“He said he and Kadie were separated for some time, but that they’re back together. He made it sound as if it was for the kids. I could have told him that never works, but what do I know? I’ve got a fake fiancé, and the closest thing I’ve ever had to a kid is this stolen cat.” I take a moment to kiss her tiny face and she squints her eyes at me.
Shep takes a deep breath and expands his chest as wide as a football field.
“Okay. Private Investigator Binx, who else are you looking at?”
“Kadie?” I shake my head. “You’ll never believe what I found while I was snooping in her bathroom.”
“Bowie?” His voice hikes a notch. “Tell me she was fully aware you were in there.”
“No.” I give his leg a little kick. “Why would she let me roam freely through her house? Anyway, her husband did, and I found an entire drawer full of SMACK lipstick.”
He frowns. “And?”
“And—it’s the very same lipstick I saw near the body the night of the murder.”
Shep grunts as he shakes his head, “Bowie, it was dark. You thought you saw it. After you mentioned it, I went back in and didn’t see a thing. I even poured through the crime scene photos. It wasn’t there. It might have been the way the light was shining in from behind. Our eyes do their best to make sense of the dark, and you were panicked. It could have been a mistake.”
“It wasn’t a mistake. And it wasn’t dark. I shined my flashlight over it before I left the hall. The only thing I can think of is that maybe it got kicked away when the deputies stormed the area.”
He inverts his lips a moment. “I don’t know. They’re trained not to tamper with evidence or remove it. The hall was narrow. Nobody would have removed it.”
I nod. “Unless the killer made her way back.”
“And by ‘killer’, you mean Kadie Beaumont?”
“You said it, not me.”
Shep’s mouth opens and closes. “She didn’t do it.” Judging by his irregular inflection, he’s not so sure.
“You never rule out a suspect in an active homicide investigation.”
He dips his chin, looking particularly vexed with yours truly.
“And there’s Hilary.” I shrug. “I don’t have a motive for her, but I wouldn’t be too broken up if she ended up behind bars.”
Shep chuckles. “Don’t say a word, but neither would I.”
We share a quiet laugh on Hilary’s behalf while giving Pixie all the attention she deserves, and I reflect back on those strange visions I had. The one I had back at the reunion itself.
“You don’t get to tell me what to do,” a female voice calls out, and all I see is Oliver Kincaid before me with his shock of gray hair.
“How about we both keep our mouths shut? I’m not in the mood to go down for this.” He looks to his left and his affect brightens on a dime. “Well, look who’s here.”
So strange. Oliver could be the killer. He didn’t get along with Craig. But then, most people don’t get along with someone and we’re not living in a world full of killers.
Then there was the vision I had with Lloyd in it. He had a grief-stricken look on his face. “You killed Craig. You did this. How dare you try to weasel out of it. And you’re not going to kill me. I won’t let you.”
But by the sound of that second vision, Lloyd is not only talking to the killer, he might just be in trouble.
One thing is for sure—somebody killed Craig Walker, and whatever their motive was, it was personal.
I’m going to make sure the killer gets nailed to a wall.
At this point, it’s personal for me, too.
I take off for my cabin, crash in bed and dream of Sexy Wexy and those steamy kisses he’s too stingy to dole out on the regular.
The next morning I wake up to find a note pinned to my front door.
I am watching you.
And I wonder who exactly it is doing just that.
Chapter 16
The True Life Chapel in Woodley is brimming with bodies, all of them very much alive—save for the one in the casket. The church itself is a humble A-frame structure with dark wood beams gliding over a stark white ceiling. The carpet is orange and due for a change, the pews are pale oak, and the altar consists of a plain wooden cross. The air-conditioning is on so high it could keep a glacier intact, and the scent of something minty stirs in the air.
A casket lies open at the base of the altar, and from where I’m standing, Craig Walker has that rosy glow only death and cheap cosmetics can give you.
A familiar older woman makes her way toward Tilly and me with a black dress made of mesh metal and black feathers sprouting off her shoulders as she strides over. Her eyelids are caked with dark purple eye shadow, and she’s wearing lipstick to match. And she happens to have a giant silver tote bag dripping off her shoulder.
“Opal Mortimer,” I say, taking her in. “Fancy meeting you here. I didn’t know you knew the deceased.”
She waves me off. “Oh, I didn’t. But as soon as Regina told me where you two were headed, I got all gussied up. I do love me a good funeral. Why should you girls have all the fun?”
Her bag squirms and Opal quickly plucks out a black and white tuxedo cat.
I suck in a quick breath. “I’ve heard of purse puppies but never a purse kitty.”
“Hey, Nibbles.” Tilly leans in and dots his head with a kiss. “You’re looking dapper for the occasion.”
Opal pulls the bored-looking feline to her chest. “That’s why I chose Nibbles for the event. He’s always so well dressed.” She cranes her neck toward the front. “I’d best pay my respects. It looks as if the show is about to begin.” She speeds off toward the
