Tiger cate, p.10
Tiger Cate, page 10
Estelle had been about to walk out of the room but snapped her head to look at Cate. The look woke the tiger inside Cate.
“Starr Parker, exotic dancer,” she went on. “Catchy. You danced in Vegas ‘til a rich old sugar daddy caught your eye, and you tossed your net over him. You married him and, what, made him completely dependent on you? Did you think no one would blink when he passed away in his sleep? Funny, the cops did, at least for a minute. Then along came a bunch of similar deaths. What a lucky break for you — the hotel facing lawsuits for stocking tainted alcohol and all. How very convenient.”
Estelle drew in a deep breath and lifted her shoulders in another shrug. It was the wounded look of a well - practiced martyr, and for some reason, it stoked Cate’s fury.
“Then you — what, spent all his money? Lost it feeding your gambling habit? Yes, it was educational to read all about you on Margaret’s hard drive. What I didn’t see was how, in any way, you are related to the Finley family. Still searching, though.”
A full minute ticked by as they stared at each other. Suddenly Estelle was running. Not at Cate but away, toward the stairs. She seemed to catch one of her high heels in the area rug and then dove face-first into the tiled stairway.
Cate gaped at the woman’s still form. What … just happened here? Then Estelle pushed herself up from the tile and turned back to face Cate triumphantly. Blood was gushing out of a cut above her eyebrow, a bruise was rising on her cheekbone, and a thin trickle of red was just emerging from her nose.
As Cate stood speechless, Estelle pulled out her cell phone and dialed. She pressed the speaker button. The room filled with the sound of ringing and then a voice answered.
“911, what’s your emergency?”
An enormous sob came out of the woman on the floor.
“I’ve … I’ve been attacked by … by an intruder. Please hurry, she’s trying to leave.”
Cate realized her jaw had dropped open. She shut it firmly and swallowed. Her voice was shaky but calm when she spoke.
“That’s what you’d like me to do, isn’t it, Estelle? Run away so you can sic the cops on me?” Instead, Cate pulled up a chair and sat down to wait for the authorities.
Chapter 19
When the sheriff’s SUV crept up the driveway a scant half-hour later, Deputy Gomez was not one of the responders. Cate nervously watched through the office window as two young officers clad in khaki and sporting neckties cautiously approached the front door and knocked, their weapons drawn but down at their sides.
After holding Cate at gunpoint for about twenty minutes, Estelle had given in to the constant dripping of blood from her nose onto her ruined blouse and gone into the kitchen for a towel and some ice. So, it was Cate who walked over to the front door and let the officers in.
“Are you the — ?” the first officer began.
“D’at was me, officer,” Estelle answered as she walked from the kitchen clutching the bloody towel over her nose. “You … you d’eed to arrest her! For assault and battery. With this!”
In her other hand was a wrought iron fireplace poker smeared with bright red blood, which she gingerly offered them. The poker looked vaguely familiar, and Cate recalled having used something like it to stir the fire at the dinner party. Estelle sneered at Cate as she passed by and handed the poker to the nearest officer.
“That does it! I’m pressing charges. I’m not suffering any more abuse by this crazy family!” The impact of her speech was marred by a comical inability to pronounce “n” and “m” words due to the volume of blood still leaking from her face. She tried to blow her nose into the towel and winced in pain.
“And you are … ?” the first officer asked Estelle as the other moved to stand behind Cate.
“Estelle Parker, Fidley Rach badager.” She handed the man her business card and her driver’s license. “This person has bid saying she’s a relative since she arrived here — with a backpack and on foot — what, a week ago? Less? Feels like more.”
The officer turned to Cate, who once again realized she had no current driver’s license or any form of ID — certainly nothing listing Finley Ranch as her address. The only current photo ID she carried was for the LA Arts Council, which simply listed her as “Catify.” Still, she gave a shot at presenting her case.
