by Julie Chase
Next up was a YouTube video of Annie called “Choosing the Right Protégé.”
I stilled my hands as Annie smiled for the camera and introduced an emaciated young man as Shannon Martin.
My heart skipped. I leaned closer to the screen. Those were your designs on Annie’s desk. Why? Review and evaluation? Or something else. I wasn’t convinced the weakling beside her could lift a fork, much less a crystal humanitarian award, but anyone working closely to Annie was worth an interview.
I focused on the screen, memorizing Shannon’s face and imagining Annie’s former protégé fighting for the rights to his designs. I look forward to meeting you, Mr. Martin.
The timer on my oven dinged, and I nearly had a stroke. I pushed the feathers and laptop aside and stretched to my feet.
Something moved outside my front window.
I spread one hand over my collarbone to calm my racing heart. I’d thought someone was out there before, and it had been nothing. I crept to the window again and peeked through the parted curtain panels.
A man stood on my lawn, facing my porch. He was anchored by the long shadows of my oak tree, wearing black coveralls and a giant papier-mâché cat head. Big white-and-green painted eyes watched my home.
I yanked the sheer curtain panels together and sprang away from the window. My back thumped against the wall.
Whoever he was, he was big and close enough to throw something and hit the house.
“Leave or I’m calling the police,” I threatened through chattering teeth. I jammed shaky fingers against the number pad on my home security system and waited for my new favorite word to appear: “Secured.”
I rubbed my face and exhaled slowly. I debated calling Jack, but I’d already gotten his feathers ruffled today. If anyone tried to open a door or window, the alarm company would send a car to check on me. I was probably safe. The stranger was probably a cast member from some Faux Real event going on in the city.
I crawled back to the window and peeped through a crack between the curtain and the wall.
Nothing but shadows.
Chapter Four
Furry Godmother’s secret to success: More antiperspirant.
After a restless night of bad dreams and mewing kittens, I made quick work of my morning routine and tucked Penelope into her carrier. I’d checked my lawn a hundred times after going to bed, certain there was someone just beyond my window. There wasn’t. I’d considered making an emergency appointment with my therapist, but I didn’t have the money to waste. Following my mugging in Arlington, I’d imagined my attacker everywhere when I knew he was in jail. Minds under duress do crazy things. Still, given the choice between having imagined a cat-man on my lawn versus actually seeing one, I’d take door number one, which said a lot about where I was emotionally.
The short drive to work cleared my head by a fraction and relaxed my clenching muscles. Magazine Street was peppered with shop owners dragging displays onto the sidewalk and tourists toting cardboard trays filled with delectable beignets. The soft, yeasty dough and powdered sugar called to me as I unlocked Furry Godmother and jumped inside. I smacked my hand against the light switch panel and punched the code into the alarm. My tummy growled. The contents of my refrigerator were as thin as my bank account these days, save ingredients for my nightly baking. I did my best not to eat those. Despite my growing clientele, start-ups were expensive to maintain, and lease space on Magazine Street was Manhattan steep. Not to mention the money I’d spent on a home alarm system and high-end materials for the Mardi Gras proposal pieces I wanted to show Annie.
I freed Penelope from her crate, and she trotted away, swinging her tail in the air. I’d make a run to my house for the Siamese after Imogene arrived.
I shook my hands out at the wrists and pushed images of Annie and the cat-man from my mind. There was nothing I could do for Annie, and the cat-man was long gone.
I flipped the “Closed” sign to “Open” and went to put on some music. Bright morning sunlight glittered over wide oak flooring. The soft pink-and-green palette of Furry Godmother was accessorized with punches of yellow and a healthy sprinkle of fleur-de-lis.
The little bell over the door dinged. Imogene walked inside. Her clothes were askew, and her hair was wild. Dark glasses covered her eyes. “Good morning, sugar.”
“Wow.” I whistled. “Rough night trapping ghosts in the Quarter?”
She wrinkled her nose and pulled off her glasses. “I wasn’t catching ghosts.”
