by Annie Knox
“Mmmm,” Rena hummed, making her way toward the plate of goodies, her eyes never wavering from her prey.
Her lips twisted in an indulgent smile, Pris set the hatbox on the counter as well. She popped off the lid and began lifting out its contents.
“We have more crepe paper, because I don’t imagine we can reuse the paper from Ingrid’s would-be wedding. I have the tiny bottles of bubbles for the humans to use after the ceremony is over.”
That had been my idea. I couldn’t wait to watch the dogs all lose their minds chasing the bubbles around the store. I would have to hide all the breakables—and Jinx.
“Finally, I have a CD of the music Louise and Hetty picked out. ‘Puppy Love’ leads the list and Elvis’s ‘Hound Dog’ ends the show. Very clever, those two little ladies.”
I ran my fingers over the ridges of one of the bubble wands. “For the first time, I feel like this is going to work.”
Pris laughed softly. “You’re so trusting, Izzy. Any number of things can go horribly wrong. The bride or groom may pee at the altar. One of the four-legged guests may devour the cake before the service starts. Or try to devour a guest. Cats are quite refined, but dogs are rambunctious and unpredictable.”
I managed to keep my eyes from rolling. Pris was the definition of cynical. “If we do our parts, I’m sure the dogs will do theirs. Let’s not borrow trouble.”
Pris shrugged as she took one dainty bit of a pecan twist. She’d barely taken off a corner of the pastry, but she set it back in its box and picked up a paper napkin to remove the crumbs from her fingers. No wonder she was still as skinny as her high school beauty queen self.
“I’ve got to get back to work,” Rena said around a mouthful of her second bear claw.
As she skipped back toward the barkery, I saw an opening, and on impulse, I took it. “Speaking of trouble, how are things going with the real estate development that Hal is working on?”
If it had been any other wife in the world, I wouldn’t have bothered asking. But Pris made no bones about the fact that her husband was uncouth and a little dense. She stayed in the marriage because he also happened to be filthy rich, and she had signed a prenup before they got hitched.
She narrowed her eyes. “Fine, I guess. I haven’t been out to the site. I don’t do wilderness and marshes and such. But Hal hasn’t mentioned any problems. Why do you ask?”
“Oh, nothing really. I just thought that Hal might be a little overextended between managing the building site, helping Ken with his new restaurant, and keeping up with sales at the RV lot.”
Pris’s lips curled in a feline smile. “Tsk, tsk, tsk, Izzy. Surely there’s no need for pretense between us. I’ve already told you that I would like nothing more than for my husband to get caught with a mistress. After an admission like that, secrets seem inappropriate.”
I studied Pris’s face for a moment, looking for some hint that she was being disingenuous, but she looked as honest and forthright as Pris ever looked. Maybe I could just come right out and ask my questions.
“Look, I was out walking the dogs by the lake, and I couldn’t help but notice that there didn’t seem to be much activity, so I wondered if maybe Hal was having a little cash flow issue.”
Pris tipped her head back and laughed.
“Oh dear,” she said as she dabbed at the corners of her eyes. “Oh my.”
Her response wasn’t quite what I was hoping for. In annoyance, I started playing with the fringe of a red crocheted poncho that I hadn’t set out for display yet.
“Gracious, Izzy. That’s too funny. No, we are not having money problems. You should know better than anyone that if the cash was drying up chez Olson, I would be skating out of there faster than Apolo Ohno.”
She had a point.
“No, when Hal told me he wanted in on this project, I set a very precise spending limit. He was not to spend a penny past his limit, and he knows better than to try to sneak something past me. Besides, Hal is a dolt most of the time, but he has good business sense. He’s way too savvy to sink a chunk of his working capital into a real estate deal. Not as volatile as that market has been over the past few years.”
Pris was usually so surface—perfect face, perfect clothes, perfect hair—that I tended to forget how smart and savvy she really was. She clearly had a strong grasp of her husband’s business and finances.
“Anyway, he had a budget, and he’s just about hit the limit.”
