Claws of Death

by Linda Reilly

  After the dishes were done, they watched the news for a while. Reports of Donald Waitt’s murder monopolized almost every major network. As if his death wasn’t bad enough, veiled references to a prior relationship with Deanna Daltry gave the story a tawdry angle.

  “I can’t watch anymore,” Aunt Fran eventually said.

  “I’m with you,” Lara said. “I’m going to work in the small parlor for a while. Catch up on some correspondence. Maybe do a little painting.”

  And try to figure out why Blue was so dead set against Hesty.

  * * * *

  Lara sat at the card table in the small parlor and pulled up Google on her tablet. The room, which had been her favorite when she was a child, served as both her office and art studio.

  She started by searching Curtis Heston—a name, she was surprised to see, that popped up with some frequency. In his heyday, he’d been a captain on the Whisker Jog Fire Department. Given the town’s size, it had been only a part-time job. He’d also worked as a home inspector until he retired several years earlier. Exactly as he’d told them.

  A slew of commendations appeared online, including one from a grateful owner whose puppy Hesty had rescued from a drain pipe back in the late 1990s.

  Lara sighed. If his application looked good and his references checked out, he’d be eligible to adopt Frankie. Maybe she could stall him while she tried to figure out Blue’s objection to the man.

  Or maybe she was crazy, seeing a cat no one else could see. Maybe she was the problem and not Hesty.

  Pushing those thoughts aside, she Googled Donald Waitt. Aside from the news blasts about the murder, there was little to learn about the man. He’d been married with two grown kids. If he had any social media accounts, Lara didn’t trip over them.

  But that didn’t mean he didn’t have secrets.

  Why had he been so anxious to talk to Deanna at the tea party on Sunday? Lara suspected Deanna knew more than she was saying. She also sensed that the actress had returned to her hometown to find peace and solitude. Scratch that, she thought. Deanna’s privacy—to the extent she’d had any—had already been shattered.

  Anxious about the kittens, Lara snatched up her cell. She sent off a quick text to Deanna.

  Are N and D enjoying their new space?

  She wanted it to sound casual, not as worried as she felt. Almost immediately, a return text came through.

  Kittens loving it here. Haven’t eaten much yet, but curled up together in cat bed. Love these darlings! We’re lying low. Media crawling everywhere!

  Hmm. Haven’t eaten much yet? Lara didn’t like the sound of that. And who did she mean by “we”? She’d forgotten to ask Deanna if Nancy Sherman lived at the mansion.

  As for the media and the looky-loos who’d camped out in front of Deanna’s, Lara knew they weren’t going away any time soon. Deanna would have to endure it for as long as it lasted. Lara felt bad for the woman, but it was, unfortunately, the price of fame.

  Aunt Fran knocked lightly at the door and popped into the room. She handed a folder to Lara. “Hesty’s granddaughter just dropped this off.” She winked at her niece. “Oh, and I meant to give you this earlier,” she said and gave her a sheet of pink paper. “I picked it up today at the library. There’s a community book-slash-yard sale in their parking lot on Saturday. I knew you might want to go.” She scooted right back out and closed the door.

  Lara set aside her tablet and glanced at the yard sale flyer. She’d probably enjoy poking around there on Saturday, but she’d have to get back before adoption hours started. Right now, she was far more concerned with Hesty’s application.

  She opened the folder—a folder?—and perused the application. No red flags popped up. Hesty appeared to be a solid citizen with a penchant for helping others. Tomorrow she’d check his references and then go from there.

  Her eyes burning, both from reading and from stress, Lara set up her easel with a fresh sheet of watercolor paper. From the sealed bottle she kept in the room, she poured water into two separate cups. She’d taken pics of the stone mansion earlier in the day and saved them on her cell phone. She pulled up the one she liked best, enlarged it slightly, and went to work.

  An hour later, she’d managed to produce a rough watercolor of the mansion. She’d captured the sun gleaming off the stones, and the lush green of the ivy clinging to the stone columns. It needed much more detail, but she’d tackle that tomorrow.

