Literally Murder (A Black Cat Bookshop Mystery)

by Ali Brandon

  “But could they do that for just a few hundred dollars in debt?” Darla asked between fruity bites of her Cuban-style French toast.

  Jake shrugged. “A lot depends on how the association agreement is worded but, yes, there have been cases of people actually losing their homes over missed fees. And since Ma’s friend Billy was a former real estate mogul, he knew all the ins and outs.”

  “He’s not my friend anymore,” Nattie muttered, poking at a barely touched plate of biscuits and gravy. “We might as well hold a memorial service by the pool for him, because he’s dead to me.”

  She punctuated that last with the universal finger across the throat gesture.

  Jake gave her mother a sympathetic look. “Anyhow, Billy and Ted blackmailed Mildred into helping them skim some of the association money in return for not foreclosing on her. They ran it through her bank account, so by the time it got to them, it was all clean and fresh.”

  “But how was Alicia involved?” Darla wanted to know. “She was there at the mansion, drugged up on the couch with Billy, and the way Mildred talked, she had to have known something.”

  “Believe it or not, Alicia was the heroine in all this. She and Ted had been an item for a long while, until she found out about his illegal activities. And she pretty well blamed him for involving her father in the plot.”

  Jake paused for another bite of omelet, and then went on, “Alicia couldn’t blow the whistle on their little scheme without bringing down the authorities on both of them, so she figured she’d try her own style of blackmail to get them to stop. What better way to make a cat-show judge and a cat breeder look bad than to have them accused of holding another cat for ransom? Unfortunately, she wasn’t as good at blackmail as her father and her boyfriend. It all blew up in her face.”

  Darla dropped her fork onto her plate and shot her friend a startled look. “Wait! Are you saying that Alicia was responsible for Hamlet’s catnapping?”

  “She orchestrated it, yes. Mildred and Cindy did the actual grunt work for her. Cindy snatched Hamlet and handed him off to Mildred, who stashed the carrier under a table next to a couple of other cats until she could sneak Hamlet out of the exhibition hall. Then she handed him off to Cindy again. Cindy’s job was to bring Hamlet to Billy’s suite, where she’d already arranged to meet Ted. That part went off without a hitch.”

  “That’s why Mildred volunteered to help me find Hamlet!” Darla realized. “She must have hidden him in the section of the hall that she claimed she searched. But how did she get him outside later, when the show volunteers were searching all the carriers?”

  “It seems she quote-unquote borrowed the show paperwork for another black household cat and walked out with Hamlet, bold as brass. And since she is well known as a volunteer on the cat-show circuit, it never occurred to anyone to question her.”

  Darla picked up her dropped fork and took another considering bite. “Don’t tell me—the whole wingtip photo thing was part of the blackmail? Take a fake selfie of Billy and Hamlet, then threaten to publish it if Billy didn’t stop his evil ways, so to speak.”

  Jake nodded. “Ted was all in on that, because he was worried Billy was starting to have second thoughts about the foreclosure and money-laundering scheme, anyway. Alicia didn’t let on that she knew he was a partner in Billy’s racket. And he also didn’t know that Alicia had learned about the Minx Connection from Cindy.”

  Darla gasped. “Surely Cindy wasn’t—”

  Jake shook her head. “Not her, but a couple of her friends had hooked up with Ted and couldn’t get out of the situation. Between that and the whole kitten-breeding thing, Cindy was on the warpath against our buddy Mr. Stein already. So even though she and her mom were pretty much at odds all the time, it didn’t take much persuading by Alicia to get her daughter to help out.”

  “‘The enemy of my enemy is my friend,’” Darla quoted. Then she shook her head. “It sounds like Alicia could have shut both of those guys down with her little plan. So why did Mildred up the ante and murder Ted?”

  “I got that,” Nattie broke in, tone still sour. “Some people just need killing. Not that I’m giving her a pass,” she added when Darla and Jake stared at her, “but I kind of see her point. Besides, I don’t think it was the foreclosure thing that got to her. It was the whole kitten-breeding scheme that made the old biddy crazy. You know how them cat people are about unethical breeders.”