“Look — all this? … is crazy. That woman ran toward those stairs, tripped, and fell. I … I never touched her, sir.” The officer still had his hand out for her license. “My ID is, um, upstairs with my belongings. But I’ve … recently moved back to this area from New York and haven’t yet changed my — ”
“Liar!” Estelle shouted, holding the ice up to her head and pointing at Cate. “She’s a homeless vagrant from Los Angeles.” She leaned her battered face toward Cate and muttered confidentially, “You’re not the only one who knows how to do an online search … Catify!”
The officer behind Cate spoke into his radio.
“Roger that. It appears to be a … a domestic dispute. A case of she said,” — he looked over at Estelle and then back at Cate pointedly — “she said. Nope, the claimant has an ID and appears to be at her work address. Nine - oh - one to her face. Recommending an ER trip. The suspect is apparently a transient.” More muffled sounds. “Ten - forty. Bringing that one for a full print check.”
Cold dread crept up Cate’s backbone.
“Well, let me guess who ‘that one’ is,” she murmured dryly. “Can I at least get my backpack from the upstairs bedroom?”
“I’ll get it, miss,” the officer behind her said as he headed for the stairs. Minutes went by. Then he trotted back down the stairs like an eager pony, her backpack held gingerly by his latex-gloved hands. He was talking into his radio again.
“We’ve got a suspect in custody for a two - fifteen. Looks like possible meth or cocaine.” He lifted a zip - lock bag out of the pack and held it up for the other deputy to see.
Cate saw the glee on Estelle’s ruined face and silently groaned, Well played, Starr Parker. Very well played.
As they firmly guided her into the back seat of the SUV, she mumbled, “I can’t wait for you guys to drug test me.” Then she realized the ketamine she’d consumed at the dinner party was probably still in her system.
#
An hour to the north lay the community of Silver Springs, known affectionately by Cate’s Copperton High crowd as “Sliver,” due to its sparse population, and home of the county’s detention center, as well as its courthouse.
Once there, her conversion from private citizen to inmate took a brisk forty - five minutes, including the paperwork, urine sample, body cavity search, and clothing swap. An hour later, clad in prison orange, Cate sat before a video monitor in a shallow alcove off her assigned cell block. She peered at the image of her old friend Jimmy Baker, sitting in his comfortable law offices in Copperton, as he slowly shook his head and read from the papers in front of him.
“Breaking and entering, we can toss that one out. I talked to the deputies who found no evidence of a break-in and you were an invitee of the claimant. Then, assault … with a poker.”
Now Cate fully remembered grabbing the poker at the dinner party and debating whether to hold onto it for the night, no doubt all the while being observed by Estelle.
“I didn’t touch her, Jimmy. She fell — on purpose — and smashed her face on the stairs. I mean, you’ve seen her. She’s, what, six inches taller and has about fifty pounds on me? Somehow, she had this preplanned—at least planting the drugs in my pack and calling the cops on me.” She rubbed her face in her hands. “I was warned. Bronnie said to stay away from her. I’m an idiot.”
“Look, it’s clearly out of my field of practice, but I think you could get the first two charges dropped. The drugs, though — different story.”
“Oh, my God, I totally fit everyone’s profile of a meth addict, don’t I? Skinny, transient female with scraggly bleached hair. I’m practically a poster child.”
The way Jimmy was now scrutinizing her put Cate on edge. For the second time that week, she shook off the sensation of being in a dystopic fantasy novel.
“Hey, they did a drug panel when I got here. Can you check on it? Also, can’t they, um, fingerprint the baggie? There is no way my prints are on it, and the backpack’s been out of my possession for the last forty - eight hours.”
“Don’t think that one matters.”
“Just check, please.” They were silent for a moment. “Also, someone needs to get a missing person’s report done on my sister. I mean, it’s going on two weeks. Maybe I shouldn’t be the one to do it, all things considered. Can you reach Bronnie Taylor? She’s a neonatal nurse at Copperton Medical. Bronwyn Taylor. Lives down in Cabeza Valley, close to the ranch. She brought me home to stay with her after I got released from the hospital so clearly she doesn’t think I’m a criminal.”
