Claws of Death

by Linda Reilly

  Lara had to smile at that.

  “I’ll get to the point,” Evelyn said, looking more nervous now. “We—my husband and I—had saved enough money for a vacation for our first anniversary. It was nineteen seventy-nine. I nearly fainted when he said he’d take me to Hollywood! He encouraged me to write to Deanna and ask if I could meet her. He even suggested—bless his heart—that I should ask for a walk-on part in her next movie.”

  Evelyn’s husband sounded like a caring man. Clueless, but caring.

  “I wrote her the most wonderful letter. It took me days to get it perfect. I even bought special stationery, lavender to match what all the magazines said was her favorite color.”

  Lara felt for the woman, but she was also a bit unnerved. Evelyn’s obsession seemed over the top.

  “I explained that I was from Whisker Jog and would be honored if we could meet, even briefly, when my hubby and I visited Hollywood.” Evelyn leaned to one side. She pulled a tissue out of her pants pocket and blotted her eyes.

  “Are you sure you don’t want some water?” Lara asked.

  “No, I’m fine.” She sniffled. “Well, I waited and waited. And while I waited, I worked on a special gift for Deanna. I bought some lavender-blue hydrangea flowers and glued the petals onto a sheet of ivory linen. It was painstaking, but it came out so gorgeous. I framed it and wrote on the back ‘to my friend, Deanna.’”

  “Sounds beautiful,” Lara said. The woman’s fangirl confessions were making her more uncomfortable by the second.

  “Then one day, almost two months later, I received a letter in the mail from Deanna’s personal assistant. My heart just about burst. In the envelope, she’d tucked an autographed photo of Deanna. ‘With love to Evelyn’ it read in the corner.”

  “That sounds nice,” Lara said, wondering if the actress herself had signed it. She suspected the photos had been mass-produced for Deanna’s thousands of fans.

  “The personal assistant invited me to meet Deanna at the studio. She listed the days when Deanna expected to be there. She even enclosed a tiny photocopied map of the studio lot.” Evelyn gave a nervous laugh.

  “So, you went to Hollywood,” Lara prompted.

  Evelyn nodded. “We went to where the assistant had told us to go. It took us a while to navigate all the check points. Finally, we got to the right building. Some young twit of a boy directed us to a waiting room. We sat for the longest time with some extremely odd-looking people. The AC wasn’t even working, for God’s sake, and it was June. I was ready to pass out when a woman finally came out. She was the width of a carrot stick, and had matching hair.” Evelyn glanced at Lara’s hair and flushed. “She brought us into a room totally devoid of décor—an outer office, I guess. It had three folding chairs, a metal desk, and a wastebasket. She sat us down and apologized profusely, but said Deanna was shooting a movie in Nevada and wouldn’t be back until the following week.”

  “Oh, Evelyn, I’m so sorry.”

  “She s-said if I left my name and address, she’d see that I got an autographed photo of Deanna. I told her I already had an autographed photo—she’d sent it to me herself!”

  Whoa. Obsession might be too mild a word for the way Evelyn had felt toward the actress.

  Evelyn barreled on. “And then I couldn’t help myself—I burst into tears. It was so humiliating. The assistant gave me this weird look, and I could see the pity on her face, pity mixed with revulsion. I swear, Lara, it was the worst day of my life.”

  Lara squirmed on her chair. What did all this have to do with the scrapbook?

  Evelyn pressed her crumpled tissue to her eyes. “My husband kept giving me signals with his eyes. I realized he was reminding me to give her the gift I’d made for Deanna. I pulled it out of my shopping bag and gave it to the assistant. She promised to give it to Deanna, thanked us for coming, and hustled us out the door.”

  “Well, at least you accomplished that much,” Lara said, grasping for anything that might comfort the woman.

  A tear flowed down Evelyn’s cheek. She shook her head. “Turned out I’d left my purse on the floor next to the folding chair I’d been sitting on. I went back in for it. The beautiful framed flower I’d made for Deanna w-was in the wastebasket!”

  Oh, Lord. Poor Evelyn. Hollywood had not been kind to her.

