Literally Murder (A Black Cat Bookshop Mystery)

by Ali Brandon

  “Not to go off on a tangent,” she said, “but Darla witnessed something else last night that might have some connection to all this.”

  When Jake nodded at her to take it from there, Darla gave the detective a brief explanation of the exchange she’d seen between Mildred and Cindy in the parking garage.

  At Jake’s first words, Martinez had pulled out a small notepad. Now, she jotted down a few lines as she listened to Darla’s account.

  “Interesting,” she agreed when Darla finished, “but for the moment I’m not sure how it ties into Stein, if at all.”

  Jake shrugged. “All right, Sam, it’s pretty obvious that something’s up. Why don’t you use us as a sounding board? We’ve kind of got a vested interest in figuring this thing out, too,” she added, putting a fleeting hand to the back of her head.

  Nice touch, Darla thought in approval. Martinez seemed to register the gesture, though she furrowed her brow a little as she glanced Darla’s way. Noticing her unconvinced look, Jake hurried to reassure the detective.

  “Don’t worry about Darla. She’s had more experience with this sort of thing than the average civilian.”

  Expression still skeptical, Martinez nodded. “Fine, I’ll take a shot. What do you two know about the Minx Connection?”

  SIXTEEN

  “THE MINX CONNECTION?”

  Darla took another sip of coffee as she attempted to keep a straight face. That’s what Stein called his cat breeding business? A little too precious for her tastes.

  “It’s what you get when you cross a Sphynx cat with a Manx,” Darla offered, trying not to sound smug. “They’re tailless and have fuzz instead of fur. Ted Stein was trying to promote the Minx as a new breed. And he was pretty ticked off when his cat didn’t win its division at the cat show.”

  Jake seemed to be biting back a smile, too. “Yeah, Ma said that Billy Pope claimed it was just some sort of get-rich-quick scheme that Stein came up with, multilevel marketing with pets. But the cats were real enough.”

  Martinez shook her head and gave an inelegant snort.

  “Good try, ladies, but no cigar. The late Mr. Stein had a scheme going, all right, but it wasn’t only cats.”

  When Darla and Jake gave her a puzzled look, Martinez cleared her throat. “He was recruiting, ah, talent over at the local college and then advertising their ‘services’”—she gave that last word air quotes—“online. He provided the empty condo and basically paid them by the hour. We had a warrant to search his place, and we turned up a nice paperwork trail. Could be he was using this cat-breeding business as a cover story in case the IRS or the bank questioned him.”

  “Wait,” Darla interrupted. She’d obviously missed something here. “Exactly what kind of business was it you say Ted Stein was running?”

  “Prostitution,” Jake explained, her tone now one of disgust. “Ted Stein was nothing more than a pimp in cat breeder’s clothing. Right, Sam?”

  “You’re kidding!” Darla choked out as the detective nodded. “Sure, I thought the guy was kind of skeevy, but to be involved in something like that . . .”

  “Oh, that’s only the tip of the iceberg,” Martinez coolly assured them. “We’re still putting the pieces together, but it’s starting to look like some of that prostitution money was being laundered through your mother’s condo association. And there’s a good chance some of that missing money you told me about was being skimmed from the account at the same time. By the end of the day we should be bringing in the person who we suspect was Stein’s silent partner.”

  “Sounds like Stein was an ambitious little perv,” Jake observed. Then she asked the question Darla had been waiting for. “So who’s the silent partner?”

  The detective shook her head. “Sorry, I can’t tell you. But let’s just say that, at this point, Billy Pope is probably the least likely person at the Lauderdale Tropics condo association who might have wanted to see Ted Stein dead.”

  Before Darla could pounce on that one, the waitress showed up with their fish tacos, along with a greasy white paper bag that she set before Martinez. “Got your usual in there, Sam.”

  “Thanks, Farrah,” the detective said, rising from the picnic table and reaching for the sack. “Tell my brother I said hi.”

  “Will do. Come over and see the baby sometime, okay?”

  “If I can ever manage a day off, I will.”

