I slept restlessly, waking to think again about Mars and why anyone would poison him. At three in the morning, I padded down the stairs and found my mom and June in the kitchen. Daisy waited patiently for a crumb of crust from the pumpkin pie Mom sliced.
Mochie on her lap, June gabbed and as far as I could tell, Mom was ignoring her.
I nudged Mom. “June’s talking.”
“Sophie! I didn’t hear you come in. Before you know it, everyone will be up. We’re having hot milk. Want some?”
I poured more milk into the pot on the stove.
“Sweetheart, I’ve been trying to keep things light for Hannah’s sake. This weekend with Craig getting to know us is so important to her. But tomorrow, you have to do whatever you can to figure out who’s at the bottom of all this mayhem. I don’t want to worry your dad, but, honey, even if Wolf does have eyes for you, you’re a prime suspect. Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Mom, you do realize that June’s talking?”
“Not to us. She’s talking with Faye.”
So much for Mars and me keeping that little secret. “Faye is dead. Don’t you think that’s unusual?”
“No, I talk to my father.”
“Do you hear him talk back?” I whispered.
“Lots of people talk to loved ones who have passed on. Who’s to say what’s normal in that respect? I know my father is with me in spirit. For all we know he could be standing right next to us.”
Between Faye and my deceased grandfather, the kitchen felt a little crowded.
Mochie leapt from June’s lap and pounced on a tiny wad of aluminum foil. He batted it with his paw and played kitty hockey by racing after it and giving it another whack.
Mom handed me a plate with a piece of pie, topped by a droplet of whipped cream. “Wolf likes to eat, so he probably doesn’t mind a few extra pounds on a woman, but, just the same, you ought to cut back a little bit before you get too chunky.”
Where was Hannah when I needed her to distract Mom? “There’s nothing going on between Wolf and me.”
“If we’d known Wolf would be here for dinner, we never would have called Humphrey.”
“We?”
“June and I.” The corners of her mouth twitched down. “I confess. I’m horrified about the fire at Natasha’s house, but the timing worked perfectly. June and I were conspiring to throw you and Mars together. We invited Humphrey because we needed someone to make Mars jealous.”
June joined Mom at the kitchen table. “Didn’t quite work out the way we planned.”
A killer was on the loose and these two were playing matchmaker? “You thought Mars would be jealous of Humphrey? You couldn’t pick someone with more sex appeal? Any appeal for that matter?” Heaven only knew what Mom had told Humphrey. That explained his mistaken impression that I had feelings for him.
“He’s very pale, isn’t he?” Mom addressed June. “His mother has that skin. Never spent a minute in the sun and looks ten years younger than the rest of us because of it.”
Daisy whimpered at the kitchen door. I reached for the handle to let her out when a soft knock surprised us.
I opened the door and my neighbor Nina barged in, shivering from the cold. “I saw the lights on and had to join your midnight snack. Brr, it’s cold out there. Got any of that Mozart liquor?”
“Chocolate liquor with pumpkin pie?” I said.
“Chocolate goes with everything,” she assured me.
I pointed at the round bottle wrapped in gold foil and she poured her own drink while I cut more pie.
“Lots of whipped cream, please,” she said. “I deserve it for putting up with my mother-in-law and her delusions that, since I’m a southerner, I ought to be another Natasha.”
After handing Nina a piece of pie, I plopped more cream on my slice and joined the others at the table.
“Natasha tried to kill Mars,” said June.
Nina’s fork fell out of her hand and clattered onto her plate.
We filled her in on what had transpired.
“I knew it. She’s too perky and perfect. Who’s like that? Nobody can build a dining set from scratch and serve a ten-course dinner in the same day.”
Mom spread a thin layer of cream across the top of her pie. “Natasha didn’t do it.” She gazed around at us. “You might not like Natasha and I’m sure you have your reasons, but that girl forged past all the terrible things that happened to her. She stayed focused on her career and deserves the success she’s had. She’s egocentric, I know, but I think a lot of successful people are.”
June scowled. “It had to be Natasha. You know Andrew, Vicki, and I wouldn’t poison Mars. And no one in your family would have reason to do so. That leaves Craig, the colonel, Francie, and Bernie. Not much of a lineup.”
“If the police think it’s related to the murders, then it all comes back to the dead PI that Sophie found,” said Nina.
So much for keeping that from Mom. I explained in detail how I’d obtained Mochie. Mom took it better than I expected. “Then that’s where you need to start. June and I will entertain everyone tomorrow. Nina, can you escape from your hostess duties?”
“I’d love nothing more.”
“In the morning, you two pay a visit to the widow and see what you can find out.”
After breakfast, I found Otis Pulchinski’s address by searching for ocicat breeders on the internet. Dean Coswell, my editor, had forwarded e-mailed questions for “The Good Life.” I answered enough to fill my column for the next few days.
We didn’t want to disturb Mrs. Pulchinski too early, so Nina and I lingered over a second cup of coffee with my parents and June before driving to the northwest part of town.
Otis had lived in a town house that was part of a cluster of recently built houses. Spent leaves littered the tiny front yard and rust crept up a white van parked in the driveway. Nina pulled the Jag in behind it.
No one answered when I rang the doorbell. Nina tried it a second time and we heard it chime inside the house. I stepped back, off the raised stoop, and searched the exterior of the house. It didn’t provide any clues about the owners. The red brick facade and Federal accents looked like all the other houses. But when I turned to go, I saw a curtain move in the window to the left of the door.
I motioned to Nina and knocked on the front door. “Mrs. Pulchinski? I . . . I have your cat.”
A voice answered from inside the house. “What cat?”
“The one Otis had with him when—” I stopped abruptly. Why hadn’t I prepared a way to say this?
The voice behind the door grew hysterical. “I’m not taking him back!”
Nina and I exchanged a look. She shrugged.
“I don’t want to give him back.”
With a creak, the door opened two inches. “Got him with you?”
“No.”
“You wouldn’t be lying, would you?” She swung the door open and eyed us with suspicion. A cloud of stale cigarette smoke enveloped us.