Escape Claws

by Linda Reilly

  Cover Copy

  Here, killer, killer, killer…

  For the first time in sixteen years, Lara Caphart has returned to her hometown of Whisker Jog, New Hampshire. She wants to reconnect with her estranged aunt Fran, who’s having some difficulty looking after herself—and her eleven cats. Taking care of a clowder of kitties is easy, but keeping Fran from being harassed by local bully Theo Barnes is hard. The wealthy builder has his sights set on Fran’s property, and is determined to make her an offer she doesn’t dare refuse.

  Then Lara spots a blue-eyed Ragdoll cat that she swears is the reincarnation of her beloved Blue, her childhood pet. Pursuing the feline to the edge of Fran’s yard, she stumbles upon the body of Theo Barnes, clearly a victim of foul play. To get her and Fran off the suspect list, Lara finds herself following the cat’s clues in search of a killer. Is Blue’s ghost really trying to help her solve a murder, or has Lara inhaled too much catnip?

  ESCAPE CLAWS

  A Cat Lady Mystery

  Linda Reilly

  LYRICAL PRESS

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  www.kensingtonbooks.com

  Lyrical Press books are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp. 119 West 40th Street New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2017 by Linda Reilly

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

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  First Electronic Edition: December 2017

  eISBN-13: 978-1-5161-0416-1

  eISBN-10: 1-5161-0416-1

  First Print Edition: December 2017

  ISBN-13: 978-1-5161-0419-2

  ISBN-10: 1-5161-0419-6

  Printed in the United States of America

  Dedication

  In loving memory of my dad, Unico “Mike” Gregory

  Acknowledgments

  A huge thank-you goes to my agent, Jessica Faust, whose enthusiasm for the Cat Lady mysteries helped bring this series to fruition. Jessica, thank you for pushing me until I got it right!

  To my editor, Martin Biro, for taking a chance on me and on the series. Your insightful suggestions were spot on! You helped make the book come together in the best way possible.

  To my fabulous former coworkers, Mary Newman and Chris Newman, thank you for lending your names to the story. I had fun shaping your personalities, and hope you’ll enjoy what I did with them!

  To Maureen Nix and Stephan Nix, land surveyors extraordinaire, I can’t imagine how I would have described the disturbance of the boundary marker without your expert advice. Any errors, whether accidental or by design, are mine alone.

  To Jenny Kales, whose keen eye and passion for cozies helped me fine-tune the manuscript, I owe a million thanks.

  Most of all, to all those who have made the world a happier and better place by loving cats, this is for you.

  Cast of Feline Characters

  CallieA gray-and-white long-haired kitten, still wary of humans

  LunaCallie’s shy sister, a gray-and-white kitten, the pink dot on her nose giving her an extra touch of adorable

  IzzyA cuddly calico with an ever-quizzical expression, she loves curling up with her sibling atop Lara’s bedspread

  PicklesIzzy’s calico sister, who has a penchant for chewing strands of Lara’s hair

  TwinklesAn orange-striped tiger cat with big gold eyes, he’s fond of snoozing with his best bud Dolce

  BallouA black, short-haired feral with a darling white mustache, his fear of people is slowly fading

  MunsterA striped orange male, he’s the sociable, unofficial greeter of all human visitors

  DolceLong-haired and solid black, he’s as sweet as his name, a lovable lap cat

  BootsieSlender and gray, she’s the cuddly mom to Lilybee and Cheetah

  LilybeeWhite with black markings, this kitten has developed a serious crush on the chief of police

  CheetahLilybee’s gray-spotted brother, he’s usually first at the food bowls in the morning

  BlueAn elusive Ragdoll with a fluffy coat and azure eyes, she’s been around since Lara was a girl. Or has she?

  Chapter 1

  Lara Caphart paused at the foot of the wide porch steps and stared up at the old Folk Victorian. She was startled, and oddly relieved, at how little the place had changed. The white wicker settee still sat on the wraparound porch, its colorful cushions now sun faded. A hanging planter, devoid of any foliage, dangled from a metal hook in front of the green-shuttered window.

