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

by Addison Moore

  “Are you girls nuts?” I traipse over on my tiptoes as if that made this little breaking and entering escapade any better. “Why on earth did you bring that chicken in here?”

  “Because we’re hungry.” Tilly takes an aggressive bite into a juicy looking thigh, and it takes all of my strength not to join in on the impromptu picnic we seem to be having.

  “Keep an ear out for the housekeeper, would you?” I hiss as I head to the desk and in no time bring her computer to life—surfing her client files with ease until I hit Hathaway, Wallace.

  Several portfolios pop up, but it’s the file marked Hathaway Foundation that I click into. The screen populates once again, and I note an entire column dedicated to donations.

  “Bingo,” I whisper to myself as I quickly snap a picture of the screen.

  I go as far back as I can, snapping away while Tilly regales us with stories of her naughty night with Jackson Mortimer.

  “Wait,” I say as I’m momentarily disrupted from studying Wallace Hathaway’s philanthropic endeavors. “Did you say barbeque sauce? As in the condiment?”

  “That’s right.” Tilly nods just as Regina rattles her by the arm and begs her to continue.

  I do the same, scouring these donations. Most of these seem on the up and up. Money is thrown at museums, other foundations, libraries, schools, and art centers. But about once a month, a donation of exactly ten thousand dollars is sent to Madeline Swanson.

  Huh. That’s strange. I mean, if she’s an employee, wouldn’t she be paid through payroll? Or maybe this is the way they did it? But ten thousand dollars a month? If that’s what Wallace was offering Madeline to give away his money, boy, am I in the wrong line of work.

  I scroll to the bottom and, sure enough, there’s that half a million dollar donation. It reads, BD Goober, Inc. And it’s dated exactly a week before Madeline was murdered. I bet she was going to get a nice cut out of that, too. You don’t get raised by mobsters without understanding that you get a cut out of every deal.

  I wonder what BD stands for?

  The door to the office flies open and a harrowing scream ignites as a woman in a flirty pink maid’s outfit belts out an impromptu aria. Honestly, she’s not half bad.

  Tilly and Regina hop to their feet and start in on the howling fun, chicken goes flying, and I try my best to scramble from behind the desk.

  “I’m calling the police!” the woman shouts before leaving and shutting us into the room once again.

  “The police!” Tilly howls. “I can’t get arrested. I don’t want a record.”

  “You already have a record,” Regina snips. “It’s me I’m worried about.” She tosses the bucket to the floor and at least eight good pieces scatter. “Let’s make a run for it.” She starts for the door, and I block her.

  “That woman might have a gun,” I say. “Let’s try the window.”

  We make a run for the window, and for the life of me, we can’t get it open.

  “I can’t get it to budge,” Tilly cries. “My fingers are too greasy. This is all your fault, Regina!”

  Regina growls right at her. “This is Bowie’s fault, you nitwit. Ever since she came into Starry Falls, people have been dropping like flies and getting arrested. The law of probability has dictated this is our turn. That’s what we get for tagging along on one of her illegal adventures. Let this be a lesson to you, Tilly. The next time Opal wants to hire a stranger, feel free to shoot on sight.”

  “Enough talk about killing me,” I say, dropping to my knees. I’m about to scoop up the chicken before we storm our way out of here—I’d hate to leave a greasy pile of poultry behind in Kelly’s office. I grab the bucket and spot a single leg still rolling around the bottom, and without putting too much thought into it, I pull it out and take a huge bite. I can’t help it. I’ve always been an emotional eater.

  The door swings open and, oh my word—

  “Bowie?” Shepherd Wexler thunders, and suffice it to say, he looks more than a little startled to see me. His sister runs in behind him, as does his brother, Lee. “Are you eating chicken?”

  “Shep!” Tilly and Regina cry out at once.

  “I can explain everything,” I say as I struggle to rise to my feet.

  Kelly groans hard. “Why does it look like a fried chicken piñata went off in my office?”

  Lee, Shep’s look-alike hot blue-collar brother, starts in on a dark laugh.

  “Nice seeing you again, Bowie.” He shakes his head. “Shep was just telling us what a handful you’ve been since you blew into town when Kelly got the call from the security company.”

