by M K Scott
Her phone rang as Della shut the blinds. The ringtone she recognized as her mother’s, probably calling to ask for details on the upcoming wedding rehearsal dinner they were catering on Saturday or to relate another amazing thing Tony did. He may have fetched his own ball and dropped it at her mother’s feet. At the current time, all he played was a type of keep-away game, never allowing anyone to touch the ball.
“Hi! What did Tony do now?”
“Not you, too. Tony’s a lovely boy. It really isn’t his fault. You know, Vanessa, who is pretty much the bane of my existence, claims Tony upsets her fancy Himalayan cat, Prince Purrfection the Third. I happen to know she found that cat at a rest stop. Told me it jumped from a crappy white panel van—the type serial killers use—and ran for its life, which Vanessa deciphered as the cat having abusive owners. She also tacked on that Fate intervened since she wanted a pet. All the same, I’m not sure how she can tack on the third since she doesn’t know if there was a one or two.”
Her mother sniffed. “It’s obvious to me she stole that cat. Vanessa posted pictures of the cat all over social media. In some of them, she’s changed the background to look like she and the cat are traveling the world from the pyramids to the Eiffel Tower. She even has the posts marked public, so everyone can see them. Anyhow, she gives herself and the cat airs. Talks about how the cat is descended from royal bloodlines and all that.”
Somehow her mother lost her in the conversation, which she thought was about Tony as opposed to a purloined pussycat. Vanessa, being the owner, explained most of it. She’d been her mother’s next-door neighbor for years and shared an on-going feud of a mysterious nature. Their husbands, meanwhile, had enjoyed a casual friendship, which resulted in awkward backyard barbecues.
“Um, how does this involve Tony?” she dared to ask.
“Prince Purrfection.” Her mother gave a derisive sniff. “I swear the cat is about as far from perfection as an animal can be. Vanessa allows that cat to go everywhere. Doesn’t she know cats are supposed to be kept inside for their own safety?”
Instead of trying to redirect the conversation, Della squeezed the phone between her ear and shoulder as she straightened games and puzzles on her entertainment shelf. Hardback books, a few graphic novels, and her mother’s discarded home and garden magazines also populated the space. A local coffee shop inspired Della to create more of a relaxing space. A few place markers in the books indicated a few of her patrons were working their way through the various tales.
The clerk from the nearby courthouse, who visited almost daily and sat in the back with her latte and read by herself, could be a book marker. Della didn’t begrudge the woman eating her lunch there. She bought a drink and a cookie whenever she visited. Did the woman not have any associates she’d rather spend her lunch hour with? It could be she didn’t. Not everyone got along. Just look at her mother and her neighbor. At one time, Della erroneously assumed since both her mother and Vanessa became widows in the same year, it would draw them together. It hadn’t.
A quick glance at the wall clock showed the cat rant had gone on for too long. “What did Tony do?”
“Nothing, really.” Her mother’s voice took on an amused tone. “That Prince cat was in my driveway, basking in the sun. I couldn’t see him because my car was in the way. Tony and I were going out for ice cream. Anyhow…” She laughed before continuing. “…Tony zipped around the car…”
“Ah, Mom, it doesn’t sound like you had Tony on a leash.”
“Pish posh. It’s my yard, not Prince Lay About’s yard. Anyhow, Tony started barking, and the cat yowled. Vanessa shot out of her house. Tony ran back to me, and the cat took off running. It came back, of course, but Tony got the blame for it taking off. She claims my Tony frighten her dainty kitty. That overfed cat must weigh in at thirty pounds.”
“Not thirty. I’ll be the first to admit he’s a big cat, but not that big. As for scaring him, I have the feeling Tony might have been more frightened.”
“Understandable,” her mother replied.
Della inhaled, knowing what she was going to say next wouldn’t go over well. “Tony should have been on a leash. I know Prince should have been in his own yard but consider this. Your pampered pup could run out into the street and be hit.”
“There’s not much traffic on our street. Besides, Tony never leaves my side.”
