by Linda Reilly
Lara swiped at her ankle and smiled at the woman. “No, it was nothing. Probably one of those giant ants.”
Or Blue, trying to stall her.
Was her Ragdoll guardian urging her to stop at this table?
She backtracked a few steps and glanced over the woman’s offerings. One thing instantly got her attention. It was a cat calendar from 1974, with adorable photos of kittens depicted on each of the twelve months. A sticky-note on which someone had scribbled 2019 was attached to the top.
“Two thousand nineteen?” Lara asked. “What does that mean?”
“Oh, my sister stuck that on there. The days of the week in nineteen seventy-four are the same as they’re going to be in two thousand nineteen.” She shrugged. “In case anyone cares.”
Lara cared. What a cool vintage calendar! “What’s the price?” she asked.
“Will eight be okay? It’s in great condition.”
Lara thought about it. “How about seven?”
“You got it.”
Lara paid the woman, then carefully slid the calendar inside her tote. “Thanks, and have a great day,” she said. She started to walk away when her tote caught the edge of the tie tacks box and sent it plunging to the pavement. “Oh no, I’m so sorry. I don’t even know how that happened. I guess I bumped the box with my bag.”
“Not a problem.” The woman scrambled over to retrieve the dozen or so tie tacks that had fallen from the box. “Most of them stayed right in the box. No harm done.”
Lara examined her tote, baffled as to how it could have knocked over the weighty box. “Again, I’m really sorry. I hope none of them broke.”
The vendor set the box back on the table. “They’re fine. You can’t hurt these old things. My grandfather collected them.” She smiled, and her gaze grew watery. “In his day, he considered himself quite the dapper gentleman. Loved his tie tacks.”
Feeling guilty for having tipped over the box, Lara smiled and began fishing through them. “Oh look, this one’s a sword.” She held it up.
“Check this one out,” the vendor said, holding up an enameled pheasant.
“Cute.” Lara’s heart did a sudden pole vault over her ribs. A white, flower-shaped tie tack about the size of a quarter made her breath catch in her throat. She lifted it from the box and placed it in her palm.
“Isn’t it funny that you picked out that one,” the woman said, growing animated now. “I have a booklet about that. Let me see…” She began to riffle, one by one, through a box of old leaflets, but Lara couldn’t stop staring at the tie tack.
“Is it…do you think it’s Queen Anne’s Lace?” Lara asked her.
“I know it is. Oh, here’s what I was looking for.” She slid a yellowed booklet out from the box and handed it to Lara. “Be careful handling it. The paper’s quite thin.”
Still holding the tie tack, Lara took the booklet from the woman. “The Wild Carrot Society,” she read from the cover. “A society for the protection of women.”
Lara’s pulse pounded in her veins. She felt dots of perspiration populate her upper lip. Wild carrot was another name by which Queen Anne’s Lace was known. What were the odds of her stumbling onto this booklet?
Zero, unless you counted the nudge from a certain Ragdoll cat.
“I should have remembered,” the vendor scolded herself. “That booklet and the tie tack go together. My head isn’t where it should be anymore.”
“This society,” Lara quietly asked her. “Do you know anything about it?”
“Not much. My grandfather’s been gone for a long time, but I recall my grandmother telling me he joined it back in the sixties. It was some sort of secretive group, I guess, but it disbanded before it ever got off the ground.”
Lara needed to leave, but she couldn’t let these items go. “Are you selling both?”
For the first time, the woman’s face creased with sorrow. “Everything has to go, I’m afraid. My husband died a year ago, and I’m moving to a small apartment. I can’t take this stuff with me. Plus, I need the money…”
“I hear you,” Lara said, feeling terrible for the woman. “What do you want for them?”
“I guess I can take fifteen for both,” she said with a sigh.
Lara reached into her tote and pulled out a twenty. “Take this. I don’t want any change.”
The woman looked immensely grateful. “Thank you. What a kind gesture.”
After waving a quick goodbye, Lara hurried off.
