford to let him get away. The murderer could have locked him in the garage after killing Lynch. The animal could have evidence caught in its claws or teeth or even clinging to its fur.”

“Since you put it that way, okay,” Skye conceded. She did seem to attract kids and animals. “What about Mrs. Lynch?” She glanced over her shoulder at the poor woman, who had risen and was standing at the barricade again. “I need to say something to her. I can't just leave.”

“Give us a minute,” Wally called to the woman, then tried to lead Skye away, but she dug in her heels until he sighed, turned toward Mrs. Lynch, raised his voice, and said, “Skye and I will return shortly. I apologize for the delay, but this needs to be handled immediately.”

“Sorry,” Skye hollered as Wally tugged her toward the garage. “Hang in there.”

The tech was standing with his back to the pedestrian door holding on to the handle as if he thought the cat had grown opposable thumbs and could turn the knob. His skin was dead white and the red scratches stood out like a scene from a horror movie.

As Skye and Wally approached, he blurted out, “I found the key ring in the kitchen just like the chief said. It took me a few minutes to figure out the right one for this door, and when I opened it, some giant demon cat from hell jumped me from above. It was all I could do to get it off me and close it inside the garage.”

Skye and Wally glanced at each other. Wally's gaze flitted to her stomach and he frowned, obviously having misgivings about involving his pregnant wife. He opened his mouth, but Skye scowled at him.

Evidently reconsidering what he'd been about to say to her, Wally exhaled and straightened his shoulders. Nodding as if accepting her silent reprimand, he motioned for the tech to move out of the way.

When the guy hesitated, Wally ordered, “Go into the house and see if you can find a can of cat food.”

“I didn't notice any food or bowls or litter box,” the tech said. “There wasn't any sign of a pet inside that residence.”

“I just remembered that Palmer's girlfriend told me he didn't like animals so I doubt this is his cat.” Skye exchanged another glance with Wally, then turned to the tech and said, “Look for a can of tuna or salmon.”

Once the tech took off toward the house, Wally said, “I'll open the door a crack and you start talking to the cat like you do with Bingo.”

“Bingo only listens to me about a tenth of the time,” Skye warned.

“Which is ten times more than he listens to anyone else,” Wally said as he eased the door open a couple of inches. “Especially me.”

“True.” Skye sank to her knees and, softening her voice, said, “Mr. Kitty, we're here to help you. If you come out, I'll get you something yummy to eat. I bet you'd like some tuna fish.”

Nothing happened. Skye groaned, moved closer to the opening, and sat cross-legged—she was too off balance because of the baby to kneel or squat for long. She continued to speak in a soothing tone, offering food. When there was no response, she promised a variety of toys.

Just as she was about to give up, a gray and white face appeared. Skye reached out and rubbed under the kitty's chin. He purred, half closing his blue eyes, and leaned into her fingers, revving his engine.

Wally opened the door wider and the cat strolled through, climbed on Skye's lap, and wrapped his fluffy
tail around her arm. She continued to pet and scratch the kitty as she inspected it.

“Is he okay?” Wally asked, leaning down and stroking the cat's back.

Before answering, Skye examined the tag on the collar. After reading it, she said, “
She
seems fine. And as I suspected, the reason that there's no animal stuff in the house is that this isn't Palmer's pet.”

“Then who does she belong to?” Wally asked, wrinkling his brow.

“Princess Honey Bluebell is Dr. Quillen's therapy cat.” Skye bit her lip. “I thought I recognized her.”

“What's she doing in Lynch's garage?” Wally asked, continuing to pet the cat. “Do you think she got locked in by mistake?”

“I seriously doubt it.” Skye passed the kitty to Wally, then held out her hand for him to help her to her feet. “Dr. Quillen called me after I got home from church to tell me he had to cancel the session with my grade school group because Belle had been stolen.”

“Shit!” Wally gave the cat back to Skye. “Why didn't I know about that?”

“If I recall correctly, you told me that shortly after I left for school, Mom called you into the PD because of the American Legion break-in.” Skye walked back toward the house. “I'm guessing you didn't have time to do anything but handle that situation. Certainly not sit around and read about yesterday's cases.”

“Oh. Yeah. Right.” Wally ran his fingers through his hair. “Which means, we now have what seems to be three really weird crimes.”

“I can't figure out how the Legion break-in fits in, but the fact that a stolen cat was locked in Palmer's garage has to mean something.” She smiled as Belle climbed up her chest and draped herself around Skye's neck. “What I can't understand is why Miss Kitty here attacked the
crime scene guy. Dr. Quillen would never use her for therapy if she wasn't trained and as gentle as a lamb.”

“So she seems.” Wally tapped his chin. “Maybe once the tech processes the garage, we'll have more of an idea what set Belle off.”

“In the meantime”—Skye gestured toward the woman standing at the barricade—“we really need to talk to Mrs. Lynch. It's cruel making her wait any longer. She looks like she's ready to faint.”

“What are we going to do with Belle?” Wally asked. “It's too warm to lock her in the squad car and I don't want to bring her inside the house because any trace she leaves might contaminate forensic evidence of her previous presence in Lynch's place.”

“I'll just hold her.” Skye shrugged. “Palmer's girlfriend told me that his mother bred prize-winning German shepherds, so she must be an animal lover.”

“Who's this girlfriend?” Wally asked as he moved the sawhorses so Skye could walk between them. “And how do you know her so well?”

“Virginia Elders,” Skye said. “She's a teacher.”

Wally took out a pad and pen from his shirt pocket and made a note.

