Claws of Action

by Linda Reilly

  Trevor blinked and put a hand on his mom’s shoulder. “When we found out someone gave that stupid photo to the town manager, Mom told me she didn’t care anymore about being embarrassed. She insisted I go to him and tell him what was really in that envelope. It wasn’t a bribe at all. It was a personal communication from Daisy Bowker to my mom. I even showed it to him!”

  “I’m guessing he didn’t believe you,” Gideon said.

  “That’s right. He said anyone could print out stuff like that after the fact.”

  “Did you ask Daisy to back up your story?” Gideon asked him.

  “I did, and she’s totally willing to talk to the town manager. But he doesn’t want to hear it, Mr. Halley. He thinks I made all this up to save my butt and get my job back. He told me I was pathetic for dragging my own mother into my scheme.”

  Harsh, Lara thought, then something occurred to her.

  “Trevor, if what was in that envelope really had been a bribe, that would’ve meant the coffee shop had some major health violations going on, right?”

  “Exactly what I tried to tell him,” Trevor said with a sigh. “But he claims my inspection just proves I’m lying. He thinks I checked off a few minor things on my report to make it look like I did my job. Said it was all a cover-up.”

  Talk about a rock and a hard place, Lara thought. One glance at the coffee shop’s kitchen would tell anyone that it was as clean as a hospital.

  “Who is the town manager anyway?” Lara asked. “I should know that, but I don’t.”

  “Roger Bertrand,” Gideon supplied. “Old-timer. Used to work for an insurance company before the town hired him as manager. He’s not a bad guy, but he does everything by the book. Not much leeway with him.”

  “I know, and that’s why I need your help, Mr. Halley. I didn’t kill Evonda Fray, but it was her fault I lost my job. She’d been following me around for weeks, and I can give you proof. I just want you to hear my side of it. You have a reputation for honesty and fairness. The town manager will listen to you.”

  Gideon remained silent. Lara sensed he wasn’t going to let Johnson off that easily.

  “Look,” Trevor said, sending Lara a sheepish look. “I–I know I came on too strong that night at The Irish Stew, and I’m really sorry. Sorrier than you know. But Mr. Halley, I’m begging you now to represent me. I want my job back, and I think I deserve to have it.” His voice fell off and he rubbed his hands together. “I didn’t do anything wrong, and I’ve never taken a bribe. Never.”

  Trevor looked at his mother as if to say: Did I do okay, Ma?

  Lara didn’t know what to say, or even think. She felt a twinge of pity for the man, even if something about him gave her a slight case of the willies. But if he really had been sabotaged by Evonda, he had every right to be angry.

  Gideon appeared to be pondering the request, but Lara knew him better. He’d already made up his mind.

  Looking defeated, her face beaded with sweat, Virginia tapped her son’s arm. “Come on, Trevvie, help me up. We’ve bothered these nice folks long enough. I told you we shouldn’t have barged in on their meal.”

  “Ma’s right,” Trevor said glumly. “We shouldn’t have come here. We’ll get out of your hair.” He reached down to take his mother’s arm.

  “Johnson,” Gideon said, “why don’t you meet me in my office Monday morning at eight o’clock sharp? I’m not promising anything, but I’m willing to hear you out.”

  Trevor’s eyes lit up. “Honest to God? Oh, thank you, Mr. Halley. All I’m asking is for a chance to tell my side of it.”

  “If you have any supporting documents or photos, bring them along.”

  Trevor promised to do so. After a round of clumsy goodbyes, the pair finally clumped across the lawn and drove off.

  “Lara and Fran, I’m so sorry about that interruption,” Gideon said, shaking his head. “I’m actually stunned at the nerve of the guy.”

  “I know, but it wasn’t your fault.” Lara squeezed his arm.

  “Trevor does seem like somewhat of a dreary soul,” Aunt Fran said. “But he cares about his mother. I’ll give him credit for that.”

  “I have to confess,” Lara said, “I felt a little sorry for him. Do you think he was telling the truth?”

