Cat Killed A Rat

by ReGina Welling

  Plus, it was a lead-pipe cinch that her sister, loud-mouth Lottie, would be there and that woman couldn’t keep a secret if her life depended on it. Maybe they could learn something new about the ongoing feud between the sisters while appearing sympathetic for Talia’s loss.

  Two steps from the car, they could already hear her booming voice berating the widow for her choice of casket. “It doesn’t go with the flowers. Honestly, Talia, you have the worst taste. If it had to be gray, you could at least have gone with charcoal instead of this ugly silver color.”

  “I don’t recall asking for your opinion, you fat cow, so maybe you should keep it to yourself.” Talia’s normally meek voice screeched through the window.

  Chloe and EV exchanged wide-eyed grins. Apparently becoming a widow had turned Talia from a mouse to a lion.

  “Well, I never.” Lottie’s voice rang out with shock.

  Talia snorted. “Well, maybe you should. It would improve your temperament and probably clear up that skin problem.”

  Chloe clapped a hand over her mouth to keep the giggle from escaping while EV’s grin just got wider. Now this was a side of Talia she could grow to like. At the sound of footsteps approaching, both women pasted on their best serious expressions and managed to wipe away the last vestiges of mirth before an angry Lottie burst through the door to enter the vestibule. She scowled at seeing EV standing there, then shot her nose into the air and marched out of the church.

  Before they could turn and walk through the door, Chloe and EV heard Talia speaking to Luther, where he lay amid the coffin pillows. “I’m sorry you had to hear that, Luther. I know you’ve always expected me to turn the other cheek, but today I’ve run out of cheeks.” Emotion choked her voice, “Now, you sleep easy and don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself.”

  Waiting until Talia fell silent, EV finally pushed through the doors, and with Chloe following her, stepped into the church proper. The widow stood head down with one hand resting on Luther’s where they lay folded; the perfect picture of heartbreak.

  Until now, it hadn’t occurred to either of them that Talia might be among the small contingent who considered EV a suspect in Luther’s death. So when Chloe moved forward to offer a consoling hug, EV remained behind to gauge Talia’s reaction.

  After gratefully accepting the hug, Talia, eyes brimming, crossed over to where EV still stood and practically launched herself into EV’s arms, which answered the question quite nicely.

  “What am I going to do now? Luther was my whole life,” she wailed.

  Genuinely sorry for the woman, EV hugged her hard. “I’m so sorry, Talia. What can we do to help?”

  Chloe looked around the room; everything seemed ready. The casket sat amid a pitifully small selection of flower arrangements, which seemed sad considering the number of people who would soon be crowding the pews. The pulpit was stationed near where Luther’s head rested, and at his feet stood a small table with a video memorial scrolling endlessly through a lifetime of photos.

  To the casual observer, the images would be little more than a catalog of a life sadly shortened; but to Chloe, who had more experience in reading body language than most, they showed an innocent child becoming an increasingly unhappy boy before growing into a hardened man. Only in the photos of him with Talia did she see anything soft or loving; in those, he became a different person altogether. One she actually felt sorry for.

  Visibly calmer than when they had arrived, Talia answered, “There’s really nothing left to do, so if you could just sit with me for a little while—” The slamming open of the door heralded Lottie’s re-entry as she stalked back to where her sister sat.

  “I’ll forgive you that last remark because I know you’re distraught,” she announced. “Anyone would be under the circumstances.”

  Before Talia had time to respond, the door opened again and the first of the mourners made their way toward the front of the church. Talia stood to greet them while EV quietly asked Lottie, “Where’s Evan? Shouldn’t he be here?”

  “He’s probably outside waiting to make an entrance,” contempt dripped from every word. “All he seems to care about is whether or not Luther left a will. He’s hardly said a word to Talia otherwise.” Her contempt for Luther and his family was well known. She settled her black-clad self upon the pew next to EV and Chloe. “Did she tell you about the notes?” Her voice lowered to a stage whisper. “Someone has been blackmailing Evan.”

  Chloe and EV’s eyes met; finally, some interesting news.

  EV chose her words carefully so as not to be seen trying to pry, “How do you know? Have you told the police? They’re the best ones to handle something like this.”

  “I hear things, but I don’t always tell everything I know.”

  That was the last chance for private conversation before a combination of actual mourners and curiosity seekers filled the pews. It was easy to tell the difference. Those who truly felt Luther’s loss made their way up front where Talia stood in unrelieved black to give their condolences, while the looky-loos filed into their seats and gossiped in furious whispers about how Luther had died and who might have had motive to kill him. EV garnered more than her fair share of speculative looks.

  Evan was one of the last to approach the casket. He moved slowly, shoulders sagging with exaggerated grief in what could only be construed as an attempt to garner sympathy from prospective supporters. EV knew him well enough to know that it wasn’t all posturing, but was so disgusted with the act that she couldn’t bring herself to feel sorry for him.

  He approached Talia and awkwardly wrapped his arms around her with a quick glance back at the crowd. It seemed the most appropriate thing in the world, for a brother to console his widowed sister-in-law, but her reaction showed she felt his gesture out of place and unwelcome. When she didn’t respond, Evan pulled away, patted her shoulder awkwardly, and then took his seat in the front row.