  “So much for a relaxing vacation,” Darla muttered. Then, with a look at Hamlet, she added, “And someone is slacking off on the job. Remember that first book Hamlet snagged when he was settling into his personal bookstore there at the show? How the Grinch Stole Christmas sure didn’t have anything to do with what happened.”

  “Actually, it kind of did,” Jake said, coming to the cat’s defense. “You know that veterinarian who was first responder when I got smacked? You told me his name is Dr. Navidad, right? As in, Feliz Navidad.”

  “Christmas,” Darla agreed. “All right, but who was the Grinch and what did he steal?”

  “Cindy confessed to me that the main reason she set up the Cozy Kitty faux massacre was to cause a commotion while she stole some sort of animal sedatives out of Dr. Navidad’s bag while everyone was distracted. She’d been around the rescue folks long enough to know what she was looking for. But it didn’t occur to her that the good vet would be the first one on the scene when the cat’s owner raised the hue and cry.”

  “I guess that makes sense,” Darla said with a shudder, not wanting to think what might have happened had Cindy actually stolen the drugs and used them on Hamlet, or even Jake.

  “Anyhow,” the PI finished, “the cops are still sorting out a whole laundry list of charges. I don’t know who’s going to get slapped with what, but between Billy and Alicia and Cindy and Mildred, I imagine Fort Lauderdale’s legal community is going to be busy for a while.”

  Hoping that the laundry list didn’t include her and Jake having to make another trip to Florida as witnesses, Darla said, “We’ve got a few days left here in Fort Lauderdale before we have to fly back. What’s the plan now?”

  Jake grinned back at her. “Plans? We don’t need no stinking plans. We’re supposed to be on vacation, remember? You want me anytime before our flight takes off, you’ll find me on the beach.”

  TWENTY

  “YES, JAMES, THERE’S A LOT MORE TO THE STORY THAN what you read online, but it’s just too much to go into on the phone,” Darla said, feet up on the railing of Nattie’s balcony as she spoke into her cell. “We’ll be home tomorrow afternoon, so I’ll give you the full scoop then.”

  James sighed, but all he said was, “Very well, but be assured I will expect a detailed account of all that transpired. Now, if you would care to hold the line, Robert wishes to speak to you for a moment.”

  “Hey, Ms. P.,” came Robert’s youthful tones a moment later. “I can’t believe that Hamlet, you know, solved another murder.”

  “Yeah, I thought being in Florida was going to be a vacation, not another chance for him to prove he’s smarter than us helpless humans,” she agreed with a rueful look at the feline in question, stretched out on the chair beside her. Changing the subject, she asked, “So, tell me, since you’re our official barista, what do you think of the new coffee bar?”

  “It’s, like, really sick! I tried out all the machines and stuff, and it all works great. We’ll be ready to start brewing coffee as soon as you and Ms. Jake get back.”

  “I can’t wait to see it,” Darla said before having Robert put James back on the line to talk shop for a few minutes.

  By the time she had hung up and come in from the balcony, the two Martelli women were bickering over the best way to store condiments.

  “Whadda you say, Darla?” Nattie asked as Darla joined them. “Do you keep your ketchup in the refrigerator, like regular people, or in the pantry, like my know-it-all daught
er?”

  “Sorry, Nattie, but I’m with Jake on that one. There’s nothing worse than cold ketchup.”

  “Ha! Nothing worse except maybe food poisoning,” the old woman darkly muttered.

  Jake grinned. “Ma, I’ve been doing this for more than thirty years, and I haven’t ended up in the ER yet.”

  “Well, there’s always a first time,” she declared, standing on tiptoe to reach into the cabinet for the bottle Jake had put there and then transferring it into her refrigerator.

  Darla and Jake exchanged amused glances, and then the latter glanced at her watch. “Time to pick up the newest member of the family. Ma, can I have the keys to the Mini?”

  Nattie immediately forgot their squabble. “Sure, bambolina mia,” she said, trotting over to the counter, where she’d left the zebra-heart keychain. Handing it off to Jake, she said, “You girls go on, and I’ll clear a little spot for the kitty in the bedroom while you’re gone.”

