That figured. He wasn’t about to leave me alone with Kline. I said, “You didn’t exactly call at a reasonable hour, Steven, so don’t pull that ‘poor me’ stuff.” I turned back to Kline. “Tell me, Sergeant. How does a break-in on P Street lead to this fight with Steven?”
“I was working late on a case tonight, another surveillance, and after my partner took over I decided it wouldn’t hurt to swing by and make sure everything was okay over here. What went down in Galveston concerned me. The report said someone dinged your ex-husband and—Wait a minute. I guess that was you, huh, hero?” Kline smiled.
Gosh. He could actually do more with his mouth than chew gum tonight.
“It was only a scratch,” said Steven, staring intently into his coffee.
“Anyway,” continued Kline, “seemed like a good idea to keep an eye out here until I figure out if that break- in is connected to the murder. But what do I see when I get here? This jerk—excuse me—him”—he thumbed at Steven—“creeping away from the house. How would you expect a cop to react?”
“I wasn’t creeping,” said Steven with undisguised contempt. “I was doing Abby a favor.”
“And I was watching out for the lady, okay, Bradley?”
The knuckles on Steven’s clenched fists grew white. “The lady already has someone to—”
“Hey! Abby!” Kate called from the back stairs. She appeared seconds later and stopped in the doorway, pulling her robe around her. “I didn’t realize you still had company.”
“You remember Sergeant Kline, Kate?”
“Yes.” She nodded at both of them. “Listen, I need help. I can hear Diva, but I need more than a flashlight before I step inside that attic. I think a lightbulb and some reinforcements are in order. I remember the last time she pulled a stunt like this, she nearly shredded my arm during the rescue attempt.”
And that was how we all ended upstairs five minutes later—and discovered that rescuing Diva from the box where she was trapped was the least of our problems.
Someone had done the P Street number all over again. The small attic was a ransacked wreck.
I slept late the next day, with Diva harbored once more in her usual place, purring contentedly each time I reached out to stroke her. She wouldn’t be visiting the attic again in the near future, judging from the amount of food and water she’d consumed after rediscovering the kitchen.
Last night, Sergeant Kline—his first name was Jeff, I’d learned—had called for reinforcements to dust the attic for fingerprints and to determine if we’d been a victim of vandalism or theft. They couldn’t decide, and neither could we. I hadn’t exactly done an inventory prior to the ransacking. The police left around four-thirty in the morning, and then Kate and I had dragged the contents of the attic into the guest room so we wouldn’t have to pull things out tomorrow in the daytime heat to reorganize the mess. We had a huge pile of old clothes, picture albums, and household rejects, as well as more proof that Daddy’s need to save things had bordered on psychotic.
Last night, and now again this morning, I wondered whether this assault on the attic was somehow connected to Ben’s murder. Or could it be related to that safe-deposit box key? After all, I had found the hidden key right after a similar incident at the Victorian. Of course, I had no proof the key was even what the P Street vandal had been looking for.
Before I could think of any other possible reason for people tearing into our old belongings, the phone rang. I turned on my side and picked up the phone.
“Ms. Rose? Jeff Kline.”
“Oh, hi.” I sat up.
“I’m sorry, did I wake you?”
“No,” I said.
“We found no identifiable prints last night. Lots of smudges on those dusty boxes, but my fingerprint expert thinks the perp wore gloves.”
Diva crawled into my lap and climbed halfway up my chest, rubbing her head on the hand holding the receiver. “Why would anyone be interested in a bunch of old family mementos?”
“Maybe they were looking for something else. Did you give any thought to the question I posed last night about how this person found the attic?”
“As far as I know, that attic could have been messed up for months. I haven’t been up there since right after Daddy died.”
“I checked the reports, thinking maybe my crew made that mess after Ben’s murder, but the person assigned to search upstairs said everything was in order that day.”
“So,” I said. “This must have happened in the last week.”
“Right. As for what’s-his-name, the ex,” Kline said. “He says he came for those blueprints you handed over to him last night, but I’ve learned about his DUIs and drunk-and-disorderlies. Not exactly your model citizen. Are you sure that’s all he came for?”
“I happened to be in the kitchen when he arrived, so he had no chance to go upstairs without me seeing him. As you saw firsthand, he’s still protective, despite the divorce, so don’t judge him too harshly.”
“I leave judging to the judges. Just filling you in on the work we’ve done since I left this morning.”
“Did you get any sleep at all?” I asked. That morning after Ben was killed, this guy could have hired on as an extra in
“You sound awfully alert, while I’m feeling like I’ve been run over by a mobile home pulling a horse trailer.”
He laughed. “I’ve consumed more bad coffee than one human can safely tolerate, but other than that, I’m revived. I’ll let you know if any leads turn up.”
I hung up, liking the idea that he intended to stay in touch. Liking it plenty. I mean, the guy was a hunk, and he was even laughing at my jokes now.
Terry arrived for a late dinner that evening, and we ate our grilled tuna out on the patio by the pool. The amber antimosquito torches surrounded us, flickering against a starry sky. Kate had already called and told him about last night, making him once again hesitant to help me with my plan to investigate Parental Advocates. But I was certain that finding Feldman might lead us not only to Ben’s killer but maybe Cloris’s, too, and after a little pleading on my part, he finally succumbed. His renewed cooperation then resurrected the guilt I felt over the business cards now in my purse. But they were still staying in my purse.
“Hon, you look exhausted,” said Terry, reaching over and resting a hand on Kate’s cheek. He brought her to him and kissed her briefly.
“Abby needs to tell her gentlemen friends to call at more reasonable times,” said Kate. “I missed school, thanks to everything they stirred up.”
“Steven and Kline? Gentlemen friends?” he said.
“I didn’t invite them,” I said. “And I hope you’re using the adjective ‘gentlemen’ loosely. Did you know Kline put a tail on me, Terry?”
“Nope. Those Homicide dicks tell no secrets. Besides, they know Kate and I are a couple, so they wouldn’t say anything. By the way, what was your cat doing in the attic in the first place?”
“Someone must have left open the attic door,” I said. If I could remember the last time I saw Diva, maybe I could pinpoint when the room was trashed.
“I can narrow the field,” said Kate. “Aunt Caroline was all over the house Saturday—she and her strong- man, Hans.”
“You mean the guy she found in the yellow pages—listed under ‘recreational facilities’?” I said.
Kate smiled. “That’s the one.”
“So you think Aunt Caroline’s our culprit?” I said.
“Don’t tell her I was the one who fingered her,” Kate said. “She still likes me.”
I smirked. “Maybe I can change that. I think you should share the joy of genuine animosity.”
Kate and Terry laughed and then we cleared the table. After we finished the dishes, they went to catch a movie and I tackled the chaos in the guest room. I carried packing crates upstairs and Diva soon joined me, the lure of a box too enticing to refuse.
But instead of finishing up quickly, I found that the task stirred memories, and the work took much longer
