Claws of Action

by Linda Reilly

  Another familiar face entered the parlor. It was Roy Tierney, the deliveryman who’d been gossiping all over town about the murder scene. Wearing a shiny black suit that had to be forty years old, he looked all around before he signed the guest book. Spotting him, Tim Fray dropped his gaze as he approached. Tierney hesitated, but then seemed to get the message. He went off to find a chair without offering any condolences.

  At the stroke of ten, the thin man who’d directed them into the parlor strode in quietly. He stood before the casket and waited for the chatter to cease. When the room finally went silent, he said, “I want to thank you all for joining us here today to celebrate the life of Evonda Fray. As most of you know, her passing was abrupt and unexpected. She was in the prime of her life when it was sadly cut short. One thing we know for certain—she loved her family fiercely and adored her friends, as well as the wild birds she cared for in her yard. And now, her son Timothy would like to say a few words.”

  Tim Fray nodded, cleared his throat, then rose and exchanged places with the man. “Thank you all for coming here today,” he began. “I know none of you wants to be here, so I’m going to be very brief.” After a wave of low murmurs, he continued.

  “Evonda Fray was many things to me. Worshipful mom. Passionate protector. Staunch defender. At times her personality overwhelmed me. Most times it gave me tremendous comfort. She had her causes, which I fully supported. She had her biases, which I do not defend. With all that said, I will miss her deeply.” His voice caught on the last word, and his eyes became glassy. “Fly high, Mom, wherever you are.”

  Lara saw Jenny shift in her seat, her small face pinched.

  Tim pulled in a deep breath, then blew it out slowly. “Before you leave, I hope you’ll take a few moments to view the screen display set up in the back of the room. Her life in pictures, I guess you’d call it. Mom herself was an avid photographer, and she loved her birds. Crows and ravens were her favorites, but she was crazy about all birds.” He offered a sad smile. “If any of you wishes to make a donation in her memory, the names of several wild bird societies are printed below the display. Thank you.”

  Aunt Fran reached for her purse. “I have to say, that was the shortest and most unusual memorial service I’ve ever been to.”

  “I’ve only been to two others,” Lara said. “But this was certainly the oddest. I can’t put my finger on it, but…”

  Her aunt smiled. “It was nonreligious, Lara.”

  Light dawned. “You’re right. That’s it!”

  No prayers.

  No pastor.

  No pleas to a merciful God to lift Evonda’s immortal soul to the heavens.

  In the next moment, a song sifted through the speakers. Lara had heard it before, on the radio.

  Murmurs, growing louder now, filled the room. People tittered to one another, as if they couldn’t believe what they were hearing.

  Lara clutched her aunt’s arm. “That song,” she whispered. “It’s ‘Fly Like an Eagle.’ Why would they play that at a funeral?”

  Chapter Nineteen

  “I want to see the photo gallery,” Lara whispered to her aunt.

  “You read my mind.”

  Several other people had had the same idea. They began forming a line toward the back of the room.

  The three women wearing the black-feathered hats scooted in line in front of Lara and Aunt Fran. “I feel so bad for Tim,” Lara heard one of them murmur.

  “Poor thing, he looked so crushed, didn’t he?” another one said.

  “His wife certainly didn’t look too broken up,” the first one said crustily. “I have no doubt the little gold digger is already counting Evonda’s money.”

  “Her share, you mean,” the third one said. “If Evonda was right, that marriage is on the skids. I’m sure the little weasel is already rubbing her hands together, figuring out how she can get a chunk of Evonda’s money in the divorce.”

  “Which she’ll spend on her lover, no doubt,” the second one said.

  “Disgraceful,” the third one put in.

  The woman standing in front of Aunt Fran cast a glance around the room, then turned to see who was behind her. Her eyes were bright blue. Wisps of titian hair peeked out from under her black hat. “Oh, hello,” she said. “I’m Letitia Barlow. Were you a friend of Evonda’s?”

  “Fran Clarkson,” Aunt Fran said, “and this is my niece, Lara Caphart. And no, we weren’t friends. In fact, we only met Evonda a few days ago, but we still wanted to pay our respects.”