  She glanced over the yard she hadn’t laid eyes on since she was eleven. The lawn was a bit unkempt, and the shrubs along the base of the porch needed tending. Lara easily recalled the days when Aunt Fran had kept everything trimmed and tidy—postcard pretty, in fact.

  Heart thwacking against her chest, Lara slowly climbed the steps. Could it really be sixteen years since she’d seen her aunt? She tapped her knuckles on the wooden doorframe, lightly at first, then with a tad more vigor. After a wait of at least two minutes, the door creaked open. She took an involuntary step backward. “Aunt… Aunt Fran?” she asked with a slight gasp.

  The woman clutching the doorframe in one hand and a gray-spotted kitten in the other tottered sideways. “Well, if it isn’t the prodigal niece, returning to her roots. To what do I owe the pleasure? Did someone tell you I was dying?”

  All at once, Lara felt tongue-tied. She didn’t need a psychic to tell her that her aunt was in trouble. It was etched, like cut glass, in the hollows beneath her aunt’s green eyes—eyes that at one time had looked at Lara as if she were the niftiest thing since peanut butter on toast.

  “No. I, um…”

  “I suppose Sherry called you about my knee problems,” Fran Clarkson said, a bit more softly. “I can’t imagine why else you’d have driven all the way up here from Boston.” With a sigh and a slump of her thin shoulders, she opened the screen door. “You may as well come in.”

  “Thank you.” Lara stepped inside the once-familiar kitchen, a room where luscious aromas like cinnamon, apple, and cloves once lingered in every corner. But today a sour smell permeated Lara’s senses—an odor she’d never before associated with her aunt. According to Sherry Bowker, Lara’s bestie when she was a kid, some of the folks in town had begun calling Aunt Fran the crazy cat lady.

  At that moment, Lara noticed her aunt was grasping a cane in the hand that clung to the doorframe. Without a second thought, she cupped her hand firmly under her aunt’s upper arm and guided her to a padded chrome chair at the head of the Formica table. “Why don’t I take this little furball for a while?” Lara asked, gently removing the kitten from her aunt’s hand.

  “Thank you,” her aunt said quietly. “That’s Cheetah you’re holding, if you’re interested.
”

  Lara felt herself bristling at the comment, but quelled her annoyance. “Of course I’m interested. Haven’t I always loved your cats?” All cats? She tucked Cheetah under her chin, reveling in the softness of the darling kitten.

  Aunt Fran’s eyes misted with a faraway look. “That you have,” she said. “You’d best set him down now. If he starts to get antsy, which he will, you’ll get a sample of his razor-sharp claws.”

  Very gently, Lara set Cheetah on the floor. The kitten scooted away toward the jumble of food bowls lined up near the sink.

  “I wasn’t expecting you,” her aunt said, her tone slightly accusatory. “I suppose I could make some tea—”

  Lara held up a hand. “Why don’t I take care of it, Aunt Fran? You sit for a while, okay?”

  Aunt Fran nodded her assent. Lara stripped off her faux-suede jacket and draped it over the back of a chair.

  It felt strange, rummaging through her aunt’s glass-front cabinets, the way she had as a child. She found the tea bags exactly where they’d always been—in a battered tin container advertising Hershey’s Cocoa.

  Within minutes, two cups of steaming tea sat on the table in front of them. To Lara’s delight, a thin gray cat leaped up from under the table and onto her lap. “Oh my, and who are you?” Grinning, she stroked the cat’s head and was rewarded with the revving of a purr engine.

  “That’s Bootsie.” Aunt Fran smiled wanly. “She’s Cheetah’s mom. Bootsie and her three-week-old babies were found by a state DPW worker on the side of Route Sixteen, tied inside a trash bag.” Her face darkened at the memory.

  “That’s terrible!” Lara said. “How did you manage to rescue them?”

  “The worker was one of my students, back in the day. He knew exactly where to bring those poor abandoned cats.”