She couldn’t wait to get back home and examine her findings.
Chapter 17
When Lara got back to the house, Kayla was already there. The big Mercury was parked in the shelter’s lot, in the space farthest from the entrance. Lara silently commended their new assistant. Since today was an adoption day, Lara knew Kayla was making room for any visitors who might come by hoping to adopt.
Right now, assuming Bootsie’s placement with the Willoughbys went through, Frankie was the only cat available for adoption. It made Lara wonder if they should be reaching out to other shelters, especially since most were overcrowded.
Although Frankie was in good health for his six or seven years, Lara thought of him as having special needs. She knew he would thrive only in a quiet home, preferably without other cats. A family with kids and dogs wouldn’t suit him at all.
Kayla was sitting at the kitchen table enjoying a glass of iced tea with Aunt Fran.
“There you are,” her aunt said at the exact moment Kayla said, “Hi, Lara.”
Aunt Fran laughed. “Did you pick up anything interesting at the yard sale?”
“Actually, I did. In fact, I have a present for you.” She dug the tulip brooch out of her tote bag and handed it to her aunt.
Aunt Fran unwrapped the square of tissue. “Oh, my favorite flower. Thank you, Lara.” She held the pink tulip up to her left shoulder. “How does it look?”
Kayla grinned and pushed her glasses farther up her nose. “Gorgeous. Didn’t I see you in a navy top the other day? That pin would give it a burst of color!”
“You’re right,” Aunt Fran said.
Kayla drank the last of her iced tea. “I guess I should get to work.”
Lara slung her tote over one of the kitchen chairs. “Can we chat first, Kayla? Out in the shelter room?”
Something in Lara’s tone must have alarmed Kayla. The young woman’s smile faded from cheery to confused. “Um, sure. No problem.”
Kayla followed Lara out to the back porch. After Lara closed the door, they sat facing each other at the meet-and-greet table. “First, I wanted to ask how your grandmother did yesterday,” Lara asked. “Is she okay?”
Kayla straightened in her chair. “Oh. Well, she did fine, thanks for asking. Her regular eye doctor wanted her to see a specialist in Concord. Her optic nerve had gone fuzzy. Turned out she’d had some sort of mini-stroke in her eye.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Lara said, feeling her heart twist. “Can it be treated?”
“Luckily, yes. Her primary care doctor is putting her on stronger blood pressure medication. She’ll have to keep going to Concord for tests—for a while, anyway. Kind of a pain, but at least she has me to drive her.”
Lara nodded. Now she felt terrible for interrogating the young woman. Nonetheless, she felt she should question her about seeing her car in Whisker Jog late Friday morning. And those articles about the murder on the front seat.
“That’s a relief, I’m sure,” Lara said. “To both of you.”
Kayla’s eyes welled up. “Lara, is something wrong? You’re acting like you’re mad at me.”
“No, I’m not mad at you,” Lara said, feeling like a monster now. “The thing is—Kayla, I saw your grandmother’s car yesterday. It was in front of the park here in town, not far from my aunt’s vacant lot.”
Kayla flushed. She
twisted her hands on the table. “I was parked there, yes,” she admitted. “I had research I wanted to do at the library. Since my gram’s appointment wasn’t until three, I figured I’d have time to do what I needed to do, get back to Tuftonboro, and drive her to Concord.”
Lara was silent for a few moments. “Why didn’t you park at the library?”
“I couldn’t. They had the parking lot blocked off so they could set up for today’s book sale.”
Lara felt like slapping herself. Kayla was right. Lara had seen the signs herself, asking patrons to park on the street.
“I’m sorry. I saw those signs. I should have remembered that.”
“That’s okay,” Kayla said in a near whisper.
Lara decided to plunge ahead. “Kayla, when I passed by your gram’s car, I saw some stuff on the front seat. There was an article about the murder in Whisker Jog last year—the one I ended up being involved in.”
Kayla looked down at her hands and shook her head. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t intend for anyone to see that. You’re probably thinking I— Oh, God, I can’t even imagine what you’re thinking.”
