“I don’t know this from personal observation, but I suspect your college is filled with handsome dudes.”
“I was talking about you.”
“Me? You don’t want to go with an old fogey like me.”
“No, of course not. That’s why I asked.”
“Are you serious?”
“You shouldn’t be cooped up by yourself all the time, Benjy. Working all weekend. You need to get out and live a little.”
Which was exactly what he’d been thinking himself. So why did he resist the suggestion so? “You don’t want to be seen with me. They’d think you were dating your grandfather.”
“You’re only fifteen years older than I am, Ben. And it would just be for fun. It’s not like we were, you know…” She laughed strangely. “Like we were dating or something.”
“Of course not. Still…” Ben suddenly felt extremely uncomfortable. “Any word from your wayward sister?”
Joni had an identical twin sister, Jami, who had been “on the road” for over a year. Discovering America, or some such. “Not much. She keeps sending me postcards from exotic places.”
“How exciting.”
“Yeah, but I notice that the postmark is the same on all of them. Omaha.”
Ben winced. “I guess this points up the value of a college education. Well, if you’ll excuse me, I’d better go feed my cat.”
He crossed inside and climbed the stairs to his apartment.
“Good evening, Giselle,” he said as he dropped his briefcase and coat. “How was your-”
Wait a minute. No Giselle.
There were not that many constants in Ben’s life, but one of the absolutes was that Giselle always met him at the door. As much out of hunger as affection. But still. She required her daily fix of Feline’s Fancy, the sooner the better. And he was her procurer.
“Giselle?” He heard a faint mewling. He whipped across the apartment to the back bedroom.
“Giselle?” The panel in his closet was dislodged. It allowed access to the roof. He and Christina went out there sometimes to stargaze and gossip.
As quickly as he could manage, Ben mounted the steps and poked his head through. “Giselle?”
There she was, squatting on the edge of the roof, howling her black furry little head off. Ben had never heard such plaintive, piercing mewling.
“C’mere, sweetie.” He scooped her up and carried her back to the kitchen. She howled all the way. Only when he had her silver bowl filled to the brim with Feline’s Fancy did she stop, and then only long enough to eat.
“What on earth is wrong with you?” On an impulse, he opened a second can (a bad precedent, he knew), then freshened her water. When he was sure he had her stabilized, he popped open his briefcase.
He didn’t know where to start. There was so much to do on Ray’s case-and so little time to do it. Everything had to be checked and double-checked. They could afford to let no avenue of investigation go by, not with a life on the line and the executioner closing in on them fast. He couldn’t possibly do it all himself. Thank goodness he had a staff. Thank goodness for Christina.
Christina.
He almost picked up the phone, right then and there, and called her. But of course, as always, at the last moment, he chickened out. He knew she’d be busy doing something fun, and she didn’t need any pathetic calls from Ben interrupting her lively lifestyle. He’d just have to tough it out. Finish his work like a big boy.
But when this case was over, he resolved, he was going to make some changes. For real, this time. He was going to start having a life.
Because when all was said and done, the executioner wasn’t that far behind any of them.
So enough of the dull and lonely Kincaid lifestyle. From now on, he was going to start living like Christina did.
Christina was bored to tears. She wanted to scream, but Dee was managing the bookstore tonight and Christina suspected she wouldn’t appreciate any sudden outbursts.
She closed her file and tossed it back into her briefcase. She just couldn’t stand it anymore. It was all too dark, too depressing. Too devoid of human kindness. The Faulkner massacre was so horrible, it was almost inhuman. As if the killer lacked even the slightest-
Wait a minute. Something inside her head clicked. She didn’t get these bursts of inspiration often, but when she did, she had learned to trust them.
She ripped open the file and began rereading the key passages until at last the idea crystallized in her mind. Of course. It was all so clear now. It made perfect sense.
She ran out of the bookstore and headed for her car. She was going to have something new for Ben tomorrow morning, after all.
And if her hunch was right, it could blow this case wide open. In a way that none of them had ever imagined.
Chapter 12
“Yes, I know a cat is not the same as a lightbulb.”
Ben paced back and forth in his small private office, cordless phone pressed against his ear. “Yes, I know a cat is not the same as a radiator.”
Another pause. “Yes, I know a cat is not the same as a leaky toilet.”
“Well, I’m glad to hear it,” rattled the voice on the other end of the line. “For a moment you had me worried.”
“Look, Joni, I need some help here.” Ben switched the phone to the other ear. He had no idea this was going to be so complicated. “I’m worried about Giselle.”
“I got that part. What I didn’t get is what it’s got to do with me.”
“Well, you’re the handyman, aren’t you? You take care of the house.”
“Riiight.”
“And Giselle is part of the house.”
“So is Mr. Perry, but I don’t take him for his weekly enema.”
“Look, it wouldn’t be a regular thing. I just think maybe she needs to see the vet. And I’m way too busy to take her right now.”
Ben heard a heavy sigh on the other end of the line. “Tell me exactly what’s wrong with her.”
“I don’t know exactly what’s wrong with her. She’s just acting… different. Weird.”
“Like what?”
“Like she didn’t greet me at the door.”
“Horrors.”
“And she was whining and mewling all night long.”
“Cats have been known to mewl.”
“And she doesn’t seem to have any appetite.”
There was a brief pause. “Okay, this is serious. Give me the name of the vet.”
Ben complied. “I really appreciate this, Joni.”
“You should. You owe me big time.”
“I hope you’re not thinking raise.”
“I’m thinking short-story reading, Benjy. And wear a tie.”
She rang off. Ben barely had a chance to return to his work before Christina bolted through the door. “Ben, I’ve got something!”
“Is it catching?”
She whacked him across the face with a manila file. “I’m talking about the case. Ray Goldman.”
Ben’s interest level increased markedly. “What is it?”
“I pored over these files last night. Studying every possible aspect of the case.”
“What did you find?”
“The answer,” she said firmly. “The reason the evidence never added up. The reason there are so many questions that can’t be answered.”
“Okay, you’ve got my attention. What’s the answer?”
“The answer is this: There wasn’t a killer in the Faulkners’ living room all those years ago.” She paused, gripping Ben by the arm. “There were two.”