Meow Matrimony

by Lickel, Lisa;

  Adam reached for my hand underneath the blanket and firmly replaced my engagement ring.

  But no one said anything.

  I stopped crying and slowly let the afghan fall away from my face. “Are we?”

  “Of course, we are,” Adam said.

  “Don’t you worry your little self about that now,” Virgil said at the same time.

  “Probably,” Elvis added. He shrugged and tried to act affronted when the others glared at him. “What? I’m surprised they even let her go.”

  My other hero. Huh. “You were the one who said I wasn’t a danger, back there, at the store, when they were cuffing me. In front of all those people.” I shifted toward my fiancé. “I’m so sorry. I hope I didn’t do anything to damage the business.” My voice dropped. “Besides embarrassing us all to death.”

  Adam hugged me.

  Virgil patted my knee.

  Elvis clapped his hands. “Well, let’s get the show on the road. There’s a lot to discuss, people. Strategy to plan…”

  “And a real killer to find,” I added. When they looked at me, I just stared back. “Well, we can’t let Ivanna’s murderer off the hook. Somebody did it. Not me. Or Stanley.”

  “Now, Ivy.” Virgil sat back, crossed his boney knees, and steepled his fingers.

  I hated it when someone started out with “Now, Ivy.” Almost worse than being called “ma’am.”

  “That’s not what I heard,” Elvis muttered.

  “Let’s concentrate on your defense first,” Virgil said with a stern glare over the top of his glasses toward Elvis.

  I tried to pay attention. Really, I did. Then my stomach growled. Jingling at the back door came at the same time and made me clutch Adam’s arm.

  “Mother’s here, baby!” Rustling and thumping followed, accompanied by the aroma of meatball bomber sandwiches. That was love. Hopefully she brought cookies too. “Darling?”

  “In here!” I rose, shakily, weak from hunger and fear and let her enfold me. I would always be her little girl, much as I loved Adam and ignoring the fact that I was, um, well, over thirty.

  A half hour later I was replete, full tummy, and everyone I loved around me, and even Isis purring between me and Adam.

  “So, who initiated the warrant?” Mom said, getting down to business after forbidding what she called “shop talk” during our meal.

  “Scuttlebutt goes back to the fiancé, Jason Clark.” Elvis leaned forward to set his root beer carefully on a coaster. “He hired Officer Larkin as a private investigator—”

  “He can do that?” I asked, impressed that Elvis was privy to scuttlebutt already.

  “Larkin is only part time at the department,” Adam said.

  “Who was the suit with him during the…you know?” I appealed to my attorney. “We saw them earlier, at Tiny’s. Remember, Virg?”

  “That’s Glenn White, Larkin’s classmate, a newly graduated attorney working for the Clarks’ representative firm, Derwood Ranget, Jr.”

  Derwood, seriously? I cleared my throat. Who could say that name out loud with a straight face? “So, Jason hired Larkin and has this lawyer, who happens to be a friend, and together they decided to falsely accuse me—”

  “Your fingerprints were all over the scene,” Elvis said. “Larkin claims that shows you were there long enough to serve the tainted chocolate to Miss Pressman.”

  I threw myself against the back of the sofa and folded my arms. “And watch her die? I realize Larkin has this thing against me, but I’m not that coldblooded. I heard them say something about poison. She was poisoned?” I glared at Elvis. “Not by me. Or Stanley.”

  “The toxicology report won’t be ready for weeks yet, but early indications are that Ivanna died of a reaction to some foreign substance. Since unreleased Featherlight candy samples, one half-eaten, was found at the scene, and there was a prior connection between Ivanna and Stanley, and Stanley sold Featherlight Confectionaries, which are direct rivals of Jason Clark’s company, North Star Candies…”

  He made that raised eyebrow, pursed lip expression that said any slightly clever person should be able to connect the dots.

  “That’s so circumstantial. Isn’t it, Virgil?” Please back me up.

  He pulled his attention away from my mother’s magic marker creating bold strokes on a piece of legal paper to say, “Let’s start with how long you were there and what you touched.”