“It’s all right. I told you, I’m not mad. The thing is, I can’t help wondering if that murder case had anything to do with why you applied for the assistant’s job here.”
“No!” Kayla said. “Absolutely not. I wanted to be here because I love working with animals, especially cats.” She pulled off her glasses and swiped at her eyes with the heel of one hand. “If I can ever afford to get my veterinary degree, I’m going to specialize in cats.”
“Kayla, I’m sorry I even brought it up,” Lara apologized. “You’ve already proven yourself to us. We’re lucky to have you here.” She smiled. “And so are the cats.”
Kayla stuck her glasses back on her face and sniffled. “Thanks. Listen, I can explain about that article. Since I was a kid, I’ve always been a true crime aficionado. I don’t know why. Stuff like that has always just fascinated me. Anyway, I collect articles from bizarre cases and save them. The ones you saw in my front seat? I was taking them to a copy place. I always copy the newspaper articles and then scan the copies into my computer.”
“That makes sense,” Lara said. “Newspaper articles get all yellowed and flimsy if you keep them for too long.”
“Exactly.” Kayla looked more relaxed now, but then her brow creased. “Here’s the thing,” she added softly. “You were right when you thought I recognized Nancy Sherman. Her face was so familiar to me. But for the life of me, I couldn’t think why.”
That got Lara’s attention. “Is that why you went to the library?”
“Yeah, I wanted to look at some old news articles from fifteen years ago. I found out the Whisker Jog library has copies of newspapers from all over the state on microfiche. I’d already tried finding them on the Web, but I wasn’t landing on the right links.”
“Fifteen years ago,” Lara said, grinning. “Weren’t you in grade school then?”
“Yeah, I was a bratty first-grader.” She bit down on her lip. “But about six months ago, there was a program on TV that stuck in my mind. It was about an old case, but it wasn’t a murder. It was about this guy who’d been robbing banks all over New Hampshire. Turned out he’d been forcing his wife to commit the robberies with him. She’d distract one teller while he robbed another. They got away with it for several months before they slipped up and got caught.”
“No one ever got hurt?”
“No,” Kayla said slowly. “But I’ll never forget the look on the wife’s face when they were shoving her into the police car. She looked, I don’t know, relieved and terrified at the same time? Her attorney worked out a deal, so she only had to serve a year for testifying against her husband. The coercion was a big factor in her getting a light sentence.”
“The wife—do you think it was Nancy Sherman?”
“Yeah, I do. Only she had a different name then, so I’m not totally sure it was her. That’s why I wanted to get to the library. A picture’s worth a thousand words, right?”
Lara smiled. “I guess so. Did you find what you were looking for?”
“No, I ended up not having enough time. I didn’t want my gram to be late for her eye appointment, so I headed back.”
Lara mulled over everything Kayla had told her. If Kayla’s suspicions were correct, it might explain why Lara had seen a state trooper escort Nancy off the property on the day of the murder. Nancy’s unfortunate criminal past probably pegged her as an automatic suspect, even if she didn’t have anything to do with Waitt’s death.
Lara thanked Kayla for confiding in her, then they both went to work. Adoptions officially started at one, so they had to be ready.
With Frankie the only cat now available for adoption, Lara once more thought about contacting another shelter. Summers always brought an increase in kitten populations. Right now, the High Cliff Shelter could accommodate more cats. If they offered help to one of the area shelters, it would be a win-win for all.
With Kayla there to assist with feline duties, Lara took the opportunity to duck into her studio. She closed the door, itching to peruse the tie tack and leaflet she’d bought at the yard sale.
She started by setting the tie tack on her work table. Up close, it was clear that it was designed to look like Queen Anne’s Lace. Made from what appeared to be painted enamel, it had a tiny crimson floret in the center. She set it aside and picked up the leaflet. The printing date inscribed on the back was August 1962.
“The Wild Carrot Society,” she read, flipping open to the second page. After that, she read silently.
