Claws of Action

by Linda Reilly

  It was a white Cape Cod with charcoal gray shutters, surrounded on three sides by carefully tended evergreen shrubs. A border of chipped stones edged in brick lined the front of the house. A set of wide wooden steps painted a muted gray and flanked by ornate, wrought-iron railings led to the front door, which was painted white. On the door was the massive image of a crow.

  Lara pulled over, shoved her gearshift into Park, and gawked at the door. The crow was shown from a side view, its beak slightly open. From this distance, she couldn’t tell if it was painted on or if it was some sort of Folk Art ornament. But it was definitely a crow, and a big one.

  She had no doubt she’d found Evonda Fray’s home.

  In one of the downstairs windows, a curtain was suddenly thrust aside. A face appeared for a brief moment, then just as quickly disappeared.

  Oh God, I’ve been caught spying, Lara thought, a wave of panic crashing over her. She threw the Saturn’s gearshift into Drive and started to ease away when a man rushed out of the house and flagged her down.

  Tim Fray.

  Lara gave herself a mental bop on the head. Why had she come over here? How was she going to explain why she was checking out Evonda’s house?

  Another thought struck her. Could Tim have killed his mom? Had he gotten so fed up with her treatment of Jenny that he finally decided to eliminate her from their lives—permanently?

  “Lara!” Timothy waved at her and strode toward the driver’s side of the car.

  Lara gave him a frozen smile that must have looked deranged. As he walked around the front of the car, he made a motion for her to power down the window.

  She hesitated, then powered it down about halfway. “Hey, Tim.”

  “I saw you looking at the door,” he said, peering at her over the top of the window. “Is that why you stopped?”

  “I–I…yes. Well, sort of. I was over at the farm stand getting some veggies for supper, and on the way back, I noticed the sign to Loudon Street. I guess…I guess I was just being nosy.”

  Tim smiled. His eyes looked warm and kind behind his Buddy Holly specs. “You obviously noticed the crow. Everyone does. Want to come in? I don’t have much to offer you, but Mom always kept cans of root beer in the fridge.”

  “Oh no, I don’t want to bother you.” Or be alone with you. “I’m sure you have enough to do.”

  “I’ve got plenty to do, but I’m ready for a break. I’ve been packing Mom’s things in boxes, but so far, I’ve barely made a dent.” He tapped the roof of the car. “Come on in for a few. I’ve got the AC cranked, so it’s nice and cool inside.”

  An excuse flitted over the tip of Lara’s tongue, but then she swallowed it back. This was an ideal opportunity to learn more about Evonda. The more she learned, the better armed she’d be to figure out who might have wanted her dead.

  “Sure,” she finally agreed. “Why not?”

  She hoisted her tote onto her shoulder and slid out of the car. When Tim’s back was turned, she pulled her phone from the tote and slipped it into the pocket of her shorts. She wanted it within easy reach, just in case…

  Tim led her up the driveway, then around the side of the house to a screened-in porch at the rear. The yard was small, but the grass had been recently mown. A granite birdbath sat in the center of the lawn. In the far corner, adjacent to the wooden fence, was an apple tree loaded with tiny fruit.

  Tim opened the door to the porch and escorted her inside. Lara was surprised at how homey it looked. She’d expected Evonda’s tastes to run to hard lines and sharp corners to match her personality.

  A round oak table graced by a centerpiece of dried hydrangeas surprised her, as did the two patio-style lawn chairs with their plump, colorful cushions. Several magazines were fanned out on the table—bird magazines, it appeared. It was a room where Lara could easily picture herself stretched out in one of the chairs, enjoying the summer breezes sifting through the screens.

  “Let’s go into the dining room,” Tim said. “It’s cooler in there. Can I grab a root beer for you first?”

  “Oh, no, thanks. I’m good.”

  She followed Tim into the kitchen, which was tidy and immaculate. The stainless appliances shone, and the tile floor was spotless. Individual wooden shelves painted a distressed white dominated an entire wall. The shelves boasted a collection of miniature, vintage bird prints. If anyone had ever loved birds, it was Evonda.