  I pouted. “I hadn’t planned to go inside, and for the record,” I stated loudly at Elvis’s activated recorder, “never would have if I hadn’t noticed a hand on the floor and thought someone needed help. Excuse me for caring.”

  They all stared at me.

  I wriggled. “It was going to rain, so I couldn’t just leave the box on the doorstep. They were her expensive wedding invitations. The door was ajar. I did not open it. I swear.” I hesitated. “So, OK, I just nudged it wider to slide the box inside. Then I saw her.” I shivered at the memory of Ivanna on the floor. “I called 911. They told me to stay. It’s not my fault it takes them like, fifteen—”

  “Seven,” Elvis cut in.

  “Minutes to get there. It was creepy, and the entryway was small. I just stepped away. A couple of steps. Then I saw it.” I sighed.

  “What? What else did you see?” Mom asked.

  “The wedding gown. The one she’d never wear.”

  “And you touched it.” Mom shook her head.

  I ignored her. “And then he scared me.”

  “Who?” Virgil asked.

  “Jason Clark. He was on the computer. You should ask him how long he’d been there, spying on…me. Well, maybe he’d been talking to Ivanna and saw the whole thing!”

  “What an alibi.” Elvis whistled.

  “What?” I caught my breath. “You think he—”

  “Let’s focus on you for now, young lady.” Virgil reined me in. “You touched the computer?”

  “I just wanted to be sure I wasn’t, you know, hearing things.”

  “A second complaint says you were caught in the act of vandalism, and a third has you for breaking and entering,” Virgil said.

  “I explained that I hadn’t broken in. The door was open.”

  “What are the steps we need to follow to prove that?” Mom said.

  While Elvis consulted his books and the others continued to discuss my due process, I stroked Isis. Isis had fought with my cat Memnet for years whenever they were together until, I guess, she decided she needed him too. Which was absolutely not a parallel commentary on my life.

  I watched my family, my friends, and my attorney discuss my best interests, but the nagging question still ate at me. Who wanted Ivanna Pressman dead? Better yet, why? I had just missed a killer in the act. Was it really candy that killed her?

  Martha’s comment that Ivanna would be rich on her next birthday lodged in my throat. Ruby had known about it, too, so it wasn’t much of a secret. But did the police know? Would Virgil remember that conversation too? Spoken many hours ago, yet just this morning. I supposed a suspected murderer couldn’t discuss a case with the police. But Elvis obviously had an ear at the station. I blinked and yawned.

  “Let’s reconvene tomorrow,” Virgil was saying when I finally tuned back in.

  It wasn’t that late, but I didn’t protest. “You’re staying, right, Mom?”

  “As long as you need, darling. Well, tonight anyway. I have to go back and supervise finals in two weeks, and I have to teach next week, but I’ve arranged for a substitute the rest of this week. I’ll come right back tomorrow night. Don’t worry. We’ll get this misunderstanding cleared up.”

  “In time for the wedding?” slipped from my lips.

  “We’ll see.” She bustled with capping pens and gathering cups, not meeting my eyes.

  Virgil quietly helped.

  Elvis packed his bags, silent for a change. “I’ll be in touch. I have to go back for finals, but after that I have a place ready to rent starting in June.”

  “You can
stay at my place until then,” Adam offered.

  “Thanks.”

  I squinted at them, trying to figure out a non-invasive way to keep Elvis feeding me with police information while not stepping on whatever FBI feet were walking around Apple Grove. Did that have anything to do with Ivanna’s death? If Stanley was transporting—

  “I’ll come by about nine o’clock, Ivy, tomorrow, so we can discuss what’ll happen,” Virgil told me.

  I shook my head from the interruption of my thoughts to hug Virgil. “Thank you so much.” The thought occurred to me that I’d have to come up with money to pay him. And…wow, bail must have been astronomical. I reared back, frowning.

  He touched my shoulder, kindly, as if he understood my dilemma. “I understand. Don’t worry for now. You have a good support system, and most importantly, you’re innocent.”

  I was. I glowed while he led us in a brief prayer, then Mom walked him out.

