Purrfect Revenge

by Nic Saint

  Across the street, three burly FBI agents had stepped out of the first car, and checked around for a moment, probably looking for snipers targeting the Kenspeckles. Her mother was right. They really did look like the Men in Black. After a moment, they sounded the all-clear, and Camille Kenspeckle emerged from the vehicle. She was still dressed in her fur coat, Céline sunglasses on her nose, strappy black heels on her feet. She looked like a hundred thousand bucks, which was probably what she’d spent on her outfit.

  Odelia watched as two FBI agents walked up to Darling’s Dress Code, one of the more popular high-end clothing boutiques in town. The agents held the door for Camille, who strutted past them and disappeared inside.

  “See? I told you they were putting in a little shopping,” said Chase.

  A surge of excitement raced through her. “This is our window. We have to confront her now, before it’s too late.” And before she could change her mind, she was already darting across the street in the direction of the store.

  “Wait a minute!” Chase hollered, but she wasn’t going to wait until the Kenspeckles boarded their private plane and got away. The FBI was right. They had nothing but circumstantial evidence. They needed a confession.

  She walked up to the store and was about to go in when the two agents stopped her. “Sorry, ma’am. Store is closed. Private client tour in progress.”

  Of course. Camille wanted the store all to herself. She glanced in through the window, and saw that the Kenspeckle matriarch was browsing, a salesgirl in her wake. One more FBI agent had gone in, babysitting the reality star. She watched as Burr Newberry took a shot of the exterior of the shop and the FBI agents, who stood shaking their heads, and then also headed inside.

  When this show aired, all of Hollywood would want a couple of Feds to go shopping with them. It would be the next big thing, up there with the dab.

  She decided that the only way to confront Camille was to catch her off guard. She slipped into the alley two stores over, and made her way along the narrow street. Darling’s had a back entrance, from the days it was still a liquor store. Locals boozers used to hang out back there, waiting for Kinnard Daym, who ran the store back in the day, to supply them with their favorite hard liquor in brown paper bags, blithely ignoring their wives’ vetoes.

  She tried the metal door, and found it neither guarded by Feds nor locked. She entered the store, and saw she was in a small storeroom. This was where Marina, Darling’s Dress Code’s current owner, kept her stock.

  She opened the door connecting to the store, passed through a corridor which held the staff lavatory, and reached a painted chipboard door. She heard voices. One of them was Camille’s. She pushed the door open and peeked in. No FBI and no bodyguards. Great. She stepped inside.

  Marina was the first one to react. She was a stern-faced middle-aged woman with platinum hair and an unnaturally smooth brow. She’d actually gone to school with Odelia’s mother, though Marina looked a decade younger. Her blue eyes cut to Odelia. “I’m sorry, honey. We’re closed for business right now.” She gestured to Camille, who stood holding a backless black gown in front of a full-length mirror, and whispered, “Private client viewing.”

  “Actually it’s your client I’d like a word with.”

  Camille spotted her. Her face clouded. “You again. What do you want?”

  “I need a word in private, Camille. It’s about your daughter’s murder.”

  Camille rolled her eyes. "Not again with the baseless accusations. I told you already. My family is the target of a terrorist plot. The FBI is handling things." She pointed an accusing finger at Odelia. "You tried to catch the killer and you failed. So you're done, missy. You're through."

  “Just give me five minutes, and I’ll tell you who killed Shana.”

  Camille stared at her, debating whether to call in the troops, or to give Odelia her five minutes. In the end, she said, “Start talking. And you,” she added, pointing at Marina. “Get out. I’ll call you when I need you.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Kenspeckle,” Marina muttered, and hurried out.

  “Shana wasn’t murdered by a terrorist,” Odelia said the moment they were alone. In a few words, she told Camille who the killer was, and why.

  Camille looked at her thoughtfully. “And you know this how, exactly?”

  “An anonymous witness came forward. She saw everything.” It probably wasn’t a good idea to mention this witness was in fact Clarice.

  “You have a witness? Why didn’t you say so before? This changes everything.”

