CATch a Killer (A Millie Holland Cat Cozy Mystery Series Book 2)

  CATch a Killer

  Nancy C. Davis

  ©2015 Nancy C. Davis

  Copyright © 2015

  No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known, hereinafter invented, without express written permission from the author.

  This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Thank you

  Your Gifts

  Chapter 1

  Watching the clock as the President addressed the nation, Millie groaned. His speech preempted her show, and that irritated her beyond measure. Now, she’d be forced to find the episode – which was a brand new one – online and watch it on her computer screen, in an odd place at an odd time.

  She absently petted Harlow, sprawled out beside her like the Hollywood mogul she was without a bit of shame and only halfway listened to the speech that some yahoo behind the scenes had written, which the President himself had obviously only read for the first time maybe an hour ago.

  Was it really too much to ask that he choose a different time, or maybe kept his speeches shorter? “Are you hearing this drivel?” she asked Grant, who sat astutely on the floor, staring at the screen with his tail twitching. “Wouldn’t you rather be curled up to me watching are favorite story?

  Grant yawned, and Coraline let out a yowl. “I agree. Even the news isn’t this boring.” As if on cue, the President stepped away from the mike, the audience of reporters clapped, and the news anchor appeared. The address had sufficiently lasted throughout her entire show, and now, it was time for the news.

  She started to flip the channel until she saw the small box appear up in the right corner of the screen, showing police tape and blue and red disco lights. Viggo sat up, waking from his nap on the back of the couch, stretching and placing a paw on Millie’s shoulder like he wanted to stop her from getting too involved. If it was up to him, bedtime would come three hours earlier and last three hours longer every day. He was ready for bed, but Millie was incredibly interested and turned up the volume to listen to the story.

  “The two men found dead on the scene have been identified as 42-year-old Gordon Whitman and 31-year-old Daniel Carlisle. The jewelry store belonged to Whitman, and though the police haven’t yet spoken officially to the press, Detective Jonathan Marx, the lead investigator on the crime scene, states that it appears to be a simple case of Carlisle staging a robbery and Whitman defending himself. Raymond Coates, our breaking news correspondent, speculates this will be an open and shut case, as there is no sign of forced entry or an accomplice. More on this breaking story as details become available.”

  Millie was off the couch instantly, headed for her computer. Detective Marx, who had obviously been promoted since she’d last spoken with him, was a wonderful detective and the right man for the job. But Whitman’s Jewelers was far too close to home and the jewelry store she frequented. She couldn’t stand for that sort of criminal activity to go without justice in her neighborhood. She booted up the computer and, while she waited, she trod over to the kitchen and poured herself a cup of room-temperature coffee, sticking it in the microwave to heat.

  Viggo followed her, wrapping himself around her legs, but she shook a finger at him.

  “You do realize that breaking my ankle by tripping me will delay going to bed, since I’ll have to go to the emergency room first, right? If you ever want to climb into bed tonight, you should march away.”

  He stuck his tail straight in the air and marched away, offended that she’d so easily picked up on his machinations. Grant hissed a laugh of amusement at the feline as he passed, poking fun at him for not being subtle. If there was a cat in this house who understood what that term meant, it was Grant.

  The microwave beeped, and Millie grabbed the mug, carrying it over to her desk and sitting up straight in her office chair. At her age, she couldn’t afford to slouch; it caused too many random aches and pains. She’d spent too many years in cold climates, and though she was incredibly healthy, she suffered the arthritis that was a consequence of her choices. Now, she lived in a warm but humid climate, thinking someplace like Phoenix would be unbearably dry, and the moisture sometimes got the best of her. Good posture helped keep her strong, and she tried to do anything she could to avoid recognizing the years marching across her face.

  Newman hopped up on the desk and thrust his tail across the keyboard, blocking Millie from typing as she brought up an internet browser. She attempted to move him, and he turned to tickle her nose with his whiskers. “No, sir, you may not play with the mouse. This isn’t a game. I’m doing something important. If you want to play with the mouse, do it on your own time.”

  He laid his ears down, pouting as he moved off to the side and curled up. It seemed all her babies were moody tonight. She didn’t blame them; they hadn’t gotten their dose of criminal investigations, either, and they’d had to sit through the same mind-numbing monotone speech she had, hoping to catch at least a few minutes of something to feed the addiction.

  Now, though, Millie had other things on her mind and didn’t have the patience for their complaints. She brought up several windows, going to all the sites maintained by local new stations, and began to search for more information on the story. She’d helped solved one case that almost slipped through the cracks; she could do it again. She needed more information, though, if she was going to point out any possibility that calling this case ‘open and shut’ was a mistake.

