I glared at the table, not able to look at him as I added, "If you want to throw your hat in the ring, you'd probably have a pretty good shot. You'd certainly be a better match for her than Lucas Dean or Mason Maxwell."
"Mason Maxwell?" My grandpa snorted. "Well, he does have money, I'll give him that."
Fortunately, the conversation turned to just how much of the valley Mason's family controlled compared to how much of the valley Janice Fletcher's family controlled. It seems they were always warring back and forth, one or the other trying to get the upper hand. Had been for close to two hundred years.
After we'd finished up our meal Matt helped me take the dishes into the kitchen while my grandpa went to fetch the Scrabble board. He's obsessed with that game. And last time we'd played Matt had won, which my grandpa could not let stand unchallenged.
I scooped the remaining casserole into a plastic container and handed it to Matt. "Here. Better than whatever awful food you're fixing yourself, I'm sure."
"Hey, now. Canned tuna and potato chips is a perfectly good meal."
I shuddered. "Please tell me you've at least discovered the wonders of microwave meals? A lot of them actually have vegetables in them, you know."
He shrugged one shoulder. "Vegetables are over-rated."
"You do realize that you don't have to live the life of the lonely pathetic bachelor, right? I'd bet that woman the other day isn't the only one trying to fix you up with a daughter or a niece or a granddaughter. Play your cards right you could get a lot of good meals out of it."
"Yeah, but they'd all come with expectations. And awkward conversations." He set the container on the counter. "Only reason I come over here for dinner is because you were so clear about how, what was it? There are more important things in life than being some man's wife?"
I almost softened that statement, but stopped myself in time. "You know, that German woman at the barkery, Greta? She's like Little Miss Matchmaker. I'd be careful you don't let her know you're single or she'll be trying to set you up, too."
"She's going to find you someone?" He leaned against the counter, crossing his arms.
"So she says. Of course, her idea of setting me up is finding me a nice, old man with lots of money who will die soon. She thinks that's the kind of man who makes an ideal first husband. I can marry for love later."
He laughed. It was a deep, rich sound that made my toes tingle.
I bit my lip. "So why is it you don't take anyone up on all those other invitations? Not looking to settle down?"
"I can't exactly make plans with a woman when I'm not sure where I want to be a year from now."
"So not planning on sticking around?" My stomach dropped a little at the thought of him moving away.
He rubbed at his chin. "I don't know. I mean, it made sense to come back here after I got out of the service and my dad died. There was a lot to take care of and the valley was really the only place I'd ever called home. Bob offered me the position as a cop and it all just fell into place. Maybe too easily, you know?"
"So if you don't stay here, what would you do?"
"I might re-enlist. They've offered me a pretty good bonus."
It was all I could do not to step forward and grab his arms and tell him not to go, but my grandpa saved me from making a fool of myself when he called for us from the living room.
As Matt went to join him I hung back, trying to control the emotions coursing through me. I knew if I tried to date him it would be a disaster, but I didn't want to lose him either. It wasn't often I felt that little spark with someone. I shook myself. Hard.
I had priorities. And falling in love was not one of them.
"Anyone want ice cream?" I shouted.
"Yeah, give me a bowl," my grandpa shouted back. "Matt? You want some? Maggie May, make it two."
"Alright. Will do."
By the time I'd scooped out three bowls of ice cream and taken them into the dining room, I was back under control. That didn't mean I wasn't thinking about Matt leaving to re-enlist for the rest of the night.
I was.
Chapter Twelve
The next morning I was NOT in a good mood. I wanted Janice Fletcher to die a horrible fiery death and I wanted Officer Matthew Barnes to stay in Baker Valley and smile at me with that great smile of his and come over for dinner with my grandpa and yet not actually ask me to make an emotional commitment I wasn't capable of making.
To make myself feel better I'd decided it was about time Fancy was allowed to come back to work with me, but she was so wound up by the chance to get out of the house and maybe see Lulu—Jamie's golden retriever puppy—that she wouldn't sit down the whole drive to the barkery and kept crying right in my ear.
So when I picked up a copy of the Baker Valley Gazette early that morning and saw the headline, How Clean Is Your Favorite Restaurant? I was ready to hurt someone. Especially because it was accompanied by a photo of a bakery box with our logo on it sitting on the top of a grimy pile of trash. The article itself toed the line—there was no actual mention of our store—but that photo sure implied a lot of things it shouldn't.
After the third customer walked in and glanced around the place as if looking for a mouse to scurry out from the corner, I'd had it. "Jamie. You're on your own for a bit. I'll be back."
"Wait. Where are you going?"
I waved the paper at her. "To deal with this."
"No! Let Mason Maxwell deal with it. You stay here."
I shook my head. "They had no right."
"And he'll deal with it. There will be a retraction in the paper tomorrow morning and probably one up on the website this afternoon."
"Doesn't matter. The damage is done. We should sue for lost sales."
Jamie shook her head. "We don't need to sue anyone, Maggie."
I started towards the door again. Jamie was my best friend and I loved her to pieces, but sometimes she was just a little too forgiving.
