Stay Tuned for Murder by Mary Kennedy

ratings, isn’t it? And after all, this is entertainment. I don’t know how many people are true ‘believers,’ as Chantel calls them, but I think it’s just a small percentage. Most people just find it intriguing.”
    “Tell me about Althea. It seems she was well liked.”
    “Very much so. I’ve never heard anyone say an unkind word about her. She did a lot for Cypress Grove, and the historical society was her passion in life.”
    “Doesn’t it seem a little odd that she hosted a séance for Chantel? What could the two of them possibly have in common?”
    “I think it was a shrewd marketing move on Althea’s part. She needed to raise money and public awareness about the historical society, and she hoped Chantel would be able attract an audience.”
    “Althea was single?”
    “Yes, widowed. I heard her husband died years ago. I really don’t know much about her personal life. I’m pretty sure she was born in Cypress Grove, and I think she’s lived here her whole life. I know she’s had an apartment at the historical society for at least thirty years.”
    “I think I’m next,” a sultry voice interrupted me.
    Chantel. The woman had the stealth of a Florida panther. She was standing in the doorway to the break room ( posing in the doorway would be more like it), and her flashing eyes were riveted on Rafe.
    Rafe immediately switched off the recorder and got to his feet. “Ms. Carrington,” he said politely.
    “Are you ready for me?” she said expectantly. Without asking for an invitation, she plopped herself down at the table with us, her gold bracelets jangling on her wrist. “That handsome young man has finished with his part of the interview, and he told me to find you.” She steadied her elbow on the table, cupped her chin in her hand, and gave Rafe a long, languorous look.
    Rafe stared at her for a moment, stony-faced, and then turned back to me. “Was there anything you wanted to add to your statement, Maggie?”
    “No, I think we’re done here,” I said lightly.
    As I got up to leave, Chantel added, “Oh, I nearly forgot. Detective Martino, I was supposed to tell you that one of your crime scene techs called and left a message for you and Officer Brown. Something about a cat? He wants to know if he should call Animal Control.”
    “A cat?” Rafe looked blank.
    “At the crime scene,” Chantel said. “It seems they just discovered a cat hiding under the bed in a little apartment upstairs at the historical society. An orange tabby cat.”
    My brain finally kicked into gear. “An orange tabby. That’s Mr. Big!”
    Rafe’s lips twitched. “Mr. Big?”
    I wondered whether he was a fan of Sex and the City . It seemed improbable. I happened to know that Althea had come up with the name after her beloved female cat, Miss Tiny, passed away.
    “Yes, that’s Althea’s cat. The poor thing must be terrified.” I thought swiftly. “Can I take him home with me?” I glanced at my watch. “I can go down there right now and pick him up. He knows me, and Althea even has a cat carrier in the hall closet I can carry him in. I used to take him to the vet for her.”
    “I’d take him, but I’m allergic to cats,” Chantel said. She treated Rafe to a dazzling smile, hoping for a response. Chantel is never happy unless she’s the center of attention, and I knew she was trying to worm her way back into the conversation.
    “But you’re certainly not allergic to dogs,” I said snarkily, thinking of how she’d bonded with Barney the Ghost Dog, who had appeared in the studio yesterday.
    “Well, not really,” she sniffed. “How sweet of you to remember.”
    Rafe reached for his cell and flipped it open. “Maggie, if you can take care of the cat, that would be great. I’ll call down there to the detectives, and they’ll let you in the front hall. They can put him in the carrier for you. I don’t want you contaminating the crime scene.” He smiled at me. “Thanks for offering. That’s one