“So are they going to just stop building? Leave those half-finished condos there?”
As bad as the condos would be for the view of the lake, a scattering of half-finished buildings slowly being reclaimed by the forest would be an even bigger eyesore. Richard would have a cow.
“Oh heavens, no. He’s just regrouping by bringing in some additional investors.”
I tried to think of who in Merryville had the kind of cash to keep the development moving. If there were any more solvent Harpers in town, that family could probably help. As it was, though, they were all dead, in jail, or living in warmer climes.
“Who?” I asked. I hadn’t meant to ask the question out loud, and could feel myself blush as soon as the word left my mouth.
Pris laughed again. “I promise you—you wouldn’t know them. And they prefer to remain silent partners. Very silent, if you catch my meaning.”
I wasn’t a hundred percent sure I caught her meaning. Maybe just about ninety-five percent sure.
“Well, listen,” Pris said, placing the lid back on her now-empty hatbox. “This has been delightful. I’m always intrigued by your little theories, Izzy. But I’m afraid I have to boogie. I have peonies to pick out and a business to run.”
She left without looking back, nothing but a pageant wave over her shoulder to say good-bye.
I hadn’t heard Rena creeping back into the room, but she suddenly yelled “Booyah!”
“What?” I snapped, startled.
“I was right. ‘Very silent partners.’ That means the mob. I knew Daniel had something to do with the mob,” she crowed.
“You thought he was a crime boss. I didn’t hear anything in there that suggested Daniel was a made man.”
“Oh, come on. Don’t be a stickler. This all makes perfect sense. Daniel was up here investigating the mob connection to the Olson development. Maybe he wasn’t a member of the mob, but his reason for being here had to do with organized crime.” She bounced up and down in excitement. “Xander and Lucy may have been right about him being a journalist, but I was right about the mob connection, too.”
I began stashing the supplies Pris had delivered in the cupboards behind the counter.
“You’re making some pretty big leaps here, Rena. First, you don’t know whether Hal is really getting into bed with the mob. And, even if he is, we don’t know that Daniel was aware of that connection. Why would Daniel feel compelled to watch the construction site if he was really interested in who financed it?”
Rena plopped down to sit tailor-style on the floor. On cue, Jinx jumped off the top of the wardrobe—her second-favorite napping spot—did a downward dog stretch, and crept onto Rena’s lap—her favorite napping spot.
“It makes perfect sense. If Daniel was investigating organized crime in Madison and he caught wind that the mob was investing in the Badger Lake development, it would explain why he moved up here. As for spending time at the development site, maybe he suspected something other than building was going on down there. Or maybe he was staking out the place in the hopes of catching one of the mob guys visiting the site.”
My punk pixie friend was a smart cookie. It was all pure conjecture, but this was a better explanation for why Daniel would be in Merryville and haunting the shores of Badger Lake than anything I’d come up with.
* * *
I called Sean and asked him to perform his legal mumbo jumbo to figure out who wa
s investing in The Woods at Badger Lake other than Hal Olson. Sean had a client to meet, so he told us it would probably be a couple of hours. Sean ran a general practice, willing to handle all kinds of cases. Divorces, DUIs, and minor assaults (read: bar fights) were his bread and butter. Given the raised voices I heard in the background, I was guessing he was working on a divorce case.
While Rena and I waited for Sean to call back, our lives slipped out of investigator mode and into entrepreneurial mode. Rena got to work trying a new flavor of pupcake—an apple-carrot creation with a maple glaze. I spent about half an hour on the phone with a woman from Duluth who made jewelry out of Lake Superior agates. We were discussing the possibility of her making collar dangles with the stones, so they would serve as pet adornments and as souvenirs of a family trip to Minnesota.
After reaching an agreement about a trial run of ten dangles, I quickly said my good-byes so I could wait on the genuine customer who had walked through the door.
