The Time for Murder is Meow

by T. C. LoTempio

  It was Melvin Feller.

  “We’re pretty hungry, so I think a table would be best.” He flinched as I grabbed his hand and squeezed it hard. I inclined my head toward the bar and widened my eyes. Gary turned back to the hostess and smiled. “Maybe we will start off at the bar.”

  She moved aside and I pushed forward, honing in on the two empty stools three seats down from where Melvin sat. I hopped up onto the stool and Gary slid onto the one next to me. The bartender, a young man with close-cropped blond hair and a tiny moustache, turned to us with a smile. “Good evening, and welcome to the Hairy Lemon. What are you two drinking tonight?”

  “A good question.” Gary made a low bow to me. “Ladies first.”

  There was a small book shoved off to one end, the words Drink Menu engraved in embossed gold on its cover. I snatched it up and thumbed through it. “Oh my,” I said. “There’s a drink called the Hairy Lemon?”

  The bartender laughed. “Sure is. Fresh lemon and blueberries, seltzer, vodka, and ice. Want to try one?”

  I set the book back. “Sure. Why not?”

  “Frozen or straight up?”

  I cocked my head to one side. “Frozen.”

  He glanced at Gary. “And you, sir?”

  “I’m not that adventurous,” Gary said. “I’ll just have vodka and tonic with a twist.”

  “Coming right up.”

  Once he’d moved away Gary leaned into me. “Okay, Shell, give. Why were you so anxious to sit at the bar? I thought you were hungry.”

  “I am, but”—I raised my hand and made a pointing motion—“don’t look now, but Melvin Feller is three seats over.” As Gary turned casually in that direction I added, “He certainly seems engrossed in his phone conversation. I sure would like to know who’s on the other end.”

  The bartender returned and set our drinks in front of us. I had to admit, the Hairy Lemon certainly looked cool and refreshing. I picked it up, took a sip, and set it back down. “Whew. That’s strong.”

  “Too much?” the bartender reached for the glass. “Sorry, I can tone it down a bit if you want. The owner doesn’t like us to skimp on the liquor.”

  I pushed the glass toward him. “That’s odd. Usually they want the drinks watered down. Makes for more of a profit.”

  “True. Not this owner, though. He thinks full-bodied drinks make for happy customers, and happy customers keep coming back.”

  I glanced around the crowded area. “He might have something there.”

  The bartender picked up the glass and turned to add a bit more seltzer.

  Gary took a sip of his vodka and tonic and made a wry face. “A little on the strong side, but I can handle it. Although it’d be a lot easier if I had a Reuben in front of me,” he grumbled.

  “Just one drink, and then we can get a table.” I nibbled at my lower lip. “I’d love to know what he’s talking about. Judging from his facial expression, it seems intense.”

  Mel’s brows were drawn together, and his lips were pressed together as he listened to whoever was on the other end. His short, stubby fingers fiddled with the handle of the frosty beer mug in front of him. He seemed engrossed.

  Gary glanced down at the other end of the bar. “Say, there’s a bowl of pretzels down there. You want some pretzels?”

  I frowned. “Not really.”

  Gary slid off the stool and surreptitiously closed one eye in a wink. “Sure you do.” Before I could utter a word of protest, he’d ambled off. I watched as he pushed himself in between Mel and another man and reached for the small bowl of pretzels on the edge of the bar. He pulled it quickly toward him, just as Mel started to set down his mug. Bowl collided with mug and both tipped over, spilling pretzels across the bar and onto the floor, and frosty ale right onto Melvin Feller’s lap.

  Mel jumped back, dropping his phone. Gary swooped down and caught it before it could hit the floor. The bartender came over with two towels. He handed one to Mel and started wiping up the spilled beer with the other. Gary leaned over and pressed the phone back into Mel’s hand, whispered something to him. The older man waved him off, slid the phone into his pocket, then whipped out his wallet and slammed a bill on the counter. He said something to Gary and then pulled on his jacket and weaved his way toward the exit. Gary watched him for a few moments before he made his way back to me.

  I eyed him as he slid back onto the stool. “That was no accident,” I said.

  Gary’s eyes widened. “Shell! Are you saying I bumped into the guy on purpose? What sort of person do you think I am?”