  Kelly narrows her eyes my way. “I’m going to have the three of you arrested and your little chicken, too!”

  It takes a half hour of shouting for Shep to convince his sister and the sheriff’s deputies who arrive on the scene that this was all a big clucking misunderstanding—only Shep’s language was a bit saltier.

  Tilly, Regina, and I pick the place clean of any fried offenses, and within an hour we’re all back safely in Starry Falls.

  Shep stares hard at me from across the sofa as I hold Pixie back in my cabin.

  “Start at the beginning,” he says, unamused as to any of the shenanigans that unfolded this evening. He told me so himself on the drive home.

  Tilly drove Regina home, even though Regina insisted on riding shotgun in Shep’s truck but he outright refused her. But it was the first time I would have gladly acquiesced my spot to her. Needless to say, Shep was in a mood all the way back to the cabin. And not a good one.

  “So I had this idea,” I say, scooting in close and pulling Pixie into my lap.

  “That’s where you went wrong,” he deadpans. “The next time you have an idea, you should run the other way. Bake a cake. Bake a lasagna. Take a nip off of Opal’s arsenal of comfort. But for God’s sake, do not deep dive into any vagrant notion that might pop into your mind.”

  I scoff over at him. “Are you saying I have bad ideas?”

  “I’m saying you have dangerous ideas. You’re the one who called them bad.” He nods. “But I’d go with that if I were you.”

  “I’d say something snarky right back, but I know what side my legal toast is buttered on. Thank you for sparing me the clinker.”

  “The clinker is still hungry to have you, in the event you haven’t noticed. I would think your Uncle Vinnie would frown on your recent breaking and entering effort. And I’m going out on a limb to say, I bet he wouldn’t be too thrilled about you interfering in one homicide investigation after another.”

  “He wouldn’t be too thrilled I let a homicide detective slash thriller writer in on my secret past either, but you don’t see me berating myself for it.”

  Shep inches back, a smile forming on his lips.

  “Okay, you got me. What did you find in Kelly’s office other than a bucket of golden fried chicken?”

  Pixie lets out a sharp mewl at the thought of a tasty bird.

  “Madeline Swanson was up to no good.” I whip out my phone and show Shep the records that indicate Madeline Swanson was taking a donation for herself to the tune of ten grand before we look at the much heftier one she sent Kiera.

  Shep shakes his head. “The night of the murder, I could have sworn Kiera and Madeline weren’t getting along.”

  “They weren’t, which makes this donation that much more dicier.”

  “All right, Detective Binx.” Shep lands those Siberian husky cool blue eyes my way. “Who are your suspects and why?”

  “Ooh.” I lean in. “Why do I feel like you’re flirting with me?”

  “Because justice is your love language.”

  “Something like that,” I say as Pixie traipses over into his lap. “First up, Kiera Hillerman. She’s the owner of Goober, Inc., a very successful start-up that bilks millions of innocent people out of hard-earned dollars with overpriced stuff. The night of the murder, Kiera was the one who warned me to keep an eye out on my boyfriend around Madeline. And, not only was
she the one who volunteered to get a round of drinks for her friends, but the mask she was wearing that night was made of peacock feathers. And we both know what we found attached to the hem of Madeline’s dress.”

  He nods. “A peacock feather.”

  “Not to mention she runs a company that has a lab. She had access to cyanide if you ask me. And Kiera heavily implied that Madeline had stolen one of her boyfriends, or at least had her way with him.” That vision I had of Kiera informing Lucas—“Nobody tells me what to do. I should have done this the very first night and saved myself the trouble”—comes back to me. It hasn’t come true yet. I bet it comes true right as I’m about to bust her for murder. “Kiera has the motive and the means to pull it off.”

  “I’d tend to agree. Who else?”

