A Claw-some Affair (MEOW FOR MURDER Book 3)

by Addison Moore

  “Is that what she did to you?” I cluck my tongue. “My old fiend Gina Gillespie thought she’d take my boyfriend Johnny out for a test drive, and do you know what I did to her?”

  Here’s the part where she suggests the cyanide solution.

  But Kiera doesn’t follow the script. Instead, she leans in with a curious look as if she were morbidly interested in what happened to Gina.

  I shrug. “Gina was getting her hair colored at my aunt’s salon. Let’s just say I used my familial connections to make sure she had an unusual allergic reaction that left her with a few strategically placed tufts of hair.” True story.

  But in hindsight, I should have let her have Johnny. Then she would eventually be wanted by the feds and the Morettis, and I could have jumped into one of my luxury cars and driven up to Starry Falls in style.

  I sigh at the thought.

  It’s hard not to envision Starry Falls as a part of my story with or without my legal debacle.

  Kiera’s mouth rounds out like an oval as she gives me a high-five.

  “I knew I liked you.” She gives a sly wink.

  “So what did you do?” I nudge her with my elbow. “You know, to the woman who tried to steal your man?” I think we both know we’re talking about Madeline, but I don’t dare mention her name and break the bond I just procured with the killer at hand.

  Kiera pouts at the thought. “I didn’t get a chance. The wicked witch bit the big one before I could carve her up the way I wanted.”

  So she’s saying she would have preferred to use a knife? I’m not falling for it. Kiera must know I’m onto her. Why else would she make something up like that if she didn’t want to throw me off?

  “So who do you think did this to Madeline? I mean, certainly it wasn’t you. Who else had a bone to pick with her?”

  She gives a brief glance around before scooting in a notch.

  “I don’t know. But if I had to guess, I’d point that hot homicide detective in Sophia Hathaway’s direction. Sophia had been acting strange around her ever since Maddie took that philanthropy position at the Hathaway Foundation.”

  “The Hathaway Foundation? Sophia’s family owns it?”

  She nods. “Her father. Anyway, I’m not really sure if that actually had anything to do with it. But around the same time, Sophia started making the moves on Lucas.”

  “Lucas Lane?” That was the guy in the red suit last night—Madeline Swanson’s boyfriend.

  “That’s him.” Her cheeks heat with color, and that vision I had comes to mind.

  It was of Kiera and Lucas outdoors at night and he said, “Nobody needs to know,” while shaking her.

  And then she said, “Nobody tells me what to do. I should have done this the very first night and saved myself the trouble.”

  Saved herself the trouble…

  What could that mean?

  “So don’t keep me in suspense,” I say. “Did Sophia succeed in stealing Lucas?”

  Her lips twitch. “I don’t know how far she got, but let’s just say Maddie didn’t seem all that bothered with it.”

  “Why is that?”

  She shrugs. “Last I checked, dead women tell no tales. Rumor has it, she had a thing for Parker Goldman—Sophia’s boyfriend. I thought we were about to see a power couple switcheroo. But I guess we’ll never know if anything came of it.”

  Jackson and Shep manage to part the sea of women clawing at them as the two of them head this way.

  Tilly gloms onto Jackson and Regina wraps her arms around Shep, both of which are dotted with rogue lipstick prints on and about their cheeks.

  We thank Kiera for the good time and make a beeline for the elevator. The doors yawn open and we drift on in while Tilly and Regina rummage through their Goober haul.

  Shep steps in front of me, his eyes pinned to mine, that no-nonsense expression of his stone cold and hard.

  “You spoke with her,” he says it flat.

  “That’s for me to know and you to find out.”

  The elevator gyrates and forces him to lean in for a second before the door whooshes open.

  He holds my stare once again.

  “You smell nice, Binx.”

  He frowns as we get off the elevator, but I can’t hide my gloating smile.

  Shep thinks I smell nice.

  And ten bucks says he’s about to grill me for all I know.

  I’d better stop by the café and load up on Nana Rose’s lasagna.

  It’s time to test my grandmother’s theory about men and their lust-driven stomachs.

