“So how is your investigation going?” asked Shanille.
I stared at her in wonder. “How did you know we’re investigating something?”
“Aren’t you always?” she said. “What is it this time? No, don’t tell me. A murder? A robbery? A home invasion? A kidnapping?”
“An apparent suicide,” I said.
“A banker killed himself and now his daughter thinks he was murdered,” Dooley supplied. “And she’s asked Odelia to investigate. Oh, and there’s a sausage involved.”
“Oh, dear,” said Shanille. “I heard about that. Dino Wimmer, right? Isn’t he the guy who was instrumental in building the Hampton Cove Star hotel?”
“He is,” I confirmed.
“Kingman seems to think Wilbur Vickery might be involved,” Shanille said, as she cast a quick glance at the voluminous cat, who held court for at least half a dozen females nearby. “Though I very much doubt whether Wilbur is capable of murder.”
“Yeah, I don’t think that’s a lead we’re actively pursuing at this time,” I agreed.
“Do you want to know what I think?” asked Dooley.
Shanille gave him an amused smile. “Of course, Dooley. I always want to know what you think.”
Dooley seemed surprised by this, but proceeded to regale the choir director with his latest brain wave nevertheless. “I think he was murdered by the same person who sent that picture of a sausage to his daughter.”
“Picture of a sausage? What are you talking about?”
“Someone called Dick sent a picture of his sausage to Rose Wimmer, and I have a hunch it’s all part of one big conspiracy,” said Dooley. “I’m sure if Odelia would care to look at Mr. Wimmer’s phone she would find similar pictures of similar sausages. I think those sausages were sent as a warning, and now Rose’s life is in danger—in danger from the same man named Dick. If only we could figure out who that sausage belongs to, I’m sure we’ll be able to crack this case.”
“Dooley, that… sausage and the murder or suicide of Dino Wimmer are not in fact related,” I said, deciding to settle this matter once and for all. “In fact the person who sent that picture to Rose is probably one of her school friends. Just one of those adolescent jokes, you know. A prank, if you will.”
He frowned at this. “I don’t think so, Max. I mean, I respect your judgment, you know I do, but for once I have to disagree with you. That sausage is a major clue in this investigation—just you mark my words.”
Shanille patted my friend’s back. “You keep chasing that sausage, Dooley,” she said as she gave me a wink.
“Oh, but I will,” said Dooley. “That sausage isn’t getting away with this. Not on my watch.”
Chapter 18
The next day Dooley and I were riding in the car again, with Odelia steering it in the direction of Happy Bays, our neighboring town. I know what you’re thinking: isn’t it odd for a pair of cats to spend so much time riding in cars? Isn’t that something more often associated with the canine species? And you would be absolutely right. Dogs have cornered the market on cute pictures taken with their tongues dangling out of car windows, spreading their slobber to the far corners of the globe as the wind makes their flabby features flop to and fro. But that doesn’t mean cats can’t enjoy the occasional car ride too, right?
Though I have to admit I’d much rather have both feet on terra firma than in some metal box hurtling along the road on rubber wheels. It is unnatural, and even though it’s necessary, that doesn’t mean I have to like it.
“So where are we going?” asked Dooley, probably eager to resume his spreading of good deeds as soon as possible.
“We’re going to talk to Daphne Wimmer’s friend,” said Odelia. “Grace Ojala. She’s the woman who provided Daphne with an alibi for the night her husband died.”
“You think Daphne is somehow involved in her husband’s death?” I asked, surprised by this development.
“No, but I have to make sure she was where she said she was,” intimated Odelia. “That way I can eliminate her from the investigation and move on to other, more likely suspects.” Her face took on a grim note when she added, “Like Dino Wimmer’s business partner, or his client.”
“You really think that’s where the answer to this mystery lies, do you?” I asked.
“I don’t know, Max, but it certainly looks like the most plausible avenue to pursue at this moment.”
“What about Rose?” I asked. “She and her dad fought a lot, as several witnesses have now confirmed. And she was the only one home that night with her dad. She could have dumped those pills in his drink.”
“Possible,” Odelia allowed, “but unlikely. Why would Rose kill her father and then cry wolf? The police have accepted his death as a suicide, so if she’s the killer she would have kept her mouth shut and wouldn’t have asked me to investigate.”
“Or it could be that because she’s guilty she hired you as a way of throwing the suspicion off herself,” I countered. “She didn’t know that night that the police were going to treat her father’s death as a suicide. She could have been hedging her bets.”
“Yeah, but then why did she visit me this morning? By that time it was clear my uncle wasn’t going to investigate further.”
“I still don’t think we should exclude Rose as a potential suspect,” I said. “She had motive, opportunity and means, so there’s that.”
“All right,” said Odelia with a smile and a glance at me through the rearview mirror. “I’ll put her on my list of suspects, Detective Max.”
“That’s all I’m asking,” I said, returning her smile.
“And what about Dick?” asked Dooley. “Is he on the list of suspects, too?”
“Who’s Dick?” asked Odelia, puzzled.
“Dick—the man who sent the picture of his sausage to Rose.”
“Oh, him,” she said with a grin. “Yes, Dooley. I’ll be sure to put him on my suspect list, too.”
We’d arrived at our destination, and I glanced up at the house whose owner had been instrumental in supplying Daphne Wimmer with a solid alibi. I liked Mrs. Wimmer. It’s hard enough for a woman to enter a new relationship where one of the partners has a kid from a previous marriage, but having to face a rebellious teenager who likes to dump a boyfriend like Cole Donalds on the mat and then duke it out with her dad isn’t much fun. And now she’d have to raise the recalcitrant teen all on her own.
The home where Daphne’s friend lived was a nice big house, with a cute little apron of green out in front, behind a picket fence. The mailbox had one of those flags that indicate mail has arrived, and I could see several garden gnomes standing at attention. Tex, an avid garden gnome aficionado, would have yipped at the sight.
Odelia rang the doorbell and soon the lady of the manor opened the door. She was a smallish woman with shoulder-length brown hair and a kindly face. She was wiping her hands on her apron, and I could smell the delicious scent of freshly baked cake wafting from inside the house.
“Come on in,” said the woman. “You must be Odelia Poole. And are these your darlings?”
“Yeah, these are Max and Dooley,” said Odelia. “I hope you don’t mind that I brought them along? They like to go where I go.”
“Oh, no problem at all,” said the woman, and already I was warming to her to a great degree. An Avon lady and a cat lady. Definitely a woman after my own heart.
“Take a seat,” said the woman as she gestured to a cozy sofa in the bright and airy living room. “I have to take this cake out of the oven but I’ll be with you in a second. Can I offer you anything? Coffee? Tea?”
“Coffee will be fine,” said Odelia, who’s something of a coffee addict.
Unfortunately she didn’t offer us any refreshments, but I decided to overlook this minor faux-pas. I was sure that soon she would rectify this oversight by presenting us with a nice bowl filled with goodies.