My pulse raced, and I swallowed the lump that formed in my throat. I wanted to ask who he was talking about, but something about the set of his jaw made me hold my tongue. I decided to try flattery; it had always worked on Gerard. “This sure is a beautiful house. Do you own many homes?”
Harlow shrugged as if the exquisite Victorian mansion was unremarkable. “This is just one of many, yes. I am a collector, of sorts. Can’t help myself. But I downsized to move out west, you know. Simplify life a little bit, if you know what I mean.”
My eyebrows shot up at his words. If this was simple compared to where he lived before, I wasn’t sure I wanted to know much more. He lived in a world an entire league above my own, that was for sure. “You seem to have quite an eye for architecture. I think Agatha’s building is lovely too, or it could be.” Harlow nodded, noncommittal. “Were you ever interested in Agatha’s home? I mean, before she fell out with you.”
Harlow made a face. “That ratty old thing? Not interested. As you can see, I have much grander tastes.” He grimaced, as if suddenly remembering the apartment was now mine. “Of course, it could be renovated to make a lovely home for somebody. That street has a real up-and-coming vibe. Very hip.”
I suppressed a snicker. Hip. Yeah, he was Agatha’s cousin all right. Shifting on the chair, I wondered could Harlow really have anything to do with Agatha’s murder. I took in his portly physique and curved mustache, such a stark contrast to the hard lines of the room. I really couldn’t see him having any motive to kill Agatha. He could probably buy any house in town with cash out of his own hand-stitched silk suit pocket. He didn’t need an inheritance. He was a businessman, for sure, but that didn’t make him a murderer. I got to my feet and extended my hand. “Well, thanks for your time, Mr. Monroe. I should probably head home.”
Harlow nodded politely and stood to lead me back to the front door. I glanced over my shoulders as I passed through the entryway, once again aware of the unnerving prickle at the base of my spine. The feeling of being watched by unseen eyes. I waved curtly at Harlow as I slipped onto the front porch, releasing a breath as the door closed behind me. Just as I was about to step onto the pavement, the door opened again, and Harlow’s voice called after me. “Oh, Miss Jones?”
I turned. “Yes, sir?”
“Have you spoken to Officer Fitzgerald yet?” Harlow asked, his blue eyes like quicksilver in the morning light. My throat constricted. The snake. The sneaky little snake. He’d known exactly why I was there all along. “If you want to ask anyone else questions about Agatha’s will, I suggest you have a little chat with her friends, especially good old lady D’Arcy.” The breeze suddenly vanished so Harlow’s final words hit me like a shout before he closed his door with a resounding snap. “There’s a reason I felt Agatha would be safer far away from Salem, and it was nothing to do with the price of tea in China.”
I gaped at the bright violet door for a heartbeat before speed walking back to the car.
Chapter Nineteen
Driving back across town, thoughts gathered like pebbles at the base of my skull. There was something not quite right about the picture of Agatha’s life that was being painted for me by those who knew her; it was like a familiar melody being played on an untuned piano. My head ached and I could barely concentrate on the road. I flicked my blinkers and pulled into a parking lot in front of a liquor store.
“Is noon too early for a liquid lunch?” I muttered to myself, eyeing the man carrying out a large bottle in a brown paper bag. He stumbled on the curb, almost losing his footing and I exhaled. “Yes, Price. Yes, it is. What you need to do is talk to somebody—somebody besides yourself.”
To my utter frustration, the first image that popped into my mind was the three men-cats. I raised my eyebrows as I scrolled through my contacts, looking for the phone number Agatha had used in her job advertisement, and wondered was talking to your pets better or worse than talking to yourself. Finn’s warm voice answered on the first ring and a smile pulled at my lips. Better. Definitely better. “Finn, you answered, I wasn’t sure if you guys knew how to use a cell.”
Finn’s laughter filled my ears. “Yep, we’re super cats. We even managed to charge the damn thing.”
“Color me impressed, Muffin,” I teased.
Finn gave another chuckle before a voice barked something at him in the background. I patted the steering wheel as I heard the phone switch hands, preparing myself to talk to surly Tom. “Price, where are you?”
I sat up straight and pressed the phone against my ear. “I’m in a parking lot off Mission Street, why?”
“Listen, Pussy turned into a cat again, but we used it to our advantage and he managed to sneak into the Police Department and find out a bit more about Agatha’s case,” Tom said.
I stared at the dashboard with my brows drawn together. “And?”
“And Agatha was definitely murdered.” Tom’s voice was grave. “There were lesions and markings around her neck consistent with strangulation. Very deep injuries, Price. The cops are pretty certain it had to be a man or a particularly strong woman who attacked her, but there was no sign of forced entry, no defensive injuries, no sign of a struggle in the store, nothing missing from the till. Nothing of note, well, except the jumbo grape lodged in her throat and enough force to snap her spinal cord.”
I stabbed at the buttons on the car door in a desperate attempt to roll down the window. I needed air. I couldn’t catch a breath. Tom called my name down the phone, his pitch rising as he began to curse. I forced myself to open my mouth. “I’m here, Tom. I’m okay.” He exhaled into the speaker of the phone and I shook my head. “I just… I don’t think I really believed it before. I know it sounds stupid, when I believed about ghosts and witches and talking cats, but somebody murdering Agatha?” I whispered. “How did they not figure it out straight away? I mean, they released her body and everything.”
I heard the phone moving again and Pussy purred against my ear. “You doing okay, Pricetag?” A shriek sent a sharp dart of pain through my eardrum. “Watch where you’re stepping Fluffy, just hold the damn phone for me so I can talk to her.” Pussy came back on the line. “Price?”
“I’m still here. Deaf in one ear, but still here,” I said. “Pussy, why didn’t the cops start to investigate Agatha’s death as suspicious immediately? I mean, it doesn’t sound like it was a subtle murder.”
Pussy’s voice was tight as a drum. “This is where things start to get really dark, Price. Seems like somebody was pulling strings in the police department. The coroner who was dealing with Agatha’s autopsy suddenly got a big promotion out of town, and his assistant was offered a last-minute spot on a big fancy international conference in Zurich, and in between all the sudden, inexplicable chopping and changing, it seems Agatha’s files just mysteriously vanished and her case slipped through the cracks.”
“What?” I screwed my face up. “That’s insane.”
Pussy made a sound low in his feline throat. “It might be a little more sinister than that, Price. When Officer Fitzgerald noticed her file was missing, he started to dig around, and from what I overheard today, he’s pretty certain somebody with a lot of money or a lot of power was trying to make the whole case just disappear.”
“But they didn’t succeed in making it disappear.” I stared at my white knuckles on the steering wheel. “And now they don’t need to,” I whispered, realization hitting me like a smack in the face. “Because they have me to take the fall.”