  Something tells me she’ll be right.

  Chapter 6

  After all the neck sniffing that went down at Goober, we finally make our way back to Starry Falls. Jackson dropped Tilly, Regina, and me back at the café while he went upstairs to visit with Opal.

  The café was still hopping, but with all hands on deck we handled it just fine. The highlight of my day—other than having Shep Wexler within sniffing distance—is the fact the replica of my Nana Rose’s lasagna turned out brilliant. Not Nana Rose brilliant, but pretty decent for a first-timer. Next time I’ll toss in more cheese and less garlic, but hey, you gotta start somewhere. Since it’s not on the menu just yet, I let the staff all have a slice and boxed the rest for Shep in the event he felt the need to interrogate me later. And I don’t need to be a psychic to know he will.

  I head home to my cabin a little after six, shower and put on a pair of hot pink sweats with the word delicious spread over my hiney like a sequin rainbow. When your wardrobe is solely comprised of thrift store acquisitions, you have to work with what you got.

  No sooner do I pop the lasagna in my oven and scent the house with all things delicious, a rather hostile knock erupts at my door.

  “Ooh.” I scoop Pixie up and we make our way to the entry. “Who do you think that could be?” I trill as I look through the side window to see Shep standing there, sans his suit jacket. “Fancy meeting you here,” I say as I swing the door wide open.

  He frowns for less than a millisecond before his eyes widen and he steps in blindly with his attention fully turned to the kitchen.

  “What’s cooking?”

  “Your dinner. And hello to you, too,” I flatline. “Rough day at the office, Honey Bunch?”

  He shoots me a look before heading back my way. I’m guessing he wouldn’t be too thrilled to know that Tilly and I have been referring to him as Sexy Wexy and Stud Muffin behind his back. On second thought, it might inflate his ego. He’s already at Goodyear Blimp levels of self-worth. No use in tempting fate and having the cabin float away with him in it.

  Shep’s white dress shirt is rolled up to his elbows, and I can see his gun strapped to his waist in a dark leather holster. The sight of a gun has never bothered me. Growing up in Hastings, my sister and I were taught to handle a weapon before we were allowed to date. Now that I think about it, one probably had a lot to do with the other.

  He grunts my way. “My day would have been better had you not insisted on barreling your way into my investigation, Sweet Cheeks.”

  “Sweet Cheeks?” A genuine growl works its way up my throat. “You do realize I loathe that nickname.”

  “You prefer something a little more exciting? Sugarpuss perhaps?” he asks while taking Pixie from my arms.

  “That’s disgusting.”

  “What?” He holds back a smile while touching his nose to the adorable little feline’s in his arm. “We think it’s cute.”

  “Say it again and I’ll hold back evidence.”

  “I might be okay with that so long as you don’t hold back whatever you’ve got in that oven, Kitten.”

  “That’s better.” I make a face his way. “Start up a fire and I’ll plate up some Italian goodness for you.”

  He does as he’s told, and soon we’re both noshing on my heavenly lasagna while seated on the sofa, staring at the crackling flames and moaning into our food. The cabin is small but homey. It has a black and white checkered so
fa that makes you feel as if you’re sitting on a cloud, and the entire cabin looks as if it’s made out of Lincoln Logs both inside and out.

  “I guess you know what you’re doing in the kitchen,” he says, shoveling in another bite.

  “Thanks.” I shrug over at him. “Do you know what you’re doing with Madeline Swanson’s murder investigation?”

  His brows dart down, and judging by that hard expression he’s shooting my way, I’ve managed to stick a pin in his ego.

  “I’m telling you,” I practically whisper the words. “I’m convinced Kiera Hillerman did it. Or in the least, she’s involved.”

  “What did she say?” he asks, taking in another forkful.

  “She said she thought Madeline was sleeping with her boyfriend. Anyway, she said Madeline died before she could exact her revenge.”

  “Revenge?” He takes the final bite of his food and lands the plate on the coffee table. Shep stretches his arm over the sofa, and his fingers land within an inch of my shoulder. “What else did she say?”

