The Trouble with Cupid

by Carolyn Haines

  She opened the door to find Gregg holding an enormous bouquet of flowers. He held them out to her, a goofy smile on his face. As she reached to take them she felt something brush firmly against her leg and she shrank away. The flowers fell on the threshold between them.

  "What was that? Something ran into me." She looked behind her but saw nothing unusual. "Oh, I'm sorry. Let me get those." She and Gregg bent at the same time to pick up the flowers, knocking each other in the head. It was like the worst cliché television sketch, but once they were standing again, they laughed.

  "You better come in before we're both too injured to eat," Holly said.

  Gregg held out the flowers again with a comic bow. Holly kissed him on the cheek, suddenly feeling a little shy, then took the flowers.

  "Let me put these in a vase. I'll be right back." She called to Trent. "Time to tend bar, bro."

  As she walked down to the kitchen she looked around, hoping a squirrel or something hadn't gotten into the house. But she saw nothing.

  When she returned to the living room, Gregg had a bourbon on the rocks in his hand and was updating Trent on the goings-on at the school.

  "Yeah, I got a nice apology from one of the mothers that surprised me. Drop-off took longer than usual because everybody wanted to talk about it."

  In fact, Holly had only gotten to smile at him as she walked Ally inside. When she came out again, he was still surrounded by admiring young mothers who had heard about his taking down the culprit.

  They were interrupted by a scream from upstairs. The three of them rose as one and pounded up the stairs, terrified that something awful was happening to Ally.

  "Get him out! Get him out! Trouble's going to eat them," Ally cried as they rushed into her bedroom.

  Holly went to comfort Ally, who was standing on her bed, pointing at her closet. Trouble was crouched in front of the door pawing at its underside as though trying to pull it open.

  "Honey, it's okay. It's just Trouble. He's not going to hurt you."

  "He'll eat Raymond and Julio. He'll eat them!"

  Gregg bent to pick up Trouble and held him securely in his arms. “I’m sure Trouble would never do that,” he said.

  Trent opened the closet door. It took him a few seconds to see what Ally was so upset about. Then he picked up a small plastic habitat.

  "What's your old hamster habitat doing up here?" he asked. "There's a mouse in it, Ally."

  Ally wriggled out of Holly's arms and climbed off the bed. "Two mice. Julio's in the nest he made."

  "Julio made a nest?" Gregg and Trouble both took a closer look at the habitat. Trouble's nose twitched. "Are you sure?"

  "Of course I'm sure," she said. "Look."

  Sure enough, Julio was snuggled into a pile of shredded tissues. Trent set the habitat on a table and shone Ally's desk lamp onto the nesting Julio. Holly could see several babies nursing at Julio's belly.

  She touched Ally’s hair fondly. “Munchkin, I think your class is going to have to change Julio’s name to Julia!”

  * * *

  Ah! In the words of the great Shakespeare, this is an “all’s well that ends well” moment. (Or perhaps just one of our happy endings. We shall see.) It’s amusing to me that young Ally was afraid that I would actually—ugh—attempt to eat poor Raymond and Julia. The common mus musculus holds no attraction for me at all. Give me a trout filet with a simple butter and lemon sauce any day. Besides, these mice are friends of mine. I went to a lot of bother to see they were rescued from Ally’s well-meaning but dubious care.

  As to the crime, I never did care for the very odd Marian Dempsey. She owns a Chihuahua with a very bad attitude, and I’ve had to put him in his place a time or two. But even I was surprised that she was behind the spray-painting culprit. Still, what can one expect from an individual who disdains felines?

  * * *

  In the kitchen, Gregg held Trouble while Holly broke up bits of cocktail shrimp for the cat to eat. When it was ready, she put the plate on the counter and Gregg set the cat down in front of it. Trouble ate hungrily.

  "You're a good guy, cat," Gregg said.

  "Pretty amazing," Holly said.

  Gregg put an arm around Holly. She snuggled against him as they watched the cat eat. When he was done, he daintily washed his face with his paws. "I called Tammy Lynn while you were getting Ally dressed. She said to put Trouble outside, and let him make his way home." Before Gregg was even finished speaking, Trouble jumped off the counter and went to stand silently at the back door. After giving him a final grateful scratch behind the ears, Holly let him outside. Trouble disappeared into the night.

