The Time for Murder is Meow

by T. C. LoTempio

  Lord, it was worse. It was Gary. I sighed. If I didn’t answer, he’d only keep calling back. Best to get it over with, else I might find myself taking his call behind bars.

  “Hello, Gary.”

  “Finally!” My ex co-star’s usually well-modulated voice held more than a trace of irritation. “Tell me it’s not true, and you haven’t lost your mind. Tell me this is all just a fit of temporary insanity, and you’re coming back here on the next plane.”

  “Sorry, no can do. I’m a permanent resident of Fox Hollow, Connecticut, now.”

  “Oh, good Lord. Max was right. You’ve lost your mind. Look, if it’s top billing on the reboot you want, well then you’ve got it, sweet cheeks. Just say the word and Max can get that contract ready by tomorrow. I checked, and there’s a ten-p.m. flight out of La Guardia. Is Frog Hollow near LaGuardia?”

  “It’s Fox Hollow and I have no idea, but it doesn’t matter. I’m not coming back to L.A. At least not right now.”

  “No? Then your decision is final? You don’t want to do that series on cable?”

  “No, Gary, I don’t. But you feel free to go for it,” I said, trying to put a note of enthusiasm in my voice. “Look on this as a golden opportunity. You can get a hot new starlet as your co-star. It’ll give the new series a fresh look.”

  “Yeah, well, seems the producers don’t want a fresh look. They want you.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “Aw, Shell, you know what I mean. Look, babe, if you don’t return soon, you might as well kiss your acting career goodbye.”

  “You weren’t listening, were you? I meant it when I said I’ve retired. Look,” I said, my tone softening, “you turn on that charm of yours. I’m sure the producers will still want you.”

  “What if they don’t? Would you change your mind then?” When I didn’t answer, he added, “Turning this down is so typically selfish of you, Shell. You’re only thinking of yourself.”

  Ah, yes. The guilt trip, and he was so very good at it. But I wasn’t exactly in a mood for playing his game right now. “Yes, that’s me. Always putting myself first. You would never be guilty of such a thing, right?”

  “Is this about what happened at the Emmys? Didn’t I already apologize for that?”

  I sighed. “No, Gary. It’s not about that.”

  “Then it’s Patrick, right? Because I’m friends with him? Look, Shell, I told you right from the get-go not to get involved with him. I also told you that I wouldn’t put myself in the middle between the two of you.”

  “No, it’s not about Patrick, either. I’m over that, trust me.”

  “Maybe you are. I’m not so sure about Patrick.”

  My breath caught in the back of my throat for a brief moment. “That’s his problem,” I said firmly.

  “Something’s going on,” he persisted. “I can hear it in your voice, Shell. Talk to me. Maybe I can help.”

  Not unless you’re Perry Mason. “Trust me, Gary. You can’t.”

  His voice took on a wheedling tone. “C’mon, Shell. Didn’t we fight crime and trap international spies together for ten years? Of course I can help you, unless you’re really involved in international espionage, in which case you should probably call the FBI. You’re not, are you?” he asked anxiously.

  I pushed the heel of my hand through my hair. “I’m hanging up now. Got things to do.”

  “Like what? Selling kibble to dogs? Catnip socks to cats? Look, I know a brush-off when I hear one. Well, I guess I’ll just have to come out there, find out what’s going on for myself.”

  I knew darn well he wouldn’t. Gary Presser in Fox Hollow? That would be almost as big a miracle as Hugh Jackman filming here, like Rita had said. “Fine. Come on down. You can stay here. I’ve got plenty of room.”

  “Say, that’s real hospitable of you, Shell. It’ll make it easier for me to help, too. I’ll see you soon,” he said and hung up.

  “Sure you will.” I tossed the phone back on the couch. Purrday and Kahlua both poked their heads out from under the couch and looked up at me. Kahlua let out a short yowl.

  “Men,” I said. “Don’t worry, he’s not really coming. Gary Presser wouldn’t be caught dead in Fox Hollow—” I stopped and put my fingers to my lips. “Sorry. Poor choice of words.”