  In all the hoopla after the murder, she’d almost forgotten something else: the threatening message left on Deanna’s car window. Did she dare text Chief Whitley about it? She was itching to know if they’d identified the graffiti artist. The chief would probably tell her to mind her own business. Which, of course, he had every right to do.

  She texted him anyway.

  Any news on Deanna’s car vandal?

  Wait a minute. Where was her brain? That day, when she’d first spotted the lipstick message on Deanna’s car window, she’d taken a picture of it! How had she forgotten that?

  Lara picked up her cell again and scrolled through the photos. Yes! There it was. TIME TO PAY THE PIPER. The letters are printed carefully, almost childishly, she thought. And next to that was a circle with a roughly drawn flower in the middle.

  She enlarged the photo with her thumb and forefinger, shifting it to zoom in on the circle. The flower was a series of loosely connected dots—dots that formed a picture. It reminded Lara somewhat of a snowflake. Although the artwork was amateurish, Lara could see a pattern.

  Unless she was imagining it, it was the same flower—Queen Anne’s Lace—she’d seen scattered at the crime scene.

  Chapter 7

  “Where have you been?” Sherry Bowker bleated. She poured steaming coffee into a mug and pushed a bowl of half-and-half packets at Lara.

  Lara shot a glance around Bowker’s Coffee Stop. The pastel-painted walls graced with artifacts from the 1960s never failed to elicit a smile from her. Today she spotted several unfamiliar faces. Reporters? Media types? A few of them pounded laptops as they shoveled muffins into their mouths and guzzled the coffee shop’s delicious java.

  She looked back at her longtime bestie, whose raven-tinted hair sat in gelled spikes on her head. The spikes were a tad softer than usual, more curvy and feminine. “I’ve been lying low,” Lara said quietly, using Deanna’s phrase. She plopped a packet of half-and-half into her coffee. “You heard about the, um—”

  “Body,” Sherry announced, a bit too loudly. “Of course I did. It’s all over the news. And you—you’ve been rubbing elbows with Hollywood royalty and haven’t even called me!”

  Lara gave her a penitent look. “I’m sorry. Things have been crazy. Honestly they have.”

  She’d driven her aunt to the police station early that morning so they could both sign written statements. The chief had been noticeably absent. She and her aunt had each spoken separately to a state police detective who’d worked quickly and efficiently. His keyboard skills had amazed Lara.

  “And if my ears didn’t deceive me,” Sherry added, “you’ve gotten yourself involved in another flippin’ murder.”

  Slowly, Lara shook her head. Is that what people were saying?

  “I am not involved in another murder,” Lara said. “Not even remotely.” In a lowered voice, she explained how she’d happened to glance out the window of Deanna’s mansion and spotted the man in the cemetery.

  “Unreal,” Sherry said. “You want a fresh fruit cup? Mom made them up this morning.”

  “Sure. Extra blueberries, okay?”

  “If you insist. How’s Fran doing?”

  “Good. Taking things in stride.”

  Sherry smiled. “She’s a new person since she got that left knee done.”

  “She definitely has more energy, and less pain,” Lara said. “Hey, Sher, not to change the subject, but do you know a guy
named Curtis Heston?”

  Her friend grinned. “Hesty? Sure I do. He and his wife lived on our street before they downsized to a smaller house. He’s a super nice guy. Why?”

  Omitting Blue from the story, Lara told her about his adoption application.

  “Approve him,” Sherry said. “You don’t even need to check him out. Believe me, he’ll give that kitty a great home.”

  “Wow. That’s quite a recommendation.”

  “And you can take it to the bank,” Sherry said. “I’ll go get your fruit cup.”

  Lara sipped from her mug. In part, she felt relief. But another part of her couldn’t discount Blue’s odd behavior toward Hesty.

  Sherry returned a minute later with Lara’s fruit cup. In a glass dessert dish sat a mountain of blueberries nestled atop sliced peaches, pears, and strawberries. Sherry sidled away to wait on other customers.

  Lara spooned fruit into her mouth, savoring the blend of flavors. Unfortunately, she didn’t have time to linger. Kayla would be returning at eleven to assist with shelter duties.