Jimmy was nodding and making notes. “I can’t believe all this has happened to you within three days of returning to Arizona, Cate. It’s just so crazy.”
“No kidding — ” A two-minute warning flashed on the monitor and Jimmy stacked papers, preparing to end the conversation.
“So, when’s my court date? I need … I need to get out of here.”
“Your initial appearance happens tomorrow, about midday. In person. We’re shooting to get an OR — release on your own recognizance. So please don’t say or do anything from this point on that might hurt your case.”
Cate drew in a long breath and slumped.
“Wow … Estelle has me right where she wants me. Locked up and out of her way. Meanwhile, no one is actually looking for my sister, and who knows what that woman is doing right now to cover her tracks? Did I mention she is scheming to sell the ranch property to developers? She made no secret of it Sunday night, right before she drugged me. I’ve heard of people stealing property by transferring the deed into their name when no one was paying attention. Could this have happened already with the ranch? I was looking for the deed in the office files when Estelle walked in on me.”
Jimmy brightened and sat a little straighter.
“Now that is in my wheelhouse — estates, real and otherwise. I can check with county records — oops, you’re flickering. Hey, Cate?”
The screen went blank. Twenty minutes had gone by fast. Cate got up from the video kiosk and shuffled in her soft slippers back toward her cell block. She passed by shivering women, grumbling women, and sad, silent women. In a way, being incarcerated wasn’t much different from walking among the homeless on the streets of Los Angeles. A little less cheerful, but at least they fed and clothed you.
#
Late afternoon brought a phone call. Thinking it was Jimmy, Cate instead heard an unfamiliar female on the other end.
“Hi, Cate, my name is Sarah Hamlin, and I’m a reporter for the Copperton Daily News. I, um, I got referred to you by a family friend, Bronwyn Taylor?”
“Yeah?” Great, now what? Cate had felt nauseous and exhausted since lunch and couldn’t imagine why Bronnie would put the media onto her at this point.
“The thing is, I’m doing a series of articles on out-of-state developers acquiring public and private land amid, well, some concerns from local citizens. So, I understand your sister is out of town, and we were wondering if we could interview you as the Finley family representative about, you know, how the acquisition of your ranch is going.”
Cate stared at the phone, beyond irritated. Did this reporter know she was calling county lockup?
“Look, I don’t know anything about — ” She stopped as a light bulb went off. Bronnie had put the woman in touch with Cate for a reason. “So … you haven’t yet talked to my sister Margaret?” Cate asked, trying to keep her tone neutral.
“No, she hasn’t returned any of my calls.”
“Well, that might be because she’s been missing for over a week.”
Cate spoke evenly and slowly into the phone. Then she waited for a response from the other end. When none came, she hurried on, conscious this was her chance to get the word out.
“Margaret was supposed to be coming back from New Mexico, but the only one who claims to have heard from her is also the woman who’s living in our family home and has been lying to me since I got here.”
“Lying? About what?
“Well, that Margaret would be returning home the night before last, for one thing. Also, about my sister making a deal to sell my family’s ranch to developers, which was certainly news to me and everyone else I’ve talked with. I only know about it because I happened to be at a dinner where this woman, Estelle Parker, and a group of developers discussed their plans — right in front of me.”
“You say it was a group of developers? Can you tell me who they were?”
“Well, one of them was the former Sheriff Mack Griffin’s nephew. A guy named Hugo … Griffin? There were two realtors from Copperton who gave me business cards that I, um, can’t get to right now.” She thought about the fourth man but wouldn’t know how to identify him at this point. “I wish I could tell you more about the evening, but someone drugged my dinner and I ended up in the ER.”
Silence on the other end. Cate realized her story was a plate of crazy with a side of paranoia. She took a deep breath and decided to start over.
