Meow for Murder Mysteries Boxed Set

by Addison Moore

  “I’ll live.” She shrugs. “It’s weird not having him around, though. I mean, we did practically everything together.”

  “I bet you were close to Devin then, too. I mean, she was his girlfriend.”

  She glances to the ceiling. “Yup. She was always there. Popping up when you least expected it. They fought, though.”

  “They did?” Knew it. My vision is one hundred percent correct. I should probably tell Shep about my sibylline abilities, but then again, he doesn’t strike me as open-minded as Opal or Tilly. Not that he’s judgmental. It’s just that he’s a black and white kind of a guy. He was a homicide detective. He’s hardwired to look at facts. And face it, my supernatural abilities don’t exactly lend themselves to anything factual. It’s more or less a hope and a prayer.

  She nods. “Oh, they fought all the time. In fact, I just came from the sheriff’s department. They wanted to interview me again, and this time I didn’t hold back. I told them all about how Devin wanted a baby, and Perry wouldn’t give it to her. She said he owed her a kid because she gave him the best part of her life. And that if he didn’t do it soon, he would pay for all he had cost her.”

  I freeze while holding a picture of Shep in my hand. His searing baby blues seem to be looking right at me, and a part of me wonders what it would be like to have babies with someone like him.

  A cough sputters from me. “That’s, wow, that’s terrible. I guess the sheriff’s department will be knocking on her door soon enough.”

  “That’s right.” Nicki pulls forth a picture from one of Perry’s shows. “This is my favorite picture of the two of us.”

  I squint hard to find her in the picture. “There you are.” I point over to her sitting on a stool in the back, seemingly swaying to the music while Perry strums his guitar.

  “Nice,” I say. “I’m sure he appreciated having you around.”

  “Are you kidding? I did everything for him. The man couldn’t even tie his shoes without me. He needed me.” Her chest bucks. “He needed me that night and I was nowhere to be found.”

  “Hey”—I place my hand on her shoulder—“you were there. You were inside where you belonged. You didn’t know he was in any imminent danger. How could you?”

  She rolls her eyes. “Well, Devin was present. But to be honest, I didn’t see this coming. I thought a breakup was in the works, but a murder? You can knock me over with a feather.”

  She pulls forward another picture and there’s a man with prickly facial scruff and I suck in a quick breath.

  “Hey, who’s that?” I point over at him.

  Nicki’s expression sours. “Max Edwards. Bleh. He was always hitting on me.”

  “Funny you should say that, because I saw him hitting on Perry that night, literally and not in that way. They were having a real deal smackdown backstage before Perry went on.”

  Her face freezes in a somewhat grimace. “I bet they were. It’s not the first time Max has come after Perry. Usually I’m front and center for their spats. That’s funny.” She glances to the ceiling. “I don’t remember seeing him there that night. What were they arguing about?”

  I shake my head. “I only heard a snippet. The man, Max, said something about getting what was his and that Perry had gone too far.”

  “Yeah, that sounds like the same old song. And ironically, it’s a song they were tussling over. Perry’s big hit, ‘Come Back to Me’? Max says he wrote it.”

  “Really?” I lean in and take a better look at the guy. “Did he?”

  “Who knows? Perry was always going out and getting drunk with his friends. Some of his greatest hits came from those guzzling sessions. I mean, I guess it could’ve been true. Usually his friends didn’t care if they helped him out with a verse or two, but apparently, Max is a struggling artist. He needs every dime. The truth might just lie somewhere in the middle.”

  “Do you know what this means? If Max was convinced that Perry stole his song, that would give him motive for murder.”

  “It would?” She glances to some nebulous horizon. “I guess I never thought of it like that. Huh. I guess I have something else to tell Detective Grimsley next time we speak.”

  I nod. “Leave no stone unturned.”

  A sharp bout of laughter erupts from the next table over, and I look up in time to see two different women seated on Shep’s lap, throwing a peace sign to the bevy of phones documenting the shot.

  “Hey”—Nicki elbows me in the ribs—“isn’t that your man?”

  “That would be him.”