  Coraline coughed several times, and Millie frowned down at her where she stood beside the chair. “Are you reading my mind again?” She could have sworn the cat nodded, and she sighed. “I’m not being a nosy busybody. I’m being a concerned citizen offering every bit of assistance to our humble law enforcement unit as I can.” Grant brushed against her leg, obviously agreeing with her, and Millie turned back to the monitor. All she found were short blurbs about the incident, which had happened too recently for major details to be available or any full page stories to have gotten out.

  Switching gears, she closed all those windows and opened a new one, deciding maybe searching for personal information on the two dead men might give her some clue. She started with the owner of the jewelry store, Gordon Whitman, who she’d had the pleasure of meeting once or twice during her patronage. Certainly he would have plenty of public information, considering the popularity of his store.

  He wasn’t native to Florida, but so few were that it didn’t matter too much. He’d come from North Carolina originally, but Millie didn’t need to know his history there, since he hadn’t opened the store until he’d come to Florida twenty years earlier. She saw no notations of a criminal history, which meant he likely wasn’t a convict. She could have attested to that; he was the epitome of the upstanding citizen. He was divorced, evidently leaving his wife behind in North Carolina. She did the math and assumed they’d been v
ery young when they married.

  Coraline hissed a laugh, and Millie shot her a withering glare. “I’m not casting stones, child, just calling it like it is. It takes one to know one, you know.”

  Looking back to the screen, she continued reading. Whitman had no children, and aside from the jewelry store, he also owned two pawn shops downtown and a couple of small restaurants in the area. It sounded as though he lived affluently. Something that struck Millie as odd, though, was that Mr. Whitman would have been closing up his shop for the evening. She’d been in there at almost every time of day, hundreds of times over the last few years, whether to buy or peruse. She could count on one hand the number of times he’d actually been in the shop, and all of those had been midday. Why was he there so late?

  Whatever the reason, it was tragic, and she considered that a legacy had died tonight. The important thing now, though, was that none of that gave her any clue about the circumstances of his death. Newman sneezed directly on the keyboard and glared at her. Millie glared back and told him, “I’m aware the supposed suspect is dead, but that doesn’t mean there wasn’t a second man who got away.”

  He dropped his head, done protesting. Scowling, Millie started running her searches on David Carlisle. Again, nothing stuck out as abnormal. The man had a wife of six years and one young daughter, four. He worked security downtown, which would have been the reason he had access to a gun, and though he had some minor infractions in his early adulthood for drug possession and petty theft, his record had been clean for more than ten years, and none of them were felonies. Again, it showed good faith that he’d managed to pass a background check and be issued a gun for his security job.

  He and his family didn’t own any property, and the address listed was a house in a nice area of town that they must have been leasing. Millie knew the neighborhood; the houses were small but well kept.

  Neither man had any history of mental illness or violence, and Carlisle had lived in Florida all his life, hailing from Miami. The only clue she got from her search went back to the charges from Carlisle’s youth. She searched for information on those arrests and found a couple of other names associated with his. They would have been his accomplices then, and while they’d lived in Miami at the time, it didn’t mean they hadn’t resurfaced for a new heist. When guys were close like that, all it took was for one of them to fall on hard times, and the others would rally and help out by any means necessary.

  Her eyes started to burn, and she reluctantly admitted to herself it was time for bed. She quickly pulled up her calendar so she could plan out her day tomorrow. She needed to run a couple of errands in the morning, and she had to come home and work on responding to emails for her weekly columns. She had a few already saved for times like this, when she had other things that took priority, so she might be able to set that aside. She added a note with the list of names she’d recovered in association with Carlisle, determined to research them and see if she could find a potential suspect still on the loose, and then she shut down for the night.

  As she scooted back from the desk in her chair, Harlow purred and jumped into her lap, rubbing her face against Millie’s palm. “I don’t think you’re starved for attention, darling. You’re just an attention hog. Come on, everyone. Let’s go to bed.” The President’s address was to blame for her drowsiness, she was sure, and she was going to get up early tomorrow to start her day and perhaps drop in on Detective Marx.

  ***

  The morning was hectic; the cats were grumpy and fought over their food, despite having separate bowls. It didn’t happen often, but when it did, Millie momentarily wondered why she had so many of them. To keep her sanity, she separated herself, taking her coffee and breakfast muffin into the bedroom and shutting the door. She ate quickly at her vanity and then showered and dressed before cautiously opening her door and finding her cats lounging on the couch, looking dejected.

  “You be nice to each other,” she chided as she carried her dishes to the kitchen. “There’s no time for making up now. I have errands to run and mysteries to solve. We’ll just have to try to have a better evening together and not act like spoiled kitties.”