  Gideon scooped up the plate of corn. “My gut says he is, but I’ll see what he has to say on Monday. I’ll reheat these for us. Can’t let this nice corn go to waste.”

  Lara wasn’t sure if she was still in the mood for corn, but once Gideon reheated them and set the buttery ears on the table, they all dug in and powered through them like a trio of buzz saws.

  “I feel like a glutton,” Aunt Fran said, dabbing her lips with a napkin. “And we haven’t even had dessert.”

  Lara had stored the shortcake fixings in a cooler next to the picnic table. She pulled everything out, grabbed a fresh set of paper plates, and gave everyone a generous serving.

  “Oh, man, this is delish,” Gideon said. “Did you add something to the cream?”

  Lara grinned. “A touch of vanilla and a pinch of cinnamon. Makes all the difference, right?”

  Gideon nodded and stuffed another forkful into his mouth. A dab of cream stuck to his top lip. Her heart twisted—he almost looked the way he had when he was twelve. She had a sudden urge to swipe it off with her finger, but she resisted.

  Munching on a strawberry slice, she went back to thinking about the photo. The exact duplicate of the one Trevor had produced was on the desk in her studio. She’d kept her promise to Sherry and hadn’t shared the story with anyone. Should she tell Gideon now? The cat, so to speak, was already out of the bag.

  Lara pushed aside her empty plate. “Gideon, there’s something I need to tell you—about that picture of Daisy and Trevor Johnson.”

  She related Sherry’s story of finding the photo under her windshield wiper, and how Daisy had refused to discuss it and insisted it was nothing to worry about.

  Gideon wiped his lips with a napkin and crumpled it over his plate. “Wow, you’re even closer to the town grapevine than I am,” he teased.

  “You’re not mad that I didn’t tell you?”

  “Of course I’m not mad. Sherry gave you that photo because you’re her closest friend and she trusted you to keep it private. That’s exactly what you did.”

  “Oh, whew! I was so afraid you’d think I was keeping secrets from you. That’s not what I intended—not at all.”

  “Tell you one thing, though,” Gideon added. “I wouldn’t mind hearing Daisy’s side of all this. Something tells me she might be the missing link. What do you think, Fran?”

  Aunt Fran folded her hands in front of her plate and looked off into the distance. Some kids were playing in a neighbor’s yard, and her gaze seemed focused on them. Lara knew better. From the moment they’d arrived there, her aunt had been way too quiet. She had a lot on her mind, and Lara suspected she knew the source.

  “Aunt Fran? Are you okay?”

  “Hmmm?” Her aunt blinked and looked at her through troubled eyes. “I’m sorry. My mind was lollygagging. I’m fine, only a bit tired.” She patted Lara’s hand. “Gideon, you’ve been a wonderful host and a superb chef. Lara, if you wouldn’t mind running me home, I’ll settle in for the night, and you two can enjoy the rest of the evening together.”

  Gideon trapped Lara’s worried gaze with his own. Once again, she could read his mind.

  “I’m not feeling too peppy myself,” Lara said with a heavy sigh. “It’s been a heck of a crazy day.”

  “You both need a good night’s rest,” Gideon said meaningfully. “You two go. I’ll bat cleanup.”

  “You sure? I can help you carry—”

  “Nope. I’m perfectly capable of carrying a few plates into the house and taking out the trash.”

  “Thank you, Gideon. For everything,” Aunt Fran said. Te
ars glistened in her eyes. Though her aunt would never admit it, Lara knew she missed the chief.

  “Everything’s going to work out, Fran,” Gideon said. “You and Lara head home, okay?”

  He walked them both to the Saturn, then pulled Lara aside. “Honey, you’re starting to worry me again,” he said quietly. “You remember our code, don’t you?”

  The code. The secret signal that had saved her life last December. How could she ever forget it?

  Oddly, they’d devised the code even before Gideon had learned about her guardian cat.

  “I remember,” Lara said. “Code Blue. But stop worrying. Tomorrow I’m going to work on some of my art projects. I’m not even going to think about Evonda Fray.”

