Claws of Death

by Linda Reilly

  “You should have known it already,” she said softly, her voice snagging in her throat.

  Gideon took her shoulders in his hands, then pulled her to his chest. His arms around her, she clasped her hands behind his back. She inhaled his delicious scent—that clean green soap with the stripes he used. She pulled back just far enough to look into his eyes. “Nothing to do with us, but I told quite a few fibs today. But only because I was trying to get information from people.”

  Gideon laughed, but then shook his head and grew serious. “But see, that’s the part that scares me, Lara. You want to help everyone, and I adore that about you, but sometimes you put yourself at risk. If anything bad ever happened to you—”

  “It won’t, Gid. I’ve been as careful as I can possibly be. I talked to a woman this afternoon who gave me a lot of good intel. She gave me a lot to think about.”

  He groaned. “Will you at least fill me in? Maybe if we brainstorm about it, I can offer some ideas.”

  “That’s an excellent suggestion. To say the least, I’ve had an interesting day.”

  “It’s kind of late for that bike ride. I don’t suppose you want to have clams again.”

  Lara laughed. She told him about her hot dog date with Claudia.

  “Hmm. I can’t wait to hear all about it. Well, since the coffee shop’s closed, why don’t we just sit out here?”

  She leaned up and kissed him on the nose. “Yeah, but you must be hungry. What if I get us something to drink and make you a sandwich? We have ham, sliced turkey, peanut bu—”

  “Ham,” he said. “With lots of mayo.”

  “You got it. First, I want to see if Aunt Fran needs anything. She’s been in bed today with a cold.”

  “Oh, sorry to hear that. Can I come in and help with anything?”

  “Only if you want to. Otherwise, sit out here and relax and I’ll bring everything out.”

  He opted to go into the house with Lara. Aunt Fran was in the large parlor with the television on, watching a cable news show with her eyes only half-open. Dolce was parked in her lap. Catalina and her kitten were tucked into the cat tree, gazing out the picture window. Lara didn’t see Frankie anywhere. He was probably upstairs on her bed. And she suspected Ballou was under her bed.

  “You’re back,” Aunt Fran said with a sniffle.

  “I’m back. Gideon and I are going to sit outside for a while. Do you need anything? You must be getting hungry.”

  “No, I’ve been drinking too much tea.” Her aunt smiled. “I’m ready to float away. I had a few cookies earlier. Food doesn’t really appeal right now.”

  Gideon popped his head in. “Hey, Fran. How’re you doing?”

  “I’m okay, but don’t come close,” she said.

  “Yes, ma’am. Can I do anything for you?”

  “No, thanks. You two kids go do your own thing.” She waved them away. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to perish.”

  Lara pushed Gideon into the kitchen. “Come on. Let’s make that sandwich, then I can tell you about my strange day.”

  Minutes later, they were stretched out on the Adirondack chairs. Lara had poured iced tea for herself and found a beer at the back of the fridge for Gideon. Her aunt must have bought beer for the chief, since she didn’t drink it herself. As for Lara, she’d never been a beer drinker. One bad experience when she was in art school had made her swear it off for good.

  “Good ham,” Gideon mumbled around a mouthful of his sandwich. “Now, tell me what happened today.”

  Lara went over everything, beginning with her visit to Uncle Amico and ending with her meeting with Jimmy Rousseau’s daughter. She remembered afterward to tell him about her strange conversation with Evelyn Conley.

  “I told you my uncle has a sharp memory,” Gideon said. He swallowed his last bite of sandwich. “But even I can’t believe he remembered the story about that Rousseau kid. Isn’t it odd how that stuck in his head?”

  “Some things do, I guess,” Lara said. She sipped her iced tea. “When I asked if he’d ever heard of the Wild Carrot Society, he remembered that, too.”

  Gideon studied her for a moment. “Uh, Lara, what the heck is the Wild Carrot Society?”

  Uh oh. She’d slipped. She wasn’t supposed to talk about the flowers scattered at the crime scene. Now she understood what the chief meant about loose lips. It was the unintentional blabbing about stuff that was supposed to be a secret!

