Escape Claws

by Linda Reilly

  “Will you come with?” Lara asked her.

  “No, you go without me today. I need to sit and think about some things.” Her expression darkened. “Theo’s body was found at the edge of my property, Lara. That troubles me deeply. I want to give some thought to who could have done such a horrible thing.”

  “It is bizarre,” Lara agreed. “On the other hand, I can’t help thinking that Barnes must have made more than an enemy or two in his day.” She gave her aunt a flat smile. “The man didn’t exactly impress me as a good-will ambassador.”

  Her aunt’s gaze grew distant. “I can think of only one person Theo truly loved—his niece, Mary. She was the young woman sitting at the book-club table yesterday.”

  An image of the attractive brunette flitted through Lara’s mind. She recalled Theo touching the woman’s cheek with affection, right before he kissed the other woman’s hand and then barked something into the older man’s ear. “Oh, that’s sad, then. I didn’t realize they were related.”

  “Mary’s adoptive mother, Elena, was Theo’s sister,” her aunt explained. “Elena died several years ago from uterine cancer.” Aunt Fran patted Lara’s knee. “You go ahead. Don’t worry about me. Why don’t you leave your cell number on the kitchen table in case I need to call you?”

  “Sounds like a plan.” Lara kissed her aunt’s cheek and trotted downstairs. She located a piece of paper, jotted down her cell number, and left it on the kitchen table. There was no sign of Ballou, but Munster sidled over and rubbed against her leg. Lara reached down, scooped up the kitty, and kissed his furry head with a noisy smack. “I’ll be back soon, I promise,” she told him.

  After plunking another kiss on Munster’s soft white whiskers, she set him on the floor, grabbed her flowered tote, and tucked her phone in one of the pockets. Outside, a state police car sat parked in her aunt’s driveway, directly behind Lara’s rental car. She couldn’t help wondering if they’d blocked her car on purpose. Too bad for them if they did, she thought. The coffee shop was only a six-or seven-minute walk from her aunt’s.

  The door to the state vehicle swung open without warning. A sturdy, middle-aged woman who looked about forty hopped out and stepped in front of Lara. “Ma’am?” she said, one carefully plucked eyebrow rising to her crisp hairline. Her uniform was dark green, pressed to perfection, and her steady gaze was somewhat intimidating. “I believe you were asked not to leave the premises?”

  Lara gave the woman a smile that she hoped looked benevolent. “Actually, Officer, it was suggested—and it was only a suggestion—that I not leave town. Besides, I’m only heading down the street to the coffee shop. My friend and her mom own it. Have a nice day.” She stepped around the officer and marched toward the road, half expecting the woman to run after her and whip her around by the arm. When neither happened, Lara turned and waved at her. The trooper, stone-faced, only stared back.

  On her way to the coffee shop, a twinge of guilt poked at Lara. The state trooper was only doing her job—a tough job, at that—and Lara had been a tad sarcastic. But honestly, the woman could’ve cracked a smile, couldn’t she? Even a half smile would have sufficed.

  In spite of the October breeze that chilled Lara’s cheeks, the sun was casting pale, golden rays from an azure sky. Sugar maples lined the main drag, their leaves dry and faded. They rustled overhead with soft, soothing sounds.

  She passed some of Whisker Jog’s oldest homes, including Hendricks House, a once-elegant restaurant. A large sign on the lawn announced that it was now a holistic massage practice.

  Although Lara loved her hectic neighborhood on Boston’s popular Hanover Street, with its bakeries and restaurants and ever-present pigeons, it felt good to be back in Whisker Jog. She wished desperately she hadn’t been the one to find Barnes’s body. If only she hadn’t gone searching for Blue, she’d never have spotted that red-and-black-checkered jacket.

  Lara tucked her tiger-striped scarf more tightly around her neck. It was the favorite of all her scarves, and she was glad she’d remembered to pack it. She was almost at the coffee shop when she realized she was walking past the local beauty salon. Kurl-me-Klassy, the lettering on the glass front window announced. She sneaked a peek through the glass. A young stylist with crimson hair was snipping away at the curly gray head of a woman who looked at least eighty. Both spotted Lara looking in. They waved at her and smiled.