  At dinner, a relieved and chastened Ally explained that her classmate, Jacques, had told her he was going to let the mice out because his mother said mice were dirty and didn't belong in school.

  "I was afraid he would really do it, so I brought them home in my backpack." She cast a worried look at Gregg. "They were scared at first when I took them out of the cage. But don't worry. I put aluminum foil over a cup and punched holes in it so they could breathe."

  Trent told her he was glad she'd taken good care of the mice, but that she'd stolen them from the school, and that there would be repercussions. She was to lose her computer and television privileges for a week, and pay for extra mouse food for the school.

  "You'll need to apologize to the class at circle time tomorrow, Ally. You know taking classroom property without permission is against the rules," Gregg said.

  Ally nodded and looked down at her plate. Holly heard her whisper, "At least Jacques didn't get to let them out." She wasn't sure, but was that a smile at the corners of her niece's mouth?

  * * *

  Holly and Gregg stood alone on the front porch. Gregg held the habitat in his arms. "I'll drop these by school and make Raymond and Julia more comfortable before I go home. Want to come with me?"

  She was torn, but only momentarily. "Tomorrow," she said. "Make me dinner at your place and we'll see what happens. Let's make sure the drama of the last couple days hasn't thrown us into a situational passion."

  Gregg furrowed his brow. "Is that a thing?" he asked. "Or are you kidding? I can't tell."

  Holly smiled. "I just made it up. I don't want to ruin your reputation by spending the night at your house. Ally isn't always so good at keeping secrets."

  "If you say so." Gregg looked around. "Is it okay if I kiss you good night out here? I don't want to ruin your reputation."

  "Let them talk. I'm from the evil big city, remember?" She took the habitat from him and set it on a chair.

  "We should talk about that, too," he said.

  "Tomorrow," she said, putting her arms around his neck, and cutting off any response with a passionate kiss. He held her tightly, and in that moment she knew she never wanted him to let go.

  About the Author

  Laura Benedict is the Edgar- and ITW Thriller Award- nominated author of seven novels of suspense, including the forthcoming The Stranger Inside (February 2019). Small Town Trouble, her latest book, is a cozy crime novel. Her Bliss House gothic trilogy includes The Abandoned Heart, Charlotte’s Story (Booklist starred review), and Bliss House. Her short fiction has appeared in Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine and in numerous anthologies like Thrillers: 100 Must-Reads, The Lineup: 20 Provocative Women Writers, and St. Louis Noir. A native of Cincinnati, she lives in Southern Illinois with her family. Visit her website to read her blog and sign up for her quarterly newsletter.

  www.laurabenedict.com

  Tidbit from Trouble #3

  Humans can be an odd lot. Unlike discerning felines like myself, they often deceive themselves, value appearances over character, and harm those they love in an effort to protect them. But sometimes, one meets a human of uncommon grace, insight, and compassion. Father Dan Reilly was one of those, and as a result, I found it a greater pleasure than usual to employ my gift for detecting in his service. Helping along not one but two budding romances was only an added perk.

&n
bsp; The Madonna in the Garden

  By Claire Matturro

  I like the view just fine from the top of Detective Lucas Kelly’s unmarked police car, and so I ignore his temporary partner’s suggestion I get back inside the vehicle. Thank you, no, I meow at her as I arch my back, flatten my ears, and sniff the air.

  “I swear, Lucas,” Detective Mai Thi Pham says, “you’re going to get a reputation as radically weird or way worse if you keep dragging that cat around to crime scenes.”

  I resist the urge to hiss at her. That cat. That’s what she’s been calling me ever since Lucas first partnered up with her.

