by Ellen Riggs
“It was a lovely table,” I said. “I couldn’t help but notice it, although I didn’t stay long.”
“An Arthur Leemington original that my grandfather commissioned for my grandmother as a wedding gift. Are you suggesting the cats were on that table?”
Scuffing the smattering of dry leaves on the path with my boot, I nodded and mumbled another apology. “There were just so darn many there was probably no place they didn’t go.”
Miss Bingham’s hand dropped away from Keats and she stared into space. “If I’d known that, well… It’s best I didn’t or perhaps I’d be a suspect in the murder, too. Portia and I had an agreement that she’d keep the place exactly as it was till I passed. That way I could go over now and then and remember days past.”
“When was the last time you were there?” I asked.
“Six months ago, give or take. Everything was fine then. There were my six cats and two she’d brought with her, which was reasonable. I kept asking to visit and she kept making excuses. Now I know why.”
“I have friends who knew Portia and they said she’d seemed stressed lately.”
Her lips sealed up tight and we sat in silence for a few moments. Finally, Keats shoved his head under her hand none too subtly and she took the hint. A few minutes of stroking his ears did the trick and her lips parted again. “I was worried about her. In fact, I often thought about taking a cab over there to see what was going on. But I never did. Maybe part of me knew something had gone far wrong but was afraid to ask. Once you’re in here—” she waved her free hand at the facility behind her— “you start to feel helpless. Like you can’t function in the real world anymore. That’s the real curse of places like these. Not the loneliness or the gossip.”
The pain in her voice reverberated in my chest. I knew those feelings all too well. For the two years before Keats broke me out of my corporate cage, they were my constant companions. I looked down at him now and saw he’d repositioned himself so that we could both pat him. My busy, driven dog was turning into a therapy dog after all. He was mellowing with maturity, like the best of us.
“I’m sure there was nothing you could have done,” I said. “Sometimes life gets overwhelming. Some people eat or drink too much, others shop too much. Portia collected too many cats under one roof.”
Miss Bingham nodded. “Money was tight, I know that. She was always coming to me for more. After selling the house to her I gave her a small allowance to keep it up. I assumed she was making repairs, like she told me.”
“The house needs work, I could see that. But keeping so many cats healthy would cost a lot. I know what I pay in vet bills.”
She shook her head over and over. “This is most unfortunate, Ivy, and there’s little I can do from here. Please tell me you’ll look into it.”
“I’ll do what I can, Miss Bingham.”
“Hazel,” she said, reaching for my hand. “We’re friends now, I hope.”
“It’s an honor,” I said. “I’d love to have you out to the farm to take the grand tour and enjoy one of Jilly’s scrumptious meals.”
“I’d like that very much. Then I can see that beautiful marmalade Percy, again.”
“Just give me a day or two to poke around before Kellan figures out what I’m doing.”
Her laugh sounded like it belonged to a woman half her age. “Don’t annoy one of the few good men left in Clover Grove, Ivy. You’ll need to be very stealthy. Can you do it?”
I pointed to Keats. Sensing the shift in the mood, he’d left us to stalk a tame and chubby squirrel that had likely been stuffed with nuts by the residents. The dog advanced so gradually the squirrel didn’t notice. Just before he made his last lunge, I called him off. Far from being disappointed, his tail was high and his ears pricked. It was all about fun. He didn’t even want to catch it.
“Keats is my role model for stealth,” I told Hazel now. “Percy’s got flair, too.”
“You could do worse,” she said, laughing again. “Please keep me posted. If I were you, my first stop would be Chez Belle on Main Street. Portia argued with the owner recently over cat protocol, and it led to the usual mudslinging on both sides. It seemed like Belle took it more seriously than strictly necessary.”
“I can imagine why. Portia didn’t play nice, Hazel. Remember, she threatened to start an online petition to get my farm shut down. Later she said she’d post terrible reviews of Bloomers. If Belle heard something similar, she might react strongly.”
