Murder Most Meow

by Louise Lynn

  "It does to me. But you need to talk to the editor of the Cedar Valley Post? Any reason?"

  A chill wind picked up and blew through her hair, and Hazel shivered with it. "Yeah. Apparently, Dominic gave her an exclusive interview and Sophia Allen wasn't happy about it, for whatever reason."

  Sheriff Cross’s jaw set and he nodded. "Sophia Allen? Is she the one with the dyed red hair?"

  Hazel couldn't help but smile at that comment. "Yeah. But Angela Dane has dyed red hair as well, so which were you thinking of?"

  "Sophia. She was off stage when the light fell, and no one can account for her whereabouts. That’s enough time for her to cut the cable. You said you wanted me to look into something else?”

  Right. Hazel had almost forgotten what Esther brought up during lunch. “The festival’s behavior clause. I think someone was trying to frame Dominic to get him kicked out. And it didn’t work, so they killed him instead. So, we need to find out who had the most to lose by Dominic completing his contract here.”

  Sheriff Cross nodded slowly, then his eyes narrowed. “That makes sense. You’re not using me for my police connections, are you?"

  Hazel put her arm around his waist and squeezed. "Only a little."

  Sheriff Cross laughed, and for a moment, it seemed to chase away the encroaching darkness. Too bad it didn’t last.

  Violet’s confession weighed on Hazel’s mind, and she bit her lip to keep from saying anything yet. The girl would tell her uncle soon enough.

  Anthony Ray teetered at the edge of the pier, his paws reaching for the water a good five feet below.

  “He’s excited about something,” Sheriff Cross said and glanced off the side. As he did, his grip on Hazel’s shoulder tightened. “What the—”

  Hazel peeked over and felt her eyes widen. A mass of red floated there, along with a few pieces of paper.

  “Oh, I forgot to tell you. Darcy threw a bag into the lake. I’m not sure if those are its contents or not,” she said and gave him a strained grin.

  With a sigh, Sheriff Cross pulled his cell phone from this pocket. “I guess we’re about to find out.”

  Chapter 15

  Much to Hazel’s regret, she couldn’t stick around for the deputies to pull the array of items from the lake. She had a meeting with Darla Maple. Though, in truth, Hazel would have preferred jumping into Lake Celeste over bargaining with the editor of the Cedar Valley Post. Even if she had to do the former in a bikini with the whole town watching, and her ex-husband in attendance.

  But she needed to read that article. Dominic Dane may had mentioned something incriminating—something worth killing him over—so she went.

  In the mantle of night, the festival took on a sinister appearance.

  Torches and lanterns had been lit at the booths that stayed open late, mostly the ones serving food and the bar—Falstaff’s Folly. Whispers seemed hushed and laughter louder and more abrasive.

  Plus, with the birds and squirrels gone to bed, Anthony Ray now found shadows to charge at with every turn. Hazel kept him close as she walked through the festival looking for Darla Maple. She’d called the woman's phone, and, as she figured Darla was at the festival.

  To her surprise, Darla invited her for drinks. That probably wasn't a good thing.

  Back in high school, Darla had been the head of the school paper and the biggest gossip. In the years since, nothing much changed. And while Hazel's own mother was a bit of a gossip too, at least she didn't print everything she heard for the whole town to read.

  Darla had a bad habit of doing that, even if she didn't mention names in order to avoid litigation.

  Still, Hazel tugged her sweater tighter around her middle. She knew she had to stay on her toes.

  Falstaff's Folly was rowdier than the other establishments, and Hazel spotted Darla right away, tucked into the farthest corner of the large tent. The firelight cast uneven shadows over everything. So much so that even Jay Turner, handsome rebel that he was, looked menacing in that light.

  "Here for your Shirley Temple? Or would you like some mead. I'm trying to be accurate for the time, you know?" he said with a smirk.

  Hazel leaned against the bar and glanced around. She didn't recognize most of the people there, which meant they were tourists and not locals. Not surprising.

  While the mead sounded interesting, Hazel decided to go with something nonalcoholic. “A Shirley Temple is fine, if inaccurate," she said with a tired smile.

