“Then how do you explain the blood on your sweater?”
Huh? I looked down. Sure enough, thin streaks of dried blood ran underneath my right arm. At least it sure looked like blood. Above it, toward my shoulder, was an enormous dusty dirty spot. Instinctively I brushed at it.
He caught my wrist midair. “We’ll be taking your sweater as evidence. I don’t appreciate your sassiness. A man is dead and it looks like you were the last person to see him alive.”
Was that supposed to be some kind of absurd warning? “The store cameras will back up my story.”
“Believe me, we’ll be taking a very close look at those tapes.”
I was losing my patience with him. “Oh, this is absurd.”
“Not in my line of business. People don’t just pull over to Dumpsters and happen to find corpses. I consider that extremely odd behavior on your part.”
Moments later I was seated in the back of a squad car and being driven to police headquarters. Once there I was surprised that no one objected to the presence of the kitten. While I was fingerprinted, surrendered my sweater, and put on the T-shirt they gave me, a female officer played with him.
It was late afternoon by the time they drove me home. The warmth and familiarity of my kitchen had never felt so reassuring. I placed the kitten on the floor and let him explore. Luckily I found a piece of leftover chicken breast in the refrigerator. He wolfed the diced meat but ignored the water I set out.
The discovery of the dead man shook me more than I wanted to admit. I put the kettle on and plopped a bag of organic English Breakfast tea into my favorite mug. What had happened to that guy while I was in the store? Granted, it must have taken me about an hour to do all the shopping, but who would kill someone in a grocery store parking lot when there were so many people around? His truck had been parked by the Dumpster. Had that been his fatal mistake? The back of the store was eerily quiet and unobserved. Trees and brush separated it from the lot behind it.
The kettle whistled. I poured boiling water into my mug and looked for the kitten. He was valiantly trying to climb the chair next to the fireplace. I lifted him to the seat and after adding sugar and milk to my tea, sank into the other chair. He was already curled up in a fat little ball.
As I watched the kitten sleep, I couldn’t help wondering if the man had been killed because of the kitten. But if that was the case, wouldn’t the person have taken the kitten with him?
The brass acorn knocker on my front door banged briskly. Reluctantly I pried myself from my comfy chair, shuffled through the kitchen to the front door, and peered through the peephole. The policeman with the silver temples stood on my stoop.
I opened the door with dread. Wasn’t I through with this yet? I hadn’t even had a chance to change out of my police-issued T-shirt.
He smiled at me and offered a bag of groceries. “I thought you’d be needing these.”
I’d forgotten all about the groceries. I took the bag from him. “Thank you so much!”
He nodded. “I’ll get the rest.”
I unloaded them almost as fast as he brought them in. Everything appeared to be in good shape. And, as if by magic, six cans of kitten food and a bag of kitten kibble appeared among the groceries.
“Did you add the kitten food?” I asked, staring at him in wonder.
He set two carryout cups on the kitchen counter. “Yeah, figured you might be in a bind without a car.”
I offered to pay for it but he waved me off. “I took the liberty of bringing some mocha lattes.”
Uh-oh. He brought me my groceries, kitten food, and mocha lattes? Either he was too good to be true or this was some kind of good-cop, bad-cop routine. I poured the lattes into mugs and popped them in the microwave to warm them up. The refrigerator was getting a little bit crowded so I took out the leftover Bourbon Pecan Pie and cut two pieces for us.
He placed them on the kitchen table along with the mugs of latte.
This guy was no dummy. He intended to make me feel comfortable and relaxed so I would spill information. It had the opposite effect. Foreboding welled in my chest.
We sat down and he tasted the pie. “This is amazing.” His gaze stopped at my untouched plate. “Your first body, huh? You never forget your first murder.”
“How was he killed?”
The detective paused as though he was constructing a careful response. “Stabbed. The knife was in the Dumpster with him.”
I swallowed hard. It all happened so fast. One minute he was trying to give away a kitten and the next he was gone. A question had been tugging at me and I finally decided to bring things out in the open. “Am I a suspect?”
I couldn’t read his expression.
He studied me quietly. “Kenner thinks so. But he also thinks he’s Clint Eastwood and that everyone is guilty.”
“I don’t even know your name,” I blurted.
He grinned. “Detective Fleishman. Wolf, they call me Wolf.”
“What about my sweater? The blood on it must belong to the dead guy.”
His grin turned into a chuckle. “Mrs. Winston, I’ve seen a lot of murders in my day. There are a few things I know without having to make a big study of it like Kenner. One, it is possible for a woman to throw a dead guy into a Dumpster. When that adrenaline gets pumping, people can do incredible things. Two, killers go to the trouble of putting victims in Dumpsters because they want to hide them. Very few call the police and wait around for them. Three, that knife is going to come up clean, no fingerprints. I guarantee it. Somebody wanted that guy dead.”
“So I’m not a suspect?”
He avoided my gaze and it didn’t escape me that he failed to answer my question.
“How exactly did you know Otis?”
“Otis? Was that his name?”
He looked me straight in the eyes like he was trying to read me.
As much as I wanted to avert my gaze, instinct forced me to meet him dead on. Guilty people and liars looked away, didn’t they? “I think I was very clear in the statement I gave earlier. The first time I ever saw him was when he offered me the kitten in the store parking lot.”
“Otis Pulchinski. You sure that doesn’t ring any bells?” His smile had disappeared and while I didn’t think he meant to intimidate me, the serious expression on his face told me I was in more trouble than I thought. I sipped the mocha latte. Could I have known the guy? Over the years I’d met thousands of people at events I planned. I nearly choked on the latte at the thought.
Pulling my shoulders up straight, I gave him the best answer I could. “The name isn’t familiar and if I ever met him before, it could only have been in passing. I certainly didn’t recognize him.”
On the floor, the kitten wiggled his behind and sprang in two great leaps to a chair and onto the table. That stinker! He hadn’t needed my help to get on the chair earlier. I reached out to remove him but Wolf stopped me.
“It’s okay. What are you going to call him?”
“I don’t even know if it’s a boy or a girl.”