Literally Murder (A Black Cat Bookshop Mystery)

by Ali Brandon

  For, almost as if she had landed in Munchkinland, she was seeing colors she wasn’t used to seeing—at least, not on homes. Stucco ruled this architectural world in lieu of brick or brownstone, in shades of pink and blue and green and yellow. In fact, so common were these sherbetlike colors that the occasional white structure stuck out like the proverbial opposable digit, as James would have termed it. Overall, the city appeared to be quite a splendid place to take a vacation.

  A sense of excitement washed through her like an unexpected ocean wave. Nothing boring about this place. Heck, maybe she should open a second Pettistone’s Fine Books location in South Florida, just to have an excuse to come back on a regular basis.

  “Up ahead is the downtown business and historic district, where yer hotel and the convention center are at,” Nattie announced as she slid through a yellow traffic light. “We’re looking for Las Olas Boulevard. That’s where the hotel is, and it’s the street where all the tourists go. You got yer restaurants, yer bars, yer fancy-pantsy shops. Oh, yeah, and there’s the Riverwalk, too.”

  “Riverwalk?” Darla echoed in surprise, recalling their hotel’s name, the Waterview. “I thought we were going to be near the ocean.”

  “Sure, we keep driving, and we’ll be at Port Everglades in a few minutes, if you want to hop a cruise ship. But this is Florida. You got yer water everywhere you look. The hotel’s on the New River that comes out of the Everglades and dumps into the Atlantic not far from here.”

  Darla nodded, feeling a bit let down. With her hazy grasp of Fort Lauderdale geography, she’d assumed their accommodations would be overlooking the Atlantic, with plenty of sand and surf. Instead, it seemed the hotel had a view of some placid stream that meandered through the city.

  “Don’t worry, it’s not yer run-of-the-mill river,” Nattie assured her, seeming to sense her disappointment. “It runs fast, and there’s all kinds of eddies and whirlpools in it. And they say that, back in the old days, the water was clear enough you could see sharks swimming up it.”

  “Sharks?” Jake interrupted. “Are you sure about that, Ma?”

  “Would I lie to you?” Nattie gave her scarlet-crested head a vigorous shake, her expression offended. “Last year, I took a part-time job on one of them river taxis that rides up and down for the tourists. The boat people gave me a mike and this whole big spiel to memorize. I got to talk all about Fort Lauderdale history. Why the stories I learned—”

  She broke off and swerved around an immense fallen palm frond that practically blocked the lane. The unexpected lane change drew a horn blast from the lumbering sedan behind them.

  “Ah, keep yer pants on,” Nattie muttered. To Darla and Jake, she added, “Them fronds, it’s a full-time job keeping ’em picked up off the street. But it’s the falling coconuts you really gotta watch out for. One hits you on the head, and it’s lights out, permanent-like.”

  “Thanks for the warning, Ma,” Jake said with an amused look back at Darla, who reflexively glanced skyward. Having lived in both Dallas and the New York City area, she thought she’d heard of every big-city hazard that could befall one, but killer coconuts wasn’t one of them.

  Nor were sharks in the water outside one’s hotel window. And while the old woman hadn’t mentioned anything about alligators, Darla was going to keep an eye peeled for those, too. From what the guidebooks said, you could assume you’d find one in any Florida body of water, no matter how small—and sometimes in people’s swimming pools, too. No way was she going to let herself or Hamlet become gator bait!

  When the little convertible halted at a red light, Darla checked out her surroundings while Jake and her mom chatted up front. The street had narrowed, and both car and pedestrian traffic had picked up. She spied, interspersed between the restaurants and bars, several of Nattie’s so-called “fancy-pantsy” shops, many with self-consciously clever names like Stuff (an antique store) and Your Tropical Bird (a women’s chic apparel shop). Others were more to the point, like the enticing-looking Jennie’s Bakery, which Darla vowed to check out during their stay.

  “Here we are, the Waterview Hotel,” Nattie said.

