He snarled, “Baby, I told you all along that if I go down, you’re going down with me.”

  Linda looked frightened for a moment, then she said without emotion, “Detective, I’m ready to tell the truth now. Arnie Seacrest wasn’t even there that night.”

  “What?” Craig exclaimed. “You’re changing your story?”

  Linda nodded. “Arnie and I were together earlier that evening. Ferrell was helping a neighbor put sandbags around his house. I went out and met Arnie at our usual spot. We spent some time together and when I got back, Ferrell was home.”

  Her tone eerily calm, she said, “He wanted to go out and move our horses farther away from the river. His clothes and slicker were soaked, so I gave him my pink raincoat to wear. I always wore it when I washed the horses or when I was out and about in the rain.”

  She chuckled. “Who wears a pink slicker with cats on it and boots to match?” When no one reacted, she continued, “Ferrell was about the same size as me and he put my slicker on that night. Whoever killed him must have thought it was me.” She looked at Craig for a reaction. She nodded. “Yes, they pushed him into that hole believing it was me, and I know who did it.”

  She took a breath. “Vickie and Justine hated me. Vickie knew Arnie had been coming around here and that it wasn’t Ferrell he was coming to see; at least, she had her suspicions. She’d actually seen me in town that day wearing the pink ensemble, if you will. It was a rainy week and I wore it a lot. So when Arnie left their home that night, they must have followed him, saw him with me, and came to our house to threaten or kill me. They killed Ferrell thinking it was me. I’m sure of it.” When no one said anything, she added, “How sure, you ask?” She stood up. “Well, maybe this will convince you.”

  “No!” Arnie shouted. “No, Linda. Don’t do it.”

  “Sorry honey, I’ve decided I want to keep living like a queen. The only way I can do that is to get rid of those two.” She looked at Craig pleadingly and said, “I mean, they are the guilty ones, after all.” She started to walk into her bedroom.

  Craig motioned, “Savannah, go with her.”

  When they returned, Linda carried a wooden box. As she sat down with it on her lap, Rags approached and began pawing at her leg. She petted him, then opened the box and lifted out a single earring. “I know for a fact this belonged to Justine Seacrest. Her grandmother—Ferrell’s mother—gave them to her. Mother Peters wore them often. Well, I found this one out near where they buried poor Ferrell. I’m fairly certain you’ll find its mate in Justine Seacrest’s jewelry box, if she hasn’t thrown it away by now.”

  “Linda,” Arnie said, shaking his head in defeat, “you weren’t supposed to use it that way.” He choked up. “Oh my God, Linda. What have you done?”

  ****

  “Wow,” Savannah said as she and Craig drove off with Rags later. “So who done it?” she quipped.

  Craig shook his head. “Good question. I’m glad I’m not the judge. Which story is true? Why would Arnie crumble under her threats if he’s innocent?”

  “To protect his wife and stepdaughter?” Savannah suggested.

  “Possibly.”

  Savannah was quiet for a while, then said, “What was that about someone trying to kill her—isn’t that why she called you this morning? Do you think she and Mr. Seacrest were having an argument or something?”

  He shook his head slowly. “I don’t know what that was all about. Didn’t appear that anyone was hurt. I was surprised to find him hiding in the apartment, though.”

  “She is some manipulating female. I mean she’s managed to take care of herself in a pretty upscale way through all of this.”

  “Uh-huh,” Craig muttered.

  “What are you thinking?” she asked.

  “That we may have been scammed.”

  “Meaning?” Savannah questioned.

  “Meaning we may be overlooking the real murderer.” He faced her briefly as he drove. “There’s a piece to the puzzle still missing.” He laughed. “In fact, probably several pieces. I swear I’m as confused now as I was when we arrived there this morning. But my focus now is on the missing piece to the puzzle.”

  “Oh? So where do you think it is? Where will you look?” she asked. He thinned his lips in contemplation. “I haven’t figured that out yet.”

  Chapter Nine

  After putting the children down for a nap that afternoon, Savannah called her aunt. “How are things out at the colony?”

  “Well, while you were out playing policewoman I caught three more cats.”

