A Crazy Cat Lady and Canine Crunchies

by Aleksa Baxter

  So far all I was doing was giving the cops about ten different motives for killing her. Not like they didn't know it already, though.

  "After her protest failed she obtained a certificate that declared her cat an emotional support animal. She used that to try to force me to allow her and her cat into my store, but my lawyer reviewed the certificate and the law and informed me that it didn't give her the right to be there."

  My throat felt dry and I licked my lips wishing someone would offer me a Coke. I'd have even settled for water at that point, but none was forthcoming, so I coughed a little and continued on as best I could.

  "Her nephew runs the local paper, and this morning there was an article in there about restaurants with poor sanitation. It included a picture of a bakery box with our logo next to the headline. The article didn't name us specifically, but it was clear we were the target. And it was clear to me who was behind that article."

  I paused to gather my thoughts. Matt hadn't taken his eyes off my face the whole time I was speaking. Officer Clark had stopped his pacing and was standing off to the side, arms crossed, glaring me down like I was worse than the scum on the bottom of his shoe. I quickly turned my attention back to Matt.

  "I was very upset by the article. I had been told that Janice Fletcher is capable of destroying people when she decides to do so and I believed that article was another attempt by her to attack my business. So I went over to her place to confront her. I'm not sure exactly what time it was, but I remember thinking to myself that if she could protest my store before seven a.m. then she could darn well answer her door at that time, too."

  Mason Maxwell coughed slightly and I glanced at him. He pinched his fingers together in what I assumed was his sign for stick to the facts. But I needed Matt to believe me. Which means I needed him to understand what I'd done and why I'd been there.

  I told them about that initial confrontation with Janice and about her cat slippers and how hard those things can be to walk in. (I'd know. My mother, bless her, has bought me more than one pair like them over the years.) I also made sure to point out to them how the cats were meowing and hungry and wrapping themselves around her legs and mine. And how that door to the downstairs had been open when I arrived.

  Officer Clark interrupted even though he wasn't supposed to. "Let me see your pants."

  I lifted my leg above the edge of the table and sneezed. I'm not normally that allergic to cats, but Pookums was a Persian and that particular breed just does me in.

  "Ha." He said. "Proof you were there."

  I stared at him a long, long moment but refrained from pointing out how my confession that I was there was probably even better evidence in that respect.

  "So anyway…" I continued.

  I told them how I'd left to get back to the barkery and warn Jamie about the pending health inspection but how I'd changed my mind and turned back around to try once more to reason with Ms. Fletcher. And how I'd found the front door slightly ajar when I returned, so had entered the house looking for her.

  "I saw one of her slippers at the top of the stairs to the basement and when I turned on the light for the stairs, I saw her at the bottom. One of her cats was down there with her and she was clearly not moving. I…I thought about calling the cops," I glanced at Officer Clark, "but the last time I found a body and did that my grandpa ended up in jail for a murder he didn't commit. Plus, I thought the whole thing was a terrible accident. That she'd tripped on one of her cats and fallen down the stairs and that someone would find her soon enough. So I left."

  Officer Clark slammed his hand on the table. "You want us to believe you didn't push her? I bet you did. I bet you pushed her down those stairs and then left her there to die."

  "I didn't push her. And I didn't leave her there to die. She was already dead. You saw the body."

  "Liar." He leaned forward until I could smell the bologna he'd had for lunch. "You shoved her down those stairs and then you ran from the house, hoping no one would see you."

  "I did not kill Janice Fletcher. She was alive the first time I saw her. And dead when I went back."

  "I don't believe you."

  "Believe me or not, it's the truth." I leaned back and crossed my arms. They were either going to believe me or they weren't, but I'd told them the truth.

  Mason Maxwell leaned forward. "You've heard my client's story. She didn't kill Janice Fletcher. Now, is she under arrest? Or not."

  "Not."

