by Julie Chase
“What?”
My smile fell as something new registered. “If the medical examiner’s releasing the body, he must have confirmed the cause of death.”
“Blunt-force trauma to the head. He confirmed the Crystal Saxophone award as the murder weapon.”
A whack on the head with something heavy from the home. No skill necessary. “Anyone could have done it.”
“Anyone she’d let inside. There were no signs of forced entry or a struggle.”
I rested my head against the wide wooden slats of my chair. “One sweep of the arm and an entire life ends.”
“Yep.”
“Seems unfair.” I studied the stars, nestled in their inky black sky. How insignificant were we if one fraction of a second could wipe out decades of our existence? I turned my eyes to his. “We work so hard at living. It shouldn’t be so easy to take that from us.”
“I guess we should remember how precious our time is and live accordingly.” The enigmatic color of his irises was barely visible in the dim patio lighting.
“Do you?” I asked.
“What?”
“Live accordingly.”
He stared into my eyes. An emotion I couldn’t fathom played on his features. “Not often enough.”
Chapter Twelve
Furry Godmother’s advice for autumn attire: Layers. You never know when things are going to heat up.
I woke feeling rested for the first time in four days. Jack had followed me home when the strawberries were gone. He walked me inside, as promised, and double-checked all the doors and windows. He even checked under my bed, where I ended up crashing, accidentally. I’d planned to watch the street all night for stalkers, but wine and sleep deprivation were a powerful combination. When I finally peeled my eyes open, it was after seven.
I showered and dressed in a hurry, then finished Mom’s sequined sashes alongside a pot of coffee. By nine thirty, the little wraps were folded in squares of white tissue paper and packed lovingly into a logoed box. Her sketches were a great source of inspiration for a rested mind. She was going to love the finished product.
I dropped some freeze-dried bloodworms into Buttercup’s tank and admired her personal oasis. “It’s time for the mammals to go to work, sweetie. I hope you have a great day. Guard the house for us.” I drew a heart on her tank with a red dry-erase marker and blew her a kiss.
Penelope rolled on my feet and purred.
“Looks like you’re ready.” I packed her into her carrier and grabbed my black backless Givenchy. “We need to make a quick stop at Grandma’s hoity dry cleaner, then you can play with Spot until the shop gets busy.”
I buckled her carrier into the back seat and hung the gown on the little hanger peg by the window. We made the trip to Bon Cherie Cleaners in under ten minutes with the windows down and radio up. Sunday mornings were lazy, and I loved them.
The woman behind the counter at Bon Cherie looked like a movie star from old Hollywood. She gave the cat carrier in my hand a long look but didn’t ask. Instead, she took the dress and painstakingly wrote a receipt with fingernails too long to be functional. According to the slip, my Givenchy would be cleaned, steamed, and ready for pickup in twenty-four hours.
I took the ticket and saw myself out.
The sunlight was glorious and somewhat blinding, but I recognized Josie immediately. She paced on the corner two blocks down, staring at her cell phone. Long dark hair waved over her long narrow frame. Her fitted teal top and plaid skirt were sugary cute with black knee socks and Mary Janes. The girl definitely had style.
“We’ve got her,” I told Penelope. I tiptoe ran along the sidewalk in Josie’s direction with Penelope’s carrier clutched to my chest. I closed the distance at a clip, waiting for the right moment to call her name.
She swung her arm overhead, trying to get the attention of a distant cabbie.
“Josie!” I hurried my pace and gripped Penelope tighter, trying not to rattle her half silly. “Josie Fresca!”
She spun in my direction and gasped.
“Hi!” I smiled brightly before slowing at her side and panting. “Hello.”
“Are you okay?” She shifted away from me. “Is that a cat?”
I bobbed my head, catching my breath. “Mm-hmm. We’re good. I’m Lacy. This is Penelope.”