“Look, Bronnie contacted me in California about my sister Margaret being missing for over a week. I came back here to see if I could help look for her.”
Still no response from the caller. Cate felt perspiration collecting on her neck and forehead. Was this really a local reporter she was talking to? Or … had New York found her again?
“Hello?”
“Oh, I’m still here. I was just writing notes. I know a Griffin nephew named Hugo. He seems to be connected with several development deals in the county. You say the others were realtors? Was one named Randy Simmons?”
“Well, yes — definitely a Randy, and a Dirk or Dick?” “Yes, the two I’m thinking of are cousins.”
Cate breathed a sigh of relief. “Matching comb-overs and the same receding chin? Sorry, I’m an artist. It’s in my nature to study people.” Like the guy who’d completed the quartet and had tried to chat her up by the fireplace. On a future canvas, she would paint him as a man morphing into a pit bull. Estelle’s pit bull.
#
In the evening, still edgy from the conversation with the reporter, Cate had another video chat with Jimmy. He held up a newspaper photo of Estelle’s battered face with the headline, “Local Realtor Attacked by Vagrant.” He wasn’t pleased when he heard Cate had also spoken to a reporter.
“No talking to anyone — especially not to the media — until we’ve sprung you from there. The other side is definitely pressing charges, and she also filed a restraining order to keep you a hundred yards from her.”
“What? She can’t keep me from my family’s ranch.”
“Cate, if she’s residing there as the ranch manager and your sister has given her power of attorney, she most surely can.”
Power of attorney … Cate was silent for a moment, feeling a riptide pulling her under the ocean.
“So, what did you find out at County Records?”
“Something quite unexpected, Cate. It explains a lot of what’s been going on this week. It would help if we could talk to your sister, but, lacking that, you will be playing a very big role.”
“What? Tell me.” Her heart fluttered, as waves of nausea washed over her. “I need to hear something positive.”
“I don’t want to talk about it under these conditions. We can discuss it after we see the judge.” He flashed his mischievous smile. “By the way, I have a surprise character witness for you.”
“Who, Desi? Rosa?” But Jimmy was gathering his papers into a folder, aware their allotted time was ending.
“Cate, this character witness is going to, um, give a prepared statement.” She guessed what he was implying without saying directly — that some stuff had been massaged or even made up. Who was this person?
A twitchy inmate with cropped red hair and a vicious-looking tattoo circling her neck had strolled over to stand in front of Cate, strongly hinting she should vacate the booth.
“Jimmy. I — ” She eyed the inmate who was practically vibrating with impatience. “I need to give up my spot. I’ll see you — ” but the screen had already gone blank.
Cate climbed out of the booth and, as she stepped past, the woman poked her shoulder.
“Heyyy, I know you! You were Drew Mason’s little jailbait girlfriend. Finley, right?”
Stunned for a second, Cate recovered and gave back a non-committal smile and shrug.
“Man, that takes me back. Your sis Margaret paid my boyfriend a lotta cash to mess Drew up good,” she cackled. “Hell, yeah, we went to Vegas on your family’s dime that night, girl.”
Cate stared at the redhead. Was she talking about the night Drew disappeared? She managed what she hoped was a polite nod and casually strolled away. An open cellblock in county jail was no place to take issue with someone, at least that was what her cautious self was telling the growling tiger. At a safe distance, she looked back at the woman. A few years older than Cate, with a deeply creased face and some broken teeth. Probably a current or past meth tweaker, judging from the amount of involuntary movement going on. Had this woman’s boyfriend done something terrible — maybe even murdered Drew? That long ago, how would anybody ever know for certain?
Cate walked back to the central pod where inmates were reading, playing cards, and watching television, feeling a cloud of depression beginning to settle on her. Normally, she would dive into her painting or sketching to combat these dark feelings. But the odds of getting a blank sheet of paper and a sharpened pencil were less than zero.