  “A klutzy one,” I responded, and Gary’s lips quirked slightly. I fisted my hand and put it on my hip. “So? Just what did that accomplish, besides getting beer splattered on your shirt?”

  He chuckled. “Well, for one thing, I heard a bit of his conversation. He was explaining to whoever was on the other end the difference between a straight- and a serrated-edge knife.”

  My eyes popped. “Oh my God! Are you sure?”

  Gary tapped at his ear. “Mine might not be big, but they are in very good working order. I know what I heard. Perhaps your friend Knute’s assessment of him as suspect number one isn’t so far off the mark after all.” He whipped out his iPad. “My memory’s in excellent working order as well. I paid attention to the phone number on the screen when I rescued his phone. All we have to do is a reverse lookup, and we’ll know who he was talking to.”

  I gave my former co-star an appraising look. “Gary, I never realized how sneaky you were before!”

  He shot me a boyish grin. “Stick with me, kid.” He pulled up the reverse lookup site and tapped the number in. A few minutes later he handed me the iPad. “We’re in luck. It’s not unlisted.”

  I glanced at the name on the screen and stifled a gasp. The person Mel Feller had been talking to was Londra Lewis.

  • Seventeen •

  “That’s amazing,” I said, passing the iPad back to Gary. “Why on earth would he be talking to her about those types of knives?”

  “Never mind that,” Gary said, slipping his iPad back into his pocket, “why would he be talking about knives period?” He paused, frowned, pulled the iPad back out and started tapping at the screen.

  Curious, I leaned closer. “What are you looking up now?”

  “Tuareg knife. I heard him say that just before I spilled the drink on him.” Gary’s fingers flew across the tiny pad.

  “It’s a short dagger kept in a sheath, usually attached to the forearm.” As Gary shot me a look, I added, “I remember going to a shop with Aunt Tillie, and there was a huge collection of various knives on display.”

  He passed me the iPad. On the screen was a photograph of a nasty-looking dagger with a crooked, serrated blade. I glanced at it and a shudder ran through me.

  “That’s it all right.” I nodded. “Look at that blade. Could you imagine being stabbed with that?” I tapped the iPad against my chin. “Makes you wonder, though. Since when is he an expert on this type of dagger? And why would Londra Lewis ask him about it?”

  “True. He has no connection to the museum, right?”

  “He worked for Garrett Knute and Rita’s husband when they had the accounting firm, and the museum was one of their clients, but Rita said Garrett did their accounting exclusively.”

  “Still, he would have known the people who worked there, right?”

  “I’m not sure of the timeline of Mazie coming on board, but he probably would have known Londra.” I stifled a gasp. “Could they have planned to murder Amelia together?”

  “Whoa, let’s not jump to conclusions,” said Gary. My cell dinged just then, and I fished it out of my bag. It was a text from Olivia: Got some info from Gladys! When can we meet?

  I glanced up at Gary, who was peering over my shoulder. He sighed. “I know that look. Text her we’ll be there in twenty.” He patted his stoma
ch. “That Reuben’s gonna have to wait.”

  ∞

  The Niven School of Dance was located on the second floor of a low-slung stone building, not far from the park. The bottom floor was a large crafts store that displayed local artist’s work. The second floor was divided into three units—the dance studio, another that served as a pottery class, and the last one was used for yoga and meditation. We pushed through the door marked Niven School of Dance and found ourselves in a large, mirrored room. Olivia was leaning against the ballet bar that stretched against one wall, doing some exercises. She stopped when she caught sight of us in the mirror and hurried over. “Wow, you got here pretty fast,” she exclaimed.

  “We’re anxious to hear your info,” Gary said. He gave his stomach a significant pat. “So much so we skipped dinner.”

  “You didn’t have to do that,” Olivia protested. “It would have kept.”

  Gary rolled his eyes. “Now you tell us.”

  I gave him a quick poke in the ribs and turned to Olivia. “Pay him no mind. He gets cranky when his stomach isn’t full.”

  Olivia laughed. “Don’t all men? But to tell the truth, I haven’t eaten myself yet. I could go for one of the Captain’s Club’s buffalo chicken salads. They make one that’s to die for.”

  “Yeah?” Gary appeared interested. “How are their Reubens?”