  Both cats gave me a cool look, then Kahlua hopped up on top of the couch and stretched herself full-length. Purrday settled himself at my feet and closed his eye.

  The phone rang again, and when I noted the caller’s name on the screen, I answered quickly. “Ms. Madison. Hi.”

  “I just heard,” Mazie Madison breathed into the phone. “Amelia’s dead, and you found the body? Are you all right?”

  “Yes, just a little flummoxed, I guess.” I forced out a laugh. “It was my first dead body. My first real one, anyway.”

  “Good Lord.” Mazie sounded as if she were in shock, which she probably was. “What happened? Why were you there?”

  “Amelia called me earlier,” I said carefully. “She said she had something to discuss with me, that she was certain we could come to an amicable arrangement. I was hoping it was about my proposal.”

  “I doubt that.” Mazie hesitated and then said, “I had a call from Lawrence Peabody. He said you made some pretty harsh accusations against him, Amelia, and some of the other board members.”

  Swell. “I just wanted to be sure they were making up their own minds about the collection, not having it done for them.”

  “Ginnifer called me too. She seemed to think you deserved another chance.”

  I felt a little bit of relief. “That’s good to know.”

  “Of course, now any decision should wait until we replace Amelia,” Mazie went on. “I’ll certainly keep you posted.”

  “I appreciate that.”

  “Well, I’ll leave you to rest now. I can’t imagine what it must have been like, finding her body lying there, stretched out in front of the Shakespeare bust. It must have been horrible.”

  “It certainly was an experience I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy,” I agreed.

  I said goodbye and hung up. I sat on the edge of the couch and rested my chin in my hands. Now all I had to hope for was that I’d be available to donate the collection, if the new vote went in my favor. I gave myself a little shake and abruptly stood up, startling both cats.

  “Of course I’ll be available,” I said, stretching both arms wide. “What am I thinking? I’m innocent. I know I didn’t kill Amelia.”

  Oh, yeah, like I would be the first innocent person ever to be convicted of a crime they didn’t commit. I plopped back down on the couch and sat, shoulders hunched, my thoughts whirling around in my brain like a tornado.

  And then my doorbell rang.

  I went into the foyer and peeped out the window. There was no mistaking Rita’s flaming hair, or Olivia’s dark head. No sooner had I opened the door than I found myself wrapped in an enormous group hug, my face pressed against Rita’s generous bosom.

  “Oh, my God, Shell, are you all right?” Olivia whispered in my ear. “We just heard.”

  I managed to raise my head and offer them a lopsided smile. “Wow, gossip sure does travel at the speed of light in Fox Hollow, doesn’t it?”

  Olivia pooh-poohed that and gave my arm a quick squeeze. Rita released me and held me at arm’s length, looking me over like a mama wren might look over a baby bird getting ready to spread its wings for the first time. “I bet you haven’t eaten a thing all day. You look terrible.”

  “Thanks.” I swiped at my face with the back of my hand, and then realized she was right. I’d gotten up late, and after Amelia’s phone call, food had been the last thing on my mind. As if on cue, my stomach rumbled.

  “See,” Rita said triumphantly, “I knew it. Ron, get that in here.”

  I noticed Ron was there too. He’d been st
anding a little bit away from the other two, on the stairs, and he held a flower-patterned Crock-Pot in his arms. “That’s sweet of you, but you didn’t have to …”

  “Oh, you don’t know Rita.” Ron smiled. “She thinks food is the cure for everything.”

  “Well, isn’t it?” Rita winked at me and stepped inside dragging me by my wrist. “Ron, put that soup in the kitchen and turn the Crock-Pot on low. It’s my own recipe,” she said, her eyes soft. “First, though, you’ve got to tell us what happened.”

  “Rita,” Olivia said in a stern tone. “Maybe Shell doesn’t want to talk about it. Or maybe she’s under orders not to.”

  “Nonsense. It’s all over town anyway,” Rita said.

  “Yep,” Ron nodded. “In a small town, everyone knows everything, or darn close to it.” He gave me a small smile as he turned toward my kitchen. “Not much different from Hollywood, huh?”