“Mrs. Lynch,” Skye said to the woman when they reached her. “I'm so sorry for keeping you waiting.”

“I see you tamed the cat.” Mrs. Lynch's tears had disappeared, and she reached out to stroke Belle's fur. “I'm shocked it was in Palmer's garage. He doesn't like animals. He . . . he . . .” She stuttered to a stop, took a deep breath, and asked, “What's happened to him?”

“I'm sorry to inform you that your son is dead,” Wally said.

“How?” Mrs. Lynch swayed and Wally reached out to steady her. “Was it a heart attack? I warned him he was working too hard.”

“When is the last time you saw him?” Wally ignored the woman's question.

“We spoke on the phone late Saturday afternoon, just before I went to five o'clock Mass.”

“Did he tell you what his plans were for the rest of the night?” Wally asked.

“Just the usual.” Mrs. Lynch sniffled. “He said he was going to order a pizza, watch the Cubs on television, and go to bed early.”

“How about Sunday?”

“Go to church, make some campaign calls about his run for school board president, and work on some bookkeeping for his stores.”

Skye was impressed that the older woman was holding up so well, but from the way her hands were shaking and her lips quivering, she would break down any minute. Elbowing Wally, Skye directed his attention to the signs that they were about to lose Mrs. Lynch. He nodded his understanding, opened the Lincoln's passenger door, and eased Palmer's mother onto the seat.

“Skye saw your son at Mass on Sunday.” Wally squatted down so that he was eye level with the woman. “Was he planning to go out for brunch with anyone or have them over to this house after that?”

“Not that he told me.” Mrs. Lynch's voice trembled and she blinked away the moisture filling her eyes. “He'd recently had a tiff with his lady friend and he hadn't mentioned seeing anyone else.”

“I work with Virginia Elders and she told me they were dating just last Monday,” Skye said, then glanced at Wally to see if it was okay if she continued. He smiled and Skye asked, “What happened?”

“I don't have the details.” Mrs. Lynch frowned. “Palmer said she took offense at something he said, but he was sure that she'd get over it.”

“Virginia is pretty easygoing,” Skye said. “I wonder what upset her.”

“Who knows?” Mrs. Lynch shrugged. “Young people are so politically correct nowadays it could be anything. Palmer had strong opinions and he wasn't shy about sharing them with people.”

“So I understand,” Skye murmured, stroking Belle's soft fur.

“Mrs. Lynch, where were you last night between eleven and one?” Wally asked.

“I went on a senior trip to Franklin Barn Theatre. The bus left from the bank at three. Dinner was from six thirty to seven thirty and the show started at eight. Afterwards, once everyone used the restroom and such, we left for Scumble River about ten. We arrived back around one. I drove my friend Glory to her place and I walked into my house at one fifteen.” Mrs. Lynch frowned, then comprehension dawned in her eyes and she gasped, “Are you asking me if I have an alibi? Oh. My. God! Palmer was murdered?”

With that, Mrs. Lynch burst into hysterical sobs and collapsed against the seat. Skye thrust Belle into Wally's arms, knelt beside the open car door, and took the older woman's hand. She let her cry, handing her the last of the tissues from her purse, which thankfully was still strapped across her chest.

Once Mrs. Lynch's weeping subsided, Skye said, “I can't imagine how awful it is to lose a child, especially to violence, but we really need your help.” The older woman sniffled and nodded. “Do you have any idea who would want to harm your son? A business deal gone bad maybe?”

“He didn't talk about that kind of thing with me,” Mrs. Lynch said. “He always tried to protect me from the harsher truths.”

“What about his personal life?” Wally asked, and
Skye knew he was thinking about the sexual implications of how Palmer's body was found.

“Virginia seemed like a lovely girl.” Mrs. Lynch shrugged hopelessly. “And as I said, I'm not aware of anyone else he might have been dating.” She paused. “Although that doesn't mean he wasn't seeing another woman. Maybe that's what they fought about.”

There was an uneasy expression on Mrs. Lynch's face, and Skye wondered if the woman knew more than she was sharing about her son's love life. Even if that were true, this wasn't the time to push her to reveal it.

After several more questions, Skye could tell that Wally was wrapping up the interview. She tugged him aside and whispered, “Can I tell Mrs. Lynch about Palmer being tied up, et cetera? I think she'll react better with it coming from me and maybe be more open regarding what she knows about her son's sex life.”

“I want to keep that quiet as long as possible.” Wally rubbed his cheek. “Although I'm not sure how long Dorothy will last before blabbing.”

“From what she said to me, Dorothy is afraid of somehow being tarnished from the same brush of this scandal. I sincerely doubt she'll tell anyone,” Skye reassured him. “And there is no way in heaven that Mrs. Lynch is going to share the information.”

“Okay.” Wally squinted at the broken woman sitting with her head in her hands. “But first let me confirm her alibi with the bank's Senior Club director, then warn Mrs. Lynch not to say a word about the murder.”

“How about if I drive her home?” Skye suggested. “She's in no shape to be behind the wheel of a car. I can tell her about Palmer then.”

“Good idea.” Wally gave Skye a one-armed hug, then gestured to the cat he was holding. “What about Princess Honey Bluebell here?”

“Want me to call Dr. Quillen?” Skye offered. “I'm
sure he'll be relieved she's okay and will come right over here and get her.”

“You do that, but don't give him any information other than that his cat has been located. While you telephone him, I'll go round up the crime scene tech to process her for evidence. Then I'll contact the bank's activity director.” Wally started toward the garage, but paused and said, “I better get the guy in the house to handle Belle. The one in the garage might still be bleeding and holding a grudge.”