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

  Marcus DeWitt had gone to Santa Clara, California for a few years when his probation ended, but he’d been back in Miami a year after that. Apparently, the west coast hadn’t agreed with him. He’d been arrested on a misdemeanor assault charge three years ago, but it looked as though he’d joined an anger management program and cleared his record. Since returning from the other coastline, it didn’t look like he’d ever left Miami. It didn’t mean he couldn’t have made the trip up here for a buddy, but Millie was ready to rule him out for now. He was the least likely of the three who had the opportunity to help Carlisle hit the jewelry store.

  She stretched, feeling like she’d been wading in a pool for hours, her muscles heavy. As if they knew she was thinking about water, three of her furry companions snapped and ran away, and the other two looked up at her and snorted loudly, as if to tell her she was crazy for even considering the possibility. Of course, she supposed they weren’t quite aware that the last time Millie had worn a bathing suit to the beach was before her first hair had turned gray, so she wasn’t planning on doing so now.

  “It’s just a figure of speech.” She glared purposely at Coraline. “Just because you hear my thoughts doesn’t mean you should be spreading them to everyone else around here. That’s hearsay, inadmissible in a court of law. Please mind your own business, Coraline, or I’m going to change your name to something ridiculous like Curious George.”

  She yowled, turned her back on Millie, and paced away with her head and tail high in the air. Millie chuckled and turned back to the monitor, only to be distracted again by her phone ringing. “Hello?” she answered, a little annoyed but hoping it was worth the interruption.

  “Good afternoon, Ms. Holland. This is Detective Marx.”

  “Oh, hello! I know I left you a message, but let me say it again. Congratulations, Detective, I’m sure you’ve worked hard to earn the title.” She was overjoyed as she thought that, perhaps, her assistance in his arrest of the women who had killed her dear neighbor might have attributed to his promotion.

  “Thank you, Ms. Holland. I’m returning your call, wondering what it is I can do for you that couldn’t be handled by a regular call or visit to the station.” He sounded perturbed, but Millie ignored his tone. He was likely one of those people who always sounded a bit surly and put out. Of course, being a policeman probably created a nasty disposition to start with.

  “Actually, I did come by the station, but you weren’t there. I didn’t feel comfortable speaking to anyone else, and really, you are the man in charge anyway. I was watching the news last night when the Whitman’s Jewelers story broke. Now, Detective, I have to tell you, I think you’re a very smart man. I have a hard time believing there was not an accomplice in the break-in. I know you have forensics people and a medical examiner on the case, so I’m sure as soon as the reports are in, you’ll know for sure. Still, I believe that brushing off the idea of a second culprit is a cop-out, pardon the pun.”

  She could hear him breathing, but he took almost a minute to speak. “I appreciate your diligence in watching the news and showing interest in what goes on in your community, Ms. Holland, but I urge you to remember you are not a member of the police force, or any other investigation team, and you aren’t on the payroll as a civilian informant. I think you should let it go and allow law enforcement to do its job.”

  Millie had no such intention, and as Grant hopped into her lap and stood like a proud, determined statue, she felt his support in her refusal to back down. “Detective, I’m a concerned citizen. It’s possible we have a thief and murderer on the loose, and I’m a very short distance from where this happened, as well as a regular patron of the store. If the police cannot investigate the situation properly because you, Detective, have a quota for cases to close, then I’ll make sure all possible leads are followed myself.”

  “This isn’t a game of Clue, Ms. Holland. You can’t just decide it’s the maid in the study with the candlestick based on the process of elimination.”

  “I disagree, Detective. You make a list of suspects and discover the culprit precisely through the process of elimination. Now, I understand you were with the medical examiner this morning. I’m assuming you got a report. I’m willing to bet they showed something didn’t add up with the bullets that made their marks versus the guns logged by the crime scene unit. Am I accurate in that assumption?”

  “What exactly about the breaking news report was so unsatisfying to you that you felt the need to go digging on your own, Millie? Were you really so bored you had nothing to do but watch the news and wait for something to strike you with an urge to investigate?”

  “In all honesty, I was quite bored, considering I’d just sat through the state of the union address, which pre-empted my show that I still haven’t had a chance to watch online. I was just about to doze off after all that rambling, but the reporter caught my attention, and I don’t think it’s an open and shut case, Detective. Based on my knowledge of Mr. Whitman, he would never have been at the store at that time without some special circumstance. And I find it hard to believe that two men facing each other could shoot and make their marks at the exact same time, killing each other.” She stood up and started pacing, Grant flying out of her lap with a nervous cry. “It makes more sense that a third man was present.”

  “Okay, here’s the truth. The medical examiner puts their times of death too far apart for them to have likely shot each other, but ballistics hasn’t gotten back on matches to the guns. According to the medical examiner, though, the caliber adds up. It means there was likely someone else there, but we don’t have any leads just yet. So, you’re right, and there will be a police investigation, but for my sake and yours, Millie, don’t get involved.”

