A Crazy Cat Lady and Canine Crunchies

by Aleksa Baxter

  Jamie glanced towards the front where our latest shop assistant was ringing up a customer. "This is the busiest time of the morning."

  "Not at the barkery. You guys keep handling the customers, I'll do the cleaning."

  "You? Are you okay? You hate to clean."

  "I know. But needs must and all."

  I really do hate cleaning, as some of my college roommates learned the hard way. I'm not filthy or anything. I have a very sensitive nose so anything that stinks does not last. But it's just not something I take joy in and I have a high dust tolerance. Or so it would seem given the complaints of those who do seem to enjoy cleaning.

  Anyway. I printed out a copy of the health inspection form and got to work. And I almost enjoyed it. It was nice to have some mindless physical activity to distract me from the mess of that morning. Not that I wasn't thinking about it, just that I at least had something to do with my hands while I thought.

  About half an hour later Mason Maxwell walked in looking like some big town billionaire instead of the small-town lawyer he really was. I bet the man didn't even own a pair of tennies. Or hiking boots.

  Jamie beamed at him from behind the counter. "Hey, Mason. What can I get you?"

  Mason, huh? Like they were good buddies or something. I wondered what he'd do if I called him Mason. Probably frown at me like I'd broken some unspoken rule of etiquette. Not that I wanted to be on a first-name basis with him anyway.

  He smiled at her. It almost made him approachable. "Let me try one of those cinnamon rolls I've heard so much about."

  "Absolutely. And a coffee?"

  I knew that tone of voice. My friend was most definitely interested. I sighed. When was she going to date a man who'd actually be a good choice for her?

  I scrubbed at the table I was working on a little harder than was necessary as I wondered what had brought him by. Had Jamie called him about the article? Or had he come by on his own?

  "Mr. Maxwell." I set my bleach bucket under the counter as Jamie went to the back to specially prepare his cinnamon roll,

  "Ms. Carver."

  "I was meaning to call you today. Did you see that article in the paper about sanitation issues at local restaurants?"

  "No, I hadn't had a chance to read the paper yet this morning."

  Jamie handed him his cinnamon roll. "Maggie, why don't you let him eat his breakfast before you start in on that?"

  "Because the sooner Peter Nielsen issues a retraction, the better."

  "It's not like he named us."

  "No. He just included a picture of one of our bakery boxes right next to the headline." I slammed a copy of the paper down on the counter for Mason Maxwell to see.

  Jamie's competent as competent can be and completely unruffleable, but she's also not one for open conflict. Even when it's warranted like it was this time.

  Mason quickly scanned the text, noted the picture, and nodded. "That is definitely worthy of a retraction. I will give him a visit as soon as I finish here." He took a bite of his cinnamon roll and closed his eyes for a moment in pleasure. "You are an excellent cook, Jamie."

  "Thank you." Jamie blushed and ducked her head. I'm pretty sure she even batted her eyelashes at him.

  I decided it was time for me to get to work in the kitchen. It's not that I objected to her liking Mason Maxwell. (Although I couldn't really see it myself. He's so…stiff.) But I just hate to see the way women contort themselves around a man they like. All of a sudden it's batted eyes, girly giggles, and ducked heads. I know it's just biology at work, but doesn't mean I have to enjoy watching it.

  (And, no, I'm not immune to doing it myself, which kind of makes it worse, really. To hate it and do it anyway and then hate yourself for doing it. Not that I really hate myself ever, but you know what I mean.)

  Anyway.

  An hour later when I checked back on Jamie, Mason was gone and she was in conversation with some well-dressed man I'd never seen before, both of them leaning on the counter and talking softly. The man was tall, ice-blond, and dressed all in black, right down to his fancy shoes which looked like a black leather version of the ones Mason Maxwell wore.

  Ugh. It was contagious. Before I knew it the whole town was going to be overrun by men in pressed slacks, soft sweaters, and fancy shoes. Honestly, what was wrong with blue jeans?