Josie narrowed her eyes. “Hey I know you. You were at the house when they found Annie.” Alarm lit in her eyes. “I told the cops to talk to you. They keep dragging me in, but you’re the one who found her. What were you even doing there? Who are you?” She stepped backward into the street. “Stay away from me.”
“No.” I held my palm out like a traffic cop. “Be careful, cars fly down that street.”
She gave the empty road behind her a cursory gaze. Her large black glasses slid slightly down her nose.
“I swear. Locals know it’s barely traveled, and they use it to cut across the district.” I inched back. “Please come out of the street.”
“I called a cab.”
“Okay, great.” My time was limited, and something told me she wasn’t exactly going to jump on an offer to go somewhere alone and talk. “You’re right. I was the one who found Annie. We had an appointment that day. The door was unlocked. I went inside when no one answered. I thought maybe she treated the house like an office and I should let myself in.”
She gave me another skeptical look.
“It’s true. Annie and I were in discussions about a companion line for her Mardi Gras collection. She really didn’t tell you who I am?”
“You make clothes for pets.” She moved out of the street and balanced on the curb.
“Right. I own Furry Godmother on Magazine Street.”
“I thought you’d be old. I mean, older.”
I tried not to dwell on her distinction. “Are you staying at Annie’s house?” Did she still have access? Had she been the one to take the boxes?
“No. The cops took my key.”
“Bummer. So where are you staying? In the district somewhere?”
“With friends. I grew up in the city. I live with Annie now—lived,” she corrected, “but it’s not the only place I can stay. It was just more convenient when she was working. I didn’t have to race to her side. I was already there.”
I nodded. “So you don’t have your own apartment here?”
She furrowed her brows. “No.”
Had Jack tainted my opinion, or was he right? She was more evasive than my mother at a silent auction.
I switched gears. “This must be really hard for you. I’ve barely slept since it happened, and I didn’t know her. You and Annie must’ve been close.”
“Yeah.” She opened her patent leather clutch and unraveled the paper from a roll of peppermints.
“Did you ever get those little pillows mailed out?” I put on a lighter smile. You remember, the ones you tried to take five seconds after Annie died? The ones that are now mysteriously missing.
Josie’s face went slack. “No.”
I was losing her, and I didn’t have any new information. Her cab had to be close by now. “Do you have any idea who’d want to hurt her? I’ve been trying to figure it out, and I’m stumped. There are a lot of people online who seem pretty mad but not enough to act on it. Was there someone in her life that she might’ve fought with that day?”
“No. She didn’t have a life. Work was her life, and everyone hated her for it. In a good way, though.”
I puzzled. “Hated in a good way? Do you mean all publicity is good publicity?”
“No, I mean their hate validated her truth. Annie made it. If she wasn’t on her way to massive stardom, then no one would care if she wore live mice for hats and talked to her mailbox. Haters hated her because they weren’t her. You haven’t truly succeeded until everyone hates you.”
Well, that seemed ominous. “What about you?”
“What about me?”
“Does anyone hate you?” Moving from poor-city-kid status to famous fas
hion designer’s personal assistant had to solicit a little jealousy from someone.
She curved her mouth into a small, emotionless smile. “No one knows I exist.” A Black & White cab rolled into view, and she groaned. “Finally.” She turned on her heels and walked away.
“Wait!” I followed her toward the slowing cab. “One more thing.”
She kept moving.
“I met a guy with a ton of pictures of you and Annie.”
“Me?” She stopped outside the cab.
“Yes. There were several shots of Annie moving back to town. I saw a guy in basketball shorts carrying boxes like the one from her office filled with pillows. Do you remember who that was?”
She wagged her chin left and right. “There were about a hundred people helping that day.” She wrenched the cab door open and dropped inside, immediately shutting me out.
Not exactly the warm tête-à-tête I’d imagined us having.
The cab’s taillights blinked out of existence as it motored away.
I hauled Penelope back to my car and strapped her carrier in. “Jack was right. There’s no way Josie’s that useless.”