  “It looks as if you have a popular boyfriend, too. But who are we to resist an earthly deity, right?” She cackles, and yet I can’t seem to join in on the fun.

  Instead, I close up shop and thank her for the chitchat. I head on over to my man and pluck him out of the minefield of estrogen and we sail right out the door and back into his truck.

  “How’d it go, Sweet Cheeks?” He forces a smile to come and go when he throws out the cheeky moniker.

  “Sweet Cheeks?”

  “Yeah, our cover was that we were dating, and if we were dating I’d give you a nickname.”

  “If we were dating and you called me Sweet Cheeks, I’d question your feelings for me, Honey Bunch.”

  He motions for me to speed things up. “Did you glean anything?”

  “She gave me more than I asked for. It was like stealing candy from a baby.”

  I fill him in on what I gleaned about Devin and that baby Perry never gave her. And I fill him in on Max Edwards, too.

  “Max Edwards.” Shep lifts a finger while staring hard at the woods across the street. “I think I know the guy.”

  “Great. We’ll just track him down and have a little chat with him.”

  “I’ll track him down.”

  “Not if I do it first.”

  Shep shoots me a look, and I shoot one right back.

  “All right, Bowie. You win.” He shakes his head as he fires up his truck. “Why do I get the feeling you always win?”

  I don’t always win. I’m not sure running from my life, for my life, qualifies as winning.

  But Shep doesn’t need to know that.

  In fact, Shep doesn’t need to know a single thing about me or the booby prizes I’ve inadvertently won.

  Chapter 14

  The next afternoon at the café, I wait until the lunch rush is over before attacking Shep with my shiny new idea.

  I traipse on over as a group of soccer moms titters his way as they sip their lattes. Apparently, there is a very real phenomenon that involves Shepherd Wexler’s presence and a direct correlation to an increase in female customers. Too bad that increase doesn’t pan out to an increase in sales. The numbers are so dismal each night when I count out the drawers, I’m almost afraid to report them to Opal.

  “Hey, Shep.” I refill his coffee. “Leaded fuel, just the way you like it. How’s the book coming?”

  Those stone cold blue eyes of his glance my way.

  “One chapter done. If I get one more in today, I just might buy myself a pony. What’s up, Bowie? I can tell by that look in your eye, you’re up to no good.”

  Surprisingly, I’m not nearly as affronted as I should be.

  “You haven’t known me long enough to know that look in my eye.”

  “Trust me,” he says, pulling his coffee forward, his gaze never leaving mine. “I’ve been around you long enough to recognize it.”

  Tilly pops up. “Shep is basically a human lie detector. He has this strange supernatural ability to read people like nobody’s business. Once, I had a teeny tiny secret that was eating me up on the inside, and he called me on it. Of course, after I spoke with him about it, I felt miles better.” She sighs dreamily and it begs the question if he had done something else to make her feel miles better, too.

  “Nice.” Not nice. In addition to hiding my deep, dark secret from Shep—two of them to be exact—it seems I’ll have to put on an Oscar winning performance as if to prove I don’t have
any supernatural skeletons to hide. “I was just going to say that my internet search on Max Edwards didn’t yield anything. I thought maybe you could don your detective hat to see if you can find him—and, I promise to stay in the background like you did at the library. Only I don’t foresee me being mobbed by hormone-hungry women.”

  Shep closes his laptop. “I don’t need to don my detective hat. I remembered last night where I’ve seen him before. He’s been to a few of my local signings, and he just so happened to be at Maple Grove Community College as a student when I spoke to the creative writing class last week.”

  “Oh! Great. Let’s get back there and talk to him.”

  “No can do. It’s finals week. The semester just wrapped up.”

  Tilly grunts, “The guy probably has a day job.”

  Shep nods. “More like evenings. He’s a waiter at the Blue Vase in Maple Grove.”

  “Ooh.” Tilly’s shoulders dance with glee. “That’s a ritzy place. So when are we going?”

  “We?” I look up at her.

