Escape Claws

by Linda Reilly

  Aunt Fran looked sharply at her. “Which cat? I hope it’s not Twinkles. He got stuck in there one day with the door closed. He ended up tearing one of the books to shreds.”

  “Definitely not Twinkles,” Lara said. She hesitated. Maybe she shouldn’t have mentioned Blue again. Her aunt had been quite adamant that she didn’t have a Ragdoll cat.

  Still, Lara saw no reason to lie about what she’d seen. “No, it’s the cat I told you about yesterday. The one who looks like Blue.” The one who is Blue.

  Aunt Fran’s face paled. “Lara,” she said in a soft but firm tone. “Even if you had Blue as a child, it’s impossible that she would be—” She stopped abruptly. “I just heard voices. Outside, in the backyard. Are the crime scene people back?”

  Lara held up a finger, signaling that she would check it out. She went outside onto the porch. A car she’d never seen before was in the driveway—an older model navy sedan. When had that gotten there? She peered into the yard. When she saw who was there and what they were up to, she couldn’t help grinning.

  Next to a sack of tulip bulbs, Brooke was kneeling on the ground, while Dora, outfitted in hot-pink sweats, clutched Aunt Fran’s hoe for dear life. She waved at Lara from where they’d parked themselves at the starting point of the brick walkway.

  Lara popped back into the kitchen to let her aunt know who was there. Then she scrambled down the porch steps toward the pair. “Hey, what are you two doing?”

  Brooke sat back on her heels, her aqua-tinted strands moving slightly in the breeze. “It was Dora’s idea, but I’m glad she recruited me. We felt so bad that Ms. C. couldn’t plant her tulips this year. We really want to help.” Trowel in hand, she reached into the burlap sack for a bulb. “We’re gonna do as much as we can today. But we’ll keep coming back every day until we’re finished. Right, Dora?”

  “You betcha.” Dora beamed down at Brooke. Her back slightly bent, she leaned on the hoe, almost as if she needed it for support.

  Two oddly matched BFFs, Lara thought—two wonderful, thoughtful helpers. Aunt Fran was lucky to have such caring people in her life.

  Lara swallowed over the knot of guilt that was twisting her insides. She’d hoped to get the planting job done herself before she returned to Boston. Now these two kindly elves were doing the task for her.

  Rubbing her arms for warmth, Lara stared out past the shed. A strand of yellow crime scene tape stretched across the top of the hill—an ugly reminder of the vicious crime that had played out less than a day ago. She was surprised—and grateful—that the crime scene ribbon hadn’t been extended to include Aunt Fran’s yard.

  No doubt the police had surmised that whoever killed Barnes had probably met him near the bench at the rear of the park. Maybe they had argued and things had escalated. Angered, the killer attacked. Were those the sounds Lara heard after she’d first climbed into bed last night?

  She didn’t want to think about it anymore. She’d told the police about the voices she’d heard close to midnight. It was their job to find the killer, not hers. Right now, she had to help Aunt Fran—it was she who mattered most.

  Although, she remembered with a twinge of unease, I didn’t exactly tell the police everything. Aunt Fran had gone out in the yard very late the night before. When Lara gave her statement to the police, she’d conveniently omitted that little nugget. But whatever her aunt’s reason had been for her late night excursion, it had nothing to do with Barnes’s murder.

  Lara would stake her life on that.

  She looked down at Brooke, who was carefully inserting a tulip bulb into the hole she’d just dug. With her hand, Brooke scooped the loosened dirt over the bulb, then moved along to dig the next hole. Dora used the flat of the hoe she was gripping to tamp down the earth over the newly planted bulb.

  Lara cringed when she saw Dora biting her lip in pain. From the way the older woman was bent over, Lara suspected that her back brace was digging into her.

  “Dora, why don’t I take over for you?” Lara said, reaching for the hoe. “You can go inside and visit with Aunt Fran for a while.”

  “Oh, I can’t let you do that,” she said, pulling the hoe out of Lara’s reach. “My doctor says doing things like this can only help my back. He’s always scolding me for being too sedentary.”

  Lara hesitated. “Are you sure? Because—”

  Brooke’s sudden shriek made them both jump. “Dora, what’s that?” Brooke pointed at the business end of the hoe. “It looks like…like…”

  Following the direction in which Brooke was aiming her finger, Lara dropped to her knees. She bent her head low and peered at the hoe.

