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And then there was the fact that Emerald had decided to ignore Franklin’s advice to install a solid steel-plate gate—impervious to lookie-loos and paps.

Sometimes it was almost as if she wanted to be photographed.

That morning, however, had suddenly seen a threefold increase in activity at the gate. Now not only paps were there, hoping for a money shot of Emerald in her bathroom showing some skin, but serious reporters, too, asking for a comment or a quote, and three satellite vans from local news stations.

In other words, sheer pandemonium.

He’d almost neglected to admit the cop who’d driven up in a beat-up old squad car, figuring he was just a pap pretending to be a cop. He was a beefy guy, with a face only a mother could love, and looked like a character from a seventies cop show. His ID was legit, though, and after conferring with the lady of the house—or rather Pete, who handled such matters—he’d allowed the guy to pass through.

The sound of the bell alerted him another breach was being attempted, and he frowned at his monitor. A little old lady with little white curls sat in an old red Peugeot and was smiling at the camera.

“Please state your name and business,” he said wearily.

“Hi, I’m a guest of Odelia Poole? I’m here to deliver the cats.”

He blinked. Of all the lame excuses… It seemed like the crackpots were out in force today. “This is not Odelia Poole’s house, ma’am. This is the residence of Emerald Rhone, and if you have no business here, please leave.”

“You don’t understand. I’m a guest of Odelia Poole, who’s a guest of Emerald, so you gotta let me in. And did I mention I’ve brought the cats?”

Cats. What did cats have to do with anything? With a tired groan, he hoisted himself up from his office chair and walked out into the line of fire. Those creepy paps all started shooting pictures of him. Then, when they saw it was just him and not some celebrity, minor or major, they desisted and instead started hurling questions at a rapid-fire pace:

“So was it murder?”

“Can you confirm it’s Kimberlee Cruz that died?”

“What happened to the body?”

“How did she die?”

“How did Miss Rhone react to the news?”

He waved them away with an annoyed grunt, and walked over to the gate. The little old lady was poking her head out of the little red car.

“Lemme in, will you?” she shouted from the other side of the gate. “My sciatica is acting up and if you don’t let me in right now I’m gonna be in so much pain you’re gonna have to call an ambulance.”

“You’re not invited, lady,” he said, “so beat it.”

“Iam invited—by Odelia Poole.The Odelia Poole—the famous reporter.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” He’d checked his list, and Odelia Poole was indeed on the guest list. Famous, though, she was not. At least he’d never heard of her.

“Or you can ask my son—Alec Lip. That’s Chief of Police Alec Lip to you. He’s in there, isn’t he? And he needs my help.”

The notion that a cop would need his mom’s help brought a tiny smile to his lips.

“Hey, what is this?Stop! Or My Mom Will Shoot?” one pap quipped.

“Did the Chief forget his lunch? Did you bring his peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich?” asked another.

The little old lady turned to the two paps and directed a look of such menace at them they quickly shut up.

It was true, though. Chief Lip was at the house at that moment, investigating what appeared to be a suicide. But that didn’t mean a thing.

“Please get lost, ma’am,” he said gruffly. “If you’re not a cop or a guest I can’t let you in.”

“But my son—”

“If you want to talk to your son, I suggest you call him,” he said, and started walking back to his guard shack.

“If you don’t let me in right now I’m going to have him arrest you for obstruction of justice,” the little old lady said, not sounding as pleasant and well-mannered as before. “And then you can explain to the judge how you impeded an ongoing investigation, you fat bozo!” she yelled.

He froze. Slurs about his weight always did much to sour his day. He swung around.“That was uncalled for, ma’am,” he said. He now saw that a cat was seated in the passenger seat. It was fat and orange. Behind it, he saw three more cats. What the actual…

“I’m only saying it to get your attention,” she said, now suddenly smiling sweetly again. “You’re not fat, sir. In fact you’re exactly the right weight for your size. Now if you’ll call my son, you’ll see that this has all been one big misunderstanding, and that I do, in fact, have every right to be here.”

He had a feeling the woman was going to stand there forever, and block the gate, so he decided to humor her. He took his phone and called up to the house.

“Yeah, Johnson. What is it now?” said Pete.

“Some old woman claims to be the Chief of Police’s mom. Says I need to let her in. She’s brought cats.”

“Cats?”

“Yeah, four of them, by the looks of things. She also says she’s Odelia Poole’s grandmother.”

There was a momentary silence on the other end while Pete processed this, then a curt,“Hold on.” Moments later, he was back. “Just let her in.”