  Tim grabbed a can of root beer for himself and popped the cap. “This way,” he said. They went down a short hallway and into the dining room.

  Lara’s eyes widened, and she had to stifle a gasp. Never before had she seen a room so…eclectic.

  The wallpaper was a willowy green, emblazoned with crows of every shape and size. A mahogany sideboard was clustered with whimsical wooden crows. Shelves similar to the ones in the kitchen hung over the sideboard and on the adjacent well, but these shelves were highly polished and boasted a collection of porcelain crows.

  I’d hate to have to dust this room, Lara thought. It would take all day.

  Pictures of crows graced every wall. Some were old-style prints. Others were photos, gorgeously framed, that Lara suspected were Evonda’s handiwork.

  One print in particular caught Lara’s eye. About eleven-by-fourteen and framed in ornate gold leaf, it was a side view of a crow with oddly human eyes. Garbed in black boots and a black cape, the crow seemed to be gazing at something in the distance. Lara thought she’d seen the print before, but she couldn’t recall where. It was hauntingly beautiful and eerie at the same time. She loved it.

  In the far corner of the room, three cardboard boxes were stacked atop one another. A wrought-iron chandelier hung over the antique dining-room table. The table was covered with photographs separated into piles.

  “I’ve been sorting through Mom’s photos,” Tim explained, a catch in his voice. “Did you happen to see the display at the funeral home yesterday?”

  “I did,” Lara said. “Your mom was a talented photographer.”

  Tim shuffled some of the piles around. “These are some of the old pics I wanted to use in the display, but I had to pick and choose because there wasn’t enough room.” He pulled out a dining room chair. “Sit. Please.” He slugged back a swig of his root beer.

  Lara lowered herself onto the chair and rested her tote on the polished oak floor. She felt strange being there. She’d only met Tim a few days earlier, and not under the best of circumstances. Plus, technically, she was still a suspect in Evonda’s murder.

  As was he, she assumed. As far as she knew, the police hadn’t ruled him out.

  So why was he so anxious to show her around Evonda’s home? Had he lured her inside with the idea of interrogating her? Lara also couldn’t help wondering why Jenny wasn’t there, helping him sort through his mother’s belongings.

  “Look at these,” Tim said, pushing a small stack over to Lara. “Mom, when she was a kid.” His face crumpled slightly.

  He’s like a little boy, Lara thought, wanting desperately to paint his mom in a positive light.

  Lara went slowly through the stack, most of which were old, discolored Polaroids. As a young child, Evonda had looked happy and carefree. Pics of her as a teenager, which were few, showed a sad-faced girl with a distant gaze, as if the weight of the world rested on her shoulders.

  Her heart jumped when she came across another one of Evonda with the white kitten. In this one, a sweet-faced Evonda was clutching the kitten to her chest, her chin resting on the kitten’s head. Lara held up the photo to examine it more closely.

  “I figured you’d like that one,” Tim said quietly. “I know you run a cat shelter, and that Mom tried to say it was a cat café.”

  “Did she tell you that?” Lara set down the photo.

  “Yeah, I stopped over to see her after work that day. She was superagitated over it. She got like that so
metimes.”

  That surprised Lara. Evonda had seemed more triumphant than agitated the day she “inspected” the shelter. Had she had a change of heart?

  No, that didn’t make sense. The morning she was murdered, the cease-and-desist order was found on the front seat of her car. She’d obviously intended to file it with the court, and have it enforced.

  Tim’s eyes brimmed with tears. “That was the last time I ever saw her. Mom had a lot of enemies, Lara. I know that. But she wasn’t the ogre some people made her out to be.”

  Lara felt her heart wrench. Whatever Evonda was, she was Tim’s mom and he loved her.

  “And for what it’s worth,” Tim continued, “I don’t believe for a second that you had anything to do with her death.”

  “Well, thank you for that,” Lara said with a nervous laugh. Did he have his own suspicions? With her forefinger, she touched the photo again. “When I look at this photo, it’s hard for me to believe your mom really hated cats.”

