Tiffany propped one hip against Bill’s desk. “You look like you’ve got something on your mind, murder expert. Spill.”

  Kat wasn’t too fond of the ‘murder expert’ designation, but now wasn’t the time to protest. “I think somebody did murder Aaron. And I think they tampered with these pills to do it.”

  Tiffany drummed her fingers on the desk. “Wow. I never thought of that. But it makes total sense.”

  “What are you two doing in here?”

  Kat jerked her head up. Bill stood in the doorway, a pinched look on his face.

  Tiffany didn’t seem embarrassed to be caught in his office. “Going through Aaron’s stuff. We thought we might find some clues about his death.”

  Bill’s jaw tensed. “Tiffany, I already told you, we’re not publishing anything about Aaron other than a standard obituary.”

  Tiffany pressed her palms together in a prayer pose. “Just hear us out. Kat has this incredible theory. You might want to take notes.”

  Bill peered at them for a moment before he took a seat in the visitor chair. “All right,” he said, pulling a notepad and pen from his breast pocket. “This better be good.”

  Tiffany elbowed Kat. “It’s your theory. You tell him.”

  Kat opened her mouth, but only a croak emerged. Her eyes were transfixed on the object in Bill’s hands, the image of him borrowing an order pad from Jessie yesterday flashing through her mind.

  What were the odds that someone in the newspaper business wouldn’t have something to write on at all times? Yesterday she had been too preoccupied to consider the question, but now Bill’s unpreparedness struck her as strange.

  Of course, Bill could have had his hand under the counter for another reason. What if he had really been sneaking the peanut oil and Aaron’s EpiPen onto the premises? She hadn’t seen him holding either item, but she remembered him putting his hands in his coat pockets. That was shortly before Jessie and Tiffany had started arguing. It would have been easy for him to place the oil and EpiPen under the counter while everyone’s attention had been on the two feuding women. Then, when he’d been caught with his hand still in place, he’d simply made up that excuse about borrowing something to write on. Everyone had been too busy reeling from Aaron’s death to question why he wouldn’t carry his own notepad around.

  “Kat?”

  Tiffany’s voice was like a bucket of ice water that shocked Kat back to the present. Her grip on the pill bottle tightened. “I know who killed Aaron.”

  “You do?” Tiffany said. “Spill!”

  Kat lifted up her arm and pointed her finger straight at Bill.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Tiffany gasped. “You killed Aaron?” she said to Bill.

  Bill didn’t pay her any attention. His eyes were locked with Kat’s. “What do you know?” he asked.

  Kat held up the prescription bottle. “I know you took Aaron’s real pills out of here and replaced them with some you had tampered with. Or maybe they were the same pills, only soaked in peanut oil.”

  Tiffany stared at Bill. “You did that? Why?”

  Bill stood up and began pacing in front of the desk. “Having Aaron here was a threat to our jobs. If I let him keep on insulting the local businesses, eventually we wouldn’t have anyone willing to advertise with us. And I couldn’t fire him or make him play nice. Every time I suggested he lighten up on the criticism he’d run to Hamlet.”

  “Who’s Hamlet?” Kat asked.

  “The owner of the Courant. He’s the one who brought Aaron on board after he was fired in Chicago. Hamlet and Aaron are related somehow.” The bite in Bill’s tone made it clear that relationship had put him in a difficult position.

  “I don’t get it,” Tiffany said, throwing her hands up. “You killed Aaron because we were losing advertising revenue? That’s so stupid.”

  “Ads are a newspaper’s lifeblood,” Bill said. “Without ads, we go under.”

  Tiffany scoffed. “They’re not that important.”

  “Oh, but they are. Why do you think Aaron lost his job in Chicago? Scathing reviews alienate the business community—especially in a town as small as this one. But Aaron didn’t care. He wanted to write what he wanted to write, and he refused to compromise.”

  “But even without business ads we’d still have the classifieds,” Tiffany countered.

  Bill shook his head. “We were losing clients everywhere. Word was getting around. D’Angelo was encouraging everyone he knew to pull their support after Aaron published that piece on Taste of Tuscany.”