  I was starting to think Fox Hollow was ten times worse than Hollywood. Rita turned back to me. “I heard you found her in the Sword Room, and she had a saber sticking out of her chest?”

  My eyes widened. “Good Lord, no. There was nothing sticking out of her chest, or at least nothing I could see. Her blouse was covered in blood.”

  “Oh, God.” Rita squinched her eyes shut. “Just like on CSI or one of those crime shows, right? She was shot?”

  “I have no idea. Maybe.” Despite the situation, I chuckled. “What, the Fox Hollow gossip mill hasn’t pinned down the cause of death?”

  “Not yet.” Ron grinned back. “Official details haven’t been released yet, but speculation’s high that since it’s Amelia, it must have been gruesome.”

  “Gruesome enough,” I agreed. “I was interviewed by the homicide detective. He said he might have more questions for me.”

  “Ah.” Olivia and Rita exchanged a knowing glance, and then Olivia added, “I see you met Josh.”

  “Actually, I’d met him yesterday in the park. His dog, or I should say his sister’s dog, ran into me.”

  “Oh, Rocco!” Rita laughed merrily. “He’s quite a little prankster, that one. You’d never know he was that affectionate to look at him, would you? With that pit-bull face?” She put a finger to her lips. “Olivia, I forget. Is Rocco Sue’s dog, or Michelle’s?”

  “Sue’s. Michelle lives in a tiny apartment over the Captain’s Club. I doubt that landlord of hers would let her have a big dog. She’s lucky to have that hamster,” Olivia laughed. “She got it at your aunt’s store, too.”

  “Josh has two sisters?” I asked. I remembered the bartender at the Captain’s Club. “Does one of them work at the Captain’s Club?”

  Olivia nodded. “Michelle. She’s the youngest. She’s studying law at the university, and she bartends nights and weekends to put herself through school.”

  “Sue’s the oldest,” supplied Rita. “After her divorce, she moved back here. Josh helped her open her store. You might have seen it. Secondhand Sue’s?”

  Aha. Josh had been standing in its doorway when he’d seen me arguing with Amelia. He must have been returning Rocco. I recalled the anxious look on his face and turned to Olivia. “Josh didn’t have any sort of relationship with Amelia Witherspoon, by any chance?”

  Olivia’s eyes widened. “Relationship?” she asked. “What sort of relationship are you talking about?”

  I shifted a bit uncomfortably. “Not what you’re thinking,” I said. “I thought maybe they might be friends, or, oh, who knows? Distant relatives, perhaps?”

  The three of them looked at each other, then at me, and then they all burst out laughing. “What gave you that idea?” Rita finally managed to gasp out.

  I lifted my chin. My idea wasn’t that ridiculous, was it? “Josh was standing in the doorway of the secondhand shop yesterday when I yelled at Amelia that she’d be sorry for not reconsidering my proposal. He had a funny look on his face, like he was upset.”

  Olivia waved her hand. “He probably was. For a homicide detective, Josh sure hates arguing and dissention. Besides, it probably got under his skin that another person found a reason to dislike Amelia. Lord knows ninety percent of the town did already.”

  “He did know her, though. Amelia was a big contributor to the Policeman’s Fund,” supplied Rita. “I think she and Josh were on a couple of fundraising committees.” She paused and then added, “Along with your aunt.”

  “Great,” I sighed. “He hears us arguing and then hears me scream she’ll be sorry, and then I find her dead body. I must look like suspect number one in his eyes right now.”

  Olivia shook her head. “Not necessarily. There are lots of other people in line ahead of you for that position.”

  “Yeah?” I leaned forward and rested my chin in my hands. “Make my day. Tell me who?”

  “Well, there are those three board members for starters,” offered Olivia. “And Mazie Madison’s no angel in the hating Amelia sweepstakes, either.”

  “That’s true,” Rita agreed. “Mazie got the museum director job via the recommendation of Mayor Hart. The board passed her appointment while Amelia was out of the country on vacation. I don’t think Amelia ever forgave any of them for that,” chuckled Rita.

