I stepped outside after briefing the police and EMT’s, my mind spinning. Nothing bad ever happens in the gated neighborhood of Sunhaven.
More emergency personnel rushed by as I waved them towards the kitchen.
A crowd started to gather. The neighbors, attracted by the sirens and flashing lights, formed groups in front of the house, men in khakis and polo shirts, moms in yoga pants and t-shirts, kids holding their anxious moms’ hands, one sucking her thumb. They all watched with concerned looks, speaking to each other in low tones. Uniformed police put up yellow crime scene tape around the front yard as a fire truck sped into the cul-de-sac. I stood inside the tape, outside the house, not a part of the crowd but not a part of the response team, either. I was floating in-between, unmoored.
I could feel the crowd’s eyes boring into me like lasers, all of them wondering what had happened here to bring fire trucks, paramedics, and police cars inside their bubble. Most of the people I knew in Sunhaven didn’t lock their doors during the day, feeling safe inside their little community. I turned to go back inside just to get away from their stares.
I slumped behind a wall where nobody could see me and took several deep breaths, my stomach roiling.
God, it’s hot in here. I thought I might puke.
I put my head down, hands on my knees.
My heart racing, I tried to remember calming techniques I learned back in the day, when I had board members breathing down my neck about earnings calls.
Don’t think about it. Don’t react. Just be for a minute.
After a few moments, the deep breathing worked, my heart slowed, and the nauseous feeling passed. I pushed off the wall. Angie needed me.
Cops, paramedics, and firefighters crowded into the kitchen. I tried to see past the uniformed men and women surrounding the body, but even in Angie’s roomy kitchen, it wasn’t easy. Chief Javier Mendez saw me and put himself between me and the body, his arm out, blocking my way.
“I’m sorry, Kate. I don’t think you should see this.” His voice was low, caring.
“Oh, come on, Javi, I’m the one who called this in!”
“I know, but there’s no reason for you to see this again.”
There was a reason, though. Shock had taken me when I first found her, and I hadn’t really noted the details. I knew he was trying to spare me, but I had my emotions sorted, and I wanted to review the crime scene. Look for clues. Anything that would point me at the bastard who did this. I felt an overwhelming need to to help, to take action. I’d always been that way; action was the balm for my emotions, the way I dealt with horrible truths, and today I faced the most horrible thing anybody could possibly face - the death of a dear friend.
I looked him in the eye. “Javi,” I said quietly but firmly, “Let me through.”
With an enormous sigh, he put his arm down, and I pushed through. I squatted by her again, careful not to touch anything, and noted the matted hair covering her bashed-in skull. I scanned for defensive wounds but did not see anything apparent on my friend’s hands, arms, or legs. As I looked into her unseeing eyes, a shudder overtook me, like I could feel the violence that caused this. I could see in her eyes the surprise at what had occurred.
“Oh, Ang. What did you get yourself into?” I whispered.
The police photographer busied herself taking photos of the crime scene, getting both close-up and wide-view photos, moving around the body. The coroner peeled his gloves off, having concluded his on-site examination. He acknowledged me with a nod.
“Any idea what happened?” I asked him in a low voice.
“I don’t like to speculate,” he said in a gruff voice.
I stood and turned towards Javier. Angie was beyond help now, but there were still ways I could assist.
“What should we do about her cat?” I asked.
“Cat?” Javi asked.
“Stormy, her Norwegian Forest Cat. She’s probably hiding because of all the people here, but somebody needs to take her until we can get Angie’s daughter to come get her.”
“Sorry, Kate, the last thing in the world I’m worried about right now is a cat.”
I glared at him. “I’ll go find her and take her home.” Javier started to say something, but I stopped him. “Don’t worry. I won’t disturb a thing.”
Javier handed me the box of nitrile gloves sitting on the counter. “Don’t touch anything! Don’t even look at anything! Just find the cat.” I nodded as I pulled the gloves on.