  “Hey, I gotta run,” Lara told Sherry after swallowing the last blueberry. “We’ve actually hired our first official paid employee. So far she’s terrific.” She slapped her money on the counter. It was always a struggle to pay, since Sherry never wanted to accept money from her.

  Sherry shot her a look, examined the money, and shoved a dollar bill back at her. “That’s nice,” she said distractedly. “Hey, are you ever going to introduce me to Deanna?”

  “Of course I am, as soon as all this…nonsense is out of the way.”

  “They think she did it, you know.”

  Lara felt her heart lurch. “What?”

  “I heard the cops talking about it this morning. As you know, I have a black belt in eavesdropping.” Sherry leaned closer. “Deanna knew that guy, the one who got offed. They think it was a lovers’ quarrel gone wrong.”

  Lovers’ quarrel? Deanna hadn’t seen the man in over fifty years!

  Or so she’d claimed.

  Had the actress lied about their relationship?

  At one of the tables, a man wearing black-rimmed glasses and sporting a wicked tan cocked his ears toward Lara. A reporter, Lara suspected. No doubt he was trying to pick up on what they were talking about.

  “If you hear anything else, text me, okay?” Lara begged. “Too many curious ears in here.”

  “Got it,” Sherry said.

  Lara leaned across the counter, gave her friend a quick hug, and left.

  * * * *

  When Lara got back to her aunt’s, she noticed an older car—a Mercury, she thought—sitting in the small parking area adjacent to the shelter’s entrance. The passenger-side window bore the decal of a cat curled protectively around a tiny kitten. Lara smiled when she realized their new assistant had already arrived and was waiting to be let in. Kayla sat on the porch steps, peering at her smartphone. She grinned when she saw Lara.

  “Sorry if I got here too early,” Kayla said. “I just couldn’t wait to start!”

  Wearing crisp denim shorts and a pink T-shirt patterned with tiny cats all over it, she rose and quickly pocketed her phone.

  “Hey there,” Lara said, smiling at their eager employee. “No problem being early. Didn’t Aunt Fran answer the bell?”

  Kayla shrugged. “I buzzed, but I guess she didn’t hear it.”

  Interesting, Lara thought. The Saturn was still in the driveway, since Lara always walked the short distance to the coffee shop. She unlocked the door to the back porch and Kayla followed her inside.

  “Aunt Fran,” she called out.

  No answer.

  “Probably in the shower,” Lara said. “Why don’t you help yourself to some water or iced tea from the fridge, then you can get started.”

  “Thanks.” Kayla pushed at her eyeglasses. “Should I start with scooping kitty litter?”

  “That would be great. I have some references for a possible adoption I want to check out, so I’ll be in my studio. Catalina and Bitsy’s appointment is at two this afternoon. Since you’re working till four, that should give you plenty of time to get her and her kitten to and from.”

  “Even if the appointment goes past four,” Kayla said, “I don’t mind working overtime. I don’t even need to get paid.”

  “Thanks,” Lara said. “Then…I’ll leave you to it.”

  Kayla gave her a two-fingered salute and hurried off toward the kitchen.

  She’s almost too good to be true, Lara thought. Was there a catch to this wonderful new employee?

  Lara heard Aunt Fran’s soft footfalls coming down the stairs. She went over to let her know Kayla had arrived. When she saw her aunt, she had to stifle a gasp.

  Descending the stairs, Aunt Fran was wearing a filmy, navy blue tunic top Lara had never seen before over pale blue leggings. Jeweled earrings graced her delicate ears, and her hair was fluffed in waves around her slender neck. “Aunt Fran, you look, I mean…”

  “Like a woman?” Aunt Fran laughed.

  “No, I mean yes, I mean…your hair. What did you do?”

  “To my hair? I bought one of those curling wands. I wasn’t blessed with your natural curls, you know.”

  Lara wished she hadn’t been blessed with them, either. “Are you wearing blush? Your cheeks are rosy, and your eyes—”

  “Lara, I know you’re not accustomed to seeing me this way. But in spite of being your doddering old aunt, I do occasionally like to put on some decent threads.”