  “Don’t touch it!” Brooke said.

  “I won’t.” Lara’s heartbeat spiked. She was already fairly sure of what she was looking at.

  Blood.

  “Dora, set the hoe down,” Lara said quietly. “I think we might’ve landed on the murder weapon.”

  Chapter 10

  Dora dropped the hoe as if it had suddenly gone red hot. She stumbled backward, her face turning ghostly pale. Lara grabbed her arm to keep her from toppling.

  “We can’t tell anyone about this,” Brooke said, her voice shaky. “The hoe belongs to Ms. C. If we report it to the cops they’ll think she…she…”

  Lara steadied Dora and then stooped next to Brooke. She lightly touched her shoulder. “Brooke, this might be the murder weapon and it might not be. But we do have to report it.”

  “But—”

  “Brooke.”

  The voice was Aunt Fran’s. No one had noticed her struggling down the walkway. She stood near the edge of the brick path and leaned on her cane, her face unreadable. “If that’s Theo’s blood, it means the killer used my hoe to”—she cleared her throat—“to harm him. I’m going to call Chief Whitley. Come on. We all need to go inside. If we stay out here we might end up destroying evidence.”

  One by one, they filed into the house. No one spoke as Aunt Fran made a brief call from her kitchen phone.

  “They’ll be right along,” she said, hanging up.

  Dora, looking shell-shocked, lowered herself onto a kitchen chair. “If I’d only known,” she said, her eyes unfocused. “I never would’ve touched that thing.”

  “It’s not your fault, Dora,” Lara said. “In a way, you did a good thing. This might help the police find Barnes’s killer.”

  Munster strolled out from the large parlor. He stretched and yawned. Gold eyes beaming at Brooke, he sauntered over and rubbed his sleek form against her leg.

  “There’s my Munster,” Brooke said, lifting him and pressing her face to his. Her eyes grew watery.

  Poor girl, Lara thought. Seeing the blood on the end of that hoe, knowing who it probably belonged to, had upset her terribly. She was trying to be stoic, but Lara could see it in her expression. She hoped Brooke wouldn’t have nightmares over it.

  A few minutes later, they heard a car roar into the driveway. Lara went outside onto the porch. Chief Whitley was already exiting his unmarked Ford. A patrol car swung in and parked beside him. Two uniformed officers hopped out of the cruiser and moved swiftly into Aunt Fran’s backyard.

  His face stern, Whitley stepped into the kitchen, pulling the door closed behind him. “I appreciate your calling us,” he told Aunt Fran. “I’m afraid we’re going to need to interview each of you.”

  Brooke let out a tiny whimper. She buried her face in Munster’s fur.

  To Lara’s relief, Whitley took pity on her. “Not you, young lady,” he said gently. “You don’t need to stay. You’ve done good work today. We’re very grateful.”

  “Thank you,” she choked out. “Can I go sit in the parlor with Darryl? I…I have some homework I can do.”

  “But your backpack is in my car!” Dora said. She sounded flustered.

  Brooke groaned, but Whitley held up a large hand. “Not to worry. One of my officers will bring it in. Is it the blue Corolla?”

  Dora nodded. “It’s not locked. Her backpack is i
n the backseat.”

  Whitley went out onto the porch and barked an order in the general direction of the shed. Barely a minute later, backpack in hand, he opened the screen door and came back into the kitchen. “Here you go, young lady.”

  Brooke took her bag from him, thanked him, and let Munster slide to the floor. Looking vastly relieved to be escaping interrogation, she hurried off toward the small parlor. Lara noticed that Munster padded away in a different direction.

  “Jerry, her mom needs to know about this,” Aunt Fran told Whitley. Her voice shook slightly. “Brooke is only thirteen.”

  “Once again, not to worry. I’ll get in touch with her,” Whitley assured her. “Do you have a number?”

  Aunt Fran supplied him with the number, then sat down again. Dora asked to be interviewed first so that she could go home and take her pain pills.

  “I have some Tylenol,” Lara offered. “Would that help?” She hated to see Dora suffer.

  “No thanks, Lara, but I appreciate the offer. The stuff I have at home is much stronger.”