  “Good.”

  Lara watched him wave as she backed out of his driveway. She loved him for understanding that she needed to spend time with Aunt Fran this evening. She also hated making him worry.

  She’d gotten herself in fixes before that could’ve gone bad. Really bad. But sometimes things happened that were out of her control.

  Unfortunately, Evonda’s killer was still out there. Waiting? Plotting?

  No way to tell.

  But it wasn’t her problem. Not anymore.

  Nevermore…

  The word from Poe’s famous poem popped into her head. Appropriate, given Evonda’s fondness for blackbirds of every sort. Lara was willing to bet “The Raven” had been Evonda’s favorite poem, if she’d been into that sort of thing.

  “Your mind is in a thousand places,” her aunt said as they turned onto High Cliff Road.

  “You know me too well,” Lara said with a wry chuckle, but then she turned serious. “Aunt Fran, if you ever want to talk about anything…I mean, you know, about anything, I’m here for you.”

  Her aunt nodded. Dark creases hung beneath her green eyes, and her face was pale. “I know that, Lara. Right now, I’m so weary I can barely think. Maybe tomorrow we’ll have a nice long chat.”

  “Let’s plan on it,” Lara said.

  So much for keeping her aunt company this evening.

  It was just as well. Neither of them was in a chatty mood.

  It was enough to know that they were both home. Together.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Once inside the house, Lara was restless. She finished her cat duties, then sat on the sofa with Snowball and Smuggles. She was amazed at how quickly the two cats had bonded. The sweet young female and the seasoned old gent. Almost inseparable now, the pair curled up in her lap in a furry ball.

  Was it a sign? Lara wondered.

  If Brian was the killer and was about to be arrested, then Smuggles would remain there as a permanent resident. She’d made that promise to him. Then what would happen if someone wanted to adopt Snowball? Lara and Aunt Fran might have a tough decision to make.

  Snowball was still shedding. Her white fur clung to everything. “You need another good brushing,” Lara told her, kissing her on the head. “I won’t bug you now, but get ready for a big grooming day tomorrow.”

  Aunt Fran had gone to her room with a book and her usual cats—Dolce and Twinkles. The two were longtime best buds. Their favorite place to snooze was atop her aunt’s bed.

  Munster was MIA, which meant he was probably upstairs sprawled on Lara’s bed. His habits tended to change with each addition to—or subtraction from—the household, but he was so easygoing that he just went with the flow. He’d have been adopted many times over if he’d been available. But he was one of Aunt Fran’s three original cats, so the shelter was his forever home.

  Orca and Pearl gazed at Lara from their favorite perches on the carpeted cat tree. Their tails twitched when she spoke to them. Lately, they’d been a bit subdued, not getting into too much trouble. Did the two rambunctious sibs sense the tension in the house over Evonda’s murder? Lara giggled when she remembered how taken Gideon had been with Orca.

  After checking out the TV lineup, Lara gave up. Nothing appealed to her, not even the programs on the mystery channels. They reminded her that their once-quiet little town had yet another unsolved murder of its own.

  Lara gently set her lap cats on the sofa and went into her studio, closing the door behind her. She’d once made the mistake of leaving the door partway open. Not only had her art supplies been totally rearranged, but one of the cats had tried his—her?—paw at painting. The results had not been impressive.

  She pulled out the designs she’d been working on for Sherry’s wedding invitations. They were shaping up. The basics were there, but they still needed more work. Lara wanted the colors to be softer than in Renoir’s Dance in the Country, yet vibrant enough to capture the beauty of the day.

  And the love in Sherry and David’s eyes.

  A lump formed in Lara’s throat. Would she ever be painting invitations to her own wedding, hers and Gideon’s? Or was marriage a commitment that would never be the right fit for them?

  Gideon had a daunting workload. He seemed to be getting more clients every week. Lara’s life was tied to the shelter. It required physical work, but she also had a slew of administrative tasks that couldn’t be ignored. It was the life she’d chosen, and she loved every moment of it. But a big question still hung over her—was it enough?