Hazel pushed herself up off the bench, refusing the hand I held out. “I’m afraid Portia was losing her way. She had a run-in with the organic butcher. And even the Langman sisters, I believe. But she was very kind to me over the years and I truly regret missing the signs.”
“I’ll pay Belle a visit,” I said, as we started back. Keats frisked around us, sending up swirls of leaves like a carefree puppy. Maybe being off the farm lifted the load of responsibility because I didn’t often see him play like that. “Would you mind if I asked something personal?”
“We’re friends, now,” she said, stopping to give me her full attention.
“Do you know who stood to inherit the manor from Portia?”
“Ah.” She gave me a sly smile. “I have a good lawyer, Ivy. The house reverts to me since I’m still on the right side of the grass. What I’ll do with it now, I don’t know. Michael still doesn’t want to come home. He’s got itchy feet.”
“Don’t worry. In the short term, we can hire a reliable caretaker. My farm manager, Charlie, will know someone.”
“Of course, Charlie. Is he still dating your mother?”
The Sunny Acres grapevine was quite good. “I’m not sure,” I said. “I have a ‘don’t ask don’t tell’ policy about Mom’s dating life. It’s hard enough keeping up with her minor vendettas.”
“Like I said, Dahlia’s a pistol.”
“But not a murderer,” I said. “I’m quite sure if we put our heads together we can figure out exactly who made The Cat Lady sing.”
Hazel smiled at my joke and the last vestiges of the old ache in my chest loosened up and blew away like the leaves. As Hazel bent to plant a kiss squarely between Keats’ ears, I hoped she felt the same way.
Chapter Eleven
I glanced over at Keats as we drove from Sunny Acres to Daisy’s house. Jilly had woken with a headache, which wasn’t surprising after the grizzly discovery in Bloomers the night before. She’d turned down my invitation to attend a Galloway family meeting, well aware that these gatherings were a recipe for a full-on migraine.
Family meetings were almost always about bad news. We were all busy, so no one ever suggested getting together if a simple text or phone call would do the job. That meant most of our get-togethers were emergency interventions, not unlike the Rescue Mafia’s 911s. One upside of living in Boston had been getting a free pass on most of them. Now I was paying a price. Somehow, since my homecoming, I’d ended up picking up the mediator torch from Daisy, who was justifiably exhausted from corralling Mom and our siblings.
“I’m glad you’re with me, buddy,” I said, as Keats braced himself against the dashboard. “Mom, at least, will make this about me and the trouble I’ve brought to the family since buying Runaway Farm.”
Keats mumbled something that sounded appropriately sympathetic. It probably cost him a little because he actually loved visiting Daisy’s house. That had less to do with seeing the family than with my twin nephews’ twin ferrets, who were rarely caged, much to Daisy’s dismay. Despite slinking and stalking on both sides, they must have reached a mutual understanding because no one got hurt.
“I hope you didn’t spend all your empathy at Sunny Acres,” I said. “I was super impressed, by the way. You outdid Remi’s beagle, Leo, back there. I already thought you were pretty much perfect but you’ve transcended my expectations yet again.”
His next vocalization sounded like a humblebrag.
“Go ahead and swagger. You earned it. Without you, Hazel may have been
too upset to help. Now we can start trying to vindicate Mom and do the right thing by Portia.”
The dog looked over at me with his cool blue eye and his message didn’t need mumble-captions.
“Oh, I know. Portia was mean and could have caused a world of trouble for the farm. But something tells me she didn’t deserve what happened. Clearing Mom’s name will likely flush out some clues for the police. We’ve got to play this one safe, okay? I don’t want to derail things with Kellan. Besides, you and I have had enough near-death experiences to last awhile.”
He gave a noncommittal rumble. Either he didn’t believe me, or he didn’t want to play it safe. As sweet as he’d been with Hazel this morning, I knew he’d rather be deployed as a field agent.