  “Three?” Savannah questioned. “Did you bring in another trap?”

  “No. Two little tabbies evidently went in at the same time—caught them both.”

  “Well, that’s fortunate,” Savannah said.

  “Yes, so we have just a couple more to catch.”

  “Then our job’s over?”

  “Well, yours maybe,” Margaret said. “Max and I’ll be taking on some of the cats and kittens. We’ll try to locate their owners and, if we fail in that effort, we’ll find new homes for them. Nola and June will take the hard-core ferals.”

  “So you’ll raise some of the kittens?”

  “Yes,” Margaret said giddily. “We’ve committed to caring for eight or ten cats, including two litters and their moms. So I want to go out and do a thorough search to see how many stragglers there actually are?”

  “You don’t know how many are left?”

  “Pshaw, Vannie, you know how things out there keep changing. Cats come and they go and more come. Once we’ve caught all of the cats that are there today or tomorrow, it’s possible that they’ll be replaced in a day or two. They smell the food or the other cats and start coming around. Some of them may have lived in the colony and left for some reason, then they come back with their kittens or some of their friends and the colony starts up again.”

  “Can we suggest that Al and Barney not feed any new cats that come?” Savannah suggested.

  “We could, or they can go ahead and feed them and call us when someone new without the ear clip starts hanging around. We can continue our trapping on an as-needed basis.”

  “I guess I didn’t know this would be ongoing.”

  “Maybe not,” Margaret said. “That wasn’t the case out at the Fischer building, as you’ll recall. Once the cats were gone, the place remained cat-free, but a colony close to where people live might be another thing. Food and activity is a draw—an attraction, as you can imagine. So when can you get away today so we can start winding down our work out at the Teagues’s?”

  “How about now? The kids are napping. I should be back by two. Mom has a pottery class today and Michael’s working on the playhouse.” More excitedly she said, “He’s almost finished, which means he’ll start on my gazebo next.”

  “Cool! So is your mom doing pottery with that handsome neighbor?” Margaret asked.

  “No, at a studio downtown. You should see her; she’s excited and a little nervous.” Savannah chuckled. “She has those first-day-of-school jitters.”

  ****

  “Here, kitty-kitty,” Savannah said quietly as she and her aunt approached the cat hangout. “Have we caught that grey male yet—the one that was taking care of the burned tortie’s kittens?”

  Margaret shook her head. “We haven’t seen him since that day, have we?”

  “No.” Savannah tugged on Rags’s leash. “Come on, Ragsie, show us where the cats are hiding this afternoon.”

  When she noticed him digging around a hole, Margaret grumped, “Cats, Rags, not gophers and ground squirrels.”

  “And not another tunnel,” Savannah said. “No more tunnels, Rags!” Once she got the cat’s attention, she encouraged him to walk with her deeper into the stand of trees. “That’s it, good boy,” she crooned. “Let’s find some kitties.”

  “I’ll watch from here,” Margaret said, sitting down on a stump. “Don’t want to scare the cats away. We want them to come out into the open.”

  Savannah nodded and continued following Rags. After a few minutes, she pointed for Margaret’s benefit. “Good boy,” she murmured to Rags. “There’s a little tabby. Oh, isn’t she cute? Look at those eyes. She’s scared.”

  After several minutes, she sighed. “She seems to be alone. Let’s go back and set the trap. We want to catch that little straggler.” Rags, however, seemed to have other ideas. He began pulling against the leash, away from the trees and toward the burial site. “Oh Rags, we don’t want to go there, do we?” She shot a look of desperation at her aunt and continued following the determined cat.

  He trotted past where they’d found Ferrell Peters, stopping occasionally to sniff the air or a shrub.

  “Where are you taking me?” Savannah asked. That’s where Al lives, she thought, looking ahead of them. Dang, he probably smells food cooking or…She stopped and started to lift Rags, when Al stepped out of his trailer. “Hi,” she called.

  He smiled. “Hi. Have you found all the cats?”

  “I think so,” she said, moving closer to where he stood. Rags approached the man, sat down, and looked up at him.