  As Farrah sauntered off, Martinez slid her sunglasses back down onto her nose and gave Darla and Jake a final look. “Sorry, ladies. Gotta run,” she said, indicating the bag. “If you hear any more interesting rumblings down at the condo complex, you know how to get hold of me.”

  Jake raised her cell phone and nodded. “We’ve got you covered.”

  Darla waited until the detective had disappeared around the corner of the restaurant before saying, “I wonder why she wanted to see your video. She said they were working on an arrest warrant, so it’s not like she was still trying to find a suspect.”

  Jake shrugged and reached for a fish taco. “Maybe their case isn’t as airtight as she’d like it to be. Maybe she thought something might show up in the video that could help. Or maybe she just wanted to know what we knew, and this was a good excuse to rope us back in.”

  Darla would have replied, except that she’d already taken a large bite from one of her own tacos. Rather than the lettuce, tomato, and cheese that topped a regular Tex-Mex beef taco, these flour tortillas filled with chunks of blackened mahi were stuffed with avocado, mango, and coleslaw. With a side of black beans and rice, Darla was in culinary heaven.

  “So who do you think this new suspect is?” she finally asked once she could speak again. “I mean, after seeing how everyone reacted at the memorial service last night, I’d say there’s probably a long list just of condo owners.”

  Jake reached for taco number two and shrugged.

  “Not our problem, remember?” she said around a mouthful of blackened dolphin. “But what went down at the cat show is. So after I finish eating, I’m going to put in a call to Johnston and see if they’ve made any progress on the assault and catnapping. It would be nice to know that someone has been arrested for putting a kink in our vacation.”

  “Kink” seemed a mild way to describe the murder and mayhem that had punctuated their stay in Fort Lauderdale, Darla told herself as she picked up her second taco. Still, Detective Martinez seemed every bit as capable as Jake, while the other two officers had been professional and thorough in their investigations. If any of the week’s crimes could be solved, surely that trio would do it.

  They made short work of the remaining food. A few minutes later, Jake pushed away her plate with a satisfied groan and pulled out her phone, along with a business card with the local PD’s logo on it.

  “Fingers crossed,” she said as she punched in the numbers.

  The call went to voice mail, so Jake left a message asking about any progress on her assault case and the cat theft, rattling off the case number. “Would you call me when you can with an update?” She gave her cell number and then hung up.

  Darla, meanwhile, signaled for the check and realized guiltily that she hadn’t saved any of her fish tacos to take back for Hamlet. Though the feline had started out eating only kibble under her care, at some point bringing Hamlet a “kitty bag” had become a ritual for Darla whenever dining out. No doubt there’d be some cat sulking for a while when they returned.

  Which meant they’d simply have to come back another time, Darla decided in satisfaction, already eager for a second round. She’d check on the way out to learn if pets were allowed on the deck.

  When they returned to the condo, however, Darla found Hamlet crouched on the living room floor happily gnawing on what appeared to be a slice of pepperoni, as Nattie looked on indulgently from the rattan sofa. She was dressed in a black-and-white summer pantsuit, her gaudy black hat safely pe
rched atop the dining table. And on the coffee table before her was the source of Hamlet’s current bounty: a small paper plate heaped with cold cuts and cheese and topped with three pink-iced petit fours.

  “Jeez, Ma, did you really raid the buffet table at a memorial service?”

  Nattie gave an innocent blink that reminded Darla of Hamlet’s “good kitty” expression. “They had tons of food. It woulda gone to waste if I left it there. Even Mildred agreed. Besides, that rabbi guy took a bigger plate than mine.”

  “Ma, if the man was officiating, I’m sure the family asked him to take a nice big plate home as a courtesy. That didn’t mean everyone else was supposed to load up like that.”

  Despite her dismayed tone, however, Jake reached for one of the petit fours. When she caught Darla smiling, the PI shrugged.

  “Hey, now that the deed is done, no point in letting good food go to waste,” she replied before taking an appreciative bite of the confection.