  "Maggie, this is Don. Don this is my co-owner Maggie. Don's in town for business for a few days. Said we might see him around since he'll need a place to hang out that isn't a dingy little hotel room."

  Like this man was ever going to stay in a dingy little hotel room. He probably had a suite at the resort. Or an Airbnb rental that was five-hundred a night.

  "Nice to meet you, Don. Mind if I steal my business partner away for a minute?"

  "No. Not at all."

  He made his way to a corner table on the café side as I turned to Jamie. "Is Mr. Maxwell going to talk to Peter Nielsen for us?"

  "Of course. He said he would."

  "Just making sure."

  "Why don't you like him? I mean, he's smart. He's funny. He's good-looking."

  Mason Maxwell, funny? And good-looking? I mean, sure, if you like Sean Connery in his older incarnation and it isn't about the accent. But…

  "He's a little old, don’t you think?"

  "He's not even fifty. And aren't you the one always telling me I need to improve my taste in men?"

  "Well, yeah." I glanced towards Don who was trying to listen in without listening in. "But someone like that guy over there was more what I had in mind."

  She winked at me. "No rule that says I can't date them both. It's just a little crush, after all. No point pinning my hopes on just one guy who may or may not be interested. Speaking of…" She left me to go join Don at his table.

  As I watched them laugh and lean close, I wondered what it's like to be that person. The one that can see the whole dating world as a smorgasbord to be sampled from. Someone who doesn't mind when they find that yet another person is not to their liking after all. Or is but isn't interested. Someone who just lets it all roll past them and enjoys it for what it is.

  Me, I take all of it far too seriously. Partially because they don't always shake off when I find they're not what I wanted and then it's just awkward and uncomfortable when they keep calling and won't go away. Or worse, just showing up. Only way to avoid that is to date complete strangers which has its own set of risks. (Seriously, I watch way too many true crime shows. And police procedurals. I'm sure the majority of men are not stalkers or crazy rapists, but watch enough of those shows and you start to wonder.)

  But enough about my dysfunctions.

  By the time the health inspector showed up for his "surprise" inspection a couple hours later—right in the middle of our lunch rush, I might add—we were ready and waiting and passed with flying colors.

  It's good to be prepared.

  Unfortunately, when the cops showed up two hours after that? I was anything but prepared to see them.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Matt walked through the door first, Officer Clark right behind him. I knew it wasn't a social visit by the way Officer Clark's hand rested on his gun as he glared at me. What did he think I was going to do? Pull a shotgun from under the counter and shout, "You're never going to take me alive?"

  Please.

  "Ms. Carver." Matt stopped about five feet away. Ouch, that hurt.

  "Officer Barnes. Officer Clark. How can I help you?"

  "Were you aware that Janice Fletcher is dead?"

  Tricky question, that. If I answered yes, then I was admitting I'd been in her house and seen her dead body and done nothing about it. If I answered no and someone had seen me then I would have started off what was clearly a police investigation on a very, very bad foot.

  I knew what Mason Maxwell would say: "Shut your mouth and call your lawyer." But since when did I listen to good common sense?

  Jamie came over. "What's wrong? What's going on?"

  Matt stepped c
loser. "Ms. Carver. Were you aware that Janice Fletcher is dead?"

  Officer Clark sighed in disgust. "You know she is. The neighbor saw her running out of there."

  I met Matt's blue eyes. "I didn't kill her."

  "But you knew she was dead?"

  I shrugged slightly before turning to Jamie. "I need you to call Mason Maxwell for me." I turned back to Matt. "Am I under arrest? Or do you just need to question me?"

  "Maggie…"

  Officer Clark stepped forward. "We should put her under arrest."

  I ignored him and kept my attention focused on Matt. "I'll meet you at the station in half an hour if I'm not under arrest. I didn't kill her. I'm not sure anyone did. But I'm not going to say more without my lawyer present."