  “Hello, gato,” Al said, petting Rags. “Did you come for a visit?”

  “Probably for food. I smell something cooking; I think he smells it too. What is that? It sure smells good.”

  “Pozole,” he said. When Savannah looked puzzled, he said, “It’s a Mexican soup. Very good. It’s all done. Want some?”

  “Oh no,” Savannah said, “but thank you. We need to stay focused on the cats.” When she noticed Rags snooping under Al’s trailer, she frowned. “Do you think a cat would be under there? Rags is supposed to be looking for cats, and he brought me over here.”

  “Very likely,” Al said, chuckling. “Like him, they smell the aroma of food cooking and they do come to visit me sometimes. Shall we look?” he suggested. “Let me get some kitty food and see if anyone comes out.”

  “What’s going on?” Margaret asked, joining them.

  “Oh, Rags brought me over to visit, I think, although there could be a cat or two under the trailer. Al went to get some food.”

  “What smells so good?” Margaret asked.

  “A Mexican soup Al made.”

  “Smells wonderful,” she said.

  “Want a bowl?” he asked, returning. “There’s plenty.”

  “No thank you. I just ate.”

  “You can take some with you—both of you,” he offered.

  Margaret looked at Savannah before accepting. “I’d love that. Thank you.”

  “I’d better not,” Savannah said. “It’s probably too spicy for me.”

  He frowned. “Yes, maybe. I like it spicy.”

  “Me too,” Margaret admitted.

  “Okay then,” he said excitedly. “I get you some.” He handed Savannah a bowl. “Here’s kitty food.”

  “So what’s he doing?” Margaret asked, looking down at Rags.

  “We think there may be cats under the trailer. Come on, let’s find out.” Savannah set the cat food down, then she, Margaret, and Rags moved back and watched from a distance.

  “There!” Margaret said. She ran her hand over Rags’s back. “You never cease to amaze me. So there’s the grey male, and I see something else moving behind the lattice work.”

  “I think you’re right,” Savannah agreed. She held Rags’s leash tightly. “Just be patient, buddy. Let’s hang back here and see if anyone else comes out, shall we?”

  “Oh look,” Margaret whispered, “isn’t she a dear. And she has an ear clip. Good, so that bad-boy intact cat won’t be knocking her up.”

  “She is cute. Why is she out here? She needs to be in a loving home, safe and happy.”

  “Don’t they all,” Margaret said. Suddenly she became rigid. “Oh no,” she moaned. “Do you see that? She has something around her back leg. She can hardly walk, poor thing. What is that?”

  “I think it’s plastic. How in the world did she get into that fix?” Savannah asked. “We’d better get our hands on her today.”

  “Yup,” Margaret agreed. “I’ll go get the net.”

  “You might not need it, Auntie, she can barely walk. But we don’t want her to go back under the trailer. Hey, hold onto Rags. I’ll try to block that hole where they came out.”

  “Good move.” Margaret pointed. “There’s a piece of plywood.”

  The women had the net in hand and heavy gloves ready when Al returned with the soup for Margaret. Savannah put her hand up, motioning for him to stop. She moved the plywood into place, blocking access under the trailer, but managed to spook the tabby and she ran around the back of the trailer.

  After spending several minutes looking for her, Margaret suggested, “Let Rags show us where she is.”

  Savannah took his leash and walked with him in the direction the cat had gone. She was confused when he trotted up to an old portable air conditioner that was sitting out behind the trailer along with a lot of other junk. Savannah looked around in between the items, and spotted the cat. Taking a chance, she reached in and picked her up, quickly wrapping her in a towel and scooting her into a carrier. Once they’d closed the frightened cat inside, they examined her leg through the mesh.

  “That’s bad,” Savannah said. “She may lose that leg—see how tight that is around there? I wonder how long she’s been like this. The women were about to walk away with the cat in the carrier, when Al asked, “Do you want this one too?” The women were stunned to see Al holding the grey cat in his arms and petting him.

  “We most certainly do,” Margaret said. “I’ll get another carrier.”

  “So you’ve made friends with him have you, Al?” Savannah asked.