  She pointed beyond the next traffic light toward a ten-story, art deco building that appeared to take up most of the block. While the hotel boasted a demure, sand-colored stone exterior, jaunty turquoise stripes raced skyward along its far corner, and bubble-gum pink awnings shaded its series of street-side entries. As they drew closer, Darla could pick out other typical art deco touches: the “eyebrows” over the windows, rounded corners instead of square, and the stepped upper stories that gave the place a vaguely pyramidal look. This was a hotel, she decided in satisfaction.

  Nattie echoed Darla’s thoughts. “Yer lucky they put you up here. I stayed here once, and it was great. Pool, sundeck, the whole smash. Good lookin’ bellmen, too,” she added with a wink for her daughter. “Oh, and the convention center where they’re holding the cat show is the next block over. You can walk, no problem.”

  With those words, Nattie took the next corner and slid the Mini Cooper up a breezeway-covered drive that led to the hotel’s main door. With the car stopped, the humidity that had been kept at bay by the moving air descended on Darla. Discreetly, she dabbed at the beads of sweat that formed again despite the shade. Not that she really was complaining. Warm and humid definitely trumped cold and snowy.

  A balding, middle-aged bellman with a bright grin and dark tan made swift work of unloading their luggage onto a cart. When he went to take Hamlet’s cat carrier, however, Darla smiled and shook her head.

  “Sorry, live kitty inside. You’d better let me handle this one.”

  The grin remained in place. Apparently, he was used to such requests—at least, this week. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Looks like we’re not the only cat-show people booked at the hotel,” Darla observed to Jake and Nattie.

  The old woman nodded, flaming crest bobbing. “This show is a big deal. Lots of folks come from outta town. There’ll be tons of cats staying here.”

  She turned to the bellman and handed him her keychain with a dangling zebra-striped stuffed heart the size of Hamlet’s paw. “And don’t let the valet run off with my car,” she declared as she slung a red plaid canvas purse almost as big as she was over one skinny shoulder. “I’m just here dropping off the girls.”

  The three of them trooped through a pair of open frosted-glass doors, where Jake paused a moment to grimace at her reflection as she tried to smooth down the nimbus that her curly hair had become, courtesy of the convertible ride. Once inside the hotel lobby, they went in search of the front desk.

  The wheels of Hamlet’s carrier whirred loudly against the smooth, pale pink marble floors randomly inlaid with bits of mosaic: a seahorse here, a marlin there. Across the lobby, Darla could see that the doors leading out to the Las Olas Boulevard street front were propped open, as well. The long-ago architects obviously had designed the ground floor with the tropics in mind, for a mild but constant cross breeze kept the ambient temperature inside a good ten degrees cooler than outdoors.

  The one thing that made her pause, however, was an odd, echoing buzz of sound that seemed to shimmer through the open floor plan. For a moment, it reminded her of the final minutes of a yoga class she’d once taken, when the class in unison had let loose with an unexpected series of guttural oms. The combination of voices had filled the room with a vibrating hum, much like what she was hearing now. And then, as she tuned into the lobby’s acoustics a bit better, she realized what she was hearing.

  Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow.

  “Holy cats, talk about a lot of cats,” Jake muttered as Darla zoomed in on the source of the mournful cries. Near the elevator, a luggage cart held four large animal carriers. An overly tanned middle-aged woman dressed in a sparkly T-shirt and too-short tennis skirt bent over them, seemingly trying to comfort the frightened felines. Darla wasn’t sure how many cats
actually were in the carrier, but she counted at least five paws waving pitifully from the carriers. To her relief, Hamlet gave but a single meow-rumph in return.

  Obviously, he was going to be a real pro at this cat-show thing, she proudly thought.

  By now, they’d reached the front desk, behind which stood a handsome, dark-skinned woman wearing a burgundy-colored skirted suit complete with a fancy gold “W” embroidered on the breast pocket of her jacket. Her black hair was slicked back into a smooth bun, which Darla eyed enviously. Darla’s own auburn hair had immediately begun to frizz in the humidity, and she suspected that the minute she unbraided it, she’d be rocking Jake’s same nimbus look. Which looked free-spirited on Jake, but a bit too Orphan Annie on Darla.