  Aunt Fran and Kayla were wonderful, but the bulk of the shelter work still fell on Lara. She was grateful that Aunt Fran had had both knees replaced. The surgeries had replenished her spirit and given her life back to her. She talked about going back to teaching but hadn’t made any firm plans.

  So why was Lara so impatient? Why couldn’t she be happy with the way things were right now?

  Next March she’d be turning thirty. For a woman, it was a turning point—a time to think seriously about the future.

  Tears pushed at her lids. She was tired, that was all. Overthinking everything. Making every anthill into a giant mountain.

  Fatigue dragging her down, she put away the sketches and turned off the light. After ensuring that the door was closed all the way, she went into the new reading room.

  She turned on the reading lamp, and a soft, cozy glow filled the room. The box of books Kayla had delivered still rested on the floor. Lara dropped down and sat cross-legged in front of the box. The more she fished through the books, the more she had a sneaking suspicion.

  These books were brand-new.

  Had Kayla’s grandmother bought the books herself? If so, it was a kind and lovely way to honor Kayla’s devotion to the shelter cats. Maybe her gram couldn’t fully understand it, but she could respect Kayla’s choice to work with animals.

  Once again, the book she’d seen earlier made her smile. Cary the Crow and the Hidden Spoon. She pulled it out and flipped to the first page. The illustrations were charming, bursting with detail and color. She began to read and found herself enchanted by the story.

  Cary the crow lived in a giant oak, high above the cottage where his favorite humans lived—a grandma, a little boy, and a baby girl. Whenever the humans left things where Cary could see them, he’d snitch them and hide them in his nest. His favorite object was silver and shiny, with a long handle. He could see his reflection in it! But soon he began to notice something. The humans didn’t look happy anymore. Their mouths were turned upside down instead of right-side up. When the grandma cried that her best spoon was missing, Cary’s feathers drooped with sadness. He knew what he had to do. One by one, he flew their possessions back to where he’d found them. The grandma was so glad that she hugged her spoon! When the humans saw what Cary had done, they began leaving little treats for him to hide—corn, berries, even bits of dried cheese—enough to feed him through the cold winter!

  “Oh my gosh, that was such a cute story!” Lara blurted out. She started to close the book when a furry body leaped on it and held the pages down firmly.

  Startled, Lara’s heart jumped a little, but she
remained very still. She stared down at Blue. The Ragdoll cat returned her gaze, her stunning turquoise eyes reflecting the light from the reading lamp.

  She seems so real. How can it be that I can’t touch her?

  In the next instant, Blue faded.

  Exhausted and overwhelmed, Lara burst into tears. It felt good to let out all her pain, all her frustrations. She cried until her head throbbed and her nose clogged.

  Finally, her eyes achy and raw, she put all the books back into the box, closed it securely, and turned off the lamp.

  But the crow nagged at her, pecked at her brain.

  What are you trying to tell me, Blue? What’s so important about a crow?

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  On Sunday morning, Lara awoke early with a mild headache. Orca and Pearl had joined her in the night. Orca was half on and half off her pillow, his white whiskers tickling her ear. His sneaky sister was sprawled at the foot of the bed, chewing on what looked like the jersey T-shirt Lara had tossed into her laundry basket the night before.

  “You monkey,” she said, shoving her hair out of her eyes. She pulled Pearl closer and nuzzled her face, then eased her tee out of the cat’s clutches.

  She looked over at the big pillow in the corner of the room. The sight of Snowball curled up with Smuggles tore at her. The two cats looked as if they’d been best buds since birth.

  Lara swallowed a few ibuprofen, then showered and dressed. She headed downstairs trailed by a gaggle of cats. After making quick work of her cat duties—fresh food and water, and litter scooping—she left her aunt a note and set out to the coffee shop.

  She was almost at the downtown block that housed Bowker’s Coffee Stop when a flurry of activity put her on instant alert. On the sidewalk, people stood around in small clusters, chattering and pointing toward the police station.