  He sure did, Lara thought.

  “One of the kittens didn’t survive. But Cheetah and Lilybee were tough little darlings.”

  Another cat strolled in to check out the commotion—a long-haired black kitty who made a beeline for her aunt’s lap. “And this is Dolce,” Aunt Fran said, stroking the cat.

  “Which is the Italian word for sweet,” Lara piped in. “I live in the North End, above an Italian bakery. In fact, I work at the bakery part-time…in exchange for rent I can actually afford,” she added dryly. “My landlady owns the studio apartment upstairs.”

  Lara knew she was babbling, but she wasn’t even close to achieving a comfort level with her aunt. There was a time when they’d been as close as mother and daughter.

  “I see.” Aunt Fran stirred her tea thoughtfully. “I assume you’re still painting?”

  “I am,” Lara confirmed. “Mostly watercolors.” She took a sip from her teacup.

  For a long moment Aunt Fran was silent. Then, “So what are your plans? Are you here for any particular reason? Or is this just a casual visit?”

  Her aunt’s tone stung. Lara swallowed back a lump. “I don’t have any plans, per se, Aunt Fran. I… I mean, Sherry did call me. She and her mom are worried about you. Extremely worried.”

  Sherry Bowker and Lara had known each since childhood, from the day they entered first grade together at Whisker Jog Elementary. But the summer after Lara had completed sixth grade, her family moved away. She and Sherry were devastated—they missed each other horribly. Lara had been especially lonely, moving to an unfamiliar school in another state. The girls kept in touch by letter, and later by e-mail, until they both graduated from high school. It was during Lara’s hectic art school years that they lost the thread of communication. Then one day, about five years ago, Lara plunked her old friend’s name into a search engine and discovered that Sherry and her mom had opened a coffee shop in downtown Whisker Jog. She contacted her, and was thrilled to get an instant response. Every summer now, Sherry and her mom took a day off to drive to Boston for a lunch/shopping expedition with Lara.

  Lara realized her mind was wandering. Her aunt obviously knew that she and Sherry had been in touch.

  Aunt Fran’s gaze skimmed Lara’s face. Her eyes brimmed with tears. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen you. I don’t know what to think.”

  Lara sucked in a hard breath. She didn’t want to cry. “I know, but I’m here now and I want to help with the cats. How many do you have?”

  “Eleven. Two of the kittens—Callie and Luna—are afraid of people, and one adult male is feral. The kittens are young enough to socialize eventually, but Ballou won’t go near a human.”

  Lara inhaled, then winced inwardly. She didn’t know how many litter boxes her aunt had, but from the scent coating her nostrils she felt sure all of them needed to be cleaned and changed. “Aunt Fran, will you rest while I check out the litter boxes and clean things up a bit?”

  With a sag of her shoulders, her aunt nodded. “That…would actually be a big help. The supplies are in the utility closet, next to the bathroom.”

  Lara grinned. “I know exactly where that is.”

  It took Lara the better part of two hours to scrub and replenish the twelve litter boxes scattered throughout the house. Fortunately, she’d found a pair of rubber gloves under the bathroom sink, along with earth-friendly cleaning supplies, trash bags, and scads of paper towel rolls.

  Her heart melted at the sight of the furry faces watching her as she worked. She would have to learn all their names, if she was here long enough.

  By the time she was through, the rooms smelled minimally better. In the kitchen, she collected the myriad food and water bowls, washed them, and replenished them with kibble and kitten food. She’d been relieved to find her aunt’s cabinets well stocked with cat food. Lara wondered how her aunt shopped for supplies with her knees in such bad shape.

  It was already two thirty, and she was starving. She headed upstairs and knocked softly at her aunt’s bedroom door, which was slightly ajar. “Aunt Fran?” she called.

  “Come in, Lara.”

  Her aunt was sitting in her padded rocking chair reading a paperback thriller. Dolce rested in her lap, looking every bit like a furry black shawl.