  Officer Clark glared at Matt for a moment and I thought he was going to override him. He was the more senior officer, after all. But instead he jerked open the door. "Sue needs a sample from those pants. Stay here."

  I looked to Matt, but he wasn't quite looking at me. "I swear I didn't kill her."

  He nodded, but he still wouldn't look at me. He glanced at his notes. "The first time you were there it was sometime before seven?"

  "Yes."

  "And while you were gone she had time to feed her cats."

  "Yes. That's what it looked like to me."

  "And to fall down the stairs."

  I nodded. He pointed to the recorder, so I added. "Yes. Again, that's what it looked like to me."

  "And you didn't check to make sure she was dead?"

  What do you say to that? It sounds horrible. To have someone who must've only been dead a few minutes at the base of the stairs and not even check that they're breathing, but…

  "You saw the body. Would you have thought there was any possible way she was alive?"

  He set his pencil down. "Why didn't you call the cops?"

  I knew what he was really asking. Why hadn't I called him? Why hadn't I trusted him enough to let him know I was standing in Janice Fletcher's house with her dead body at the bottom of the stairs and that I hadn't done it?

  I looked down. I couldn't stand the betrayal I saw in his eyes. "It was a mistake. I see that now. I just…I knew I hadn't killed her. But I knew it looked bad for me to be there so close to when she'd died. And I figured she'd just fallen down the stairs, so not like there was some killer on the loose. It just…It made more sense at the time for me to let someone else find her."

  I drummed my fingers on the table, thinking how to say what I wanted to say next. "If no one had found her body within the next day, I would've called and told you. But I figured a woman like that in a house like that and with that many cats probably had a cleaning lady who came through daily. And that if that wasn't the case then Peter Nielsen would probably be calling or dropping by at some point in the day to gloat about his article. Or the health inspector would be. I didn't expect she'd be there long."

  He turned off the recording and stood. He still wouldn't quite look at me. "Wait here until Sue comes back. We'll want to take some samples from your pants."

  "I already told you I was there."

  He finally did look at me, his gaze nailing me to the seat. I wished he hadn't. "People tend to change their stories once they're charged with murder. So we like to get all the evidence we can."

  "Fine. Take all the evidence you want. But my story isn't going to change. I was there, but I didn't kill her."

  I could see Mason Maxwell shaking his head out of the corner of my eye, but I ignored him. All I wanted in that moment was for Matt to believe me.

  "We'll see what the autopsy says." He left, slamming the door behind him.

  I glanced at Mason Maxwell. "Well, good news. I'm not under arrest."

  "Yet." He stood. "Don't say anything to anyone without me present. I need to make some calls."

  After he'd left I stared at the far wall wishing I'd brought a book with me to pass the time. I wondered if they would've let me read it. Or if making me sit in that nasty-smelling room in that uncomfortable chair without water for almost an hour was part of their interrogation strategy. Like I'd really break down and confess my sins over an hour of discomfort.

  Since I had nothing else to do I spent the time thinking through every single detail of that morning. Had I
left the front door slightly ajar when I raced out of there? And if I had, why hadn't Janice closed it? And had that sound I'd heard from the kitchen when I returned been one of the cats? I'd assumed it was, but what if it wasn't. And the sound from the basement?

  Could someone else have been there?

  No…

  At the end I came to the same conclusion as before: Janice Fletcher had tripped on one of her cats and fallen down the stairs. I just needed the autopsy to prove it and then this would all be over.

  Chapter Eighteen

  At least I made it home for dinner. They kept me sitting in that room for a good hour before Sue, the woman who seemed to handle all crime scenes in the county, came in to take samples of the cat hair on my pants and shoes. Honestly, I was glad to have some of it taken away. The Benadryl I'd taken earlier had worn off by then and my eyes were all watery and my throat congested.

  First thing I did when I got home was throw everything I was wearing in the wash and take a shower.

  Second thing I did was sit down at the kitchen table with my grandpa and walk him through my day.