  But this was Gideon, a man Chief Whitley trusted without reservation.

  “I’m not supposed to talk about this,” Lara said. “If the chief found out I’m telling you, he’d have me drawn and quartered at the traffic intersection in downtown Whisker Jog.”

  Gideon reached over and covered her hand with his. “I’m pretty sure that form of punishment’s been outlawed,” he said. “And whatever you tell me will not go any further. You have my word.”

  “You never have to give me your word, Gid. With you it’s automatic.”

  She told him about the Queen Anne’s Lace, how she’d researched it and stumbled upon the Wild Carrot Society. Finding that tie tack at the library’s sale had been a total fluke—almost as if the gods dropped the clue in her lap.

  That wasn’t the total truth. Blue had led her to that vendor. Lara had been on her way home when the cat had somehow tipped over that box of tie tacks. Lara’s tote might have brushed the box, but not with enough force to upend it.

  And in that moment, it struck her. How could she ever be totally honest with Gideon if she didn’t tell him about Blue? And how could she tell him about Blue without sounding insane?

  The tealeaf reader’s words popped into her head.

  Unburden yourself, Lara. You’ll find others more receptive than you think.

  She would. Someday. The time just had to be right.

  “Did you Google the Wild Carrot Society?” Gideon asked.

  “I did, but nothing helpful came up—only a botany site describing the plant. I don’t think the group, which was kind of secretive to start with, lasted very long.”

  Gideon took a swig of his beer, then set the bottle down and pulled out his cell phone. He tapped at it. “I’ll make some quiet inquiries tomorrow. Who knows? One of the old-timers I represent might remember it. I’ll check out some of the names you gave me, as well. Tardiff, for starters.”

  “Thanks, Gid. So, what do you think about Evelyn Conley? Why would she come over and spill her guts to me that way? The more I think about it, the more it gives me the willies.”

  Gideon looked pensive. “I suspect she was overly embarrassed about her granddaughter dropping that bombshell about her scrapbook. She must have wanted to explain so you wouldn’t think she was some kind of whacko.”

  “Celebrity stalkers are often whackos,” Lara said wryly.

  “Yeah, they can be. From what you described, I’m not sure Evelyn rose to the level of a stalker. She’s probably okay, just a tiny bit obsessive.”

  “In a way, I felt sorry for her. Nonetheless, I don’t want to befriend her. I love her granddaughter, though.” Lara smiled. “That little girl was determined to read to a cat, even if she had to sneak in.”

  “Sounds like something you’d have done as a kid,” Gideon teased.

  Lara laughed. “You’re right.”

  “Lara,” he said, his face now solemn. “I think you have a guardian angel watching over you.”

  Yes, and she has fur and big blue eyes.

  “Unfortunately, it doesn’t make me worry any less.” He took her hand and gently squeezed her fingers. “Honey, I wasn’t so much mad at you as I was scared. I don’t want to see a repeat of last year’s nightmare.”

  Lara didn’t want that either. Even thinking about it still gave her the chills.

  “You have to stop stressing. Nothing’s going to happen to me. As far as angels, I have
several looking out for me.”

  “I hope I’m on that list.”

  “At the very top,” Lara said, then frowned and sat back in her chair. “Gid, I feel like I’m playing connect the dots here. Except…at least one of the dots is missing, and I don’t know how to find it. If I could snag it and connect it to the others, I might have a complete picture. Meanwhile, Deanna feels like a prisoner in her own home. Noodle and Doodle are there with a housekeeper who clearly doesn’t relish the idea of cats in the house.”

  “Honey,” Gideon said gently. “I know you’re concerned for the kittens. But you’ve seen for yourself that they’re doing fine. Besides, Deanna has something you don’t have—resources.”

  “You mean money.”

  “Exactly. If she wanted to, she could fire that housekeeper and get a new one in a heartbeat. I’m sure there are lots of people who’d leap at the chance to work for Deanna Daltry and take care of her home.”