  “Made her work all the harder to get something on the mayor,” observed Olivia. “It’s anyone’s guess whether she succeeded or not. I know Amelia made a generous contribution to Hart’s re-election fund a few years ago. There are times when it seemed as if she had the mayor in her hip pocket, and then others when Hart would just flat-out disagree with her. Funny thing, they always seemed to get along. That relationship’s a hard one to pin down.”

  I was remembering something else, too. “And the other two board members? How did they feel about Amelia?”

  “Simone could take her or leave her. Simone is just as, if not more, wealthy than Amelia, so she pretty much marches to her own drum.” Rita said.

  I racked my brain to come up with the last board member’s name. “How about Garrett Knute?”

  Ron frowned. “Hard to say. Rita knows him best.” He looked at the redhead. “He used to be in business with your husband, right?”

  Rita nodded. “They had an accounting firm until Garrett’s grandfather passed and left him a bundle of money. He opted out of the partnership and went into business for himself. He opened a specialty dish shop. Did pretty well with it, too, surprisingly.” She shook her head. “He always voted the opposite of anything Amelia wanted to do on the museum board. Sometimes I think he did it just to piss her off. There was no love lost between them, that’s for sure.”

  “He was arguing with her yesterday,” I said slowly. “I heard them. They were arguing over an envelope. He wanted it, but Amelia stuffed it into her bag. Then he said, ‘over my dead body,’ and stalked off.”

  “Oh, that does sound ominous,” agreed Rita. “You should tell Josh.”

  I frowned. “I don’t know if I should tattle on Garrett. I’d hate to piss off another board member.”

  Rita’s eyes were wide. “But if he threatened her …”

  “It wasn’t a threat, exactly. He said over his dead body.”

  “But he was pissed at her,” persisted Rita. “Maybe he was pissed enough to kill her. You should tell Josh,” she repeated.

  “Garrett says stuff like that all the time, though,” Ron interjected. “You know how he is. He blows up and then, poof! It’s over. But I agree, you probably should mention it. If for nothing else to throw someone else in the suspect pool along with you.” At Rita’s sharp gasp, he let out a loud guffaw. “You know as well as I do how Josh thinks. Shell’s right. I’m sure she is on his short list.”

  My shoulders slumped even more. “Terrific.”

  “You know how it is on the crime shows. The most obvious suspect is never the right one,” Rita added hastily. “Besides, you know you didn’t do it, right?”

  �
�We’re supposed to be cheering Shell up, not convincing her that she’s going to jail,” Olivia said. She turned to me. “Maybe you should start making plans for the store’s reopening. It might take your mind off all this.”

  “I thought about it, but I just can’t concentrate on all those details right now. And wouldn’t a celebration be in poor taste? I’m afraid Purr N Bark’s reopening will have to be delayed for a bit.”

  Rita rose and motioned toward the kitchen. “How about we all have some gumbo now? It should be hot enough.”

  I shook my head. “I appreciate the gesture, really, but I haven’t much of an appetite.”

  Ron clambered to his feet. “We should let Shell get some rest. She’s had a pretty trying day, and it’s not even dinnertime.”

  “Yes,” Rita agreed. “Keep the Crock-Pot, dear, you might get hungry later. I can swing by tomorrow or the next day and pick it up.”

  Olivia squeezed my hand. “You take care, Shell. And call if you need anything.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief once I’d closed the door behind them. I knew they meant well, but that entire conversation had been tiring and enlightening at the same time. Purrday and Kahlua appeared and both let out loud meows.

  “Well, kids, looks as if there are plenty of suspects, but which one had enough of a motive to want to see Amelia dead?”

  Purrday cocked his head as if debating that point. Kahlua just opened her mouth in a wide, unlovely cat yawn.

  I floated from room to room, unpacking a box here, straightening a few odds and ends there. Eventually I wandered into the kitchen, pulled out a bowl, and sampled some of Rita’s gumbo from the Crock-Pot. It was good. Once things settled down, I’d have to ask her for the recipe. I finished the gumbo, put the dish in the sink, and then wandered into my den. I thumbed through my CD collection, found the soundtrack for Phantom of the Opera, and popped it in.