Leann Sweeney

“Does that mean I can leave?” Marian Mae said with the sickest, most smug smile I believe I have ever seen. But Mike’s look kept her in her seat. As people filed out of my house, grumbling all the way, Mike Baca leveled a stare at Marian Mae Temple that was filled with both shock and disgust.

He said to Marian, “You’re saying Ms. Wilkerson pulled a gun on you?”

Marian Mae lifted her chin. “That’s right.”

Baca looked at Candace and said, “Can I see the gun, please?”

Candace being Candace, she’d already bagged the weapon as evidence. She’d put the Ziploc holding the gun inside a large brown paper sack, and now she lifted the gun by the corner of the plastic so Baca could see it.

He rubbed between his eyes with his thumb and index finger. “That’s my service revolver, Mae.”

She said, “That Daphne person must have snuck into your house and stolen it before—”

“Did anyone tell you that you have the right to remain silent?” Baca said.

“Yes, but—”

“Then I’m reminding you again of your rights,” Baca said wearily.

“But I have to tell you what happened,” she said, sounding a tad desperate now. “These women attacked me and that awful cat bit me.” She seemed to be working hard to summon up tears, but it wasn’t happening, so she extended her ankle for some sympathy. “Look at this. I might get rabies. Now take off these silly handcuffs and we can go to the hospital where I can be adequately treated. And get Candy and Morris to take these two violent people to jail.”

He ignored the speech by saying, “You’re waiving your rights?”

Marian Mae stared at her once-future husband for several long seconds. Finally she said, “Should I do that? You’re the policeman; you tell me.”

“That’s not how this works,” Baca said. “It’s your decision. We need to search your house, Mae. Do I need a warrant or do you give me permission?”

“You’ve been in my house, for heaven’s sake. What could you possibly expect to find there that you don’t already know about?”

I pulled the picture of Sophie from my pocket, held it up and said, “A cat that looks like this. This cat may not be proof of murder, but if it proves to be Daphne’s, it will explain why you might have been angry with Flake Wilkerson when he told you he wanted the cat back.”

Those frigid eyes narrowed, a look from Marian Mae I’d seen way more times than I’d wanted to. She said, “You’ll need a warrant, then. And get me that lawyer, Mike.”

Candace and Morris took Marian Mae away on Baca’s orders. Once he’d placed a call to a judge for his warrant, he addressed Daphne and me.

“I’m sorry about all this. Neither of you were injured, I hope?” he said.

I would certainly feel the effects of the scuffle tomorrow, but that didn’t matter. “I’m fine, Chief,” I said.

“She never touched me.” Daphne’s cigarette danced with each word.

“Good. Right now I’m at a loss to understand how a person I thought I knew so well could . . .” His words trailed off. “Anyway, about your cat. If Mae does have—what’s its name again?”

“Sophie,” Daphne said. “You want me to spell it?”

“No. And I apologize again for coming in late on the cat angle. Maybe if I’d been on it sooner, this confrontation today could have been avoided,” he said.

“Confrontation? You mean the attempted murder, don’t you?” I said. I was thinking more about poor Chablis as well as the two of us. She’d run off once Marian Mae let go of her, and I was sure it would be a while before she came out of hiding.

“Assault will be on the table,” he said, “as well as your father’s murder, Ms. Wilkerson. As you know, a few things only came to light yesterday. The online cat business, for example. I would have seen things differently once—”

“Seen things differently? You mean realized you were wrong about Daphne? Wrong about me?” I was upset at Baca’s offering up what seemed like platitudes.

He took a deep breath. “You’re right and I’m sorry. Anyway, I’ve been examining your father’s financials, Daphne. Most of what you inherit will come from the rather large insurance policy he took out a year ago. That change in beneficiaries is more important than ever now.”

Daphne said, “Tell me about that. Who was the original beneficiary?”

“That’s a problem,” he said. “The insurance company is not cooperating. I had to ask the DA to subpoena them, and we don’t have the name of the original beneficiary yet. See, they’re dragging their feet, probably because if you went to jail for killing your father, the company wouldn’t have to pay.”

“But if that previous beneficiary killed him, they will,” I said.

Baca nodded.

“You had to know Marian Mae was acquainted with Mr. Wilkerson,” I said.