She could point out the dog had done just that, but she didn’t. Seeing her mother so happy with Tony brightened her day, but even Della acknowledged her mother could be a trifle unreasonable about the newest addition to the family. “If he got loose, someone could take him.”
“Oh my!” A long pause continued after the exclamation. Some rustling and footsteps carried over the phone line. “Just checking. I thought I saw some strangers in the neighborhood earlier. They could be potential dognappers. They had that look about them—three-day old beards, night watch beanies, dark hoodies, disheveled. You know the type.”
The scruffy look may have gained popularity with the introduction of grunge bands, television shows with unshaven actors, and male models who appeared to have just rolled out of bed, but it never appealed to Della’s mother. Even her detective father had been more accepting of current fashions than Mother. In Mabel’s mind, scruffy equaled criminal or the possibility of being influenced by one.
“Mom, there are no dognappers in your neighborhood. Someone probably had company leaving. Keep in mind, living with Dad may have made us all a little paranoid. All the same, try to keep my little brother on a leash.”
“I will,” her mother grudgingly agreed. “How was your day?”
“Good.” No need to mention the arrival of a foul wind in the form of Lacey Dankworth. The Delacroix family could only handle one crisis at a time. It may all come to nothing.
By the time Lacey reached her car, she could have changed her mind about opening a bakery. The thought comforted Della, but it did nothing to convince her that Lacey wouldn’t explode onto the scene like eggs that boiled dry on the stove, blew up dotting the ceiling and stinking up the house.
Chapter Three
THUNDER RATTLED THE apartment, startling Della awake. She blinked twice, yawned, and then stretched. Rain. It shouldn’t last long, or she hoped it wouldn’t. Thank goodness it wasn’t the actual day of the Saunders/Defranco wedding, but just the rehearsal. Brides and their mothers freaked out when it rained on the proposed wedding day. An old saying stated rain represented the tears a bride would cry in the marriage, which meant any shower would equal too many tears, never mind a full-out storm. That little detail didn’t bother most brides as much as possibly ruining an expensive dress or limiting the opportunity for outside photos.
Della pushed up into a sitting position and observed her bedroom in the predawn gray light. She wiggled her shoulders, working out the kinks from an eight-hour prep of getting the food ready for today. Normally, she preferred making some items ahead and freezing them, but none of the menu items for the dinner lent themselves to it except for the shredded pork for the mini barbeque sandwiches. Make-ahead dishes helped tremendously. Too bad they couldn’t do all the activities associated with the wedding in a similar fashion.
She’d heard about one tradition where they took all the formal wedding photos a month before to be able to hand them out as souvenirs at the wedding. She couldn’t remember which country, but obviously, they weren’t worried about the groom seeing the bride in her dress before the wedding. Della could get behind traditions that made sense. She didn’t want too much practicality, or folks might stop throwing expensive receptions and rehearsal dinners.
She wrinkled her nose as her bare feet hit the cold, wood floor. Her ironed catering outfit of black pants, a black T-shirt, and a black apron with Cupids cavorting on it, along with the company name, waited on a hanger. Just to be safe, she’d don it at the last minute, often at the event venue, to keep it crisp looking. Gray sweats served for loading the truck. Della pulled on a pair of athletic shoes
after draping her catering clothes with a dry-cleaning bag. The phone chirped in the tone assigned to her mother.
Even before she picked up the phone, she felt apprehensive. Why call when she’d see her mother at the bakery in less than thirty minutes. “Hello, Mother. I’m almost in the car.”
“Good! I need your help.” Mabel rushed the words together, forcing Della to decipher the bunched words before answering.
For most of her life, her mother had helped Della. Sometimes, almost too much, which came from being a surprise baby to a couple who had given up hope on having children. As the only child, Della felt obliged to be the best she could be after one of her school mates pointed out her parents had invested all their hopes and dreams in her—a staggering responsibility for a primary school-aged child to handle, but she had dealt with it.
“What’s wrong?”
