by Sandi Scott
Murder at the Cabaret
A Pet Portraits Cozy Mystery
Book 4
Sandi Scott
Copyright © 2017 Sandi Scott and Gratice Press
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at [email protected]
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction
Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Dedication
Dedicated to all of those little critters with fur, wings, scales and fins that have come into our lives and given their love so unconditionally.
From Denise & Rowena
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Letter from the Author
About the Book Cover
Preview: Cream Puff Murder
Recipe: Chocolate Coco Raspberry Fudge
Recipe: Cinnamon Streusel Coffee Cake
Recipe: A Tropical Paleo Cake
Chapter 1
“I can’t wait to see Andrew; it’s been so long,” Georgie Kaye burbled to her twin sister. “I know it’s good to rear independent children, but sometimes I really wished they all lived closer.” Georgie was nervously babbling, anxious to see her son.
“That sounds like Stan talking,” Aleta Kaye replied. “Don’t tell me your ex-husband’s ideas are starting to rub off on you?”
“Oh, posh! The only thing on that man to rub off on me is cooties. He gets me so aggravated sometimes I can’t even see straight.”
“What’s he done now?”
“Not what he’s done, it’s what he wants to do!” Georgie and Aleta strolled down the sidewalk with their arms linked as usual. They casually looked in the windows of the shops that were along their way to a new coffee shop that opened four short blocks from their homes.
“Oh Lord, I’m too young to hear this revelation. Please don’t assault my virgin ears with the naughty details,” Aleta teased.
Georgie rolled her eyes. “Sadly, this aggravation is nothing nearly so scandalous.” Georgie and her ex-husband, Stan Toon, had been divorced for nearly a decade, although they were married thirty-five years prior to their divorce when he got gold fever, but their desire to make things easy for their adult kids, and a mutual enjoyment of each other’s company, kept them very good friends.
“So, what has the poor guy done now?”
“Thank you for not showing any bias,” Georgie pursed her lips before continuing. “I swear, the man must drive past my house several times a day and comprise a list of things that my house needs. After he helped fix my roof—”
“An excellent job, if I do say so myself, and I saw you out there watching him, offering him a glass of lemonade or a sandwich every couple of hours.” Aleta grinned and elbowed her sister in the ribs, she had always liked Stan.
Of course, when he decided to leave Georgie to search for gold in the West, Aleta had joined Georgie in cordially hating him. How could he leave her with teenage children headed to college, household bills, and everything else that goes along with a family and responsibilities? She never expected that Stan’s leaving would bring her and her sister even closer. When all the children were out-of-the-house, she became Georgie’s main support and confidante during that depressing empty-nest time. Furthermore, Aleta took Stan’s place in Georgie’s daily morning routine by having coffee and breakfast with her every day. Now, they were the very best of friends.
“I’m not a savage, Aleta. I’d have offered that numbskull what’s-his-face who screwed up the job in the first place a sandwich, too,” Georgie snapped. Wasn’t it just like her sister to make something out of nothing? “Now, do you want to hear the rest of my story, or would you rather continue your homage to Stanley Toon?”
“Okay, cranky-britches. Finish your story.”
“He called me last night to tell me that my driveway needs to be blacktopped.”
Aleta waited.
“And?”
“And he said he knows a guy who can do it.”
“And?”
“Well, what do you mean ‘and’? That’s it!” Georgie huffed.
“That is what has your granny-panties in a bunch—the fact that he said your driveway needs to be blacktopped and he knows a guy!”
“Last week he told me my gutters needed to be cleaned!” Georgie huffed again.
Aleta wrinkled her nose as she looked at her sister.
“And about a month ago he said the air in Pablo’s tires needed to be checked!” Georgie really huffed this time. “As if I don’t take care of Pablo as well as I do Bodhi—my car and my dog—my two favorite things in the world!”
“Let me get this straight. You’re mad at your ex-husband for offering to help you around the house.” Aleta pulled her lips down at the corners. “Let me make a few phone calls. I’m sure I can find a guy to whack him. Stan must not get away with being...a nice guy!”
“See, I knew you wouldn’t understand.” Georgie shook her head. As she did so her long silver earrings jingled loudly. They matched the stack of silver bangles that clanged around her right wrist every time she moved.
“Well, explain it to me,” Aleta coaxed as she pulled the door open to Third Coast Café. The smell of sweet confectionaries and strong coffee filled the small café making both ladies gasp. “Not to change the subject, but I wish I could make my house smell this heavenly.”
“I’d never leave your house if it did,” Georgie agreed. “Look, weren’t we just talking the other day about how long it’s been since we had fresh fruit tarts?”
“Those look delicious.” Aleta walked to the counter and ordered two tarts with two coffees while Georgie pointed to the outdoor seating.
“Let’s sit out there.”
Aleta nodded. “The morning is too nice to be inside. The cold weather will be here soon enough.”