“Oh.” I loaded fresh treats into the bakery display and puzzled over my misunderstanding. “I thought you were helping a friend with a ghost problem?”
“I was.”
I shut the little glass doors and tossed old wax papers into the trash. “Were you exorcising it?”
“Heavens no.”
Well, now that that’s all cleared up. I dusted my palms and mentally moved on.
Imogene grabbed a dust wand and went to work on my shelves. “Have you fed Brad and Angelina?”
“Not yet.” Brad and Angelina were my box turtles who lived in a beautiful habitat display against the far wall. Their lagoon was lined in blue rhinestones, and their shelters were hand stenciled by me. “There are fresh strawberries in my lunch sack under the counter.” I powered up the register and double-checked that Spot had made it back to his charging station safely.
“Imogene?” I interrupted as she hummed her way through the dust in my shop. “I hate to leave so soon, but I’m watching Annie’s kittens, and I need to run to the store.”
Imogene fastened dimpled hands over curvy hips. “I heard all about that mess on the news this morning.”
“Me too.” I’d watched every minute of coverage, and the media was blowing everything out of proportion as usual. Luckily I’d escaped the scene without being caught on film. “The kittens need proper transports. The police shoved them in awful metal cages. I don’t want their toes or whiskers getting caught in them.” I grabbed my purse and keys. “I’m going to pick up two nice travel packs like Penelope’s and bring Annie’s kitties here for today.”
“Go on.” She flipped Brad and Angelina’s UV light on. “I can handle things here.”
“Thanks. I won’t be long.”
I ducked into the sun and waved to a magician on stilts outside the Frozen Banana smoothie shop next door. A trio of women in scanty burlesque ensembles weaved a crooked path up the sidewalk by my car, probably on their way home from last night.
I’d had nights like those once, though not dressed quite like that, and given a choice, I’d choose a good book and Penelope over whatever they’d gotten into.
I motored over to Fins, Feathers, and Fur, our local pet supply store, and dropped two cozy travel packs on the counter with my credit card. Mom called twice, and I rejected both calls. I wasn’t ready to rehash my night, especially after the strange appearance of a possible stalker on my lawn.
I darted back Uptown and hurried into my house with the carriers and a bag of assorted cat foods. Annie’s kittens didn’t come to greet me. Hopefully they hadn’t made a mess anywhere while I was away. I checked the metal cages sitting near my guest room, as if they’d willingly return to them. “Kitty kitty kitty,” I called. Please have chosen the litter box every time.
I locked the door behind me and went in search of the kittens.
My shotgun home was long and narrow, a style synonymous with the old south. The structures were built to house local laborers, but time and sentiment had made them collectors’ items. Pieces of the city. Parts of history. My place was in a mediocre section of the otherwise swanky Uptown. I’d painted the house yellow and accented with stark white trim. The interior was airy, inviting, and at the moment, eerily silent.
Fear for the kittens built in my gut as I opened the last door in my hallway. Empty.
I restarted my search, moving faster and calling for them more loudly. I peeked under beds and coffee tables, pillows and throws. Ugly metal crates aside, there were no signs of
Cotton or Cashmere.
“Buttercup!” I cried to the fish tank. “You know where they are. Why can’t you talk?”
I turned in a small circle, seeking something I’d missed. My back door came into view. I’d flown past it on my first trip through the house. This time I took a closer look. Unlocked.
I cursed.
Images of the cat-man making off with Annie’s babies filled my head as I dialed the only number I could think of outside of 9-1-1. I suspected missing kittens weren’t an acceptable cause to bring out the full cavalry.
“Detective Oliver.” Jack answered on the first ring.
I rattled off every desperate thought I’d had for the last twelve hours without slowing for air. An engine growled on Jack’s end of the call, while I shook my fist at the ceiling and bunny-trailed about a cat-man and feline snobs too fancy to eat my homemade treats.
“Answer the door,” he said.
Fear rolled over me as I turned toward the front of my home. “Why?”