  “Welcome to the Waterview Hotel,” the desk clerk—Chantal, by her name badge—greeted them, her warm smile only slightly frazzled around the edges. Listening to a cat chorus who knew how many times over probably did that, Darla decided. Eyeing the carrier Darla was wheeling, the desk clerk added, “You must be one of our cat-show guests.”

  “Not just any guest,” Nattie answered for her, drawing herself up with an important air. “This here is Hamlet the Karate Kitty. He’s a real celebrity. He’s on YouTube and everything!”

  Chantal made the appropriate noises of interest as she input the pertinent information into her computer.

  Seizing the opportunity, Darla reached into her bag and pulled out one of Hamlet’s “paw”-tograph fliers—bookstore fliers featuring a photo of Hamlet and stamped with a cat paw print, which she’d made for their cat-show appearance. While obviously they weren’t going to get a lot of walk-in customers that way—except for maybe a Brooklyn-based snowbird who happened to be at the show—she had added a coupon for free shipping. Besides which, she suspected that the children attending the show might enjoy something actually signed by the famous Karate Kitty.

  “Courtesy of Hamlet,” Darla said as she handed it over.

  Chantal’s smile broadened. “Thanks. And you tell Mr. Hamlet that if he needs anything special while he’s here, just meow.”

  “As if she could hear him over the other cats,” Jake muttered.

  Chantal handed over two key cards and indicated the elevators. “You’re on the sixth floor, overlooking the river. Enjoy your stay. We’ve told our staff not to disturb any of the cat-show rooms, so be sure you phone down here if you want your room cleaned or need extra towels or anything.”

  “What I need is a pit stop,” Jake declared as the three women and feline headed to the elevator, whose ornate brass doors were scribed with scrolls and flowers, yet another example of the old building’s art deco flair.

  Hamlet meowed his agreement and Darla gave a sympathetic nod as the elevator door pinged open. “Sounds like Hamlet does, too, after being stuck in the carrier half the day. I brought a bag of scoopable cat litter, so that should last us the week.”

  “Seriously? I was wondering why your suitcase was so much heavier than mine.”

  “You do know they sell cat litter in Florida, don’t you?” Nattie added.

  “I didn’t want to take any chances that we wouldn’t find a store near the hotel,” Darla answered a bit defensively as they stepped inside the elevator, adding, “And on the bright side, at least we won’t need to bring it back with us.”

  As the doors opened on the sixth floor a few moments later, they were greeted by a fainter version of the cat chorus from the lobby, now coming from multiple directions. Apparently, the hotel had booked all of the cat-show guests on the same level. Not a bad idea, Darla conceded as they made their way down the marble-tiled hall. It would be pretty hard for any of those guests to complain about the noise when they had cats of their own in their rooms. Hopefully, once everyone settled down, quiet would reign again.

  The bellman had arrived ahead of them and had already begun unloading their luggage into what turned out to be a comfortable suite. Darla gave the place an appreciative once-over, deciding that being a feline guest-of-honor’s lackey wasn’t a half-bad gig. The main room held a love seat and two armchairs, along with a work desk and a table large enough to squeeze in four, plus a large flat-screen television mounted on one wall and a small fridge and coffee station. An adjoining alcove held two double beds and an armoire. The décor was what Darla pegged as “old-school Florida,” with plenty of bamboo and pastels, framed travel posters from decades past, and even a potted palm tree situated near the sliding door that led to the balcony.

  Before checking out that tempting view, however, Darla knew Hamlet had first priority. Once the bellman was out the door with a twenty-dollar tip—courtesy of Darla’s kitty litter guilt—she concentrated on getting Hamlet comfortably set up in the oversized bathroom.

  “Sorry, Hammy, but you’ll need to stay in here at night and whenever we’re not at the cat show,” she told him once all his kitty gear had been situated. “It’s too risky to leave you in the main room. I know no one is supposed to disturb the cat-show rooms without permission, but someone might open the door by mistake, and out you’d go to explore South Florida on your own. You know we can’t have that.”

  Her cajoling tone had little effect on the cat. Perched upon the fluffy bath towel she had arranged atop the Jacuzzi tub’s edge in imitation of his favorite sofa in her Brooklyn apartment, Hamlet shot Darla an emerald glare. He turned his back to her, crouching in an obvious display of feline pique, and looking obstinately in the direction of the sea foam–green tile wall.

