by Julie Chase
Policemen escorted Josie and Ryan onto the sidewalk.
I rested my palm over the throbbing skin of my neck. “She’s loyal. I’ll give her that.”
Ryan held an ice pack to his head where Jack had whacked him. I longed to snatch it away and slap him with it.
Jack followed their sad little parade to a pair of cruisers parked on the corner. He fixed Ryan with a death stare. “You’re going down on two counts of attempted murder. My friend here,” he nodded to me, “and Gideon at Heart to Heart animal shelter. Before I’m finished, I’ll have enough evidence to add first-degree murder.”
“Murder.” Ryan growled. “You sonofa . . .” Ryan lurched toward Jack, thwarted by the officer holding cuffed hands behind his back.
“I don’t think he likes people mentioning that,” I told Jack.
The officer pulled him away, but the foul language continued.
Jack smiled at Ryan. “Kidding.” He held his palms up. “I know you didn’t do it. The angle of impact was all wrong. Forensics show Annie’s killer was at least four to six inches shorter than you, but accomplice to murder is still on the table.” He turned to Josie. “The killer was someone around five foot eight. Someone Annie would have willingly allowed into her home. Someone she’d easily have turned her back on during a visit.” He looked back at Ryan. “Any ideas?”
The profanities spouted anew. Ryan dove at Josie, once again stopped by his restraints.
Josie squealed and tripped over the feet of her arresting officer. Fear left splotches on her ivory skin. She was busted, and she knew it.
The officers worked to separate the lovebirds while Ryan continued his hands-free attack.
I turned to Jack, dumbfounded and struggling to process the downward spiral my night had taken. “I still can’t believe this wasn’t about the kittens. Ten grand a month for their entire lifespan is a potential gold mine.”
“What?” Josie gasped.
Ryan stopped fighting to gawk at me. “What?” he echoed.
The officers took advantage and stuffed the handcuffed pair into the waiting cruisers.
The crowd snapped photos and lost interest.
Jack watched until the taillights disappeared into a sea of traffic, making them indistinguishable from every other car and cab on the street. “Let me take you home and make you some hot tea.”
“Fine, but I’m going to listen to the EMT’s orders and add a little bourbon. Whatever happens after that can’t be helped.”
Jack’s cheek twitched. “What do you think might happen?”
I rolled my eyes. “Knowing me? I’ll tell you anything you want to know and be asleep in an hour.”
“Bourbon it is.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Furry Godmother supports the right to bare arms but encourages a wrap.
Jack had talked me into staying at my parents’ house, and Mom had plied me with hot toddies until I fell asleep on the sofa. I woke ten hours later, covered in grandma’s quilt. My tongue was stuck to the roof of my mouth, and my head felt like I’d fallen on it. A bottle of water and two aspirins greeted me on the coffee table.
I took the pills and groaned upright.
The bitter scent of Mom’s chicory coffee filtered through the house. I shuffled toward the kitchen, quilt over my shoulders like a superhero cape.
“There you are.” Mom kneaded wet hands into her apron. “For a while I thought you were sixteen again and planned to sleep all day.”
I squinted at the time on the stove. “It’s eight o’clock.”
She stripped off her chevron-patterned apron and hung it on the wall hook. “Imogene’s running the store today. You’ll work from home. I had her bring your things.”
I poured a mug of coffee and processed her words. “What things?”
She shoved the door open to the dining room. “There. She said this was everything you’d been working on lately. We left it on the dining room table so you’d have a nice flat workspace. I’m making a run to the store soon for whatever else you need. I thought I could help you with your baking.”
“Thanks,” I whispered. My throat was rough and gravelly from the previous evening’s trauma and generous nightcaps.
“You’re welcome.”
I cupped my palms around the steaming mug of coffee and inhaled the moment. Toddies aside, there was something about being home that took the edge off. I’d done my best to avoid sleeping over all week, but with my stalker in custody, it seemed safe enough to be there. I didn’t have to worry about leading danger to their doorstep. No one seemed to care about Annie’s kittens—except Latherope, who was in the wind—and I wasn’t in a hurry to be alone, possibly ever again. “Where’s Penelope?”