  Matt nodded. "We'll meet you at the station."

  Officer Clark sent me one last snarly look but at least they both left without handcuffing me and dragging me after them.

  Jamie stepped closer. "Maggie, what was that about?"

  "You heard him. Janice Fletcher is dead. And they obviously suspect me."

  She grabbed my arm as I tried to step past her. "Did you do it?"

  "Do you really think I'm capable of that?"

  "I think anyone's capable of anything if the circumstances are right. But if you did do it, I don't think you set out to do it."

  "Oh that's a comfort." I pushed past her. "For the record, I would never think you could kill someone."

  I grabbed my purse and leashed up Fancy. "Call Mason Maxwell. Tell him to meet me at the jail. I'll swing by my house and tell my grandpa what's happening when I drop Fancy off."

  My grandpa was none too pleased when I told him what had brought me home so early, but I told him not to worry it would all be cleared up soon enough. I figured Janice Fletcher had just tripped on one of her eight million cats. Only question was, could anyone prove it?

  I figured there had to be some difference in the injuries someone would suffer if they'd tripped down a flight of stairs instead of been shoved down them. It always seems to work the opposite way on those crime shows where they eventually determine that the husband's story of his wife's unfortunate fall down the stairs with her laundry basket was just made up crap.

  I certainly hoped so. Because if not clearly someone had seen me running from her house. And not like I had an alibi. I'd been there right before she died and right after she died, which meant I might as well have been standing over her body the whole time.

  I sat on the floor and buried my face in Fancy's fur, but she quickly pulled away. She loves me, but not enough to let me snuggle all over her. (What can I say, we're a lot alike.)

  "I have to go." I pushed myself to my feet. "With any luck I'll be home for dinner. If I'm not, you know where to find me."

  My grandpa reached for the non-existent pack of cigarettes in his shirt pocket and then cussed when he remembered he no longer smoked. I grabbed his hand. It was trembling slightly. "Promise me two things. Well, three."

  "What?"

  "First, you won't smoke because of this." I didn't want to be the cause for him taking it up again, and I still remembered how he'd gone for the pack of cigarettes he kept stashed in his workroom when they came to arrest him.

  "Fine. What else?"

  "If they do put me in jail, you'll take care of Fancy for me. I'm sure Matt'll help if you need it, but please, take care of her. She's my world."

  He nodded. "And three?"

  "You'll take care of yourself."

  He snorted. "I've been taking care of myself for eighty-two years. I think I can do so for a little while longer."

  I gave him a quick, fierce hug. "I hope so."

  He grabbed my chin and looked me in the eye. "You better be home for dinner, young lady."

  "I'll try." I gave him another hug and rushed out the door before I could start crying.

  I'd never messed up that bad in my life and I wasn't sure how I was going to fix it. But I had to somehow, because my grandpa and Fancy needed me, whether either one realized it or not.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Mason Maxwell was waiting for me outside the police station. The station is so close to my grandpa's house I'd decided to walk, so I had a good long time to watch him as I slowly came closer. He was not amused.

  "Mr. Maxwell. Jamie reached you I see?"

  He nodded. "What is this about?"

  "She didn't tell you?"

  "I want to hear it from you."

  I glanced towards the single-story sandstone building. I could see the receptionist sitting behind her desk, Matt and Officer Clark behind her, watching us through the glass doors.

  "Janice Fletcher is dead. I didn't kill her. I honestly think she tripped on one of her cats. But I was in her house this morning around the time of her death."

  "Before or after?"

  I bit my lip. "Both. But not during."

  He stepped closer, his eyes flashing. "What?"

  "I went to yell at her about the article in the paper. And then I left. But when I was almost back to the store I decided to go back to her house and see if I could reason with her. She was alive when I left the first time and dead when I returned. Her body was at the bottom of the basement stairs."

  "Did you touch the body?"

  I shook my head.

  "Did you call the cops?"