  So much for being a pro.

  Darla sighed and tried again. “Hey, Hamlet, we’re on vacation, so try to suck it up. Your food and water bowls are there under the sink, and your litter box is beside the people toilet. Oh, and your feather wand and catnip mouse are there on the towel shelf next to that big glass seashell. All the comforts of home, right?”

  A knock sounded in reply. Jake opened the bathroom door a crack and peeked inside. “Is Hamlet settling in?”

  “I’m afraid he’s still pretty ticked off, though at least he’s not making a lot of racket about it. Hopefully he’ll get over it by morning.”

  “I’m sure he’s just jet-lagged, kid. Let him nap and then take him for a nice walk when it cools down a bit. Speaking of which . . .”

  Jake hesitated and gazed over her shoulder toward the hotel room before returning her attention to Darla.

  “I hate to ask this, especially since we just checked in, but do you mind if I ditch you and Hamlet for a few hours? Ma’s real anxious for a little one-on-one family time. She wants to show me her condo and introduce me to some of her friends. I figured we could do that, and then I can take her to the early bird special. She’ll be in bed by eight, and I’ll be back here in plenty of time to join you and Hamlet for a nightcap.”

  “Actually, I’d love to have a few hours to rest up from the flight and do a little Hamlet spoiling,” Darla replied. “I thought I’d take a little nap of my own and then put him back in his harness and wander a bit.”

  “Perfect. Thanks for understanding.”

  Leaving Hamlet to indulge in his snit for a few minutes, Darla followed Jake back to the main sitting area, where Nattie was busy loading her purse with hotel stationery and pens from the desk. The hotel’s complimentary magazine was already rolled up and tucked beneath her arm. At the sound of Jake loudly clearing her throat, her mother looked up with a guileless expression.

  “Whaddaya looking at? They expect you to take this stuff.”

  “Sure they do, Ma,” Jake agreed with a sigh. “Just don’t start packing up the throw pillows, please.”

  “They are nice, ain’t they?” Nattie said, wandering over to the sofa. She picked up one of the sherbet pink concoctions trimmed in little cranberry pom-poms and gave it a speculative look. As Jake began to sputter, Nattie shot her a grin. “Don’t worry, I ain’t gonna take it. Purse ain’t big enough.”

  “
And thank goodness for that. C’mon, Ma. Darla and Hamlet decided they’ll hang out here while you give me the grand tour. I’ll even take you to dinner.”

  “You mean it? Hey, I know the perfect spot. The restaurant across the street from my condo puts on a great buffet. The crab croquettes are to die for.”

  To Darla, Nattie added, “Thanks for indulging an old lady, Darla. I’ve missed my little girl since I’ve been down here. It’ll be nice to catch up, just the two of us.”

  Darla smiled as she watched them leave the hotel room, Jake’s arm around the old woman—though whether it was an affectionate gesture or simply a move to keep her from absconding with the official Waterview Hotel–branded coffee cups she was eyeing, Darla wasn’t certain. In some respects, they made a comically mismatched pair, the Amazonian Jake and the pixielike Nattie. But in the short time that she’d known Nattie, Darla could see that Jake and her mother were more alike than either probably cared to admit. And she had no doubt that under their constant bickering was genuine love.

  Suddenly feeling a bit homesick for her own family back in Texas, Darla distracted herself by wandering over to the sliding glass door, which led out to the balcony. With a quick look over her shoulder first, to be sure the bathroom door was still firmly shut, she unlatched the slider and stepped out into the Florida afternoon sun.

  At six stories up, the view was at once exhilarating and relaxing. On the next block over to her left sat a squatter version of the hotel, which had to be the conference center that Nattie had mentioned. Beyond it, she could see office towers (mere spires, really, compared to the gargantuan edifices of New York City) along with the city’s older buildings. Intertwined, they made a colorful architectural patchwork held together by the same palms and tropical flowering trees she’d spied on the drive in. In the distance, directly in front of her, she glimpsed what she realized were the white funnels and antennae of a docked cruise ship.