She pointed to the coffee table. There was a stack of mail there, as well as a check. I tilted my head slightly.
It was from Nick. Made out to Coco Miller in the amount of eleven hundred dollars. Dated the day before he died. The memo line said “Rent—December.”
So he’d been current on his rent. Even a bit early, really. That ruled out the most obvious motive for a landlord killing a tenant.
Unless the check bounced, of course. Just because he wrote it, didn’t mean he had the funds to cover it. But as long as Sal was still paying him a salary, surely he was keeping up with his bills.
“The lieutenant asked me about guns,” Mrs. Miller offered. “Whether I owned any, whether I’d heard a gunshot. Henry had a hunting rifle, but I sold it after he died. Didn’t like having it in the house.”
I nodded. “I hear you. My husband died a few months ago too, and I’ve been thinking about getting a gun—” For the agency more than for personal reasons, but she didn’t need to know that, “—but I don’t know how comfortable I am about it. If I don’t have one, I know I won’t use it. If I do, there’s always a chance that something will go wrong.”
She nodded sympathetically. She could be telling the truth. Or she could be lying, and she had another gun hidden somewhere. A pistol, with a silencer, because Nick surely hadn’t been murdered with a hunting rifle. Maybe tucked away in a sofa cushion, or under her mattress, or buried at the bottom of a pan of kitty litter. Somewhere the police hadn’t thought to check or hadn’t been allowed to search without a warrant.
“The crime scene people stayed until late afternoon,” Mrs. Miller continued. “They even looked through my trash, can you imagine? Looking for evidence in an old woman’s garbage.”
“They’re just being thorough,” I said.
“I suppose.” She took another sip of coffee, then looked at me over the rim of her mug. “Something wrong with that coffee?”
“Not at all.” I lifted it to my lips and pretended to take a sip. “Although I should probably get going, and not waste any more of your time.”
I set the mug down on the coffee table and got to my feet. Mrs. Miller’s eyes lingered on it for a second, like she could tell that I hadn’t had any of it. She probably could, since the mug was still full.
She didn’t mention it, though. “Of course, dear,” she said instead, and rose too, and set her own mug aside. “If there’s anything else you want to ask me, you come on back.”
I nodded. “I’ll do that. Thank you, Mrs. Miller.”
She followed me to the threshold. “You take care now, dear. And don’t do anything stupid.”
The door shut behind me, and I stood on the porch for a moment, drawing a deep breath of fresh air through my nose and holding it.
I’d be smelling cat for days, but it had been worth it. Jacquie and Nick had been arguing recently, which might give my client a motive for murder. Nick had paid his rent on time—this time, at least—which seemed to take Mrs. Miller’s motive for murder away. There was still the question of whether he’d kicked one of her cats, but if he had and she had executed him for it, it wasn’t as if she’d admit it. Besides, even if he had, surely it would have been easier to just evict him, or report him to the police for animal abuse, or something.
I climbed into the Lexus and sat for a minute before I called the office. “Any news?”
“Zach’s in place outside the Body Shop and reports that all is well,” Rachel said.
“I heard. Mrs. Miller just caught me snooping and invited me in for coffee.”
There was a beat. “How are you feeling?”
“Fine,” I said. “I didn’t actually drink any of it. I’m not stupid.”
“Good,” Rachel said. “Third time lucky, and all that.”
I rolled my eyes. “Yes, ma’am. I need you to do a bit more digging on Mrs. Miller. Find out who she was before she married Henry in the mid-seventies. Where she’s from, her maiden name, that sort of thing. She said she and Henry didn’t have children; please double-check that for me.”
“On it,” Rachel said. After a second she added, “Gina?”
“What?”
“Did you go by Kenny’s place?”
Oh. “Yes, I did. No sign of red paint outside his door or on the stairs or in the dumpster. It doesn’t prove he didn’t do it?—”
“I know,” Rachel said.
“But if he did, at least he didn’t leave any evidence behind.”