She was a stately woman with straight black hair framing a face as bloodless as marble. She wore a camel-colored turtleneck and a pair of deep brown trousers, her outfit set off by a massive topaz pendant that rested right on the crest of her bosom. She carried with her a black patent bag. A sleek feline head poked out of the bag, a Burmese by the looks of her slender skull and chocolate fur.
“Welcome to Trendy Tails. Can I help you?”
“Perhaps,” the woman said. “My name is Pamela Rawlins, and I’m on the board for the Midwestern Cat Fancier Organization. Tonga, here, and I are visiting Merryville to determine whether it might be a good fit for next year’s Cat Fancier Retreat. I’m visiting the pet-related businesses in the area.
“It seems you have two.” She concluded her introduction by pursing her lips and tilting her head at the exact angle as her feline friend Tonga.
My heart began to race. She was right. Merryville had two pet-related businesses, but having the retreat here would be incredible exposure for our businesses and the whole town.
“True. We’re a small town. But Pris, from Prissy’s Pretty Pets, and I have coordinated on several large events, and we make a pretty dynamic duo. Plus, Merryville has so much to offer your human guests: pet-friendly hotels and cabin rentals, great restaurants, and beautiful scenery.”
Pamela narrowed her eyes. “You sound like you work for the town’s convention bureau.”
That was good, because I was ninety-eight percent certain that Merryville didn’t actually have a convention bureau.
“For now,” she continued, “we’re just looking around. I thought I might pick up a little something for Tonga.”
“Let me show you a few of my newest items.”
I led Pamela around the store, pointing out an exquisite silver acorn dangle that Jolly had made, a hand-studded collar in an aqua blue that would really set off Tonga’s fur, and a few sundresses. I caught sight of Jinx on the top of her armoire, lazy eyes following every move Tonga made around the store. Tonga, too, kept her eyes on Jinx. I felt like Pamela and I were standing in a Cold War demilitarized zone, just waiting for someone on either side to fire the first bullet.
The visit ended without any cat melee, and Pamela ended up buying both the acorn dangle and the collar, a nice sale for me and hopefully a good sign that the organization would give us fair consideration.
Rena popped out of the kitchen in all her dive bar glory, causing Pamela to shrink back and hold on to her cat carrier a little tighter. But when Rena smiled her contagious smile and offered Tonga a bag of freshly baked salmon crackers, Pamela softened a bit.
“It’s been a pleasure meeting you,” I called as she left. She didn’t respond, but I tried not to let that dampen my enthusiasm.
“Can you even imagine having a cat fancier retreat right here in Merryville?”
Rena let out a low whistle. “That would be the bomb.”
Just then the phone rang, and I snatched it up, eager to tell someone else about our visit from Pamela Rawlins, but it was Sean and he had even more important news.
“It looks like the incorporation papers for The Woods, Inc., have recently been updated to show a new partner. Something called Ma Pa, Unlimited. I’ve searched the Web high and low, and I can’t find a trace of this corporation anywhere.”
“So it really could be a mob front.”
Sean hedged. “Well, it could be. But there are a lot of other reasons that people set up shell corporations for the purposes of conducting business.”
“But you’d think you’d find something about them out there on the Internet.”
“Yes, it’s a little strange, but I still don’t think you should go jumping to conclusions.”
I didn’t want to jump to conclusions. I wanted to wade right into the thick of things and find the truth.
CHAPTER
Eleven
I formulated my plan for the rest of the day while I sucked down another cup of joe and nibbled on a grocery store toaster pastry . . . my go-to meal for every occasion. Rena had popped out to take her dad to his podiatrist appointment, so she wouldn’t be back for at least an hour, which gave me plenty of time to savor the slightly dry pastry, the overly sweet filling, and the shellac of icing that covered the whole thing. With the exception of cheese puffs and ice cream, my kitchen-savvy friend had little patience for prepackaged food. But, for me, ripping open the shiny silver wrapper of overly processed sugar brought fond memories of eating “brunch” with Sean and Rena during our third-period study hall.
