Escape Claws

by Linda Reilly

  Aunt Fran pressed her cane into the floor and turned slowly toward Lara. “Ballou? Are you sure it wasn’t Dolce?”

  Lara slowly shook her head. “No, it had to be Ballou. He was the only one of your cats I hadn’t met yet. Besides, Dolce doesn’t have a white mustache, right? So get this—he actually sat and watched me for about nine or ten seconds. I couldn’t believe it! I took a chance and very slowly held out my fingers to him. He didn’t come closer, but he did lean his head forward. I think he was about to sniff my fingers when that box of letters fell from your closet upstairs. It startled both of us, and he darted off. I haven’t seen him since.”

  Aunt Fran lowered herself onto a kitchen chair. “He manages to keep out of sight during the day. He tucks himself away wherever he thinks he can’t be seen. In fact, I think he hides under your bed, Lara. At night, though, I know he prowls the house. I’m sure that’s also when he eats.”

  “Poor little cat—he probably feels trapped inside the house, even though it’s the safest place he could be,” Lara mused.

  “But Lara, he got close to you. That’s nothing short of a miracle.” Aunt Fran’s eyes brightened. “Maybe there is hope for him after all.”

  A little after eight, Aunt Fran announced that she was heading upstairs. “I’m going to watch a British mystery on PBS and then read myself to sleep.”

  Lara asked her if she needed any help, but Aunt Fran refused, as Lara knew she would. Still, it’d been a trying day for them both, and fatigue had a way of creeping into your bones. She’d never forgive herself if Aunt Fran fell on the stairs.

  “I’m coming up right behind you,” Lara said. “I want to change out of this shirt and grab a pair of warmer socks. Do you mind if I use your washer and dryer?”

  “Be my guest,” Aunt Fran said. “You know where the laundry room is.”

  Lara smiled. One of many things she’d always loved about her aunt’s house was that she’d rarely had to go into the cellar—a place where spiders lurked with abandon. The cellar was used mostly for storing old furniture and for housing the oil burner. The laundry facilities were in a closeted space adjacent to the downstairs bathroom.

  After ensuring that Aunt Fran was settled in her room, Lara kissed her lightly on the cheek. On the pretext of wanting to wash her hands, she ducked into the small bathroom that was accessed directly from her aunt’s bedroom. She ran the water, then peeked behind the shower curtain. She blew out a breath, relieved to see a sturdy-looking safety seat inside the tub. Aunt Fran could apparently shower without having to stand.

  Dolce had decided to stay with Aunt Fran—no surprise—and Twinkles had followed suit. The pair would most likely remain with her for the rest of the night.

  Lara left her aunt’s door open a foot or so, as she knew Aunt Fran always did, then went into her own room. She turned on her bedside light—a hurricane lamp with delicate violets imprinted on its porcelain base. It gave off a glow that bathed the room in a soft, golden light.

  After rummaging through her suitcase, she changed into a fresh sweatshirt and a pair of thick socks. Her long hair was beginning to look scraggly, so she twisted it into a ponytail, securing it with one of the colorful hair bands she’d stuck in the side pocket of her suitcase.

  She realized now how shortsighted she’d been when she packed for the trip. She’d intended her visit to Whisker Jog to be short and productive—surely no longer than two or three days. Already she was running out of clean clothes. And though she always traveled with a small sketch pad and a sleeve of colored pencils, she hadn’t packed any of her watercolor supplies.

  Bad planning, she scolded herself.

  Lara gathered up her dirty clothes and started toward the stairs. Then she remembered she’d left her tablet charging on the shelf behind her bed. She unplugged it and plunked it atop the pile.

  After dumping the clothes into the downstairs washer and turning it on, she went in search of cat supplies. She found them in the supply closet, in a plastic basket brimming with assorted feline accessories. She spied a few chewed-up catnip toys, along with several brushes. Lara plucked a red rubber brush out of the box. She liked that it didn’t have steel prongs, as some brushes did.

  In the large parlor, she settled comfortably into her favorite chair. With its oversized plump cushions and solid oak base, it had always felt like a fortress to her—safe and warm and secure. As a kid, she would plop into it with her head and back resting on the seat and her legs propped over the back. It was fun to read that way, even if she did have to hold the book in the air. And though the plush cushions had gone somewhat lumpy, it still felt as inviting as a treasured old friend.