Someone knocked. “Open up,” Jack demanded. “You’ve been talking since I got in my truck ten minutes ago. At least invite me in for coffee.”
I deflated like a punctured balloon. “Good-bye.” I disconnected and ran for the door. “Come in.”
Jack stepped inside. “How long would you say it took you to lose our only witnesses?” His dark hair was damp from a shower and smelled of shampoo. His ghost-blue eyes were the color of rain on a windowpane.
Not that I noticed.
He moved closer, securing the door behind him. A slate-gray T-shirt clung to the planes and curves of his chest before disappearing into the waistline of low-slung jeans. “Eight? Ten hours?” He prompted.
“Twelve.” I marched into the kitchen to make coffee. “They were here when I left for work.”
“Where’s Penelope?”
“With Imogene at Furry Godmother. I dropped her off and went to buy proper carriers for Annie’s kittens. I planned to keep them with me today, but when I got back from the pet store, they were gone.” I pointed to the back door.
Jack strode through the room and ran his fingers over the slightly splintered frame. “Someone broke in? Did they take anything else?”
“No. I don’t think so.”
He checked the alarm panel beside the door. “How’d they bypass the system?”
I pursed my lips.
He furrowed his brows. “Tell me you set the alarm.”
“I always set it when I’m home.”
“And when you go to work?”
I spun away from him and filled a coffeepot with water.
“Lacy.”
“I don’t have anything to steal. Everyone knows that. The alarm is for my safety, not because I think someone will rob me.”
“Sure. No chance of that.”
I grabbed two mugs from my dish rack. “Would you like your coffee in the blue mug or your lap?”
“Mug.” He snapped pictures of the doorframe and tapped on his phone screen for several minutes. “I’ve got a guy from Crime Scene coming over to print the door. Not sure it’ll do much good if the burglar only touched the cats. Probably wore gloves to break in.”
“Great.”
“Yeah. It’s too bad you don’t have an alarm.” He dragged the final word for several syllables. “Probably doesn’t help that the reporter on Annie’s story listed your name in the morning paper. Made you sound like a true animal lover”—he poked the splintered frame—“but it sure didn’t do you any favors.”
Tears welled in my eyes, and I faked a yawn to cover. “Those poor kitties could be anywhere. How am I supposed to know where to start?”
He flipped the dead bolt and wiggled the frame to be sure it stayed put. “First things first. This isn’t safe. I’m calling a guy over here to reinforce this.”
I pulled my hair over one shoulder and twisted it in my trembling hand. “Okay, but get a quote.”
“I’m sure he’s reasonable.”
Reasonable to Jack’s vault of money and reasonable to my anorexic bank account were two different things. I was budgeting my electric consumption and refilling bottles of water from the sink, but I kept my mouth shut. We had plenty of other things to argue about.
“What about the kittens?” I pushed. “Can we put out an Amber Alert?” Was it selfish to hope that whoever came for them wouldn’t be back for me? I released my hair and rubbed sweaty, shaky palms against my thighs.
He stared. “Amber Alerts are for humans. The police are pretty strict about that.”
“Then what can we do? How can I find them?”
“I don’t know. They’re cats. Maybe they’ll come back.”
“Funny. Did you learn anything else from Josie last night? When I left, she was giving her statement.” In those designer shoes, she was nearly as tall as the cop interviewing her. I had shorty syndrome and serious tall-girl envy. Being in the fashion industry had only made it worse.
Jack slid onto a stool at my island. “Between you and me, that girl’s not the brightest. She seems more like a charity case than a professional assistant. She went to Annie’s former high school and participated in an art show that Annie attended. The two of them hit it off. Annie took Josie under her wing, taught her about the fashion industry, and gave her a job running errands. Josie’s a living example of what can happen if a person is in the right place at the right time. She’s gotten paid to travel the world on someone else’s dime.”
“You sound unhappy about that.”