  “That was odd. Why wouldn’t she accept his condolences? He’s the only other person here who lost as much as she just did.”

  “Maybe she doesn’t want everyone in town to know how close they really are.” Chloe replied, waving her eyebrows suggestively.

  EV shushed her as the pastor moved toward the podium.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Nearly two weeks after Luther Plunkett’s funeral, everyone, save for his wife and brother, needed to focus on happier matters. Ponderosa Pines’ annual Moonlight Madness festival was a big enough ordeal to lift the layer of macabre that had woven its way through town, settling on fence posts and filling every dark corner like thick cobwebs.

  The notoriety gained by the Pines for being a green community paled before the town’s reputation for hosting a series of outlandish events. Moonlight Madness held the honor of being a favorite among the seasoned residents as well as the newer arrivals. Festivities began at dusk in the town square before eventually moving to an enormous bonfire in the field beyond the Fairy Garden.

  Veronica arrived in Chloe’s driveway, arms laden with bags of glow sticks and a trail of children following behind her from tallest to shortest like a family of ducklings.

  “Hello, my darlings,” Chloe cooed, kissing each one on the forehead before relieving Veronica of half the shopping bags and depositing them into the trunk of her tiny car. The back seat was completely stuffed with decorations, giving the impression of a clown car ready to burst at any moment.

  “Thanks for taking those over. We’ve got to go back home and get the supplies together for the face-painting booth. My arm is going to be Jell-O by the end of the day!”

  Veronica’s artistic flair and her way with a brush had landed her with the unenviable chore of manning the very popular face-painting booth for three years running. During the first year, delighted at being asked, she had thrown herself into each tiny masterpiece.

  The second year, her delight lessened considerably when the number of faces to paint doubled and she had barely been able to make it to the bonfire.<
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  By the third year, when begging had not released her from the onerous duty, she took the opportunity to add something inappropriate to the faces of anyone who had annoyed her in any way throughout the past year. Always clever, her targets rarely noticed the naughty images in Veronica’s handiwork. But for those few in the know, trying to pick out the subtle references added another layer of fun to the madness.

  Short minutes later, Chloe pulled into a parking space across from the town square and popped the trunk. Before she could step out of the car, she noticed Allegra Worth hobbling across the park toward her own car, which was sitting only two spaces away from Chloe’s. The tension around her mouth showed as her lips settled into a thinner line each time one of her spiked heels sunk into the grass. Ashton followed closely behind her, Allegra’s purse clutched in one hand, looking more like her assistant than her husband.

  A giggle threatened to erupt in Chloe’s throat, but she stifled it. Each time Allegra yanked her heel out of the turf, her bent leg gave her the look of a demented stork. Chloe sank further in her seat and peeked through the car window. The last thing she wanted to deal with was that obnoxious woman.

  If she had to guess, Chloe would say Allegra probably topped out at five foot eight, but it was impossible to tell her actual height since she rarely wore anything shorter than a three-inch heel. Her age was another mystery, but Chloe would bet money Allegra had recently slid into her forties.

  She reminded Chloe of a Barbie doll dressed up as Cruella DeVille for Halloween: all of her parts were perfect on their own—shapely legs, a tiny waist, toned arms—but there was something angular and almost odd about the way they all came together. She was certainly attractive, but in a severe, almost cold way.

  When the coast was clear, Chloe emerged from the driver’s seat and surveyed the park with an unobstructed view. White string lights zigzagged across the grassy expanse to form a glowing canopy that would, after dark, resemble a twinkling night sky. Star- and moon-shaped cutouts would soon hang from tree branches and between the booths that were beginning to pop up in a semi-circle around the park center. The area was abuzz with activity, and Chloe was happy to help.

  Lanterns lit a path through a circle of trees and into a clearing, where several telescopes were ready and waiting for curious eyes to peer at the cosmos. Another path would lead through the fairy garden and into a field where Chloe knew several citizens were currently constructing the pyre for the bonfire that would commence after dark.

  As she moved about hanging pinatas, setting up booths, and making small talk with a few townspeople, Chloe thought back to the first year she had helped with the event. Not having been in town for more than a few weeks, it had still been a challenge for her to remember names and relationships, making social interactions a necessary but uncomfortable evil.

  Chloe’s solution was to do more listening than talking. Now, the secrecy requirements of her work carried on the tradition, and she realized she was slipping into old habits: focus on work, shut out the rest of the world. What was the point of calming down, moving home, and settling in if she was going to repeat past mistakes? Vowing to be more friendly and outspoken in the future, she finished up her duties and headed home to get ready for what would surely prove a fun and interesting evening.

  * * *

  The bonfire was in full swing when Chloe and EV arrived. Nestled into a pair of folding canvas camp chairs atop a gentle rise, they sat back and watched the sparks fly high into the air while their friends and neighbors danced to the beat of at least a dozen different hand drums. A positive energy radiated from the crowd, as though they were throwing all cares and woes into the flames and allowing them to dissipate with the billowing pillar of smoke.