  “Nothing we didn’t already know. She mentioned that Madeline worked for Hathaway Enterprises, Sophia’s dad. She was the redhead in the lavender dress. Kiera made it sound like Sophia was making moves on Lucas Lane.”

  He gives a quick blink. “Madeline’s boyfriend.”

  “Yup. But I’m telling you, Shep, something is up with Kiera and Lucas.”

  He inches back as if I stunned him. “That came out of the blue. What gives?”

  Pixie trots over and sniffs my plate before I land it on the coffee table and scoop her into my arms.

  “I just have a gut feeling.” I nod while giving him the crazy eyes. There’s no way I’m telling Shep about my visions, but it doesn’t mean I can’t play it off as a mean hunch.

  He stares me down a good long while.

  “All right. I’ll look into it. I’ll talk to Lucas.” He leans in a notch. “As in I’ll talk to Lucas alone. And for the love of all things holy, do not tour his office.”

  “Ooh—Lucas has an office, what does he do?”

  Shep’s lips knot up. “None of your business. But do you know what is your business?” He picks up his plate. “A mean lasagna. I’m going for seconds. You want in?” He picks up my plate as well.

  “A man who is willing to serve?” I tease. “You’ll never see me refusing that offer.”

  Pixie and I watch as Shep makes his way to the kitchen.

  I pull the sweet kitty close. “Now those are some hot buns he’s wielding.”

  “What’s that?” Shep asks as he comes back and lands a few inches closer to me this time on the couch.

  “Nothing,” I bite down on a smile. “I can’t help but note you’re within cuddling range. Is that what happens next, Detective Wexler?”

  He takes a breath. “I was hoping the offer to go over one of my manuscripts was still open.”

  “A consultation on the mob? You bet. Speaking of which, I can’t thank you enough for letting me talk to my father a few weeks back. Oh, and before you go, you have to see the placemat I’m working on for my Uncle Vinnie. I figure it’s been a couple of months since I sent him that pillow I cross-stitched, and he’s probably worried sick about me.”

  His brows twitch as he swallows down a bite.

  “What’s the design this time?”

  “Since our safe word is meow, I found a pattern of a cat dangling from a tree by her tail. I’m adding the meow part myself. I can’t believe I’ve waited this long to get into a domesticated hobby. The old me would have hated doing something so tedious. She was a partier and a night owl, and have I mentioned she had poor decision-making skills?”

  “I was able to deduce that myself.” The underpinnings of a genuine smile curve on his lips.

  “You’re not funny.”

  He tilts his head. “Do you know what else isn’t funny?”

  “The fact you’re going for thirds?”

  “That.” He winces as he lands the plate on the coffee table and pulls out his phone. “And this.” He fiddles with his screen. “I got this in the mail. No name on the envelope, so I opened it. I’m guessing it’s for you.”

  He shows me a picture of a note with the words, are you going to stay or keep running?

  “Oh my God.” The words stream from me in a panic.

  Shep nods. “I’m sorry, Bowie. It looks as if someone has found you out.”

  “Oh no.” I drop my head between my legs, and Pixie hops off my lap before getting squished like a tin can.

  “Hey”—Shep rubs my back—“I think it’s going to be okay.”

  “Says the one who isn’t staring down the barrel of life in prison.”

  “You’d hardly get life—maybe twenty years, tops.”

  “Well, there’s a consolation,” I riot as I tip backward into the cushion of the sofa. “You do realize there’s no way to comfort someone with the idea of going up the river.”

  “I’m not trying to do that, Bowie.” He gives my shoulder a quick squeeze before attempting to slink away, but I put that catcher's mitt of his right back where it belongs.

  “Oh my word, yes.” I turn my back to him and point to my other shoulder. “Come on, Wexler. I made you lasagna and shook down a suspect for you. It’s been a long day.”

  “Fine.” He moves his body close to mine, and that woodsy cologne of his ensconces me while his strong, capable hands get right to work.

  “Oh yes,” I moan a little too enthusiastically. “Now we’re talking. No slacking. I’ll let you know when you’re done.”

  “A woman who gives orders,” he muses. “I’m not used to that.”

