Cat Got Your Cash

by Julie Chase

  I rehung the white gown and went back to searching. “What’s this?” I worked the tangle of dresses apart, honing in on something red smashed between a royal-blue Versace and a petal-pink Calvin Klein. “This is an Annie Lane original.” Scarlet. Strapless. Belted. Tea length with a flared skirt and tiny rosettes along the hem. I zipped it over my hips and stared at my reflection.

  “Oh, my.” Mom moved into view beside me. We wore matching expressions of awe. “This is the one. It’s marvelous. As if it was made just for you.”

  I lifted a hand to my neck.

  “Don’t worry about that. I’ll call my makeup girl. She can cover anything. Stretch marks, dark circles, war wounds. She’s fantastic. Wear your hair down and borrow one of my diamond necklaces. Everyone will be too busy gawking at your beauty to notice a little added neck makeup, not that anyone would once she’s done with you.”

  I lifted my arms and examined the slight droop beneath my wimpy bicep. If I was stronger, I might have been able to defend myself against Ryan last night.

  Mom pointed at my arm’s reflection in the mirror. “Imogene calls those nana flaps. Wear a nice shrug. No one will notice.”

  I gasped. “I do not have nana flaps.”

  “Of course not, darling.”

  I wrapped my arms around my middle and pushed the ugly thought aside. Nana flaps. Maybe I’d look into local yoga classes. Fitness and Zen in one tidy package would save a fortune on therapy.

  I paused to luxuriate in the feel of couture I could never dream of affording. “Is it horrible that I don’t want to take it off?”

  “That’s how you know this is the one. Just look at your face.” She made a peace sign and pointed it at her eyes. “It’s all right here. Since we’re having a nice mother-daughter tête-à-tête, I should tell you I saw this look on you Monday night at the dinner where Jack spoke.”

  My cheeks heated stupidly. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Sure you do. There’s no sense in denying it. A mother knows.”

  Did she? Was there something to know? Panic fluttered in my chest. “Do you think he knows?”

  She made a sad face. “Honey, men are daft, clueless creatures, bless their hearts. They aren’t intuitive. They need things explained, and even then they confuse easily.”

  “Mom,” I sighed. “That’s not true, and it’s not fair to slander an entire gender.”

  “What? It is true. Do you know I once set the table for dinner when you were young, and the phone rang? I went to answer it, and two minutes later, your father hunted me down to ask if that was dinner on the table. I mean, what else would it have been? Props for a play? Trust me. Men need more guidance than you’ll ever understand.”

  “Apparently.” I turned my back to her. “Unzip me?”

  She obliged. “Anyway. You definitely have something worth exploring with Chase Hawthorne. I saw it, and you know it.”

  I let my eyes slide shut as I smiled. I opened them before turning around. Chase. “We’ll see.”

  She beamed. “Clean up and come down for dinner. Nothing fancy tonight. Salads and cornbread. Fresh fruit for dessert.” She let herself out and closed my bedroom door behind her.

  I changed back into my clothes and adjusted my scarf over the bruises. Mom was certain that the truth was in our eyes. If that was true, what did it mean for finding Annie’s killer? Ryan seemed genuinely shocked to learn Josie was a suspect. In fact, so did she. And he was too tall, which counted out Dylan Latherope as well, but not Shannon Martin.

  Was there a chance I wasn’t as safe as I thought? Could the killer still be out there? Did he also see me as a problem?

  “Lacy,” Mom called up the steps. “There’s been a change in dinner plans. Imogene made grilled cheese and tomato soup.”

  “And hot toddies,” Imogene hollered.

  Maybe I could stay one more night. “Coming!”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Furry Godmother’s tip for the perfect look: Wear it with a smile.

  I woke early the next morning and contacted Mrs. Hams. A lifetime of setbacks had taught me that perseverance was the key to success. No one was going to chase my dreams for me. So I lovingly packed the Llama Mamas’ scarves and hats in tissue paper and layered them in a series of logoed garment boxes.

  Mrs. Hams was available for delivery in an hour. She’d welcomed the visit but warned she wouldn’t be alone. The Llama Mamas were meeting for brunch.

