The Time for Murder is Meow

by T. C. LoTempio

  I put my finger to my lips. “He’s very hairy,” I said at last.

  Gary gave me a puzzled stare. “He’s hairy? You hate facial hair … or was that just so I’d shave the beard I grew for season six?”

  “You look better clean shaven anyway. I did you and all your female fans a favor.” I inclined my head toward the doorway. “Here he is now. Come here, Purrday, and say hello to Gary. He’s going to be staying with us awhile.”

  Purrday glided into the kitchen and hopped up on the vacant chair next to Gary. He cocked his head to one side and blinked at him. “Merow.”

  Gary stared at Purrday and then burst into laughter. “Oho, another cat, eh?”

  “He belonged to Aunt Tillie. I couldn’t turn him away.”

  Gary bounced both eyebrows at me. “Just be careful this doesn’t start a trend, Shell. I’d hate to see you become the neighborhood crazy cat lady.” He reached out his hand. Purrday sniffed at the tips of his fingers, then his pink tongue darted out and gave them a quick lick. “Friendly fellow. Lots friendlier than Kahlua. She usually hisses at me.”

  “She doesn’t like your cologne. You’ve got Purrday’s stamp of approval, at least.”

  Gary selected a piece of cheddar and started to put it on a cracker when the cheese slid from his fingers and landed—plop!—on the floor. Purrday eyed the cheese, then cocked his head at Gary.

  “Okay if I let him have it? It fell on the floor.”

  “Go ahead, but you’d better practice your whoops, I knocked it on the floor routine. For such a good actor, that was beneath you.”

  Gary’s eyes widened. “Shell! I’m shocked! You think I did that on purpose?”

  I laughed right at him. “I know you did. You would never drop a piece of anything edible on the floor.”

  He raised both hands. “Okay, I’m guilty. But Purrday appreciates it, don’t you, boy?”

  Purrday didn’t answer. He’d already snatched the bit of cheddar in his paws and was nibbling happily at it.

  Gary turned back to me. “Well, now that I’ve met the main man in your life, let’s get back to number two. Your detective.”

  “Let’s not and say we did.” I rose and walked over to the cabinet and pulled out the bottle of Kahlua. “Refill?”

  He held out his mug. “Sure. And don’t bother with the coffee this time.”

  Once I’d refilled both mugs with Kahlua we adjourned to the parlor, leaving Purrday happily noshing on his cheese. Feline Kahlua was stretched out across the top of the loveseat. She lifted her head, took one look at Gary, let out a loud hiss, and promptly vanished up the stairs.

  “Great to see you again too,” Gary called after her retreating form. He looked over his shoulder at me. “Some things never change.” He plopped down on the brocaded sofa and I sat on the loveseat across from him. “Let’s think of this logically,” he said. “You said most of the people in Fox Hollow hated this woman, Amelia?”

  “So I’ve heard.”

  “Okay.” He leaned back against the sofa cushions, his eyes slitted in thought. “First things first. Who might have hated her enough to do her in?”

  “Well, there are the aforementioned board members: Larry Peabody, Andy McHardy, and Ginnifer Rubin. And Garrett Knute is hiding something as well. I heard him say, ‘over my dead body.’ And Amelia was determined he shouldn’t get his hands on that envelope.”

  “Hm.” Gary laced his hands behind his neck. “That definitely piques my interest. Anyone else?”

  “I saw Amelia arguing with a woman in the park. Olivia thinks it might have been Londra Lewis, who works at the museum as the administrator. Amelia disliked her because of her loyalty to the museum director, Mazie Madison.” I tapped the edge of my mug. “Olivia said that Mazie was no angel when it came to Amelia either. Then there’s the mayor.”

  “Oho, the mayor?” Gary bounced his eyebrows. “You just can’t trust those public officials.”

  “It might be nothing, but Amelia might have something on one or both of the mayor’s kids, I’m not sure. And Garrett Knute mentioned this guy, Melvin Feller, but so far I haven’t been able to make a concrete connection between him and Amelia. And Garrett said half the town hated the woman, so who knows who else might have a motive.” I paused. “Then there’s the editor of the town paper, Quentin Watson. He’s a smarmy little weasel who’s already printed two less-than-flattering snippets about me in his paper because I wouldn’t give him an interview. Lord knows what his relationship with Amelia was.”