  The other two woman swiveled their heads and offered hesitant smiles. They introduced themselves as Katie Fleming and Vera Baskin. Lara noticed that all three women wore the same pendant—a blackbird perched on a golden branch—that Evonda had worn during her so-called inspection of the shelter.

  “I noticed you’re all wearing the same pendant,” Lara commented. “Is it from a club you all belong to?”

  Vera gave her a sad smile. “A club? No, not a formal one anyway.” She sniffled. “We, the three of us and Evonda, always called ourselves the four old crows. We joked about it all the time. Then one day I saw these blackbird pendants in a gift shop. I decided right then and there that we all needed to have one. Aren’t they perfect?”

  “They’re so unusual,” Lara said. “I like them.”

  “All of us love birds,” Katie put in, then smiled. “Hence the hats.” She pointed to her own. “But Evonda was the most militant about it. She’d do anything to save a bird. Anything.”

  And nothing to save a cat, Lara guessed. She wondered if Evonda’s avian obsession had anything to do with her dislike of cats. Had a cat plundered her birdhouse, or killed a bird in her yard?

  The line moved, and the three “old crows” shimmied up to the photo gallery. On a large screen built into the wall, enlarged pictures of Evonda had been arranged in groups. Lara peeked over Letitia’s shoulder.

  In her younger days, Evonda had been an attractive woman, if not classically pretty. Smooth skin, firm cheekbones, loose blond waves brushing a set of wide shoulders. Her wedding photo showed her in a plain white dress posing beside a skinny, balding man. Her smile seemed genuine. His looked adoring.

  Photos of Evonda with little Timothy were abundant, from his infancy right through college. There was one of Tim as a toddler jumping into his mother’s arms from the edge of a swimming pool. Another of Evonda beaming proudly at him during a graduation ceremony.

  An entire section was devoted to photos Evonda had taken of various bird species. In one photo she’d captured a huge blackbird in midflight, a baby snake dangling from its beak.

  Lara had to admit—Evonda had been a talented photographer.

  Letitia suddenly burst into tears. “Oh my, I still can’t believe she’s gone.” She pulled a tissue from her purse and pressed it to her lashes.

  “Oh, honey, I know. I know.” Katie reached her arm over and gave her friend a sideways hug. “It’s all so horrible. But we have to carry on, don’t we? It’s what Evonda would want us to do.”

  “And remember,” Vera reminded, “she’s with her dear Douglas now.”

  “Yes. Yes, you’re right, both of you.” Letitia’s cheeks turned pink. “That rumor, about Douglas and me,” she sputtered out. “You know it was never true, right?”

  “Of course we know,” Vera said quietly, slipping her arm through Letitia’s. “Neither of us ever believed it. Evonda never believed it either. She knew it was just a lot of silliness.”

  After another short sob session in which all three joined, the women went off toward the exit.

  Lara gaped at her aunt. “Well, wasn’t that interesting?”

  Aunt Fran nodded, and they both moved closer to the screen to get a better view of the photos.

  Lara had seen most of the photos over Letitia’s shoulder, but now she moved in for a closer examination. Crows an
d blackbirds dominated the bird section. The detail in some of the close-ups was stunning.

  Near the bottom of the screen, a small cluster of photos showed Evonda as a child. They’d been taken with a Polaroid camera—the kind that took instant pictures. Lara scanned the photos, a sense of sadness welling inside her. Evonda had been a sweet-looking child in pigtails, with a wide smile and a curious expression.

  Lara started to move aside so her aunt could have a better look when a photo near the bottom of the screen made her breath halt in her throat.

  An old Polaroid picture, faded and discolored with age, showed a smiling Evonda sitting on the grass in front of a well-kept, two-story home. In the folds of her skirt was a tiny white kitten.

  The caption scribbled in ink beneath the photo read: Evonda, age 6, with Casper.

  * * * *

  “That was an earful, wasn’t it?” Lara murmured to her aunt as they were leaving through the front lobby. “Those women seemed to know a lot about Jenny.”