Furry Godmother opened late on Sundays. Shoppers were usually light until lunch, which made Sunday the perfect day to clean, restock inventory, and organize. I washed windows, dusted shelves, rearranged store displays, and worked up a priority list for the week’s orders. I accomplished more before noon than I had in days. Imogene took Sundays off for church. She rarely went but insisted it was the Lord’s day and liked to remind me that shops were never open on Sundays when she was a girl. I liked to remind her it wasn’t the 1960s.
When I stopped for a sip of water, a familiar face cut through the clumps of shoppers outside my window. Bryce Kenney, Annie’s attorney, bypassed lackadaisical window-shoppers and headed my way. He crossed at the corner and blew through Furry Godmother’s door with purpose.
“Good morning.” There was a note of uncertainty in my voice. I hadn’t expected to see Bryce again without an appointment.
He stopped inside the door and stared through the front window, scanning the view in both directions.
“Bryce?” I poked his arm gently. “Something wrong?”
“What?” He blinked bright-blue eyes. “No. Well, yes. Maybe. I’ve come to check on Cotton and Cashmere.” He dug into his pockets with sudden gusto.
“I don’t want any more money.” I wished he’d take back what he’d already given me.
He produced his cell phone and turned it to face me. “Have you seen this man?”
I certainly had. “Sure, that’s Mr. Latherope. I’ve seen him more times than I’d prefer. Why?”
“How many times? Where did you see him? Has he been in contact?” The low hum of Spot the vacuum drew his attention. “What’s that?”
Penelope rode into view a moment later, chin held high. Spot bumped into a display and headed back the way he’d come.
“That’s my cat, Penelope, unless you meant the vacuum. We call him Spot.”
“Where are Cotton and Cashmere?” Bryce straightened to his full height of not much and dashed around the displays, checking the floor and shelves. “Oh, no! They’re gone!” He returned to me in a minipanic. “When was the last time you saw them? Has Mr. Latherope been here this morning?” He produced his phone and began tapping the screen.
“They’re fine. Everything is fine. You don’t have to check their trackers, if that’s what you’re doing.” I went to the minifridge behind my counter and grabbed him a bottle of water. I hadn’t thought to call Bryce before taking the kittens to my dad. Hopefully that wasn’t against the law. “Annie’s kittens are in good hands. I took your advice and shifted them into the care of someone unrelated to any of this. I visited them last night. They’re really happy, I think.”
“What about Latherope?” He accepted the bottle and cracked the lid.
“He’s part of the reason I decided to delegate the kittens’ care to someone else. He came here acting like a maniac. He’s even followed me through the city looking for them.”
Bryce lowered his shoulders a bit as he sipped. “He’s been to visit me too. Several times. He’s trying to make me change the estate paperwork before submitting it to the courts tomorrow.”
Gooseflesh raised on my arms. “What does he want changed?”
“Everything.” Bryce shook his weary head. “He thinks Annie’s family is collectively the devil. He wants an intervention on their crazy plan for a televised memorial. He wants the kittens’ existence eliminated from the paperwork and the kittens returned to him. He wants half of everything because he feels entitled.” He did a dramatic eye roll. “He supported her financially when she was a starving artist, paid for design school, funded her life and career for many years during their marriage.”
“Shouldn’t those claims have all been settled during the divorce?”
A guilty smile played on his lips. “Latherope refused a lawyer. He assumed he could manipulate her until the end, convince her to come back to him, and sway her decisions on the split.”
“No attorney for a divorce this big? That’s bizarre.”
“He’s bizarre. And dumb. He lost his shirt in those proceedings. Literally. Annie was awarded rights to everything in their household, right down to his closet contents, which, of course, she graciously returned.”
I tried to recall the media coverage of their divorce and couldn’t. I’d stopped keeping tabs on Annie’s life after college, when I’d traded the dream of launching a fashion line for obsessive wedding planning with Pete the Cheat. “Why did they split up? They always seemed so happy in front of the cameras.”
