Cat-Eye Witness (A Klepto Cat Mystery) (12 page)

“Did you have occasion to go inside the house?”

“Well, yes, I actually did. It’s a funny story.” She chuckled.

“I’m all ears,” the detective said, without enthusiasm.

The woman smacked her lips before speaking. “Well, as we drove up, I saw this big grey-and-white cat peering out from an upstairs window. I was struck by this cat.” Her face opened up into a smile. “I’m a real feline freak, as you might have noticed.” She waved her arm around the room.

Sledge lifted his eyes and spotted a cookie jar, salt and pepper shakers, a dish towel, and other things all in cat motif. “Actually, I hadn’t noticed. But I can see that now.”

“I have cat blankets, pillows, dispenser bottles, clothes with cats on them and even a kitty cat lamp up in the bedroom.” She smiled. “Oh yes, I do love cats, but,” she feigned a pout and continued, “I can’t have a cat of my own right now because my husband’s a dog person He hates cats. What are the odds, huh?” She shook her head.

Sledge attempted to move things along. “Okay, Mrs. Jameson, so you saw the cat…”

“Yes, I had one that looked a lot like him once, and I got all nostalgic and really wanted to meet this one. After I got the kids settled in some of the arcade games with my husband, I looked up the owner of the place—Savannah Jordan—and asked if I could see the cat. Well, she seemed pleased to have someone show an interest in the cat, so she agreed—no problem. We started up the stairs together, but someone called out to her. They needed her to do something or get something. So she suggested I go on up and see Rags. That’s his name, Rags,” she said with a grin.

Sledge shifted in his chair. “So you went up there alone,” he said in an attempt to prompt her to continue. “Where was the cat? Which room?”

“The first door on the left. At the top of the stairs.”

The detective froze in place—his interest level accelerated. “Was anyone in the room when you got there?”

“No, not when I got there. It was just me and the cat. What a lovely creature—so friendly and funny. A real charmer.”

“Mrs. Jameson, what time was this?”

“It was pretty close to eleven o’clock, I would guess. As I recall, we got there about ten-thirty.”

“And how long were you in the room with the cat?” Sledge was no longer complacent. In fact, he was quite interested in what the woman was saying.

“I think I was there for about fifteen minutes.”

“Now, you said there was no one in the room when you got there, but what about when you left?”

“Well, when I was leaving, that’s when I noticed the tall redheaded woman who works at the diner coming up the stairs. She looked at me kinda strange—like she wondered what I was doing there. In fact, she asked if she could help me. I told her I was just visiting the cat and we went on our way each in opposite directions.”

“Was she with anyone?”

“No. She was alone.”

“Did you see where she went?” Sledge was keenly interested, now.

“Yes, as a matter of fact, I did see which room she went into. It was the first one on the right—across from where the cat was.”

“Did she use a key to get into that room?”

The woman lowered her brow. “I don’t think so. I’m pretty sure she just opened the door and walked on in.”

“So you were watching her? Why?”

Kimberly Jameson shook her head back and forth with a laugh. “Oh I wasn’t actually watching her. It just happened that someone I knew came through the front door about then and I stopped at the bottom of the stairs to talk to her.”

“So did you see the redheaded woman come out of the room and back down the stairs?” he asked.

“No!” she exclaimed.

“So you didn’t see her come down the stairs?”

“Well no. She didn’t come right back down the stairs.”

Sledge appeared to be confused. “How do you know that?”

“As I told you, I stood there talking to my friend for a while. After I saw the redhead go into the room on the right, I glanced up a few seconds later—maybe a minute—and saw her come out of that room and cross over toward the room where the cat was.”

The detective sat back in his chair, his full attention on what Kimberly Jameson was saying. He then leaned slightly forward. “Did she go in?”

“Yes, she went in the room where the cat was. And her hands were empty.”

He looked a little confused. “Her hands were empty?”

“Yes, when she went into the room on the right, she was carrying some sort of box. Coming out, her hands were empty.”

“Did she see you watching her?”

“Oh no, I wasn’t watching her. I just happened to look in that direction at the same time she was walking into the room. No, I’m sure she didn’t see me. She didn’t look my way.”

“Well, thank you very much, Mrs. Jameson, this has been most enlightening.”