“With your father. He took Cotton and Cashmere to work with him this morning. Penny seemed interested, so he took her too. Voodoo’s skulking around here somewhere, probably plotting my demise. She’s a terrible hostess, and she blames me for those Siamese interlopers.”
I snorted.
Mom dusted her palms and let the dining room door swing shut. “Well, make me that list so I can get going.”
I scratched the ingredients to all my greatest hits on a pad of paper Mom kept on her counter.
She kissed my cheeks and vanished. Nothing stood between my mother and shopping. The sooner she left, the longer she could browse before they kicked her out at closing. My grocery list was likely the last stop on a full itinerary that included lunch with the ladies and a trip to her favorite boutique.
I started sewing and didn’t stop, willfully losing myself in the creative process as I struggled to make sense of all the nasty things that had happened to me. I replayed the night’s events on a loop, wondering what I could’ve done differently and how soon I’d stop feeling Ryan’s hands on my neck.
“Knock knock.” A familiar voice tore through my angst.
I sprang upright from my hunched position at the table. “Holy!” I pricked my finger with a needle and scattered sequins all over creation.
Imogene padded softly into the dining room. Her puffy salt-and-pepper hair stretched toward the ceiling. “How are you doing, sweetie? A little antsy, I see.”
I scooped my materials back into sensible piles. “You scared the bejeezus out of me. What are you? A ninja?”
“Your mama’s on her way home. She invited me for dinner.”
“Dinner?” I checked my watch. It was after five. “Yeesh. I missed the whole day.”
“You didn’t miss anything at the shop. Lots of lookie lous and nosy nellies asking all sorts of things that fall under the none-of-their-business heading. I missed you and Penelope, but it looks like you had a productive day all on your own.”
It was true. My to-do list was done, and I’d moved on to mocking up pieces for my Mardi Gras line.
“How’s your neck?”
I forced a tight smile. “Fine. A little tender. The skin and muscles are tight, maybe swollen. I hope Mom’s not going to any trouble for dinner. Honestly I’d be happy with some tomato soup and grilled cheese.”
“Aw.” Imogene took the seat beside mine. “That’s what I used to make you when you were a little girl.” She motioned to my neck. “Let me see.”
After my morning coffee, I’d taken a short break to shower and dress. I’d arranged a vintage Pucci scarf under the collar of my blouse and fastened it with a brooch. “Really I’m fine.” Ryan’s meaty fingers had left eight dark, discernable lines on my skin. I rested my hands over the scarf for protection. When I let myself think about the attack too long, my windpipe narrowed.
Imogene pushed my bag of feathers aside and unloaded a little stone jar from her enormous handbag. She wiggled the lid free, and the scent of death flew up my nose.
“Yikes.” I pressed my hand to my face. “What is that?”
She tugged my hand away. “A poultice. This will heal those bruises you’re hiding under that scarf.”
I replaced the hand she moved with my other one. “It stinks.
I don’t want it.”
“It doesn’t stink.” She released my first hand and reached for the other. “It smells like healing magic.”
I swapped hands and covered my face again. “Uh-uh.”
“Stop that.”
“No.”
The sound of Mom’s heels snapping over hardwood floors sent a flood of relief through my body. Winning a fight with Imogene was impossible without an intervention.
Mom marched into the room, hands on hips. “What in heaven’s name is going on in here?”
I’d arched my back against the table’s edge, attempting to politely elude the stinky poultice. Imogene, determined to heal me, had pinned my arms across my chest and was loading up her fingertips with whatever had rotted in that jar.
“Help,” I said.
“Imogene, really,” Mom scolded. “Let her up.”
Imogene relented with a sour look. “I can fix those marks so they don’t hurt anymore, but she’s too stubborn to let me.”