Bryce screwed the little lid onto his water. “That’s not my place to say.”
“Right. Sorry.”
“It’s okay. Nothing you can’t read about online. Well I came to warn you about Latherope, but I see you’re ahead of me there.” He checked the street again. “I’ll let you get back to your work. If you change your mind about the kittens . . .”—he trailed off briefly—“if he finds where you’re hiding them or the situation becomes too much for you to deal with, my offer stands. I can assign a legal guardian outside the city until the estate settles.”
I absently arranged a row of bagged treats on the counter, half hearing the offer and half choosing my next words. “I’m fine, really. You know, you mentioned Latherope’s play for Annie’s estate, and I realized I’ve been so preoccupied with the fact her kittens have a trust that I haven’t thought to ask who gets everything else.” Maybe no one cared about the piddly cat trust when there was an entire estate to gain.
Bryce made a strained face. “I’m not at liberty to discuss her legal matters, but some of this will become a matter of public record soon. If you’re still interested when things come out of probate, you’ll be able to see the title changes on her homes and possessions. Sorry again for not being more up front.”
“Comes with the job?” I smiled.
He puffed a sigh of relief. “Very much.”
“It’s fine. I understand.”
A fresh trickle of shoppers wandered into the store and spread out.
Bryce made a move for the exit. “I should go. Please don’t hesitate to call if anything changes with Cotton and Cashmere. I’ll be in town until Thursday, then I’m flying to New York, but like I said, I can be here in no time if something goes grossly awry.” He cast his gaze through the room. “Be careful with Mr. Latherope. He’s in no condition for reason.”
“Got it.”
Bryce left, but shoppers kept coming. With the festival in full swing and Thanksgiving on the way, it was my busiest Sunday of the season. If every day were as busy as this one, I’d make the store’s lease payment on pupcakes and turkey-inspired-tutu sales alone. My thoughts wandered to the people in Annie’s life who might be desperate to make their own lease payments. Josie was currently homeless, as far as I knew, and strangely tight-lipped about where she was staying until Annie’s house stoppe
d being a crime scene. Did it matter? She had to move eventually now that Annie was gone.
I dialed the sandwich shop across the street and ordered a lunch delivery. I couldn’t think with a noisy tummy, and my eyelids were getting heavier by the minute.
Penelope weaved around my legs, obviously disappointed. Spot had redocked himself for a battery charge, and she didn’t approve. “It’s for the best,” I told her. “The shop’s too busy for a cat on a Roomba. Think about my insurance.”
“Good, you’re here.” A familiar voice turned me toward the front door. Margaret Hams, the leader of the Llama Mamas, scuttled to the counter on stumpy legs and orthopedic sneakers. She wore a fanny pack embroidered with a big red heart beside the words “Your Llama.” Her gauchos and wide-brimmed hat were practical for plantation living but always looked a little out of place on Magazine Street.
“Hello, Mrs. Hams. You look happy.”
A grinchy grin had split her face. “I am,” she purred. “I’ve stopped in several times this week. You never seem to be here.”
“Really? Imogene hasn’t mentioned it, or I would’ve given you a call.” I regretted the comment immediately. Maybe there was a reason Imogene hadn’t mentioned it.
She crossed her eyes and stuck out her tongue. “Do I look crazy to you?”
A little, if she was asking.
She righted her face and narrowed her eyes. “I know your mother and that woman are tight as spandex. I checked the block for your car, peeked in the windows, and kept moving. I started to think you had sold the place and taken off again.”
Burn. “No, Mrs. Hams. I’m here to stay. For the record, I left to go to college.”
“Took you ten years?”
Jeez. For being Mom’s archenemy, they certainly sounded alike. I centered myself and waited to hear what she wanted.
She lifted a bagged treat off my counter to her snub nose and sniffed. “I assume the money I pay to keep you on retainer is still satisfactory.”
“It is, thank you.” More than enough, actually. She rarely asked for anything, though when she did, she wanted miracles. “You’re very generous.”