  Munster immediately jumped into her lap, his purring soft and even. He rubbed his face against hers. “I’ll bet you miss Brooke,” Lara said, nuzzling his whiskers. She felt herself smiling as she ran the rubber brush from the top of his head to the tip of his tail. His purring revved up a few decibels. By the time she was through, she’d liberated a handful of golden fur from his sleek form. She made a small pile on a page from the newspaper, sure there would be more to come.

  Predictably, Pickles leaped into her lap as if to demand, “I’m next!” By the time she finished brushing her, Izzy, and Bootsie, she had a multicolored mound of cat hair large enough to make a whole new cat.

  “Well,” she declared, “you guys certainly needed that. I’ll have to do the rest of you tomorrow.” Except for Ballou, she thought. Would he make another appearance? Was there hope she’d ever see him again before she returned to Boston?

  And what about Blue—the gorgeous, elusive Ragdoll who’d befriended her as a child? Why did Aunt Fran insist she’d never had a Ragdoll cat?

  Lara wrapped up the cat hair in the newspaper and delivered it to the waste can in the kitchen.

  Something nagged at her. Something she was supposed to do—

  “Oh, glory,” she muttered to herself. “That poor missing kitty.”

  In all the confusion after the blood was found on the hoe and they’d been forced to go to the police station, she’d neglected her promise to Wendy.

  Lara returned to her favorite chair and pulled her cell out of her jeans pocket. The pics she’d taken of her sketch of the missing cat were still in her photo cache. She chose the clearest one and sent it to her Facebook page, giving contact info if anyone spotted Goldy. It was a fairly good depiction of Goldy, she thought, even if she’d never met the cat in person. She tagged Sherry, reminding her to share it. Lastly, she sent up a silent prayer for the missing kitty.

  Something else poked at her brain. There was something she’d wanted to Google, something she—

  She snapped her fingers when it came to her.

  Confessions in Lace.

  The magazine she’d seen in Mary’s car!

  Lara switched from her smartphone to her tablet. All the better to see you with, my dear, she thought dryly.

  The search was a breeze—the site for the magazine came up right away. The background on the home page was a patterned charcoal gray, with small white lettering in the center. The message, clearly meant to entice, was written in fancy script surrounded by swirls of purple lace. Lara wrinkled her nose in distaste when she read it.

  A periodical for the discerning gentleman ~ All adult true accounts of love lost and found.

  Lara rolled her eyes and clicked the link over the words “Subscribe here.” Her jaw dropped open when she saw the price. For $149.99 a year, a discerning gentleman would have the pleasure of receiving fifteen issues packed with stories and photos. Discreet packaging was promised.

  “Oh, ugh,” Lara muttered. “Double ugh.”

  Surprisingly, the site had no photos, save for a thumbprint pic directly below the subscription link—a sultry blonde wrapped in yards of white lace. Lara was tempted to search a bit further, but she honestly didn’t want to see much more.

  She had only one question. Why had a stack of these mags been sitting on Mary Newman’s front seat?


  Lara was mulling this over when a furry form sprang suddenly onto the arm of the adjacent sofa.

  Sparkling blue eyes, alight with curiosity, regarded Lara from the arm of the tufted sofa.

  Blue sat very straight, her dark tail curled around her fluffy form. Her coloring was stunning—like a cream-colored cookie whose edges had been dipped in a dark, exotic chocolate.

  No sound came from the cat. She seemed content to have Lara watch her—not skittish in the least.

  Lara held her breath and remained still. In the past, Blue had been a mystery cat—there one moment, gone the next. This time, Lara was determined not to let her out of her sight.

  Where do you go? Who feeds you? Do you live outdoors? How do you get inside?

  She thought back to all the times Blue had been with her as a child. Chasing butterflies in the field. Romping at the edge of the stream.

  One summer day when Lara was six or seven, she remembered, she’d caught a red salamander near the edge of the brook. She’d filled her plastic pail with water and put the salamander inside. It was so cute she wanted to keep it. If she could persuade her dad to buy her an aquarium, she could create a nice little home for it.

