by Molly Fitz
Chapter Ten
Despite another couple hours spent researching the late senator’s life, history, and political stances, I didn’t feel any closer to solving her murder the next morning. Sure, it could have been a big inheritance grab as had been the case with Ethel Fulton’s murder, but somehow I doubted it.
As frightening as I’d found him last night, her polite and pudgy Midwesterner son didn’t strike me as a killer—just a bit socially inept. Still, I couldn’t rule him out completely. Otherwise I’d be left primarily with the two cats and possibly my boss as suspects.
Hopefully Charles would be able to find out what I needed to know about Thompson by the end of the day. I’d been there for him when nobody else was willing to support his “unwinnable” double homicide case. Against all odds, we won that time, and I knew we could win again. There was no case attached, but we at least owed the world the truth about Lou Harlow’s death.
After a quick breakfast of dry Cheerios, I pulled back my hair and threw on a bold retro sundress, then climbed into my car. I wanted to solve this thing as quick as possible—not just for the senator, not just for the world at large, but for myself, too. Sleep had not come easily last night, and I doubted it would again until I knew I was safe in my new home.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Octo-Cat demanded, jumping on top of my hood and staring daggers at me straight through the windshield.
“Next door,” I informed him. I wasn’t risking those woods again, whether or not the sun was now shining brightly. “Now get off my car so I can start the engine.”
“I’m coming, too,” he said, then sprinted toward the forest. Not surprising in the least. He had his preferred method of travel, and I had mine.
I navigated down my long, twisting driveway, down a small stretch of road, and then back up Harlow manor’s long, twisting driveway. Yeah, once my poor foot made a full recovery, it probably would be faster to traipse through the woods, but sometimes fast wasn’t the most important part of getting somewhere.
Like when it came to solving a mystery.
I’d learned that my first time out of the gate. There I’d gone, galloping toward that finish line without even taking the proper time to prepare myself for the race. And it had nearly gotten me killed.
Come to think of it, I’d put myself in mortal danger as part of solving my second case, too. This time I’d be real glad if bringing Harlow’s murderer to justice didn’t involve any flirtations with death on my part. It would certainly make me feel more professional if I could solve a crime without endangering anyone’s life in the process.
Maybe today would be my big day—an important turning point for Ms. Pet Whisperer P.I. I chuckled at the notion, but admittedly my Mom’s nickname had started to grow on me.
When I pulled up to the Harlow estate, I was surprised to see no police cars or sports cars in sight. Instead, a rusty old truck sat parked just before the main entrance. The door hung wide open, but I couldn’t see anyone inside—not even the esoteric cats that I knew for a fact still lived here.
“I’m here!” Octo-Cat’s muffled cry broke through the woods. “And I come bearing gifts,” he added as he appeared carrying a dead rodent in his mouth.
“Gross,” I said, already accepting that tomorrow morning’s cat puke would be extra disgusting.
“Is someone there?” a deep voice called from within the house.
I hung back near my car and waited for the speaker to emerge onto the porch. When he did, I squealed for joy and ran forward to throw my arms around him. “Brock! It’s so good to see you out in the wild.” I hoped he wasn’t offended by my choice of words, but it felt better to not directly mention that the last couple of times I’d seen him he’d been in either court or prison.
“Angie, right?” he asked, returning my giant grin. “Thanks for helping with my case.”
Oops. Of course, he didn’t know me as well as I knew him. I’d spent the better part of an entire week obsessing over his case, whereas he’d only ever seen me for brief periods in the middle of what had to be the most stressful time of his life.
“Hey, any time,” I said with a playful fist bump against his shoulder.
“Well, hopefully never again,” Brock corrected with a laugh. “But I appreciate the sentiment.”
He looked good. Real good. His long, dark hair had been cut into a shorter style with just enough length left to it that someone could run her fingers through it.