  Jay started on her drink. "Saw Celia and Paul today. They seemed to be having a good time.”

  Hazel wondered if he was jealous or not. Celia and Jay had an on-again, off-again relationship for years, one that Hazel hoped was permanently off again, but she could never tell. "Yeah, I noticed. And I thought she was giving Paul the cold shoulder after the ice fishing incident," she said with a smile.

  Jay laughed. "That's Celia for you. Who knows. Paul's a nice guy, but Celia? I think he’d want someone who liked camping and all that outdoorsy stuff."

  Hazel wasn't going to disagree with that assessment, because Celia was a bit high maintenance. Not in a bad way, but she didn't like roughing it in the least. "In a town like this, there's not a lot to choose from. No offense.”

  To her relief, Jay laughed again. “Yeah. She's been here, done that. I know we’re not meant for each other. You don't have to worry. But, I do want her to be happy. And I also don’t want her to worry about getting eaten by bears on a regular basis."

  He slid her drink across the bar, and Hazel lifted it in salute. "I understand that sentiment. Being worried about bears is never fun. But black bears hardly ever eat people." Then she turned and made for Darla's table.

  On the way, she noticed Christopher Allen there as well. He sat alone at the other corner, nursing a beer. His hair was matted to his head, and she saw a long red hair stuck to his shirt. It probably belonged to his wife.

  Hazel raised an eyebrow at that, but decided not to approach. Especially with the look Darla was giving her. She had a smile that was more reminiscent of a shark than anything. But she was hungry for information that could sell her more papers, not hungry for the truth. Which, as a journalist, Hazel thought she would be.

  "Hazel Hart. We haven't gotten to talk since–"

  “The Ambrose Angel concert a couple of months ago. Though, we didn't say much to each other then,” Hazel said and took a seat.

  Darla shrugged. "There was a lot going on that night. But congratulations. You helped me sell a lot of papers."

  Hazel sipped her drink. Just a touch too sweet, but she could live with it.

  Anthony Ray wound into a ball near her feet and pretended to go to sleep, though she knew better. If anyone came near their table, he'd stand up and yowl at them.

  "Thanks, I think."

  Darla laughed, and to anyone who didn't know her it would sound genuine. However, she always had a habit of putting on a façade in front of people she wanted information from. Hazel wondered what sort of information Darla wanted from her. "So, you want to know about my Dominic Dane exclusive? It's pretty juicy, all things said and done."

  She was drinking a cup of something alcoholic, but hardly taking any sips at all. They were so small, Hazel wondered if she was actually swallowing anything or just pretending to sip in order to get Hazel to lower her guard.

  Well, unless Darla wanted her to have a sugar high, it wasn’t going to have much of an effect. "Can you give me an early copy of it? Someone said it's coming out tomorrow, but I’d like to read it before then.”

  “I could. In fact, I have one right here," she said and patted her oversized purse. That was another habit she’d had in high school. The thing was huge—large enough for a medium-sized dog to ride comfortably inside, and how any one person needed that much stuff, Hazel didn't know. But then, she was a woman with a purse filled to the brim with old receipts. "The thing is, I need some information from you. You know, you scratch my back, I scratch yours."

  Hazel tried not to m
ake a face and took another mincing sip of her Shirley Temple. "I don't know what sort of information I might have. I'm just a photographer."

  Darla smiled, showing her teeth, and placed a hand on Hazel's arm. Her nails were painted blood red and sharpened nearly into points. "Oh come on, we both know that's not true. You've solved three murders, some without the help of the police at all, so I think you're more than just a photographer, Hazel. Or should I call you Hazy?"

  Even when her family called her that, she bristled. Having an old schoolmate call her that was worse. "Please don’t."

  Darla's smile sharpened like she'd scored a point in some game Hazel didn’t know they were playing. "So, what do you say? Are you going to give me something for this juicy interview?"

  Hazel sucked in a breath through her nose, and instantly regretted it. Falstaff's Folly was starting to smell like a Shakespearean bar did back then, and she figured it had something to do with the proximity to the porta-potties.

