Hit and Run in Cherry Hills

  Hit & Run in Cherry Hills

  A Cozy Cat Caper Mystery

  Book 11

  Paige Sleuth

  Copyright © 2016 Marla Bradeen (writing as Paige Sleuth)

  All rights reserved.

  Published by Marla Bradeen.

  This book or portions of it (excluding brief quotations) may not be reproduced without prior written permission from the publisher/author.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead), actual businesses, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. If this ebook copy was not purchased by or for you, please purchase your own copy before reading. Thank you for respecting this author’s work.

  Table of Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

  CHRISTMAS IN CHERRY HILLS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  CHAPTER ONE

  “Our January fundraiser is only six weeks away,” Imogene Little said, her auburn ponytail swinging from side to side as she looked between the other two Furry Friends Foster Families board members. “So far the three of us have managed to secure five donations for the silent auction, but I think we can do better.”

  “I have a couple calls in to local business owners,” Willow Wu said, pushing her dark hair away from her face. “And one of my fellow teachers knows the manager of a boutique clothing store. She thinks she can get her to donate a few items from last season’s leftover inventory. She’ll let me know next week.”

  “That’s fabulous.” Imogene rolled her chair closer to her desk and made a note on the pad in front of her.

  “Has anybody talked to Dorothy Fairchild?” Katherine Harper asked. “She gets all that promotional stuff for free, and she’s always eager to support us.”

  Imogene scribbled on her pad. “That’s a marvelous idea, Kat. Would you follow up with her?”

  “Sure.” Kat liked Dorothy Fairchild, or Lady Fairchild as she preferred to be called. She was positive the wealthy older woman would donate some swag without much encouragement.

  Clover, Imogene’s big white cat, sauntered into Imogene’s home office. When he spotted Kat, he froze, one paw still in midair.

  “Sorry for taking your armchair, but I needed a place to sit,” Kat told the feline.

  Imogene laughed. “You should have seen him earlier, when it was still daylight. A bird landed on the window ledge there, and he went nuts. He was climbing all over that chair, trying to figure out how to get to it through the glass.”

  Kat smiled at the image. “That sounds like something my cat Matty would do.” She faced Clover and patted her thigh. “You’re welcome to join me, kitty. There’s enough room for both of us here.”

  Clover rotated his ears toward her as though considering her offer. Then he started moving again, leaping into Kat’s lap with a force that knocked the air from her lungs. He tucked his paws under his chest and laid down, the soothing sound of purring filling the room.

  Imogene tapped her pen against the desk. “Now, where were we? Any other places we can approach about donating items for our auction?”

  “What about Fireside Gallery in Wenatchee?” Willow asked. “Several of their featured artists contributed small pieces the last time we organized one of these things.”

  Imogene bobbed her head. “And people are always more than willing to whip out the checkbook when local artwork is up for grabs.”

  “Why don’t I stop by there this Saturday?” Kat volunteered. “I’ve been meaning to hit the Wenatchee malls for more work clothes anyway.”

  “I’ll phone ahead so they know to expect you,” Imogene said, making a note. “I should approach Nikita, too. She might donate something.”

  “Who’s Nikita?” Kat asked.

  “Nikita Stoll.”

  Kat waited for Imogene to elaborate, but when no further explanation came she figured it was up to her to keep probing. “Who’s Nikita Stoll?”

  The pen fell out of Imogene’s hand. “You don’t know who Nikita Stoll is?”

  Kat glanced at Willow, who looked equally stunned by what Kat had thought was a simple question. Her ignorance even appeared to shock Clover. He lifted his head and abruptly stopped purring.

  “Sorry,” Kat said. “Should I be familiar with this person?”

  “She’s only the most famous artist in Cherry Hills, maybe even all of Central Washington,” Imogene said. “Her paintings have been displayed all over the country.”

  Kat shrugged. “I’m not really into art.”

  Clover stood up and jumped onto the floor, stalking away as though to put some distance between himself and someone so unworldly.

  “You don’t have to be into art to like Nikita’s stuff,” Willow said. “Her nature portraits are exquisite.”

  Imogene vaulted out of her chair with an agility more suitable for a woman half her age. “Let me show you one of her works.”

  Kat had no choice but to follow as Imogene grabbed her hand and dragged her out of the room. Imogene marched her through the living room like a drill sergeant before hauling her up the staircase.

  Willow and Clover trailed after them, making Kat feel slightly claustrophobic. She hoped her shamefully poor eye for art wouldn’t turn her into a laughingstock.

  But, as it turned out, she needn’t have worried. When they reached the master bedroom, the painting Imogene planted her under was so breathtaking that even Kat’s lungs ceased working for a second. In the center of the canvas sat a beautiful lake surrounded by untainted wilderness. The water sparkled beneath a bright, yellow sun, the reflection of the eagle soaring in the sky visible between ripples. The level of detail was astounding, as though it were a high-quality photograph rather than something created by hand.

  “Isn’t it gorgeous?” Imogene said. “I get to stare at this every night before falling asleep.”

  “It’s almost like being outside.” Kat had the urge to reach out and touch the lake to see if her finger came away wet.