  Tim shook his head grimly. “She didn’t always hate cats. Not until that kitten destroyed her life.”

  For a moment, Lara was stunned silent. “Destroyed her life? I don’t understand.”

  Tim sat down adjacent to Lara. “My mom was an only child. My grandparents had her later in life, and my grandmother absolutely doted on her.” He swallowed hard. “When she was about seven, one of their neighbor’s cats had kittens. Mom wanted one desperately. She begged her parents to let her have the only white one. My grandparents, especially my grandfather, weren’t keen on having a cat in the house. But they finally relented and let her have the kitten. Mom named him Casper.”

  Lara felt a lump filling her throat. She sensed Tim’s story was coming to a bad ending.

  “They’d only had the kitten about three weeks when it happened. Mom was in school—first or second grade, I think. My grandmother had left the door to the cellar open. She was gathering up a pile of laundry to take down there to wash.” Tim’s eyes took on a haunted look.

  “The kitten had apparently decided to explore the cellar, a place where he hadn’t been allowed before. He was on the third stair down when my grandmother tripped over him. She was holding the laundry, so she didn’t see him. She fell headlong down the stairs.” Tim shook his head.

  “Oh, Tim,” Lara said.

  “My grandfather witnessed the whole thing. He was in the cellar doing some woodworking when my grandmother started down the stairs. He saw the kitten, but by the time he called out to her, it was too late. She—” He swallowed again. “She couldn’t be saved. She’d gotten a massive head injury when she hit the concrete floor.”

  Lara felt that same lump jamming her throat. “It wasn’t anyone’s fault. It was an accident.”

  “It was,” Tim agreed. “But my grandfather blamed the kitten, which he never wanted in the first place. He lost the only woman he’d ever loved that day. For him, the world ended. For my mom, her childhood was shattered.”

  Lara brushed at a tear. “But…surely he didn’t blame Evonda.”

  “Oh, but he did,” Tim said, his voice raw now. “After that, he barely spoke to Mom. She was a little girl lost. Seven years old, with no mother to love her and a father who blamed her for the loss of his beloved wife. His rejection crushed her.”

  With that, Lara lost it. She burst into tears. Evonda had suffered so much, so needlessly. No child should have to endure that.

  “Lara, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you,” Tim said kindly. He gathered up the Polaroids and pushed them to the far side of the table. “I told you that story only because I wanted you to understand. Mom was a good person. Circumstances made her crusty and surly, but that’s not who she was deep down.”

  Lara felt foolish for blubbering in front of a near stranger. She reached down into her tote for a pack of tissues. She pulled one out and wiped her eyes. “It tells me so much about your mom, and how easy it is to misjudge people.” She sniffled. “Tell me, what happened to the kitten?”

  “My grandfather brought it back to the neighbor who’d given it to Mom. She was the one, in fact, who told me this story on the day of my grandfather’s funeral. She said she never forgot the devastation in his eyes that day. He was a totally broken man. The memory of it had always haunted her.”

  “I’m surprised she’d tell you that at his funeral,” Lara said. “It doesn’t seem very…tactful.”

  His smile was somber. “No, it wasn’t. But she wanted to get it off her chest. I think a part of her always felt responsible because she’d given Mom the kitten.”

  “Do you think your mom remembered much of that day?”

  Tim shook his head. “She has vague recollections, but that’s all. She remembers her dad marching over to the neighbor’s with Casper in a cardboard box. For some reason, that stuck in her head. Mostly she remembers an unloving dad who pretty much ignored her after the accident. But Mom was smart, and plucky. She compensated by befriending the birds in their yard. Birds became an obsession that always stayed with her.”

  Lara’s eyes started leaking again. “Tim, I’ve taken up enough of your time. I have one more question, and you can tell me to take a hike if you don’t want to answer it.”

  “Fire away,” he said with a cautious look.

  “Who do you think killed your mom?”

  “Oh. I don’t think,” Tim said fiercely. “I know.”