I adjusted my scarf and smoothed my blouse. I wasn’t the quick-fix type. I preferred to stew in times like these and plot revenge I’d never exact.
Mom came closer. Her upper lip curled in distaste. “Good grief.” She cupped delicate fingers over her nose and mouth. “What is that putrid smell?”
Imogene recorked the bottle. “A poultice.”
Mom uncovered a droll expression. “Imogene, please. You know Crockers don’t believe in that gobbledygook.”
Imogene paled. “You might get away with saying those things in here, but you’d be wise to keep it to yourself outside these walls. Dismissing magic in this city is like saying New Orleans ain’t hot.” She looked at the ceiling like it might fall on her.
Mom glanced at the chandelier. “I’ll take my chances. Now put that stink away so we can get last night behind us.” She looked at me with appraising eyes. “How do you feel?”
“Fine.”
“Excellent.” She clapped her hands. “Then let’s move on. The Chicks loved the sashes. I delivered them yesterday, and we had a photo session for the 4-H brochures. Now how are our buttons coming along?”
I twisted at the waist to retrieve one from her table. “I finished them this morning. The glue should be dry if you want to try one on.” I passed the oversized medallion to her with care.
“New Orleans Jazzy Chicks rule the roost,” she read.
I’d used the Jazzy Chicks logo as my central image, doused the empty space in yellow glitter, and circled the logo in text. The pin was striking but understated and large enough to be read from several yards away. Something she and the Chicks could be proud of in the event they won their bet with the Llama Mamas, which was admittedly unlikely.
“They’re lovely.”
“Thank you. I know they weren’t what you asked for.”
She pinned the button onto her creamy cashmere cardigan. “Nonsense. You were right. It’s important to take the high ground any time we can.”
“Exactly.”
She fluffed her hair. “It makes your enemy seem petty and stupid.”
I should have anticipated that.
Imogene chuckled long and deep. “Hear, hear!”
Voodoo slunk into the room like a mirage, sticking to the perimeter and observing silently. I lowered my hand to entice her.
Imogene braced wrinkled hands over her knees and rocked onto her feet. “If you won’t let me use my poultice, then I’m going to put the kettle on. Who wants a hot toddy?”
“Me,” Mom and I spoke in unison.
Imogene shuffled out of the room, and Mom fell onto Imogene’s empty seat. “I’m sorry I rushed off this morning. The last week has been a lot to take in.”
She wasn’t joking.
“I’m glad you decided to stay with us last night. If I’d known a few nightcaps could get the job done, I’d have tried that sooner.”
I turned on my seat, accidentally bumping her knees. “Are you okay?”
She blinked glossy eyes. “Yes. I worry too much, I suppose. It’s in my nature. To rub salt in my wound, the good Lord saw fit to deliver me a daredevil daughter who runs headlong into danger at every opportunity.” She swiped tears from the corners of her eyes and groaned. “It’s who you are. I know.” She exhaled a shaky breath and turned stern eyes on me. “You can’t imagine the fear a mother has for her child. There simply aren’t words.”
“I’m sorry.” I wouldn’t have said I “ran headlong into trouble,” exactly, but it must’ve seemed that way to her, so I kept the opinion to myself.
She nodded and sniffed. “I know.” She pressed a palm to my cheek. “Well, at least it’s over. Jack got the bad guys. Yes?”
“I guess. He took Ryan and Josie in last night, but I haven’t heard from him since he dropped me off here.” I’d hoped he’d at least call to check on me, but he hadn’t. “He said Annie’s assistant fit the height requirement of the killer, but Annie’s brother seemed sincerely shocked at the idea she could’ve done it. If she did, I don’t think he had a clue.” Which was funny because they were supposed to be in love. I’d never been in true, honest love, but I just killed your sister seemed like the sort of important information couples should share. “Neither of them seemed to have known about the kittens’ trust either. It’s as if there’s no communication between these people. Annie and her brother. Annie and her PA. The PA and the brother.” Maybe I was too transparent. I told Penelope and Buttercup everything.