  My name is Trouble, not “that cat.” I’m on loan to Lucas from my adopted biped, Abby, so that I can help Lucas solve a big, troublesome case in Tallahassee. But right at the moment, we’ve been called out on a little case. My real person is Tammy Lynn, and I’d go home to her in a heartbeat in Wetumpka, Alabama, but Lucas needs me. He is a fine lad, but I’m afraid he couldn’t find his badge and gun without me, let alone a clue. Or, as in the situation in front of us right now, without me, he couldn’t find a stolen statue of the Mother Mary from St. Andrew’s Anglican Catholic Church in Tallahassee.

  As I sit on top of his unmarked car, I am watching a positive gaggle of young people flocking around an elderly priest. A teen girl with long, white blond hair gives the stately old man a peck on his cheek as I hear her say goodbye. Another young lady, with dark spiky hair, giggles and squeezes his hand. Two other females, brunettes both, wave and practically dance as they begin to leave. Ahead of them, two young men, still at the awkward stage of long legs and arms and seemingly unsure of how to act, duck and dodge as they race to a battered old van. One of the boys—with dark skin and black hair—races ahead, only to turn back and wait for the blond girl. I see their fingers touch lightly and quickly, and the girl smiles up at his face, then breaks and runs for the van.

  When the happy clatter of the gang of teens is gone, I finally get a solid look at the priest, and I can see the fatigue and the sadness in him. Lucas has been called out to help him, but all I know about the case so far is that a piece of garden statuary has turned up missing.

  Lucas generally handles more important investigations—like the big case I’m helping him with—but temporarily he’s been reassigned to work with Mai, a brand new detective who is yet learning her way around a crime scene. Mai is third-generation Vietnamese, and her grandparents came over to the United States in the 1970s. Born and raised here, she is every bit as American as Lucas, Abby, and the girls and boys next door. But she looks Vietnamese. Maybe because of some mistreatment on that basis she’s got a tiny chip on her shoulder. She is also, according to Lucas, brilliant and gifted with a talent for foreign languages, and speaks several while currently learning more. The Tallahassee Police Department often uses her for a translator, or at least that’s what Lucas tells me.

  Lucas, in contrast to Mai, is Opie-all-grown-up and can barely handle formal English, sprinkling his words with Southern vernacular that sometimes puzzles others. He doesn’t have any chips or nastiness in him, and he’s been a regular chap to me as I’ve been sharing a flat with him now for a few weeks. It didn’t take me any time at all to teach him to buy me fresh, wild salmon and cod, and to stop trying to feed me that nasty, dyed pellet stuff in a bag.

  But all that is beside the immediate point. As I said, we are here because the priest at St. Andrew’s has called in a police investigation after someone stole the Madonna statue from the church’s butterfly garden. Lucas and Mai gather around the priest as I survey the situation from the top of the car.

  “You see,” Father Daniel Reilly says, “it just disappeared a few days ago. The statue wasn’t that big, or that heavy, and anyone could have carried it off. Though I can’t imagine why someone would do so.””

  “Why didn’t you call us sooner?” Mai asks.

  Lucas leans toward the elderly priest, whose voice is soft and strained like a man who has preached too many long sermons. There’s a world-weary slope to his shoulders, and he walks with a cane. But already I like the spark in the man’s eyes, the spirit in his voice, and the intelligence in his words.

  Lucas fingers his notebook, waiting for Father Dan to answer.

  “Because I didn’t want the person who took the statue to get in trouble. I do not want him—or her—arrested. And I rather hoped who ever took it would simply return it.” Father Dan looks first at Lucas, then at Mai, and finally over toward the car at me. I appreciate that he’s including me in the conversation and meow back at him.

  Lucas puts his notebook away as if to say without an arrest, there’s no role for him. Mai, on the other hand, steps closer to the priest. “What do you want then? How can we help you?” She asks this with a sensitivity that I hadn’t heard in her voice before.

  “I just want the statue back.” Father Dan’s face collapses, and sadness shows in every crease. “You see, it was a gift to the church. From my late wife. “

  “Your…wife?” Mai’s puzzlement is evident in her expression. “But, you are a Catholic priest, aren’t you?”

  He smiles and nods a bit as if he has heard this question before. “I’m an Anglican Catholic priest, and we owe much of our heritage to the Anglican Church and the Episcopal Church. Which is to say, our priests can marry.”