  Whitley looked uncomfortable. “Fran, is it okay if Dora and I go into your other room there for a few minutes?” He dipped his chin in the general direction of the large parlor. “I’d like to take her statement so we can let her go home.”

  “Of course.”

  Good, Lara thought. At least Whitley was showing compassion for the woman. He’d probably known her for decades, though she figured that didn’t matter when the subject was as serious as murder.

  The two went off, leaving Lara and Aunt Fran to sit and stare glumly at one another. “Aunt Fran, I’m so sorry this is happening to you. I feel as if I brought a curse with me when I showed up yesterday!”

  With a forlorn smile, Aunt Fran covered Lara’s hand with her own. “Don’t be silly. You didn’t bring me a curse, Lara, you brought me hope. Just when I thought I’d run out of options, you reached into my pit of despair and pulled me out.”

  Lara smiled and swatted at a burgeoning tear. “Now you’re being melodramatic. It reminds me of all those stories you used to tell me when I was a kid. You told me they were true, but I swear you made half of them up.”

  “Of course I did.” Aunt Fran smiled, and her eyes shone. “You had a lively imagination. I knew I’d have to be creative if I was going to succeed at entertaining you.”

  A sudden flood of memories washed over Lara. Ragged bits and pieces of the past, stitched together by an aunt who’d never been anything but kind. How could Lara have shoved all that aside? How could she have pushed her aunt so thoroughly from her thoughts, as if she’d never even existed?

  “I don’t know why it took me so long to come up to see you,” Lara said with a sniffle. “I guess I’d fallen into a routine, between my artwork and my bakery job and—” She swallowed. “And it had just been such a long time. I wasn’t sure I’d even be welcome, and because of that I was afraid to call you. Plus, I don’t have a car, and—”

  “Lara, stop. Enough said, okay? You and I, we’re good.” She winked at her niece, something Lara had never seen her do.

  Lara forced a weak smile. “Aunt Fran, I… I’m not sure how long I’ll be able to stay, at least for this visit. Gabriela is probably having fits at the bakery without me. In fact, I should probably text her.”

  Aunt Fran looked away, but then, with a lift of her chin, she turned her gaze back to Lara. “That’s an excellent idea, Lara. After all, she is your employer. It wouldn’t be fair not to let her know what’s happened.”

  Lara pulled her phone from her jeans pocket. She blew out a breath and typed out a quick text to Gabriela:

  Gab, I got delayed in NH. Things got complicated. Not sure when I’ll be back. Everything OK there?

  Before she could rethink it, Lara sent the text. Barely a minute later her phone pinged with a return message.

  U OK?! Luca helping but not like U. Overnite ltr came for U. Family most important! Take all time U need!

  Lara groaned inwardly. Gabriela’s grandson, Luca, was about as much help in the bakery as a litter of kittens would be. Immature for his twenty-four years, he hadn’t yet found his calling in life, except to fantasize about becoming an international singing sensation. If his grandmother had her way, he’d have already hooked up with Lara and produced a grandbaby or two for her to dote on.

  Wait a minute. An overnight letter? Lara hurriedly sent another text.

  I’m OK. Don’t worry. Who sent the letter?

  Gabriela’s response was cryptic:

  Don’t know. Boston address, Louisburg Sq.

  Lara felt her jaw drop. Louisburg Square was one of the poshest neighborhoods in Boston. No way did she know anyone who could afford to live there.

  Maybe she should ask Gabriela to open the envelope and check out the contents. No doubt it was something silly—some sort of upscale, direct mail marketing bulletin designed to entice a poor starving artist. Or maybe an invitation to an exclusive gallery showing?

  Lara sent a quick text back to Gabriela. She thanked her profusely for understanding her situation, and asked her to hold on to the envelope for safekeeping.

  She set her phone down on the table.

  “Trouble?” Aunt Fran gave her a worried look.

  Lara slowly blew out a breath. “No, Gabriela’s being very understanding.” She told her aunt about the mysterious overnight envelope.

  “I think you’re wise not to ask anyone to open it,” Aunt Fran agreed. Her eyes clouded. “Lara, if you need to drive back to Boston, I would certainly understand. You’ve already helped me more than you know. I… I don’t know where I’d be right now if you hadn’t been here.”