  Lara had to swallow to keep her composure. The room was almost exactly as she remembered it, with its braided scatter rugs and white, iron bedstead, a handmade quilt folded at the foot of the bed. The white-painted dresser, its oval mirror silvered in places, sat in the same corner. From where she stood, Lara could see her own reflection.

  “Come on, I’m famished,” Lara said. “I’m treating you to lunch at Sherry’s. She doesn’t know I drove up here today, so we’re going to surprise her.”

  Her aunt frowned and rubbed her left knee. “I don’t think so, Lara. I walk very slowly, you know. It takes me forever to get in and out of a car.”

  “I’ll help you,” Lara cajoled. “I’m not going without you.”

  Bowker’s Coffee Stop sat in the center of Whisker Jog’s downtown block, about a half-mile downhill walk from Aunt Fran’s home at the end of High Cliff Road. So far Lara had only seen photos of the place, supplied by Sherry via her smartphone or on the coffee shop’s Facebook page. The pictures, Lara realized, failed to capture the cozy essence of the inviting cafe.

  The walls were painted in swirls of pastel, graced with vintage photos and artifacts from the 1960s. On one side of the shop was a counter lined with bright red stools. Square oak tables and padded, mismatched chairs made up the rest of the seating. Daily specials were announced on a stand-alone chalkboard framed in pale-green distressed wood.

  The moment Lara and her aunt approached the counter they were rushed and assaulted.

  “Oh my God, I can’t believe it!” Sherry Bowker, her short black hair poking the air in gelled spikes, raced around the end of the counter and threw her arms around Lara. She squeezed and rocked back and forth until Lara laughingly begged for mercy.

  “Sherry, this place looks wonderful,” Lara said.

  “Thank you.” Sherry hugged Lara again and then looped her arm through Aunt Fran’s. “And Fran, you haven’t been here in
like, forever,” she said in a mock-stern voice. “I’m so happy to see you.”

  Aunt Fran smiled and allowed Sherry a quick hug. “I’m glad to see you, too, and my pal Daisy over there.” She waggled a hand at her old friend Daisy Bowker, who was busy serving a table of four. Daisy’s face morphed into one of sheer joy when she spotted Lara and Aunt Fran.

  After more hugs were doled out, Lara and her aunt settled onto stools at the counter, which, Aunt Fran explained, was easier on her knees. Sherry instantly produced two steaming mugs of coffee, along with two of the oversized sugar cookies Daisy was known for. With Halloween only a few weeks away, today’s cookies were shaped and frosted like mummies. Lara couldn’t help giggling as she bit off a chunk of the mummy’s frosted arm.

  “Eating dessert before you’ve even ordered lunch?” Aunt Fran asked wryly. “I guess some things never change.”

  Lara smiled, feeling her nerves loosen. For the first time since she’d arrived in Whisker Jog, she thought her aunt looked almost happy.

  They both ordered tuna salad sandwiches and sipped at their coffee. Between serving customers, Sherry and Daisy took turns plying them with bits of local gossip.

  Aunt Fran waved at a table of four opposite the counter. Its occupants—two women, an older man, and a teenage girl—returned the greeting. The girl, who looked about thirteen and sported aqua-tinted hair, smiled curiously at Lara. Lara smiled back and took a napkin from the dispenser on the counter. The girl’s face intrigued her—oversized brown eyes, roundish cheeks, slightly large ears lined with silver studs. And that hair… She removed a pencil from the depths of her flowered purse and began to sketch.

  Sherry sidled up to the counter and leaned over to sneak a peek at Lara’s handiwork. “Hey, that’s Brooke you’re drawing, isn’t it?”

  “Brooke?” Lara said.

  Sherry laughed. “Sorry. You haven’t been introduced yet. Brooke Weston is the girl sitting at that table over there.” She tilted her chin at the table of four. “They all belong to a book club that reads the classics. Brooke comes here directly after school every Wednesday so she won’t miss any of the discussion. The coffee shop closes at four, but sometimes I stay a bit longer so they can finish up without feeling rushed.”