  Lara smiled at that. “That’s definitely true, but she seems very defensive of Nancy. I think she genuinely likes the woman.”

  Which reminded her of something else. Kayla had said Nancy used a different name back in her bank-robbing days. Had Kayla had a chance to go back to the library to research it any further? Lara made a mental note to ask her, although she was fairly sure Kayla had been too busy with family and other obligations.

  Gideon fidgeted. “You don’t see any way Deanna could have killed Donald Waitt?”

  “I considered it briefly, but it doesn’t fit, Gid. Why would she kill him on her own property?”

  He held out his hands, palms up. “Who knows? Why did he show up at the welcome party? Maybe he tried to blackmail her over something.”

  Blackmail. Lara hadn’t considered that. It brought her back to the theory that someone in Deanna’s past had it in for her.

  Lara thought back to when Waitt first arrived at the welcome event. He’d looked strained, almost tearful. Not the way she imagined a blackmailer would look.

  “I hear you, Gid, but my gut tells me Deanna is not the killer. I think I’ll take her up on her lunch invitation, if I can wrangle another one. Maybe I can also get to know Nancy Sherman a bit better.”

  “You mean, maybe you can do a little snooping about Nancy Sherman.”

  Lara laughed. “Okay, you got me there. But now that I think about it, couldn’t she have had some connection to Donald Waitt? Maybe they were working together. Maybe she agreed to apply for that job so he could get back at Deanna in some way.”

  “Get back at Deanna for what?”

  “That’s just it. I don’t know. Deanna admitted they dated in high school. That sounds like a thousand years ago, but some people have long memories, especially if they felt hurt or rejected by someone they cared about.”

  “Anything’s possible,” Gideon conceded. “But I’m sure the police have already questioned Ms. Sherman, especially if it turned out she’s the same person who helped her husband rob banks. Even so, she’s an unknown quantity. And I’m still not sure I trust Deanna Daltry. From everything you’ve told me, I’m not convinced she’s revealed everything she knows.”

  “I tend to agree with that, but maybe for a different reason. I think she might know something she doesn’t know she knows. Does that make sense?”

  Gideon smiled. “In a way.” He reached over and entwined his fingers with Lara’s. “Please be careful, Lara. At the risk of sounding like a broken record, why don’t you let the police connect the dots? It’s their job, it’s what they do. And they’re very good at it.”

  “I know, and I’d love nothing more,” Lara said quietly. “But I think they’re missing something, too.”

  Chapter 24

  It was nearly dark by the time Gideon left. They’d lingered in the yard for a while, enjoying the soothing sounds of the crickets chirping in the field, watching the sky grow ever darker. She’d hated it when he had to leave, even if she loved it when he recited that line from Romeo and Juliet: Parting is such sweet sorrow.

  Lara had felt guilty about leaving her aunt in the house, but she’d checked on her twice and found her resting quietly. With Gideon’s help Lara had also fed the cats, but now it was time to perform litter duty. Tired as she was, she whizzed through it. She was putting away the cleaning supplies when her cell rang with an unfamiliar number.

  It was Gillian Gardner, the other reference for the Willoughbys Lara had been waiting to hear from. Explaining that she’d been out of town over the weekend, Gillian apologized for her delay in contacting Lara. She’d known the Willoughbys for nearly twelve years, and gave them a sparkling reference.

  After Lara hung up, she emailed Bruce Willoughby. “Your application has been approved,” she told him, confident that her aunt would agree. “Your references were sterling.”

  Her phone rang almost instantly. “Thank you, Lara!” Bruce Willoughby said. “You’ve made our day. Petey’s been waiting with bated breath, as they say. Can we pick her up in the morning? I took this week off from work hoping we’d have a cat by now. We already bought a carrier and lots of food and toys. Safe toys,” he emphasized.

  Lara grinned at his enthusiasm. Monday wasn’t an adoption day, but she was fine with the Willoughbys coming by to get Bootsie in the morning.

  Then she remembered—Deanna had offered to pay all adoption fees for the entire month. How was that going to work? They’d never talked about the logistics.