  “You do?” Lara said, hearing her voice rise.

  He nodded. “In my opinion, the cops need to be focusing on one person, and one person only. Trevor Johnson.”

  Lara had been sure he was going to say Brian Downing. “Why do you think that?”

  “Because of something the police confided in me. That morning, when Mom was killed, she’d started to write me a text. The police think she saw the killer approaching in her rearview mirror and tried to get a message to me. She was murdered before she could finish, but the text contained only three letters: K-R-A.”

  Lara was puzzled. “That’s it? K-R-A? But—”

  “Let me finish. I Googled Trevor Johnson and found out something verrry interesting. His mother’s maiden name was Kramer. It’s also Johnson’s middle name.”

  “Why would your mom text you his middle name if she wanted to identify him?” Lara asked. “Isn’t that kind of cryptic?”

  “I thought of that,” Tim said grimly. “My guess is that it was the first thing that popped into her head. She didn’t exactly have time to spare, you know?”

  “No, she didn’t,” Lara agreed, although she still doubted his supposition. Why would Evonda even know Johnson’s middle name? Something about that didn’t make sense. “Have you told this to the police?”

  “I did, but it turns out they were on top of it all along.” His eyes lit up behind his glasses. “Between you and me, they’ve been looking long and hard into Johnson’s background. I wouldn’t be surprised if they made an arrest very soon.”

  If that was true, it meant that Brian Downing had dropped to a lower number on the suspect list. If he was still a suspect at all.

  Something else nagged at Lara. If Evonda saw the killer coming in her rearview mirror, why didn’t she lock her car doors? Wouldn’t that be the logical way to protect herself? She posed the question to Tim.

  “Excellent point,” Tim said. “The cops feel sure that Mom knew her killer, but that he somehow managed to put her at ease long enough for him to open the rear door of her car. Maybe he waved, said he just wanted to talk. Something like that. Once he was in the car, she was trapped.”

  It was a horrible scenario, if that’s the way it actually went down. Poor Evonda. She was probably terrified, yet she kept her cool long enough to try texting her son.

  “And no one saw anything?”

  Tim shook his head. “It was too early for any of the neighbors to be up and about. Mom was an early riser, like al
l those birds she loved. She went to her office as early as five some mornings to catch up on paperwork. Whoever killed her knew that.”

  Paperwork? Whisker Jog was so small. How much paperwork could she have? How many places did she have to inspect? Did she have another job on the side?

  Whoever killed her knew that.

  Tim’s words put another thought in Lara’s head.

  Jenny Fray. She’d been despised by her mother-in-law, treated like an outcast. Was the quiet young woman strong enough to have strangled Evonda? Had the police even considered Jenny a possible suspect?

  If only she could talk to the chief about some of these things. Even though he tended to be tight-lipped about local murder cases, she usually managed to eke out a few tidbits from him. In the past, those tidbits had led her down the path to a twisted killer.

  “How’s Jenny doing through all this?” Lara asked. “It must be hard on her, too.”

  Tim averted his gaze. “She doesn’t handle this kind of stress very well. She’s been sort of quiet, sullen. My mom, like I told you, never liked Jenny. She didn’t think she was good enough for me.”

  “But why? I don’t understand.”

  “Well, first off, Jenny’s mom struggled with addiction issues. When she was a kid, they moved around a lot, so Jenny didn’t have much stability. Mom saw her as a bad match for me, but I wish she’d tried to understand her better. But like I said, Mom had her biases.”

  “I remember Jenny in school,” Lara said. “She was only in my class one or two years, but she was such a sweet girl. She was kind of quiet, but the thing that sticks in my mind is the way she always looked out for other kids.”

  “That’s my Jenny.” Tim smiled, but he looked troubled. “I admit, we’re different in a lot of ways. I like classical music, she likes country. I like romantic comedies, she likes horror. We eat totally different foods. I have sensory issues, so I despise anything slimy, like cooked spinach. Jenny, on the other hand, is a major veggie lover.”

  “But those aren’t real differences,” Lara said with a smile.