A Thrift Shop Murder

by N. M. Howell

  “Well that’s just something you have to get used to,” the blond man drawled. “We’re very distracting.”

  I eyed his slow grin and my lips twisted upward of their own accord, but they quickly thinned as thoughts of my current predicament crowded my mind again. I turned toward the three men, wondering where the ghost had disappeared to; she certainly knew how to pick her moments. “What am I going to do? A murder suspect? It’s ridiculous. Yesterday I was in Portland clearing my stuff out of the pool house…” I let my words trail off, aware of the way the men were avoiding my eye. Clearly, they hadn’t missed Agatha’s jibes about my sad, pathetic life back home. Things were really bad when men who’d been furry house pets an hour ago were shooting you pitying glances. I lifted my jaw and channelled my inner Dr. Lee. “What I mean is, I only just arrived in Salem, so how could anybody think I had something to do with Agatha’s death?”

  The room fell silent for a long moment before the gravelly voice of the dark-haired man filled the room. “Agatha changed her will, with no warning or explanation, and died under suspicious circumstances only days later. And now, here you are; inheriting everything she owns, living in her home when you had nowhere else to go. It wouldn’t take Sherlock Holmes to figure you’re worth investigating.”

  “Are you suggesting I had something to do with Agatha’s death?” I shot him a murderous glare. “You know that’s nonsense, I didn’t even recognise her ghost.”

  The slightest hint of pink colored the tattooed man’s cheeks and his scowl intensified. “I’m just telling you what the cops are probably thinking. Nobody can help you if you’re going to act like a delusional idiot.”

  “He’s right.” The blond guy nodded. “Fluffy might be a bad-tempered jerk with no sense of fun or adventure.” The dark-haired man glared at him. “But he’s not stupid. The cops are going to be all over your cute butt.”

  I pursed my lips. “Thanks for that, Pussy.”

  The blond smiled like I’d paid him a compliment. “You’re welcome, doll. Any time.”

  I released a loud groan in his direction. “I was being sarcastic, you idiot.”

  “I know.” His grin widened, white teeth gleaming.

  I reached for the pillow behind me and threw it at him, narrowly missing his head and accidentally knocking over a small vase on the end table across the room. It fell to the ground and shattered, causing my heart to race even faster as my deep-rooted politeness clicked into gear.

  “Oh, my goodness, I’m so sorry,” I called to nobody in particular. I scrambled across the floor on my hands and knees to clean up the mess I had made, but the dark-haired man blocked my path with hands that were surprisingly gentle and directed me back to the chair before collecting the broken pieces of china in a small cardboard box. My head fell back onto the cushioned velvet chair, and I pressed the palms of my hands into my closed eyelids. “What am I going to do?”

  The man red-haired man pushed himself up off the couch and crossed the room with concern etched into the smooth contours of his face. While the blond man was arrogantly handsome and the tattooed guy had an undeniable aura of brooding sexiness, the redhead was beautiful in a way I had rarely seen before. His pale skin was rich and creamy, and his green eyes, framed with thick, dark lashes, seemed to project his every thought and feeling. As he kneeled next me and placed a large, graceful hand on my leg, empathy oozed from every inch of his body in a surge of hot intensity. “It’s going to be okay, Price. We’ll figure this out, right?” He looked to the other two men for reassurance and they both nodded. He turned and stared into my eyes again. “We just need to make sense of what’s going on here.” He glanced down at his half-naked body and the skimpy towel wrapped around his waist as if suddenly aware that he had very recently been a cat. His brow furrowed. “There has to be a logical explanation, and we can solve this together. I know we can.”

  His optimism was endearing, but I knew for a fact that we were totally screwed. Well, I was. They weren’t, necessarily. Unless you count the whole magically turning into cats thing. I closed my eyes for a moment and ran my hand through my hair. Who was I kidding? We were all well and truly, royally screwed. “A logical explanation,” I echoed. “You’re right, I just need to ask the right questions. Does anyone happen to know what those would be?” I opened my eyes and looked around the room hopefully, but was simply met with blank stares. My fingers tapped the velvet upholstery as I sat there impatiently, my mind spinning.

