Sweet Revenge (Cocoa Narel Chocolate Shop Mysteries Book 1) Page 6

  I thought about it for a while. On the one hand, I was worried that Carl was giving me a cat with issues, but on the other hand, I was happy to adopt a cat that no one else wanted. At least I would be able to give him a good home. After all, how bad could he be?

  The cat carrier basket had stopped shaking, and I was unable to see through the plastic mesh door. I walked over to it, and carefully opened the door.

  I recoiled. I wasn’t even sure that the creature staring out at me was in fact a cat. He growled at me ferociously and then hissed until I backed away. I clutched Carl’s arm. The cat did not look well cared for, and had rather a moth-eaten looking ginger coat. The cat did not have an attractive face. One ear was bent down at a strange angle, and the other one was upright. Plus, the cat had more teeth than I thought possible for a cat to have. The two bottom canine teeth stuck up out of his mouth a considerable way, making him look like a cross between a walrus and vampire.

  “Why exactly was the cat surrendered to the shelter?” I asked Carl suspiciously.

  Carl backed away from me. “If you must know, they told me the whole story. The farmer brought him in because he wanted to have him registered under the Dangerous Cats Act. The farmer thought that would exonerate him if the cat attacked anyone and he was sued. The shelter told the farmer that there’s a Dangerous Dogs Act, but there is no Dangerous Cats Act. The farmer became enraged and surrendered the cat to them. They actually did rehome the cat once, but unfortunately, the owner had tried to shower with a soap on a rope.” Carl shook his head. “There wasn’t a happy ending for that one. The poor man did survive, though.”

  I was aghast. “Carl, I can’t believe you’ve brought me a dangerous cat!”

  Carl pursed his lips. “Come on, Narel. You’re an animal lover, and you don’t own any soap on a rope. You’ll be perfectly safe! Mongrel is much nicer than a kitten. He’s already toilet trained. Plus he has a lot of personality.”

  At that, the carrier basket shook violently, and horrendous sounds, sounds I did not even know any animal could make, emanated from it.

  “Yes, you’re right I suppose,” I said to Carl. “If he ever comes out of the basket, I’m sure we’ll get on just fine.” I injected as much sarcasm into my tone as I could.

  “Why don’t you put some of the cat food just in front of his basket to entice him out?” Carl showed me a very pretty bowl he had bought, and I felt mean for being so ungrateful. I would have been grateful if he had brought me a kitten, but a deranged killer pet? I wasn’t so sure.

  I opened a can and shook the contents into the bowl. I placed the bowl about a foot from the basket.

  Carl and I looked at each other. Nothing happened—not for a while at least. Suddenly, a huge clawed paw shot out of the basket like lightning and dragged the bowl back in, all in one fluid motion.

  “That cat’s as fast as Jackie Chan!” I said. I would’ve said more, but I was transfixed at the sight of the basket shaking violently. It seemed that the cat wanted to kill his food rather than simply eat it. I rubbed my temples. Perhaps I’d feel better about having such a strange cat after I had a glass of wine. “I’ll have to change his name,” I said.

  Carl shook his head. “No, the shelter people were adamant. They hated his name too, but they said that’s all he’ll answer to. He’s an old cat, so you won’t be able to change his name. It will upset him.”

  “Just how old is this cat?”

  Carl shrugged. “Who knows? Ten? Six? Fourteen? No idea. It’s obvious he’s not a kitten, though.”

  I pulled a face. “You think?”

  Chapter 8

  I woke up with a start at six in the morning. It was a habit caused by my long months in the hospital, as the nurses used to wake everyone up at six in the morning to do the standard checks—temperature and so on. I wondered how long it would be until I slept to a respectable hour, but for now, I was glad that I was up at this hour, because I needed to start exercising. I had never been fit in my entire life, but now I was slim and what’s more, I was under doctor’s orders to exercise.