  I shook my head again. "They said a neighbor saw me leaving. I assume that was the first time, when she was still alive."

  Mason Maxwell visibly worked to control his anger. It was fascinating to watch, because he was clearly a man of intense passions who managed to rein them in rather than spew them all over the world like I always seem to.

  When he was fully under control he held the outer door open for me, ever the gentleman even when he clearly thought his client was a fool. "Best get this over with."

  I turned to him before opening the inner door. "Do you want me to answer their questions? Or refuse to speak? What would you like me to do?"

  He took a deep, deep breath. "I would like you to not confront people you have publicly stated you wish were dead, but we're past that aren't we?"

  "Yes, we are. So what do I do now?"

  He pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly thinking through the alternatives. "Officer Barnes likes you?"

  "We're friends."

  "And they said someone saw you at her house?"

  I nodded.

  "Then I want you to tell them everything. Be as open and honest as you can be. That may save you from jail, but don't count on it."

  With that cheery thought, I opened the inner door and stepped through to begin my very first (but not last, sadly) police interrogation.

  Matt and Officer Clark led me past the main portion of the police station where four desks were located, two on each side facing each other, and past two offices with windows that looked out on them.

  We went down a short hallway and into a small room. I'd been here before when my grandpa was arrested. It's where Matt, my grandpa, and I had eaten dinner. Somehow I hadn't noticed how cold it was that first visit.

  Nor had I noticed the pervasive smell of body odor and stale cigarettes that was only faintly masked by some astringent cleaner.

  Nor had I noticed how stiff and uncomfortable the plastic chairs were.

  You'd think that making someone as relaxed and comfortable as you could get them would make them more forthcoming, but it seems not. Because I don't think I've ever seen an interrogation room that looks welcoming.

  Me, if it were my choice, I'd set up a room like a plush therapist's office with a big mirror on the wall facing the suspect and put two comfortable couches across from each other. I'd make the suspect feel like I was there to help them through this ordeal they found themselves in. Just let it go. Just tell me what you did and you'll feel so much better.

  Guess that's why I'm not a cop. Or a psychiatrist. Or a priest for that matter.

  Matt pulled up the chair directly across from me while Officer Clark pa
ced behind him even though there was another seat for him to sit in.

  Mason Maxwell wiped his seat off with a real, live handkerchief before he took a seat next to me. He looked like a fish out of water in his fancy clothes and his country-club manners. I wondered if he'd considered refusing to help me, but it didn't matter at that point. He was there and I was his client and he was going to do what he could.

  Matt pressed the button to record the conversation and then introduced himself, Officer Clark, Mason Maxwell, and me. He even advised me of my rights. I could see it was killing him to be there. To think that I'd killed this woman. But he was a man of duty. He'd go where the clues led him, even if they led him to me.

  "Ms. Carver. You're aware of your rights. Are you willing to proceed with this interview at this time?" He glanced towards Mason Maxwell.

  "We can proceed. I have nothing to hide." I met his stare and held it, willing him to believe in my innocence.

  Mason Maxwell placed his hand on the table between us. "My client would like to give a full accounting of her actions this morning. I'd ask that you let her do so before you ask any questions." Smart. Otherwise things would probably deteriorate long before I could get it all out.

  Officer Clark paced the room like a restless panther, but Matt simply nodded. Clearly no need to ask who was good cop, bad cop here. "Whenever you're ready."

  I took a deep breath and closed my eyes for a moment, trying to marshal my thoughts. I was going to tell them the truth and all of it, but I didn't need to make myself look like an incredibly horrible person while I was doing so.

  I laced my fingers together and set my hands on the table before I started. "Over the past couple of weeks Janice Fletcher has been targeting my business. She has a cat, Pookums, and she wanted to bring it with her into my barkery, which is a bakery for dogs. I told her she couldn't. It wasn't safe for her cat nor was it sanitary to have her cat running loose in our store. She then led a protest of my business and threatened me and my customers until we had to call the cops."