“Take him where?” Mike and Chase both said together.
The policeman unhooked a set of handcuffs from his belt. “We’re taking her in, but can’t take the cat.”
“You’re what?” Mike said it, but Chase thought it at the same time.
There was no answer. Mike threw Chase a worried glance. “What did you do?”
“I found Ms. Bjorn on her floor and called nine one one.”
“Quincy got out again, I gather.”
Chase nodded. She wanted to ask him what he was doing here when he had told her an appointment was coming in his door and he needed to hang up on their conversation.
“I’m sure this will get cleared up in a hurry.” Mike took Quincy from Chase, giving her a pat on the shoulder. It should have been reassuring, but she barely noticed, as the policeman, the round-faced one, grabbed her wrists and pulled them behind her to snap on the cuffs. They were cold and uncomfortable.
“Can I get my phone?” Chase asked. It lay on the floor where she had dropped it. It was unbroken, at least. The round-faced policeman picked it up and pocketed it.
“I’ll take care of Quincy,” Mike said, as he left. “Then I’ll go to the station. Call me when you know what’s going on.”
Chase nodded again, unable to speak her thanks. As soon as Mike was gone, tears started spilling down her face. It was distressing that she wasn’t able to wipe them with her hands secured behind her. The taller, square-jawed one took her elbow and guided her, not ungently, out of the kitchen and to the front room. He motioned her onto one of the soft chairs and she perched on the edge of the cushion, not able to sit back because of the awkward handcuffs.
After a few minutes she asked what they were waiting for. As she was speaking, a team of forensic people entered with cameras and bags of equipment. Oh yes, she thought, the CSI people. Detective Olson followed them. They all proceeded down the hallway, but Detective Olson soon returned.
He took a seat in the other easy chair and sat facing her. “What’s going on?” he asked the uniformed policeman. He didn’t seem like the monster he had been when he was grilling her.
“Suspect was found standing over the victim. Victim was on the floor, bleeding and unconscious, with a heavy piece of marble beside her.”
The detective turned to Chase. “Again?”
“Not exactly. This wasn’t a stabbing. And I didn’t do it this time either.”
The policeman, still standing, stirred a bit. He was frowning at Chase. She didn’t think he believed her. He stood at attention, his hands clasped behind him, and swayed slightly.
“I know, you were chasing your cat,” said the detective.
“Yes.”
“No, not really. Chasing your cat again? I was joking.”
“Quincy likes Ms. Bjorn. He’s run away and come here before.” She wished that policeman would stop swaying. And frowning.
“Tell me exactly what happened, Ms. Oliver.” Detective Olson took out a notepad. The whole scenario was all too depressingly familiar, from the use of Ms. Oliver to the notepad. At least she was in a living room.
She related how Quincy must have gotten out of the office as she hung up from talking with Mike. She called him Dr. Ramos, making herself a mental note to ask Mike, when she picked Quincy up, why he was going home to lunch right after he’d told her his next appointment was at his office.
After she’d told Detective Olson the rest, which wasn’t much—that she’d gone after Quincy, learned from Professor Fear that Ms. Bjorn had been ill today, and had entered her house to see if she could do anything for her—he wrote for another minute or so, then looked up.
“Why would you be concerned about the woman who is a witness against you?”
“She’s . . . she’s an old woman and she’s sick and she’s . . . wrong.”
“Were you thinking of attempting to change her mind about what she saw?”
He could tell that? “No, of course not. That would be tampering, wouldn’t it?”
Detective Olson narrowed his eyes in an unattractive way.
“Since I was here, because Quincy was here, I thought I’d peek in and see if she needed anything. Professor Fear said—”
“Yes, I heard you. He said she was sick.” He still didn’t seem convinced, but told the policeman to take the handcuffs off.
“My cell phone,” Chase said.
Detective Olson retrieved it and handed it to her. “If I need anything further, I’ll be in touch,” he said.
Grateful, Chase stammered something and fled.
TWENTY-NINE
Chase approached Mike’s condo with caution. She didn’t want to interrupt anything between him and the red-haired dog owner, the one who had let her dog get hold of a chicken. Chase still thought that was irresponsible.
Mike’s truck was at the curb, behind his Ford sedan. No other cars were parked nearby. The woman must not be there. Chase rang his doorbell. He answered the door alone. So far, so good. Quincy was curled up on his couch, asleep. Evidently, finding bodies, even those of people he’d known and napped on, didn’t bother him overly much.
“Thanks, Mike. I’ll take him.”
“What’s your hurry? Come on in.” He stepped aside and motioned her inside. “I’ll get you some iced tea or . . . coffee?”
“I’d better call Anna. She has no idea where I am.”
“Are you doing all right without me?” Chase asked when Anna answered the office phone.
Anna said that Vi had returned and was in front, selling. She said they’d both been worried about where Chase was until Anna noticed that the office door was open and Quincy was gone. “Where are you two?”
Chase told Anna about Quincy going to Hilda’s and about finding the elderly woman on her floor, unconscious at first. “I think she was hit on the head. There was something chunky beside her on the floor.”
“The poor woman. Will she be all right?”
“They took her away in an ambulance.”
“Are you at the hospital?”
“No, I was . . . detained.”
“Detained?”
“By the police. Just for a bit.”
Chase heard Anna’s intake of breath. “Do they think you did it?”
“I’m not sure. I don’t think so. That is, I don’t think Detective Olson thinks so, but the uniformed cops were ready to take me to the station. I was handcuffed until the detective showed up.”
“That’s awful.” Chase heard beeping on Anna’s end of the call. “That’s the timer. I’m making caramel.”
Chase knew timing was critical for that process. “I’ll be back to the shop in a few minutes.”
After she finished the call, Mike asked if she had to go right away.
“Maybe I could have a glass of iced tea,” Chase said. She realized she was parched. Maybe extreme emotions did that to a person.
Mike disappeared into his kitchen and emerged in a few moments with a frosty glass of iced tea that Chase grabbed. She gulped down half of it, then realized what she was doing. “I’ve forgotten my manners. Thank you, Mike.”
He grinned and her heart gave a little lurch. “Any time, Chase. By the way, I think Quincy is losing weight. He seems lighter.”
That made her feel lighter, too. She was doing it right! Chase looked at the tabby, who still appeared sound asleep except for his ears, which were swiveled their way. Then they twitched and swiveled toward the front door. A second later, the doorbell rang.
When Mike opened the door, the redhead stood there, her hair standing up straight and a huge toothy smile on her face.
“Am I early?”
• • •
“At least he had the good grace to look embarrassed,” said Chase.
The shop had closed at 6:00, half an hour ago, and Vi had taken off soon after that. Shaun Everly had pulled up in front and beeped his horn. Vi had slung her tote over the shoulder and gotten ready to run out as if a movie star were waiting for her.