  “Well, there doesn’t appear to be a dearth of suspects,” Gary said wryly. “And the reason you’re at the top is …?”

  “I’m not even sure I’m at the top. Josh—I mean, Detective Bloodgood—told me I was a person of interest, primarily because I argued with the deceased in public.”

  Gary gave a short laugh. “Well, person of interest is better than suspect, if you ask me. Now, what we have to do is systematically go through all of those people and determine which of them had the best motive for wanting Amelia dead.”

  “No doubt J—the detective is doing that already.”

  Gary shrugged. “Maybe. Or maybe not. In any case, our considering it can’t hurt, right? I mean, after all, the sooner this gets cleared up, the sooner you can open up your little store.”

  Purrday ambled into the parlor just then, batting the button between his paws. I reached down to retrieve it.

  “It looks like one of Aunt Matilda’s buttons. Where he got it from is a mystery.”

  “It probably just fell off something. You know cats. They can be real scavengers. Remember when Kahlua had a stash of all your rhinestone pins?”

  I started to reply when the doorbell rang. I excused myself and went to answer it, and my eyes widened in surprise when I saw Josh on my front stoop. His lips were slashed into a straight line, and he had his cop face on.

  “Mind if I come in?” he asked. “Something’s turned up, and I need to speak to you about it.”

  I pushed the door wide and motioned for him to enter. As he stepped into the foyer, Gary emerged from the parlor. The two men started then stood and stared at each other.

  I cleared my throat. “Detective Josh Bloodgood, may I introduce my former co-star—”

  Josh waved his hand. “I know who he is.” He turned back to Gary. “Gary Presser, right? Or should I say Douglas Doolittle?”

  Gary beamed and held out his hand. “Ah, you’ve watched our show?”

  “When my schedule permitted.”

  Josh took Gary’s hand and Gary pumped it up and down. “Always happy to meet a fan. I take it you’re Josh the detective?”

  “That would be me.” He released Gary’s hand and shoved his deep into the pockets of the light khaki jacket he wore. “It might be best,” he said, with a meaningful look at me, “if we discussed my news in private.”

  “Not necessary,” Gary said breezily. He stepped right up to me and slipped one arm around my shoulders in a protective gesture. “I came out here to Fox Hollow to help Shell, so …” He paused and looked expectantly at me.

  I sighed and turned to Josh. “Anything you have to say you can say in front of Gary. It won’t go any further.”

  Josh frowned. “Okay then,” he said at last. He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out a small plastic bag, in which rested a slip of paper. “My men did a thorough sweep of the murder scene, and we found this under the desk near the body.”

  He held the baggie out to me. I took it. Inside was a note printed in block letters:

  I’VE DISCOVERED YOUR LITTLE SECRET. UNLESS YOU WANT ME TO EXPOSE YOU, I SUGGEST WE TALK. —S

  I read the note twice and then looked at Josh, puzzled. “I’m sorry. I don’t get it.”

  His gaze bored into mine. “Did you write that?”

  I took a couple of deep breaths befo
re I answered. “Absolutely not. For one thing, I don’t print that neatly, and I’ve never seen this before in my life.”

  He turned the bag over in his hand. “Then you weren’t planning to expose Amelia? The purpose of that meeting wasn’t blackmail?”

  I stared at him, shocked, and drew myself up to my full height. “Definitely not,” I snapped. “I’ve never blackmailed anyone in my life. Besides, I don’t know anything I could have blackmailed her with.”

  “That’s true,” Gary interjected. “Shell is one of the most honest people I know.”

  I gestured toward the note. “Evidently someone wanted you to think otherwise.”

  Josh scratched absently at his jaw. “We dusted it for prints, and the only ones we found were Amelia’s. Obviously, whoever wrote it must have worn gloves.”

  “What in the world could I have been going to expose about her?” I asked. “I didn’t know the woman.”

  “Well, you were going around asking people if they were being blackmailed by her,” put in Josh. “And you accused Garrett Knute of having a secret.”

