A Mew to a Kill (20 page)

Oh, because my eyes were weighted shut. Maybe they were crusted shut with saltwater. It felt like I'd been swimming. I tried to force them open. No dice.

I tried to drift off to the sound of the ocean, but it suddenly changed from the soft sound of the waves lapping at the shore to a steady beep.

Beep. Beep. Beep.
 

I tried my eyes again. They opened a slit to reveal off-white walls, tubes and a white board with stuff scribbled on it. No palm trees. No blue sky. No ocean. Just Gus hovering over me.

"She's awake," Gus decreed.

I closed my eyes again and struggled to get back to the beach. But it was no use. I opened them again. Where was I?

Then it all came clear. I was in the hospital. My memory flashed back on the black truck.
 

I'd been hit!
 

I took inventory of my limbs. Wiggled my fingers and toes. Everything seemed fine except my shoulder hurt like heck and my head felt all fuzzy. Not to mention the massive headache that was knocking on my skull, trying to get out.

"How long have I been here?" I asked.

"Overnight."
 

Overnight? Cripes. My eyes shot open. "Pandora!"
 

The last time I'd seen her, she'd been in the bookstore. She must be frantic by now. And mad. I pictured the store full of foam from the couches and chairs that she'd probably shredded to pieces by now.

"Don't worry," Striker soothed. "I took her home and fed her."

My heart flooded with warmth and I turned in the direction of his voice. Striker sat in an uncomfortable-looking blue plastic chair. His face was haggard. He had a day’s worth of stubble as if he'd been sitting there all night. Had he? I wanted to ask, but all I could manage was a weak, "Thank you."

Striker smiled. "How are you feeling?"

"Okay."

"Good. I was worried. I hope you didn't go to these great lengths to get out of our date," he teased.

I managed a weak smile. "No way. I was looking forward to it."

"Do you remember what happened?" Gus's voice was softer than usual.

I nodded. "I got run over."

"You were in the alley beside Paisley's photography store," Gus said. "What were you doing over there?"

"I saw someone in the store. A flashlight."

Striker's eyes narrowed. "And you went over to investigate?"

I nodded, then winced. Nodding made my head hurt. I'd have to remember not to do that. "I thought someone might be trying to rob the store."

Striker leaned forward in his chair. "Did you see who was driving or what kind of car it was?"

I closed my eyes and tried to remember. I hadn't seen the driver but I remembered it was a black truck. And someone else had been there … or at least I thought so. "It was a black truck. I didn't see who was driving, but there was a man. I saw him running toward me and then I blacked out."

"That explains the anonymous 911 call we got," Gus said.

"The guy didn't stick around, though, so we couldn't get any details from him."

 
"But why would someone try to run me down? It doesn't make any sense." I noticed Striker and Gus looking at each other like they knew something I didn't know. My eyes narrowed. "Does it?"

"Didn't you think it might be dangerous to go over there?" Gus asked, skillfully avoiding answering my question.

I frowned. "No. You already have the killer in custody, don't you?"

Gus and Striker exchanged a look which made my stomach tighten. Which made me nauseous. I'd have to remember not to do
that,
either.

"You did arrest George, right?"

"We didn't actually arrest him. We brought him in for questioning," Gus corrected.

I sat up in the bed. My head was better now and I was feeling at a disadvantage, lying there in my hospital gown while the two of them hovered over me in their sheriff uniforms, obviously privy to some information I didn't have.

 
"Well, he
is
the killer, right?" My eyes ping-ponged from Striker to Gus. They exchanged another look. I pushed myself up further in the bed. "Well?"

Gus's face creased with concern. "Should you be sitting up like that? I better get the nurse."

"Forget about the nurse," I said. "What is it that you guys aren't telling me? Don't tell me you had to let George go on some technicality?"

Gus chewed her bottom lip and glanced at Striker. "Not exactly. George did confess to setting fire to Paisley's shop, but we had to release him this morning. He'll get a court date and be sentenced eventually."

"What? Why? I can't believe it's police procedure to let a killer walk the streets."

Striker put his hand over mine. "George wasn't the killer. He did burn Paisley’s shop that morning but Paisley wasn't killed that
morning
. Her time of death was the night before at nine thirty … and George has an airtight alibi for that time. He was at a town meeting having a heated debate with Earnest Schmidt in front of fifty witnesses.
 

Chapter Twenty-One

It took forever for the nurses to get the paperwork together for my release. Striker offered to come home and sit with me all day, but I assured him I didn’t need babysitting. Plus, I wasn’t actually going to sit at home all day. He didn’t need to know that, though.

Gus got called out to a crime scene. I was happy to see her go because she was clucking over me like a mother hen and it was disturbing. I did want to go home and see Pandora, so I let Striker drop me off at my car which was still at the bookstore, then follow me home. I appeased him by letting him make me a hard-boiled egg, then I shooed him out. I might have given him the impression I was staying home all day to rest in front of the TV.
 

Pandora seemed happy to see me—at least she let me pet her a little longer than usual before digging her claws into my arm and jumping off my lap.
 

I answered a frantic phone call from Pepper, who had just found out about my accident. I waved off her offer of a special tea and then put Pandora in my Jeep and drove back to the bookstore. I didn’t need to rest. Other than an ache in my shoulder, I felt great and I had work to catch up on … plus I wanted to ask Paisley a few questions.
 

Now that I knew George hadn’t killed Paisley, I was pretty sure the person who tried to run me down must be the real killer. It was the only thing that made sense. I’d already gotten halfway into the investigation, and it seemed like it was in my best interest to see it all the way through.
 