What? Me? No. My last crush had ended horribly—with him dating someone else. And here dear Brock could scarcely remember my name. I didn’t need to go fantasizing about the romantic possibilities between us.
Then again, his smile came easy and genuine. I couldn’t believe that vile red-headed realtor was his twin sister. Other than their shared last name, they had almost nothing in common. At least not that I could see.
Brock motioned for me to join him in the house, then crouched back down in front of the stairs and returned to work.
Those pants. That shirt. His muscles. And the way he handled that hammer… Gah.
It seemed my crush on Charles Longfellow, III, was all but forgotten. Falsely accused or not, I wondered if Nan would approve of me dating an ex con. Heck, she’d probably find it even more exciting than I did.
No, no, no. Bad Angie! I didn’t have time to date—or even to really think about dating—when there was a murderer on the loose.
“So they hired you to fix the stairs?” I asked, just so that I had something coherent to say.
His dark, sparkling eyes were so pretty as he turned to study me. “Sure did,” he said. “And I’m grateful for it, too. Even though I was acquitted, a lot of people around here still feel weird about hiring me.”
“Oh, I could think of a few things for you to do.” I grew hypnotized by the swell of his muscles beneath his jeans once more. Wait, had I said that aloud?
“What’s that?” he asked, turning to me and running a forearm across his head.
“Uhh,” I stumbled here, honestly unable to remember what I’d been thinking. Then it hit me. As handsome as I found the man standing before me, this wasn’t about him. It was about my own personal kryptonite—coffee. Suddenly, I remembered that I hadn’t had any caffeine before coming over. No wonder my brain was applesauce. I needed to be way more careful about that going forward.
Pinching the inside of my arm to reinvigorate my senses, I finally smiled and said, “I have some jobs around my new place if you have the time. I live right next door, actually.”
He stood and glanced toward my house as if he could somehow see it through the solid stone walls of Harlow manor. “Yeah, I’d love that.”
Octo-Cat appeared in the doorway with traces of fresh blood on his furry face, but the carcass of his mid-morning snack thankfully nowhere to be seen. “No wonder you don’t have a boyfriend,” he muttered as he set to grooming himself.
Oh my gosh, my game was so bad even my cat could tell. Not a great start to my day. Not at all.
Octo-Cat’s rude arrival reminded me that I had come for a very specific reason, and that did not include flirting with the help. “Actually, I just stopped by to see Matt Harlow. Is he here?”
Brock fished through a container filled with nails until he found the ones he wanted. “Nope, he left almost as soon as I got here. Will reading,” he explained, keeping his focus now on his work. “Want me to tell him you stopped by?”
“Sure, thanks.” With nothing else to do here, I turned back toward the door, shooting Octo-Cat a dirty look as I passed by him. He still claimed that all humans looked the same, but he had about a ninety percent success rate when it came to discerning a person’s gender. I wondered if the Sphynxes had the same shortcomings he did. If they’d seen the killer but wouldn’t be able to identify him.
“Oh, wait. There was something I forgot,” Brock called after me.
I turned around so fast, I practically spun in a full circle. My dress twirled around me like some kind of old-timey mov
ie, and Brock chuckled.
“I just wanted to let you know that we have an official offer on your nan’s house. Looks like your new roomie will be joining you in no time.”
Oh, yeah. He and his sister were the ones in charge of selling Nan’s house. The world did exist outside the two of us and my rude kitty commentator.
“Thanks,” I told him. “That is good news.”
I walked slowly back to my car, careful not to put too much weight on my injured foot. Now that Nan had a buyer for her house, she could join me much sooner than we’d originally anticipated.
I had zero shame in admitting that I was a scared little girl who needed her grandmother to tuck her in at night. At least until Glendale’s newest murderer was caught and reprimanded. Maybe I could invite her over today to celebrate her pending sale and beg her to stay the night.
When she found out I had a mystery right next door, I knew she wouldn’t be able to resist.