  “That’s true, but they’re legitimate concerns,” I declared.

  “Well, it seems pretty obvious to me,” said Gary. Josh and I both turned toward him.

  “What does?” asked Josh.

  Gary spread his hands. “This murder was no accident. Someone planned it out carefully, and decided to use Shell as a scapegoat. Think about it. The photograph Shell gave her was clutched in her cold, dead hand plus this note, conveniently signed by S?” He jabbed his finger at Josh’s face. “And your job, my friend, is to find out who would do such a thing.”

  “I agree,” Josh said grimly. He turned to me. “For what it’s worth, Shell, I don’t think you killed Amelia. But it sure does look as if someone wants us to think you might have.”

  I shuddered. The thought that someone might deliberately have set me up as a murderer was not an appealing one. “If I could take back speaking to those people, I would, in a heartbeat. But I can’t. What happens now?”

  “What happens is you keep your mouth shut and keep a low profile while I work on finding out just who did kill Amelia,” Josh said softly. He looked as if he wanted to say more, but instead just nodded curtly to both Gary and me and then turned and exited out my front door.

  I set my lips. Now I was more determined than ever to do some digging on my own. Someone had used me to get Amelia alone at the museum and kill her. Someone had planned it with malice aforethought, and I was betting it was someone I’d met, someone I’d spoken with.

  I wouldn’t feel safe until I found out who.

  • Fifteen •

  “Oh, this is so exciting. I feel like I’m a character on one of your Spy Anyone episodes!”

  After Josh had left I called Olivia and asked her to bring Rita and Ron over to my house pronto for a powwow on how to proceed with our “investigation.” They were all thrilled and a bit speechless too, when they found Gary there. Olivia in particular. She spent most of our little meeting staring at Gary’s fabulous thick head of hair.

  “This isn’t television,” Gary said in a stern tone, although the half smile he shot Olivia was, I was sure, intended to take the sting out of his words. “This is reality, and one of these people is trying to frame Shell for a crime she didn’t commit. We have to help Detective Bloodgood by narrowing the suspect pool.”

  I’d abandoned my notebook idea and instead dragged the whiteboard out from the den and set it up in the parlor. Gary had drawn boxes with each suspect’s name in it, and arrows pointing to the center box which read: Victim: Amelia Witherspoon. Under each suspect’s name he’d printed a possible motive. Now he stood in front of it, pointing to each box with the tip of a ruler, like someone teaching Criminology 101.

  “Let’s look at each one logically,” he said and pointed to the first box. “Lawrence Peabody. He consistently voted with Amelia on museum matters. Did Amelia have something on him to buy his loyalty? Ditto his friend, Andy McHardy.” Gary tapped the second box. “Shell heard him saying ‘it’ couldn’t go on. What, exactly? Why did these two constantly side with Amelia?”

  I stepped up to tap at the third box. “Ginnifer Rubin seemed very nervous when I confronted her. She said she’d talk to Amelia, but I could just feel the fear emanating from her. It was quite a different feeling than the one I got from Garrett Knute.” I pointed at the fourth box. “Even though he acted as if Amelia had no hold on him, that argument I witnessed over the envelope suggests otherwise.”

  Ron squinted at the board, then pointed. “You’ve got Quentin Watson on there?”

  “Why not?” Olivia leaned back and tucked her knees under her. “He’s a despicable character who delights in dishing out dirt on people. Who knows, maybe he had something on Amelia. We know he dislikes Shell. Maybe he wrote that note to deliberately incriminate her.”

  “Right. Then there are others with murkier motives.” Gary pointed to the boxes on the bottom. “Londra Lewis. Shell saw her arguing with Amelia in the park. We’ve yet to determine over what or just how deep that hatred runs. And over here, we’ve got the three longshots. Mazie Madison, Mayor Hart, and Melvin Feller.”

  Rita wiggled her fingers. “I know why Mazie and the mayor are on the board, but Feller? I double checked with Frank like you asked me to, Shell, and he couldn’t recall Melvin ever even meeting Amelia.”