  “And Nikita lives right next door. I’m practically bunking with a celebrity.”

  A clatter tore their attention away from the painting. On the other side of the room, Clover had hopped onto a chair and stuffed his upper body between the venetian blinds of a nearby window. Only his bottom half was visible as he stood on the toes of his hind feet, his tail swishing back and forth.

  “Clover!” Imogene strode over to him. “What on earth are you doing?”

  He pulled his head out of the slats and meowed.

  Imogene grabbed hold of his torso. “You know you’re not supposed to do that. You’re going to ruin those blinds.”

  But Clover clearly didn’t intend to leave his station. He used his hind legs to kick Imogene’s hands away before releasing a long, drawn-out meow of displeasure.

  Imogene opened her mouth as though to scold the cat, but before she could speak the squeal of tires sounded from somewhere outside. A split second later, a harrowing scream that ended as soon as it started could be heard through the window.

  Imogene turned away from Clover, her mouth forming a perfect O. Kat’s skin broke out in goosebumps as she, Imogene, and Willow exchanged wide-eyed glances. Then they all moved at the same time, falling into step one afte
r another as they ran for the front door.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The car was gone by the time Imogene, Willow, and Kat made it outside, but they had a clear view of what it had left behind in its wake.

  A woman was sprawled by the curb, her motionless body in stark contrast to the aluminum cans rolling around her. It looked as if she had dropped a bin full of recyclables before collapsing.

  “Oh, heavens,” Imogene whispered, setting one hand over her heart. “It’s Nikita.”

  Willow pulled her cell phone from her pants pocket. “I’ll call for help.”

  A man rushed over from another yard. He crouched next to the woman and set his fingers against her wrist. When he stood up a moment later without making any attempt at resuscitation, Kat’s stomach dropped to her feet. Catching them watching, he shook his head, his expression grim.

  Kat stood there, her shoes rooted to the ground. A minute ago she had been admiring one of this woman’s paintings. Now, she was dead, her life taken away in a flash.

  Imogene’s neighbors were starting to pour out of their houses. Kat could see them moving in as word traveled up and down Spencer Street. Everyone looked as startled as Kat felt by the violent end to their quiet Thursday evening.

  “Did anybody see the car?” Imogene shouted.

  “I might have,” an elderly woman called out from across the street. She was hunched over a walker, but that didn’t seem to slow her down as she pushed her way toward Imogene.

  Imogene met her at the end of the driveway. “What did you see, Esther?”

  “A dark car. I was doing my dishes when it happened. Looked out my window and saw it speeding away.”

  “Did you get the license plate?” Kat asked.

  The woman scoffed. “Darling, the way that car took off, you’re lucky I saw anything at all. Didn’t even have its lights on.”

  Kat stilled. “The headlights weren’t on?”

  “Nope. Lucky the streetlamps on this block aren’t burnt out.”

  The sound of sirens interrupted their conversation. They all turned to watch as an ambulance sped toward them, its lights flashing. A police cruiser wasn’t far behind. When the vehicles came to a halt, the neighbors all backed away to give the response team room to do their jobs.

  Kat wrapped her arms around her middle to help shield herself from the frigid December air. They hadn’t bothered to grab their coats, in too much of a hurry to get outside. If the way Imogene was shivering was any indication, Kat gathered that her friend had only just recently noticed the cold as well.

  Or maybe that was the effect of her neighbor being struck dead in this typically peaceful neighborhood.

  A familiar unmarked car pulled up to the curb. Kat exhaled, a little less anxious now that her boyfriend, Cherry Hills Police Detective Andrew Milhone, was on the scene.

  Imogene rushed toward him as he climbed out of the driver’s seat. “Andrew, thank goodness you’re here.”

  “What happened?” he asked, his eyes taking in their surroundings.

  “We were inside the house for our 4F board meeting when we heard the screech of tires and Nikita’s scream,” Imogene told him. “By the time we made it out here, Nikita was lying there and the car was gone. Esther saw it though.”

  “Sure did,” Esther piped up.

  Andrew pulled a notepad and pen from his breast pocket. “What can you tell me about the vehicle?”

  “It was dark, maybe black.”

  “What else?”

  “Had four doors.”

  Andrew waited a beat, then said, “Did you notice anything else?”

  Esther shook her head.

  “You didn’t see its headlights on, did you, Esther?” Kat prompted.

  Esther straightened. “That’s right. Girl’s got a good memory.”

  Andrew pushed his sandy hair off of his forehead and surveyed the crowd. “Are you the only one who saw anything?”

  “As far as we know,” Imogene said. “Except maybe for Clover.”

  “Clover?” Andrew frowned. “You mean your cat Clover?”

  Imogene nodded. “He was looking out my bedroom window at the time. Something outside had obviously caught his interest. I assumed it was a raccoon or some other wild animal, but now I’m not so sure.”

  Andrew’s eyes drifted toward Imogene’s pink house. “Huh.”

  Kat figured he wouldn’t give much merit to Clover’s potential insights into the crime. From previous conversations they’d had on the subject, she knew he didn’t think highly of felines serving as eyewitnesses.

