“Next,” Daisy announced, “Shadow, owned by Ivan and Peter Aronoff.”
What had Hardin muttered when she was clinging for all her life to his van? That foreigner has caused me enough trouble. How had she missed putting that together? The only person who sounded like he was clearly from someplace else was Ivan Aronoff. He was also cuckoo, as Hardin had pointed out. Chase frowned in thought. No, Hardin hadn’t killed Oake. But she knew who had.
Chase stared at Shadow’s stand. Both Peter and Ivan were still there. Peter picked up his cat and took him to the judges.
Shadow behaved admirably, and Peter returned to their stand and tucked Shadow into his carrier.
“That’s it,” Anna said. “Quince and Shadow were the last two. Now it’s time to hold our breath.”
Chase had been doing that a lot lately. She fidgeted, trying to decide what to do about what she had figured out.
One of the police officers from the parking lot strode a few steps into the arena, looked around, and beckoned Daisy over to him. She hurried to the doorway. They bent their heads together, the large man leaning down to Daisy’s level. After a few seconds, she jerked her head up and stared at him. He nodded grimly. After he said a few more words, she nodded, too, then came back to the contest.
The policeman looked behind him, into the corridor, then went to sit in the bleachers, on the first row, very close to the entrance. He should be able to catch Ivan if he made a run for it. But why would he run? No one here knew he was the killer except Chase. And what concrete evidence did she have? None. Just Hardin saying he saw someone who was probably Ivan leaving the building at the critical time. It didn’t seem that Hardin had told the police what he told her, or ever would.
Daisy climbed the stand to the microphone and tapped it. Every single cat and half their owners flinched. “I need to make a special announcement. After the contest, no one is to leave the building. This is by order of the police. There has been . . . an incident and they want to question everyone here.”
The huge space buzzed with startled exclamations and whispered words. It seemed that every single person stirred, either in their seats or where they were standing.
Daisy continued. “We’ll finish the judging and award the prize, then, everyone, please stay here.” She stepped down and nodded at the judges to continue.
The three judges put their heads together and conferred for the longest time. The crew cut man pulled a notebook from his inside jacket pocket and thumbed through a few pages. The woman consulted her phone. Chase assumed she had taken notes on it. The jolly man bobbed his head in agreement. Finally, the stern woman beckoned Daisy to the trio. She tripped across the floor, her frizzy hair bouncing, her eyebrows up expectantly. She was light on her feet, in spite of the heavy atmosphere. Daisy stood listening, gave two quick nods, then went back to the stand with the microphone. She refrained from tapping it this time.
“May I have your attention, please? The judges have reached a decision in the Fancy Cat Contest. Here are the results. In third place, Princess Puffball the ballerina, owned by Patrice Youngren.”
Patrice, with a huge smile on her face, held her pudgy ballerina up so everyone could admire the frilly pink costume. Ms. Sharp, the prickly Picky Puss rep, marched over and handed a ribbon to Patrice.
When the clapping started, it was so loud that Chase looked around for the first time at all the spectators, perched on risers to one side of the competition area. They filled every row, up to the top. She was surprised by the number of faces she saw. There were too many people there, she thought, for the crowd to be made up of just the friends and relatives of the contestants. It was clearly a popular contest. It was the last contest of the fair, and the contract for appearing on the cat food containers, plus a possible television ad, with royalties, were such high stakes—but would have been higher if the collar hadn’t disappeared.
After the applause died down, Daisy spoke again. “Ladies and gentlemen, in second place is Shadow, dressed as Batcat.” Shadow’s owner was announced. Peter grinned and displayed Shadow as Ms. Sharp went to their stand and gave a red ribbon to Ivan. Chase wasn’t sure how she felt about the show going on and a murderer winning a prize. If Peter was innocent of his father’s crimes, she felt happy for him. Ivan, however . . . She had no happiness for him. In fact, anger was building inside her.
“And in first place, Quincy, as Babe the Blue Ox, owned by Charity Oliver.”
The butterscotch cat’s owner gripped him so hard, she was in danger of crushing him. Nevertheless, he purred loudly. Maybe he’d caught her infectious joy at winning the contest. Maybe he could tell he’d won and was happy about it. Maybe he liked being squeezed by his owner. The loud applause made him a bit jumpy, but he felt safe in his owner’s arms. After all, she was the one who fed him those delicious treats. The other woman stroked him. He basked in the attention and purred even more loudly, closing his eyes tightly in contentment. The two women swelled with pride.
Inger smiled at Peter then ran over from the Aronoff’s stand to join them. Chase grabbed Inger’s hand and raised their arms in the air together, signifying that Inger had a lot to do with the first-place win. Daisy handed the blue ribbon to Anna, since Chase’s hands were full.
“Where should we put this?” Anna asked Chase.
“Maybe in the shop?” Chase was distracted, watching Peter and Ivan. Shadow was still out of his carrier. Ivan held him and Peter admired their ribbon.
“Yes,” said Inger. “In the front. I’ll explain it to people.”
“Be sure,” Anna said, “that you mention who helped—”
A ginger furball leapt down, streaked past Chase and Inger, and jumped upon the pedestal where the black cat’s carrier rested.
“Quincy!” Anna wasn’t far behind, running to try to catch him.
The ginger cat dove into the carrier and started pawing the bedding, looking like a dog digging a hole, or maybe a cat looking for a fresh place in the litter box.
Chase thought of that last one and was afraid he would do his business in Shadow’s carrier. She reached in and pulled him out, knocking his ox horns off. It was a wonder they had stayed on while he’d streaked across the room. Now, though, they fell to the floor. Anna swooped them up before anyone could step on them, although they hardly needed them now.
When Chase folded her cat in her arms, a dazzling sparkle caught her eye in the carrier. She reached in again and this time she withdrew what Quincy had been digging for.
It was the missing diamond collar.
TWENTY-NINE
Silence fell on the arena as, one after another, people noticed what she held.
Her hand, holding the precious object at arm’s length as if it were contaminated, began to tremble. Showers of fiery sparks from the diamonds caught the bright arena lights and shot around the room. A few dabs of butter were wedged between some of the jewels. It hadn’t been cleaned off since it had been taken from inside the sculpture, Chase thought. Quincy strained toward it, flicking his tongue out.
Ivan, more wild-eyed than ever, lunged for the collar, but Chase was quick enough to snatch her hand back against her chest. She narrowed her eyes and looked from one man to the other.
“You had this all the time?” she demanded, her throat tight with anger.
“No, no! I didn’t know it was there,” Peter cried. “Papa, what have you done?”
Ivan grabbed her arm, but she kept her grip on the collar. In a flash, Ivan threw Chase to the floor, banging her head and her right hand against the ground, trying to loosen her grip. Quincy jumped down. Chase flinched but didn’t let go.