Mom stood. “You’re overthinking it. You solved the crime. Relax. Be happy.”
“I know you’re right, but I still have so many unanswered questions.”
“It’s only been a week since you found that poor woman’s body. Look at all that’s happened. It’s no wonder your mind is reeling. It’s a lot to process, but it’s over.”
I slumped. “You’re probably right.”
“Of course I’m right. Now, have you chosen a gown for Saturday night’s event?”
“I’ve been kind of busy.”
She wrenched me off the chair. “It’s lucky for you I’m such a planner. I had my stylist deliver a rack of gowns this morning. We took them to your room before you woke. She’s incredible. Let’s see what she brought.”
I followed Mom up the rear staircase to my room. The space hadn’t changed in the more than ten years since I’d moved out. Soft shades of blue and silver still covered every inch of space. Gentle white accents and endless throw pillows gave the illusion of standing on a cloud. Books spilled from overcrowded shelves, and glass beads dripped from the chandelier in the ceiling’s center.
I inventoried the dress rack. All dresses I couldn’t afford but would give my blood to own. “Wow.”
“Didn’t I say so?” Mom asked, filling the space beside me.
I dared a look into her eyes. “This feels like I won the lottery. Aren’t you angry with me for everything that’s happened this week?”
“I’m not happy, but complaining rarely changes your behavior. I’m glad you’re home, and I don’t want to cause a big rift that makes you leave again.” She grabbed the hem of her waist-length sweater and tugged it hard. “You’re doing well, fitting in nicely, and seem to be happy. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.” She lifted her chin and turned toward the rack. “What are you waiting for? Try something on.”
I wrapped my arms around her.
She stiffened for a moment before squeezing me back. “What’s this for?”
“Because I love you. I love this town. I love our family. Even our differences. You’re not going to chase me away. I left last time because I was young and wanted to see what I could accomplish on my own. Now I know. I can do anything I want, and I can do it with you and Dad at my side. Having you with me doesn’t diminish my work.” I released her and smiled. “Just keep your money in your pockets. I’ll get the finances figured out too, eventually.”
She nodded. “Fair enough.”
I released her. “Well, step outside—this isn’t a locker room.”
She stymied a smile and marched away.
I slipped into a teal mermaid dress and inhaled to zip. “You never told me what kind of event I’m judging.”
Mom reopened the door and peeked in. “It’s called ‘Somewhere and Nowhere.’ It’s some sort of interpretive dance competition.” She returned to my side and twirled a finger, indicating I should spin.
I wobbled in a circle. “I don’t know anything about interpretive dance.”
“So?”
“I also don’t know how I’m supposed to walk in this thing with my knees strapped together.”
“Like a lady,” she suggested. Her eyes twinkled with mischief.
“I can walk like a penguin. Is that close enough?”
She laughed. “Take it off.” She turned her back on me, clearly not intending to leave again.
“What about the competition? How can I judge something I know nothing about?”
“You don’t have to know anything about interpretive dance. You smile, nod appropriately, and look stunning. Then copy whatever score the judge beside you gives the contestants.”
I shimmied free of the teal torture device and tossed it onto my bed. I slipped into a stretchy, nude-colored sheath with a black lace cover. “This is nice.” The straps were wide over my shoulders, and the neckline was modest, leaving the form-fitting shape to speak for itself.
Mom turned. “It looks like you’re naked under the lace.”
“I think that’s the idea, but it’s well designed. The length is right, and the neckline is striking.”
“I don’t like it. Try another one.”
I gave my reflection a reluctant good-bye and tossed dress number two beside the first. I fingered the hangers, flipping past colors I loathed to ones that could work. “How about this one?” I held a white high-low gown against my chest and hooked the hanger over my head.
Mom groaned. “Take that off your head. I don’t like this one either. White for an evening event in the fall is tacky. I thought my stylist was better than this. I’m going to have to talk with her about her selections for you. Choose better this time, or I get the next pick.”