  Silently celebrating her correct assumptions, Millie let the last comment go. She would involve herself wherever and whenever she liked. She wouldn’t get in the way and, in fact, could help provide information they may have missed. And if her efforts led to an arrest, they would offer careful, unexcited praise and thanks for her assistance. “I’m not going to spend all day trying to convince you I can help, but I will tell you this, Detective. You might want to look up these two names and see if these men happened to have found their way to our area recently. Joseph Cota and Art Buckley. They used to be part of Carlisle’s crew back in the day.”

  Millie smiled to herself at her use of modern lingo.

  With a sigh, Detective Marx told her, “I’ll look them up, but Millie, I need you to back off. I don’t care what you research online, but don’t talk to anyone, and don’t go looking for trouble, okay? Let the guys who get paid to risk their lives handle that stuff.”

  “I’ll keep my head down, Detective, I promise.” She hung up, satisfied, and turned to shake her hands, which were going to start cramping if she didn’t take care of them. She had more research to do – a list of names to search. She was going to find out if any of Mr. Whitman’s employees or Carlisle’s coworkers had something up their sleeves.

  Chapter 3

  Millie almost forgot to eat dinner, she got so involved in her research. She was finding all sorts of interesting things, and she knew that, if she dug deep enough, it would all come together. The juicy tidbits swirled in her head as she forced herself to go to the kitchen and throw a meal together. She checked the freezer and found nothing, so she took the easy way out. She reached into the fridge and pulled out the makings of a deluxe sandwich and opened a can of soup to heat up.

  While the soup warmed, she fed the cats and then sliced pickles and tomatoes, slathered mayonnaise and mustard on toasted bread, and loaded up with sliced cheese and a pile of turkey breast. She ladled the soup into a bowl, grabbed a Snapple, and set up shop at the computer desk once again. It was too difficult to try to type and search while she ate, so she read back over her notes, seeking anything that would link one suspicious detail to another.

  Two of the men working at one of Mr. Whitman’s pawn shops, Dale Lynnwood and Owen Marshall, wer
e apparently known for black market jewelry sales, though they’d never been convicted of a crime, and Millie had marked them down as suspect. The only problem was, she didn’t know how Carlisle would fit into the scenario if those two had planned the robbery, unless Carlisle had been for hire all along and just hadn’t been caught.

  It looked like one of his employees at the jewelry store, Amanda Harden, had recently been terminated as well for pocketing cash. However, the girl had a blog and openly discussed battling with the urges she had as a kleptomaniac. Just because she had a penchant for pickpocketing here and there, or stashing sweets from the checkout counter didn’t put her in the leagues of a big-time robber.

  Most of the men on the security force with Carlisle came up clean, but it looked like Kevin McClain had lost his job a couple of months ago, though the reason wasn’t stated, and hadn’t found anything else, considering his resume was posted everywhere. Millie wasn’t sure how it worked with guns and security – were the guns issued by the service, or did the guard have his own? If McClain still had his gun, that made him a prime candidate as an accomplice. He knew Carlisle, had motive, and had the capability.

  And there was the epiphany she’d been waiting for. She let out a small cry of exuberance that made all of her cats jump in response. But she ignored the hisses and yowls of protest in favor of furious typing to find the answer. She held her breath, hoping she was onto something, but she deflated in disappointment. She knew Mr. Whitman had contracted a security service, and she’d hoped to find that it was the one Carlisle worked for. Unfortunately, it wasn’t, and the thread she’d started to follow ran out.

  Checking the clock and finding that her show was going to start in five minutes, she called it a night and closed up shop, quickly carrying her dishes to the sink so she could settle in and enjoy her nightly dose of television, surrounded by the five children who, despite their attitudes, loved her dearly.

  ***

  Millie yawned as she finished washing the dishes, ready for bed. She’d put in a lot of hours today, and she was mentally exhausted. The cats seemed to sense it and stayed very calm as she turned off the kitchen light and went to check that the front door was locked. She reached for the lamp switch in the living room, but her phone rang, and she froze. No one ever called her at this time of night, and it was disconcerting to hear the device sounding. Even the cats seemed to be frantic, jumping around and making strange noises.

  She hurried toward it and frowned. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d heard from her ex-husband, but she was certain this couldn’t be anything good. He didn’t just call her up to ask how the weather was, and he certainly didn’t call late at night like this. Answering, she said, “Doug? Is everything alright?”

  “I’m fine,” he responded, but he sounded despondent. His voice was also more gravelly than it used to be, and Millie pressed her lips tight together, perturbed that he was probably still smoking a pack a day. Would the man ever quit? It was a wonder he didn’t already have emphysema. “Listen, Millie, I don’t mean to bother you, and I’m sorry to be calling so late, but I thought you’d want to know.”

  Her heart seized. “What is it, Doug? You sound terrible.” This was it; he was going to tell her he was dying. For all that she couldn’t stand to be with him, she’d never hated him, and she still held a place for him in her heart. She couldn’t imagine what it would be like to know he wasn’t around anymore. She would be sick.