  Moonlight, combined with the glimmer of firelight, made the dozens of glow sticks bobbing across the field almost unnecessary. Tents of various colors, some makeshift in design, dotted the area surrounding the bonfire. Though living in the Pines often felt akin to camping, this night of the year, especially, people seized the opportunity to sleep beneath the stars. Those who had consumed too many cups of Ponderosa Punch could often be found sprawled on the grass the next morning.

  The drumming ceased momentarily, and two voices rose above the din. Lottie and Talia were at it again. Exchanging glances, Chloe and EV circled around the fire, broke off from the group, and made their way toward a clump of trees near where the two were arguing.

  “I don’t want to think about it right now, Lottie. Just let me deal with things my own way. For once in your life, BUTT OUT!”

  Lottie opened her mouth to retort, but seeing the determined look on Talia’s face and the way her hands were shaking in anger, she turned and stalked away through the trees without another word.

  * * *

  Having returned to their perch on the hill after another hour of fire dancing, Chloe and EV once again observed the crowd that was still milling around the dwindling bonfire. Mindy and her boyfriend joined them. Jace leaned over to give EV a kiss on the cheek before settling down on the quilt spread out beneath them.

  “Don’t take this nonsense seriously; we all know if you were going to bump someone off you’d get away totally clean,” he teased, bringing a smile to EV’s face.

  “Remind me to send a pan of mac and cheese to your house, Jace.” EV’s homemade recipe was well known as the best in town, and she typically only pulled it out for special occasions.

  It looked like she may have learned her lesson earlier in the day when, looking more approachable then ever before in sneakers and jeans, Allegra Worth walked past with the ever-faithful Ashton following close behind. Allegra’s eyes scanned the crowd as though trying to pick out a single face while Ashton’s were trained squarely, as usual, on her.

  “Hey, Ashton got the Veronica treatment. Wait, are those man bits on his face?” EV pointed and the rest of the group took a closer look. "It's subtle, but if you tip your head a little to the left and squint."

  “Sure looks like it. He must have gotten on Veronica’s list somehow. Maybe he said something snarky. You think he’ll ever realize she got the last laugh?”

  Chapter Fourteen

  The next day, EV was lost in thought as she sipped her coffee at the Mudbucket. Over the last several years, Evan had been behind several schemes to cinch big corporate deals in order to build up what he saw as his future dynasty. All had failed for one reason or another.

  Now he was behind the bid to combine the towns of Gilmore and Ponderosa Pines, and EV would have bet dollars to donuts he was playing both ends against the middle by telling the Gilmorians one story and Pines residents another.

  With a lifetime of history in this place, EV was not interested in seeing the Pines become the type of town governed by one person. The Selectmen system worked well here. Three leaders meant three varying perspectives on every issue.

  To her, the terms mayor and dictator were very similar in concept, and the worst-case scenario imaginable would be to have Evan in charge. He already had a Napoleon complex—making him mayor would puff him up beyond all reason. As long as she drew breath, EV vowed to keep that disaster from happening.

  If she had to, she could pull rank. As the largest landowner and the only daughter of the founding family, her opinion held enough authority to put a stop to the whole thing. Playing that card, though, was not in her nature; and, in reality, there would likely be little need for her to do so. Despite Evan’s assertions, EV would always side with her neighbors in whatever they thought was best for their town. Even if that meant letting Gilmore annex Ponderosa Pines.

  If EV had not known the intimate details of his childhood, she would have seen the young man as something you scraped off your shoe after a visit to the dog park. Instead, she was well aware of how his mother had favored her eldest son, Luther—how she had held him up to Evan as the epitome of perfection while belittling her younger son, who soon began to turn bitter.

  Even now, she remembered young Evan as an earnest
little soul with a sweet face and a love of animals. Over the course of a week, she had watched him charm and tame a feral cat that lived in the woods across from her house: a feral cat that she had been feeding for several months in the hope she could lure him close enough to catch with nothing to show for her troubles but some scored flesh.

  All he had needed to do was sit quietly until the cat ventured from the shadowy forest depths and talk to it in a calm, clear voice. Each day the cat came closer as Evan poured out his love for the animal until, finally, the bedraggled feline lay purring in his arms. Never would she forget Evan’s beatific expression as he petted the adoring cat, nor would she forget the look of sorrow on his face when he had to let it go.

  His mother had never allowed Evan to bring home a pet, but EV struck up a deal with the boy: if he could help her convince his gray-and-black-striped companion to move in with EV, then Evan could visit any time he liked. Mr. Tibbs had gone from a prowling tomcat to a lazy house pet who commanded the prime spot next to the fireplace for many years after Evan stopped visiting.

  A measure of blame fell to her, in EV’s estimation, for Evan having grown into the type of man he was today. At the time, she had been able to convince herself nothing would change, that her intervention might not even make the situation worse. She suspected, now with hindsight, things had been worse at home than he had ever let on.

  In the face of his mother’s obvious partiality to his brother, Evan’s caring spirit tarnished and hardened until eventually he shut himself off from his one escape—EV. She could have stopped it, but how do you explain to a boy that it was his face, the spitting image of his father’s, that reminded his mother of loss, and that in reality, it had nothing to do with him?