Reese rolled his eyes and then plucked a notebook and pen from his sport coat pocket. “All right, so how about you do a little blabbing to me. Tell me what Mrs. Aguilar said and did when you told her about Mr. Benedetto.”
Feeling relieved that the expected lecture apparently wasn’t forthcoming, Darla nodded. “I told her how we found Curt lying in the basement—pretty much everything I told you—and she definitely was shocked. She actually turned pale.” Then, recalling the reaction that, to her, had been the most odd, she added, “But the thing was, she didn’t ask me how he died. She wanted to know who killed him.”
“She asked who killed him?” Reese’s neutral tone sharpened, and he looked up from his notes. “That’s what she said . . . in those words?”
“In those words,” Darla confirmed with another nod. “She didn’t ask if Curt had been in a car accident or keeled over from a heart attack. She just assumed he had been murdered.”
“Keeping in mind we don’t officially know that for a fact,” Reese reminded her. “So what about Tera? Mrs. Aguilar told me she had been trying to get hold of her daughter since she talked to you, but no dice.”
Darla explained what she knew about Tera’s schedule and Hilda’s opinion of her daughter’s relationship with Curt.
“But surely Hilda has heard from her by now,” she added with a frown, though a very bad feeling abruptly made her put down her fork, her appetite gone. “Reese, you don’t think the reason no one has heard from Tera is because she had something to do with Curt’s death, do you?”
The detective shrugged. “That’s one possible scenario. I could give you five or six more off the top of my head. For all we know, your hellcat over there”—he pointed his pen at the hellcat in question, who responded with a lazy yawn—“took a little stroll down the street that night and ended up at Mr. Benedetto’s place. Maybe he decided to explore a strange basement, chase a few rats. And then, when the poor schlub went downstairs to figure out what was causing the racket, he ended up tripping over the cat as he was going down the steps.”
“Yes, well, about that . . .”
She hesitated, wondering how best to explain that she’d been worried about that identical scenario, and that Jake already had proved quite scientifically that Hamlet had been stomping about in someone’s blood. Her confusion must have been reflected on her face, she realized, for Reese abruptly leaned forward in his chair.
His eyes narrowed as he glanced from her to Hamlet and back again. Then he shook his head. “Okay, spit it out, Red. What have you and that cat of yours been up to?”
For once, she didn’t bother to chastise him about the “Red” nickname. “Didn’t your CSI person mention it to you?”
“I haven’t seen the report yet. Mention what?”
“The bloody paw prints near Curt’s body.”
“Bloody paw prints.” Reese sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. “I saw what looked like a few drops of blood spatter near the body. You’re saying you think they were actually paw prints? All right, let’s hear this story from the top.”
Darla obliged for the third time that day, having already given James as well as Jake a recap of events. Surprisingly, James had been more inclined than Jake to believe Hamlet might have been the feline culprit in Curt’s basement.
Yes, Hamlet has managed a few midnight forays over the years, he’d told her when she had finished . . . much to her dismay. Why in the heck hadn’t James mentioned that fact a long time ago? Unfortunately, we still have not figured out how he makes good his escape.
For his part, Reese listened intently, scribbling a note or two in his book as she spoke.
“Jake has the strip all officially bagged and photographed if you need to see it,” she finished, and then hurried to add, “But I’m sure that Hamlet wouldn’t have deliberately tripped Curt.”
“Don’t worry, Darla, I’m not going to arrest your cat. I’m not even going to bring him in for questioning. But I wonder if—”
The intercom abruptly buzzed again, cutting off Reese in midword and making Darla jump.
“Sorry, didn’t know you were expecting someone,” Reese said as, apparently deciding to leave his last observation unsaid, he flipped his notebook shut and rose.
Darla scrambled to her feet as well and hurried to the door.