Chapter 20
August 7, Silver Springs Courthouse
“Starr Parker, exotic dancer,” she went on. “Catchy. You danced in Vegas ‘til a rich old sugar daddy caught your eye, and you tossed your net over him. You married him and, what, made him completely dependent on you? Did you think no one would blink when he passed away in his sleep? Funny, the cops did, at least for a minute. Then along came a bunch of similar deaths. What a lucky break for you — the hotel facing lawsuits for stocking tainted alcohol and all. How very convenient.”
Estelle drew in a deep breath and lifted her shoulders in another shrug. It was the wounded look of a well - practiced martyr, and for some reason, it stoked Cate’s fury.
“Then you — what, spent all his money? Lost it feeding your gambling habit? Yes, it was educational to read all about you on Margaret’s hard drive. What I didn’t see was how, in any way, you are related to the Finley family. Still searching, though.”
A full minute ticked by as they stared at each other. Suddenly Estelle was running. Not at Cate but away, toward the stairs. She seemed to catch one of her high heels in the area rug and then dove face-first into the tiled stairway.
Cate gaped at the woman’s still form. What … just happened here? Then Estelle pushed herself up from the tile and turned back to face Cate triumphantly. Blood was gushing out of a cut above her eyebrow, a bruise was rising on her cheekbone, and a thin trickle of red was just emerging from her nose.
As Cate stood speechless, Estelle pulled out her cell phone and dialed. She pressed the speaker button. The room filled with the sound of ringing and then a voice answered.
“911, what’s your emergency?”
An enormous sob came out of the woman on the floor.
“I’ve … I’ve been attacked by … by an intruder. Please hurry, she’s trying to leave.”
Cate realized her jaw had dropped open. She shut it firmly and swallowed. Her voice was shaky but calm when she spoke.
“That’s what you’d like me to do, isn’t it, Estelle? Run away so you can sic the cops on me?” Instead, Cate pulled up a chair and sat down to wait for the authorities.
Chapter 19
When the sheriff’s SUV crept up the driveway a scant half-hour later, Deputy Gomez was not one of the responders. Cate nervously watched through the office window as two young officers clad in khaki and sporting neckties cautiously approached the front door and knocked, their weapons drawn but down at their sides.
After holding Cate at gunpoint for about twenty minutes, Estelle had given in to the constant dripping of blood from her nose onto her ruined blouse and gone into the kitchen for a towel and some ice. So, it was Cate who walked over to the front door and let the officers in.
“Are you the — ?” the first officer began.
“D’at was me, officer,” Estelle answered as she walked from the kitchen clutching the bloody towel over her nose. “You … you d’eed to arrest her! For assault and battery. With this!”
In her other hand was a wrought iron fireplace poker smeared with bright red blood, which she gingerly offered them. The poker looked vaguely familiar, and Cate recalled having used something like it to stir the fire at the dinner party. Estelle sneered at Cate as she passed by and handed the poker to the nearest officer.
“That does it! I’m pressing charges. I’m not suffering any more abuse by this crazy family!” The impact of her speech was marred by a comical inability to pronounce “n” and “m” words due to the volume of blood still leaking from her face. She tried to blow her nose into the towel and winced in pain.
“And you are … ?” the first officer asked Estelle as the other moved to stand behind Cate.
“Estelle Parker, Fidley Rach badager.” She handed the man her business card and her driver’s license. “This person has bid saying she’s a relative since she arrived here — with a backpack and on foot — what, a week ago? Less? Feels like more.”
The officer turned to Cate, who once again realized she had no current driver’s license or any form of ID — certainly nothing listing Finley Ranch as her address. The only current photo ID she carried was for the LA Arts Council, which simply listed her as “Catify.” Still, she gave a shot at presenting her case.