  “There are all kinds of people, Evelyn,” Lara said softly. “That woman sounds like one of those mean girls. I’m sure Deanna would have loved your gift. She’d probably have been horrified to know what that woman did with it.”

  “I-I suppose you’re right,” Evelyn said. “After I got back home, I tucked my Deanna scrapbook away in the attic. It’s been languishing in a file cabinet for decades. Who knew my curious little granddaughter would go digging for treasures up there?” She smiled and hiccoughed at the same time.

  Lara didn’t know how to respond. She barely knew Evelyn.

  “I’m sorry I bothered you, Lara, but I just felt I needed to explain. I felt like such a fool when Trista brought up my scrapbook this morning. You must’ve thought I was some kind of nut.” She dabbed at another tear.

  “Not at all, Evelyn,” Lara said. “And you didn’t really need to explain anything.” Unless you terrorized Deanna and killed Donald Waitt.

  Evelyn heaved a massive sigh. “I suppose you’re right. My private feelings are my own, aren’t they? W-when I found out Deanna was buying the old stone mansion, I couldn’t believe it. I thought, well, here’s my chance to finally meet her.” She paused, her eyes filling again.

  “I thought you did a fine job planning that welcome event,” Lara said. “Deanna seemed very appreciative.”

  Evelyn hung her head and shrugged. “But in the end, even that got ruined.”

  “Not your fault, Evelyn.” Or was it?

  Could Evelyn have planted those worms in Deanna’s purse?

  Evelyn couldn’t have scrawled the message on Deanna’s car window. From the time Deanna had arrived, Evelyn never left the room where all the guests were milling about with their tea and snacks.

  Uh oh. Yes, she did, Lara thought, remembering that Evelyn had escorted Donald Waitt out to the parking lot. Had she been gone long enough to dig out a tube of her own lipstick and write that cryptic message on Deanna’s car window?

  Evelyn stood abruptly. “I should go. I’ve bent your ear long enough. But I want to say one last thing.” She lowered her voice to a murmur. “Other than my husband, you’re the only person who knows that story about the Hollywood trip. I-I would appreciate it if you didn’t share it with anyone. It’s embarrassing enough.”

  Lara hated to promise. What if Evelyn was the killer? What if she’d decided to kill Waitt and frame Deanna for his murder, as revenge for that long-ago fiasco in Hollywood?

  It didn’t seem possible. Evelyn didn’t strike Lara as the kind of person who’d carry a grudge to that extreme. Although, she reminded herself, she’d been surprised before by a killer, hadn’t she? Maybe she shouldn’t be so trusting.

  “You have my word, Evelyn.”

  After seeing Evelyn to the door, Lara closed it with relief. She turned the deadbolt, something she rarely did. Evelyn’s revelations had her head whirling.

  Lara had read about rabid fans who stalked celebrities. Some had been dangerous. A rare few had killed in pursuit of their obsession. The word fan itself came from the word fanatic.

  She took a long sip from her glass of lemonade. Munster was still licking his ice cube, but he’d been joined by Twinkles, who wanted him to share. Lara smiled and popped another fishy cube out of the ice cube tray. She set it on a separate dish for Twinkles, who immediately claimed it for his own.

  Although they weren’t siblings, Twinkles and Munster looked somewhat alike. Twinkles was shyer, not so quick to cozy up to visitors. His best bud was Dolce, but lately Dolce had been hanging out with Frankie and Aunt Fran. Did Tw
inkles feel like the odd man out?

  It was one of the challenges of having a multi-cat household. Every cat in the house didn’t necessarily love every other resident feline. That’s why the adoptions were so crucial. The goal was to match each new cat they took in with the ideal person or family. Every cat was different, so their personalities had to be considered.

  Lara and her aunt had vowed from the beginning that they’d never place a cat in a home if they had the slightest doubt. That’s why Aunt Fran had surprised Lara when she’d been so insistent about matching Frankie with Hesty.

  As it turned out, Aunt Fran had been right. No one could have known Hesty’s days were numbered. No one except a certain blue-eyed Ragdoll cat.