“But there’s more, Detective,” she said, eager to tell what she knew.

“Oh?”

“Yes, I was walking away with my friend toward the kitchen, when I realized I had left my sweater hanging on the stair banister. I turned back and walked into the living room just in time to see a man hurrying up the stairs. I was curious, so I watched him and I saw him knock lightly on the door where the cat was. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him.”

“What time was this?” Detective Sledge was sitting on the edge of his chair by now.

“I’d say just four or five minutes after I came down from seeing the cat—so maybe eleven-twenty-five.”

“Did you know the man? Can you describe him?”

“I didn’t recognize him, but I saw him only from the back. He was wearing jeans—but then most of the men and a lot of the women were. He had on a muted tangerine-colored long-sleeved shirt, I believe, and he wore a Western hat—I think straw. His build, as I recall, was, well, fairly common, only he seemed a little thick around the middle. Hard to tell from the back, actually.”

“Hair color? Age? Height?”

“Not much hair showing under his hat—maybe a light brown, but that’s pretty much a guess. He may have stood nearly six-foot. Looking at his physique—at least from the back—I’d say he was in his late fifties or sixties.”

Sledge wrote madly on his notepad. He lifted his pencil and asked, “Mrs. Jameson, did you see this man later at the party?”

She tightened her lips and looked up as if in contemplation. “You know, I didn’t notice him. Never gave him another thought after that. I did see the tall redheaded woman a few times, though. She’s hard to miss.”

Sledge smiled to himself.
Yes, she is rather striking.

“Is this the man you saw going up the stairs?” he showed her a photo of the victim, Marvin Byrd.

She studied the photo. “Hmmm no, I don’t think so. But you have to remember, I only saw him from the back. Was the victim wearing blue jeans and a sort of orange shirt?”

“Actually, no,” he said. “But maybe the murderer or witness to the murder was.”

“Good heavens!” she exclaimed.

***

“Good evening, Ms. Jordan. Sledge here.”

“Oh, hello, Detective. Anything new?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact. I’m getting some pretty interesting stories from the people I’ve talked to.” He cleared his throat. “Just wondering, was anyone taking photos at the party?”

“Sure, I took a few myself. And I noticed some of the board members snapping photos.”

“Could you get some of the pictures for me to look at?” he asked. “Or, better yet, give me the names of those who were taking pictures and I’ll have them bring copies in. Can you bring in yours either this evening or tomorrow morning?”

“Sure, I was just going out. I’ll copy them onto a disk and bring them by.”

“And Ms. Jordan, maybe you can identify someone for me.” Sledge cleared his throat. “The man dressed in all black working in the booths with Ms. Clampton’s two sons, who was that?”

Savannah thought for a moment and then said, “Oh, I think you must mean Damon—Iris’s older boy. She brought him along to help out in the arcade and he usually does wear all black anytime I’ve ever seen him.” She paused. “I imagine that’s who you’re referring to. Why?”

“Just curious. Thank you very much. I’ll look forward to receiving those photographs.”

Savannah’s first stop was at the sheriff’s department where she quickly dropped off a CD of her photos along with a list of people she recalled taking pictures at the fundraiser. She pulled up in front of Iris’s house at five-thirty that evening, just in time to see someone in a large, dark-colored SUV tear away from the curb in a hurry—or a fit of anger.

Savannah watched until the SUV was out of sight. She climbed out of her red Honda Accord, reaching into the back seat for a hot baking dish wrapped in a thick towel. She closed the car door with her hip and walked toward the front steps of the modest house. She managed to push the bell button with one finger. The door opened remarkably fast.

“Savannah?” Iris said, a look of surprise on her face,
and not the happy kind of surprise,
Savannah thought. “What are you doing…er, I mean, I didn’t expect you,” she said running the tips of her index fingers around her eyes in an attempt to wipe away tears without smudging her makeup.

“Hi there. Gosh, what’s going on? You look a mess. Aren’t you answering your phone?”

“Oh that phone…I think I left it in my car,” she said with a wave of her hand. She hesitated, looked at Savannah, and said, “You can come in if you want.”

