“Listen, buddy,” said Alec, placing his hand on the man’s shoulder. “We’ll investigate further, all right? But it’s not looking too good for you, you do see that, right?”
Gabriel lifted his head from the table, a big red welt on his forehead. It contrasted nicely with the pallor of the rest of his face. “It doesn’t look too good for me,” he repeated automatically, then added, “Someone is trying to frame me, Chief. There’s no other possibility.”
“Or you killed him and blocked it out,” said the Chief gently.
Gabriel blinked. “Yeah,” he said finally. “I guess that’s also possible.”
Chapter 14
Odelia arrived home a little after six. She’d written the biggest chunk of her article for the paper but there were still a few gaps in the story she needed to patch up. She hoped Max and the others would have sniffed out a few choice tidbits of intel, straight from the horse’s mouth, or, if a horse hadn’t been available, some other animal. The petting zoo should have supplied plenty of material to work with. Those little details that give a story oomph and that je-ne-sais-quoi your average reader is looking for when picking up his morning paper or checking his morning website, as nowadays was more the habit.
The Hampton Cove Gazette had been around for such a long time it had become an institution in the home of Hampton Covians, and with a little help from the newspaper gods it would remain that way for a good long time to come. Even though Dan was getting on in years, he wasn’t about to retire any time soon, and even if he was, his succession was assured in the form of Odelia, his number-one lieutenant.
Thinking about succession, Odelia suddenly wondered what the deal with Pussy would be now that she was officially the head of the company. And with Gabe in jail, who the person in charge of her care would be. She’d been searching online but had found precious little information in that regard. Vowing to talk to her future hubby, who had, no doubt, in the course of his fireside chats with Flake’s killer, gleaned that morsel of info and then some, she hurried into the house, eager to interview man and beast in the service of her article.
The first living form she met was Chase, draped across the sofa and reading on his phone.
“Hey, babe,” he said as she came hurrying in. “Did you finish your article?”
“Not yet,” she said as she took a seat across from him. “Now tell me all about what happened with Gabriel. Did he do it, and if he did, why did he do it, and if he didn’t, why was he standing over his lover’s dead body with a bloodied knife in his hand and a murderer’s dazed look in his eyes?”
“Well, he claims he didn’t do it, though he’s not entirely sure, and he concedes that it’s not looking too good for him,” Chase revealed, with the easygoing manner of the first party who knows all and is about to impart some of his secrets to a deserving second party.
“So he thinks he didn’t do it but he admits he might have done it?”
“Something like that. Your uncle went full bad cop on him but instead of folding the man simply burst into tears and stuck to his guns. He has no recollection of what happened. One minute he was sound asleep in his bed, and the next he was standing there, the image of the crazed killer.”
“Huh.”
“It’s possible he’s lying, of course, though he didn’t give me that impression. “
“He could have done it and then blocked out the memory.”
“Possible, though it will probably take a psychologist to dig that out of his subconscious.”
“Is it possible he didn’t do it? That someone else planted that knife in his hand?”
“How? The man was there. He wasn’t sleepwalking.”
Odelia thought about this. “He could have been. Or someone could have put something in his drink that made him lose consciousness.”
Chase shook his head. “In my experience the most plausible explanation is usually the right one, babe. The man was there, and he more or less confessed, and even if he doesn’t remember we have enough evidence to get a conviction.”
“So case closed?”
“As far as your uncle is concerned, case closed, and I doubt whether a judge will think otherwise.”
She glanced around. “Where are my cats?”
He picked up his phone again. “Haven’t seen them, actually.”
She got up and went in search of her feline brood. “Maxie,” she said, checking the kitchen, then shouting up at the bottom of the stairs, “Max? Dooley? Are you guys up there?”
When no response came, Chase shouted from the living room, “Maybe they’re outside. I think I saw Harriet in the backyard when I got home—or at least a flash of something white and fluffy.”
She walked to the sliding glass door and stepped out onto the deck. “Max? Dooley? Harriet? Brutus? Anyone?”
Suddenly a white head came peeking from beyond the tulip tree at the back of the garden. It was a favored spot for her cats, especially Harriet and Brutus, who’d turned it into some sort of lovers’ lane—minus the lane.
The white head immediately retracted but Odelia headed over there, wondering about the sudden coyness of her cats. Usually when she arrived home they were at the door, welcoming her, or complaining loudly that she’d arrived so late and had left them to their own devices.
“Harriet?” she said. “Is that you?” When no response came she went down on hands and knees and checked underneath the foliage. “I know you’re in there, honey. Is Max with you?”
Finally, realizing the gig was up, and playing hide and seek would no longer serve her purpose, whatever it was, Harriet emerged, followed by Brutus. “No, Max isn’t here,” she said, a little coldly. “Nor will you find him on the premises. At least not as long as he doesn’t want to be found.”
This was getting curiouser and curiouser. “What do you mean? Why would Max not want to be found?”
“We’re on strike,” said Brutus.
“Shush, Brutus, “said Harriet.
“Oh, I didn’t know it was a secret,” said Brutus.
“It’s not a secret, per se,” Harriet admitted, “but it’s better Odelia finds out for herself.”
“You’re on strike?” said Odelia, wondering what her cats were up to this time. “Why?”
“That’s for us to know and for you to find out,” said Harriet, acting her usual prissy self.
“Not enough attention,” said Brutus, who seemed more forthcoming with information than his mate.
“Brutus!”
“What? She’s going to find out soon enough anyway, so why not tell her what’s going on?”
“She knows perfectly well what’s going on. She simply prefers to play dumb,” said Harriet, giving Odelia a nasty look.
“Well, I don’t get it,” said Odelia, taking a seat on the lawn. She moved aside a rubber ball and a garden gnome Gran had put there for the cats’ entertainment. “Now tell me all, please, because I’m not getting it.”
“If you don’t get it, maybe you should think about it a little more,” said Harriet.
“Oh, for crying out loud,” said Odelia, throwing up her hands. “Tell me what’s going on already, will you?”
“Fine,” said Harriet, then pressed her lips together and gave her partner in crime a look that said, ‘You tell her.’
“We feel that you’ve been ignoring us lately,” said Brutus, taking the plunge.
“You told me about that in the car, remember? And I apologized and said I was sorry and you said you each needed twelve percent of my time and I was ready to agree to that in writing when we got interrupted.”
“Well, we feel you’re not taking our negotiations seriously so we decided to go on strike,” said Harriet. “So there will be no more sleuthing on your behalf until you tell us what you’re up to.”
“Up to?”
“Oh, don’t play dumb, Odelia!” said Harriet. “We know very well that you’re about to get married and as soon as you do you and Chase will move away—possibly to England, possibly to New York—and you’ll dump us!”