  “Ah, I see.” Mai smiles back at him.

  I can tell from her soft smile that Mai likes this man already. I meow my approval.

  “As I was saying, my wife wanted me to keep it among the flowers and plants in the butterfly garden.” He raises his eyes toward Mai’s. “She said the statue would remind all of us of her great love after she was gone.” He pauses, holding Mai’s eyes with his own. “Though no one would ever forget her love.”

  “I have a picture of it.” He pulls out his billfold and shows them a photograph. “See, it wasn’t that big, but the detail on it was exquisite.” He pauses. “Just beautiful.” The man looks near to tears. Mai rests a hand on his shoulder. I jump down from the car and race over toward him. Rubbing against his legs, I purr and try to tell him it’s all right. We’ll find the Madonna.

  Lucas straightens up and brings his notebook back out. “All right, sir. Tell us, please, when you first noticed it was missing.”

  As the priest, Lucas, and Mai talk, I stand still and study the area with my keen eyesight. The teens have stirred up the grass and dirt though, and it’s rained several times since the statue disappeared. As I turn my head here and there, I despair of seeing anything useful. Still, I look. In a moment, I’ll put my nose to the job too when I begin a step-by-step search through the area.

  As I survey the grounds, I take mental notes. This being February, the butterfly garden is not at its best, but I can see the promise that spring will bring to the dormant plants. It’s well tended, with no weeds, and a border of white rocks. A fire bush, nipped by a slight frost, is centered in a ring of rose bushes. There are plants I don’t recognize, and I sense rather than see the quiescent bulbs under the ground.

  Somebody loves this garden. That’s easy to see.

  People also love this small church, that’s equally easy for me to detect. The grounds are beautifully landscaped, the church sparkles with new white paint, the red door seems to be winking a welcome, and out back, the rectory is bordered in potted flowers in delightful bloom.

  Resting at Father Dan’s feet, I hold my ears up straight and purr. He reaches down and pets me, humming something soft as he does so. The man seems far beyond the work of gardening. But no doubt, the members of his flock tend to the grounds and the plants. Perhaps the teens who just left are his gardeners as their devotion to him was quite obvious.

  All in all, the church and its grounds are a sweet, peaceful place.

  Which makes me wonder why someone would steal the Madonna? Was there some hidden value to it? If it was just for pure meanness, wouldn’t the culprits have busted up something? Knocked over the pots of flowers? Painted something ugly
on the church door?

  Puzzling, I wander off, sniffing and looking along a wide perimeter and only gradually coming in tight to the spot where the statue once stood. As I circle, I leave the elderly priest to the attentions of Mai and Lucas. Carefully, I nose around the spot where the Madonna statue used to be, and I spot tiny flecks of glitter on the ground. With my strong eyesight, I can follow the glitter a few feet as it trails toward the parking lot.

  Somebody with glitter on their person had no doubt gotten out of a car and traversed the grounds to the butterfly garden. I follow the trail back and forth and spot nothing new. Perhaps it was one of the teenagers, though the glitter is matted with the rain and the dirt, and does not appear to have been dropped today.

  With a certain sense of challenge, I return to Father Dan, Mai, and Lucas.

  The priest is telling them a story about the roses in the garden. Mai’s eyes are soft and dreamy as she listens. Lucas leans toward the elderly man, intent on the words. I meow, and Lucas picks me up. In a second, I’m on top of Lucas’ shoulder, curling around his neck, and listening to the priest’s story also.

  The first roses were planted by his wife, Father Dan explains. After her passing, a younger priest and some members of the congregation enlarged the garden, and planted native plants among the many roses to withstand the fluctuations of Tallahassee weather, and to attract butterflies and hummingbirds. The garden grew.

  But all along, the Madonna had watched over the garden, beautiful and serene in the midst of the roses.

  Until some miscreant took her.

  “Oh, there was this,” Father Dan says and reaches inside a pocket. He pulls out a damp envelope and hands it to Mai. “One of our members found this near where the Madonna used to be. I don’t know if it means anything or not. It could have just blown in during all these rain storms we’ve had.”