  “Thanks, Ma,” Jake replied, giving her mother a fond kiss atop her hennaed head. “We’ll be back soon.”

  Half an hour later, she, Darla, and Hamlet pulled into the parking lot of Tropical Adoptables’ headquarters located in the industrial part of town. The building—a tiny converted home painted purple and yellow with silhouettes of dogs and cats stenciled across the front—was situated between an auto repair place and a fencing company. A clever bit of trompe l’oeil added to the front door made the entry look like an open doghouse, complete with a grinning pooch peeking out at them.

  Marie, the animal-rescue worker whom Darla and Jake had met at the cat show, rose from a little brick patio area, where she’d been repairing a broken planter box. She brushed the dirt from her bright pink Tropical Adoptables T-shirt and gave them a big smile.

  “Hello again, ladies . . . and Hamlet. We’ve been waiting for you.” Turning to Jake, she went on, “Ms. Martelli, I have your paperwork inside. You’ve been officially approved to adopt one of our precious fur babies. Are you all ready to pick up Trixie and take her home with you?”

  “All set,” Jake agreed, beaming as she shoved her mirrored sunglasses back onto the top of her head and waved a plastic bag from the local pet superstore. “I double-checked this morning to make sure the airline could allow her on our flight tomorrow. They said yes, so all I have to do is call back and confirm.”

  “Wonderful. Come on inside.” Marie ushered them into what had once been a parlor, and which now served as an office and waiting area, complete with a small selection of pet supplies for sale. Another volunteer in a Tropical Adoptables tee—this one a bald, middle-aged man—sat behind the desk with a phone scrunched between shoulder and ear as he typed on a computer keyboard. He gave them a friendly smile before returning to his task.

  “We’ve had a busy week. The cat show gave us a little boost of publicity, and we’ve adopted out double our usual number of cats and dogs since the weekend.” With a nod to Darla and Hamlet, she added, “Oh, and Ms. Pettistone, I saw Hamlet’s recommendation for our rescue group on your store’s website. We certainly appreciate the plug.”

  “You’re very welcome. All of us at Pettistone’s Fine Books are firm believers in rescue.” Then, as the sounds of eager barking and meowing drifted to them, she added, “Sounds like you’ve got a whole herd in here. How many dogs and cats do you keep at a time?”

  Marie sighed. “We can only handle maybe a dozen dogs, and that’s if they’re mostly puppies or small breeds, along with fifteen or so cats and kittens. But we have quite a few more in foster homes. Now, let’s go see Trixie.”

  Marie slid open the door to a room marked, appropriately, “Cats.” A knee-high gate lay across the doorway while a taller, circular net pen took up most of the room. Inside the pen were a couple of cat towers, three kitty hammocks, and a dozen rubber balls and catnip mice, along with litter boxes, food, and water. In the midst of this, four adult cats and nine kittens—Darla managed to count them all—were holding what looked like a feline circus. And three-legged Trixie was in the center ring, flopped on her back and spinning like a top as she battled one of the catnip toys.

  “I’d forgotten how cute she is,” Darla exclaimed while Jake knelt down by the mesh and began tapping her fingers on it to attract the kitten’s attention. “Hamlet, don’t you agree?”

  Hamlet surveyed the feline collection with a cool green gaze. The adult cats—two orange tabbies, a calico, and an odd-eyed white—glanced up at him but prudently did not engage. To Hamlet’s credit, he did not hiss or otherwise indicate disapproval, though the slight twitch to his tail told Darla he’d rather be elsewhere.

  Trixie, meanwhile, had realized she had visitors. Dropping the stuffed mouse, she leaped to her three feet and crouched, ready for action. She spied Jake and promptly bounded in her direction, followed by a posse of three other kittens.

  Jake laughed. “I guess we know who is cat boss around here. Hamlet, I think Trixie is going to give you a run for your money.”

  “She’s a pistol, all right,” Marie agreed. “I’m sure the two of them will get along great.”

  Darla rolled her eyes at this, not quite as confident as Marie on this matter. Hamlet, meanwhile, gave a small meow-rumph that she translated from catspeak to mean, In your dreams, volunteer lady.