  “The problem is that… the witness isn’t available to testify.”

  She nodded. “A stalker, huh? Afraid to be prosecuted. Well, I’m certainly willing to make a deal. I won’t come after her if she’s willing to testify.”

  “She’s not a stalker. She’s… let’s just say her testimony isn’t admissible.”

  Camille threw up her hands. “So now what? We know who did it but we can’t prove it.”

  “That’s where you come in. We need to force a confession.”

  She explained her plan, hoping Camille would go along with it. To her surprise, the reality star didn’t hesitate one moment. She gave Odelia a hug. “You found my daughter’s killer, Miss Poole. How can I ever repay you?”

  “Let’s first get that confession,” she said, awkwardly returning the hug. “And you don’t have to repay me. My reward is seeing justice done.”

  Camille placed her phone to her ear, and made the call.

  Laurelle walked in, looking anxious. “You wanted to see me, Camille?”

  Camille gave her one of her rare smiles. “I wanted to talk to you alone, Laurelle. Away from the cameras and the police. Just the two of us. And this seemed like the only place I could do that. There’s been a break in the case.”

  “A break? What do you mean?”

  “I just got a call from one of the police officers working on the case. A witness has come forward, Laurelle. A witness who saw Shana’s murder.”

  Laurelle’s already pale face became even paler. “A-a witness?”

  “An eyewitness who… saw you in Shana’s room that night.”

  The stylist’s eyes went wide. “But that’s impossible. I wasn’t anywhere near Shana’s room that night. I told the police already. I was in bed.”

  “Someone was watching, Laurelle,” said Camille. “Someone was watching through the window. They saw you murder my daughter.”

  “That’s just crazy! How can this witness have seen me? The killer wore a mask. Whoever this is, they’re lying, Camille. I would never kill Shana!”

  “That’s what I first thought. The thing is, the dog didn’t bark, Laurelle.”

  Laurelle looked at Camille as if she was crazy. “The dog didn’t bark?”

  “That’s right. You know Kane. That stupid mutt barks at everything and everyone. But that night he didn’t bark when the killer attacked Shana.”

  “So? That doesn’t prove anything.”

  “It proves everything. You gave that dog to Shana. You’re the only one he never barks at, because you’re his owner and he knows that.”

  “The killer could have drugged Kane, like he drugged everyone else.”

  Camille shook her head decidedly. “I believe you killed Shana, Laurelle.”

  “But, Camille—”

  “The police also told me you used to work at your uncle’s butcher shop until you left your hometown to become a stylist in LA. They told me you were very handy with the meat cleaver. In fact your uncle told them you were an ace. That for a girl of your size and build you packed quite a punch.”

  “I… I don’t know what to say. This is just… ridiculous.”

  Camille fixed her with an implacable look. “Why did you do it? Was it because of that silly sex tape? Yes, Shana told me all about that. How that tape was your claim to fame. She even sent me a copy of the silly thing.”

  Laurelle’s lips tightened and she went still. “You saw my tape?”

  “Of co
urse I saw your tape. Everybody did. We all had a good laugh. The thing was hilarious. Did you really think it would make you famous?”

  “That tape wasn’t Shana’s to distribute. I gave it to her in confidence.”

  “It’s a sex tape, Laurelle. If you didn’t want people to see it, why did you make it in the first place?”

  Laurelle shook her head. She’d moved back, and twin dots of crimson had appeared on her cheeks. Out of nowhere, a knife suddenly manifested in her hand. “You’re just as bad as your asshole daughter, Camille. I should have taken care of you and your family a long time ago.”

  Camille eyed the knife nervously. “What are you doing?”

  Laurelle’s lips curled up into a cruel smile. “What do you think I’m doing? I’m going to put my carving skills to good use. This time without a witness.”

  “You won’t get away with this. Everyone will know it was you.”

  The stylist shrugged. “I’ll just cut myself. Tell the cops the terrorist struck again and I barely escaped with my life. I’ll even throw in a full description this time. Only for you, help will come too late, of course. You’ll be dead.”

