Claws of Death

by Linda Reilly

  Deanna reached down and picked up Doodle, holding the siblings close to her chest. “Oh, this has truly made my day, ladies. I can’t wait until they’re ready to have the run of the place.”

  Lara smiled, but something nagged at her. Nancy Sherman, the housekeeper, had yet to come in to check out the cats or to welcome them to their new digs. Had Deanna told her to stay out of sight during their visit? Or was the woman not a fan of cats? The latter thought made Lara nervous. She wondered if the housekeeper lived in the house, or if Ms. Sherman had her own home elsewhere.

  “Deanna, do you think Ms. Sherman might like to see the cats?” Lara asked.

  Deanna’s bright smile faded. “Nancy, I’m afraid, was not altogether thrilled with my decision to adopt the kittens. She was raised to believe cats are fine as mousers, but should never be allowed inside.”

  Lara saw Aunt Fran’s face crease with worry.

  “Oh,” Aunt Fran said. “That’s disappointing.”

  “Fran, you needn’t worry,” Deanna assured her. “I interviewed at least eight or nine applicants for her job, and she was absolutely the most qualified. I made it clear that I intended to have cats, and she agreed that she would assist in caring for them.”

  Lara slid a glance over at Blue. The cream-colored feline looked relaxed and content—a sign that she was on board with the adoption.

  A sigh of relief escaped Lara. Nonetheless, she wished she could get a better comfort level with the housekeeper.

  “On another note,” Deanna said, a frown pursing her lips. She set both kittens down gently on the floor, then faced the women. “Chief Whitley called me this morning. My car will be released to me this afternoon. Unfortunately, the police haven’t made much progress identifying the graffiti artist who marked up my window.”

  That was no artist, Lara thought.

  “Sorry to hear that,” Lara said. She’d given the police a description and a pencil sketch of the man she’d caught peeking inside the Saturn the day before. No one other than the ice cream vendor had seen him or had any idea who he was. Besides, the man might’ve had nothing to do with the vandalism. He’d seemed like a harmless soul, interested mostly in seeking out ice cream.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Lara spied a sudden movement. Blue had gone on full alert, her dark tail swishing in agitation. The cat paced back and forth on the tapestry-covered seat, her gaze fixed on the window above. In the next moment, she leaped onto the sill and peered outside.

  Lara’s pulse pounded. What is she looking at?

  She forced a smile, her heart racing. “Deanna, I’d love to check out the view,” she said. “This room faces the rear of the property, right?”

  Deanna mumbled something, but Lara barely heard her. Lara went over to the window and looked outside. Blue had already vanished.

  The yard behind the mansion was lush and green. In a landscaped pattern that looked carefully crafted, wildflowers nestled in clusters along a twisty stone walkway. Beyond that was the old family graveyard. Granite markers, worn and darkened with age, marked the burial places of Blythe family members long passed.

  Lara gasped. In front of one of the grave markers, someone was slumped on the ground. Even from this distance, Lara could see that one arm was outstretched. Had someone gone on a drinking binge and collapsed in the cemetery? Or—

  She swallowed, recalling the body she’d stumbled upon barely a year earlier.

  “Deanna, call nine-one-one,” Lara said urgently. “There’s someone lying on the ground in front of one of the tombstones. I think he, or she, needs help.”

  Whoever it is, please let them be okay. Please don’t let it be like last time…

  Deanna swerved toward the window but didn’t approach it. “Dear Lord,” she whispered. “I left my cell phone in my bedroom!”

  “I’ll call,” Aunt Fran said, taking her phone from the pocket of her knee-length shorts. She tapped it a few times, then calmly reported the emergency. While she continued talking to the 9-1-1 operator, Lara rushed toward the door.

  “Where are you going?” Deanna cried out.

  “Outside,” Lara said. She tried to squelch the bile she felt rising in her throat.

  The last time she’d discovered a body, there hadn’t been any hope of reviving the victim. This time…she didn’t know what she’d find.

  But if there was the slightest chance she could save someone, she wasn’t going to stand idly by and wait for the ambulance.

