I raced toward the door as if in slow motion. Honestly, the moment wasn’t that different from all those times the heroine runs in slow motion through a field of bright flowers to reach her hero. Yes, I loved my cat, and this moment was special to me, so don’t judge.
Swinging the door open, I smiled down at him and said, “I forgive you.”
“Great,” he said with a sly smile. “By the way, there’s some nice green puke waiting for you at the bottom of the stairs.” He trotted away, swinging his hips triumphantly. Honestly, I couldn’t even remember what the green puke punishment was about, but I had bigger fish to fry.
Leaving my door open in case he wanted to come back for some apology cuddles, I snuggled back on my bed and returned to my research on the late senator and her next of kin.
First I read all the news articles pertaining to her from this past month. That bored me out of my mind, so I shifted my focus to what I personally knew already.
With the notes app on my phone open and ready, I typed in everything I’d discovered so far:
Served four terms, likely to be reelected.
Died by falling down the stairs.
Bottom stair smashed in.
Mom asked to investigate for the news.
Icky gut feeling at the crime scene.
Two Sphynx cats from breeder in France.
Officer Bouchard stood guard outside for the better part of the day.
Mr. Thompson came to visit and was turned away.
Next of kin is Matt Harlow. He ran into me in the woods and covered my mouth when I tried to scream.
There, that was everything so far, right? If I considered everyone mentioned in the list that meant my first round of suspects included Officer Bouchard, Matt Harlow, Mr. Thompson, my mom, and some cat breeder in France. And, oh yeah, also her two cats. I should have probably added any person who was rumored to be running for the senator’s seat in the next mid-term election, too. We were still more than two years away, which made me think a political opponent was rather unlikely.
That led me back to another very important question: how did the senator know Mr. Thompson? Sure, I could just ask him the next time I showed up at the firm for work, but would he be willing to tell me the truth or just send me further astray?
I Googled for close to an hour, searching for any connection between Harlow and Thompson, but came up short. Since I was still off work for the remainder of the week, I decided to call in a favor from a friend.
“Hello?” Charles, the junior partner at our firm and my former crush, answered in a hushed whisper.
“Charles, I need a favor,” I told him.
“I’m at the movies with Breanne. Just a sec.” I heard some angry groans from his fellow movie-goers, then a minute later his voice came back loud and strong. “In the lobby now. What’s up?”
“The senator was murdered today,” I told him in case he didn’t already know.
But he did. Of course he did. “They haven’t ruled out the fact it could have been an accident,” he corrected.
“But I have,” I said, and he knew better than to argue. “Anyway, interesting fact: Thompson showed up this afternoon and tried to gain entry to the house, but the cops turned him away.”
“That’s weird. Wait, how do you know that?”
“I live next door now. Remember?” I answered matter-of-factly.
“You just can’t keep away from a good mystery, can you, Russo?” he said with a laugh, even though we were talking about a murder here. It made my heart melt for him a little all over again. Seeing as he was spoken for, though, I swallowed back that particular feeling and returned my focus to the facts before us.
“Can you look into Thompson for me?” I asked. “Find out how he knew the senator? Why he showed up today?”
“Will do,” he said. “That all?”
“Yeah, get back to your date, lover boy.” I hoped he couldn’t detect the sarcasm in my voice. Whatever the case, he quickly ended the call, leaving me alone in my giant house once again—and possibly with a murderer next door.
Maybe I could convince Nan to move in early? Then I would have a temperamental cat and a feisty old lady to protect me, should trouble come calling.
Chapter Ten
Despite another couple hours spent researching the late senator’s life, history, and political stances, I didn’t feel any closer to solving her murder the next morning. Sure, it could have been a big inheritance grab as had been the case with Ethel Fulton’s murder, but somehow I doubted it.
As frightening as I’d found him last night, her polite and pudgy Midwesterner son didn’t strike me as a killer—just a bit socially inept. Still, I couldn’t rule him out completely. Otherwise I’d be left primarily with the two cats and possibly my boss as suspects.
Hopefully Charles would be able to find out what I needed to know about Thompson by the end of the day. I’d been there for him when nobody else was willing to support his “unwinnable” double homicide case. Against all odds, we won that time, and I knew we could win again. There was no case attached, but we at least owed the world the truth about Lou Harlow’s death.
After a quick breakfast of dry Cheerios, I pulled back my hair and threw on a bold retro sundress, then climbed into my car. I wanted to solve this thing as quick as possible—not just for the senator, not just for the world at large, but for myself, too. Sleep had not come easily last night, and I doubted it would again until I knew I was safe in my new home.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Octo-Cat demanded, jumping on top of my hood and staring daggers at me straight through the windshield.
“Next door,” I informed him. I wasn’t risking those woods again, whether or not the sun was now shining brightly. “Now get off my car so I can start the engine.”
“I’m coming, too,” he said, then sprinted toward the forest. Not surprising in the least. He had his preferred method of travel, and I had mine.
I navigated down my long, twisting driveway, down a small stretch of road, and then back up Harlow manor’s long, twisting driveway. Yeah, once my poor foot made a full recovery, it probably would be faster to traipse through the woods, but sometimes fast wasn’t the most important part of getting somewhere.
Like when it came to solving a mystery.
I’d learned that my first time out of the gate. There I’d gone, galloping toward that finish line without even taking the proper time to prepare myself for the race. And it had nearly gotten me killed.
Come to think of it, I’d put myself in mortal danger as part of solving my second case, too. This time I’d be real glad if bringing Harlow’s murderer to justice didn’t involve any flirtations with death on my part. It would certainly make me feel more professional if I could solve a crime without endangering anyone’s life in the process.
Maybe today would be my big day—an important turning point for Ms. Pet Whisperer P.I. I chuckled at the notion, but admittedly my Mom’s nickname had started to grow on me.
When I pulled up to the Harlow estate, I was surprised to see no police cars or sports cars in sight. Instead, a rusty old truck sat parked just before the main entrance. The door hung wide open, but I couldn’t see anyone inside—not even the esoteric cats that I knew for a fact still lived here.
“I’m here!” Octo-Cat’s muffled cry broke through the woods. “And I come bearing gifts,” he added as he appeared carrying a dead rodent in his mouth.
“Gross,” I said, already accepting that tomorrow morning’s cat puke would be extra disgusting.
“Is someone there?” a deep voice called from within the house.
I hung back near my car and waited for the speaker to emerge onto the porch. When he did, I squealed for joy and ran forward to throw my arms around him. “Brock! It’s so good to see you out in the wild.” I hoped he wasn’t offended by my choice of words, but it felt better to not directly mention that the last couple of times I’d seen him he’d been in either court or prison.