  “Why did you do it, Laurelle? Why did you kill my daughter?”

  “For the same reason I’m going to kill you. Because you deserve it,” she spat. “You think you’re so high and mighty. Sitting on your throne of money and fame and power. You think you can mock and ridicule everyone else. Well, no more. I deserve a spot in the limelight, just like you, and I’m going to get it. That tape was supposed to put me out there, but your daughter sabotaged everything. She didn’t want the competition. She could have made me part of her inner circle but instead she chose to keep me down.”

  “You’re crazy,” said Camille. “No silly sex tape could have made you famous. It would simply have made you the laughing stock of the world.”

  Laurelle stuck out her chin. “You know it’s all about celebrity endorsement. If Shana had endorsed my tape, it would have put my name on the map.”

  "You're deluded, honey. It doesn't work that way. Shana was famous not because of some elusive celebrity endorsement but because she had talent and worked her ass off to make it in this business. Success doesn't fall from the sky. Shana had to work hard to make a success of herself, and she wasn't going to hand it to you on a silver platter just because you felt entitled."

  “You’re so wrong. I’m not entitled. I’m talented. I just needed a break.”

  “Drop that knife. It’s over. You killed Shana and you’re going to jail.”

  “It isn’t over until I say it is. You and your family are going to suffer. I’m going to kill every last one of you. First I’ll carve you up like a brisket, and then I’m going to do the same to your rotten kids. I won’t rest until all the Kenspeckles are nothing but a bunch of cadavers rotting in the ground.”

  “You’re insane,” said Camille, throwing up her hands. “Why didn’t I see this before? When this is over I’m going to have a word with your employment agency. This is just ridiculous.”

  “One more thing before I slice you to ribbons,” said Laurelle. “Give me the name of the witness.”

  “I told you, it was Kane,” said Camille.

  “I should never have given my precious baby to Shana,” said Laurelle. “I knew she wouldn’t appreciate it. I just felt sorry for her after Lil’ Pim died.”

  “Well, Kane was the witness.”

  “Quit messing around, Camille,” said Laurelle, gesturing with the knife. “Tell me the name of the witness.”

  Odelia stepped from behind the curtain. “That would be me.”

  Laurelle’s eyes widened in shock. “You! What are you doing here?!”

  “Telling Camille what’s going on.”

  “You saw me that night?”

  “A family friend did.”

  Laurelle took a step toward her. “Give me the name or I’ll gut you right now. One slice is all it takes to spread your guts all over the floor so you can watch yourself bleed to death.”

  “Sounds like fun,” Odelia said. “But I think I’ll pass.” She shook her head. “And here I thought you were the victim. You sure fooled me.”

  “I am the victim. I’m the victim of Kenspeckle greed.”

  “You made that tape, didn’t you?” asked Odelia. “That was your idea.”

  “Of course it was my idea. I devised the whole plan. You don’t think I escaped that shit town of Armada, Illinois just to spend my life slaving away for the Kenspeckles, do you? I came to LA to become rich and famous, only this asshole here doesn’t want to share. So now I’ll make her pay. And I’ll make you pay,” she said, making a slashing gesture in Odelia’s direction.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” a voice sounded from the door. Chase had appeared, and he was accompanied by the FBI agent in charge.

  Laurelle stared at them, completely taken aback. “I… the terrorist was here, and… he attacked me and…”

  “I don’t think so, Laurelle,” said Burr as he stepped from behind the curtain. He had his camera mounted on his shoulder and pointed at Laurelle.

  The knife dropped from her hand and fell to the floor. “You filmed me?”

  “Yep. Got it all on tape.” He tapped his camera proudly. “A real doozy.”

  It was over, and she knew it. Chase stepped forward, and outfitted the fallen stylist with a nice set of shiny new handcuffs. Laurelle looked at Odelia. “Who was the witness? Who saw me that night? I need to know.”

  Odelia shrugged. “There was no witness. I just made that up.”