  “Sophia?” I shrug. “She claims to have been running Jackson’s social media empire up until Madeline died and then she stepped into Madeline’s shoes to help with her father’s foundation. Madeline was sleeping with Sophia’s boyfriend, Parker, but then Sophia was sleeping with Madeline’s boyfriend, Lucas. I have a feeling the rich and infamous don’t live by the same rules as the rest of us. Sophia mentioned something about having an open relationship with Parker.” The night of the murder comes back to me in jags. “Sophia is the one that told me about Madeline stealing Parker’s youth serum and selling it to his competitor. I guess all of those billionaires who thought it was a good idea to cut their kids off at the financial knees once they hit twenty-five had no idea the younger set would resort to a life of crime. Anyway, Sophia said Parker was furious about his life’s work being sold to the highest bidder. He’s definitely a contender.” I lift a finger. “I just had a thought. Right after Madeline collapsed, Sophia all but accused Kiera. She said she knew Kiera would take things too far. She’s definitely a contender, too.”

  “Duly noted. What about Lucas?”

  “Lucas Lane,” I say, plucking Pixie back and holding her close. “The night Madeline died—I saw him watching her coldly from a distance before one of his pals pulled him over and then the waterworks started. I wasn’t buying it. But that doesn’t mean I think he’s the killer either. Madeline was cheating on him, but he was cheating on her, too.”

  “We can’t rule him out. If he caught her being unfaithful, he still has a viable motive.”

  “Agree.” I sweep my gaze over Shepherd Wexler’s handsome face. “So, are you going to the mourning mixer tomorrow evening at the Hathaway estate?”

  Shep lifts his head a notch, and yet his eyes remain trained on mine.

  “It sounds as if you’re breaking our date for tomorrow.”

  For the life of me, I can’t figure out if he’s being sarcastic or not.

  “Huh”—I say—“I was so thrown off that you took me up on my offer, I forgot all about Jackson’s mixer.”

  “So did I.” He looks momentarily dejected. “Do me a favor. Don’t talk to any of the suspects tomorrow night. Nora and I will be there. Let us do the heavy lifting. You’ve done enough, Bowie. You risked it all tonight. If I hadn’t shown up, you might have found yourself in a jail cell along with Tilly and Regina.”

  “Being trapped in a cage with Regina sounds like a fate worse than both the feds and the mob could dream up.”

  His chest bounces with a dry laugh as he stands, and I walk him out.

  “Goodnight, Bowie.” He gives Pixie a gentle pat to the head. “Sleep tight, both of you.” He glances down at the diamonds dripping from my wrist. “Any luck trying to figure out who gave that to you?”

  “None,” I say, wriggling it off and holding it between us. “But I’m guessing the feds are out.”

  “Have you checked it for an inscription?”

  “Pfft,” I say, turning it over. “Nobody inscribes jewelry anymore.” I hold it under the light and, sure enough, a small gold disc dangles from the lobster clasp with the initials S.S. inscribed in a flowery font. “S.S.?” I look up at Shep in wonder. “Those are my initials. But I don’t get it. I’ve never seen this bracelet before. Oh my God!” I strangle it with my fist in horror. “Johnny must have sent this. He figured out where I was. It doesn’t matter if he’s sitting in a prison cell. He’s probably got his buddies in the Moretti family doing his diamond dirty work.”

  Shep shakes his head. “I don’t know. The guy is awaiting trial for stealing from the government and the Morettis. His finances have been frozen. The thought of him sending you diamonds seems a bit of a stretch. It almost seems like a nice gesture. As if the sender wants you to hock it if you need a little spare change. Do you know anyone else with those initials? Your mother?”

  And then it hits me.

  “My sister.”

  Chapter 15

  Wallace Hathaway’s estate is comprised of lush rambling acres. There’s a pond out back where the guests congregate, twinkle lights strewn in every maple and oak, and it affords a magical appeal on this brisk fall evening. Pumpkins dot the periphery of the pond along with oversized terracotta pots filled with amber-colored mums. Mammoth white tents house lengthy tables that play host to rows and rows of shiny silver chafing dishes, each one brimming with something delicious to fill our stomachs.

  Tilly and I showed up with Opal, each one of us in our Saturday night social finery. For Tilly that amounts to a fitted denim blue dress that hardly covers her rear, for me a simple red number that cuts off just above my knee, and for Opal an entire buffet of chainmail, fishnets, leather, and lace. And as if that jumble of mix and match materials wasn’t enough, she’s donned a pearl choker, and brooch in the shape of a black widow.

  You have to give it to Opal. While some insist less is more, she screams more is never enough.