  “That’s right.” Her hot pink lips expand with a glint of mischief. “Men who dine at the Blue Vase obviously have money, and if I’m going to beat Jessie over the head with the mantra it’s just as easy to marry a rich man as it is a broke joke, then I need to lead by example.” She plucks her phone from her purse. “I’ll call and see if Max is on the schedule tonight.”

  “No, don’t do that,” Shep says just as she zips off.

  I shrug over at him. “I haven’t been here that long, but I do know you can’t stop Tilly once she sets her mind to something.”

  He gives a sly wink. “You have that in common.”

  “Hey? You really do know me.”

  Opal pauses our way, clad in a black leather jacket. Her matching skirt drops off just below the knee, and she’s wearing black tights with a herringbone pattern. But it’s that furry treasure in her arms that has my full attention. King sits against her chest and looks perfectly content to be burrowing into her leather jacket.

  “Opal, you look fabulous,” I say. “But it’s nearing triple digits out there. Aren’t you piping hot?”

  Her crimson lips pinch tight. “That’s precisely why I don’t plan on leaving the manor. The air conditioning is divine. Speaking of which, I just saw the electricity bill. I move we have Stitch Witchery every night of the week.”

  “That bad, huh?” I wince.

  “Worse.” She pokes me on the arm with her well-manicured fingernail. “We need more ideas, and fast. I’ve only got so much comfort to spare.”

  “Okay,” I say. “I’ll put on my thinking cap and come up with something great that will put us both in the green, I promise.”

  Tilly bops over once again. “Guess who’s going to dinner tonight at the Blue Vase?”

  Opal groans, “I’d love to, dear, but Bowie just pointed out it’s Hades out there, and if I begin to glisten, I’ll never get this skirt off.” She gives a wave with King’s paw before heading to the next table.

  “Tonight?” I say to Shep as if looking for approval, but I think we both know it was more of a command.

  He takes a full breath. “It sounds as if I get to have a little fun with two women tonight at the very same time,” he says it with a bona fide frown and I can’t help but laugh.

  “Oh, come on, Shep,” I tease. “I can tell by that look in your eye you’ve had a little fun with two women before at the very same time. Trust me, I’ve been around long enough to know this.” I give a sly wink of my own as I hand his own words right back to him.

  Now to get ready for a ritzy night out.

  Max Edwards owes me answers, and I know just the little black dress in my gently used closet that might pull every last confession out of him.

  * * *

  To be honest, when Tilly said the Blue Vase was ritzy, I automatically assumed it was ritzy by Starry Falls’ standards, something elegant and classy that required you to take your ball cap off before dinner. But what I wasn’t expecting was to feel as if I had just been transported straight to the Upper East Side of Manhattan.

  “Wow,” I muse as I take in the venue.

  The floors are stained a woodsy shade of ebony and the tables gleam of Carrara marble. Moody romantic music seeps from the speakers as elegantly dressed couples take to the dance floor. Every person here is dressed to the nines, men in suits and women in cocktail dresses. And the scent of a perfectly grilled steak is the piece de résistance.

  Tilly bumps her arm to mine. “I know, right? It’s like prom for adults, only it goes on every single night.”

  Shep steps in front of me with those intense eyes of his needling into mine.

  “You look amazing, Bowie.”

  Tilly scoffs. “So you’ve mentioned a time or ten. What about me?”

  “You too,” he says, not taking his gaze from mine. The irony with Shep’s compliments is that he only seems to be getting that much more annoyed each time he gives them to me.

  A waitress comes by and seats us near the window. It’s a nice, intimate, round table set for three with a votive candle in the middle, and if Tilly weren’t here, I think my hormones and my heart would have wanted to believe this was every bit a romantic date with Shep. For that reason alone, I’m a bit relieved Tilly is here. The last thing I need is to get romantically involved with anyone on my way to the Great White North. Not that Shep has any track record of holding down a relationship.

  Nora comes to mind and quickly dismantles that theory.

  The waitress, a tall blonde with eyes the size of silver dollars, can’t seem to pick her jaw up off the floor while gawking at the handsome stunner by my side.

  “Can I get you anything? Wine? Appetizers? A key to my condo?” She blinks back to life before whipping out a notepad and quickly jotting something down on it. “Here’s my number in the event you need it. Use it,” she says that last part like a command before taking off.