  Threads? Lara swallowed. Her fiftysomething aunt was anything but doddering. And she’d seen her aunt wearing makeup before, plenty of times. But this was different—it was far more enhanced, more elegant.

  “It so happens Jerry and I are having lunch today at the new winery. We made the reservation some time ago. They’re very hard to get.”

  Lunch? With the chief of police? With a murderer running loose?

  “I can read your mind, Lara. Don’t worry. We’re making it a quick lunch. Jerry is entitled to sustenance, you know. It doesn’t detract from his duties.”

  If there’d been any doubt about her aunt’s interest in the chief, they’d been dispatched like petals in a stiff summer breeze.

  “You can handle things here,” Aunt Fran went on. “You always do. Was that Kayla’s voice I heard?”

  “It was. She got here early.”

  “Excellent. I’ll be back by mid-afternoon. Call my cell or text me if anything comes up.”

  “Uh, sure thing, Aunt Fran. Have a great time. Give the chief my regards.”

  Less than a year ago, her aunt didn’t even have a cell phone. Now she kept it with her at all times, checking the shelter’s Facebook page frequently. She also seemed to text a lot. Lara could only guess who she was texting.

  I’ve created a monster, Lara thought, then laughed out loud. It was a monster she wouldn’t change for anything in the world.

  Chapter 8

  For the second time that morning, Lara disconnected a call with a sigh. She knew she should be grateful for Hesty’s glowing references. Instead, she was at a loss.

  She set down her cell on the card table and headed into the kitchen. Aunt Fran had made a pitcher of iced tea before she left, and Lara poured herself a tall glass.

  For such a hot summer day, the house felt surprisingly comfortable. Lara had persuaded her aunt to install an air conditioner in the large parlor, something that had never been done before. At first Aunt Fran had resisted. The old Folk Victorian, she’d declared, had plenty of natural ventilation and didn’t need artificial cooling. Then came an early heat wave that had knocked the energy out of both of them. She’d given in to Lara’s prodding and had a unit installed in one window.

  Lara was pleased to see that Kayla seemed to be enjoying her assigned tasks. After she’d finished with litter box
duty, she’d scrubbed and replenished the cats’ food and water bowls. Now she was sitting on the floor in the large parlor, a box of grooming supplies resting beside her. Bootsie lay stretched out on the Oriental carpet, reveling in the attention Kayla was giving her. Lara dropped down opposite Kayla and folded one ankle over the other.

  “She’s so darling.” Kayla ran a soft brush along Bootsie’s gray fur. “How could she still be unadopted?”

  Lara smiled. “People choose different cats for different reasons. Don’t worry. I feel sure she’ll end up in a wonderful home. The main thing is that she’s loved and cared for while she waits.”

  “I guess,” Kayla said. “How about Frankie? Is that man from yesterday going to adopt him?”

  “We’re still processing his application,” Lara said carefully.

  “If I can help in any way let me know, okay?”

  “Sure thing. Hey, listen, don’t forget to take a lunch break. After you’re through with the grooming, want to join me in my studio for a sandwich? I can make you a ham and cheese, or a PBJ if you’d like.”

  Kayla’s eyes brightened behind her glasses. “I’d love that. I actually brought my own PBJ. Gram made it for me this morning.”

  “Great. Then it’s a date.”

  “Um, Lara, what about the black cat with the mustache? I can tell from the tip cut off his ear that he was trapped and neutered at one time.” She smiled up at the top level of the carpeted cat tree.

  Lara swiveled her head around and looked up. Her heart nearly bounced out of her chest. On the top perch, Ballou, the feral cat, sat gazing intently at Kayla.

  “Oh my Lord,” Lara whispered. “Ballou has never ventured this far into the parlor. I swear, Kayla, I’ve never seen him on that tree.”

  “I tried to pat him,” Kayla said. “He kind of shied away from me, but at least he didn’t bolt. I was hoping I could brush him before I left today.”