  I struggled out of bed and pulled on the exercise clothes that I had bought online. They were too big for me, even though I’d thought I had ordered a small enough size. I suppose that’s what the perspective of being overweight all my life had done to me.

  I struggled to the kitchen and headed for the coffee pot and a box of chocolates, but then thought that perhaps I shouldn’t walk when full of coffee and chocolate. I should just get the walk over with and then I would have my morning coffee and chocolate to look forward to as a reward. Besides, I didn’t want to meet people while out walking and I figured that the sooner I left, the better. Surely not many sane people would be out at this hour.

  That was when I remembered Mongrel. At least he hadn’t attacked me in my sleep, but that was probably because I had searched the house for anything that looked like rope, and put it in the trash. I shook the contents of a can into his bowl, and put it in front of his basket. At first I thought he hadn’t been out, but a quick inspection of the enclosed litter tray revealed that he had indeed ventured out at some point. I breathed a sigh of relief. That was a good sign, surely? I looked back at the basket shaking violently as Mongrel killed his food. Perhaps not.

  The area behind my house was a flat paddock and no one ever walked there, but I had to walk across it to get to the walking track. I yawned and stretched and forced myself to go out the door. “This is the first day of your new life,” I said aloud to myself. “You need to get fit and healthy. Being slim is just not good enough.”

  Suitably scolded, I reached the end of my driveway and walked onto the grass behind my house. It was somewhat chilly, and I clutched my top to me. It was a beautiful time of day, I had to admit. The mist was slowly rising from the creek and a vivid blue sky provided a stark contrast to the tall willow trees waving softly in the breeze.

  I could see people walking in the distance, and as I was in no hurry to reach them, I slowed my pace. I wandered slowly through the grass looking at the pretty yellow wildflowers scattered everywhere. The edge of the walking path wasn’t far away, and I figured I would walk to it and back home. I would stay on that routine for about a week, or at least until I felt fitter.

  I had just reached the end of the walking track and turned around to go home, when I saw something on the ground over by the creek bank. Was it a dead wombat? The poor thing. However, I didn’t think there were any wombats on the edge of town. Perhaps it was just a bunch of old clothes, but why anyone would dump a bunch of old clothes out here was beyond me. I tentatively took a step toward it. I had only gone a few more steps, when the shape became clear. I clutched at my stomach and thought I would faint. It was a man, and there was a branch sticking out of his back.

  My vision swam, but I forced myself to walk forward. There was a man in running clothes lying face down, and as I approached, I realized it wasn’t a branch sticking out of his back, but two arrows. He’d been shot!

  I looked around myself wildly. Was an irresponsible person out here shooting arrows? I was worried I’d be shot, too. Then I turned my attention back to the man. I shouldn’t assume that he was dead, just because there were arrows sticking out of his back. I edged closer, when two fit looking women each pushing a pram ran over to me. One screamed, and the other one yelled, “Is he dead?”

  I turned to her. “I don’t know! I don’t have my cell phone to call an ambulance.”

  One of the women whipped her cell phone from her pocket. “I’ll call them and the police, too.”

  The other woman and I bent over the body. “He sure looks dead?” I said, uncertain.

  “Yes, he’s dead for sure,” the other woman said. She ran back and turned the prams around, presumably so the babies wouldn’t see the horrible sight.

  The woman who had the phone came back. “The cops are on their way.”

  “Did you call an ambulance, too?” the other woman asked her.

  “Yes,” she said,
“but I don’t think he’ll be needing it. He’s dead.”

  It was as if their voices were coming from for away. I was shocked. Two deaths in a matter of days and I was nearby both times? I knew how this would look to the police. “Is there an archery practice area around here?” I asked them. I knew there hadn’t been, but so much could’ve changed in the time I was in the hospital.

  “No, but I think there’s one on the other side of town.”

  I nodded. I remembered it well. After all, archery was the only thing I have ever been good at. I hadn’t practiced archery after I left school, but when I was in school, I always won the archery competitions. Like I said, that was the only thing I have ever been good at—that, and eating vast amounts of chocolate.