  It was chilling the way Joy Renfield had picked up on Lara’s secret. The more Lara thought about it, though, the more she saw that Joy had only been guessing. No doubt it was part of the tealeaf reader’s standard shtick. After all, didn’t everyone have a secret or two? It was easy to throw that out and pretend it was etched in the leaves. How many others had Joy said that to?

  A sinking feeling gripped Lara’s heart. It all reminded her of Gideon. They’d had such a fantastic evening. She hadn’t anticipated the intimate talk they’d engaged in well into the night. Considering how long they’d been dancing around the “L” word, it was a conversation that’d been long overdue.

  Maybe it had been too soon. Maybe Gid thought she’d pushed things, pressured him into saying what she wanted to hear and not what he actually felt.

  Gideon’s text had been abrupt—not at all what she’d expected. She’d wanted to tell him all about her visit today with Uncle Amico, how she and his uncle had enjoyed sharing the blueberry buckle. How they’d enjoyed each other’s company. How they’d chatted about the old days.

  A harsh light suddenly glared in Lara’s head.

  That was it.

  Gideon found out that Lara had questioned his uncle about Donald Waitt. Why that would bother him so much, Lara wasn’t sure. She was sure, though, that she’d nailed the reason for Gideon’s abrupt change in attitude.

  She needed to explain. Even if she never saw Gideon again—in a romantic sense, anyway—she had to make him see that she’d gone there with only with the best of intentions.

  Had she, though?

  In the back of her mind, she probably had intended to question Uncle Amico about Waitt’s past, and about the Wild Carrot Society. Even though Gideon’s uncle had brought up the subject first, Lara had pressed him for more information.

  Did Gideon think she’d used his uncle? That she’d baked him that dessert only so she could take advantage of his memory?

  Never again, she vowed. The next time she visited Uncle Amico, with or without Gideon, the past would stay in the past. She’d talk only about the present.

  Her cell rang on the kitchen table. Tired of talking to people, Lara went over to answer it. The number wasn’t familiar.

  “You Lara?” a woman’s crusty voice barked into the phone.

  “I am,” Lara said.

  “My brother-in-law gave me a message. Said you’re writing an article and wanted to talk to me about something.”

  Lara gripped her phone harder. The amiable Anthony must be her brother-in-law. “Are you Claudia?” Lara asked.

  “That’s me,” the woman said peevishly. “What’s up?”

  The absence of common courtesy is obviously a family trait, Lara thought.

  Now that she had Claudia on the phone, she wasn’t sure how to begin. She’d hoped to chat with her face-to-face. This wasn’t the ideal way to handle it.

  “Claudia, I’m not sure where to start, but I understand you’re Jimmy Rousseau’s daughter.”

  “Was,” she corrected. “Was his daughter. My dad died a few years ago. Couldn’t give up the cigarettes. I warned him over and over, but he kept smoking anyway.”

  “I’m so sorry to hear that,” Lara said. “My dad died a number of years ago. It’s very hard, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah,” Claudia said. “Anyway, why do you care about my father?” she asked warily. “Did you know him?” A smile touched her voice. “Were you one of his old flames?”

  “Um, no. No, I wasn’t an old flame. I didn’t know your dad at all. I’m calling because of Donald Waitt. You might have heard his name in the news lately.”

  Claudia went silent. Then, “Yeah, Donald Waitt. I recognize that name. I heard on TV he got offed in a cemetery. Creepy, right? Like the freaking Twilight Zone.”

  “It was terrible,” Lara said. Should she reveal more?

  It suddenly struck her that she was doing exactly what Chief Whitley had cautioned her against.

  Loose lips. The accusation rattled in her head.

  Should she hang up? Claim she had the wrong person?

  “Why’re you asking about Waitt?” Claudia said, sounding guarded now. “You hear something about him and Dad?”

  In for a penny, in for a pound, Lara remembered her dad saying. Right now, the scale was tipping way over a pound.

  “I heard they had an altercation back in high school,” Lara explained. “I know it sounds like a long time ago, but —”

  Claudia gave out a harsh laugh. “Yeah, like almost sixty years. Why the heck would that matter now?”