I’d just popped the last piece of pastry in my mouth when the bell above the front door tinkled. I quickly swept the crumbs and wrapper from my lunch into a trash can and managed to form a tight-lipped smile around the last bite of strawberry preserves.
When I saw it was just Lucy and Xander, I promptly chewed and swallowed. No need to hide my sweet tooth from my sister.
Lucy stretched her face forward and sniffed three times. “What is that? Strawberry. Strawberry Toasties! I want one.”
Reluctantly, I pulled the box from behind the counter and let her grab a silver package. I offered the box to Xander, and he was raising his hand to accept my offer, but Lucy butted in. “We’ll share.”
Xander sighed and his expression of boyish disappointment brought a laugh that I worked hard to suppress. There was no doubt about it. Lucy was bossy. Actually, so was Dru, but in a very different way. Lucy took for granted that her vision of the way the world was and how it ought to be was the correct vision. She had no qualms about telling people they should or shouldn’t eat something, that they had pitiful personalities, or even that their butts looked fat in their jeans.
Poor, passive Xander didn’t stand a chance. It was the one fear I had for their relationship: that Xander would get swallowed up in Lucy’s massive ego and we’d never see the boy again.
Lucy broke off a piece of her pastry and handed it to Xander.
“I’ve decided that Xander needs a dog,” she announced.
I glanced at Xander for confirmation that he wanted a dog, but he just shrugged and took a bite of the Toasty.
“Why does Xander need a dog? He’s already got George.” George was Xander’s iguana. She—yes, she . . . she was named after George Eliot—was still the brilliant green of youth, and would likely live another seventeen to eighteen years. She was a whole lot of pet, her cage taking up much of a spare bedroom in the apartment above Spin Doctor.
“George shmeorge. You can’t cuddle with an iguana.”
“Not true,” Xander piped up. “I’ve told you before, she likes to sleep around my neck, and she practically purrs when I stroke her head.”
“I don’t believe you. The only sign of sentience that I’ve seen is that she tries to avoid the carpet.”
“And I keep telling you that iguanas are very territorial. You’re a threat. She won’t let her guard down when you’re in the
apartment.”
Hmmm. Lucy had been in Xander’s apartment. He was a shy and private young man. Getting into his apartment was the near equivalent to getting him to utter the “L” word.
“Still, I think you need a dog and Izzy has one that needs a home.” Lucy faced me and batted her eyelashes. “Could Xander meet Daisy?”
While I was certain that Xander and Daisy had crossed paths in the past, they’d never really gotten a chance to interact. I saw the color drain from Xander’s face, but I really did need to get rid of Daniel’s dog, and I knew I could trust Xander to take good care of her.
I pulled a bag of treats off one of the shelves behind the counter and gave it a good shake. Packer, Daisy, and even Jinx came running. I gave everyone a couple of treats, and they all hunkered down to gobble them up. Jinx was the slowest, but when Daisy tried to sidle up and horn in on Jinx’s snack, the cat managed to keep chewing while letting out a high-pitched keening sound that sent Daisy stumbling back. Packer glanced up, but he knew better than to try to steal food from my massive Norwegian forest cat.
“Go ahead, Xander. Play with the dog.”
“Lucy,” I snapped, suddenly channeling my mother.
She rolled her eyes. “Please play with the dog.”
Xander dropped to his haunches and Daisy promptly came to sit before him. He scratched her ears, and she leaned in for the pet. He stroked her head, and she licked his hand. They went through the rituals of nice man meets nice dog, but I could tell there was no love connection there.
“See,” Lucy said. “They’re a perfect match.”
Xander looked up at me with an imploring gaze.
I sighed. I wanted to find Daisy a home, but this wasn’t it. “I don’t think it’s a good idea, Lucy. I appreciate your interest, Xander”—ensuring he would not catch the fallout later—“but like Xander said, iguanas are very territorial. They also have long sharp claws and tails that can be used to bludgeon other animals. I don’t think it would be safe for either Daisy or George to share the same space.”
Lucy snorted. “You just don’t want to give up the dog.”