  “Good, but not as good as the Hairy Lemon’s.”

  He shot me a look. “That’s what I was afraid of.”

  Olivia looked decidedly puzzled so I said quickly, “We were just at the Hairy Lemon, as a matter of fact. We were going to have dinner but we got a bit sidetracked.”

  “Shell saw one of her suspects at the bar, so that ended our dinner plans,” Gary supplied. “Some guy named Melvin Feller.”

  Olivia’s eyes widened. “Mel was at the Hairy Lemon? Really?”

  “Really,” I answered. “And you’ll never guess what Gary heard him talking about!” Without waiting for her to answer, I pushed my lips close to Olivia’s ear. “Knives!”

  To my surprise, Olivia started to laugh. “Wow that seems to be a hot topic of conversation around Fox Hollow. Wait until I tell you what Gladys heard. She said—”

  “Ladies, ladies,” Gary interrupted us. “Maybe we could do this over a nice Reuben sandwich, or whatever your food of choice is at this Captain’s Club?” He turned to me and wagged his finger under my nose. “Just so we’re straight, young lady, we are eating first, and not sitting at the bar. No matter whose sister is bartending or who else might be there.”

  Olivia grinned and I felt my cheeks grow warm. I floundered for a witty remark, but a stifled “Ha ha” was all I could manage.

  Olivia walked over to a small table and snatched up a jacket and tote bag. She shrugged her arms into the jacket, then fished in the tote and pulled out her phone. “I’ll text Rita and Ron. Maybe they can join us, and we can all exchange notes.”

  “Great idea,” I said, avoiding Gary’s gaze. “Who knows, maybe we’ll find the answer to who killed Amelia tonight.”

  Gary rolled his eyes. “Only in the movies,” he muttered.

  ∞

  Rita was waiting for us in the foyer of the Captain’s Club. “Ron will be along shortly,” she assured us. “Marva’s got a class at the adult school tonight, so he has to walk the dogs.”

  Mollie, the hostess, was the same girl who’d been there on my one and only other visit to the restaurant. Tonight, she had on a brown maxi dress with a matching crochet shrug, and she’d teamed it with a chunky turquoise necklace and bracelet. Her lips glistened with a mocha-colored gloss, and they parted in a wide smile as we approached her podium and her eyes rested on Gary. “Welcome to the Captain’s Club. Table for four?”

  “Five, actually. We’re expecting another gentleman shortly,” Olivia said.

  “Hm.” She frowned at the sheet on the lectern in front of her, then glanced up and craned her neck at the wide dining area. “All the larger tables are filled right now, but one should open up shortly. Would you like to have a drink at the bar while you wait?”

  I glanced quickly over at the bar. I didn’t see Josh, but I recognized Michelle behind the wide counter. She was serving a good-looking guy in a sweatshirt a beer, laughing at something he said.

  “Can’t get away from bars tonight, can we?” grumbled Gary in my ear.

  I noticed a group of stools at the far end of the bar and motioned toward them. “The bar will be fine,” I said.

  Gary reached into his pocket and I saw him press a bill into Mollie’s hand. “Be sure and call us the minute you get a table,” I heard him say right before his stomach let out a loud rumble.

  “Well, that was embarrassing,” he growled when we were all settled on stools. Rita positioned herself so that she had a good view of the front entrance, to signal Ron when he arrived.

  “Oh, that girl was so taken by your charm she didn’t even notice,” I said with a brisk wave of my hand. “It wouldn’t surprise me if she actually rushes someone along with their food just so we can sit down.”

  Gary chuckled and plucked the drink menu up. Michelle came toward us with a smile. “Good evening. What can I get y’all?”

  Gary flipped the menu back on the counter and trained a dazzling smile on Michelle. “Vodka with a twist.” He cut me a side glance. “Since I only had a couple of sips from my other one tonight.”

  “White wine spritzer for me,” Olivia sang out.

  Rita nodded. “Make that two.”

  Michelle looked at me. “And for you?”

  I really wanted another Hairy Lemon—the little I’d had had been very tasty—but since that wasn’t an option at this bar I decided to just go with the flow. “I’ll have a spritzer too.” I leaned forward and said in a low tone, “Do you know if your brother’s on duty tonight?”