  “He’s on there because Garrett Knute told Josh that Melvin would be his choice of a number-one suspect. Of course, he could have said that as a red herring to throw the cops off the track.”

  Rita shook her head. “I know he can flare up and all, but I just can’t see him killing anyone. Garrett probably just said that ’cause he doesn’t like Mel.”

  Gary tapped his forefinger against the board. “Until Shell’s name is completely cleared, no one’s name goes off this board. One of these people killed Amelia and is trying to frame Shell.”

  Ron stretched his arms wide and laced his fingers behind his head. “Don’t see what Mazie’s doing on there.”

  Olivia nodded. “True. She disliked Amelia, but murder? She’s such a little mouse.”

  “And why is Mayor Hart on there?” Ron pointed to the box. “She and Amelia weren’t buddy-buddy, but I doubt she hated her enough to kill her.”

  “I’m not sure if Amelia had something on her children or not,” I said. “If she did, and threatened to expose it, that would be a powerful motive for murder.”

  “Exactly,” Gary said. “The next step is spelling out everyone’s motives, try and see who had the best reasons for wanting Amelia dead.” He paused and tapped against the mayor’s box for emphasis. “And no one’s name goes off.”

  “Well,” Ron rose. “As it happens, the mayor has a floral arrangement delivered to her office every Tuesday. I’ll just make the delivery in person and see what I can find out. I’ll take an extra spray of roses for her admin. Janie loves to talk, once you get her going.”

  “Excellent,” Gary said. He looked pointedly at Olivia and Rita. “Anyone else?”

  “Garrett usually goes to the diner for lunch. It’s right near Sweet Perks,” Rita offered. “I’ll try to grill him, see if I can find out why he mentioned Mel Feller as a suspect. He may not talk to me, though.”

  I gave her an encouraging smile. “It’s worth a shot, and I appreciate that you’re willing to try.”

  “Ginnifer Rubin does a Zumba class this afternoon at my studio,” Olivia piped up. “Maybe I can get her talking about Larry and Andy. It’s a sure bet neither one of them will open up to anyone.” Olivia turned to Gary and gave him the benefit of her full-wattage smile. “Perhaps you’d like to tag along? She was a big Spy Anyone fan, I know. Your presence might make her feel more at ease.”

  “Fine.” He patted his stomach. “Maybe I could use some Zumba myself. Unemployment sure makes a fellow overeat.” H
e glanced at me. “What about you, Shell?”

  “It just so happens I got a text from Mazie earlier. She’d like me to drop by the museum today, so it will be the perfect opportunity to feel out her and Londra Lewis.”

  Gary rubbed his hands together. “It sounds as if we have a plan!”

  Olivia chuckled. “And like the best laid ones, let’s hope ours don’t go astray.”

  ∞

  When I pulled into the parking lot of the museum shortly after one o’clock, I must admit I had a brief attack of the willies. I made sure to park in a completely different spot than the one I had used on Sunday, although I did notice as I exited my car that Amelia’s black Caddy was still parked in the same spot. The sight of it gave me a chill as I walked up the short flight of steps to the front entrance and pushed open the door.

  After I paused to admire the lovely oil paintings hanging in the foyer, I walked down the short hall into a bigger room from which corridors branched out in all directions, and gilt-edged signs pointed the way to different attractions: The Saber Room, The Egyptian Room, Fox Hollow Heritage Room. A woman wearing a blue blazer and thick glasses sat behind a massive desk square in the center. I walked up and introduced myself and said I had an appointment with Mazie Madison.

  “Oh, yes.” Her fingers flew over the keyboard, and she squinted at her monitor. “Crishell McMillan, right? Just take that corridor all the way down to the back”—she pointed at the center aisle—“and her office is on your right-hand side.”

  I followed her directions and moved down the corridor, walking swiftly past the closed door marked Library—although just seeing the closed door conjured up too many memories for my taste. I found the door marked Office without any problem. I pushed it open and walked into a large, brightly lit room. A woman with dark brown hair was seated behind a Cherrywood desk. She looked up as I approached, and I recognized her instantly as the woman I’d seen arguing with Amelia in the park on Saturday. My eyes automatically strayed to the marble nameplate on the desk. Londra Lewis.