  “They gossiped a lot about Jenny,” Aunt Fran corrected. “We don’t know if any of it was true.”

  Aunt Fran was right. It was easy to distort the truth, to twist it into your own unique version. Evonda’s three devoted friends had no love lost for Jenny. That much was painfully obvious.

  They were almost at the door to the outer waiting area when Lara spied Jenny Fray streaking across the lobby. Lara watched as Jenny made a beeline for the doorway at the rear, above which was a discreet sign that read RESTROOMS.

  “Excuse me,” Lara said to her aunt. “I need a quick bathroom break. I’ll be right back.”

  Lara followed Jenny through the doorway and down a short corridor. She pushed through the door that bore the silhouette of a woman’s head.

  Jenny was standing over the bathroom’s sole sink, crying into a paper towel. She turned sharply when she saw Lara, and then sobbed even harder.

  “Oh, Jenny, I’m so sorry,” Lara said, rubbing her shoulder. “This must be so hard for you.” She wanted to give her a comforting hug, but Jenny’s stiff demeanor told her it might not be welcomed.

  Jenny sucked in a long sob. “Thank you, and yeah, it is hard,” she said with a snivel. “Harder than you can imagine. Especially when everyone’s making nasty remarks about you like you’re some…some hussy.” Tears streamed down her thin cheeks. “How dare they judge me. How dare they!”

  Lara felt terrible for her. No doubt she’d overheard Evonda’s three cohorts making snide comments about her.

  “What matters is how you feel,” Lara said, trying to sound soothing. “What everyone else says doesn’t matter.”

  “You’re right.” Jenny grabbed a fresh paper towel and blotted her cheeks. She blinked at herself in the mirror. “Nobody knows how I feel. Nobody. Those old crow friends of Evonda’s? They don’t know a thing about me, or what’s in my heart.” Jenny turned and looked Lara straight in the eye, her own eyes shrinking to the size of peas. “Those three old bags have no idea what it’s like to be in love.”

  That probably wasn’t true, but Lara nodded in sympathy. “Jenny, can I get you anything? Do you want me to find Tim for you?”

  Jenny’s face went taut. “No. I’ll be fine. But…unless you have business in here, I’d appreciate being alone.”

  Okay, I get the message.

  “Sure,” Lara said. “And again, I’m sorry for your loss.”

  Jenny gave her a pointed look in the mirror, her expression full of pain. “Thanks, Lara. I am, too.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Lara and her aunt had been home about twenty minutes when Kayla arrived. Aunt Fran made tea and set out what was left of the fritters.

  With Snowball snugged in her lap, Kayla looked a tad more relaxed than she had when she and Lara rescued the kittens on Thursday. Still, Lara sensed something was up with her. If there was any way she could help, she wanted to know what it was.

  She started by relating the story of Evonda’s strange memorial service.

  “That song they played—‘Fly Like an Eagle’?” Kayla said. “It’s one of my dad’s favorites. It has a mellow, bluesy sort of beat. Weird that they’d play it at her funeral, but then, maybe it was her favorite song.”

  “Yeah, maybe.” Lara took a sip from her mug. She thought about the blackbird pendant worn by Evonda and her “old crow” friends.

  “What do you make of that picture of her with the kitten?” Kayla said. “Didn’t you say she hated cats?” She bent and kissed Snowball’s head.

  “Yeah, that was so weird,” Lara said, but then remembered the odd look on Evonda’s face when she saw Snowball curled up on the sofa. In that single moment, her expression had softened. Lara was sure she hadn’t imagined it.

  Did Snowball remind her of Casper, the little white kitten in the photo?

  “We’ll never really know,” Aunt Fran said, stirring her tea absently. “But something must have happened later in life to turn her against cats.”

  “Speaking of fritters,” Kayla said, “aren’t we supposed to pick up the kittens today?”

  “Originally, yes,” Lara said. “But I got a text from Amy during the memorial service—I didn’t read it till I got out to the car. She wants to keep them for another few days. Fritter is progressing a little more slowly than the others. Amy wants to keep a close eye on him, at least through the weekend.”