Chapter Eleven
Sure enough, Nan agreed to stop by later that afternoon to get the goods on our newest investigation—her words, not mine. Maybe I should have called my mom instead, seeing as she was already involved. But Nan had been a ready and willing partner the last time around and I liked her less direct approach when it came to questioning witnesses.
Had Mom not built a career for herself in journalism, I have no doubt that she could have made a fantastic prison guard. Nan, on the other hand, was an actress through and through. Even though her time on Broadway had ended almost fifty years ago, she still liked to don costumes and dive straight into whatever new character we needed to aid our investigations.
Me? I guess I was the brains behind our little operation. Whatever it was. Right now, we were still just impromptu vigilante detectives with a knack for finding both clues and trouble. Of course, if my mom had her way, I’d soon be hanging out my Private Investigator for Hire sign on the front lawn.
Nan was the actress, the good cop. Mom was the dogged reporter, ala bad cop, and I was the one who did all the research and then charged straight into battle without any regard to my own personal safety.
So maybe I wasn’t really the brains, after all.
I unpacked some more boxes as I thought this over—as if any of it mattered, as if I were writing a novel or casting a TV show about our exploits. That would be the day! And it would be one both Mom and Nan loved. For now, I just wanted to get my clothes all hung and organized in my new closet.
I’d chosen the smallest bedroom in the entire manor not just because I loved the idea of living in a tower, but also because it felt more like home. Despite her flair for the dramatic, Nan had raised me to be humble and to find happiness right where I sat, and as such, the whole owning a mansion thing would definitely take some getting used to.
I let out a frustrated sigh when only less than half of my wardrobe fit in the tiny tower closet. It may have been comprised mostly of thrift store and charity shop finds, but I loved every single article of clothing I owned and was loathe to part with any of it. They just didn’t make clothes like they used to in the eighties and nineties. True, I’d hardly been alive during those decades, but it didn’t mean that I couldn’t adore the bold pops of color and fun patterns in the here and now.
“Who pooped in your litter box?” Octo-Cat asked, choosing that exact moment to creep out from underneath my bed. I hadn’t even known he was there, the sneak.
“You have some really weird sayings,” I told him with a frown before returning to the much bigger problem at hand. “And my clothes don’t all fit in the closet.”
“First of all, so do you.” Octo-Cat sucked in a deep breath as he ventured into the closet to check things out. Coming back, he said, “And second, I really don’t see why you humans need so many outfits, but you do realize we have six bedrooms in this house, right? Six! That’s one more than the number of lives I have left, which seems more than enough to me. Just choose one of the other rooms and put your stuff in there.”
I shook my head, wondering if I should ask more about how he’d lost his first four lives and what exactly that even meant. As far as I know, I only had one life to live—only one to lose. That’s why, even though our sleuthing was exciting, it could also prove to be very dangerous.
“C’mon,” Octo-Cat said with a breathy exhale. “I think I know the perfect room for this, if you’ll follow me.”
I kept hold of the stack of hangers in my hands as I followed him down the spiral staircase and across the second floor of our new home. Well, new for me, at least. My cat had easily settled back in as master of this domain. I’d never seen him this at ease in my old rental, but then again, it seemed this particular tabby was born for greater things and more extravagant surroundings.
“This one,” he said, stopping outside a closed door at the end of the hallway and pawing at the light streaming from beneath.
I opened it up and gasped, dropping my pile of hangers to the ground in a clattering mess. Somehow I’d forgotten about this room entirely. Sure, I’d toured the house a couple times before signing on the dotted line, but back then I was still enamored of the general luxuriousness that I had a hard time noticing the finer details.
And, oh, this room was fine.
First of all, it had a big window seat like the ones I’d coveted at Harlow Manor. The gorgeous piece of architecture stretched at least six feet long, which meant I could even nap there if I wanted. Heavy blackout curtains flanked it on either side. They must have been closed the other times I’d seen this place; that must have been why I didn’t remember it. I liked that explanation much better than choosing to believe that I had either overlooked or forgotten such major details.