  Chapter 4

  Lara was shaking by the time the police had arrived. Even from several feet away, she’d known the man was beyond help.

  The heat of the July sun did nothing to warm her icy limbs. She hugged herself tightly, as if she could ward off the horror.

  She’d recognized the victim. He was the man who’d approached Deanna at the welcome event the day before. The one Deanna had had words with, and who Evelyn Conley had banished from the party. A sharp object jutted from his neck, and blood pooled around his head. White flowers had been strewn haphazardly around his body. Lara thought she’d recognized the type of flower, but couldn’t think what they were called.

  Chief Whitley had zoomed onto the property four minutes after Aunt Fran’s call, only a few seconds behind the ambulance. After that, everything had happened in a whirlwind of activity. State and local police cars had swarmed onto the property, parking their vehicles wherever they could squeeze them among the cemetery markers.

  It wasn’t until four hours later that she and Aunt Fran had been permitted to leave. They’d each been interviewed separately, but had to promise to go to the police station within twenty-four hours to give a written statement.

  Deanna’s statement had been taken by two state police detectives in the privacy of her home. The privilege of fame, Lara thought. As for the housekeeper, Lara hadn’t seen her since their arrival with the kittens. She assumed the police had caught up with her somewhere inside the mansion.

  Lara had wanted to take the kittens back to the shelter, at least for the time being. Deanna, however, had begged her to leave them with her. “I promise, they’ll receive all the love and attention they deserve. This…horrible murder won’t affect their care. I give you my word.”

  Aunt Fran had given her consent, and Lara had reluctantly followed suit.

  “But please let us know if you need help in any way,” Lara told Deanna. “I can be here in a flash.”

  “I will.” Deanna hugged each of them. “Please don’t worry. Everything is under control.”

  When they were finally allowed to leave, Lara swung the Saturn out of the driveway. They passed a sea of police cars, both marked and unmarked.

  Then Lara noticed a state trooper, his hand wrapped around Nancy Sherman’s arm, walking the housekeeper toward his vehicle. Lara caught a glimpse of Nancy’s face as they drove past. She looked ghostly white, and a bit unsteady on her feet. From her expression, she might have been going to the gallows.

  * * * *

  The chief, concerned about Aunt Fran, Lara suspected, stopped at the house late that afternoon to give them a limited update. Sitting in one of the padded chairs at the Formica kitchen table, he stretched out his long legs to the side.

  “His name is Donald Waitt,” Chief Whitley said, consulting his notes. “Seventy-four years old, retired gym teacher. He lives—lived—in Ossipee. Also owned an auto dealership with his brother.”

  “Did Deanna tell you he’s the same guy who crashed her party yesterday?” Lara asked him.

  Whitley looked sternly at her. “You know I can’t discuss that, Lara. Ms. Daltry’s statement is confidential, as are yours and Fran’s.”

  Lara sagged in frustration. How could this have happened?

  “Jerry,” Aunt Fran said, “did you talk to the housekeeper, Nancy Sherman? We thought it odd that she disappeared right after we brought the kittens over.” />
  Lara gaped at her aunt. It wasn’t like Aunt Fran to point fingers, if that’s what she was doing. Nancy Sherman’s brusque demeanor must have really gotten under her skin.

  “Again, Fran,” Jerry said, more gently this time. “I can’t reveal any details that aren’t being disclosed to the public. Unless,” he added pointedly, “I feel it’s something either of you can use to help us pinpoint any unknown facts.”

  “The fact is,” Aunt Fran said, “that Ms. Sherman made herself scarce moments after we arrived. We had no idea where she disappeared to. Come to think of it, we never saw her again.”

  Lara shot a look at her aunt. Hadn’t she noticed Nancy Sherman being led to a state police car by a trooper? Or had she been looking in a different direction?

  Whitley tapped a finger against his notepad. “The medical examiner has estimated the TOD—time of death—to be around five a.m. this morning. Ms. Sherman…disappearing, as you say, would seem to have no bearing. That doesn’t mean she couldn’t have killed the man.”