“Look — all this? … is crazy. That woman ran toward those stairs, tripped, and fell. I … I never touched her, sir.” The officer still had his hand out for her license. “My ID is, um, upstairs with my belongings. But I’ve … recently moved back to this area from New York and haven’t yet changed my — ”
“Liar!” Estelle shouted, holding the ice up to her head and pointing at Cate. “She’s a homeless vagrant from Los Angeles.” She leaned her battered face toward Cate and muttered confidentially, “You’re not the only one who knows how to do an online search … Catify!”
The officer behind Cate spoke into his radio.
“Roger that. It appears to be a … a domestic dispute. A case of she said,” — he looked over at Estelle and then back at Cate pointedly — “she said. Nope, the claimant has an ID and appears to be at her work address. Nine - oh - one to her face. Recommending an ER trip. The suspect is apparently a transient.” More muffled sounds. “Ten - forty. Bringing that one for a full print check.”
Cold dread crept up Cate’s backbone.
“Well, let me guess who ‘that one’ is,” she murmured dryly. “Can I at least get my backpack from the upstairs bedroom?”
“I’ll get it, miss,” the officer behind her said as he headed for the stairs. Minutes went by. Then he trotted back down the stairs like an eager pony, her backpack held gingerly by his latex-gloved hands. He was talking into his radio again.
“We’ve got a suspect in custody for a two - fifteen. Looks like possible meth or cocaine.” He lifted a zip - lock bag out of the pack and held it up for the other deputy to see.
Cate saw the glee on Estelle’s ruined face and silently groaned, Well played, Starr Parker. Very well played.
As they firmly guided her into the back seat of the SUV, she mumbled, “I can’t wait for you guys to drug test me.” Then she realized the ketamine she’d consumed at the dinner party was probably still in her system.
#
An hour to the north lay the community of Silver Springs, known affectionately by Cate’s Copperton High crowd as “Sliver,” due to its sparse population, and home of the county’s detention center, as well as its courthouse.
Once there, her conversion from private citizen to inmate took a brisk forty - five minutes, including the paperwork, urine sample, body cavity search, and clothing swap. An hour later, clad in prison orange, Cate sat before a video monitor in a shallow alcove off her assigned cell block. She peered at the image of her old friend Jimmy Baker, sitting in his comfortable law offices in Copperton, as he slowly shook his head and read from the papers in front of him.
“Breaking and entering, we can toss that one out. I talked to the deputies who found no evidence of a break-in and you were an invitee of the claimant. Then, assault … with a poker.”
Now Cate fully remembered grabbing the poker at the dinner party and debating whether to hold onto it for the night, no doubt all the while being observed by Estelle.
“I didn’t touch her, Jimmy. She fell — on purpose — and smashed her face on the stairs. I mean, you’ve seen her. She’s, what, six inches taller and has about fifty pounds on me? Somehow, she had this preplanned—at least planting the drugs in my pack and calling the cops on me.” She rubbed her face in her hands. “I was warned. Bronnie said to stay away from her. I’m an idiot.”
“Look, it’s clearly out of my field of practice, but I think you could get the first two charges dropped. The drugs, though — different story.”
“Oh, my God, I totally fit everyone’s profile of a meth addict, don’t I? Skinny, transient female with scraggly bleached hair. I’m practically a poster child.”
The way Jimmy was now scrutinizing her put Cate on edge. For the second time that week, she shook off the sensation of being in a dystopic fantasy novel.
“Hey, they did a drug panel when I got here. Can you check on it? Also, can’t they, um, fingerprint the baggie? There is no way my prints are on it, and the backpack’s been out of my possession for the last forty - eight hours.”
“Don’t think that one matters.”
“Just check, please.” They were silent for a moment. “Also, someone needs to get a missing person’s report done on my sister. I mean, it’s going on two weeks. Maybe I shouldn’t be the one to do it, all things considered. Can you reach Bronnie Taylor? She’s a neonatal nurse at Copperton Medical. Bronwyn Taylor. Lives down in Cabeza Valley, close to the ranch. She brought me home to stay with her after I got released from the hospital so clearly she doesn’t think I’m a criminal.”