A woman you know is in fear of her husband, the opening paragraph began. It went on to describe the abuse many women endured at the hands of a spouse. Most had no place to turn to, and were forced to suffer every day in silence.
The society was named after Queen Anne’s Lace, or wild carrot, because of its symbolic meaning—that of a haven or sanctuary. It meant protection.
Lara read on. The society’s founder, a man named Wilbur Tardiff, was passionate about the topic. He pointed out that the police didn’t treat spousal abuse, or “husband and wife dust-ups” as they dismissively called them, seriously. Tardiff urged good men to join the group, and to wear the tie tack that signified a safe haven. Their own wives were expected to play a key role—that of recognizing signs of abuse in their female friends and acquaintances.
After reading a bit more, Lara felt herself getting depressed. No person or animal should have to live in fear. The Wild Carrot Society had the right idea—offering a safe refuge to women who had no place else to turn. Had the group ever gained momentum? How many men had actually joined? The woman who’d sold her the items claimed that the society had disbanded before it ever got off the ground.
The room was getting warm. Lara pressed one hand to the back of her neck, which felt slightly damp. She’d stuck her hair into a twisty knot that morning and secured it with a comb at the back. Now she felt tendrils sneaking out, curling around her face.
A knock at her door made Lara jump. She’d been so engrossed in reading the leaflet she’d lost track of time.
“You busy in here?” Aunt Fran popped into the room, clutching Frankie to her chest, his head resting on her shoulder. “Kayla and I are setting up the back porch. I’m hoping this little guy might find a mom or dad today.” She kissed the cat’s head.
Lara quickly got up and shoved the leaflet under her watercolor supplies. “Sorry, I had some things I needed to work on.”
Aunt Fran studied her curiously. “Anything I can do to help?”
“No, I’m all set. But what do you think about this idea?” Lara explained her thoughts about contacting other shelters and possibly taking in other cats.
“It’s strange that you said that. I’ve been thinking the same thing. We’re not a traditional shelter, but we could definitely accommodate
more cats without comprising the care we give.”
“Then let’s talk about it later, okay?” Lara suggested. “And by later, I mean tomorrow. Tonight, I’m dining with Gideon at a fancy new restaurant in Moultonborough.”
Aunt Fran winked at her, something she rarely did. “Ah, that’s right. You mentioned that earlier. Tomorrow you’ll have to tell me all about how your date went. Well, maybe not all about it…”
Lara felt herself blushing to the roots of her hair.
Chapter 18
Two different families visited the shelter that afternoon. Both had kids of varying ages. Both had been hoping to adopt a kitten.
“Sorry, Frankie,” Kayla said after the last group had left. “None of those people were right for you, anyway. Your special day is coming, so don’t you worry.” She bent and lifted the kitty into her arms.
Lara realized once again how lucky they were to have found Kayla. Crime aficionado or not, she was a true animal lover. She had a way with cats that was a joy to observe.
“Hey, have you gotten any updates about Noodle and Doodle?” Kayla asked.
“No, and I should call Deanna,” Lara said. “I’m assuming no news is good news, but maybe I shouldn’t assume.”
Especially after Kayla’s revelations about Nancy Sherman. If the housekeeper was the same woman as the one who’d helped her husband rob banks, what did that say about her character?
Two days earlier, Deanna had lamented that she was being targeted by the police. Did they still believe she’d made threatening calls and texts to Donald Waitt from a burner phone? Had there been any updates since then? Lara didn’t dare ask Chief Whitley, not without risking a repeat of the “loose lips” lecture. She wondered if any of the news vans were still hunkered in front of Deanna’s mansion.
Kayla left a little after four-thirty, having insisted on staying late to clear the table and wipe down the floor in the meet-and-greet room. They’d agreed she would take Sunday off—she’d already made plans to attend a family barbecue with her grandmother and some cousins. Lara thanked her once more, then scurried upstairs to get ready for her date. Gideon had promised to pick her up at six, and he was always punctual. It was one of the many things she admired about him. Gid was never late.