  “Bruce, the shelter has a sponsor who’s offered to pay adoption fees this month. We haven’t worked out the details, but I’m going to waive your fee. I’m sure the sponsor will cover it.”

  “Wow, what a generous offer. But if it falls through, don’t worry—just give me a ring and I’ll run a check right over to you. Meanwhile, Petey and I will spend the windfall on Bootsie.” Bruce laughed. “He loves her name, by the way.”

  Tears filled Lara’s eyes. Another furbaby was going to a great home. It was what she and Aunt Fran wanted when they founded the shelter, yet it was so hard to say goodbye.

  Lara grabbed a tissue from the box on the counter and blotted her eyes. Bootsie padded into the kitchen, her green eyes fixed on Lara’s face. The cat wound around Lara’s ankles and rubbed against her leg.

  She knows, Lara thought, lifting Bootsie into her arms. She knows she’s found her forever home.

  “You know, don’t you, baby?” Bootsie purred into her neck and Lara kissed her.

  Frankie had known, too—the day Hesty was here. He’d ignored his beloved Aunt Fran and homed right in on the elderly man. Almost as if he’d had a sixth sense that his dad had come to get him.

  It sounded crazy, but Lara felt it deep in her bones. There was a dynamic at work here. Did it have something to do with Blue?

  She put it out of her mind, focusing instead on breaking the news to her aunt. It was good news, for sure, but Bootsie had been with them for nearly a year. They’d both gotten very attached to her.

  Lara set Bootsie on the floor, and the cat scooted off into the large parlor. When she looked up, her aunt was staring at her from the kitchen doorway. She looked ghostly pale except for her nose, which was bright red.

  “You don’t look well at all, Aunt Fran. Do you want me to take you to urgent care?”

  Aunt Fran put up a firm hand. “No, and don’t get close. There’s no point in both of us being sick. I thought it was a mild cold, but it’s turned into a worse one. But that’s all it is, and they can’t prescribe anything for that. Besides, I don’t have the strength to sit in that waiting room.”

  Lara sighed with exasperation. She’d learned over the past several months that her aunt was stubborn about doctors. The only one she was inclined to obey was her orthopedic surgeon, who happened to be tops in her field.

  “Sit, then. I’ll heat you some soup. We have chicken and stars, chicken noodle, creamy tomato—”

 
“I’ll take the first one,” her aunt said, dropping heavily into a chair. Dolce immediately appeared at her feet and climbed into her lap. “I thought I heard you talking to someone about Bootsie.”

  Lara pulled a can of chicken and stars out of the cupboard. “I was talking to Bruce Willoughby. Aunt Fran, Bootsie is finally going to her forever home. Isn’t that wonderful?”

  “It is,” her aunt said in a gravelly voice. “But oh, how I’ll miss her.”

  “I will, too.” Her throat tight, Lara plopped the contents of the can into a bowl. She popped it into the microwave and opened a box of crackers.

  “Would you grab me a tissue, Lara?”

  Lara plucked a handful from the box on the counter and gave them to her aunt. “It means we’re doing something good, here, Aunt Fran. Each cat we place with the right person or family means we can take in another one. Or three.” Lara grinned.

  Aunt Fran was quiet. She ate a spoonful of her soup, then said, “I know we have a unique kind of shelter here, and limited space. But we haven’t taken in a cat since Frankie. Maybe enough people don’t know about us yet.”

  “You’re right, and we said we’d talk about it. But you have to get better first. Let’s give it a few more days, then we’ll come up with a game plan. We might be able to ease the overload for one of the area shelters.”

  Her aunt gave her a wry smile. “Remember how things were a year ago? I was a mess, wasn’t I?”

  “Health wise, you were, a bit,” Lara admitted. “You were dealing with much worse than a summer cold, that’s for sure. But look where we are now, how much we’ve accomplished.”

  Aunt Fran sneezed into a tissue. “I need to head back to bed.”

  Lara helped her upstairs and got her tucked in. Dolce and Frankie joined her, framing her on either side like a pair of fuzzy bookends.