Mom and my sisters were already in their usual places in Daisy’s kitchen when I arrived. Asher was pulling a double shift as he and his colleagues picked over the salon with a fine-tooth comb. It was just as well. Our discussion was sure to put him in an awkward position. He didn’t want to be caught between Kellan and me, or between Kellan and Mom for that matter. Asher just wanted everyone to agree, and that wasn’t how the justice system worked.
“Ivy, I’m so glad you’re here,” Mom said. “Your sisters have been ganging up on me and I need someone on my side.”
Everyone laughed. In our family, I was named least likely to side with Mom. She must be desperate to pretend that was even possible.
“I’ll see you get a fair trial before the family tribunal,” I said, tossing my coat on the pile in the front hall and then taking my spot at the kitchen table.
Mom was as dressed down as I’d ever seen her, in a pair of harem-style pants and a baggy tunic. It was like she wanted to be swallowed up in clothes so no one recognized her. Her hair was limp and her lips bare. She still wore a touch of powder and mascara, but otherwise looked like the average midlifer next door. It spoke volumes about her state of mind.
Normally Daisy spent much of a family meeting trying to grab a white china mug from Mom’s clutches to scrape red, waxy lipstick off the rim. Today, the cup was unmarked, which lightened the load for my clean-freak sister. She filled the void by using a small brush to clean the grout in the tiles behind the sink.
Iris looked much the worse for wear as well. She was still in plaid flannel pajamas with an oversized sweater that had capacity to warm us all. I wondered if she’d driven over in bedroom slippers or borrowed them from Daisy.
Perhaps sensing a rare opportunity to outshine Mom, Poppy had taken things to the other extreme. As the wild child of the family even at 36, Poppy dyed her hair bright colors often and when she had time on her hands, combined them. Her current coiffure alternated streaks of blue, red, pink and orange, which clashed with a short green McInnis tartan kilt. To my knowledge, we had no Scottish blood.
Violet and Daisy were both dressed in black, which was unusual. Perhaps it was meant to be a sign of respect for either the dead Cat Lady, or the moribund salon.
“There won’t be a trial of any sort,” Mom said, struggling to stay upright on the stool at the counter. It was a challenge at any time, given her petite stature, but the slippery harem pants made it worse. Finally she managed to hook the heels of sensible flats over the top rung and gripped the counter with her fingers. “Where’s Jilly when I need her?”
“She has a terrible headache. Is it any surprise?” I slouched in my seat. “Jilly left a successful and sedate life to help me launch this inn and it seems like there’s never-ending drama.”
“It wasn’t like this until you came home,” Mom said.
“Mom!” The chorus sounded like all four sisters.
I looked down at Keats. “Told you she’d blame me. I thought she’d at least wait till I had a coffee.”
Daisy pulled down another white mug and filled it to the brim, knowing I’d forfeit cream in favor of caffeine. “You may need to cut Mom a little slack today, Ivy. You can see she’s not herself.”
“I certainly can. Who is this strange woman wearing genie pants and why is she at our family meeting? More importantly, can I get three wishes?”
“They’re not genie pants, thank you very much, but even I need to be comfortable sometimes. Especially after the brutal grilling I got from your boyfriend last night.”
“Boyfriend?” This time only Poppy, Iris and Violet chimed in. Daisy already knew Kellan had formalized our status. She was the only family member I confided in, but if she let things slip with Mom like that, I’d downgrade her to the sister bush-leagues without a moment’s regret. Jilly and Keats were the only confidantes I needed.
“Things are going okay with Kellan,” I said. “Which is why I don’t really want to rock the boat with too much sleuthing.”
Mom’s glare was less fearsome without full makeup. “This isn’t the time to gain common sense, Ivy. My reputation is at stake.”
“And the salon’s reputation,” Iris added. “It’s an uphill battle to start any business but who can indulge and relax when someone died in the basement? With my shears in her back?”
“I predict it will be busier than ever once you’re cleared to reopen,” I said. “I don’t need to tell you how much people love gossip around here. In fact, I bet they book in pairs because they’re both curious and nervous.”