  Adam stood behind me, filling the room now that it was emptied of the others. I felt weirdly, awkwardly shy. Money had finally come between us, and I needed to figure out how to bring it up. He had never made an issue of being very financially comfortable, part business acumen, part inheritance, and part unfortunate insurance from his late wife and daughter’s horrible accidental death. I held up my right hand when he approached. “We have to talk about it. The bail money.”

  He sighed. “Of all the things you worry about.”

  “I’m innocent. But if things don’t work out? Bad things happen all the time. How-how much do I—” I swallowed. No, I couldn’t put it that way. It was something I could never repay, like his unwavering faith in me. So far. “I didn’t actually catch how much the bail was set for.”

  Adam gripped my shoulders and pressed his lips to my forehead. “A quarter million, but I only had to come up with ten percent.”

  I jumped as if an electric current shocked me. I opened my mouth. He pushed my chin back up so my teeth clicked.

  “Everything about this is wrong, and it will be fixed,” he said firmly, staring into my eyes. “I won’t demean the situation any further by saying you’re worth it. Which, of course, you are.” He turned me, tucking his arm around my shoulders, to walk to the kitchen. “All the same, I think you should work from home for a while.”

  I breathed out, stunned for an instant until I realized he was right. I didn’t know if the rest of Apple Grove appreciated having an accused poisoner serving them coffee, but if I had a choice about who I was buying consumables from, I probably wouldn’t choose to buy from a person with a record. I sagged, burdened by the cost of my arrest. And the fact that Adam and I had to say good night too soon.

  As we entered my cozy, 1950s kitchen with apple print curtains, I noted we weren’t the only ones saying good night. Mom and Virgil had each other’s cell phones and were busily programming numbers. And standing a little more closely together than mere, newly met acquaintances.

  7

  After we said good night, Mom and I watched the mayor and former mayor walk out of my kitchen. I turned on her, raised my brows, and narrowed my eyes.

  Isis wound herself between my mother’s ankles.

  “Mom! What were you and Virgil doing? You were…the two of you seemed awfully cozy.”

  She folded her arms and looked back calmly. “I beg your pardon?” An annoying smirk lingered under her puckered, red joi de vivre lipstick. “We’re keeping in touch.” She lowered her arms and advanced to hug me. “It’s for your own good. Elvis and I, and Virgil, will do everything we can to make sure you’re safe.”

  “And Adam,” I mumbled, trembling from exhaustion and, yeah, a little post-traumatic fear. Knowing I not only could be, but was, arrested for something I didn’t do scared my hair almost straight. “Why would anyone think I could murder another human being?”

  Mom straightened and looked me in the eye. “To throw suspicion off the real killer himself, of course. It’s classic.” She turned to check out my fridge and poured a glass of apple juice while I contemplated.

  “Him?”

  “A turn of phrase. Poisoning is often a woman’s tool of choice in assassination. Doesn’t take much strength…” She droned on, lecture style, the information so ingrained after thirty-some years of teaching it. I understood. It was her way of keeping the situation less emotional.

  But I couldn’t stop thinking of suspects.

  “So, do us all a favor and let the police handle this, all right, dear? Now…”

  I listened to my mother’s admonitions, pretending to agree. I would let the police handle it once they knew everything, and were on the right track. Follow the money…that was right on the top of every motive for murder, wasn’t it? “You know me, Mom.” I chuckled weakly.

  She pinched my arm and sighed. “I do, my dear. That, I do. Just keep Elvis in the loop on everything. Promise?”

  That worked OK with me. “Promise.” Not only was I not guilty of murdering Ivanna, I would find out who did. I had time since I wouldn’t be working at Mea Cuppa and had a few weeks to…um, kill…before Elvis returned. It was the least I could do to salvage Apple Grove’s reputation and keep people who lived here happy and safe. And marry the man I loved.