  Lara didn’t hesitate. “I’d rather be here, Aunt Fran, with you and the cats.” And Blue. “Besides, Gabriela sounds like she’s hanging in there okay without me. I’ll just chalk it up to vacation time.”

  Yeah, like she ever took a vacation. Her discretionary income, which amounted to exactly zero, didn’t allow for any luxurious getaways.

  As for the bakery, Lara felt sure Gabriela could get by for a while without her. Lara was mostly a glorified dishwasher, anyway, even if Gabriela did admire the way she set up the bakery cases.

  Lara looked up to see her aunt studying her.

  “Lara, are you all right?” Aunt Fran asked. “Are things okay at…at home?”

  “Things are fine, Aunt Fran.” Lara gave her a reassuring smile. “I decided that the bakery will survive without me a few more days. Besides, Gabby reminded me that family comes first. She’s totally okay with me staying here for a while.”

  At that moment, a poker-faced Chief Whitley strode out from the large parlor. One hand curled around his notebook, he looked pointedly at Aunt Fran. Dora trailed along behind the chief, looking a bit worse for wear. Her glasses were slightly askew, and the fine lines around her mouth seemed to have deepened.

  “Dora, would you like some water?” Lara was quick to ask.

  The woman shook her head. “No, thank you. I just want to go home. This has all been too stressful for me. It makes the pain worse.” She leaned over Aunt Fran and gave her an awkward hug. “I’m sorry we didn’t get your bulbs planted, Fran.”

  “That’s the least of our worries, Dora,” Aunt Fran said. “It’s enough that you wanted to help.”

  Whitley held out his hand, as if granting Dora permission to leave. Dora moved toward the door, looking a bit off-kilter. On impulse, Lara went over and took the woman’s hand in her own. “Let us know if you need anything, okay?”

  Dora smiled, and Lara saw a spark of animation in her eyes. “Thank you. You’re so lovely, Lara. I’m glad you’re here to help Fran.” She waved at them both and left, but a moment later came back inside. “Chief, your car is behind mine.”

  “Oh. Yes. Right.” Looking annoyed, Whitley stepped onto the porch. He growled out a short command to one of the officers and tossed his keys over the railing.

  “Thanks,” Dora said timidly. She shuffled off without another
word.

  Whitley came back into the kitchen. He stood there for a long moment, his back to the door, as if debating his options. Then he moved a step closer to the kitchen table. “Fran,” he said with a crusty edge to his tone, “I’d like you to come down to the station. The state police investigator is still there. I think he’d like to be in on it when I…interview you.”

  Lara rose and faced the man. “You mean interrogate, don’t you, Chief Whitley?”

  Whitley stared hard at Lara. “Use whatever phraseology you like, Ms. Caphart. It’s well known around town that Barnes and your aunt had a major beef going on. I think we need to chat”—he made air quotes around the word—“someplace that’s a little more neutral than a cat-infested parlor. I mean, for God’s sake, I had a cat in my lap and another one rubbing my leg the whole time I was in there with Dora. It was a miracle I didn’t have one on my head. I kept trying to shoo the orange one over in Dora’s direction, but for some reason it preferred me.” He made a point of reaching down and brushing cat hair—if there was any—off his trouser leg. “Not to mention that two little ones kept eyeing me from that cat tree the whole time.”

  Wisely, Lara stifled the giggle she felt bubbling in her throat. She couldn’t help speculating as to whether Aunt Fran had ever had a “thing” with the chief. She didn’t think she was imagining that Whitley seemed to tiptoe around her. And the man was rather attractive, in a faded-glory sort of way.

  “And I hope you two weren’t talking about the case in here,” Whitley added brusquely. “I should have made you stay in separate rooms while I interviewed Dora.”

  Aunt Fran’s green eyes blazed with indignation. “First of all, Jerry, I do not appreciate you talking about me as if I weren’t sitting right here. And second, your question is patently ridiculous. What did you think Lara and I were doing—conspiring on how to beat the rap?” Her last word rose on a wave of fury.

  Once again, Lara had to suppress a smile. Watching these two parry with words was like trying to keep up with a spirited ping-pong match.

  “Chief, if I can interject,” Lara put in. “Dora isn’t the only one who’s had a stressful day. This entire, well, mess with Theo Barnes has been an absolute nightmare for Aunt Fran.” She tried to adopt a humble expression. “Isn’t there any way—”