From the vaulted ceiling hung an antique crystal chandelier, which caught the sunlight and cast tiny rainbows all around the room. Most of the bulbs had burned out, but that didn’t lessen its opulence one bit. The honey hardwood floors were scratched up but still sturdy. It wouldn’t take too much work to sand them down and polish when I had the cash and the time—or maybe just the sexy local handyman—to do so.
“So, will this work as your new closet?” Octo-Cat said, hopping up into the window seat and taking a quick look outside before turning back to me. “It’s small, so I figured you’d like it.”
“Closet?” I gasped again. “No way! This is going to be my new library.”
I’m pretty sure tears had formed in my eyes and were falling down my face and soaking my t-shirt, but I simply did not care. Octo-Cat could make fun of me all he wanted, but I’d finally found true, unreserved excitement when it came to our new digs.
How could I feel any other way, considering I now slept in a tower like Rapunzel and would have my own personal library like Belle? I’d stepped into a living fairytale. Sure, it turned into the Haunted Mansion ride when the lights went out, but… but…
Now I had my own personal library!
A loud rap sounded on the door downstairs, bringing our special moment to an end. Had it not, I could have stood there all day, sketching out plans for what the vacant room would one day soon become.
“Do we not have a doorbell?” I asked Octo-Cat, begrudgingly shutting the door behind me and heading toward the stairs to the first floor.
He shrugged and raced away to find out who had come calling.
As loathe as I was to step out of this beautiful daydream, I figured it might be Nan and she did not like to be kept waiting.
“Hello?” a nasal, masculine voice called.
A second series of knocks sounded, a bit more urgent this time.
Instantly, I recognized Matt Harlow as I spied his familiar shape through the stained-glass panes on either side of the front door. I flung the door open and stood blocking the inside. True, I had paid him a visit earlier that day, but I was still incredibly nervous around him—and nervous is exactly how I would remain until I could fully clear him as the killer.
“Hi,” he said, tucking one hand in his pocket and using the other to offer m
e a friendly wave. I wondered if that was the same one I’d bitten the night before. “You stopped by earlier?”
I felt in my pocket to make sure I had my phone on me as an added security measure, then stepped back and gestured for him to come inside. “Would you like to join me for some tea?” I asked, seeing as it was the neighborly thing to do.
Octo-Cat ran across the foyer, making terrible, ear-splitting noises. “Too soon! Too soon!” he cried.
“Is your cat all right?” Matt asked, craning his neck to get a better view.
I shrugged. “Eh, he’ll be fine. Tea?”
“Sure, thank you.” A genuine smile stretched right across Matt’s face, and for the first time I saw the resemblance he bore to his late mother.
I led him to the formal living room and motioned for him to sit on the old Victorian couch trimmed in dark cherry wood. There were lots of different woods throughout the house, and I wasn’t sure whether that was the result of poor planning or a decades-old decorating style I didn’t quite understand. Halfway to the kitchen, I turned back, sensing I had the perfect opening to ask Matt a couple very important questions.
“You have cats, too. Right?” I hoped my eagerness to discuss the Sphynxes wasn’t too obvious. Provided Matt wasn’t the murder, I would need him on my side.
He steepled his fingers before him. It seemed he was unsure of what to do with himself while he sat in my house. “Me? No, but my mom has always had them ever since I can remember.”
“What’s going to happen to the two that are there now?” I asked casually.
He shrugged and tried to get comfortable on the overly firm sofa. “I’m not sure,” he admitted. “They’d been hiding from me ever since I arrived. I thought maybe I could take them back home and give them to my kids, that way they’d be my ex-wife’s problem instead of mine. But I worry those two might give my kids nightmares like the ones I had growing up.”
“Nightmares? Why?” I asked, even though I already understood. Anything to keep him talking.