“I need a jeweled cat collar. Red. Lots of rhinestones.”
“Mom…” she stretched out the word, making it into more of a question.
“Buy whatever styles they have. We can return the ones that don’t work.”
Even though her brain might not function at its full capacity without coffee first, almost anyone could deduce an incident occurred involving Prince Purrfection of the jeweled collar. There was a good chance Tony could be the culprit.
“Ah, did Tony hurt Prince? Did Prince hurt Tony? What’s up with the collar?”
Her mother inhaled audibly. “Time is of the essence. Vanessa is going to start looking for her cat once the storm passes. I need a new collar on the feline diva before I push him out the door. Tony thinks I’ve gone traitor by even letting her into the house.”
Sharp barks carried over the phone line, affirming the dog’s uneasy state. It was too much drama in the morning for Della. She was not sure how her mother, who had just turned sixty, handled it. Vanessa had to be close to the same age.
“Couldn’t you just tell her the truth? By the way, what is the truth? Nothing that would get you locked up, right?”
“Please.” A nervous laugh sounded. “Cat collar, right away. I’ll call Stephanie and tell her to turn on the ovens.” Mabel cleared her throat and took on a less panicked tone and more of a I’m-your-mother tone. “Vanessa threatened to call the dog catcher on Tony, citing he’s dangerous.”
No one would consider the delicate dog a hazard. If anything, he was the opposite of intimidating. “No one would believe that.”
“The dog catcher is her cousin. I’m not sure, but he may have been the one she and her husband lent money to for a video rental store.”
Obviously, the cousin hadn’t realized videos were on the way out. DVDs and streaming services would eliminate the video rental service with no one wanting to leave their comfortable homes in search of a movie. Then again, a couple of decades ago, video stores had been popular. Still, there was a good chance the loan was never repaid, leaving the dog catcher open to doing favors in lieu of paying.
Della picked up her backpack that functioned as a purse, grabbed her keys, and spoke into her cell, “I’m on my way.”
THIRTY MINUTES LATER, after refitting Prince Purrfection with a new collar that wasn’t exactly like the old one, Mabel released him outside. Tony’s nails clattered on the kitchen floor as he milled about, watching the action from a safe distance from the cat that snarled, hissed, and lunged in his direction. He had a right to be fearful.
When it came to the collar she’d picked up at the discount store, Della felt the need to state the obvious. “Vanessa is bound to realize it’s a different collar.”
“Maybe.” Her mother grimaced. “The cat has a great deal of hair, which makes it hard to see his collar. Anyhow, I plan to fix this old one, then just switch it out. It’s a gorgeous collar.”
Light caught and was reflected from the rhinestones as Della took the offered collar from her mother. “Not sure how you’ll fix it.” There was a tear halfway through the leather. “How did he tear it?”
Mabel retrieved the collar and placed it inside the cabinet. “I heard some awful yowling and peered out the back window. There he was, caught on my fence, trying to wiggle under the low spot. I went outside to rescue him.” She held out her right arm with a sizeable red welt on it. “Prince Purrfection wasn’t very grateful. I blame his behavior on the storm and Vanessa. Who puts a cat out in the rain?”
Della couldn’t think of anyone but didn’t have time to hear about all the questionable actions of her mother’s neighbor. “We need to get to the bakery. Better crate Tony.”
Her mother winced. “We don’t use that word.”
“Tony?”
“No, the other one.”
“Crate?”
Her mother placed a finger against her lips. “Hush. It’s his doggy sanctuary, rather like a day spa, and all he must do is sleep. Amy, that sweet girl down the street–you must remember her?”
“Nope. They must have moved in after I moved out.”
Mabel rolled her eyes upward as if mentally reviewing a timeline. “I believe you’re right. Amy is Noreen’s granddaughter. About six years ago, her daughter dropped off Amy as she headed out of town. Surely I told you the story.”
Ah yes, that one. Kind of hard to forget that one after her mother went into full rant about the responsibilities of motherhood. “I remember.”