  “Oh. Okay.” Kayla slumped in her chair. “Shoot. I was really looking forward to having them here today. It’s all I could think about on the way over here.”

  Aunt Fran glanced at Lara, then looked over at Kayla. “Kayla, I’ve sensed something has been troubling you. Lara and I care about you very much. To us, you’re family. Is there something we can help you with?”

  Kayla shrugged. “No. Not really. It’s just…sometimes I feel like such a loser, you know? Every weekend, my cousins descend on my gram’s house. The adults do their own thing while I end up entertaining my nieces and nephews. Don’t get me wrong—I adore all of them. It’s just that everyone treats me like the automatic babysitter.”

  Lara wondered if that was true, or if that was only Kayla’s perception. “While you’re with the kids, what do your cousins do?”

  “Oh, you know, they sit around and talk about recipes and kids and schools. Sometimes they set up the badminton net, but I’m terrible at it so I always bow out. By the time they leave”—she swallowed—“I feel more alone than ever. Does that sound crazy?”

  “Not at all,” Aunt Fran soothed. “Have you tried talking to your grandmother about your feelings?”

  “Yeah, but she only made me feel worse. She didn’t mean to—she thought she was helping—but she really doesn’t get it.”

  “Your gram loves you very much,” Aunt Fran said. “But sometimes it helps to talk to someone closer to your own generation. Not that I’m a spring chicken by any means, but Lara still has a few good years left in her.” She winked and smiled at Lara.

  Lara gave her a look of mock outrage. “Hey.”

  “Bottom line—we’re both pretty good listeners,” Aunt Fran said gently.

  “Thanks. I know you’re both trying to make me feel better. It’s just that…everyone I see is hooked up with someone, you know? Lara has Gideon. Sherry has David. Mrs. C., you have the chief—and he’s not even that crazy about cats.”

  Lara watched her aunt for a reaction, but Aunt Fran remained poker-faced.

  “Kayla, when I was your age, I was living above a bakery in Boston, trying to make ends meet selling my watercolors. I worked in the bakery to earn some extra cash, mostly washing dishes. I almost never dated. When I did, they were always one or two timers. I never had anyone special enough that I could actually call him a boyfriend.”

  Kayla looked at her. “Are you serious or are you just humoring me?”

  “I’m serious. Totally.”

 
; “Did you ever worry that you were never going to meet the right guy?”

  Lara laughed. “A lot of the time, I did. But I was so focused on becoming a great artist that I told myself I was meant for other things.”

  “You are a great artist,” Kayla said. She frowned and pushed at her glasses. “My gram says that I spend too much time with cats, and that’s why I never meet a nice boy.”

  Lara’s heart ached for her. She knew exactly how she felt.

  When Lara and Gideon first knew they were serious about each other, she worried that Gideon might wake up one day and decide she was too involved with cats. After a heartfelt conversation with him, she realized she hadn’t given him enough credit. He loved Lara for who she was, and that included being a cat lady.

  “Grandmothers see things a little differently,” Lara said. “I don’t remember either of mine, so I can’t speak from experience. But your gram is speaking from her own experience, when times were so much simpler. The downside of technology is that we’ve all become a little too removed from the real world. In my opinion anyway.”

  Kayla picked at a fritter crumb. “She thinks I should go to church more and meet someone there.” She rolled her eyes. “I wanted to say, what is this, the nineteen forties? When I told her I knew of at least three happy couples who met online, she nearly dropped her false teeth. She thinks meeting guys online is the equivalent of walking into Satan’s den.”

  Lara smiled. “Are you thinking of trying online dating?”

  “I’ve been thinking about it, yeah,” Kayla said with a shrug. “But every time I think I’m ready to take the plunge, something stops me from clicking the mouse. I guess I’m a scaredy-cat.”

  “Kayla,” Aunt Fran said, “I truly believe that when you least expect it, and if you want it to happen, the right person will come into your life. That’s how Lara’s friend Sherry met David.”

  “That’s right! David had never been in the coffee shop before, but that morning his boss sent him on the road to scout out a new account. He was running early, so he stopped in for breakfast.” Lara grinned. “And the rest, as they say…”