  "What were you thinking, Maggie May? Going to someone's house to confront them like that? And going back into that house after you'd already left? You don't just walk into people's houses. What if she'd shot you?"

  That had never occurred to me, but he was right. If Janice Fletcher had chosen to do so she would have been within her rights to shoot me dead that second time I went to her house. Wouldn't that have been ironic?

  (Yeah, I'm pretty sure that's the Alanis Morissette version of ironic that I just used. In other words, don't line it up too carefully with the dictionary definition.)

  I drank my fourth Coke of the day—one I'd put in the freezer until it was almost frozen but not quite, something I wasn't allowed to do often anymore after forgetting three days in a row that I'd done so and having them explode while I was at work. The first two my grandpa had cleaned up. The third one he'd made me clean up. He'd also made me promise to never put a Coke in the freezer again. Fortunately, he'd made an exception that day. Seems there was at least one perk to being questioned by the police.

  "I messed up. I know. I'm sorry. But it'll be okay. I know it will."

  He raised one eyebrow at me. "Haven't you learned by now, Maggie May? Things don't always work out."

  Coming from the man who'd been in prison twice—once for a very justifiable homicide and once for armed robbery—and who'd almost been sent there a third time, his view on things was justified. But what can I say? Life is never perfect and there are always ways in which I wish it were better than it is, but I still believed that things would work out because things really do work out in my world.

  Eventually.

  The next day at the café was a busy one, so Jamie was stuck in the kitchen all day leaving me and our new assistant to manage the customers.

  Honestly, given my skills at customer service I should've been the one doing the cooking, but thanks to the Baker Valley Gazette word had spread that I'd been taken in for questioning in the death of Janice Fletcher and everyone who could manage it had come by to poke and prod and figure out why that might be.

  Seeing as I didn't really want to admit that I'd seen someone dead at the bottom of a set of stairs and then walked away, I stuck to no comment as much as I possibly could, but man, people in a small town. News travels fast. They knew about five times what the article said and about twice what the police had.

  Martin Parks—the owner of the local pizzeria whose wife Gloria had accused me of trying to tempt the men of the town with my free goodies—leaned against the barkery counter pretending to debate between buying canine crunchies and doggie delights.

  "I hear you were in Janice Fletcher's house the morning she died. That true?"

  Don—Mr. Fancy Slacks who it seemed had decided to make the café his office while he was in town—came over to join us. "I heard you were there when she died."

  I glared at him. He didn't even know her. And he wasn't even from around here. What did he care?

  "I was not there when Janice Fletcher died." I stepped back for a moment and sneezed into my elbow. "But I did visit her that morning."

  Martin pointed to the canine crunchies. "I think I'll try a few of those. So you were there?"

  I bagged up the treats and rang him up. "Yeah. I went over, told her I didn't appreciate how she was harassing us, and she basically told me to stick it so I left."

  Don leaned on the display case. "I heard there was more to it. Surely if that's all it was the cops wouldn't have taken you in for questioning."

  "Well, whoever told you that was wrong. It's a small town. The cops just wanted to be thorough."

  "How'd she die anyway?" Martin asked as I handed him his receipt and treat bag.

  "I'm not sure I'm supposed to say. But I think it was an accident."

  "So it wasn't murder?" Don leaned forward, trying to charm me with those green eyes of his. He was handsome, but he was not my type.

  I cleared my throat which had gone all dry and scratchy. Seemed I was still recovering from my exposure to so many cats. Usually my allergies don't hit me that bad but usually I don't have a swarm of cats rubbing themselves against my legs either.

  "Excuse me for a second." I grabbed a couple Benadryl and downed them. "Neither of you happen to have a cat, do you?"

  They shook their heads.

  "You avoided my question." Don smiled at me, but I didn't return the smile.

  "I didn't avoid your question. I just chose not to answer it." I looked him up and down. "Why do you care? What are you? A reporter?"