Their disagreement about Stan's intentions temporarily on hold, both ladies tasted their desserts. “These are good.” Georgie nodded her head and took a sip of hot coffee.
“So good.” Aleta dabbed the corners of her mouth with a paper napkin then leaned in toward her sister. “Now, you want to tell me again what Stan is doing that is so bad?”
Georgie’s shoulders slumped. “I know those things need to be done. I know the driveway looks worn out and trees are budding from the gutters, but it is my house—mine!” She took another bite. “I appreciated him fixing the roof. I tried to pay him something, but, of course, he wouldn’t take it.”
“Maybe he wants t
o feel needed,” Aleta suggested.
“How could the guy not feel needed? He’s the best detective the Chicago P.D. has ever had. I’m not being biased; you see his name in the papers all the time,” Georgie argued.
“Being needed at work is one issue; being needed by one person who knows the real you—well, that is another story. Remember, Georgie, he’s a man. If a man doesn’t feel like he is providing something somewhere for someone, he doesn’t feel like a man at all.”
“Maybe you’re right, but he doesn’t have to call up and tell me what’s wrong with my house. He could call just to say hello.”
“When has any man ever called a woman just to say hello?” Aleta laughed out loud, making Georgie laugh. “They have to have a reason, and what better reason is there than to point out how you need them?”
Both ladies whooped as they discussed their experiences with the stronger sex. Aleta’s husband, William, had died from cancer, leaving her and their only daughter financially comfortable. Their son was ten years older than Emily, married, and living abroad. Georgie was suddenly aware of how obviously her sister missed William. “I’m sorry, Aleta. Here I am griping about Stan like a spoiled brat and not even thinking about that wonderful fellow you married. I wasn’t thinking.”
“It’s all right.” She patted her sister’s hand. “William never was any good at manual labor anyway, but he sure knew how to call someone to do it!” They laughed some more as the conversation took them on a stroll down memory lane. Georgie remembered Aleta had her son early in her marriage at only 25 years old. For ten years, both twins and their spouses doted on the boy. Then at 35 years old, Aleta had Emily. Those were such happy years! Georgie and Stan hadn’t started their own family until three years later when Georgie was 38, then she had three babies over a six-year period.
Georgie sighed inwardly, those had been hard, busy times. Just when she thought life would be getting easier, Stan took off. How did he think she could ever forget and forgive such a betrayal? He was gone six months before contacting his family. When he finally came to his senses, he thought he could just waltz back into town and life would resume where he left it. Georgie had filed for divorce immediately. Thirty-five years of marriage wasted on Stanley’s selfish whim. Enough roaming through the past Georgie came back to the present with a bump, Aleta was talking.
“Well, I’m sure Andrew will bring some relief to the situation. Why don’t you get him up on the roof to clean the gutters?” Aleta suggested.
“That is a very good idea. He’ll be so pleased!” Again, the twins burst out laughing. Just as Georgie was about to get them each another tart, a familiar face caught her eye. Heading right toward them, with a smile on his face and in a dapper three-piece suit, was Georgie’s friend Malcolm Obberfield. He was an art broker and world traveler, fate had brought the two art lovers together at a French themed café in the city. Malcolm had captivated Georgie’s imagination with stories of his experiences within the art world. Now, he was putting down roots in Chicago.
“Obby!” She exclaimed, waving like a child who just spotted Santa Claus.
His eyes twinkled happily. “I’d recognize that laugh anywhere, Georgie.” He embraced her, kissing each cheek as the Europeans do. “Of course, I knew Aleta couldn’t be far away. How are you?”
“Doing very well, Obby.” Aleta accepted a cordial kiss on the cheek as well although she couldn’t help but notice that Obby’s eyes stayed on her sister. “It’s a real pleasure to see you again.”
“Yes, please have a seat. Join us for a coffee,” Georgie encouraged.
“I’d like nothing better.” Obby held out Georgie’s chair for her to be reseated. “Unfortunately, I have a rather boring meeting I must attend. Good news, though, I finally purchased the Occhipinti Art Gallery. I’m changing the name, but the gallery is now mine. You’ll both have to come to the grand opening.”
“Obby, congratulations!” Georgie’s eyes popped. “That is so exciting! We’d love to attend your official opening.”
“I think a more intimate showing could be arranged for you.” Obby looked directly at Georgie as he spoke, “You promised a second showing after your last event in Monique’s café.”
“Well, that sounds wonderful.” Georgie almost choked on her words. She blushed like a teenager as Obby’s eyes danced over her face then quickly over her figure. “We wouldn’t miss it for all the chocolate in the world!”
“I have a house I’m renting in the Ravenswood area. Do you know where that is?”
“Yes,” Aleta stepped in to rescue Georgie from her awkwardness. “We live in Little Vietnam just a hop, skip, and jump from here. Fifteen or twenty minutes by car to your neck of the woods.”