  “Good point,” Darla replied and took one of the petit fours herself. After a taste, she added, “Heck, Nattie, you should have loaded up on more dessert instead of all the healthy stuff. These little cakes are heavenly.”

  “Eh, gotta watch my weight,” Nattie answered and patted her small belly bulge. “So how was the beach, girls?”

  “Nice, Ma. Lots of sand. How was the memorial service?”

  “Nice.” Then, when Jake gave her a sharp look, Nattie added, “Lots of people.”

  Darla gave her a considering look. In the short time she’d known the old woman, Darla had discovered that Nattie never passed up the chance for a gossip. And what better place to dig up a little dirt than when people had gathered to eulogize one of their own? She would have bet Hamlet’s stash of catnip that Nattie was keeping quiet about something.

  Jake was obviously thinking along the same lines, but she took a different tack. Reaching for a couple of cubes of cheddar—How in the heck does Jake not gain weight with all her snacking? Darla wondered yet again—Jake assumed a “good kitty” expression of her own.

  “Guess what, Ma? We ran into Detective Martinez over at the Porto del Sol diner. Keep this under your hat, but she’s having second thoughts about Billy Pope’s involvement with Ted Stein’s murder.”

  Nattie snorted. “Well, it’s about time. I coulda told her from the start that Billy had nothing to do with it. I did tell her.”

  “Well, looks like you were right. But Sam mentioned something else . . . something called the Minx Connection. Ever hear of it?”

  “I think that’s what Ted called his so-called cattery where he bred those poor Minx kittens. What, is the Humane Society after him now, too?”

  “I don’t know. It was just something she mentioned,” Jake lied, flashing Darla a look that she interpreted to mean, Fishing expedition, kid . . . Don’t say anything.

  Darla gave her a swift nod of understanding, pretty certain the old woman knew nothing about Ted Stein’s alleged prostitution ring. There was no way Nattie would have kept quiet about something like that if she’d suspected it. And since she was already dismayed over her friend’s situation, no reason to upset her with more unpleasantness.

  But that still didn’t explain why Nattie was being evasive about the memorial service.

  “Say, girls, are we still going shopping this afternoon?” the old woman mumbled around the petit four she’d popped into her mouth. Standing, she tossed Hamlet a final piece of pepperoni and picked up the plate. “I wanna rest up after that long trip up and back from West Palm—but I’ll be raring to go in an hour or so.”

  “Sure, Ma,” Jake answered with a sharp look after the old woman, who’d trotted off to the kitchen with her spoils. “I’m going to take a shower and wash the salt off. I’m sure Darla will want to do the same. So just kick back for a while, why don’t you?”

  To Darla, she quietly added, “Do me a favor, kid, and chat her up about the memorial service while I’m in the shower. Something’s going on in that beady little brain of hers, and we probably need to know what it is.”

  Darla nodded. Nattie had returned from the kitchen munching on a cube of Swiss this time. Darla sat on the rattan chair and picked up Hamlet’s kitty wand, which he’d apparently dragged out in their absence. Flicking it back and forth for him, she brightly told Nattie, “The Porto del Sol was wonderful. I’m now a convert to fish tacos. How about you?”

  “I’m not much for that fancy-pantsy food. Give me a nice lasagna, though, and now yer talking.”

  “Well, it looks like the food at the memorial service was pretty darned good. I wonder who catered?”

  “Eh, who cares?”

  Nattie paused and glanced toward the hallway. The sound of the running shower from the master bath was faintly audible.

  “I didn’t want to say anything in front of Jacqueline,” she went on in a lower tone, “but that memorial service, it was a bust. The only good thing about it was the food.”

  “You mean no one flung flowers around?” Darla asked with a smile.

  Nattie grinned back. “Hey, it woulda put some life into the service. I about fell asleep listening to all these people talking about what a good guy Ted Stein was. Oh, and get this—Alicia Timpson was there, snuffling into her hankie like he was her late husband or something. You’da thought she’d be more worried about her own father.”