  “Poor Nikita,” Imogene said, her shoulders sagging. “That’s her name,” she told Andrew. “Nikita Stoll.”

  “The artist, right?” Andrew said.

  Imogene bobbed her head. “She was a delightful neighbor. Never gave me one problem.”

  “Any idea what she was doing outside?”

  “Friday morning is trash pickup,” Imogene told Andrew. “I imagine she was bringing her bins out.”

  “I wonder if the driver knew she would be outside tonight,” Kat said.

  Andrew wrote something on his notepad. “With this type of hit and run, it’s just as likely she was struck by accident.”

  Esther’s lips puckered. “Crazy drunks. They ought to know better than to drive around after imbibing a few.”

  “There are a lot of reasons why the driver might not have stopped: fear of being caught behind the wheel while under the influence, improper car insurance, maybe an illegal weapon in the car.” Andrew shrugged. “I’m not ruling out anything at this point.”

  “Hey, Milhone,” a uniformed officer hollered, running over to join them.

  Andrew faced him. “Yeah?”

  The portly officer stopped and braced his hands on his knees. He didn’t say anything as he worked to catch his breath, the short jog leaving him noticeably winded.

  “Leon found an abandoned car a couple blocks over,” he finally wheezed out. “Sloppy parking job near the curb. Driver’s side door was wide open. Leon said it looked like blood on the right front fender.”

  “What kind of car?” Andrew asked.

  “Black Camry.”

  “Could be the same vehicle you saw then,” Andrew said to Esther.

  Esther nodded. “Could be.”

  “Leon checked it out,” the officer continued. “It’s registered to a guy up in Wenatchee. Turns out he just reported it stolen not more than five minutes ago.”

  “Wenatchee’s a thirty-minute drive from Cherry Hills,” Andrew said. “That means the owner either didn’t notice his car was gone right away, or he held off on notifying the police.”

  “Says he was at some party for the past few hours, but when he went to leave the car and his keys were both missing,” the officer contributed. “Guy doesn’t know exactly when they were snatched.”

  “Nikita’s killer could have stolen somebody else’s car to avoid having it traced back to them,” Kat said.

  “Or the car thief didn’t know Nikita at all, but he wasn’t willing to wait around for the cops to show up after hitting a woman during a joyride,” Andrew countered.

  “I’m not so sure about that.” The officer held up a baggie containing a scrap of paper. “Leon found this on the ground near the driver’s side door. He says it looks like it was dropped when the driver exited the vehicle.”

  Andrew took the baggie. Kat crowded closer, leaning over his shoulder to see if she could make out anything from this angle. She spotted the words ‘Spencer Street’ scribbled in a jerky, narrow scrawl, but not much else.

  “It’s the vic’s address,” the officer said.

  Kat sucked in a breath, the implications of Nikita’s killer having her address written down knocking the air from her lungs.

  Regardless of all the reasons Andrew had listed as to why a reckless driver might flee the scene, this note all but guaranteed that this particular accident might not have been so accidental after all.

  CHAPTER THREE

&
nbsp; Dorothy Fairchild lived in more of a mansion than a house. Kat had been there once before, but she still found herself daydreaming about what it would be like to live in such opulence when she pulled around the circular driveway Friday evening.

  Although Lady Fairchild obviously had money, it was hard to resent her for it. She not only made regular donations to Furry Friends Foster Families but also to several other local charities that Kat knew about. Kat had no doubt that Lady Fairchild would be an eager supporter of 4F’s silent auction.

  She approached the ornate front door and rang the bell. Almost immediately, a long string of short barks started up from the inside of the house. The barking grew louder when the door opened and Lady Fairchild came into view.

  “Muffin, hush,” Lady Fairchild said over her shoulder. With her styled gray hair, rosy cheeks, and warm smile, the sixtyish woman looked exactly as Kat remembered. Today she wore a peach-colored blouse and matching slacks.

  Kat felt something brush against her leg. She looked down to see Lady Fairchild’s dachshund nipping at her heels. “Why, hi there, Muffin.”

  The little dog barked and set his front paws on Kat’s knee, his tail wagging.

  “Muffy, where are your manners?” Lady Fairchild scooped him off of the ground and tucked him under her arm. “Kat is our guest.”

  Muffin’s tail continued to wag at a furious pace, shaking his little body from side to side.

  Kat smiled. “I see he hasn’t lost any of his energy.”

  “No, he hasn’t.” Lady Fairchild scratched Muffin’s head. “Chasing him around certainly keeps me young.”

  A fluffy white cat who looked like a thinner version of Clover strolled just outside the door. She sat down and peered up at Kat.

  “Nice to see you again too, Angela,” Kat said, bending down to run her fingers through the feline’s silky fur. Angela gave her a head bump in response.

  Lady Fairchild moved out of the doorway. “Please, come in.”

  “Thank you.”

  Kat surveyed the main room as she walked into the house. It was just as cluttered as she remembered, with books and knickknacks spread over every usable surface. Lady Fairchild might live in a big house, but evidently it wasn’t big enough.