  Lara returned the greeting and moved on. Even before she pulled open the glass door to the coffee shop, she could see that the place was bustling. She recognized some of the official-looking types from the crime scene. She also spied Daisy, moving at warp speed as she delivered steaming plates to a table of diners.

  From behind the counter, Sherry spotted her instantly. “Lara!” she called over the din of chattering customers.

  Lara stepped toward the counter, the ambient warmth in the coffee shop wrapping around her. She went over to the only unoccupied stool, on which rested a velvety-brown homburg. Next to that sat an elderly gent whose bald head sprouted long white tufts. “Is this seat taken?” she asked, indicating the hat. She gave him a pleasant smile.

  He did not smile back. “That’s Herbie’s seat,” he answered gruffly. “He’s been sitting there every day for thirty-seven years.”

  Sherry looked wide-eyed at Lara, giving a rapid little shake of her head. Lara got the message: don’t ask questions. Sherry held up a finger, the tip of which was painted glowing orange, then scurried around the edge of the counter. She marched over to Lara. “It’s like a mob scene here today,” she said, darting her gaze all around. She clamped her neon-tipped fingers onto Lara’s arm. “Lara, what happened this morning? Everyone’s saying Theo Barnes was murdered, and that you found the body!”

  “He was,” Lara said quietly. “And I did find the…body. But I have no idea what happened to him, or who did it. Sherry, listen, I can come back later. I can tell you guys are really slammed today.”

  “No! You have to stay.” Sherry shot her gaze all around the coffee shop. Still clutching Lara’s arm in a grip worthy of a wrestler, she tugged her friend over to a table at which a young woman and a fortysomething man were hunched over cream-colored mugs. The woman was crying into a crumpled tissue. Lara recognized her as one of the book club members from the day before.

  “Mary Newman, Chris Newman.” Sherry jabbed a finger at each one as she recited their names. “This is my best friend in the whole world, Lara Caphart. She’s going to sit with you today, okay?” Using two hands, she shoved Lara down into one of the vacant chairs. “I’ll bring you coffee in a jiffykins, Lara. Hang tight.” She turned and bolted with all the grace of a roadrunner. Lara would’ve sworn she saw a tail feather float to the floor.

  Lara turned to her tablemates, both of whom were staring at her as if she’d just been lowered from a spacecraft. She looped her flowered tote over the back of her chair. “Hello, it’s nice to meet you. I hope you don’t mind me joining you. Sherry kind of foisted me on you, didn’t she?” She gave out a laugh that she knew sounded nervous.

  For a moment no one spoke. Then the woman, Mary, who wore a beige sweatshirt embroidered with a pumpkin patch design, said, “No, of course not.” She squashed a tissue against one watery brown eye. With her freckles, turned-up nose, and dark hair curled into a flip, she didn’t look much older than a college student. “Except…I hope you don’t mind my crying. I just can’t seem to stop.” With that, she let loose a fresh waterfall of tears.

  “Theo Barnes was her uncle,” her husband explained. He stuck out a hand to Lara. “Chris Newman, in case you missed the introduction.”

  Lara shook his hand. It was smooth, but the nails looked chewed to the quick. “Glad to meet you, Chris. I’m so sorry for your loss.” Technically it was Mary’s loss, but her husband, no doubt, shared her grief. With his wire-rimmed glasses and gentle brown eyes, Chris Newman put Lara in mind of a kindly pastor.

  “We were all shocked at the news,” Chris quietly told Lara. “I write feature s
tories for the town’s weekly rag—The Whisker Gazette. I guess I’ll really have something to write about this week,” he added grimly. “Mary wants me to write her uncle’s obituary.”

  “Because I know you’ll write it with sensitivity,” Mary said, pouting a little. She sucked in a stuttering sob. “Not everyone loved Uncle Theo the way I did.”

  Lara remembered what Aunt Fran had said about Mary—that she was the one person Theo truly loved.

  Chris stared down at the table, frowning. “Theo was not an easy man to deal with. He—”

  “Here you go!” Sherry swooped in from behind and placed a steaming mug of coffee in front of Lara. With her other hand, she plonked down an oversized basket crammed with warm muffins, butter, and blueberry preserves, along with plastic knives individually wrapped in carrot-colored napkins. “These are left over from breakfast so they’re on the house, everyone. If you’d rather have lunch, let me know, okay? Enjoy!”