  The three of us walked away from the body and back to the children, while the women insisted on spelling everything, I suppose in case the babies could understand English at that young age. And who would know? I didn’t know the first thing about children. We had decided that the man was in fact d-e-a-d, and there was no point trying to resuscitate him.

  The three of us stood around awkwardly making small talk and wondering what had happened to the man.

  I had been expecting the local cops, but to my dismay it was the two detectives, Rieker and Clyde. “Miss Myers,” Rieker said smugly. “Imagine seeing you here, at the scene of another murder.”

  The two women looked at me with shocked expressions on their faces, while Rieker took me by the elbow and separated me from the other women.

  He pulled a notepad from his suit and hovered his pen over it expectantly. “Who discovered the body?” he barked at me.

  “I did,” I said guiltily. I had no reason to be guilty, but I knew only too well how it looked.

  “Tell me what happened, right from the beginning,” he said.

  “Well, I decided to go for a walk, and I walked as far as the beginning of the walking track. Then I turned around and was coming back when I saw something. I went over to see what it was, and I found him. Just then, those two women saw and came running over to me.”

  “How long after you found the body did the women arrive?” he asked me.

  I thought for a moment. “Minutes, seconds even. They pretty much came over while I was staring at him to see if he was alive. In fact, they must’ve seen me walk over to him.”

  “Go on,” Rieker said.

  “That was it,” I said. “One of the women called the police and the ambulance, and then we stood around and waited for you to come.”

  Rieker scribbled furiously in his notepad. “Did you recognize the victim?”

  “No, but I couldn’t really see his face, because his face was turned to the ground.”

  “Did anyone touch anything?”

  I shook my head. “No, none of us touched him at all.”

  Rieker nodded. “You’ll have to come back to the station and make a statement.”

  “What, right now?”

  Rieker looked up from his notepad. “Yes, right now. You will accompany us to the station and then an officer will take you back home.”

  I sighed.

  “Wait here until I come for you,” Rieker said.

  I waited by the police car. Detective Clyde was still questioning the two women and the ambulance had arrived. The paramedics were looking at the body, but not taking any action, so I figured he was definitely dead.

  Rieker spent some time barking orders into his cell phone, but then he came over and told me to get in his car. We wordlessly drove to the police station. I felt sick and shaken. I’d had too much trauma in my life, and I don’t just mean all the bullying at school. There was my near fatal car wreck, then I had seen Guy Smith blow up, and now I had discovered a man with two arrows sticking out of his back.

  Was there a serial killer in town? And why did I have to be the one to be associated with both crime scenes? Was someone setting me up? I shook my head. No, that was silly. No one knew I was taking a walk that morning, only Carl, and he was my best friend. There was no way Carl would ever commit a murder, much less set me up for one. No, this had to be a coincidence, but it was a coincidence that would nevertheless point the guilty finger at me. Of that I had no doubt.

  I was soon back in the interview room at the local police station. I gave my statement to Detective Rieker, who duly taped it.

  Just as I thought that the interview had come to an end, he asked a question. “Do you know a man by the name of Ridgewell Dugan?”

  I jumped. “Yes, I used to go to school with him. You’re not saying that the dead man was Ridgewell?”

  The room started to spin and I thought I’d be sick. I leaned forward and put my head between my knees. Neither detective commented for a while, and I assume they thought I was pretending to be upset. Finally, Detective Clyde spoke. “Can I get you some water?”

  I gingerly sat up. The room had stopped spinning and my stomach had settled. “Yes, please. Was Ridgewell the victim?”

  “It is we who ask the questions,” Detective Clyde said as he left the room, hopefully to get me some water.

  I shot a look at Rieker, and he nodded. “Yes. For the record, how do you know the victim?”

  I rubbed my temples. “I went to school with him. He was one of The Populars.”

  “The Populars?” Rieker raised his eyebrows.

  “The Populars—you know, the most popular kids in school. That was a nickname for them.”