Savannah stepped inside. She stopped and studied her friend for a second before saying, “You’ve been crying.” She creased her brow and looked around the room. “What’s going on? Who did I see speeding off just now?”

Iris took in a deep breath. “Um…whatcha got there?” she asked, in an attempt to avoid answering the questions.

Savannah smiled. “It’s my easy lasagna recipe. I made a dish for us, thought you and the boys might enjoy some for supper.”

“It smells heavenly,” Iris said. “How sweet of you to think of us when you have such a busy life.” Iris stared down at the casserole dish without speaking.

“Can I put it in the kitchen?”

“Oh, yes. Come on,” Iris said, leading the way. “Just set it down there.” She motioned toward the counter. “Looks hot.”

“Yup, ready to eat.”

Iris winced as if fighting back on onslaught of tears, then rushed forward and wrapped her arms around Savannah’s neck. “I just love you. Thank you, thank you.”

After returning the hug, Savannah pulled away. She looked Iris in the eyes. “Why were you crying?”

Iris thought for a moment. “Oh that Sledge dude was here harassing me.”

“Harassing you? How?”

Iris choked up. “Did you know he asked me about stealing the money?”

“What?”

“They found red hair outside the upstairs window…did you know that?”

Savannah looked stunned. “No.”
I guess he found that when he went up the ladder yesterday,
she thought.
Wonder why he didn’t mention it.
Finally she responded, “Well, Iris, there were other redheaded people at the fundraiser, weren’t there?”

Iris waved her hand in the air and said, her voice unnaturally shrill, “That’s what I told him.” She took on a more serious look. “Savannah, the hair they found on the body—well, it was mine.” She held her breath, waiting for her friend’s reaction.

Savannah opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Finally, she practically whispered, “How, Iris? How did that happen?” Her imagination was working overtime.
My gosh. What has Iris done?

“It’s not all that sinister, really.” Iris walked over to the nearest kitchen chair and dropped into it. She crossed her ankles out in front of her and stared down at her turquoise platform sandals—a perfect match for the cable-knit sweater she wore.

“Iris? Iris? Savannah said.

“Huh?”

“Tell me how your hair got on the victim.”

“Oh yeah. I went in there that morning to check on your cat.”

“Rags?” Savannah lowered her shoulders as if relieved. She then gave Iris a puzzled look—a look that required a response.

“Well, I had seen a woman come out of the room where Rags was and I just wondered, what she was doing in there. After I put the money box in the spare room, I went across the hall to take a look and make sure everything was okay.”

Savannah smiled. “Oh yes, that was Kimberly Jameson—she wanted to meet Rags.” She frowned, as she eased into a chair facing Iris. “But your hair?”

“Well, as I told the detective, I’m having a hair-loss problem. My hair just falls out so easily, anymore.” She sat upright. “You know, I forgot about going in there to check on the cat when I talked to the detective. I must remember to tell him about that.” She then looked directly at Savannah. Her speech coming faster now, as if she was eager to get it out and get it over with. “I played with the cat for a little while, and I guess I lost some hair up there in that room. I lose it everywhere. See, it falls out when I just run my fingers through it like this.” She dropped a few strands of hair on the floor and continued, still staring down at the carpet, “I’m not sure the detective believes me and he’s still pretty insistent that I get a lawyer.” She looked up at Savannah. “Do you know any good ones that don’t cost a whole lot?”

Savannah scrunched up her face. “So the body…wasn’t there?”

“No!” Iris said emphatically. “Definitely not. I would have seen it.”

“But you think some of your hair came out while you were playing with Rags? Did you brush it when you were in there or something?”

Iris let out a sigh. “No, but I might have fussed with it some—you know, ran my fingers through it or something.”

“Well, that ought to satisfy Sledge, shouldn’t it?” Savannah reasoned. “Why would you need a lawyer?”

“Maybe I won’t, actually, after I tell the detective the rest of the story.”

“Right!” Savannah said, as she stood up. She pressed her lips together and looked over at Iris. “But just in case, let me check around, okay?” She put her hand on Iris’s arm and leaned toward her, saying, “Michael’s expecting me. And I don’t want to leave Rags for too long.” She walked into the living room and toward the front door to leave, but turned back and looked at Iris. “So, Rags was okay when you saw him?”