  “Thanks, Sherry,” Lara said to her friend’s retreating form.

  Chris shot a guilty look at his wife and then leaned toward Lara. “Do you know if the police have any suspects?” he asked in a low voice, reaching for an apple-cinnamon muffin.

  Ah, so the reporter wanted the skinny on the murder. Lara mulled it over for a moment and then said carefully, “Not as far as I know. They didn’t tell us very much.”

  “Hmm. Did they…say how he was killed?” Chris asked.

  “Chris!” Mary slapped her hands over her ears. “I don’t want to hear any of that. Please stop!”

  Chris’s cheeks flushed a hearty pink. “I’m sorry, honey. I didn’t mean to upset you.” He reached over and hugged his wife, pulling her close. Mary sobbed into the shoulder of his blue crewneck sweater.

  “To be honest,” Lara said, “even if I knew anything, which I don’t, I’m pretty sure I’m not supposed to talk about it.” The police already had her penciled in on their suspect list. She didn’t need to antagonize them by blabbing about what she had witnessed at the crime scene.

  Lara started to reach for a blueberry muffin but then snatched her hand back. The herd of gremlins that had settled in her stomach would probably stage a revolt if she tried to eat anything right now. The miniscule blob of oatmeal she’d swallowed back at her aunt’s already felt like a leaden lump weighing down her insides. Maybe she should finish her coffee and get the heck out of there.

  Chris Newman patted his wife’s back, and she lifted her head from his shoulder. With a loud sniffle she snagged one of the orange napkins, unfurled it, and pressed it to her leaky eyes.

  Chris pushed aside his mug and removed his wallet from his back pocket. He withdrew a business card and slid it over to Lara. “If you think of anything you can tell me, Lara, would you give me a call or a text?”

  Lara stared at the card, amazed at the man’s boldness in the face of his wife’s angst. It read CHRISTOPHER NEWMAN, CPA, and beneath that, Certified Public Accountant, along with his contact info.

  “I thought you were a reporter?” Lara said, slipping the card into her tote.

  “Accountant by day, journalist by night,” he said, without much enthusiasm. “That is, if you call reporting on things like the town’s upcoming pumpkin festival journalism.” He shot his wife a furtive look, but Mary didn’t seem to notice.

  Over the low clamor sifting through the coffee shop, a feminine voice suddenly rang out from the doorway. “Cheer up, everyone—don’t look so glum. Theo Barnes is dead!”

  Chapter 5

  The coffee shop chatter ceased abruptly, as if a magician had waved a wand over the room and flash-frozen everyone’s tongues. All eyes, including Lara’s, followed the curvaceous brunette who weaved across the dining room, her stiletto heels clicking, her faux-leopard jacket perfectly complemented by a black velvet beret.

  Lara couldn’t help gawking, especially since the woman seemed to be moving in their direction. With the woman’s approach came a swirl of floral perfume, a scent that hovered over their table and settled there in a potent cloud.

  Mary leaped out of her chair. “Aunt Josette, you’re here!” She stumbled toward the newcomer, nearly falling over the leg of Chris’s chair, and threw her arms around her. Another cascade of tears began flowing from Mary’s eyes.

  “Mary, darling,” the woman cooed, returning the hug. She patted Mary on the back as if she were a fussy toddler. “There, there, darling. It’ll all be okay. I promise. Everything will work out just fine.”

  Mary cried for at least a minute, then sucked in one last sniffle. She stepped back and swiped the heels of her hands over her runaway tears. “But Uncle Theo is dead, Aunt Josette, and someone killed him. You’re…you’re not really glad about that, are you?” She said that with all the innocence of a newborn, as if she couldn’t conceive of anyone disliking her uncle.

  Looking somewhat embarrassed, the woman pushed a stray lock of dark hair away from Mary’s forehead. “No, of course not. I’m sorry I came off sounding so harsh about Theo. I keep forgetting he was your mom’s only brother.”

  “That’s okay. Aunt Josette, this is Lara,” Mary said. “She’s Fran Clarkson’s niece. You remember Fran, right?”

  Josette’s mascaraed eyes widened. “Oh my, of course I do. Lara, I am so very pleased to meet you.” She held out a smooth hand tipped with gorgeously manicured nails.