  Michelle’s smooth brow furrowed a bit. “Josh? I believe so. Why?”

  I leaned back on the stool. “No particular reason. If you should hear from him, could you ask him to please call Shell McMillan?”

  Michelle’s eyes widened a bit. “You’re Shell? The girl from the park?” She let out a low chuckle. “I heard you had a run-in with Rocco.”

  I laughed. “Sure did. He’s a sweet dog, though.”

  “Yep, he’s just a big sloppy bundle of doggy love. Most people get frightened by the pit-bull face but you’ll never find a gentler animal.” She cocked her head to one side. “Sue mentioned you visited her shop.”

  “I did. It’s very quaint. She has some nice things in there.”

  “Yeah, she does. Sue said you’re going to reopen the Purr N Bark.” Without waiting for an answer she went on, “I know a lot of folks can’t wait. Your aunt gave lots of them personal service with their pet’s needs. They miss that. Sue too. Tillie always kept a stash of Rocco’s favorite liver and bacon treats on hand.”

  “I’m hopeful to continue the tradition. Eventually. And I’ll make it a point to order those treats for Rocco.”

  “I’m sure he’ll be glad about that. Sue too.” Michelle’s eyes twinkled. “She also said you bought that bust of Poe for the store. She’s been trying to unload it for, like, forever.”

  “I’m surprised no one else snatched it up. It’s a beautiful piece of sculpture. She said she got it from an art school?”

  “Yeah, cool, right? There were three of ’em in that set, if I’m not mistaken. Shakespeare and someone else, Lincoln maybe? They sold like that.” She snapped her fingers in the air.

  “It’s exceptional workmanship.”

  “Sure, is, except for—oh, sorry.” Michelle frowned as two older gentlemen signaled to her from the opposite end of the bar. “Two of my regulars. I’ll take care of them, and then be right back with your drinks.”

  Gary eyed me as Michelle moved off. “Getting in good with the siblings, eh?” he
said.

  I cut him an eye roll and turned to Olivia and Rita. “Shall we start comparing notes?”

  Olivia nodded. “Might as well. Who wants to go first?”

  I raised my hand. “I will,” I said. I filled them in on my earlier meeting with Mazie and Londra, and then our encounter with Melvin Feller. When I’d finished, Rita let out a low whistle.

  “Wow, that is something. I didn’t realize they’d even found the murder weapon yet.”

  “They haven’t,” Olivia cut in. She gave a brief recounting of what she and Gary had overheard Quentin Watson say. “I talked to Gladys Ficke. They have not found the murder weapon yet, but from the shape of the wounds, they’ve narrowed down the type of blade they think might have been used. And top of this list is—”

  “A Tuareg knife,” I finished. “Did she mention how her boss acquired that information?”

  “She came up with a big fat zero on that,” sighed Olivia. “No one quite knows where Quentin gets his info from, but he’s mostly ninety-nine percent accurate.”

  “He’s got to have bugs planted all over town,” Rita agreed. “Either that or the guy’s psychic.”

  I shot her a wry grin. “Psycho sounds more accurate, actually. And how did you make out, Rita?”

  “Well, Garrett seemed very surprised to see me, and even more so when I sat down at his table and started chatting,” she laughed. “We really haven’t spoken all that much since he and Frank dissolved the business, so I just used that as an excuse and segued into Amelia’s murder. He wasn’t all that broken up about it.”

  Olivia let out a snort. “Did you think he would be?”

  “Heck no. I tried to get the conversation around to Mel Feller. That took some doing. Finally, I said that I’d seen Mel at the service for Amelia, and I was a bit surprised, since they hadn’t known each other.” She paused. “He just stared me right in the eyes, and said, ‘Oh, yeah? Shows how much you know, Rita.’ So then I said, ‘Well, it’s not like he ever did any accounting for her,’ and he said that Mel had, one time when he and Frank were both out, but he put an end to it fast—all he needed was Amelia complaining! Then I mentioned the museum board fiasco and he just snorted and said, ‘You don’t think that she’d ever let him on the board? Not after—’ And then the waitress came over and asked if we wanted anything else, and he looked at his watch and said he had to get going. Picked up the check and left.”