  It was a beautiful day for an autumn drive. I left the windows down and let my hair fly. I’d loved the freedom and purpose of driving since my very first lesson. Some days, car keys in my hand still felt like a ticket to see the world.

  The Hams Plantation was a fantastic destination: historical, beautiful, and approaching its bicentennial birthday. Her home, like many of the properties in the area, had begun as a small farming venture and grown into something else entirely. The Hams family had protected their wealth and land through war and peace, feast and famine, and for more generations than most families had been in America. To Margaret Hams, River Road was more than a seventy-mile strip of land—it was her home and her legacy. Loyalty to her family’s lifestyle was at the root of her beef with my mother. The Conti family had also lived on River Road once, but my great-great-grandfather had sold the plantation and moved to the city during the late nineteenth century. Mrs. Hams called Mom out on it during a charity event several years ago, and the fundraising feud was on.

  I eased onto her bumpy gravel drive with care. Rows of ancient oaks stood sentinel on either side of the lane, weaving long, bearded arms into a canopy overhead. I imagined myself in a ball gown and carriage instead of houndstooth and a Volkswagen. I slowed further to absorb the moment. Visiting Mrs. Hams was as close as I’d ever get to being in a Jane Austen novel.

  The grand estate came into view with majestic white columns and tall black shutters. A knot of women gathered around a large patio table covered in pitchers and glasses. I parked and waved.

  Margaret Hams met me with open arms. “Welcome.” She ushered me to the table and poured me a glass of sweet tea. “Ladies,” she announced, “this is Lacy Crocker. The one I’ve been telling you about.”

  A round of nods and knowing smiles spread over the little crowd. Each face was mildly familiar but not identifiable.

  “Thank you for having me. I’m truly sorry for the intrusion, and I won’t keep you long.” I took the last empty seat and balanced the Llamas’ garment boxes on my knees. “I finished your parade ensembles last night and couldn’t wait to see what y’all thought.” I stuttered on the y’all. I’d worked hard to cut that out of my vocabulary when I left home, but the little devil had been sneaking into mind more and more often since my return. I’d been able to keep it off my tongue until now. I blamed the plantation.

  I loosened the bow on the top box and lifted the lid, hoping to seem more confident than I felt. I’d failed miserably at covering the marks on my neck with makeup and resorted to a jaunty length of silk. A scarf wasn’t easy to pull off without looking like an airline stewardess or one member of an acapella team.

  Mrs. Hams lifted the first scarf/hat combo from the top of the pile and held it up for all to see. She stuck her fingers in the slots I’d allowed for pointy llama ears. “Darling.” She passed the items around the table. The women chatted happily, petting the soft material and inspecting the stitches. Mrs. Hams smiled at me. “You’re every bit as talented as that unfortunate woman you found last week.”

  “Annie Lane,” I said. “Her name was Annie Lane.” I could only dream of cultivating half her skills in my lifetime. I’d imitated her for as long as I could remember, hoping to develop a career like she had. In all those years, I never dreamed she’d meet such a sad end with so much left to do in this world. And the longer I thought about it, the more certain I was that her killer wasn’t in jail.

  Images of Annie’s kitchen crime scene flamed into mind. Yes, Jack said Josie was the right height to be Annie’s ki
ller, but why would Josie cut off the hand that fed her? Annie might’ve discovered what the strange couple was up to, but I couldn’t imagine her turning her brother in for his crime. I’d followed Annie online for years. I’d read her autobiography, her blog, every article she’d written in her rise to fame. Family was important to her. Even if she had kept Ryan a secret, it was likely meant for his protection. The spotlight can be hot, and for an addict, it might’ve been deadly. I paused at the unfortunate choice of words. If it was in Annie’s nature to see everyone as redeemable, it would explain why she’d kept Josie on as the world’s worst personal assistant.

  I chewed the inside of my bottom lip. Annie deserved better than the tragic way her life had ended. She deserved justice. Everyone did.

  “Lacy?” Mrs. Hams’s voice pulled me back to the moment. “Can you finish them in time?”

  I blinked. “What?”