  Alicia Timpson, mourning Ted? Yet hadn’t she claimed that she barely knew the man?

  While Darla was pondering that, Nattie went on, “I tell you, that Ted, he was a Class-A jerk. It’s all true about him putting liens on people’s condos. Why, he even tried to foreclose on Millie when her pension check got stolen outta her mailbox one month and she was late paying her association fee. Me, I got mine set up so it comes outta the bank automatic, but I caught them one time charging me twice. It took me complaining to Billy to get it fixed.”

  “Well, maybe with him gone, that will put an end to the problems,” Darla absently commiserated, even as she continued to muse over the Alicia-Ted connection. “Maybe once everything is settled about his murder, the condo association members can have the books audited once and for all.”

  Though if someone else—perhaps the Martini Lady herself!—had been a partner in Ted Stein’s crimes, as Martinez had suggested, then stuff was about to hit the fan.

  They chatted a bit about the proposed shopping expedition until Jake returned, dressed now in red capris and a nubby white cotton sweater that came down to her hips. She was blotting her curly hair with a fluffy pink towel.

  “Plenty of hot water left,” she said to Darla. “Ma and I will chat while you get your shower, and then we can figure out where we want to go.”

  Once in the shower, Darla washed a salt shaker’s worth of salt from her hair and as much sand from various crevices and crannies. Fifteen minutes later she was clean, dressed in blue denim crop pants and a Hawaiian top with a towel wrapped around her head, realizing that she hadn’t put on as much sunscreen as she’d thought.

  “Ugh, sunburn,” she declared as she gingerly made her way back into the living room, where the other two women waited. “I didn’t realize I got that much sun until the shower got hot.”

  “Keep in mind yer in the tropics,” Nattie told her. “That sun can be a real killer, even in winter. I’ll get ya some aloe gel from my bathroom.”

  She hopped up without waiting for Darla’s response and headed toward her bedroom. Jake waited until she’d disappeared down the hall to softly ask, “You get anything out of her about the memorial service?”

  Darla shrugged. “Maybe. Food was good, but all anyone did was talk nicely about Ted. The only really interesting thing was that Alicia Timpson was apparently mourner-in-chief.”

  “Great, put her back to the top of the suspect list,” Jake muttered, but by then Nattie had returned carrying a clear plastic jug filled with bright green gel and
topped with a plunger.

  “Here ya go, Darla. It’s the economy size. I bought it at one of those membership clubs.”

  With the sunburn starting to sting in earnest, Darla gratefully pumped a handful of gel and began slathering it on all exposed skin. Hamlet, who had been lounging beneath the coffee table washing up after his second slice of pepperoni, gave her a curious look through the glass. Then, with a blink of his green eyes that seemed to say, Humans—can’t even bathe correctly, he returned to his ablutions.

  Jake, meanwhile, had pulled out her phone and was paging through a few screens. “This app shows the supposedly best shopping in the downtown Fort Lauderdale area. But our big question is, are we going to be looky-loos, or do we intend to buy?”

  “Both,” Darla and Nattie chorused, and then smiled at each other.

  “Works for me,” Jake agreed. “I’m going to check off a few stores here, plus if Ma has any she wants to add to the list, we can—”

  “Beautiful dreamer, wake unto me,” a man’s saccharine voice trilled from the vicinity of the kitchen, cutting Jake short.

  Startled by the unexpected music, Darla looked around for the radio, until she realized she was hearing a ring tone. “Starlight and dewdrops are waiting for thee.” Apparently, both generations of Martellis had a penchant for downloading corny songs to their respective phones. And if she wasn’t mistaken, the singer on this one was none other than Roy Orbison.

  Nattie, meanwhile, leaped from her chair.

  “Oops, that’s mine,” she said and trotted to the kitchen, where her cell phone lay plugged in on the countertop.

  Darla heard her answer with a “Hello?” promptly followed by a merry-sounding “Oh, hello.”

  “Sounds like Gidget has a boyfriend,” Jake murmured. “Too bad there’s not an extension where we could listen in.”