  The old me could really get behind her materialistic motto. The new me is too broke to even think about it.

  Jackson Mortimer strides out of the shadows with a dangerous smile on his lips, and if I’m not mistaken, it’s all for Tilly.

  “Ladies,” he says without taking his eyes off of her. “Mother, Bowie—pleasant to see you.” He tucks a kiss to the nape of Tilly’s neck. “Ms. Teasdale, you are sublime.”

  “Hear that?” I elbow Opal in the ribs. “He called her sublime. Who knows? You might just get another family member out of this deal.”

  “Ooh, speaking of family members.” Opal yanks open the giant tote bag strapped to her shoulders and plucks out a fuzzy white Himalayan that glows like winter snow. “Aggie wanted to come along, and I couldn’t say no.” She strokes the sweet angel over the back, and I do the same.

  “Aggie!” I land a kiss to her fuzzy forehead. “Fancy meeting you here. I wish I thought to bring Pixie.”

  Opal lifts a brow my way and I quickly point in the opposite direction.

  “I think I see the dessert table. Excuse me, calories are calling.”

  The dessert tent is lit up with pink and purple twinkle lights, giving each of the sweet treats heaped over silver platters an ethereal glow. I make my way to the chocolate chip cookies and begin scooping them up by the handful and shoving them into my mouth. I’ve never been a dainty eater. I don’t see why I should start now.

  “Well, well”—Regina Valentine pops up in a pretty pink dress that looks more like a negligée—“if it isn’t the banana cake bandit. After shoving your face into that eight-inch round double layer cake, I’m shocked you have room for more. You’re not eating for two, are you?” She scowls my way. “Don’t tell me you’ve made Shep a father so soon in your negligible relationship.”

  “What are you rambling about?” I mumble through a mouthful. “First of all, Shep and I have yet to crest first base. Second of all, I’m not a fan of banana cake.” I swallow down the rest of my cookie. My sister Steph was the banana cake, bread, pudding, and pie fiend. The phallic fruit was a staple in what she called her dumped depository. Steph has gone through more men than the United States Marines. And she’s had about as many broken hearts, too, thus the food bank she kept on hand to aid in healing her next heartbreak
.

  Regina squints over at me. “How did you get your hair dark again so fast?”

  “Again, what are you talking about? I’d check you for a fever, but I highly doubt your delirium has anything to do with your body temperature.”

  “Your hair, you dyed it a brassy shade of blonde. I told you I hated it and you told me where to go using an entire barrage of four-letter words.” A husky laugh emits from her as if she enjoyed the salty exchange, and I’m betting she did.

  “Regina, I’ve never had blonde hair. My sis—” I stop cold. My sister looks like my twin, save for her brassy self-induced highlights.

  I glance down to the tennis bracelet on my wrist and gasp.

  “Calm down.” Regina strides past me and begins loading up on chocolate chip cookies herself. “I won’t tell Opal about the dessert heist. Besides, I like having something over you.”

  I stagger away from the tent, sucking in as much fresh night air as possible.

  Steph is here. Well, not here in Sterling Lake at the Hathaway compound, but she’s in Starry Falls.

  “Psst!”

  The sharp hiss emits from my left and I spot a glowing face near a hedge of bushes. A woman steps out from the shadows, and that shock of brassy blonde hair, that familiar face, leaves me frozen solid with fear.

  “Stephanie?” I hiss back as I trot on over and, sure enough, it’s my sweet little sis—alive and in the flesh.

  We wrap our arms around one another so tight it feels as if we’re about to meld into one.

  I pull back and grab her by the shoulders.

  “What in the hell are you doing here?” I give her a little rattle. “You’re going to get us both killed.”

  Steph makes a face and it’s like looking in a mirror. Although I’ve always thought her nose was a little more pert than mine, but she’s never agreed with me about that. She’s never agreed with me on just about anything.

  “I’m not getting us killed.” She quickly wipes away a few errant tears. “I went up to see Daddy last month, and he told me you called. He thought he knew where you might be and he was right.” She shrugs. “Uncle Vinnie got that cute pillow you made. He showed it to Mom, Lorenzo, and me. We’ve all been worried sick.”