He tapped his thumbs against the counter. “I’d hoped for more information from someone working so closely with Annie, but it sounds like Annie was a control freak and Josie was a glorified errand girl.” He fixed me with a careful stare. “Tell me more about the guy in the cat suit.”
“It wasn’t a suit. It was black overalls, I think, and a big papier-mâché cat head.” I mimed the giant size with my arms. “The whole thing was black. There were pointy triangle ears on top and big white-and-green painted eyes.”
Jack worked his jaw. “Where was he standing?”
“Out front. In the shadows from the tree.” I struggled to swallow a brick of fear and emotion. “He was there, and then he was gone. Maybe he was coming from the festival, just walking home this way and stopped for some reason that has nothing to do with me.”
“Maybe,” Jack hedged. “He didn’t attempt to make contact? Come near the steps or door?”
I shook my head. “No.”
“He could’ve been staking out the place for today’s intrusion. I’ll have the team comb the lawn and general area before they go.”
I poured coffee into the mugs. “I can’t believe I lost Annie’s kittens.”
“We’ll find them. With any luck, the burglar left prints on the door and it wasn’t his first rodeo. If the prints are in the system, we’ll have him in custody before lunch.”
“If not?”
My doorbell rang, and Jack went to answer it.
I sucked down hot coffee until my eyes watered.
Jack returned a moment later with a short but handsome man in a thousand-dollar suit. “Lacy Crocker, this is Bryce Kenney, Annie’s attorney.”
I waved from my side of the kitchen island. “Hello, Mr. Kenney.”
He scanned the room. “Call me Bryce. I understand you’ve opted to provide temporary care for Cotton and Cashmere.”
I slid my gaze to Jack. “That was my intention, yes.”
“The local police have sanctioned this?” he asked Jack.
Jack cast a look in my direction. “Yes.”
Bryce set an envelope on the island. “This is payment for your services. If your care is needed for more than thirty days, another payment will be issued at that time. If the estate is settled in less than thirty days, you’ll be expected to return a prorated portion.”
Jack lifted the envelope and peeked inside. “This is ten thousand dollars.”
My jaw dropped.
“Yes, sir,” Bryce said. “F
ive thousand per cat, covering a time frame of thirty days. I’ll need you to sign this document confirming payment and formally accepting temporary responsibility for the animals.”
“I don’t want that,” I said.
Jack tapped the envelope on the island. “I guess we have a motive.”
“For her murder?” Bryce gasped. “That’s absurd.”
“Not really.” Jack swiped his phone to life and tapped the screen again. “It could also be the reason for her cats’ abductions. Some idiot’s probably holding them ransom.”
Confusion creased Bryce’s brow. “The kittens’ trust can’t be released willy-nilly. Even this temporary situation has to be properly documented.” He moved his gaze to me. “Are you telling me Cotton and Cashmere aren’t here? Someone’s taken them?”
Jack stuffed his phone into one pocket and grabbed a pink colored pencil from a cup on my counter. “I’m going to need a list of everyone who knew about the cats’ money.”
I pushed a slip of paper to Bryce.
He removed a hundred-dollar pen from his jacket pocket, ignoring the pink pencil. “There’s no list. Annie wanted assurances that her babies would receive the best care in the event of her death, but she didn’t advertise it. The kittens were meant to go to Annie’s great-aunt Katherine in Colorado Springs. Katherine was a true cat enthusiast and big fan of Annie’s, but sadly, she passed away last month. Natural causes. The will hasn’t been updated.”
“And the money?” Jack asked.
“Nothing about that has changed. The trust will follow the pets to ease the financial burden of their caregiver.”
“She must’ve told someone about this,” Jack reasoned, impatience lowering his voice. “Who was Annie close to?”
Bryce seemed baffled. “I don’t know. She keeps in touch with a few members of her family, some fellow designers, her assistant Josie.” He shrugged. “This is a better question for someone else. Annie and I didn’t talk about her personal life.” He blanched. “What about her ex-husband, Dylan Latherope?”
“Is he in town?” I asked.