Iris brightened a little at the thought. “I hope you’re right. Murders haven’t done your inn any good, though.”
“It’s only been a couple of weeks since the last one.” I shook my head at how crazy that sounded. “Things will pick up. I just need a few good guests to get back on track. My challenge is that locals don’t need to use an inn, whereas everyone needs a haircut. They’ll have to drive out of town to avoid you.”
Iris straightened out of a hunch. “Good point. The people who can’t drive will be back first.”
“Then you offer a little incentive,” I said. “Buy a haircut, get a manicure free or some such.”
“Yes!” She looked more like her old self, and the rest of my sisters smiled too.
Mom shrugged. “I’m sure my gentlemen clients won’t be as sensitive as the ladies. In fact, I’ve already had calls to rebook after cancelling my appointments. But when will the chief let us open again?”
I shrugged. “When he’s explored every nook and cranny, and satisfied himself you’re not a threat to society. No telling how long that will take. It’s too bad you didn’t stay a little longer with the handsy cheapskate to have an alibi. Iris is covered.”
“Covered but fretting,” Iris said. “I can’t bear standing around to watch our debt build.”
“Who said anything about standing around?” I asked. “We’ve got investigating to do.”
“You said you were playing it safe,” Daisy said. “Investigating doesn’t sound very safe. Not when there’s a murderer at large.”
“Our definitions might differ. To me, ‘safe’ means making sure I have my butt covered if Kellan asks what I’m doing. And today, I’m going dress shopping with my family.”
“Shopping!” The word echoed around the kitchen.
“What kind of dress?” Daisy’s eyes had widened. “A wedding dress?”
“Oh, good lord, no. We’ve only had a few dates.”
“What then?” She pointed at me with her grout brush. “You hate dresses.”
“I need to replace the dress I borrowed from Jilly for the salon launch. Turns out llama spit stains are forever. Plus, we should find something spectacular for Mom and Iris to wear at the reopening party.”
Iris looked appalled. “Another party?”
“Nothing screams innocence like a party and a nice dress, am I right?” I said. “Maybe I should do that at the inn, too.”
Mom slid off the stool. “There are two secondhand stores I’ve been dying to check out over in Fairbrook. Combing the racks with all of my daughters would help me recover from this horrible shock faster.”
“Great idea,” I said. “Let’s get moving, ladies.”
Keats stru
tted ahead of me to the door while my sisters called out protests behind me.
“We need to swing by my place,” Mom said. She was plucking at her harem pants when I turned. “I can’t go shopping like this. What will people think?”
“That you’re incognito?” I suggested. “That’s not a bad thing today, Mom. But time is of the essence on this particular mission. You can all carpool in Daisy’s van and follow Buttercup down the yellow brick road.”
Chapter Twelve
Mom put on flat-shoed brakes outside Chez Belle and when I grabbed her shoulders, started fighting like a wolverine.
“I am not going in there. Belle Tremblay and I don’t see eye to eye on things.”
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” I restrained her without breaking a sweat. Her thrashing might have foiled me in my pasty executive days, but now that I had pipes, it was easy enough to propel her through the door Daisy opened.
“I sure hope there’s a good reason for this,” Iris said. “Because I’ve never hit a designer shop in flannel pajamas before.”
“Good call on borrowing sneakers,” I said. “Bedroom slippers never do a dress justice.”
“Like you would know,” Iris said, managing a grin.
“Jilly said so. She knows.”
Iris had perked up like a flower after rain and I was impressed by her resilience. Normally, you couldn’t keep a Galloway down for long. My previous career had stolen that capacity from me, but it was back in spades.
I kept a firm grip on Mom as we packed into the store. When she deliberately let her legs give out, I practically carried her. She was as light as a bird, although the baggy fabrics made things awkward.
“This is fun,” Poppy said. “I think I’m going to like sleuthing.”
“Poppy? First rule of investigation is silence,” I said. “Act normal.”
“In normal life I’d never darken the door of this place.” She tossed her rainbow of hair. “It gives me the creeps.”