  “Really? Nora looks as if she had a list of demands tattooed to your forehead.”

  A dark laugh bounces from him.

  “Maybe so.”

  “Is that what went wrong?” I turn my head to the right. “You can’t handle strong women?” If he says no, I’m dust. As much as I’d like to fake a demure persona, it would only last as long as my next cup of coffee.

  “Don’t worry, Kitten.” He gives my shoulder a quick tweak. “I can handle strong women.”

  “Then can I ask what happened with Nora?” I know I shouldn’t pry, but a part of me wants to know if he’s still hung up on her.

  “I ended it,” he answers flatly as if reading my mind. “Nora and I were going through the motions. I figured if we let it play out it would have been a disaster. She agreed with me. And that’s all she wrote.”

  “And then you tagged and bagged everything that moved.” I sneak a quick glance his way. “Tilly filled me in on all the dirty deets. I’m not judging you. It was your right.”

  “That’s an awfully crude estimate, but surprisingly accurate. But I’m done with that now.”

  Shoot. No sooner does Sexy Wexy put the goods on lockdown than I wander into town.

  “Good to know.” I glower over at Pixie who’s currently seated on the edge of the sofa watching the two of us as if we were her nightly entertainment.

  “So who do you think left the note? I’m thinking it’s someone you know well. Like your ex, maybe?”

  “Johnny?” I spin around and inadvertently end my spontaneous rubdown from the good detective. “But I turned him in. Isn’t he behind bars by now?”

  Shep shakes his head. “He made bail. But don’t get too worked up over it. The envelope it came in was mint green—and the handwriting? That belongs to a woman.”

  “Let me see it again.”

  Shep pulls out his phone, and I frown. “It’s written in block letters. Any block head could have done that.”

  “Maybe. But look at the A. It’s a bit flowery. And the envelope, only a woman would choose that color. My guess is it’s from a female. Your mother, maybe?”

  “Unlikely. My mother is far too busy herding young men into her bedroom. She might not notice I’m missing until the gifts she gives me for Christmas remain unopened.”

  “Have you got a sister?”

  “My m
outh falls open. Aw? You think it’s Stephanie? I mean, we’re not close, but we’re not strangers. And, of course, my brother and I were close once, about ten years ago. But regardless of the bleak family picture I just painted, we always got together for Sunday dinner.” I sag at the thought. “I miss Sunday dinner.”

  Shep leans in with those blue eyes pinned to mine. “If it’s any consolation, I’ll let you cook for me on Sundays.”

  “So it’s a standing date.”

  “Call it what you want.” He rises to his feet, and so do I. “Great dinner. Thank you for that.”

  “Thanks for the massage. I’ll have a hearty meal ready this Sunday for you. Have I mentioned that I barter for body rubs?” I’ll leave which parts to his imagination.

  “It’s a deal I can live with.” He’s halfway out the door before he pauses and examines me one last time. “I’ll do my best to retrace where that letter came from. There wasn’t a return address, but I’ve got my ways.” He takes a full breath while his gaze drills into mine. “Don’t run, Bowie.”

  I nod, afraid to utter anything about my old life with that door wide open.

  “Night.” He nods my way before taking off.

  Shep doesn’t want me to run.

  Everything in me says I should.

  But everything in me knows I won’t.

  Is Shep Wexler the reason I’ve nailed my feet to Starry Falls?

  Is he worth the risk of serving hard time?

  I’m afraid the answer to both is a strong maybe.

  Chapter 7

  “We can’t only serve lasagna,” Regina howls at me in the middle of the Manor Café. Her hair is pulled back into a ponytail and her lips are a bright cherry red—a shade I’ve never quite been able to pull off—and don’t for a minute think I’m not envious.

  “We don’t only serve lasagna. It just turns out it’s a really big hit,” I say as I make my way behind the register. It’s the middle of the afternoon and Regina has spent the last few hours testing my authority every which way. I’d like to think her controlling nature is simply a castoff of the fact she used to be the manager, but I’d be sorely wrong. “Look, I know you were the manager up until a few months ago and—”