  ~*~

  Visions of Officers Dow and Larkin in full uniform, waving their batons and handcuffs and other doodads jingling on their belts as they rushed me during our wedding kept me from a full night’s comforting sleep. Larkin was especially gleeful, and he ran up the aisle at Ethereal Events, ready to tackle me. Dow got to me first. She pulled off my wedding veil and hissed, “You don’t deserve to marry a man like the mayor. Adam Thompson is a respectable man, and you’re just a lowlife eavesdropping murderer who one man already left at the altar.”

  That was the remnant of nightmare I woke to. “Lowlife loser” echoed while I got ready to face another day.

  Mom followed me out to the kitchen, took one glance at my face and mercifully said nothing. She started coffee then left me to watch the glass carafe fill while she dressed and went to get the newspaper, which she wouldn’t show me.

  Toward nine, Elvis texted to say he’d be there in five minutes and could stay for an hour before having to go back up to school.

  Mom and I were sharing our farewells in the driveway when Virgil arrived. They didn’t say much, just exchanged sizzling little smiles, like Adam and I used to do when we met at the CAT—Cat Association Titlist—meetings. We realized then there was attraction, and weren’t sure what to do about it. I wasn’t sure what to make of a possible romance for Mom.

  I wandered back inside to drink another cup of coffee and think. My dad had been gone since I was six and I’d never seen my mom pay any attention to other men, though of course I didn’t live in her pocket. She’d left me out, like I somehow got to the second to last chapter in a book and realized I’d missed three chapters in the middle. Virgil was a great guy and all. For a septuagenarian. Was he too good to be—

  “Ivy, sit down, now.” Virgil pulled out a chair for me obviously in an attempt to get me to focus.

  My cheeks heated at the thought of wasting this kind man’s time with my puttering and runaway imagination, no matter what I thought about his personal life. “I’m so sorry, Virgil. How can I ever thank you enough for helping me?”

  He seated himself and leaned over to pat my hand. “The Core of Good Seeds can always use more help. Ahem. Now let’s go over the events of the day in question, shall we? Tell me everything you can think of. I don’t understand why anyone thought there was enough evidence to arrest you.” A legal pad and several pens of different colors lined up in formation. “Black is for your words, blue is for my notes to research something, and red is for dispute with the accusers,” Virgil explained.

  Elvis knocked and entered just as I got to the part about seeing Ivanna’s hand on the floor of her condo.

  “Were her fingernails blue?” he asked. He slung his loaded khaki backpack to the floor and fished out a notebook.

&nbs
p; “They were red.” I was sure of it. A red that matched her bitten lipstick, stained her teeth, and clashed a little, not too much, with her hair.

  “Red?” He sat back with a huff. “I don’t know of any foreign substance that would cause—”

  “What I think Miss Ivy means is that Ms. Pressman wore red nail polish. Is that correct?” Virgil asked.

  I bet my cheeks were about that color. “Um, yeah.”

  “OK.” Elvis nodded and jotted something. “What about an engagement ring? Did she have one?”

  “I’m sure she did.” I patted my cheeks and hair and drank juice while thinking furiously about what I remembered specifically. “Yes, she did. I’m sure.”

  “Wearing it?” Elvis finally said when he realized I was stalling.

  “Are you attempting to establish robbery or theft as a possible motive?” Virgil politely asked.

  “Yeah, sure,” Elvis replied, too quickly. His cheeks winked splotchy pink.

  I was sure he was hiding something beneath those rioting Irish curls. “I suppose I could have interrupted the killer before he or she got away with too much of her stuff. Was anything else missing? Oh! The photos of the crime scene would show she was wearing her ring, right? A really, really big diamond in a gold setting. When can you look at those?”

  Elvis grimaced and pushed his notebook back in the front flap. “We’re trying to work out a deal like last fall where I can study the case as a sort of intern, but there are complications.” He leaned over the back of the wooden chair while he studied his notepad.

  “And even if you could get involved like that, you wouldn’t be able to share information that’s not released to the public, correct?” Virgil noted.

  “Correct.”

  I narrowed my eyes. Elvis was just using me. No, that wasn’t fair. He was already planning to move to Apple Grove. And he was FBI, even though he couldn’t admit it. Maybe there was some piece of information he could share, though, if prompted with the right question. “What’s so important about her fingernails and her ring?”