  Agatha came floating into the room, her eyes glazed over as she hummed a tune to herself. She came halfway into the space before realizing we were there and snapped out of her daze. “What are you all doing here?” She eyed the red-haired man’s hand, still resting gently on my knee. “Muffin, why are you mauling my assistant.”

  With glowing cheeks and flustered excuses the man retreated to the other side of the room. Ignoring the ache in the base of my stomach as I was left alone again, I pulled my legs up so I was sitting cross-legged in the chair. “Agatha, you’re exactly the person we need to talk to.”

  The ghost raised her eyebrows but settled her feet on the ground. “I guess I have nowhere else to be.”

  I twisted the ragged ends of my hair as I thought carefully. “Why did you leave this place in my name? Why did you leave me everything you owned, even your...” My eyes dated to where the men stood for a moment, examining in the bare skin and the defined muscles through the curtain of my eyelashes. “Pets?”

  Agatha stood before me, her diminutive height bringing her head to nearly the height of my own as I sat on the chair. She stepped close to me as she pondered the answer, and I noticed the heavy wrinkles that lined her face. She was a soft-looking woman, delicate in a way, but I didn’t let that fool me or interfere with my knowledge of how feisty she could be. She finally shrugged at me and turned a critical eye on the cushion lying against the wall.

  “Is that all I’m going to get? A shrug?” I asked, hoping she didn’t notice the missing vase before she’d given me some answers. “Come on, Agatha, I think you owe me more than that.”

  “I don’t owe you anything, you selfish little cream puff,” Agatha snapped right back at me, her nostrils flaring. “I gave you my house and my thrift shop, what more do you bloody want? Apart from my unwavering good looks, perhaps.”

  We both stared at each other for a long moment before I finally broke the silence. “Look, I’m grateful you left these things to me, I really am. But I’m confused. We’ve never met each other, and I only just replied to your ad a week or so ago. Why on earth would you ever leave all your worldly possessions to someone you didn’t know? It seems completely ludicrous, doesn’t it?” Seeing her features twist, I softened my tone. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to upset you. I’m just trying to understand.”

  “Maybe,” Agatha started, pausing to draw her eyebrows close together. “Maybe I felt sorry for you? When I saw you living in that little shack behind that buffoon’s fancy-pants mansion, well, I wouldn’t wish that grovelling, pathetic life on my worst enemy. Not even on Dorothy Murphy or Bianca D’Arcy.” I opened my mouth to defend myself, but before I could gather some fighting spirit, the old woman’s face crumpled. “But the truth is, Priscilla, I simply don’t know the answer. This past few days, I’ve been trying to think and remember and understand, but I can’t. It’s as if that part of my brain has been blocked. There’s just nothing there.”

  Chapter Eleven

  “You don’t remember anything about why you left the store and this building to Price, Aggy?” Bright blue eyes narrowed on the old woman floating in the middle of the living room as Fluffy folded his tattooed arms, muscles bulging under his inked skin. “You think it’s some sort of magic blocking your memory? Like whatever is stopping you remembering what happened to us, that ‘Law of the Dead’ bullshit?”

  “Yes, perhaps, the law is blocking me from remembering anything tied magically to my unfinished business in this world,” Agatha mused. Her face scrunched in concentra
tion, her body vibrating. When she finally opened her mouth and her voice came out in a frustrated squeak. “Maybe.”

  Without another glance in my direction, the old witch floated across the room and out the far door. “Agatha, wait,” I called after her. She stalled and turned, her expression completely blank as she looked back at me. “Is there anything else you can think of that might help me clear my name? Surely, you must have some idea of who could’ve been behind your death?”

  “I told you, I have no memory of my murder. That’s the nature of passing from life to death, it’s always this way.” Agatha frowned and chewed her lower lip before shaking her head slowly from side to side. “And I have no idea why anyone would wish me harm. I was very well-liked in the community. Quite popular, actually. No one had any reason to dislike me; I was quite simply delightful.”