"Maggie. Promise me you won't confront Peter Nielsen. Let Mason handle this."
"Promise." That was easy enough to do. Peter Nielsen wasn't my target. I was going to the source: Janice Fletcher.
I shoved the door open, the bells at the top making a discordant jangle and stormed to my van, muttering to myself about how the world really would be a better place if some people would just up and die already.
I'd never been to Janice Fletcher's house, but that's the interesting thing about living in a small town. (Or in this case a series of small towns.) You pretty much know where all the major players live. And Janice Fletcher's house was hard to miss. It was a tactless monstrosity that dominated the hillside just outside of Bakerstown. She'd cut down all the trees on her lot so that it looked some sort of blight had hit the area. The house itself was hideous. It looked like a giant pimple on the face of the world.
Just like its owner.
I banged on her door, not caring that it wasn't even seven in the morning yet. If she could show up to protest my store that early, she could answer her damned door.
She finally answered on the fifth knock. She had her hair up in rollers and a tatty red robe on. Her house slippers were bulky things with little cat's heads on the end. And she had Pookums in her arms. Well, that's what I thought at least. Until I stepped into her house and realized that there were at least five other cats in that house. They meowed at us in some sort of crazy cat cacophony.
"What's up with your cats?"
"It's breakfast time. You interrupted my feeding them."
They wound their way around her legs and mine, crying out for their food. I sneezed. "Well go ahead and feed them then."
"No. You'll be gone soon enough."
I glanced around the place. There was a double-spiral staircase leading to an upstairs balcony. The main entranceway stretched towards an extremely large living room. At the far end of the entryway was an open doorway with what looked to be stairs leading downward. A large dining room was off to my right with a kitchen barely visible at the end.
T
he house would've been nice inside if it hadn't been forced to suffer from Janice Fletcher's bad taste. Honestly, some colors just do not go together.
The cats continued to cry, growing louder and louder as they wrapped themselves around her feet and mine. I heard a crashing sound from the direction of the kitchen. Yet another cat? How many did one person need?
(I know. Cats are wonderful and lovely and why wouldn't you have ten million of them if you could. Yeah, yeah.)
I was already regretting the anger that had brought me to her door, but it was too late to back down. "That article this morning was you, wasn't it?"
"Of course it was. And the health inspection will be, too." She gave me such a nasty smile I wanted to punch her teeth out.
(I swear I'm not normally violent like that, but that woman just pushed all of my buttons.)
"Jamie and I keep a clean shop. There's nothing for an inspector to find."
She stroked Pookum's back as she stepped closer to me. "I wouldn't be so sure…"
I sneezed and stepped back. "Did you do something to our store?"
She just smiled at me.
"Did you? What did you do? Why do you have it in for us?" I wanted to grab her and shake her. But I didn't. I swear, I did not lay a single hand on her.
"You should leave now. I have to feed the cats."
"You did something. What?"
"Close the door on your way out." She turned and sauntered towards the kitchen.
I'll admit, there was a small part of me that wanted to run after her and beat her sanctimonious brains in. But I didn't.
I swear.
Instead, I raced out the door and ran to my van. I needed to get back to the barkery as soon as possible. I needed to figure out what Janice Fletcher had done to our store before the health inspector arrived, because you just knew after that article that we'd be getting a surprise inspection.
I was driving so fast as I left I almost side-swiped a green sedan that had just turned onto her block. Right after that I had to slam on my brakes as a man jogged in front of my car wearing a hoodie with the hood up and long sweat pants. I wasn't a big fan of being observed when I exercised either, but that man was taking it to an extreme.
Chapter Thirteen
I was almost back to the store when I realized I'd handled that all wrong.
(That's my curse. I act in the moment and then think it through later and second-guess everything. There's always a better way things could've gone. Too bad I can never think of the right thing to say or do in the actual moment.)
I whipped a U-turn and headed back to Janice's house, but got stuck behind some touristy RV that was going at least five under the speed limit. As I quietly muttered to myself about what they should really test for on driver's tests and how some people should simply not be allowed to drive, I tried to think of what I was going to say when I got back to Janice's house.
I mean, she clearly had it in for me. How exactly did I expect to convince her to let up? For one horrible moment I wondered if there was someone else I could point her towards. People like that always need someone to go after, so chances are she wasn't going to leave me alone until she'd either destroyed me or found a better target.
But that wasn't nice. No one else deserved to go through what I was.
I sat outside her house for a long, long moment wondering whether it was worth it to even attempt to reason with her. But finally I pulled myself out of the car and walked up her front steps. I had to try. It wasn't just me this was impacting. It was Jamie and our store and Fancy.
For their sakes I had to solve the puzzle of Janice Fletcher.
The front door was slightly ajar when I reached it, but I figured that was my fault. She hadn't walked me out, after all, so I must not have pulled it closed tightly enough.
I pushed the door open and stepped inside. "Janice? Janice, it's Maggie. Can we talk?"
There was a loud crashing sound from the direction of the kitchen. I headed in that direction through the dining room, but all I found was a wet cast iron pan in the sink and a large plate on the counter with cats huddled around it eating. Whoever had put down their food wasn't the most fastidious person in the world, that's for sure. It looked like someone had just opened about five cans of cat food and dumped them in the middle of that plate without any care or concern.