  She wiggled a hunk of beige felt before my eyes. “The pins. We’ve finalized our ideas, and this is what we want. Can you finish them before the parade?”

  I gave the material a closer look. She’d cut a llama shape from tan felt and sewed a black bead on its head, presumably as an eye. Faux brown fur ran down the figure’s neck and back, ending as a puffy makeshift tail. A big red heart was drawn in marker on the animal’s side. The words “Chick magnet” were written across the heart in black.

  “Get it?” she asked. “It’s a play on words because the Jazzy Chicks will wear the pins. The llamas will be Chick magnets.”

  “Hmm,” I said, certain my mom would cheerfully go to jail for my murder after this.

  “It’s a loose translation. None of it is literal, of course.”

  “Of course.” Except for the fact that her felt llama was literally the ugliest thing I’d ever seen.

  Mrs. Hams took the pin away and flipped it over in her hands. “We’d like you to make them with two layers of felt so they can be stuffed with a little something. We want them to be 3-D.”

  Dear Lord. I performed a mental sign of the cross.

  “Can you have them ready before the parade?”

  I stared. “When is the parade?” I’d been tracking time lately in terms of the number of days since Annie’s murder. Eight. I’d stopped thinking of Thanksgiving or any other future event.

  She furrowed her brow. “A week from yesterday.”

  Yikes. “Oh, yes, of course. It’s no problem.”

  My phone rang, and Jack’s blank cop-face lit the screen.

  Margaret and the women seated nearby craned their necks to see the caller.

  “I’m sorry. I need to take this. Hello?”

  “Lacy. Where are you?” Jack’s voice was low and tight.

  Something was wrong.

  “I’m visiting Mrs. Hams. Why?”

  “We found Dylan Latherope.” Sounds of rushing water poured through the phone with his voice.

  I braced myself for something awful. A bolt of panic shot through me. “Are my parents safe?”

  Silence overcame the table before me. The Llama Mamas leaned in closer.

  Jack sighed into the speaker. “Your folks are fine, but you might want to head home soon.”

  “Why? What happened?”

  “Why don’t you meet me at the station? I’d assumed you were in town when I called. I don’t want you making the trek from River Road all worked up.”

  “I’m not worked up,” I screeched.

  A rush of whispers flooded the table.

  Okay. I was a little worked up.

  I composed myself and tried again. “You can’t call me and imply something horrible has happened, then refuse to say what it was. Whatever you’ve got is no worse than the forty-seven bloody scenarios my mind has already concocted.” I cast an apologetic smile at the Llama Mamas.

  “Meet me at the station,” he repeated.

  “Talk.” The word erupted from my mouth with more force than I’d intended, startling several Mamas.

  Jack didn’t speak.

  A car door shut on his end of the line, silencing the rushing water. “He’s dead,” Jack said.

  “What? Who?” I imagined Mr. Latherope sneaking into Gideon’s hospital room and pressing a pillow over his face. “Why?”

  “Uniforms pulled Dylan Latherope from the river this morning.”

  I pushed hastily onto my feet and dropped both hands to my side. My phone bounced off one thigh, caught in my white-knuckle grip. “I’m sorry,” I told the ladies. “I have to go. I’ll have the pins ready for you on the morning of the parade. Thank you for the tea and hospitality.”

  Margaret and the Mamas stood in unison. Their expressions ran the emotional gamut from confusion to dread.

  “Are you okay to drive?” Mrs. Hams asked. “One of us can take you back. Another can follow in your car.”

  “Oh, no.” I waved her off and forced an awkward smile. “I’m okay. It’s okay.” I backed up.

  “Your cheeks are flushed.”

  “It’s very warm.” I fanned my face in support of the words. “Thank you again.” I nodded my good-byes to the other women and made a controlled run to my car.

  “It’s barely seventy-five.” Margaret’s voice was loud and clear as she kept pace with me. “Well, don’t forget the sample pin.”