Jimmy was nodding and making notes. “I can’t believe all this has happened to you within three days of returning to Arizona, Cate. It’s just so crazy.”
“No kidding — ” A two-minute warning flashed on the monitor and Jimmy stacked papers, preparing to end the conversation.
“So, when’s my court date? I need … I need to get out of here.”
“Your initial appearance happens tomorrow, about midday. In person. We’re shooting to get an OR — release on your own recognizance. So please don’t say or do anything from this point on that might hurt your case.”
Cate drew in a long breath and slumped.
“Wow … Estelle has me right where she wants me. Locked up and out of her way. Meanwhile, no one is actually looking for my sister, and who knows what that woman is doing right now to cover her tracks? Did I mention she is scheming to sell the ranch property to developers? She made no secret of it Sunday night, right before she drugged me. I’ve heard of people stealing property by transferring the deed into their name when no one was paying attention. Could this have happened already with the ranch? I was looking for the deed in the office files when Estelle walked in on me.”
Jimmy brightened and sat a little straighter.
“Now that is in my wheelhouse — estates, real and otherwise. I can check with county records — oops, you’re flickering. Hey, Cate?”
The screen went blank. Twenty minutes had gone by fast. Cate got up from the video kiosk and shuffled in her soft slippers back toward her cell block. She passed by shivering women, grumbling women, and sad, silent women. In a way, being incarcerated wasn’t much different from walking among the homeless on the streets of Los Angeles. A little less cheerful, but at least they fed and clothed you.
#
Late afternoon brought a phone call. Thinking it was Jimmy, Cate instead heard an unfamiliar female on the other end.
“Hi, Cate, my name is Sarah Hamlin, and I’m a reporter for the Copperton Daily News. I, um, I got referred to you by a family friend, Bronwyn Taylor?”
“Yeah?” Great, now what? Cate had felt nauseous and exhausted since lunch and couldn’t imagine why Bronnie would put the media onto her at this point.
“The thing is, I’m doing a series of articles on out-of-state developers acquiring public and private land amid, well, some concerns from local citizens. So, I understand your sister is out of town, and we were wondering if we could interview you as the Finley family representative about, you know, how the acquisition of your ranch is going.”
Cate stared at the phone, beyond irritated. Did this reporter know she was calling county lockup?
“Look, I don’t know anything about — ” She stopped as a light bulb went off. Bronnie had put the woman in touch with Cate for a reason. “So … you haven’t yet talked to my sister Margaret?” Cate asked, trying to keep her tone neutral.
“No, she hasn’t returned any of my calls.”
“Well, that might be because she’s been missing for over a week.”
Cate spoke evenly and slowly into the phone. Then she waited for a response from the other end. When none came, she hurried on, conscious this was her chance to get the word out.
“Margaret was supposed to be coming back from New Mexico, but the only one who claims to have heard from her is also the woman who’s living in our family home and has been lying to me since I got here.”
“Lying? About what?
“Well, that Margaret would be returning home the night before last, for one thing. Also, about my sister making a deal to sell my family’s ranch to developers, which was certainly news to me and everyone else I’ve talked with. I only know about it because I happened to be at a dinner where this woman, Estelle Parker, and a group of developers discussed their plans — right in front of me.”
“You say it was a group of developers? Can you tell me who they were?”
“Well, one of them was the former Sheriff Mack Griffin’s nephew. A guy named Hugo … Griffin? There were two realtors from Copperton who gave me business cards that I, um, can’t get to right now.” She thought about the fourth man but wouldn’t know how to identify him at this point. “I wish I could tell you more about the evening, but someone drugged my dinner and I ended up in the ER.”
Silence on the other end. Cate realized her story was a plate of crazy with a side of paranoia. She took a deep breath and decided to start over.