  "Like I said, I'm not sure what sort of information I could share with you. I don't have much. Dominic Dane was murdered, and whoever did it wanted it to look like an accident. Is that good enough?"

  Darla scrunched her nose. "Sort of good. But it’s not great. Come on. I'm sure you have something even better than that."

  Hazel looked at Christopher Allen slumped in the corner. Instead of being home with his wife and son, he was here. It reminded her more than a little of Dominic Dane. He stared at the bottle gripped in his hands. Then, a loud crash emanated from somewhere near the bar—shattered glass and a rushed apology. Christopher's shoulders stiffened at the sound, and he jumped, glancing around, eyes wide as if he'd seen a ghost.

  A ghost.

  Well, Hazel didn't want to share any of the actual insight from the investigation so far, but a little misinformation wouldn't hurt. Especially when so many people already believed it.

  "Okay," Hazel said and leaned forward, dropping her voice into a conspiratorial whisper. "There is something, but I need more than an early copy of that paper to tell you. There was a photo on the cover yesterday of Angela Dane on stage over her husband’s body, and I think you paid a paparazzi for it. Are there any other pictures?”

  Darla laughed. “If I had them, I wouldn’t just give them to you. I’d put them in the paper. That photo cost a pretty penny. Paparazzi are vultures, but they have their uses. I can give you the name of my guy though. For free. Sonny Pirelli. He’s right over there at the bar,” she said and pointed at a short, round man with hairy arms and a paunchy red face.

  Hazel pursed her lips and nodded. She’d have to talk to him next. “Okay, I know it's going to sound crazy, but it’s pretty juicy. Like I said, the cable that held the light that killed Dominic was severed. Cut. But, as far as we can tell, no one was near the scaffolding to cut it. It’d been checked right before the play, and it was in perfect condition."

  Darla jotted it all down in a notepad. "Okay, so? Someone snuck around and sabotaged it."

  Hazel glanced around and took another sip of her drink. "Yeah, that's what the sheriff thinks happened, but the people who worked with Dominic have a different idea. He didn't respect the play."

  Darla raised a brow, and tucked her short brown hair behind her ears. "Respect Macbeth?"

  Hazel put a finger to her lips. “Shh! Don't say the name out loud. Do you have any idea what kind of bad luck that causes? That's how he died. There have been accidents and deaths occurring around this play for years, and this is just another one. He refused to call it by its superstitious name—the Scottish play—and instead used the actual name. And that's why he's dead."

  For a moment, Hazel was afraid Darla wouldn't buy it. Then, her eyes caught the gleam of fire light and sparkled. "That is a good tale. Killed by a cursed production. I like it. I really do like it. And even more, I think people will like it. That's why I do this, to get the truth out to the masses," she said with a shark-like grin.

  After Darla finished writing everything Hazel told her, she reached into her oversized bag and pulled out a copy of the interview. "There you go. Early exclusive. It’ll run on the front page tomorrow, but I'll have to see if I can make room for your story too. Maybe second page? Who knows. Thanks though, and I hope we can do business again sometime," she said, gathered her things and left.

  Anthony Ray swatted at her retreating legs, and even though he missed, Hazel smiled.

  Right.

  The truth.

  Well, that wasn't the truth at all, but if that's what price Hazel had to pay, so be it.

  As she stood to go, she looked for Sonny Pirelli, but he was gone. As was Christopher Allen.

  They’d both vanished, like a pair of ghosts.

  Chapter 16

  Hazel got home later than she would've liked, and found Esther and Ruth curled on the couch. Soon after, they retreated to their own abode on the other side of Cedar Valley. Violet had already gone to bed, so Hazel didn't get to say anything to her. But it did give her a chance to wash up and collapse without worrying about the teenager either.

  However, the next morning, she smelled coffee before she opened her eyes, and Anthony Ray wasn't there to press his cold nose against her warm one in an effort to rouse her.

  She blinked at the sun filtering through the curtains and slowly got out of bed. Voices came from below, and as she descended the stairs, she saw why.

  Her mother bustled around the kitchen humming out of tune, and Violet helped her.