  Unaware that she’d just been dissed by a cat, Marie leaned over the mesh to give Trixie a quick scratch behind the ears before straightening again. “Good. Let’s get the adoption fee paid, and then we’ll send you ladies on your way.”

  “Mommy, look!” a small voice called from the doorway. “There she is, the kitty from the cat show!”

  Darla turned to see a round-faced girl with blond pigtails standing with an equally blond and even plumper woman whom Darla presumed was her mother. The child was perhaps nine or ten years old, wearing a pink plaid jumper over a white T-shirt. As her mother hefted her over the gate, Darla saw in surprise that one of child’s legs had been amputated above the knee. In place of the missing limb, she wore a metal prosthesis, which ended in a molded foot. Upon that tiny plastic extremity was tied a pink ballet slipper to match the one that the child wore on her other, flesh-and-blood foot.

  The little girl was already headed toward the cat pen, her gait steady if slightly rolling. She caught sight of Marie and gave her a big smile.

  “I saw you at the cat show. I’ve come to get my kitty now.”

  “That’s great,” Marie said with a cheery smile, gesturing the girl’s mother to join them. “I’m finishing up with these ladies right now, but you look at the kitties all you want. And when I come back, you can sit down inside the pen and play with them to help you decide.”

  “I don’t need to look,” she said with a little girl’s lofty air. “I already picked out my kitty. I want that one,” she said, and pointed at Trixie.

  Marie raised her brows in dismay. “Oh, honey, do you mean the little Siamese girl?”

  “Yep,” the girl said with a firm nod. “She’s just like me, so we can be bestest friends forever. Right, Mommy?” she asked, turning to her mother.

  The woman smiled and shook her head. “Chelsea hasn’t stopped talking about this cat since we went to the show,” she told the volunteer. “Her father finally agreed she could adopt her, so here we are. I was really worried that the poor little thing might not still be here.”

  “Of course she would be here, Mommy,” Chelsea corrected her. “Nobody wants a kitty that’s missing a leg. No one ’cept me. Can we take her home now, Mommy? Can we?”

  “Oh, honey,” Marie softly repeated, her face flushed now with agitation, “I don’t know how to tell you this, but little Trixie already has been adopted.”

  “No, she hasn’t. She’s right there,” Chelsea said with impeccable logic.

  Darla shot a look at Jake, who was staring down at Trixie as Marie shook her head and glanced helplessly over at the girl’s mother for
support. Chelsea’s mom rushed over. “Now, Chelse, it’s not the end of the world,” she said, catching the girl by the shoulders and giving her an encouraging hug. “Look at all the other kittens there in the pen. They all need homes, too.”

  “But I want Trixie,” the girl whispered, a large tear rolling down her cheek as she stared miserably at the ground.

  “Uh, Marie,” Jake spoke up, “small problem here. I finally got a callback from my landlady. She said she won’t waive the no-pets rule for me, even if I give her a deposit. So I hate to say this, but I can’t adopt Trixie after all.”

  “Jake, are you sure?” Darla exclaimed. “I know how much you wanted her.”

  “Yeah, she’s a great little cat, but rules are rules.” Then, with a look at Chelsea, the PI added, “But luckily for Trixie, it looks like there’s someone else who can take her home.”

  Chelsea slowly raised her head, her lips still quivering.

  “You really can’t adopt her?” she whispered.

  Jake shook her head. “No, I can’t. It stinks, but that’s the way it is. But if you haven’t decided you’d rather look at the other kittens, then maybe you can adopt her, instead.”

  Chelsea’s face broke into a wide grin. “Mommy, Mommy, the lady says I can have Trixie after all!” she cried and turned to grip her mother in a big hug.

  “Why, that’s just wonderful,” the woman said, pulling the girl to her. Over the top of the child’s blond head, she mouthed the words Thank you to Jake.

  Jake shrugged and pulled her sunglasses back down. “Guess there’s no reason to hang around any longer. Thanks, Marie, and good luck with your rescue work.”

  “No, thank you,” Marie replied, sniffling just a little. “And Darla, it was great meeting you and Hamlet. I’ll be sure to bookmark your website.”