  “Were you jealous of them?”

  I shook my head. “No. They weren’t popular; they just thought they were, and they were mean. They were spiteful and nasty and everything else. They were terrible bullies. Have you seen those shows about mean kids in high school on TV?”

  Rieker just looked at me, but I pressed on. “Well, The Populars were much worse. All The Populars were bullies and really nasty people. They bullied people like me.”

  Rieker’s ears pricked up at that and I thought perhaps I had said too much. “So you were angry with them?”

  “Yes, as is everyone with people who bully them,” I said. “But I didn’t murder him, if that’s what you’re thinking. Guy Smith was one of The Populars, too.”

  By now, Rieker’s eyebrows had risen so far that I thought they might go flying off his head. “And you had reason to resent him, too.” He said it as a statement rather than the question.

  “I had reason to resent all The Populars, and in fact I did resent them all, just as anyone resents people who relentlessly bully them,” I said again. “But that doesn’t mean I would murder them. If I were going to murder them, I would have done it back in high school.”

  Rieker did not appear to be convinced by my protests. “What exactly did Ridgewell Dugan do to you?”

  “What do you mean?” I asked him.

  Detective Clyde came back through the door and handed me a glass of water. I took a sip, but it reeked of chloride. I put it down abruptly.

  “I am asking you for examples of the alleged bullying that Ridgewell Dugan perpetrated on you in high school,” Rieker said.

  I nodded. “Oh, I see. He stole my phone and sent text messages from my phone inviting the boys out and even inviting the principal on a date, along with lewd comments. The principal didn’t believe me and I got more detention.” I realized I was gritting my teeth as I said it, and hope that wasn’t implicating myself further. “Anyway, I wasn’t the only one they bullied. They bullied a few other people. I wasn’t the only one,” I said again.

  I had no idea whether Rieker believed me or not. “Do you have anything else to add to your statement?” he asked me.

  I thought for a moment before answering. “No.”

  “It will go better for you if you tell us now,” Clyde said.

  “I don’t know any more!” I said angrily. “I’ve told you everything I know.”

  Rieker shrugged. “Wait here. Someone will be in soon with your statement to sign.”

  The detectives promptly left the room. They had a funny idea of �
�soon,’ because I was there at least twenty minutes. I was pretty angry by the time I signed my statement, and I hadn’t even had my morning coffee or chocolate yet. Was it illegal when questioning someone to deny them the right to coffee? I was going to get a caffeine-deficiency headache out of this.

  “One of the officers will drive you home now,” Rieker announced. I was glad he hadn’t sent me down to the officer who would give me a limited time to call Carl.

  I had the officer drive me to Carl’s house instead of mine. I was distraught, and I couldn’t wait to tell Carl what had happened. I all but ran up his path and banged on his door.

  Carl flung the door open. “I have a door bell, you know,” he said grumpily. He looked like a zombie from a movie. His hair was ungroomed and sticking out in all directions and his eyes were puffy and red. He peered at me for a moment before speaking. “Narel, whatever’s happened? Is Mongrel okay?”

  I burst into tears and only manage to utter one word, “Coffee!”

  Carl half dragged, half led me into the kitchen where he switched on his coffee machine. “What’s happened?”

  I managed to regain my composure. “Do you remember Ridgewell Dugan from high school?”

  “Of course I remember him,” Carl said. “He was one of the more nasty Populars.”

  “Well, he’s dead.”

  Carl’s jaw dropped open. “What do you mean?”

  “Dead as in, no longer alive or living.”

  Carl’s jaw dropped even lower.

  “I went on a walk like you suggested,” I continued, “and right by the creek, I saw a body. It was Ridgewell Dugan. He’d been murdered.”

  “Murdered?” Carl said. He stroked a purring Louis the Fourteenth.

  I nodded furiously. “Yes, he was definitely murdered, because he was facedown in the grass and there were two arrows sticking out of his back.”

  Carl clutched his throat. “Was it an accident?”