  “Five a.m.,” Lara repeated. “Why did Mr. Waitt go there so early? Surely he didn’t have an appointment with Deanna at that hour.”

  Whitley took in a long breath. “As I said—”

  “I know, I know. You can’t reveal the details.”

  “I’m sorry, Lara. You know the rules.”

  “Can you at least tell us what the murder weapon was? It looked like a knife of some sort, but—”

  “Sorry, Lara. No can do. And not to change the subject, but the media vultures have already begun to arrive. Two network trucks rolled through town early this afternoon, and I’m sure more are on their way. Ms. Daltry has assured me she’ll hire private security if need be. In the meantime, I urge you both not to talk to any reporters. If they figure out who you are they’ll probably hound you, so just be aware, okay?”

  “I hear you, Chief.” Lara slumped in her chair.

  Darn! Lara wished now that she’d paid more attention at the crime scene. She’d gotten so rattled at finding the poor man’s body that she hadn’t taken in as much detail as she should have.

  Those flowers. What were they? They’d reminded her of something used in bouquets, but she still couldn’t grasp what they were called.

  “Chief, I have one more question. Did anyone mention the flowers? They were scattered around the, you know, the body.”

  Whitley shifted his long legs, crossing one over the other. “That’s one of the details, Lara, that we are not disclosing to the public. And no, I have no idea what they were. My horticultural skills are limited to deadheading the pansies in my flower boxes every summer.”

  Lara decided not to press it. Something told her the flowers were symbolic of whatever the reason was for Waitt’s murder. If she could identify the variety, she could begin doing some research. She was sure good old Google would be glad to help.

  “I understand,” Lara said. “My lips are sealed.”

  Smiling at the chief, Aunt Fran reached over and squeezed his large hand. “Jerry, you’ve known me long enough to be assured that I would never reveal confidential police info.”

  Whitley flushed to the roots of his thick white hair. “I know you wouldn’t, Fran.” He snapped his notebook closed. “Remember, you both need to come down to the station in the morning to give a written statement. I won’t be there. You’ll be talking to one of the state police detectives.”

  “Understood,” Aunt Fran said, lowering her head.

  Lara would’ve sworn her aunt had winked at him. She knew the two had been having occasional dinners together, but that seemed to be the extent of it. Or was it? The chief wasn’t overly enamored of cats, at least not in multiple numbers. But he cared deeply for Aunt Fran. Of that much, Lara was sure.

  “Chief, I just thought of something. When we arrived this morning, I didn’t see any other cars there. Where did the…you know, victim, park his?”

  “Not that it’s your business, but we found a vehicle parked about a half mile down the road. It’s registered to Waitt. That’s all I can say.”

  “Has his family been notified?” Aunt Fran asked him.

  “They have, and they’re in shock. I’m glad I didn’t have to break the news to them.”

  A buzzer sounded at the back of the house, making Lara jump.

  “Someone’s at the shelter door,” Lara said. “I wonder— Oh, good grief, Aunt Fran. We forgot about Kayla! We’re supposed to be interviewing her today.”

  Kayla Ramirez was a student who’d called about a part-time job at the shelter. Lara had set up an appointment to chat with her at five that afternoon.

  Aunt Fran looked suddenly flustered. “You’re right. In all the confusion, it slipped my mind. You’ll have to excuse us, Jerry. I’m afraid duty calls.”

  The chief nodded. “If it’s something to do with cats, I’m outta here. I’ll call you tomorrow, Fran.” He rose and headed for the kitchen door, then turned and looked directly at Lara. “Not to pick on you, Lara, but remember that old saying about loose lips…” He let the thought dangle.

  “I know. They sink ships.” Lara squelched a smile.

  They also reveal secrets about people, Lara thought.

  Secrets that might lead to a killer.

  Chapter 5

  Kayla Ramirez turned out to be a delight. A vet tech student, she was spending the summer with her grandmother in nearby Tuftonboro. She’d spotted the ad for a part-time shelter assistant in the online version of the Whisker Gazette, and had immediately called for an interview.