If the real killer was the person that had run me down, he might have thought I’d seen him and now he might be trying to kill me. I needed to find out who that was before he made another attempt on my life.

I bustled around in the bookstore, cataloging books and putting them away. I hadn’t been in there long when I heard Paisley’s familiar giggle. Rounding the corner, I saw her holding court with Robert and Franklin.

“Willa!” Robert motioned for me to join them. “Where have you been? The shop has been closed most of the morning.”

“I didn’t think you guys would notice,” I said. The truth was I did feel a little flattered that they had noticed.
 

“What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” Franklin’s face creased with concern as he indicated the shoulder that I was favoring.

“Just a little accident.” I rubbed my shoulder, then realized it was aching like my leg used to, but my leg no longer hurt. Great, I’d traded one pain for another.
 

“You know, you should define your eyebrow shape better, and maybe a little bit of mascara would help.” Paisley frowned at me as she studied my brows. “How about my killer? Have you found him?”

“Unfortunately, no. George was arrested but it turns out he had an alibi. He didn’t kill you.”

“See, I told you George was too wimpy,” Paisley said.

 
“Well, he did set your store on fire.”

Her left brow shot up. “Really? I didn’t think George had that in him. So he burned the store down, but he didn’t kill me?”

“Right. It turns out you were already dead in the store when he burned it. Apparently, he didn’t notice your body there. Someone had killed you earlier in the night. George came in that morning after a restless night, knowing that you had the pictures of him. I guess he didn't trust that you would give them all to him as you promised and thought you might use them to blackmail him later on, so he wanted to destroy them. He said he splashed turpentine all over the back of the store, but never went out front where your body was.”

Paisley laughed. “Silly George. That wouldn’t have gotten him anywhere. I had them hidden at my house.”

“Yeah, I know. I saw them.” My nose wrinkled remembering the pictures. “But anyway, George has an alibi for your time of death. You were killed around nine thirty. Do you remember anything about that night or who was in your shop?”

Paisley shook her head. “I still can’t remember.”

“What about Kenny? Did he visit you that night?”

“No, I don’t think so. All I remember is getting that note … and then … brown tweed. Oh, and I think I had a camera.”

“Right, the police have one. You took a picture. Possibly of the killer.”

Her face brightened. “Great, then why don’t they just transfer that picture off onto the computer and see who it is?”

“They can’t. The camera was damaged.” I made a mental note to check on the data recovery for that picture.

Paisley pressed her lips together. “Gosh, I wish I could be more helpful but I just don’t remember. Do you have any other leads besides George?”

“Well, there is Neil…”

“Neil Lane? He couldn’t have done it.”

“I went to your house and found him there. I know about the engagement. He’s the other man, isn’t he?”

Paisley nodded. “But he couldn’t have killed me. He loved me.”

I crossed my arms over my chest. “Yes, it seems like he really did. We found him in your house taking his engagement ring back. He was really hurt that you had used him to get into the art show.”

“I didn’t use him. I mean, I didn’t realize I was taking his spot by pressuring George to get me in there. If I’d known that, I never would have done it.” Her voice cracked and a tear slipped down her cheek. “I loved Neil, too.”

“He said he was out of town that night, so I guess it couldn’t have been him.” I’d spilled my guts about Neil to Gus and Striker in the hospital. It turned out they had already been on to Neil. They’d checked his alibi and it was true he wasn’t in town that night. He’d flown in the next morning, just like he had claimed. But I still wanted to see Paisley’s reaction, just in case he had somehow faked his alibi.
 

Paisley shook her head. “That’s right. He was out of town at an art show.”

Now that Neil and George were ruled out, that left only one suspect besides Maisie … Kenny.

“What about your brother? He came by the shop, didn’t he?”

"He came by after George, but he couldn't have done it," she said.
 

That explained how he knew I'd voted against Paisley in the art show judges’ meeting. "Why not?"

“Kenny is a very sweet guy. He couldn’t hurt a flea. In fact, he was helping me with the mama cat.

“Mama cat?”

Paisley’s eyes widened. “I’d almost forgotten! A pregnant cat showed up behind the store and I’d been feeding her. I even had a little box out there for her to have the babies in.”

My mind flashed on the box I'd seen when I’d look for clues behind the store. So, that’s what it had been for. “I didn’t see any cat back there.”

Paisley wrung her hands “Oh, Willa. You have to go check on her. She’s probably getting ready to have those babies by now and it could be dangerous for her. Kenny has no place to take care of her. I hope she wasn’t hurt in the fire.”

My heart pinched—I hadn’t heard of a cat getting hurt in the fire, but what if she was out there and injured?

“I don’t think so. But the back door is boarded up now. There might be an opening small enough for a cat to squeeze through.” I glanced at Pandora. I knew from personal experience that cats could squeeze through very small openings.

“Then you must go inside and check. I hid a key to my shop in the planter at
Dickson’s Hats
next door.”

“Okay, I’ll check for her.” Somehow, I couldn’t picture Kenny taking care of a mother cat and kittens. “Maybe Kenny took her somewhere?”

“No. He had no place to take her.”

“I heard Kenny was a suspect in the lumberyard fire.”

“Where did you hear that?”

“Some of the regulars here remembered.”

“He was cleared of all charges. He helped Amanda with some of the strays that used to wander in there, for crying out loud. Why would he burn it? And if you’re trying to insinuate he’s the arsonist who burned my place too, then how do you explain George confessing to it?”

Good point. This was getting confusing.