  She gathered her purse and wallet and headed out. She had to put gas in the car, pick up some dry cleaning she’d been putting off for days, and buy a few groceries. The trip took a little over an hour, and Millie felt she made good time as she pulled up to the police station. She was stopped on her way in, a young uniform officer at the front desk asking her business. She gave him a demeaning smile and told him, “Young man, I’m here to see Detective Marx, but the business is mine, and I find it intrusive and impolite to ask such questions.”

  He blushed fiercely, and Millie knew he was brand new to the job. “I apologize, ma’am. Have a nice day.” He stepped aside and let her pass, but it didn’t matter. Detective Marx wasn’t there, and according to others in his department, he wasn’t expected back for several hours. He was at the medical examiner’s office, and Millie was interested to know what the determination would be. Between the autopsy reports and the crime scene investigators, there would be information on cause of death, bullet and gun type, trajectory, fingerprints, and more that might uncover a ‘second gunman’ on the Grassy Knoll.

  As she headed back to the car, Millie called Detective Marx’s cell phone and left him a message. “Good morning, Detective Marx, and congratulations on your promotion. It’s Millie Holland, and I wanted to speak with you today. If you could give me a call back at your earliest convenience, I would appreciate it. I believe you have my phone number. Thank you, sir, and have a wonderful day.” She was sure the message was far too cheerful, considering the type of day he probably had ahead of him, but maybe it would brighten the day a little for him.

  While she waited for him to call her back, Millie headed home and search profiles on the individuals who had once been delinquents alongside a young Daniel Carlisle. Perhaps one of them had recently lost a job, or maybe one or more of them had just moved into the area and looked up his old friend with an idea for good, sporting fun that paid well.

  She wanted a list of coworkers, as well, for Carlisle, and she thought it would probably be a good idea to seek out a list of employees at all of Mr. Whitman’s businesses. There was no telling what a disgruntled employee might have staged, or who else in security with easy access to a gun might have helped plot. Millie used to have faith in humanity, but she saw too many upstanding citizens fall from grace now, and she’d given up believing that the majority of society only worked for the greater good. Selfishness was the new religion.

  “I remember when anyone who locked their doors at night were called paranoid,” she said to herself as she pulled into her complex and walked with purpose toward her unit. She smiled as her feline companions greeted her with fervor. “Oh, you would think I’d left you alone for weeks with no food the way you’re acting. Do you really think I would ever do such a thing?” She carried her groceries to the kitchen and placed the bags on the table, reaching out to stroke Viggo and Harlow as they jumped onto the table and demanded attention.

  Coraline let out one of her horrifying yowls, and Millie bent to pat the top of her head. Coraline held her chin up with pride, and Millie chuckled. Her little psychic wonder she’d rescued from an alley wasn’t the prettiest of cats, but she was too smart for her own good.

  She’d bought a new package of cat treats, and she reached into the bag, drawing it out and shaking it. Her Fantastic Five did the ‘Gimme Shuffle’, all but climbing her legs as they begged, and she tossed a handful around on the floor. They were pretty good about being fair, and usually, they divided the tasty morsels evenly. While they searched and ate, she was able to put the rest of her purchases away without tripping over heads and tails.

  When she was done, she turned on the computer, made a fresh pot of coffee, and grabbed the premade salad she’d bought, setting up to spend the next several hours online. She would take half an hour to put together a few of her saved co
lumn responses and send them off to the editor, and then she would dive into her search for a culprit. Hopefully, somewhere along the way, she would hear from Detective Marx, and she would know if there was anything else of consequence to give her direction.

  Chapter 2

  Millie found that three of Carlisle’s known associates were easily ruled out. One was in prison, having apparently never left the criminal life. One had moved to South America and married down there, and another had passed away, the death certificate stating cause of death as an overdose. Again, the spoils of youth sometimes led to an early grave, and it made her sad to think that this was a common story. Unfortunately, it didn’t look as though Carlisle had survived that particular fate, either.

  That had been the easy part.

  The other three associates were a little harder to track down. Joseph Cota had moved around so much he was impossible to track, and his last known address had been in Key West. But considering his location changed almost every six months over the last four years, and the Key West address dated back over a year, she didn’t put any faith in that. She put a star by his name; she’d have to look at employment records or something. She was certain he was a suspect.

  Art Buckley had gone to college, having been released on probation for his infractions, but the time after he graduated was a blank slate, as if he’d disappeared without a trace. He popped back up in Atlanta two years ago, but he seemed to disappear again four or five months ago. Another star went by his name. She wouldn’t be surprised if Buckley and Cota had come to the area together and taken up residence somewhere that didn’t require any kind of registration.