“Just as well.” Mabel bobbed her head. “No time for righteous indignation. Anyhow, I’m having Amy feed and walk Tony at noon. It provides her with purpose and a bit of spending money of her own.”
“Good deal.” Della headed out to her car, unwilling to mention that despite Tony being a dog, he probably didn’t consider his crate a day spa. Then again, a mud facial and a seaweed wrap wouldn’t appeal unless he munched on them. “See ya at the bakery.”
She dashed through the raindrops just in time to see Vanessa, wrapped in a bathrobe and clutching an umbrella, in search of her missing feline. The woman must care about her cat to search for it, which raised the question of how it got out. It brought back the more immediate thought of the on-going feud between the woman and her mother. Strong emotions came from personal involvement. No one got too upset when they didn’t have a vested interest in the igniting incident or the outcome. That much she’d learned from her detective father.
Della slipped behind the wheel, started the car, and fiddled with the defrost, getting it to the point where the window cleared enough to see. Before she reversed the car, the memory of the collar returned. The torn collar weighed more, and the rhinestones were bigger and shinier than the cheap vinyl one she picked up at the discount shop. Prince Purrfection’s original collar must have come from one of those high-end boutiques where pet accessories cost more than Della would ever consider spending on her own clothes. The cat’s previous home must have been plush. It begged the question why the cat didn’t return home. Thanks to movies, children assumed their missing pet could find its way home dodging cars, raccoons, irate farmers, and dog catchers. Her nose crinkled as she considered the indulged kitty. No one would make a movie about Prince Purrfection’s journey because the feline wouldn’t put forth the effort to make one.
Chapter Four
ALL WEEK THE skies had stayed clear with an occasional spotting of the sun, but it poured today. Della sighed as she flicked her wipers on to deal with the deluge. Her foot eased up on the gas pedal. There was no need to go dashing through the water-covered streets when the day before several yawning potholes had her swerving on the same stretch. It was hard to see under the standing water. The best she could do to mitigate damage to her aging car was to slow down. She steered toward the edge of the street, knowing most of the craters yawned near the middle.
This worked okay except for the occasional parked car that forced her out into the middle of the street again, right into a pothole. Oh well, the car kept running, which she took for a positive. A right turn provided a better drained street and significantly fewer potholes, allowing her mind to occupy itself with something oth
er than driving.
Her mother’s behavior intrigued her. Something had to have happened for Mabel and Vanessa to be at each other’s throats. Had they always been like this? Even as a child, she’d noticed her mother acting rather stiff, like a robot, when her father insisted on inviting Vanessa and her husband over. The arrival of the childless neighbors for a cookout equaled a yawnfest for Della. She managed to scamper back into the house to watch television without appropriate parental supervision. While the reason behind her mother’s attitude toward her neighbor didn’t rate high on her must-know list of things, it did pique her interest. A few months ago, Mabel could go all day without mentioning Vanessa but not anymore.
The changing light brought Della to a stop just a block from her illuminated bakery. Even though she couldn’t recognize Stephanie from this distance, it had to be her tall silhouette moving around the shop. The warm glow of the bakery seen through a sheet of rain wiped away any concern about a feud. Instead, a warm bubble of contentment formed somewhere close to her heart and radiated outward. How fortunate she was to be living inside her very own dream.
Sure, profits could be better. Della had her eye on a commercial-grade mixer given that two mixers could put out twice the number of goodies. A glass-fronted refrigerator case behind the counter could hold sodas, water, and even personal-sized bottles of milk. It was a much more reasonable solution than installing a soda fountain or even a soda machine. Even though it was hard to swallow, some people just didn’t drink coffee.
A light change had her turning left into the alley that led to the parking area behind her bakery. Stephanie must have seen her coming because the door stood slightly ajar. Thankful that she didn’t have to dig for her keys, Della decided not to say anything about security or strangers wandering in unannounced. Criminal types were probably waiting out the downpour or, more likely, still asleep.