  “I’m sure it doesn’t,” Lara said.

  “Wait a minute. Are you some kind of cop?”

  “Heavens, no,” Lara said firmly. That much, at least, was the total truth.

  Oddly, the idea that she might be a cop seemed to amuse Claudia. “I think I like you, Lara. You’re nosy and just a tad pushy. I bet you don’t let people tell you what to do. Am I right?”

  Lara smiled to herself. “Kind of,” she said, “although I’m not sure I agree with the pushy part.”

  “Hey, you had supper yet?”

  The question took Lara by surprise. “No, but my aunt and I will probably make something at home. She’s a bit under the weather.”

  “Oh.”

  “Why do you ask?” Lara said.

  “I was wondering if you wanted to meet someplace for a quick bite. Maybe you could feed your aunt later.”

  Claudia made Aunt Fran sound like a house pet.

  This was starting to get dicey. Was Claudia trying to lure her someplace where she could get her alone? Now that Lara had the chance to meet her in person, she felt uneasy about it.

  Lara admitted it now—she hadn’t really thought this through. Instead of asking questions, she should have turned over whatever she’d learned directly to the chief. Let the police deal with it. Hadn’t she said many times that catching a killer wasn’t her job?

  “Lara, listen. I don’t know where you live or anything, but do you know where the clam shack is in Tamworth?”

  Lara’s stomach sank. It was their special place, hers and Gideon’s. She absolutely didn’t want to go there.

  “I know where it is,” Lara said, “but I don’t really eat clams.” Fib quotient climbing ever higher.

  “Me neither. I hate those slimy things. No, what I meant was, there’s a hot dog joint about a half mile down the road from there. They make this sauerkraut topping that’s to die for.”

  Dying. Exactly what Lara was afraid of.

  A furry face and a pair of turquoise eyes appeared suddenly across from Lara. Blue sat on the chair directly opposite, her chin resting on the table. The Ragdoll cat held Lara’s gaze. Her chocolate-colored ears, facing forward, were dipped slightly to the side.

  It was a sign. Lara had seen it before. Blue felt totally at ease, not threatened in any way.

  Should I meet Claudia? The thought flew, unbidden, through her head.

  Blue blinked slowly, then closed her eyes. Lara had the strange sense the cat was smiling at her.

  In the next instant, Blue was gone.

 
“You still there, Lara?”

  “Uh…yes. I’m sure I can find it,” she said. “Or my phone can. I don’t live that far from the Tamworth line.”

  “Great!” Claudia gave her directions. “See you in, say, thirty minutes?”

  After they disconnected, Lara batted her head with her palm. She never should have agreed to this. She never should have started this inquiry. She never should have given anyone in the Rousseau family her name.

  The chief was going to kill her.

  If someone else didn’t get to her first.

  Chapter 22

  Blue’s blessing notwithstanding, Lara wanted to leave a trail—both a paper trail and an electronic one. She looked up the hot dog place on her cell phone and plunked the address into her GPS. If something happened and the police found her phone, at least they’d know where she’d been.

  Lara tore a sheet of paper off the pad that hung next to the house phone. She wrote down Claudia’s name—she’d failed to get her surname—and phone number, and the name of the nursery. Everything the police would need if she turned up missing.

  She grabbed another sheet of paper and scribbled out a note to her aunt. The hot dog place wasn’t that far from here. She certainly had no intention of dawdling over a meal with Claudia. She planned to find out what she wanted to know, eat fast, and bail.

  Lara muttered a silent prayer.

  She glanced at her phone before she slipped it into her tote. It was only ten to five, early for supper, but she hadn’t eaten since morning. She’d had only the scrumptious blueberry buckle she’d shared with Gideon’s uncle. Right now it felt like a leaden lump weighing down her stomach.

  After quickly freshening the cats’ water bowls and plumping up their kibble supply, she headed out to the car.

  The sky was an almost cloudless blue. Breezes whispered through the leaves of her aunt’s maple, cooling Lara’s skin. Tomorrow was supposed to be cooler, even chilly for July. Lara welcomed a touch of colder weather. At this time of year, she knew it would be short-lived.