She ran out the door and down the stairs. Quincy raced after her and Chase decided she’d better go, too.
Inger was reaching into the refrigerator. She brought out a plastic bag full of small round balls.
“I’ve been experimenting. I think he’ll like these.”
“What are they?” To Chase, they looked like tiny meatballs.
“I don’t know what to call them. I mashed together some tuna fish and cream cheese, then added some catnip.”
Chase relented, confronted with Inger’s eager, happy face. “Sounds like he’ll like them. Give it a go.”
“Here, Quincy.” Inger put one of the balls on the floor and Quincy approached it cautiously. He sniffed it, then batted the sphere a few inches. A couple more bats, then he pounced and devoured it.
Both women were laughing at his antics.
“One more?” Inger asked Chase.
“Sure. I think you have a hit. Go, Quincy, go!”
He rolled on the floor where the treat had been.
“I don’t have a name for them.”
As Quincy chased the next one around, Chase said, “I know. Those are Go-Go Balls.”
“Yes! I like that. I’m so glad he likes them.” Inger slid Chase a sideways glance. “Thank you, Ms. Oliver, for turning the heat up in the apartment.”
“You’re welcome. You can call me Chase, you know.”
After Inger had gone to bed, Chase and Quincy curled up together on the couch. Quincy was tired from chasing his Go-Go Balls around the kitchen downstairs. He purred with his eyes tightly closed. Chase felt the pain in her head ease up just a tad. The tension melted out of her neck and shoulders. The headache receded further. Cats were such good therapists.
The ox costume was on the arm of the couch, where she had dropped it to comfort Inger. Chase fingered it and spoke to her little guy. “You’ll win the contest, won’t you, Quincy Wincy? We’ll come home victorious. Without an extra houseguest, I hope. Maybe by Sunday night we’ll be in our own bed. Wouldn’t that be nice?”
The Fancy Cat Contest was going to be held in the afternoon on Sunday. She and Anna had decided to close the booth for it so Anna could watch. They had heard other merchants saying they would close up, too. It would be the last day of the fair. Chase panicked a bit at that. She wouldn’t have a chance to observe all the suspects together in one place again after the fair closed. It would be a relief not to be on the lookout for a killer, though.
Her mind wanted to dwell on possible suspects a bit longer. Reluctantly, she decided to cross Elsa off the list. It was a shame. She had such an obvious motive, with her husband about to leave her high and dry, taking all their cash to open a butter-carving studio in Costa Rica. But she claimed to have that straw allergy. It occurred to her that it would probably be easy enough to check.
Who else was still on her list?
Karl Minsky. That was a given. Should she consider his daughter Mara? True, they alibied each other. But if they were both in on it, or even if one knew the other had done the deed, they would surely provide alibis for each other. Had their excuses been verified? Detective Olson was being closemouthed about all this.
Maybe she would have to return Winn Cardiman to her list. He had left, so everyone said, but he wasn’t gone. She rubbed her finger, still sore from being pricked by his carving tool. He wasn’t any less angry at Oake now than he had been.
There were other butter sculptors, too. Was it too late to check out all of them? She kicked herself for concentrating only on those two. She should have considered all of them.
Patrice Youngren was Mike’s cousin. Did that mean she was a good person? Mike said she was flaky. That didn’t mean crazy or sinister, but it could. Since the collar seemed to be involved with the murder, she should be kept on the list, even if she had an alibi. She was definitely wrapped up in this mess somehow.
Then there were the two Aronoff men. The father, Ivan, who was sort of bonkers. He went on and on about that diamond cat collar. Where could it be? Peter, Ivan’s very sane son, as far as Chase could tell, was worried that he didn’t have an alibi. Maybe the fact that he was worried about that meant he was guilty. Maybe not.
Chase would have to do her best to get to the truth. Somehow. “Use What You Got” from The Life popped into her head.
* * *
Saturday dawned as an almost exact twin of Friday, cold and blustery. Almost done, she told herself. Tomorrow would be over before she knew it and life would return to normal. Then she kicked herself for thinking that. Life would never be normal again for anyone associated with the dead man. Or for his killer.
Before she got out of the car at the fair, Chase pulled on her wool gloves and looped her scarf around her neck several times, watching leaves and papers leap into the air and dance, whipped by the same wind that whistled through the door gaskets. She took a deep breath and hauled Quincy’s carrier out of the car. A gust immediately sent it sideways and up several inches. Quincy howled.
“I know, little guy. This isn’t pleasant, is it? Wouldn’t a person have to be crazy to want to stroll around a fair on a day like this?” However, it was Saturday, the penultimate day, and she knew hordes of people would flock to the venue. “One good thing,” she told Quincy, “we’ve done good business this week. Julie was right in telling us we needed to be here.” Quincy didn’t seem to care about the income. “We would never have made this money in the shop this week. And Inger says business isn’t bad back there either.” Neither she nor Anna had reconciled the books since the fair had started. The books would be there when it was over.
The walk through the parking lot was short, and soon she was inside the large building. It was so well heated today, she had to set the crate down and unwind her scarf. “They don’t have to overcompensate for the cold outside by making it like a sauna in here,” she mumbled, picking Quincy up and trudging down the hallway. The place bustled with exhibitors and fairgoers alike who had arrived extra early to get in a full day.
She turned the knob on the door to the vet clinic. Nothing happened. Mike wasn’t here yet? That wasn’t like him. No sooner had she stuck her fist on her hip, wondering what to do next, than Mike’s aunt Betsy Youngren hurried up behind her. She looked so worried, Chase had to ask her if everything was all right.
“No, it’s not.” Her words quavered and the hand holding the key shook.
“What’s the matter?”
“They’ve arrested Michael.” Betsy bit her bottom lip.
“For what?”
“The murder of Larry Oake.”
If a chair had been behind Chase, she would have plopped into it. The wall was there, though, so she fell back against it. “But they questioned him and let him go.”
“I called to see what I could find out, and all they would tell me is that there’s new evidence.”
“Who did you speak to?”
“That detective. Olson.”
“But he wouldn’t tell you what the evidence is?”
Betsy shook her head. “Michael asked me to call a colleague of his in Edina to get a replacement in here for today.”
“You spoke with Mike?”
“No. I tried to, but they wouldn’t let me.” They, Chase assumed, being Niles Olson. “A lawyer named Gerrold something called me. Michael had asked him to.”
“Gerrold Gustafson?” Chase asked.
“That’s it.”
Gustafson was the man Julie had mentioned, a “little powerhouse,” she’d called him. Chase didn’t care how big or little the guy was, just that he be able to defend Mike. Mike hadn’t killed Oake!
Betsy unlocked the door and flipped the light switch on. “You might as well take your cat back to the cages. Dr. Drood should be here soon.” She busied herself taking off her outer garments and hanging them over the back of her chair.
Chase hesitated a moment, wanting to know more about Mike. Before she could ask, the outer door was flung open and a gaunt, stooped man shuffled into the room. He peered at the two women through thick, round glasses that magnified his eyes and gave Chase the impression of a staring owl. His expression wasn’t friendly. He seemed indifferent to Betsy and Chase.