  It all came back now. That was the first day Blue had appeared in her life. The cat had crept up behind her, surprising her. She’d reached a hand out to touch her, but the cat had eluded her grasp, scampering instead toward the pail. With both paws, the cat had tipped it over. The salamander had skittered away to the safety of the stream.

  Lara swallowed. You saved that little creature, didn’t you? You knew it wouldn’t thrive in captivity, however well meaning I might have been.

  Blue stared calmly at Lara, then lifted her gaze toward the wall of the adjacent room. Lara turned to see what she was looking at. Nothing looked out of place—nothing she could see, anyway.

  Lara perked her ears toward the staircase, listening for any sound that her aunt might have stirred. But the house was silent.

  When she turned around, Blue was gone.

  In the next instant, a dull thump sounded from the small parlor.

  It had to be Blue. But how had she gotten in there so quickly? And without Lara seeing her?

  Or it could be an intruder, Lara thought, her heartbeat kicking up a notch. But the house was locked up snug and tight—she’d seen to it herself.

  Lara hopped off her chair and padded over to the doorway of the small parlor. She was glad she’d dug out her thick socks. Aunt Fran had turned down the heat, and the house was starting to feel chilly.

  The door to the small parlor was partway open. Lara pushed on the door with two fingers. It swung open soundlessly, as if the hinges had recently been oiled.

  She reached over to her right and flicked on the switch. An overhead light came on, casting long shadows over the room. Lara glanced all around. She smiled when saw Darryl’s giraffe book resting on the red table. From the look on the child’s face when he was reading from it, it was obvious he’d been enthralled with it.

  But then she felt her smile morph into a frown.

  On the table, next to the giraffe book, was Brooke’s volume of The Pickwick Papers.

  Lara remembered leaving the book on one of the shelves, at least eight feet away. Even if the book had fallen, it couldn’t have jumped onto the table by itself.

  She let out a slow breath. She was letting her imagination get the best of her. Aunt Fran must have moved the book, thinking it would be more secure on the table. Except…

  Except she didn’t remember her aunt going in there during the evening.

  But she must have, Lara told herself. Otherwise I’m going crazy.

  Chapter 13

  To Lara’s dismay, the crime scene techs returned early the next morning. Not that it was unexpected—the discovery of the bloody hoe had changed the focus of the investigation.

  Awakened by voices drifting in from outside, Lara had peeked out her bedroom window to see two figures outfitted in white marking off areas near her aunt’s shed. The ugly yellow tape now surrounded the shed, and much of the backyard.

  Great.

  She put it out of her mind and started her daily ritual. Though this was only the second morning she’d been at her aunt’s, she’d already fallen into a routine of sorts. Feed cats. Scoop litter. Start breakfast.

  Aunt Fran rose a little after seven. Her hair looked freshly washed, and she wore a periwinkle-blue cable-knit sweater over black sweatpants. She looked pleased to see the casserole dish of scrambled eggs warming in the oven. “You remembered my favorite breakfast,” she said. “Thank you, Lara.”

  “I made the eggs earlier,” Lara told her, then kissed her on the cheek. “All I have left to do is pour the juice, turn on the coffeemaker, and pop some bread into the toaster. Would you like half a grapefruit?”

  “That would be wonderful. Thank you. Actually, do you mind if I have tea instead?”

  Lara slapped her forehead. “Sorry, I made coffee out of habit. I know you prefer tea. I’ll put on the kettle.”

  Within five minutes, they were enjoying a hearty breakfast. Munster sidled up next to Lara and reached up with one golden paw.

  “Beggar,” she teased, tickling his nose. “I suppose you want some eggs.” She plucked a sliver of scrambled egg off her plate and held it out to him. He took it gently from her fingers and then licked his lips.

  “You’re spoiling him, you know, feeding him from the table,” Aunt Fran said. She tried to look stern, but a smile danced on her lips.

  Lara grinned and slipped a few more tidbits of egg to the cat. She was stalling, trying to delay the inevitable.

