Escape Claws

by Linda Reilly

  “I only came in for a quick java and a mini-chat,” Lara told Sherry. “I didn’t get as much done yesterday as I’d hoped. I want to do a more thorough dusting and cleaning at Aunt Fran’s, and see if I can figure out something with the cats. My gut tells me she hasn’t tried overly hard to find homes for the ones she took in as strays.”

  “And my gut says you’re right.” Sherry pulled the coffeepot off the warmer and topped off Mr. Patello’s mug. “It was different when she was working. But being housebound has really done a number on her, if you get what I’m saying. She’s bonded so thoroughly to all the cats she took in that she can’t bear to part with any.”

  Lara scrunched her face and rubbed her temples. There were no magic answers, that much was certain. It was going to take a lot more brainstorming to figure out a way to help her aunt and the cats. So far, she’d provided only a temporary solution.

  “Lara, you know I’d take a cat if I could,” Sherry said, her eyes sad. “But with Mom’s allergies—”

  “Sherry, you don’t have to explain. I know all that,” Lara soothed.

  “I keep telling myself I’ll get my own place one of these days.” Sherry gave a halfhearted shrug.

  “And some day you will,” Lara assured her.

  Sherry glanced at Mr. Patello, then closed her mouth. Lara knew she wanted to say more, but airing her problems within earshot of a customer wasn’t exactly a wise thing to do.

  Especially a customer who seemed to be hanging on Sherry’s every word.

  Mr. Patello turned abruptly toward Lara. “You girls talking about Fran Clarkson? The nut with all the cats?”

  “Mr. Patello!” Sherry said sharply.

  Lara stiffened at his tone—and at his words. “My aunt is not a nut, Mr., um, Patello, and I resent you calling her that. She is an intelligent, caring, and accomplished woman. And if you’d lived in this town for any length of time, you’d know that.”

  The man looked taken aback. “I…I do know that,” he backpedaled. “Okay, I didn’t mean to imply she was crazy. But in my book, anyone who lives with that many cats has to be a few degrees off her rocker.” He tapped a gnarled forefinger to his head.

  Then you need a new book, Lara wanted to shriek. Instead, she took a deep, calming breath.

  “Mr. Patello,” Lara said evenly, “do you even know how many cats my aunt has?”

  The man flushed red behind his white beard stubble. “Well, no. Not exactly. But I heard it was somewhere around thirty.”

  Thirty! Who makes up such nonsense?

  “It’s eleven,” Lara said, clenching her teeth. Twelve if you counted Blue. “And at least three of those eleven would have starved to death or worse, if she hadn’t been there to take them in.”

  The man swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing like a buoy over a fishing line. “Well, then, all right. I take back what I said about her. I wouldn’t want to see any animal come to harm. I’m not an ogre, you know.”

  Lara placed her hand lightly on his arm. She felt like an ogre herself for getting angry at the old gent. “Mr. Patello, I apologize for the way I spoke. I shouldn’t have raised my voice. It’s just that it’s hard to find good homes for that many strays. She’s doing the best she can.”

  “You don’t have to defend her,” he said hoarsely. “I’ve known Fran Clarkson for a long time. She’s good people.” He rose from his stool and fumbled in his pocket for his billfold.

  “Never mind, Mr. Patello,” Sherry told him quickly. “It’s on the house today.”

  Avoiding Lara’s gaze, the man scooped his homburg off the adjacent stool, grumbled a thank-you, and hobbled out the door. Lara thought she heard him mumble the name Herbie, but that might have been her imagination working overtime.

  Sherry blew out a long breath. “Like I needed that today.”

  “I’m so sorry, Sher,” Lara groaned. “I really lost my cool, didn’t I? I hope I didn’t cost you a customer.”

  Sherry laughed. “No way. He’s been a regular here for years. Believe me, he’ll be sitting in that same spot tomorrow with his usual coffee and corn muffin, saving a stool for Herbie.”

  That made Lara feel a tad better. She took another long swig of coffee.

  “And in case you’re wondering, Herbie used to be his dear friend. They had breakfast here together every morning, until Herbie died several months ago. Mr. Patello still saves his stool for him every day.”