  Tiffany scrunched up her nose. “The D’Angelos are really that influential?”

  “You don’t get it.” Bill stopped pacing and leaned against the doorframe. “Today it’s Luigi D’Angelo who hates us. Tomorrow it’s who? Jessie Polanski? Jessie was born here. Who knows how far her reach extends. And if losing her business doesn’t put us in the red, then what? Next week Aaron insults some other Cherry Hills native. Eventually we’d all be out of jobs.”

  “Then we find new jobs,” Tiffany replied.

  “That’s easy for you to say. You’re young. You don’t have any commitments. I’ve got a wife and kids. I’m the sole breadwinner in my family. What happens when I end up unemployed? My kids don’t eat.”

  Tiffany made a face. “That’s rather dramatic, Bill.”

  “Dramatic, maybe, but also true. That’s why I did what I did.”

  Kat dropped the empty prescription bottle back into Aaron’s briefcase. “What did you do with his real pills?”

  “I threw them away,” Bill said. “And I dumped the others I put in there, too. I had to add peanut oil to a few pills to lessen the odds of Aaron noticing his bottle was short.”

  Kat nodded. “Getting those contaminated pills back was the real reason you took Aaron’s briefcase, not to return it to his family.”

  “I couldn’t have anyone looking too closely at them.”

  “When did you get into his briefcase to make the exchange?” Kat asked.

  “Late afternoon yesterday. Everybody else had already left. I waited until Aaron went to the bathroom, then I took his EpiPen and switched out his pills. I knew he was headed to Jessie’s, which made it the ideal time to make my move.”

  “How could you be so sure he’d die?” Kat asked. “What if the paramedics had gotten there in time to save him?”

  “Aaron’s not the type to ask for help. When he couldn’t locate his EpiPen, I figured he’d be more inclined to keep searching than to flag someone down. And if he did survive, I’d just try again later. Then, once I succeeded, all I had to do to cover my tracks was dispose of those pills.”

  “And you planted that EpiPen and peanut oil bottle at Jessie’s,” Kat filled in.

  “Ah, so you know about that,” Bill replied. “I didn’t know what Jessie would do with that oil if she saw it before the police did. And I wasn’t sure if anybody would notice the EpiPen. It ended up falling under the bottom of the counter.”

  Where the orange tabby must have found it, Kat presumed. “Why did you want to frame Jessie?”

  “I didn’t want to frame anybody. I was all set to toss everything when Tiffany called and told me Aaron had been murdered. I had assumed until then that everybody would think his death was an accident.”

  A flash of anger surged through Kat. “So you figured why not let an innocent businesswoman take the fall for your crime.”

  Bill’s goatee twitched. “It was a better option than going to jail myself.”

  Kat bit back a retort. Defending her friend was the least of her worries right now. First, she had to figure out a way for her and Tiffany to get out of there. With Bill blocking the doorway, it wouldn’t be easy.

  She eyed the room’s lone window, dismissing it as an option. Not only did it look to be sealed shut with grime, but she didn’t figure she could climb through it before Bill tackled her even if she didn’t have to stop to open it first.

  Tiffany evidently had a different escape plan. “Let us out,” she said to Bill, her hands on her hips.

  “Oh, you two aren’t going anywhere.” He closed the door and flipped the lock.

  “You need to let us go,” Tiffany said, her voice cracking.

  Bill shook his head from side to side. “I can’t do that. You know too much.”

  “But if you don’t let us go . . .” Tiffany trailed off, and her face paled.

  Kat inhaled, keen on maintaining a level head. “What do you plan to do with us?” she asked Bill.

  “Tiffany is going to kill you, just like she did Aaron.”

  Tiffany jolted. “What?”

  “It’s no secret you didn’t like him,” Bill told her. “Anyone who ever saw the two of you together couldn’t miss how you would roll your eyes at everything he said. I doubt anyone will think twice when I tell them you snapped and took his life.”

  Tiffany’s hands balled into fists. “What makes you so sure they’ll believe you?”