Several sets of dishes and glasses, obviously dirty, were on the counter near the sink, which I thought was unusual. Angie typically kept up with dishes, and I didn’t recall ever visiting when there were dirty dishes on the counter. I noted that there were several water glasses, but only one wine glass. On the table was one place setting that appeared to have been hastily set. On the floor next to the table leg was a broken plate and a scone, mostly intact, and further away was a jar of jelly, the glass broken, the bright red preserves spilled all over the floor. I glanced to see if anybody was looking and shot a quick photo with my phone.
She clearly had had company, several people, by the looks of the dishes, but only one or two people right before her murder.
I did a brief scan, trying to see if anything else was out of place. Careful not to lean over so as not to bring attention to what I was doing, I observed a hair tie on the floor, with what looked like Angie’s hair knotted around it, a felt mouse nearby, both nearly hidden under a cabinet, and in another corner lay a quarter and a dime.
I moved into the family room, which looked normal. Her laptop, typically sitting on her coffee table, was missing, and I tried to remember if I had seen it in the kitchen. She often worked on it either sitting on the sofa or seated at her dining room table. I peeked into the kitchen again. Nobody was paying any attention to me, and there was no laptop on the table or counters.
I continued through the house, looking under the beds and on top of shelves, seeing nothing unusual. “Stormy? Stormy, baby, I need to take you home.” I called in my sweetest kitty voice.
The ranch home held three bedrooms, one master, one guest bedroom, and one room Angie used as an office. Checking the office last, I stole a look at her desk. Different papers, all related to the HOA, covered the desk. There were invoices and proposals for work, along with several notes written on multi-colored sticky notes. I surreptitiously took a photo of her desk. Spying her notebook, I opened it to see page after page of notes and To Do lists. I listened for anybody coming and shot a photo of each of the last 20 pages.
A faint mew interrupted my thoughts. There you are!
Stormy crouched under a large sitting chair adjacent to the office desk, her eyes large black circles staring back at me. “Stormy, sweetie, come on out.” She mewed at me, her plaintive voice high and scared.
I reached under the chair and wiggled my fingers on the floor. “I know it’s scary, Stormy, but you need to come out and let me take you home. We can’t have you getting out with all the people coming and going. Your mom would kill me if I didn’t keep you safe.”
Stormy crawled forward hesitantly. When she was just within reach, I grabbed her scruff and pulled out all 14 lbs of kitty fluff and attitude. Stormy had her ears back and her hair up, so I sat and petted her for a bit before standing up. A low growl still emanated out of her chest, but she tolerated me holding her, which was a great first step.
A yellow sticky note came out with her, dragging along the floor as I pulled. “What’s this, Stormy?” The words “Peter Barlow” were written on it. I took a picture of that, too, and then carefully placed it on the desk. Technically, I shouldn’t have done that, because that was changing the crime scene, but I had zero confidence that the Palm Hills Police would find it under the big chair. I’d dated Javier and remembered when he once put on a black sock and a blue sock as he got dressed for work. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t find a yellow sticky under a chair, but why take that chance?
Stormy appeared to be stressed, poor thing. “Any chance you saw what happened here? Maybe you could help us figure all this out.” She wasn’t giving up any secrets as she settled into my arms while I stroked her long fur. I carried her to the family room, hoping she would do well in the car.
“I got her!” I called out to the group still in the kitchen. Javier gave me an absentminded wave.
Stepping outside, I snuggled Stormy into my chest. I’d leave the professionals to do their work. Bagging evidence, analyzing it, and conducting interviews would take a while. The uniformed officers would be knocking on neighbors’ doors for days.
I noted the increasingly large gaggle of neighbors crowding around the house, pushing into the taped-off area but not breaking through. Becca leaned over the tape, trying to get my attention, but I ignored her. The mood had changed from a troubled quiet to a loud buzz. The press had arrived. A reporter called and rushed over to me when I exited the taped-off area. “Hey! Hi! What did you see? What’s going on in there?”