  “Oh, the poor man,” Lara said, feeling more than a little guilty. “Now I feel terrible at the way I spoke to him.”

  “Actually,” Sherry said, “I thought you were pretty controlled. You apologized to him, but he did not return the gesture. Shame on him.”

  “You’re right,” Lara said. “Hey, listen, I’ve got to get going. I want to pick up some watercolor supplies. I didn’t bring any with me when I packed the other day.”

  “Does that mean you’ll be sticking around for a while?” Excitement rose in Sherry’s voice.

  Lara sagged. She felt so torn. “I’m not sure. I will for a little while, anyway. But don’t get your hopes up. I still have to go back to Boston.” She swallowed the last drop of the fragrant coffee in her mug.

  “Yeah, I know.” Sherry made a face and sighed.

  “In the meantime, do you know where can I buy some art supplies? Is there an arts-and-crafts store near here?”

  “You bet,” Sherry said. “It’s a good one, too. Mary Newman works there.” She jotted directions on a napkin and gave it to Lara.

  Mary Newman. Lara wondered how well acquainted Sherry was with the woman. She couldn’t help thinking that Mary might know more than most people about her uncle’s business dealings.

  She took the napkin from her friend and perused it. “Great. This looks easy to get to. I’ve been gone for so many years that I’ve lost my bearings a little.”

  Tears suddenly filled Sherry’s eyes. “I’ve missed you so much, Lara. I was happy when we connected again, but it’s not the same as having you close by. Except for Theo getting offed, these past few days, having you back in town, have been so much like old times.”

  Lara felt herself getting misty. “I know, Sher. And honestly, I’m going to try to spend more time up here with Aunt Fran—and with you.”

  “Let’s make it a plan,” Sherry said. “And don’t you dare attempt to pay for that coffee,” she added, seeing Lara pull her change purse from her handbag.

  “Okay,” Lara relented. “But only for today. In the future I pay my bill, fair and square.”

  “Um, sure. Whatever you say.” Sherry’s gaze wandered to the customer who was waving at the two of them and heading toward the glass front door.

  Lara turned, and felt her face flame.

  “Nice to see you again, Tiger Lara,” the man said, his wide smile reflected in his voice.

  “Um…I…” Lara sputtered.

  Sporty briefcase in hand, he grinned at her, pushed open the door, and then hurried across the street.

  Lara looked at Sherry. “Huh?”

  “OMG, I can’t believe you didn’t recognize him!” Sherry laughed.

  But Lara had recognized him. The “Tiger Lara” was a dead giveaway.

  Only one person had ever called her that.

  Gideon Halley.

  Chapter 15

  Jepson’s Crafts was housed in a flat-top, beige stucco building on Route Sixteen, close to the Moultonborough town line. The storefront itself was unimpressive, with handwritten signs advertising weekly sales taped haphazardly to the front windows. Lara couldn’t imagine working in such a dreary place, especially when its purpose was to foster creativity. It didn’t exactly smack of a cozy, artsy place to shop.

  Oh, what the heck. If they had the items Lara needed, why should she care about the ambiance?

  Customer parking, which consisted of a sea of cracked pavement with a Dumpster squatting in a far corner, was located behind the store. Lara was surprised at how many cars were in the lot. Jepson’s must be a popula
r place.

  The moment she stepped inside the store, she took back everything she’d been thinking. An explosion of colors greeted her. The store was well lighted and the aisles wide. Brightly painted shelves held an amazing array of arts-and-crafts supplies.

  The black-and-white linoleum floor looked spotless, and the checkout counters were as high-tech as they get. Each aisle had a sign hanging above it, identifying in easy-to-read letters what could be found there.

  Lara scanned the overhead signs until she saw the one she needed—Art Supplies. Since she planned to buy several items, she snagged a cart from the indoor corral.

  Once she began shopping, she wanted to linger there all day. The selection was phenomenal, and the prices better than she’d hoped. After loading up with brushes, watercolor paints, a palette, and a pad of 140-pound paper, Lara aimed her cart toward the checkout that had the shortest line.