  “I’m in the newspaper business. Spinning stories is what I do.” Bill rubbed his goatee. “I suppose you just couldn’t take it any longer and chose to murder Aaron rather than be forced to work with him for another day. And you had as much opportunity as I did—more, since you were actually at Jessie’s when he went into anaphylaxis.”

  Hearing Bill voice the argument Kat had been playing with in her head an hour earlier sent her heart sinking to the floor. He was right, of course. Tiffany was as viable a suspect as Bill was.

  “And you,” Bill said, swiveling toward Kat.

  Kat’s breath hitched. She wasn’t sure she wanted to hear what he had planned for her.

  “Tiffany tells me you’re quite good at solving crimes. It seems only natural your talent might get you into trouble one of these days.” His lips slanted, and he shook his head. “So sad how Tiffany went berserk when you confronted her about what she’d done.”

  Kat’s mouth went dry. Inside her chest, her heart beat a steady, pounding rhythm.

  “What do you say, Tiffany?” Bill asked. “Think you would stab Kat with a letter opener if she figured out you killed Aaron?”

  Tiffany turned a sickly shade of green, but Kat gave her credit for holding Bill’s gaze. “I’ll never go along with it,” she said. “And when the police ask me, I’ll tell them what you did.”

  Bill blinked. “Oh, maybe I haven’t made myself clear. You won’t be alive to refute my version of events. After you stab Kat, you’ll be so horrified by your actions there will be nothing left to do but take your own life.”

  Tiffany clutched the edge of Bill’s desk. She seemed to need the support in order to remain standing. Kat knew just how she felt. Her own knees wobbled as though they might buckle any second now.

  In one fluid motion, Bill lunged toward his desk and snatched a letter opener out of the pencil holder. Kat instinctively backed away. She squeezed her eyes shut and lifted her hands up to shield her face, bracing herself for the attack.

  But no attack came. Instead, she heard a crash followed by an “Oomph.”

  Kat peeked between her fingers. Bill was lying in a heap next to the toppled visitor chair. He must have stumbled and, judging by the gash on his temple, bumped his head against the armrest.

  Blood rushed through Kat’s ears. This was their one chance to escape.

  She circled around to the front of the desk and kicked the letter opener out of Bill’s reach. Bill didn’t react, leading her to suspect he had knocked himself unconscious. She wasn’t about to get close enough to check.

  Movement out of the corner of her eye caused her breath to hitch. Spinning around, her stomach twisted at the sight that greeted her. The orange tabby was limping toward one side of the room, dragging his left hind leg behind him. He must have followed them in here and ended up in the way when Bill had gone on the offensive.

  “Tiffany,” Kat said.

  Tiffany, who had been gawking at Bill, jerked her head up.

  “We need to get out of here,” Kat told her. “Go outside, lock yourself in your car, and call the police.”

  The way Tiffany was staring at her, Kat might as well have been speaking in a foreign language.

  “Get. Out. Now,” Kat said, aiming her finger at the door.

  This time, Tiffany obeyed. She hurried around the desk, stumbling in her haste. It took her a couple tries to get the door unlocked and open, but she managed.

  Kat shifted her focus to the orange tabby. He was crouched in one corner, his wary eyes trained on her. Her heart went out to him. He was clearly frightened and in pain.

  “I’m going to pick you up, and we’re going to the vet,” she crooned, creeping slowly in his direction. “I know you’re hurting now, but we’ll get you taken care of.”

  The tabby pressed himself closer to the wall, growling when she reached for him. She hesitated for a split second before remembering the larger threat that could regain consciousness at any moment. If she had to suffer a few scratches in order to get them both out of there, so be it.

  But the tabby didn’t attack. When she eased one hand under his chest, he opened his mouth as though to bite but held back. Kat didn’t know if he understood that she was on his side or if he was in too much pain to care.

  She slid her other hand under what seemed to be his good hind leg. The cat didn’t protest, so she lifted him carefully to her chest.

  “I’ve got you, baby,” she whispered.