  He let out a shaky breath. “Millie, Margaret died tonight.”

  Millie gasped. Margaret was Doug’s younger sister, and they’d been close friends. After the divorce, they’d kept in touch for a while, but she’d eventually let her friend go, feeling it wasn’t fair to keep so close to one of Doug’s family members. “I didn’t know she was ill!”

  “She wasn’t, actually. It was an aneurism. We were all shocked.” His voice cracked, and Millie swallowed tears. She wanted to be strong so Doug wouldn’t lose it. She knew how embarrassed he got when he cried in front of anyone, including her.

  “I’m so sorry, Doug. Is there anything I can do for you?” She doubted it, but she wanted to offer.

  “No, I’m with my family. I just thought you should know. If you want, I’ll call you back with the funeral details.”

  While she wasn’t sure she could make it, she wanted to try, and she would at least send flowers. “Yes, please get the information to me. Doug, I loved her as a sister. I’m so very sorry this happened.” Again, she found herself swallowing tears as she hung up, and she let a few fall as her cats twirled around her ankles in comfort.

  She turned off the light and headed to bed, but it took a long time to fall asleep as memories of time spent with Margaret flashed through her mind. The loss was devastating, all the more so because she was young, and the occurrence was unexpected. When she finally did drift off, she dreamed of younger days with her friend and her husband, and then the dreams turned to sleuthing and being awarded medals for her assistance in capturing criminals.

  All of it added up to restless sleep, and she awoke groggy, her eyes heavy and swollen. She had to use some gel around her eyes and a cream mask before she could even have breakfast, the sensation was so uncomfortable. By the time she did make it to the kitchen, her little sweethearts were wimpering. Harlow and Newman both had the gall to act like they had been starving and Coraline sat in the corner, one paw over her nose as if to say how ashamed she was of Millie for taking so long. Grant sat vigil next to the tub of food, and Viggo ran figure eights around her ankles at breakneck speed.

  She fed them quickly, her own stomach growling loudly in protest of her delay. She knew any other person would have fed themselves first, figuring the cats could wait, but as her babies looked up at her with love and gratitude, she knew she always did the right thing as opposed to the convenient one. “You’re welcome,” she cooed at them as she toasted a couple of waffles.

  She mulled over where to start today, considering she’d covered so much ground yesterday. The part of the puzzle that seemed to elude her – and probably Detective Marx – was how to connect people. It was easy to place the other security guard, McClain, with Carlisle, but she couldn’t guarantee he was the guy. And while she’d discovered several possible suspects, she probably hadn’t found everyone who should be considered a person of interest. After all, there were always personal friends of unknown origin, as well as family.

  A terribly devious thought came to mind, and at first, she dismissed it, feeling it was a bit too mischievous. But the more she thought about it, the more it made sense, and she decided to go through with it. As soon as she finished breakfast, she was going to find out where the funerals or memorial services were being held for both Gordon Whitman and Daniel Carlisle. She’d take a look at the attendance book and try to take snapshots of the signatures with her phone. Perhaps one of the names there would lead to the truth.

  As it turned out, neither service was going to be held for a few more days, and Millie slumped in disappointment, resting her chin in her hand as she tried to figure out if there was anything else she could look at today. This was going to become incredibly boring and tedious because she kept being thwarted so easily.

  On a whim, she decided to look up information on Carlisle’s wife. Deborah Carlisle was a nurse practitioner at a psychiatric clinic that specialized in substance abuse. She had a couple of possessions on her record from her late teens as well, and from the looks of things, she and Daniel had met and sobered up together. There was nothing to suggest she’d had any part in the type of activity Daniel had been arrested for, and she seemed squeaky clean. While that was frustrating in terms of an investigation, Millie was relieved; the four year old little girl had just lost her father and didn’t need to have her mother taken away.

  It was a longshot, but Millie also searched Mr. Whitman’s ex-wife. Surprisingly, it appeared that Bea Whitman, nee George and now Forks through another marriage, was no longer in North Carolina. According to the mo
st recent address, she and her husband, Brett, lived in Macon, Georgia. While it wasn’t exactly around the block, it was much closer, and Millie checked further into the woman’s history.

  Like Gordon, she had no criminal history, and she was connected to a number of charities. It looked like Brett, the new mate, was a renowned plastic surgeon, and they tossed money at organizations left and right for publicity. Bea had a bachelor’s degree in marketing but wasn’t working and seemed to be into yachting.

  Interestingly enough, the divorce decree didn’t look like it had been a simple case of irreconcilable differences. As far as she could tell, there had been a very long, drawn out court battle, which seemed odd, considering there were no children involved. Even if she and Doug hadn’t been agreeable to some of the conditions set forth in their divorce, there would have been no reason for the proceedings to last longer than the 90-day waiting period. It looked like the Whitman divorce took more than a year to be finalized.