  Lara pumped it briefly with her own unadorned hand, blinking at the baseball-sized diamond glittering from Josette’s right middle finger. “Same here,” she said.

  “How is Fran these days?” Josette inquired, her voice laced with pity. “Does she still have all those, you know—”

  “Cats?” Lara finished for her. “She has several, and they’re all doing fine. Everything is under control, in fact.” She had no intention of fueling any gossip about her aunt’s overflowing feline community. Besides, things were already better. Lara intended to see that they stayed that way.

  “Well, that’s good,” Josette said, sounding unconvinced. She turned to Chris, greeting him with an airy kiss that didn’t quite make contact, then pressed a hand to Lara’s shoulder. “By the way, I can’t imagine what you must be thinking of me, Lara. I didn’t really mean that I was glad Theo was dead. Naturally, I’d never wish murder on anyone, but…well, you see, Theo and I didn’t exactly have an amicable divorce.”

  And probably not an amicable marriage, Lara thought. She wondered how long Josette had been married to Barnes. Long enough to make her do a mental happy dance over his demise, that much was obvious.

  “I understand your feelings,” Lara said, though she thought the woman was a bit crass for broadcasting them to everyone.

  “Now dry your tears and come with me, Mary,” Josette said crisply. “I insist on taking you shopping. You’ll want something chic to wear to your uncle’s funeral, won’t you?”

  Mary stared at her aunt through red-rimmed eyes. “I haven’t really thought about it, Aunt Josette. I don’t think I need to look chic, do I? I mean, I’m sure I have a navy dress—”

  “Mary, I insist,” Josette said, taking her niece’s hand in her own. “If nothing else, it will take your mind off Theo.”

  “Honey, maybe it would help if you went out shopping with Josette for a while,” Chris said. “Clear your head a little.”

  “But I have to be at work by two!”

  “Can’t you get time off?” Josette crinkled her tiny nose over a sharply drawn frown. “You certainly have good reason.”

  “I know, but we’re super short-staffed this week. I’d hate to let my boss down. She’s been so good to me. Besides, I’ll need time off for the funeral, so I should really go to work today.”

  Josette hesitated, then released a sigh. “All right. Then we’ll just go window-shopping for a bit, okay?” She chucked her niece under the chin, a gesture that made Lara cringe. Did she always treat Mary like a child?

  With a nod, Mary relented. “Okay, but only for a little while.”

  The pair made their
farewells and headed for the exit. Josette led the way, high heels reverberating off the linoleum, while Mary shuffled dolefully behind her. Lara took that as her cue to make a hasty departure.

  “I’m afraid I need to go as well,” Lara said, gathering up her tote. “I want to pick up a few groceries for my aunt. My rental car is back at the house.” Still blocked by a state police car? she wondered.

  Chris looked relieved. He pulled a twenty from his wallet, dropped it on the table, and rose from his chair. “That’s for all of us, okay?” His laugh sounded nervous. “I’d appreciate it if you’d call me when you find out anything new, Lara.”

  Lara nodded, doubtful she’d be able to supply him with the kind of juicy tidbits he was angling for. “Thanks, Chris. I don’t think the police will share with me, but I’ll definitely keep you in mind.”

  The clot of people who’d filled the coffee shop earlier had loosened. Daisy was taking orders and delivering meals, but she didn’t look quite as frazzled as she had when Lara first came in.

  Lara went over to the counter to let Sherry know she was leaving. She found her friend expertly stacking bacon, lettuce, turkey, and tomato slices into a hearty club. Lara leaned over the counter and gave her Chris’s twenty, explaining that he’d offered to pay.

  “Not necessary, but I’ll take it,” Sherry said. “I’ll make sure his next meal here is on the house. Hey, you have to come back later, okay? We never got a chance to dish!”

  “I know, and I’ll try. I want to get as much done for Aunt Fran as I can. This little matter with…you-know-who hasn’t helped things any.”

  Sherry gave a nod of acknowledgment. “I hear you, girl. When do you have to go back to Boston?” she asked glumly.

  Lara didn’t know how to answer that. “I guess that remains to be seen. The police kind of hinted that they don’t want me to leave town—”