  Bill groaned, and for a moment Kat was paralyzed by terror. Then a burst of adrenaline shot into her bloodstream, jump-starting her legs. She couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

  She jogged toward the front of the building, doing her best not to jar the cat. When she threw the door open, the blast of cold air that signaled her escape made her almost dizzy with relief.

  The tabby whimpered. Kat cradled him closer as she dashed toward Tiffany’s car.

  “Hang in there,” she said to the cat. “We’re going to get help now. And, lucky for you, the vet’s expecting us.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “Look what I’ve got,” Andrew said, waving a plastic bag in front of Kat as he stepped into her apartment the next evening.

  Spying the words ‘Taste of Tuscany’ printed on the bag, Kat’s salivary glands kicked into gear. “Tell me there’s an order of eggplant parmigiana in there with my name on it.”

  “There sure is. And I snagged you a slice of their cheesecake, too.”

  Kat closed the door. “What’s the occasion?”

  “It’s not every day my girlfriend has an article written about her in the paper.” He grabbed Kat in a hug and planted a kiss on her forehead.

  Tom, who had followed Kat to the door, set his front paws on Andrew’s leg and meowed.

  “Hey, look, it’s one of my two favorite felines.” Andrew handed the bag to Kat and crouched down to rub the cat.

  Tom didn’t waste any time rolling over onto his back. Andrew scratched his stomach, and Tom’s eyes slipped shut, a rumbling purr emanating from his chest.

  “While you’re doing that, I’ll start in on this food,” Kat said, heading for the dining table.

  Andrew jumped to his feet. “Oh, no, you don’t.”

  Tom flipped over, his tail swishing back and forth. Kat had to laugh when she caught the longing look on his face as he watched his favorite belly scratcher retreat.

  She set down the bag. Summoned by the sound of crinkling plastic, Matty appeared from out of nowhere and hopped onto the table to see what was going on.

  “That’s human food,” Kat told her, rubbing the tortoiseshell’s head.

  “Yeah, and if Kat had her way she’d eat it all by herself,” Andrew said.

  Kat stuck her tongue out at him before fetching two forks from the kitchen.

  Andrew sat down and began unpacking the bag. Not one to be left out, Tom jumped up to join them. Both he and Matty inspected each package as Andrew placed it on the table.

  “So, tell me how this article turned out,” Andrew said.

  Kat took the chair across from him. “You didn’t read it this morning?”

  He shook his head. “Thanks to you, I’ve spent the past twenty-four hours working on a murder case.”

  “Yeah, sorry about that. But at least you got to close the case as soon as you opened it, right?”

  He smirked. “That was one positive.”

  Kat opened her to-go container. The smell of hot mozzarella drew both cats toward her, noses twitching.

  “Sorry, guys,” she said, nudging them aside. “This isn’t for you.”

  Matty’s reply was to sit down and stare at Kat, her tail twitching in displeasure. Tom decided a more direct approach was warranted. He sauntered over to Andrew and reached into his container with one paw. Andrew laughed before pinching off a piece of chicken and holding it up for the feline.

  “You’re only going to encourage him,” Kat cautioned.

  “Eh, life’s too short to worry about the small stuff.”

  Kat thought about Aaron Moskowitz. She couldn’t deny that he would probably still be alive if he had let more of the small stuff go. And although it was unfair to blame him for his fate, she did have to question whether he had been truly happy in the end. She doubted it. She had a feeling all those hateful restaurant reviews reflected an internal misery he was all too willing to spread around.

  Andrew stabbed a piece of his chicken with his fork. “I’m still waiting to hear more about this article. Did you get to put in a good word for 4F?”

  “Kind of. It ended up being more of an inside look into animal-rescue-slash-crime-fighting.”

  “Sounds intriguing.”

  “Why don’t I read it to you?” Kat suggested.

  “All right.”

  With a growl of protest from her stomach, Kat closed her to-go container. Matty gave her the stink eye before relocating to Andrew’s side of the table, where she was promptly rewarded with a morsel of steaming chicken.

  Kat tipped her chair back and grabbed today’s edition of the Cherry Hills Courant off the kitchen counter. She began reading.

 

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