Obby openly winked at Georgie, “That’s wonderful! Perhaps you’d like to see my private collection?”
“I would like that,” Georgie sighed. Knowing that Obby was a world traveler, Georgie didn’t dare guess what type of works he’d have in his collection.
“Good. That’s settled. Georgie, do you mind sharing your phone number so I may call you to iron out the details?”
Georgie giggled and grabbed her purse. She muttered and grumbled as she rummaged through the almost bottomless pit that was her handbag, pulling out a set of colored pencils, two small sketchbooks, and a romance novel before she finally withdrew her wallet with a business card.
“That’s my number,” she said nervously.
“I’ll give you a call.” Obby nodded his head. “Try and stay out of trouble.”
"You don't know what a tall order that is," Aleta whispered for Georgie’s ears only before smiling and waving good-bye.
“Oh, yes. Talk to you soon, Obby. So good to see you. Bye.” Georgie watched Obby walk away then quickly turned to face her sister, not noticing that the handsome man turned around to get one last look at her before he continued on his way.
"I don't believe this, ‘Oh, Georgie. Why don’t you come to my house to see my private collection...of art?’” Aleta repeated in a sing-song tone that made her sister furious.
“I certainly don’t know what you are insinuating!”
“Right, spaz. If I weren’t here, Obby probably would have suggested he whisk you away on his private jet to the opera—like in that movie.”
“That was Pretty Woman and you always reference that movie when you’re talking about me. That woman was a hooker. What is the similarity? I want to know!”
“Okay, bad reference. Nevertheless, if not for my presence, Obby may have invited you to dinner or his gallery right away. He’s obviously interested in you.” Aleta glared at her sister. Georgie looked everywhere except at Aleta.
“Something is going on in that head of yours. Spill it, Georgie.”
“I’m too old to have a boyfriend.”
“What?” Aleta scooted her chair closer to her sister. “Why would you say that?”
“Because I am.” She clicked her tongue. “I don’t want Stan, the father of my children, to be around the house too much. Why would I want some near stranger to be loitering around my house? This is teenage drama stuff. Nope. No boyfriend.”
“Georgie,” Aleta soothingly talked while she patted her sister’s hand again, “first, Obby’s not asking to cohabitate. He’s just inviting you to see his art collection. You both love art. It is something you have in common and could probably talk about for hours. Unless it was a euphemism for covert intentions, which I doubt, I think you should take him up on his offer. Plus, I’m dying to know what that guy’s house looks like.”
“Why?”
“You see how he dresses. He looks like he stepped out of an English fashion magazine. I can only imagine how his home is decorated.”
“Maybe I am reading too much into it.” Georgie didn’t believe the words coming out of her own mouth. She hadn’t helped solve a handful of murders around town by reading too much into things. Of course, she was reading things into Obby’s comments. That was what she did—all the time. “Perhap
s he just wants to show off his art collection.”
“That’s wonderful. You know you love art collectors.”
“My gosh, what will I do if Stan finds out?”
“You bet Stan is going to find out because I’m going to tell him.”
“What? Why would you do that?” Georgie gasped. “He doesn’t need to know my business! Plus, I don’t want parking tickets or moving violations stacking up on a bewildered Obby when he is oblivious to Stan’s subterfuge!”
“Stan isn’t anywhere near a Drew Peterson kind of cop, and you know it.”
"No, he's definitely one of the good guys even though I know he has a little jealous streak in him—like Bodhi has if I pet another dog for too long; he sulks and ignores me. Stan can be the same way."
"That sounds about right," Aleta chuckled, "but nothing has even been scheduled, yet. Who knows? Maybe Obby is all talk and was just being friendly. I doubt it, though. I think he's interested in you. Although, maybe I'm wrong and I won't even have anything to tell Stan."
“Right.” Georgie took a sip of her coffee. “Plus, with Andrew coming home for a nice visit, I’m going to be too busy.”
“That’s right. What time is he supposed to arrive again?”
“He said he’d be at the house between noon and one o’clock depending on the plane arriving on-time and traffic. I know he was just here a couple of months ago, but it seems like forever.”
“I feel that way with Emily, and I see her at least once a week at work. I try not to think about how far away my son is and how little I get to see him. Grown children are nice. The attitudes are gone, and now we can just like our kids for who they are.”
“Right, enjoying them instead of plotting to kill them and bury them in the yard like we did when they were teenagers,” Georgie huffed. “Andrew was the worst as a teenager, too. So moody.”
“Yeah, well, the apples don’t fall far from the tree,” Aleta ribbed.
“That will be Stan’s tree. If he doesn’t take after his father, I don’t know who does. The travel bug is inherited, and Andrew’s got it for sure. He isn’t happy staying in one spot for too long. I think that’s good for a single man.”