  “Aunt Fran,” Lara finally said. She hated to spoil the mood, but she needed to get the weight off her chest. “The night Theo was, you know…murdered, I heard voices outside. I told the police about it. They concluded that I probably heard Theo arguing with the killer. The thing was, I couldn’t hear enough to make out the words. Plus, it only lasted for a few seconds. But after that—”

  “You saw me go outside,” Aunt Fran quietly interjected. Her cheeks went pink, and she reached over and squeezed Lara’s wrist. “I know you’ve been wanting to ask me about it.”

  Lara blew out a gust of sheer relief. “God, yes, I have. Actually, I never saw you go out, but I saw you heading back inside. I know there’s no way on planet Earth that you did anything to hurt Theo. But when I saw the dirt on your cane yesterday morning, I got scared. Scared that the cops might find evidence that you went outside that night and try to pin the rap on you.”

  Her aunt nodded distractedly. “I didn’t hear the voices you heard that night, but I was sure I heard something else. It was a loud wail, like a cat crying in pain. I might have dreamed it, but I don’t think so.”

  “Why didn’t you come and get me?” Lara said. “I’d have gone outside to check for you!”

  Aunt Fran withdrew her hand and went back to her tea. “After the long day you’d had, you needed your rest,” she fretted. “I just couldn’t—”

  “For pity’s sake, Aunt Fran. I’m twenty-seven. I can lose a little sleep without anything dire happening.”

  Her aunt shrank slightly into her chair. “I’m sorry. I should have told you right away and not let you wonder.”

  Lara instantly felt terrible for yelling at her aunt. “No, I’m the one who should be sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you. I’ve been so worried, that’s all. And just so you know, I did not say anything to the police about it. I knew there was a reasonable explanation.”

  She thought about the wailing noise her aunt had heard the night Theo was killed. Could it have been Goldy, Wendy’s missing cat?

  Lara gave Aunt Fran a brief rundown of her encounter with Wendy at the coffee shop the day before. She pulled her cell from her pocket and showed her the sketch of the missing Goldy.

  “Pretty markings,” Aunt Fran noted. “Poor little darling. She might find her way home, but she might also be confused about where she lives. I’ll definitely keep my
eyes and ears peeled for her.”

  They finished breakfast and Lara cleared the table. She’d been toying with the idea of stopping into the local beauty parlor and having her hair cut. That morning when she’d run a comb through it, it had felt like one big tangle.

  “What do you think, Aunt Fran?” She held up a strand of her curly hair. “Time for a trim?”

  Her aunt gave her a sly smile. “I’m not saying a word. But if you decide to get it cut, Kellie down at Kurl-me-Klassy does a great job for a reasonable price.”

  “You can call me Kellie,” the crimson-haired stylist said. “Or you can call me Byrd. I answer to both.” Her lips were a shade darker than her hair, and her smile beamed like freshly fallen snow. She flipped a pink plastic cape around Lara and tied it behind her neck.

  Lara laughed. She’d taken an instant liking to the bubbly Kellie Byrd. The fact that the stylist took walkins added another checkmark to the salon’s “plus” column.

  “I like Byrd,” Lara said. “But I’d feel silly calling you that. If you don’t mind, I think I’ll stick with Kellie.”

  The stylist shrugged. “Whatever bobs your boat,” she said and sifted her fingers through Lara’s hair. “Man, what I wouldn’t do for locks like these. The color is to die for—and it’s natural, that’s what slays me. Problem is, you’re getting to what I call the Raggedy Ann stage. All hair. No flair. You need some styling, girl. Bad.”

  “Then style away,” Lara consented, then gulped. “But…not too short, okay?”

  With a cryptic smile, Kellie twirled the chair around and lifted the hatch to the built-in sink. She released the latch on the salon chair and instructed Lara to rest her head back.

  The warm water sluicing over Lara’s head felt luxurious. Kellie massaged her scalp with a coconut-scented shampoo, then rinsed and repeated. By the time she was through, Lara could feel the chill of the past few days leaving her bones.

  While Kellie collected her haircutting supplies, Lara scoped out the salon through the mirror. Gold-toned wallpaper with vertical pink stripes gave the salon an open, elegant ambiance. Instead of harsh overhead fluorescents, Kellie had placed gold wall sconces between the ornately framed mirrors to provide the salon’s lighting. Above each of the mirrors, a thick band of gold, wire-edged ribbon was twisted loosely and draped between two pink porcelain birds.