  "No. Geez. I was just curious. Sorry to disturb you." He walked away in a huff, but I didn't care. I kind of hoped he'd pack up his things and go. Of course, why should he when he had Jamie's attention. She came out of the kitchen for a quick break and sat down at his table, laughing and talking with him like old friends.

  Nothing I could do about it except glare daggers his way every chance I got. Unfortunately, that didn't seem to phase him one bit.

  Don's presence made the next few days very interesting in a painful dating show sort of way. He was there every single day for both breakfast and lunch, chatting Jamie up every chance he got. And she soaked it up, loving every single over-the-top compliment and little touch on her hand or her arm or her shoulder.

  What made it awkward was that Mason Maxwell had started coming into the café every day for lunch, too. He was more reserved in his attentions. No "you have a smile that lights up a room" compliments, but there was definite interest there. And Jamie made time to sit with him and chat for at least a few minutes every single day, too.

  I couldn't figure out which one she liked more. And when I asked her about it she just laughed and asked me why she had to like either one. It was just flirting. A little fun. That's all.

  We were sitting out back after we'd closed the café watching Fancy and Lulu play while we drank a beer when she said that.

  I narrowed my eyes. "You're not still hung up on Lucas Dean, are you?"

  "Honestly, Maggie. I don't bug you about your love life—or lack thereof—don't bug me about mine."

  "Oh, you are, aren't you? Jamie. He's a cad. He's…ugh."

  I laughed as Lulu grabbed hold of Fancy's tail and Fancy turned to stare at her with a look of confusion on her face like, "Why is this little ball of fur hanging off of me?" Fancy spun around and Lulu went flying through the air, but kept hold of Fancy's tail.

  Jamie stood. "You're too quick to judge, you know that? You never give people a second chance. One little mess up and that's it. Done. Over. You have to know by now that no one can meet that kind of standard."

  I took another sip of my beer. It was true that I held people to a high standard. But it wasn't that high a standard. "I don't think refusing to associate with people who should be in jail for their actions is being too picky."

  "Lulu. Enough." Jamie grabbed Lulu and gently disengaged her teeth from Fancy
's tail. "Look I have to go. I have a date."

  "With who?"

  She shook her head.

  "Jamie!"

  "Don. Happy?"

  I shrugged. He wasn't my favorite person, but he was certainly better than Lucas Dean.

  Jamie leashed up Lulu and led her to the door, but then turned back to me. "You know, Maggie, some of us actually want to find love and happiness, and we can't wait around for Mr. Perfect to stroll through the door. We have to work with what we have."

  I would've argued with her that surely she could wait just a few minutes for better choices than a philandering sweet-talker, an out-of-town busybody, and some uptight lawyer, but I just nodded and took another sip of my beer. "It's your life, Jamie. Live it in a way that makes you happy."

  "I will." She slammed the door as she left and I sighed and went to sit on the grass next to Fancy.

  "Ah, Fancy. Why does life have to be so annoying all the time, huh?"

  We were supposed to move to Creek and then everything would go according to plan. I'd take care of my grandpa, walk Fancy through the woods, the barkery would be a booming success, and Jamie and I would get along perfectly all the time.

  I laughed. Yeah, I know. Life doesn't work that way, does it?

  Chapter Nineteen

  Things were still pretty chilly between me and Jamie when Matt and Officer Clark returned the next day.

  I was having a late lunch with Greta, laughing at a story she was telling about her sixth or seventh husband who'd been a Spanish bull rider when they walked through the door. Matt led the way with Officer Clark at his shoulder glaring at me like I was going to turn into some crazed psycho at any moment.

  "Officers." I stood so they weren't behind me. "How can I help you?"

  As I spoke I walked deeper into the barkery drawing them away from Greta. We were friends now but she didn't need to hear all the nasty details of whatever was about to happen.

  Fancy poked her head over the edge of her cubby and barked at Matt, standing with her paws on the edge and wagging her tail like a crazy woman. (If she weren't so lazy she could easily jump right out of there, but she never has.)