I’d had my fill of reporters. They never got anything right, especially in the small city of Palm Hills. I brushed by her without a word, still stroking Angie’s poor cat who sat in my arms with her ears back and a low growl emanating from her chest.
Gently letting Stormy loose on the passenger seat, I started the car and reached out to stroke her fur in a reassuring way. When I looked at her, though, Stormy’s large eyes had gotten even larger. All the sudden there was no more cat, just a Tasmanian Devil. With a hissing spit, she levitated, all paws circulating like the propellers on a drone, and she flew towards me as if in slow motion. I screamed, covering my face with my hands, and turned away. Four distinct sets of claws sank into my arms, shoulder, and back, gripping me as if for dear life, but they failed to find purchase on my slippery blouse, and she slowly scraped down with every claw embedded in my skin. “Owe!” I yelled, and with a shove of my elbow, I pushed the crazed cat away and grabbed my purse, holding her back with it. She continued to hiss at me, ears back, hair up, crouching into the seat like a coiled spring.
I glanced around, fearing that people might have witnessed tough CEO Kate Warner being humiliated by an attack cat, but everybody’s focus was on the house.
As I drove home, I took note of the long streaks of blood on my arm and the rips in my blouse. I had a sudden memory of Angie’s words from a couple of months ago when we were having coffee together: “Sorry, Kate, but I have to go. I’m picking up tranquilizers from the vet so I can drug Stormy before her next appointment. I can never get her into her crate without them. That girl is CRAZY in the car!” It would have been nice to remember that ten minutes earlier.
Returning home, I had two major worries. One was how to get a lunatic cat out of the car and into the house, and the other was how to introduce the lunatic cat to Mr. Tuttles.
Stormy had settled into a crouch on the passenger seat, so I left her there, hoping a few minutes alone would help her calm down.
I had a plan, and nothing made me feel more self-assured than having a plan.
I donned a winter coat that I had purchased for visiting my Aunt Tildy in Minnesota for Christmas several years ago. I hadn’t worn it since, and I probably wouldn’t again as Aunt Tildy had relocated to Florida, so the coat was expendable.
Then I pulled on my previously unused goatskin leather rose-pruning gardening gloves, gifted to me by my very well-meaning niece, and tucked the ends under the coat’s sleeves. Looking ridiculous but feeling quite fine, I marched out to the car like the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man, threw open the car door, and swept that flipped-out cat into my arms. We walked through the house together, with her wiggling and wailing her protest at being manhandled like that, her claws harmlessly puncturing the coat’s outer shell. For a moment, I worried the neighbors would turn me in for animal abuse for all the fuss Stormy was making, but luckily nobody seemed to be outside to witness what was, from Stormy’s point of view, a terrible miscarriage of justice. Finally, I deposited her onto the bed in the guest bedroom. She and I both needed a little time to cool down.
I was a bit concerned about introducing Stormy to Mr. Tuttles later. He had joyfully run to the door to greet me when I came in, and he watched, puzzled, as I closed the door to the guest bedroom. Stormy was almost as big as Mr. Tuttles, which I hoped meant they would eventually get along, but I had no idea how cats and dogs learned to co-exist.
I made some black currant tea for myself, and, after pausing a few seconds, stirred in just a touch of brandy. Some days, a touch of brandy isn’t quite enough, but it would have to do for now. Mr. Tuttles wandered over and snuffed my sandals.
“You want to know where I’ve been, don’t you, Big T? Do you smell Angie on me, just from being in her house?” Mr. Tuttles cocked his head at my voice. “I bet if I took you over to Angie’s, you could sniff out that murderer. It’s not like Stormy was any help. She might have seen something, but she’s not talking.” He sighed and laid down, resting his head on my foot.
A murderer in Sunhaven. It seemed so unlikely, but there it was. About two weeks ago, during our morning stroll, Angie had said something cryptic.
I remembered her words clearly: “There are sinister things going on in this neighborhood, Kate.”
Sinister things indeed.