Odd, but who am I to judge how someone else feeds their pets.
"Janice?" I slowly made my way toward the living room, listening for any sign of where she might be. Knowing my luck she was in the bathroom or shower or something equally embarrassing and awkward.
There was a creaking sound from the direction of the doorway to the basement, so I moved in that direction. "Janice? It's Maggie Carver. Remember me? I was just here. Can we talk?"
I walked through the living room, still seeing no sign of her, but when I turned towards the door to the basement, I saw one of her cat slippers in the doorway. I stepped closer. "Janice?"
One of the cats brushed past me and made its way down the stairs. I heard that creaking sound again. Must be a bad step.
I moved to the top of the stairs and looked down into the darkness, but I couldn't see anything. Not really wanting to, but compelled to do so, I turned the light on.
And saw Janice Fletcher at the bottom of the stairs, a cat sitting on her chest meowing loudly.
I knew I should call 9-1-1. Maybe she was still alive. (Although, no. I won't go into details but it was pretty clear she hadn't survived the fall down those steps.) Still, someone should. The woman was dead after all, and she couldn't just stay down there forever.
But…
And this is horrible. And, yes, it was a mistake. But see, the last time I'd called the cops when I found a dead body my grandpa had ended up almost going to prison for a murder he didn't commit. And now there I was, in Janice Fletcher's house, with a reason to want her dead, and absolutely no alibi because I'd been there both right before and right after she died.
And it was probably just a frickin' accident caused by one of those ridiculous cats of hers or those cat slippers she insisted on wearing. And all that would happen if I called the cops was I'd have to explain what I was doing there and they'd be bound to wonder if it was really an accident with me found practically standing over her dead body.
But I figured if someone like a neighbor or her nephew were to drop by later and just find her they'd easily see the truth of the matter, right?
I know. But that's the way I figured it in the moment. I told you—I have my best thoughts after things happen, not during.
I sneezed and heard a loud crash from the basement. Probably another one of her cats—they were all over the place—but that decided me. I needed to just get the heck out of there. I did not want someone coming along and finding me at the top of Janice Fletcher's stairs with her dead body at the bottom. Plus, if I didn't leave soon I was going to be sneezing and sniffling for the rest of the day.
Not to mention, the whole thing was just creeping me out. Big, dark house. Lots of cats. Dead body. It was a good opening scene to a horror movie if you asked me.
I know. I should've called the cops.
And if you ever find a dead body, definitely do so. But I didn't.
Chapter Fourteen
I turned the light back off and carefully let myself out the front door, using the bottom of my t-shirt to grip the handle so I wouldn't leave any prints. And this time I made sure it had actually closed properly. Didn't need all of those cats out wandering the neighborhood. (They looked like indoor cats to me, although don't ask me why I thought that about them.)
As I walked towards the van I looked around to see if there was anyone around who could testify that they'd seen me—not that I knew what I'd do if there was, I wasn't a killer after all—but I saw no one.
I drove back to the store, grateful this time to be stuck behind some slow-moving tourist. Halfway there the shakes set in and I wondered if I'd made the right decision. It wasn't too late. I c
ould still call it in, but what would I say?
"Yeah, sorry. Found a dead body. Not the person who killed them. Decided to leave rather than tell you about it. Now I’m feeling a little guilty about that choice, so figured I'd better let you know so you can swing by there before her cats eat her face."
I know, the cats had just been fed, but all those horrible stories of single women who'd died alone at home and been eaten by their cats were running through my head. (Okay, so maybe that's only ever happened to one person, but in my mind there were hundreds of them.)
I chewed on my thumbnail as I wondered if anyone would even miss Janice Fletcher. Would they miss her enough to swing by her house? If they did, would they go in? Would they look in the basement?
I parked in front of the barkery, still not sure what to do. I thought about calling Mason Maxwell. He was my lawyer, after all. But there was a foolish part of me that was just hoping it would all go away. Janice Fletcher was dead, which meant no more harassment. Someone would find her eventually, I was sure. And then it would all be over.
Right?
Yeah, no.
Chapter Fifteen
"Where did you go?" Jamie asked as soon as I walked through the door.
"I just drove around a bit." I set my purse down in the office, downed a couple of Benadryl, and snagged a cinnamon roll that was on a cooling tray.
(I know, I lied to her and that wasn't very nice, but Jamie has a moral center that would've demanded calling the cops, so it was better to just not involve her. I don't lie often, if that's any consolation.)
I took a moment to savor the spicy sweet taste of the cinnamon roll while I pondered whether I could convince Jamie to start making chocolate croissants like you find in France and, if I could, whether I would be okay with the twenty-plus pounds I'd put on as a result. I was pretty sure that was an okay tradeoff. Life is meant to be lived after all.
"I've been thinking," I said. "I bet that article triggers a health inspection. We should clean this place. Top to bottom. Inside out."
A Crazy Cat Lady and Canine Crunchies Page 5