  Tilly smirks. “Well, at least you got that awkward getting-to-know-you phase out of the way. I say she’s a home run.”

  “We’re not here to play ball,” I snip as I crane my neck into the crowd. “Oh, look!” A spear of excitement rockets through me. “There he is.” I nod behind Shep, and both Tilly and he turn in that direction.

  Max Edwards looks dapper in a tuxedo and a white folded hand towel draped over his right arm as he serves dinner to a table not too far away.

  “We need to get his attention,” I whisper.

  Tilly checks her phone. “And I’m going to run out of time if I don’t get the attention of one of these sharp-dressed men.” She cranes her neck. “It looks as if they’re all congregating at the bar. I’ll see you kids later.”

  “Wait,” I say, grabbing her by the fingertips before she can get away. “What about dinner?”

  “Give me whatever you’re having.” She wrinkles her nose. “Lobster would be nice.” She takes off, and soon the waitress is back and Shep and I put in our orders, surf and turf specials all around.

  Shep leans in and that thick, spiced cologne of his ensconces me once again. I confess, there is something about this man’s cologne that intoxicates me to unsafe levels. Okay, fine. Everything about this man has the capability to intoxicate me regardless of time or place. It’s a wonder that hormonal hive of waitresses that keeps buzzing around our table hasn’t sunk a sack over his head and taken him hostage.

  “Bowie,” he whispers my name low and heated and my insides implode with heat. “He’s spotted me. He’s on his way over.”

  My lips part, and before I can say anything, Max Edwards himself is darkening our table. His tan glows against his dress shirt and his hair is neatly slicked back.

  “S.J. Wexler.” He breaks out into a giant grin. “Hope you don’t mind me interrupting your romantic evening to say hello.”

  “Not at all.” Shep smiles back and it looks shockingly genuine. Could I be witness to that single nice bone in his body? “Call me Shep. How’s the writing going?”
>
  “Geez.” Max inches back. “I can’t believe you remember me. This is incredible. It’s going great, thanks for asking. I’m still at the outlining phase of my novel, but I’m getting close to hitting the keyboard.”

  “Remember what I said, the first page is the toughest. Don’t be intimidated by a blank page because you will undoubtedly rewrite it many, many times in the process.”

  Max ticks his head to the side. “I know how that goes.”

  “Oh?” I lean in. “So you’re familiar with the editing process. Do you write anything other than novels?” I press my hand to my chest. “I’m Bowie Binx.”

  “Bowie Binx.” He gives a slight bow. “A beautiful name for a beautiful girl. And, in fact, I do write other things. I’m a songwriter as well.”

  “Songs?” It comes out with a touch too much enthusiasm. “As in rock music?”

  He squints to the ceiling. “More like country or folk.”

  “Hey”—I lift a finger his way—“I work down at the Mortimer Manor and we just had a folk singer come by. He died that same night, too.” I shudder at the thought. “Maybe you’ve heard of him? Perry Flint?”

  Max begins to cough and sputter. “Yes, oh yes. I knew Perry.” His cheeks burn bright. “We may not have always seen eye to eye, but he was a good musician. I’m a musician myself. Small-time. No contracts, no bells and whistles like Perry.” His jaw stiffens at the thought of Perry’s ride on easy street with all of those bells and whistles.

  “Well, I’m sure you’re great,” I say. “His song ‘Come Back to Me’ was my all-time favorite. Have you heard it?”

  Max hardens his eyes over mine. If looks could kill, I’d be dead twice over.

  Shep clears his throat. “Max, have you sold any of your songs?”

  “No.” He lets out an exasperated sigh. He’s gone from a crazed angry lunatic to a dejected dreamer in just one breath.

  “Please, take a quick seat.” Shep points to Tilly’s chair, and Max reluctantly fills it. “Did something happen?”

  Max gives a quick glance around before leaning in. “It did. I wrote a song and a big-time musician ripped it off. And when I asked for the credit that was due to me, he said he didn’t have to give it because the lyrics were merely something we were discussing, nothing more than a verbal exchange.”