  I caught raised brows and an amused glance passing between the three men at her last words, and I suppressed a grin. “I can imagine you were, Agatha. You’re a very likable woman.” I could barely say it with a straight face. “So, you seem to have some sort of memory blockage or absence of any sort of knowledge of the events surrounding your death? Is that right?”

  Agatha nodded and returned to the center of the room, her eyes dimming as her shoulders slumped. “But I fear it goes far deeper than that, dearie. I can’t seem to remember much of anything, if I’m being perfectly honest. Perhaps, I left a lot of unfinished business behind.”

  I bit my lower lip before replying, a deep sadness filling me. “I’m sorry.” It also made things rather more difficult for me, to be perfectly honest, but I wasn’t going to ruin her moment. Without any memory of her past life or the events leading to her death, I had no way of getting any closer to figuring out who was actually behind it all.

  “Seems to me, you’ll have to stick around and do some sleuthing on your own, Miss Pricetag,” the blond man said with a sly grin.

  I noticed he mentioned me, not us. “Don’t call me that, Pussy,” I snapped. I folded my arms over my chest, ignoring the way my body responded to his slow grin. “I suppose you’re full of ingenious suggestions, right?”

  He shrugged and met my gaze, full lips curved upward and hazel eyes fixed on my face. “Dot and Bianca had plenty to say earlier, they might be able to lead you in the right direction.”

  “You think it was worth paying attention to?” The dark-haired man asked, brushing a stray dark lock out of his piercing blue stare. His expression darkened. “I suppose it did end badly between Aggy and him, not exactly an amicable parting of ways.”

  The red-head leaned his weight against the door frame. “Sucks, doesn’t it? He was the best. Remember that mackerel fried in butter and garlic he used to make us? And he cleaned up the store so nicely.”

  “Frankie,” I exclaimed, suddenly catching up with the men’s shared train of thought. “Agatha’s old assistant. Bianca had mentioned that he was bad mouthing Agatha all over town since she’d fired him, but that doesn’t make him a murder suspect.” I met the men’s stares. “Does it?”

  The men glanced at each other and then back at me, their expressions grim. Fluffy was first to speak, his fingers digging into his inked biceps. “He said some pretty heavy things last time he was here.”

  Agatha’s mouth fell open as her expression turned sour. “Poppycock,” she snorted. “That flaming little turd loved me like a mother, and don’t you think anything else. Frankie adored me. I was his muse.”

  I raised my eyes to the ceiling and took a deep breath. It was pointless trying to include the delusional delight in my investigation; she was about the furthest thing possible from a credible witness. I smiled as politely as I could manage. “You should go back to whatever ghostly things you were doing before we disturbed you, Agatha. We don’t need to bother you anymore. Thanks for your time.” When she huffed and finally left the room, I turned my attention back to the guys. “Right, we need to get to work. Fluffy, Pus—" I screwed my face up. “Okay, I’m going to need new names for you three. I can’t keep using cat names on you. Especially not yours.” I wrinkled my nose as I stared at the blond man.

  Pussy grinned at me and shrugged. “I don’t know, I kind of like it. I don’t remember my past life, but I suspect I always got a lot of—”

  “I get it,” I barked, flapping my hands in front of my face. “Well, there’s no way I’m calling you that in public. Agatha?” I called her name loudly through the walls.

  The grumpy-looking ghost returned to the room, her arms raised in surrender. “Make up your mind, for freak’s sake. Do you want me here or not? I’ve got things to do, places to be.”

  I ignored her rant and smiled, jerking a thumb in the men’s direction. “What were their human names, do you remember?”

  Agatha thought for a long moment and then, to my relief, her expression brightened. “Yes, actually, I do.”

  “Well, what were they?” I prompted. The three men seemed far less concerned to know their real names than I was, for some reason. But under no circumstance was I going to call them those ridiculous pet names in front of other people. It was hard enough saying it in private, let alone having someone else witness me use the P word to address a grown man.

  “I’ll tell you, dearie,” she cackled and her eyes filled with the sly glint of mischief. “But I’ll only tell you if you promise to solve my murder.”

  I sighed. “Fine. I promise I’ll try to help solve your murder.”

  Agatha waggled her finger in front of my face, frowning. “That’s not good enough. I need you to promise that you’ll do it, not just try.”