  “If I can work with cats and earn a bit of money for textbooks,” she’d said in her soft voice, “my summer will be perfect.”

  Only Lara was aware that Blue had sat in on the interview. While Lara, Aunt Fran, and Kayla sipped pink lemonade and munched on shortbread cookies, Blue had appraised the applicant from the vacant chair. When the Ragdoll cat blinked twice and rested her chin on the table, Lara knew Kayla was a keeper.

  Aunt Fran had been equally impressed. Lara knew from the twinkle in her green eyes that she was thrilled to have Kayla join the team.

  “I’m ready to start tomorrow, if that’s okay,” Kayla said with a shy smile. She pushed her oversized eyeglasses higher on her nose.

  “Perfect,” Lara said. “Believe it or not, you’ll be our first real employee. We have a high school student, Brooke, who volunteers when she can. But since she babysits for her little brother while her mom works, she has to work around her mom’s schedule.”

  “I’m honored,” Kayla said, flushing a bit.

  “Tomorrow’s an adoption day. We never know if anyone will show up, but on Tuesdays we usually have one or two visitors. Fridays and Saturdays are busier. I’ll give you some employment forms. You can fill them out and return them tomorrow. Meanwhile, how about if I show you the ropes?”

  Kayla’s smile broadened. “Excellent.”

  They’d agreed that Kayla would work four days a week, on a flexible schedule, helping with litter box and cat grooming duties. She would also assist with driving felines to and from veterinary appointments. “And don’t worry,” she’d piped in. “I’m using my gram’s car, and it has awesome AC!”

  After the young woman left, Lara joined her aunt in the large parlor and dropped into a chair. “She’s terrific, isn’t she?”

  Aunt Fran sat on the tufted sofa, the soft breeze from a table fan wafting over her face. “I agree that she seems like a dream employee, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Let’s see how it works out first.”

  Lara wasn’t worried. Kayla was the best thing that’d happened all day.

  She was more concerned about Noodle and Doodle. Lara felt in her bones that Deanna’s home was the ideal environment for them. But between the awful murder and Nancy Sherman’s odd behavior, how would they fare in the short term?

  Her cell phone chirped. S
he pulled it from the pocket of her shorts and glanced at the readout. She felt her heartbeat spike. “Deanna? Is everything okay?”

  “Everything’s fine,” the actress said. “The kittens seem to be making themselves at home in their special room. Instead of closing the door, we secured a gate across the doorway. So far they haven’t tried to escape. I check on them often, and they look very content.”

  We secured a gate. Did that mean she and Nancy Sherman?

  Deanna went on, her voice now wobbly. “Lara, I think the police are viewing me as a potential suspect, and I’m getting a bit scared. I have a lawyer in LA, of course, but I don’t want to involve him unless I need to. He’s mostly a contract lawyer anyway. I’m not sure how much good he could do.”

  “Why do you think you’re a suspect? Did the police tell you that?”

  “Not in so many words. But it was obvious from their line of questioning that I’m high up on their hit parade.” She sighed into the phone. “One of the detectives returned here this afternoon. He’d apparently talked to Evelyn Conley. I guess she gave him an earful about my encounter yesterday with…the victim.”

  Lara shook her head. She hated to think what Evelyn had told the police. Lara suspected the woman had added a touch of her own drama to the story.

  And what about Nancy, the housekeeper? Lara had seen her being escorted toward a state police car earlier.

  “I don’t know if she meant to throw me under the bus,” Deanna continued. “But she gave the police the impression that I had some sort of history with Donald Waitt. The truth is, until today I hadn’t spoken a word to him since before I left high school. That was nineteen sixty-four! Do you know how long ago that is?”

  Way before I was born, Lara thought. A quarter century, in fact.

  “Had he ever tried to contact you? Call you?”

  “No. Never. Out of sight, out of mind. That’s how I thought of Donald Waitt. He was part of my distant past. Very distant, I might add.”