  “Thank you. See you next week.” I fell behind my wheel with the ugly felt llama and poked as slowly as possible through the unfathomably long tunnel of trees. I set my phone in one cup holder and piped the call through my speakers for hands-free driving. “Jack? Are you still there?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Was it a suicide? An accident? Latherope was definitely unstable, but was he suicidal? He was desperate for those kittens and probably grieving. Do you think he was grieving? He and Annie hadn’t been divorced that long, and they’d been together for years. Do people really get over things like that?”

  “I wouldn’t know. How fast are you driving?”

  I turned onto the main road at the end of Mrs. Hams’s lane and crammed my foot against the gas. “Forty.” Give or take twenty-five. “Was it suicide?”

  “We won’t know the cause or time of death for certain until the medical examiner gets him on the table, but he’s got a lot of bruising and several bumps on the head. The injuries could be from an attack like Annie and Gideon’s, or they could be from the rocks along the river’s edge. We’ve had a lot of rain. The river’s engorged, angry, and tumultuous. Any amount of time in the water this week would beat a person up pretty bad.”

  Something in his voice didn’t sit right. He didn’t think it was an accident or suicide. Ice pooled in my gut. “You think Annie’s killer did this.” My tongue swelled. A blow to the head fit Annie’s killer’s MO. He’d said Josie was the right height for that job. “Do you think Ryan or Josie killed him?” What had he said about an indeterminate time of death? “Was he dead before you arrested them?”

  “Like I said. We won’t know until the ME can take a closer look.”

  “Is there anything you do know?”

  “Well, for starters, there’s one fewer person in New Orleans with plans to hassle you.”

  “Not funny.” I slowed to the posted speed limit, having lost my motivation to rush. I needed to think. “Have you gotten anything useful from Ryan or Josie?”

  Jack grunted a humorless laugh. “Ryan turned on Josie the minute I got him alone. He went nearly insane at the thought she could’ve killed his sister. We had to call the nurse to sedate him. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “Drugs?” I asked. What else would make someone behave like he had at my shop?

  “Maybe. We didn’t do blood work. Just read him his rights and locked him up. He copped to the drug charges but fingered Josie as the brains behind the operation. He was the doting, clueless boyfriend. His words. Not mine. I have better ones for a man who’d lay his hands on you like that.”

  I nodded at my windshield. A measure of peace settled over me. I stretched and flexed my aching fingers. M
y shoulders relented their positions beside my ears. Jack had my back. However this ended, I would be okay. “So,” I asked, hoping a change of subject would puncture the tension, “any new information on your personal investigation?”

  “Not yet.”

  “That’s okay,” I said. “Soon you’ll have an inside woman.”

  “I wish you didn’t have to get involved. You’ve got enough going on right now without getting involved in my mess.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  “Are you sure working with me won’t cut into your time for making feline footwear and guinea pig gowns?”

  I smiled. “You’re trying to taunt me, but I make incredible feline footwear.” Not that any cat on earth would tolerate the cute booties. “Seriously. I know how important this is to you, and I’m glad to help. I’m also a great listener if you need one.”

  “I know.”

  “I’d also like to offer my excellent brainstorming services.”

  He snorted. “I thought what you said about Tabitha potentially blackmailing Grandpa’s friends was worth exploring.”

  I perked. “And?”

  “I revisited the guys I’d spoken to before and posed the possibility.”

  I merged into traffic and took the next right with renewed vigor. “Go on.”

  “The men were clearly startled by the question. Some oozed guilt and anxiety. All were evasive. My gut says you’re right. Tabitha had something on them, and they don’t want it getting out.”

  “So she was blackmailing them.” I slapped my steering wheel. “Knew it.”

  “You didn’t know it. I don’t know it. It’s just a vibe I got from them. No one has given me anything substantial enough to bring her in, and she’s moving out, so I’m losing proximity, too. Maybe I’m wrong,” he rushed on. “Maybe I’m seeing trouble where there isn’t any because I want to blame someone for my loss. You were right. Grief does things to us.”

  “Um, no.” I squinted into the sky, waiting for a stoplight to change. “I didn’t say that. That sounds like a self-help book. There was GHB in your grandpa’s system. That’s real, and it’s not normal. Maybe we’re coming at the problem wrong and it’s time you switched gears.”