  The girl’s face contorted into an expression of rage. “I hate you. I hate all of you! And I hate you most of all, Camille Kenspeckle! I’ll get you for this!”

  “Join the line,” said Camille with a satisfied smile. “Oh, God,” she said as she turned to Odelia. “I can’t thank you enough, honey. If not for you I’m pretty sure that monster would have murdered my entire family.”

  “That seems to have been her plan all along,” said Odelia. “Only she wanted to take her time. Kill you one at a time and make you suffer as long as possible.” She glanced at the camera, which was pretty much in her face now. “Um, could you stop filming now?”

  Camille grinned. “Why? You’re going to be next season’s biggest star.”

  Two cats came darting in, and she picked them both up. “These are my stars,” she said. “My biggest stars.”

  Pity she couldn’t tell the world they were the ones who caught Laurelle. Then again, sometimes real heroes went uncelebrated.

  “Mom,” said Shayonne as she came darting in. “Is it true Laurelle is the killer?”

  “Yes, it’s true,” said Camille.

  “No way!” Shalonda cried, close on her sister’s heel. “Did you get her confession on tape?”

  “Yes, we did.”

  The two sisters exchanged high fives. “Best. Show. Ever!”

  Odelia shook her head and walked out. Keeping up with the Kenspeckles was a tough proposition, but at least she hadn’t sustained permanent damage.

  Epilogue

  Dusk was falling and Dooley and I were seated on the swing Doctor Tex had installed on the back porch. Gran was sitting next to us, patiently waiting for dinner to start. Tex was whipping beef ribs onto the barbecue, joining the burger patties and sausages already sizzling on the grill. Uncle Alec was helping him by swigging back a Corona and being generous with his advice.

  My stomach grumbled as the delicious scent caressed my nostrils. We’d already been fed a few slivers of raw sausage, and now we were waiting for the barbecue feast to start, cooked up by the barbecue maestro himself.

  Even though Tex warned against artery-clogging red meat on a daily basis to his patients, when he wasn’t on duty he liked to treat himself to some choice artery-clogging beef ribs himself. He argued that if God didn’t want us to have barbecue, he shouldn’t have made it taste and smell so darn good.

  Chase and Odelia were seated at the white plastic t
able Marge had placed in the garden. They were deeply engrossed in conversation, probably clearing up the last few details about the murder case. Marge was busy in the kitchen, doing something with potato salad, and putting the finishing touches on the chocolate cake she was baking. Brutus and Harriet were snuggling at Odelia's feet. They'd canceled their romantic evening for dinner with the fam.

  Movement suddenly caught my eye, and when I glanced over I saw that Clarice was sneaking through Odelia’s garden. She disappeared into the house. Odelia had decided that in celebration of the fact that Clarice had provided the telling clue to catch the killer, she would adopt her. Only Clarice wasn’t in favor of being adopted. She preferred to roam wild and free. As a compromise, she had accepted that she could always get food and shelter at Odelia’s if she wanted to. She now even had a big bowl with her name on it—literally. That was actually my idea. I didn’t want Clarice stealing my food.

  You might say us cats have a problem with sharing. You might be right.

  I saw Clarice stalk out of the house again. Our eyes locked, and she gave me an almost imperceptible nod before skulking off, licking her whiskers.

  I turned a lazy eye back to the garden, and I was struck by an outrageous sight. Chase was leaning into Odelia, and planting a kiss on her lips. And she wasn’t even fighting him! Of course, after being forced to watch Shalonda and Boa in the pool, no display of carnal love had the power to shock me anymore. Still, this wasn’t something I’d ever expected to see in my lifetime.

  “Max?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Odelia and Chase are kissing.”

  “I know, Dooley.”

  “I mean, they’re actually kissing!”

  “I know! I have eyes. I can see.”

  “Um. And it looks like it’s a real kiss. Like, with tongue and all?”

  “Yep, that’s a real kiss all right,” said Gran. She sighed wistfully. “Boy, that brings back a few memories.” She looked happy. “I knew this was gonna happen. I just knew it. And not a minute too soon either.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.