  “I can’t promise that, no one can promise that,” I said.

  Agatha shrugged and turned to leave us alone once again. “Then I can’t help you,” she called as she walked through the far wall.

  Groaning loudly, I surrendered. “Fine, I promise. Now, give me their goddamn names.”

  “Ask them,” she said. I raised my eyebrows and glared at her, but the old witch merely cackled. “Just ask the big lumps, they know their own names.”

  My mouth hung open as a turned back to the men, glaring. They all wore expressions of amusement, and the dark-haired man gave a nonchalant shrug. “What? Maybe I prefer Fluffy to my human name.”

  “Maybe you’d prefer me to kick your butt than helping me figure out who the hell murdered your owner, and why you had an owner in the first place?” I said.

  To my surprise, Fluffy raised one dark eyebrow and lowered his voice to a barely audible grumble. “I can think of worse things than getting my ass spanked by a beautiful girl.”

  Heat flooded my cheeks as he held me in his blue gaze and I whirled to the other side of the room, focusing my attention on the sweet red-head. “This is nonsense. Just tell me the names, Muffin, or I’m going to pack my bags and walk out that door without leaving behind as much as a pinch of catnip. Capiche?’

  Muffin stared down at me with clear green eyes, amusement coloring his perfect features. “You do know going back to Portland won’t stop you being a murder suspect, right?” I growled under my breath and he raised his hands with a grin. “Okay, okay, fine. I’ll tell you my name.”

  “But,” Pussy interrupted, his hazel eyes glinting. “You’ve got to earn it. Figure out the first step in your quest to find Agatha’s murderer, and we’ll tell you our names as a reward for coming up with a plan. Capiche?” He spoke the last word in a mocking tone.

  I narrowed my eyes at the blond man. “You’re making me earn the right to know the names of the cat people who live in my apartment?”

  “Think of it as motivational,” he countered.

  “You know what, maybe I’ll just keep calling you Pussy. Or Mr. Motivator,” I grumbled. “You should be in corporate management, jackass. If you weren’t an old lady’s cat, that is.” Something flickered behind his hazel eyes and Pussy stared down at his hands with his brows knitted together, the rare look of gravity on his face transforming his features into something sharper. I rele
nted. “Okay, fine. First step in the investigation is that I’ll go and talk to Frankie and ask him some questions. I have Tracy’s business card from the funeral. I can just visit the office and see if he knows anything. Does that plan meet your exacting standards, boss?”

  The blond man’s lips regained their usual curve as he step toward me. “It’s a bit suspicious, don’t you think? You can’t want to just walk in with no reason. We’ve all seen the TV shows, you have to be stealthy when you approach him. You need a reason go see him, so your presence doesn’t make him suspicious.” He grazed his bottom lip with his teeth and ran his gaze over the pink frilly robe that barely covered my torso. “And, unfortunately, he’s immune to your charms.”

  “Well,” I said, boldly returning his heated stare and extending it to include the other two men. “Lucky for me, I have three pieces of man candy who can distract him for me. So let’s get down to the store and find you three something nice to wear.” I smirked. “Something nice and tight that Frankie would approve of. I spotted some leather pants earlier...”

  “Absolutely not.” The blond man’s face was a mask of indignant horror.

  Blue eyes glared at me from under dark brows as Fluffy joined the protest. “Like hell you’ll catch me in a pair of leather pants.”

  The red-haired man shifted awkwardly and I released a snort of laughter. “Okay, fine. I’ll think of another plan.” I crossed my arms and smiled sweetly. “If you tell me your proper names.”

  The red haired man’s mouth curved into a relieved grin as he raised a hand to his chest. “I’m Finlay, but you can call me Finn.”

  He nodded to the tattooed man who was still glowering in response to the leather pants threat. I honestly didn’t know what his problem was. From what I’d seen in the bathroom earlier, he’d look mouth-wateringly good in tight pants. I blushed at my own thoughts and focused on his deep voice. “I’m Tom.”

  I smiled. Finn and Tom, the names suited them. Turning my attention to the blond man, I waited for him to share his human name.