  “Yes, he’s a good boy. I’d like to keep this one.”

  Savannah nodded. “Okay. But let us take him in to be checked over and have him neutered. We’ll bring him back to you in a few days, okay?”

  Al looked the cat in the face, spoke Spanish to him, then said, “Okay. We agree.”

  “Good.” She felt a tug on the leash and looked down at Rags, noticing that he was pawing at something sticking out from under the abandoned air conditioner. “Now what, Rags? Come on, we need to get these kitties to the clinic.” She then said, “Oh, Auntie, we’d better call Bud and see if he can meet us there.” She turned her attention back to Rags. When the cat didn’t budge, she walked closer to him and let out a squeal.

  “What is it,” Margaret asked chuckling, “a mouse?”

  Savannah picked up something and faced Al, who was easing the grey cat into the second carrier, with Margaret’s help. “Where did this come from?” she asked.

  Al moved closer. “What is that?” He stared at it for a moment, then said, “Oh, I used it to keep the hot air out.” He explained, “That air blower didn’t fit right in the window and it gets hot—caliente—in my home. I cut that material to fit around the blower and keep the heat out.”

  “Come on, Vannie, let’s get these cats to the clinic,” Margaret urged.

  “Just a minute, Auntie.” She addressed the man again. “But Al, where did you get it? She rubbed the piece of pink rubberized fabric between her fingers and thumb. “Where did it come from?” When Margaret looked at it, she said, “Oh, what cute fabric. It has cats on it.”

  Ignoring her, Savannah asked him again, “Do you remember where you got it?”

  Al rubbed his chin. He hesitated, then said, “Someone gave it to me a long time ago—many years ago. That’s all I remember.” He started to walk away.

  “Al, it’s important,” Savannah insisted. “Did Mr. or Mrs. Peters give this to you?”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Yes, Mrs. Peters. She gave it to me. It was her rain jacket. She asked me to throw it away—to get rid of it—but I could see no reason to do that. It was in good shape and such useful material. I used it to repair an old chair seat, to keep the hot wind out of my window, to line my shelf where I keep my cooking pots—easy to clean up, you see.”

  “You must have a cheery home,” Margaret said. “Kittens on pink. Wow! It’s kind of a vinyl, isn’t it? Like the old oil cloth we used to use for a lot of things. Very industrious of you, Al.”

  When no one spoke for a moment, Savannah asked again, “Al, do you remember when she gave it to you?”

  “Oh, yes, that night it rained so much—the flood. She came to my trailer with it and said I was to get rid of it right away.” He smiled. “I think she would be pleased to see that her rain jacket lives on in many ways.”

  “Yeah, I’ll just bet she would,” Savannah muttered.

  ****

  “Craig, I’m glad you answered,” Savannah said when she called him later that day.

  “Why wouldn’t I?” he grumped.

  “Hey Craig, I think we found another clue in the murder case—well, Rags found it.”

  “I’m listening,” he said more eagerly.

  “Remember the raincoat Linda Peters was talking about?”

  “The pink one with cats on it? Yeah.”

  “Rags found it today—well, pieces of it.”

  “The heck!” Craig said. “Where, might I ask?” “At the ranch hand’s place—Al. Linda Peters gave it to him the night of the murder and told him to get rid of it. Well, he didn’t. He kept it and used scraps of it around his place.”

  “So what does that tell us, Savannah?” When she remained quiet, he said, “Her story is…”

  “You mean one of her stories…she told more than one story.”

  “Indeed, she did,” he agreed. “Well, in the one involving the raincoat, she said the two women killed her husband thinking he was her, because he was wearing her kitty-cat raincoat that night.”

  “Yes.”

  “And when we found the body,” Craig continued, “he wasn’t wearing a raincoat. There were no remnants of a raincoat whatsoever, according to forensics.”

  “Which indicates…?” Savannah prompted.

  “Well, that someone took it off him before they conked him over the head, or that he was out there without any rain gear, which isn’t likely. Maybe it was torn off him in the scuffle.”

  “Or removed before he was buried,” Savannah offered quietly.