Kent Conwell - Tony Boudreaux 14 - Murder in a Casbah of Cats by Kent Conwell Page B

person.”
    “Oh, she is. You never see her angry or anything. Once, Henry accidentally dropped an ironstone china ewer and bowl. It had a Persian floral pattern. It shattered into a thousand pieces. It cost almost twenty-five hundred dollars.”
    “What did she do?”
    “Henry came unglued. My aunt spent her time trying to calm him down, you know, to make him feel better.”
    Suppressing a grimace as I remembered Edna’s remark about Skylar Watkins reprimanding Gadrate over the condition of the house, I replied. “Decent of her.”
    Karla nodded emphatically. “She’s a jewel. She’s always been like that.”
    “Easy to get along with, huh?”
    “Oh yeah.”
    I played the innocent. “I must have misunderstood then.”
    “Misunderstood? What?”
    I shrugged it off. “Nothing. I thought I understood someone to say that Skylar jumped all over Gadrate about the condition of the house a few years ago. Like I say, I misunderstood.”
    She shook her head adamantly. “You must have. Skylar isn’t that kind of person.” She continued shaking her head, her shortblonde hair bobbing behind. “She wouldn’t jump on anyone. Not at all.”
    Was someone lying? If so, who? And why?
    I drew a deep breath and, figuring it was time to change the subject, glanced around the spacious room that was decorated in feminine shades.
    The fireplace was white brick, the walls pale pink. Probably the decorator called it baby pink, or cherry-blossom pink, and even perhaps brink pink, but to me it was pale pink. “Nice room. You’ve lived here since…” I hesitated, feeling awkward in the direction I was taking the conversation.
    A sad smile played over her heart-shaped face. “Since my parents were killed? Yeah. Skylar has been wonderful.” She paused, dropping into a reflective mood. “I should tell her more often, but sometimes…I don’t know. But I should.”
    “Don’t beat yourself up. We’re all guilty of the same thing.”
    She looked at me gratefully. “Thanks for understanding. And, yes, Dorothy and I’ve been here a long time.”
    I hesitated, but the murder of her grandfather kept nagging at me. “Were you and your sister here when your grandfather was killed?”
    Her brow knit. She looked at me in surprise. “How did you know about that?”
    With an amiable grin, I said, “No big deal. I was out wandering around the grounds…”
    She interrupted good-naturedly, “You mean you were bored, don’t you?”
    I pointed a finger at her. “You got it. Bored. Anyway, I was wandering around the grounds, and I ran into Frank eating his lunch at the gazebo out back. We just talked. I had heard aboutthe case through the grapevine, and when he mentioned your grandfather, we got to talking.” I shrugged. “What can I say? I’m a PI and naturally nosy.”
    Her smile remained fixed on her lips, but her eyes clouded over as she relived those years. “Yeah, we were here. My folks were killed in a car wreck when I was ten. Dot, that’s my sister, she was twelve. Mawmaw Watkins was a sweet woman, but she was more interested in her bridge clubs and stuff like that than grandkids. Skylar never forgot birthdays and holidays. She adopted us.”
    “She ever marry?”
    Karla pursed her lips and shook her head. “No. I asked her once, and she said she’d never run across the right guy.” She looked me up and down appraisingly. “You might be the right one,” she said, half-joking, half-serious.
    I leaned back and held up my hands in defense. “Hey, been there, done that, and failed miserably.” I gestured to the beautifully appointed room about us. “Besides, that would be like matching a broken-down plow horse with a Thoroughbred.”
    She giggled. “Now who’s beating who up?”
    “Just speaking the truth.”
    “Well,” she said, eyeing me once again with a sultry gleam, “I don’t know about that.”
    Henry stopped at the open door and peered inside. He held a spray can in his hand. His hairless face registered