As did the very large bookcase that covered part of one wall. Against the opposite wall a fireplace had been put in, though I had the impression it had been put there more for decorative reasons than functional ones. I could tell from the warmth my paws were experiencing that the room was heated by floor heating, which was very nice indeed.
Against that fireplace now lay a woman, face down, and judging from the blood on both the marble corner of the fireplace and the head of said woman, it wasn’t a stretch to conclude that she had fallen and knocked her head.
“How did she die?” asked Uncle Alec. His question was directed at Abe Cornwall, the one with the exploded hairdo. The coroner got up from his examination of the body, his knees making creaking sounds as he did. “As far as I can tell she hit her head against the corner of this fireplace and the impact killed her. Though to be absolutely sure I’ll need to take her in for a postmortem.”
“Time of death?”
Abe scratched his head.“No lividity, no rigor mortis. Judging by body temperature I’d say she died between eleven-thirty and twelve.”
Uncle Alec nodded as he thoughtfully rubbed his chin.“So if she fell and hit her head, why was this reported as a murder?” he asked, this time addressing his officer.
“There seems to have been a breakin, sir,” said the young man. He gestured to the safe, located behind a painting, which hung askance. The safe was open, clearly empty.
“Who called it in?”
“Mrs. Hoeppner’s secretary,” said the officer, and pointed to a distraught-looking woman who was being consoled by a second female officer, both seated on the couch.
“Chase, Odelia, I’ll let you handle the investigation,” said Uncle Alec, bowing out.
“Of course, sir,” said Chase, adopting a formal tone since we were in an official setting.
Chase and Odelia now joined the secretary, and while Harriet and Brutus wandered in the direction of the kitchen, presumably in search of something to eat, Dooley and I joined our humans. The investigation had begun.
3
Cher Shorn was clearly deeply impressed by what she’d encountered when she arrived in her employer’s home. She was clutching a Kleenex and dabbing it at her eyes. She was a horse-faced woman with long brown hair that fell like a curtain across her face, until she was joined by Odelia and Chase, at which point she made the effort to sit up a little straighter and tuck her long tresses behind her ears. She pushed her overly large glasses higher up her nose and took a deep breath.
“Yes, I found her like that, and no, I didn’t touch anything,” she said in answer to Chase’s unspoken question. She looked up and her eyes filled with tears again, causing her to remove her glasses and drag another Kleenex from a large box.
“You were Mrs. Hoeppner’s secretary?” asked Odelia, taking things from the top, and employing her most kind and soft-spoken tone.
Cher nodded.“I just celebrated fifteen years in her employ. We went out to dinner and had such a good time. Neda was demanding, but after fifteen years I considered her a friend.”
“Do you think this could have been an accident?” asked Odelia.
“Absolutely not,” said Cher with a vigorous shake of her head.
“What makes you say that?”
“Because when I arrived the safe was open,” said Cher. “And empty.” Indignation made her voice rise both in volume and pitch. “They must have forced her to open it and then they cleaned it out and killed her.”
“Isn’t it possible that she opened the safe herself and simply made a bad fall?” Chase suggested.
“Absolutely not,” said Cher. “That safe was full of Neda’s valuables, and now it’s empty. Whoever did this robbed and killed her, and I know exactly who did it.”
This statement was greeted with a look of surprise from both Odelia and Chase.“You know who killed your employer?” asked Chase.
“Absolutely. His name is Raban Pacoccha and he’s Neda’s gardener. And I have a strong suspicion he’s also a drug addict, and that he robbed Neda to fund his addiction.”
“Did you find him on the premises when you arrived?” asked Odelia.
“No, he was gone by the time I got here.” She shook her head. “Imagine if I hadn’t arrived when I did. Neda could very well have spent the night lying there—dead.” She broke into tears again.
“Why did you arrive when you did?” asked Chase, deciding to clear up another mystery that had clearly puzzled him.
“Today is Monday,” said Cher, as if that explained everything. When she found herself gazing into two questioning faces, she continued, “On Monday we always get together here to go over the week’s program. Neda was a wealthy woman. Her father, Ralph Hoeppner, made his fortune selling linoleum—they called him the linoleum king. After he died Neda decided to devote her life supporting the many cultural organizations and charities she favored. It kept us busy, handling an extensive social calendar and a lot of organizations Neda had decided to grace with her patronage. We also keep an office in town, where I work and where she has a desk, but she rarely went there. She preferred if I came here to go over the week’s schedule. Our meeting was scheduled at one o’clock.”
“We heard from Chief Lip that she was on a lot of committees,” said Chase.
Cher gave a curt nod of the head and then started rattling off the list.“The Hampton Cove Arts Center, the Hampton Cove Cultural Center, the Seabreeze Music Center, the Charlie Dieber Art Museum and Study Center, the Waterhill Center. And of course she is—or was—also the first female conductor of the St. Theresa Choir, which had its weekly rehearsal just this morning. Which is why we never met before lunch.”
“She was a very busy woman, this Neda Hoeppner,” said Dooley.
“Yeah, extremely busy,” I said as we wandered in the direction of the dearly departed once more, the men in white coveralls dusting the area for prints and collecting samples of whatever they could find in the vicinity of Neda’s body. They certainly made every effort not to miss a thing, and when Dooley and I came a little too close in their opinion, they gave us nasty glances and so we quickly removed ourselves from the scene. Cats have a tendency to shed, you see, and if there’s anything these CSI types hate more than a dust bunny they can’t identify, it’s cat hair landing whereno cat hair is supposed to be.
“She has a very nice house,” said Dooley as we inspected the rest of the living space. “Maybe Gran should ask who her interior decorator was.”
“You really would like to live in a house like this?” I asked as I inspected a violin that Neda had placed on a stand.
“Oh, absolutely. I think Neda Hoeppner had great taste.”
“She certainly had,” I agreed.
“So it was murder, was it?” asked Dooley, abruptly changing the topic.
“Looks like it,” I confirmed.
He heaved a deep sigh.“Stealing is bad enough, but why murder, Max?”
“I’m not sure, Dooley. But in this case Neda Hoeppner didn’t strike me as the kind of woman who would happily hand over her treasured possessions, so the robber must have been compelled to use lethal force to accomplish what they set out to do.”
We’d wandered back to where the interview with Mrs. Hoeppner’s secretary was taking place. The secretary was showing a diary to Chase, and had flipped to where some of the pages had been torn out. “Today’s date,” she said meaningfully. “Neda wrote down all her appointments in this book. Raban must have torn these pages out before he left.”
“Do you know what was taken from the safe, Miss Shorn?” asked Chase as he held his pencil poised over his little notebook.
“Neda kept her jewels in that safe,” said Cher, “as well as some cash and of course her collection of gold coins.”