  “Oh, good morning, dear. I thought you could use some of your sister's muffins for breakfast, and you know how Esther is. She baked too many."

  Hazel rubbed the sleep from her eyes and yawned. "Did you feed Anthony Ray?"

  "I did," Violet piped and scratched Anthony Ray under the chin. His dish was empty, and he was licking his chops. "I also made coffee. I mean, I thought you'd like it when you first woke up and the muffins were here so… I hope you don't mind."

  Hazel smiled. "Waking up to coffee and breakfast, why would I mind?"

  Only, she didn't get to enjoy the muffins or her coffee for long. Mostly because she saw the interview she'd gotten from Darla the day before laid on the kitchen table. What else had she expected? She was the one who'd left it there.

  "Did you read it?" Hazel asked Violet, who kept glancing at it.

  The girl had her knees curled to her chest and her arms wrapped around them. "I wasn't supposed to?"

  Hazel shrugged. It wasn't as juicy as Darla Maple claimed, but it did have some interesting information. Most notably that Dominic Dane was planning on getting a divorce from his wife. In fact, according to the article, they were moments away from finalizing it. He kept flirting with Darla as well—which wasn't unexpected—and saying he was going to be a free man soon enough.

  The other most revealing thing about the interview was how much he despised the festival itself. He called it a ‘nothing festival in a small town trying too hard to be like New York, when it obviously wasn’t.'

  Hazel had rolled her eyes at that. Cedar Valley did not want to be New York. It only wanted to be Cedar Valley, and even if he didn't like the festival, plenty of people did.

  Though, she could see why Christopher Allen might not like the interview. It reflected badly on him as well. Dominic said in it that ‘washed up Hollywood producers shouldn't try to direct plays in Shakespeare festivals.’

  In fact, Dominic Dane pretty much badmouthed everyone involved with the festival, from the stagehands to his fellow actors. Though, oddly, he had one positive thing to say. And that was about the understudy for Lady Macbeth, Sophia Allen.

  He’d said: "My soon-to-be ex-wife has the part of Lady Macbeth, but the understudy is much better than Angela ever could be. It's a point of contention between us, but Angela is the bigger star so the understudy got the shaft. It's not fair, if you ask me."

  Then, according to Darla Maple, he took a big swig off whatever alcoholic drink he was slurping down during the interview.

  Afte
r reading the article, Hazel didn’t think it was incriminating. Too many people had motive. Not to mention she didn’t know what the deputies had lifted from the lake the night before. That was new evidence to consider, and what if it pointed at Darcy Allen, like Violet suggested?

  Hazel just didn’t know. The pieces of the puzzle felt as if they were shrouded in mist, and she couldn’t make them out properly. And instead of each new piece clearing things up, it only served to make them more muddled.

  “You haven’t talked to your uncle yet, have you?” Hazel asked carefully.

  Violet picked a blueberry out of her muffin and chewed on it slowly. “No. But I will today. I didn’t even see him yesterday. You know how busy he was.”

  “Yeah. I know. And about Dominic, like you said, he wasn't a nice person.” Hazel sat at the table once she had poured her coffee.

  Violet shrugged. "Yeah. Kind of an awful person, actually. I feel stupid for joining his fan club."

  Hazel smiled and patted her arm. "It's not like we ever know the actual details of the people we look up to—not at first, anyway. It's not your fault."

  Violet nodded stiffly and went back to picking apart the muffin.

  Finally, Hazel's mother stopped whatever she was doing and settled down, the plate of muffins in her hands. She put two on Hazel's plate and another on Violet’s, as if they needed all those muffins. Then she handed out cups of orange juice and a bowl of fruit, which Hazel assumed she also got from Esther.

  "That's not even the right article. I'm not sure how you got it, but it's one of the reasons I came over here,” her mother said.

  Hazel frowned around her first bite. "What do you mean? This is the one Darla gave me last night."

  Maureen Hart nodded sagely. "Well, that explains it. It’s not the one she printed this morning. When I read this, I just knew I had to go see my little Hazy. It's amazing the strides you've taken in opening your mind in the past few days.”

  With a wide smile, she set a freshly printed version of the Cedar Valley Post on the table.