“Look, Bronnie contacted me in California about my sister Margaret being missing for over a week. I came back here to see if I could help look for her.”
Still no response from the caller. Cate felt perspiration collecting on her neck and forehead. Was this really a local reporter she was talking to? Or … had New York found her again?
“Hello?”
“Oh, I’m still here. I was just writing notes. I know a Griffin nephew named Hugo. He seems to be connected with several development deals in the county. You say the others were realtors? Was one named Randy Simmons?”
“Well, yes — definitely a Randy, and a Dirk or Dick?” “Yes, the two I’m thinking of are cousins.”
Cate breathed a sigh of relief. “Matching comb-overs and the same receding chin? Sorry, I’m an artist. It’s in my nature to study people.” Like the guy who’d completed the quartet and had tried to chat her up by the fireplace. On a future canvas, she would paint him as a man morphing into a pit bull. Estelle’s pit bull.
#
In the evening, still edgy from the conversation with the reporter, Cate had another video chat with Jimmy. He held up a newspaper photo of Estelle’s battered face with the headline, “Local Realtor Attacked by Vagrant.” He wasn’t pleased when he heard Cate had also spoken to a reporter.
“No talking to anyone — especially not to the media — until we’ve sprung you from there. The other side is definitely pressing charges, and she also filed a restraining order to keep you a hundred yards from her.”
“What? She can’t keep me from my family’s ranch.”
“Cate, if she’s residing there as the ranch manager and your sister has given her power of attorney, she most surely can.”
Power of attorney … Cate was silent for a moment, feeling a riptide pulling her under the ocean.
“So, what did you find out at County Records?”
“Something quite unexpected, Cate. It explains a lot of what’s been going on this week. It would help if we could talk to your sister, but, lacking that, you will be playing a very big role.”
“What? Tell me.” Her heart fluttered, as waves of nausea washed over her. “I need to hear something positive.”
“I don’t want to talk about it under these conditions. We can discuss it after we see the judge.” He flashed his mischievous smile. “By the way, I have a surprise character witness for you.”
“Who, Desi? Rosa?” But Jimmy was gathering his papers into a folder, aware their allotted time was ending.
“Cate, this character witness is going to, um, give a prepared statement.” She guessed what he was implying without saying directly — that some stuff had been massaged or even made up. Who was this person?
A twitchy inmate with cropped red hair and a vicious-looking tattoo circling her neck had strolled over to stand in front of Cate, strongly hinting she should vacate the booth.
“Jimmy. I — ” She eyed the inmate who was practically vibrating with impatience. “I need to give up my spot. I’ll see you — ” but the screen had already gone blank.
Cate climbed out of the booth and, as she stepped past, the woman poked her shoulder.
“Heyyy, I know you! You were Drew Mason’s little jailbait girlfriend. Finley, right?”
Stunned for a second, Cate recovered and gave back a non-committal smile and shrug.
“Man, that takes me back. Your sis Margaret paid my boyfriend a lotta cash to mess Drew up good,” she cackled. “Hell, yeah, we went to Vegas on your family’s dime that night, girl.”
Cate stared at the redhead. Was she talking about the night Drew disappeared? She managed what she hoped was a polite nod and casually strolled away. An open cellblock in county jail was no place to take issue with someone, at least that was what her cautious self was telling the growling tiger. At a safe distance, she looked back at the woman. A few years older than Cate, with a deeply creased face and some broken teeth. Probably a current or past meth tweaker, judging from the amount of involuntary movement going on. Had this woman’s boyfriend done something terrible — maybe even murdered Drew? That long ago, how would anybody ever know for certain?
Cate walked back to the central pod where inmates were reading, playing cards, and watching television, feeling a cloud of depression beginning to settle on her. Normally, she would dive into her painting or sketching to combat these dark feelings. But the odds of getting a blank sheet of paper and a sharpened pencil were less than zero.
Chapter 20
August 7, Silver Springs Courthouse