  A slender clerk with stringy gray hair and plastic skeletons hanging from her earlobes rang up her order. The woman worked with sharp, efficient movements, as if she’d been trained to move the long lines ahead as quickly as possible.

  Lara craned her head around, hoping to spot Mary. Finally, after paying for everything with the dwindling funds in her debit account, she said to the clerk, “I heard Mary Newman works here. Is she around today?”

  The stringy-haired clerk nodded grimly. “She’s here, but the poor thing’s a mess.” She moved Lara’s bag to the end of the counter and began ringing up the next order. “You might catch her out back. I think she’s on break.”

  Lara thanked the clerk and left. She didn’t know what “out back” meant, so she headed out to the parking lot. By sheer luck—or providence, she thought—she spotted Mary near the Dumpster, close to where Lara had parked. Mary appeared to be disposing of some plastic grocery bags.

  “Hi, Mary,” she said, coming up behind her.

  “Oh!” Clutching an open plastic bag, Mary jumped and swerved around. “Oh, it’s only you,” she said, closing her eyes for a moment. She tapped her fingertips to her heart. “You scared me, coming up behind me like that.”

  “Sorry.” Lara thought her booted footsteps had made plenty of noise, but apparently Mary was in another zone—mentally, at least. “I thought you heard me.”

  Mary held up a white plastic bag. Two more like it rested at her feet. “I…I was throwing out some stuff,” she said, tears filling her eyes. She dropped the bag on the pavement and began to cry.

  Lara peeked at the bag. Inside were more of those magazines—Confessions in Lace. She could see the glossy cover of the mag on top.

  “Mary, do you want to talk about it?” Lara kept her voice soft, nonthreatening.

  Mary nodded, and the dam broke. She sobbed for at least a minute, during which Lara remained still.

  Mary pulled a crumpled tissue from her jacket pocket and swabbed her eyes. “Will you help me get rid of these first?”

  Lara hesitated. The magazines were definitely icky—in her opinion, at least. But what if Mary was destroying evidence? What if the mags had something to do with Barnes’s murder? Could they contain clues as to the person who felt angry or desperate enough to kill him?

  “Are you sure you want to dump these?” Lara asked her.

  “I’m sure,” Mary said firmly. “If you hold the Dumpster cover open, I’ll throw these bags in. They’re heavier than they look. It’s hard for me to hold open the cover and toss them in at the same time.”

  Lara nodded and lifted the metal cover of the Dumpster. One by one, Mary picked up the bags and tossed them in, as far as she could throw them.

  “Thanks,” she muttered to Lara. She shivered.

  Lara eased the cover closed. “Shall we sit in your car and talk?” She hoped Mary hadn’t already changed her mind about having a chat.

  Mary glanced at her watch. “Okay, but I only have about eight minutes of break left.”

  They hurried over to Mary’s SUV, which was parked close by. Once they were inside Mary locked the doors, then reached her arm around to the rear seating area. She lifted a silver laptop off the floor and set it down on the console between her and Lara.

  “This is Chris’s,” she confessed. “Not his work laptop, but his home one. He doesn’t use it much anymore. If he works from home, like during tax season, he brings his work laptop home with him.”

  “Does he know you took it?” Lara was sure she knew the answer, but she had to ask.

  Mary bit her lip. “No. I found it in the bottom drawer in his desk at home, buried under some blank IRS forms. After Uncle Theo…died, I got to thinking about stuff. Chris has been acting strange for a while. I mean, don’t get me wrong—our marriage is wonderful, and I know he loves me. But, well, he and my uncle weren’t exactly friends. I’m scared that Uncle Theo might have gotten him involved in something that made Chris feel threatened.”

  And given him a motive for murder? Lara added silently.

  “Mary, have you talked to Chris about it?” In Lara’s mind, that would have been the logical place to start.

  Mary’s eyes grew moist again, and she shook her head. “Oh, God, Lara. I can’t. He’d think I didn’t trust him.” All at once she froze and stared at Lara, as if seeing her for the first time. “I just noticed your hair,” she said softly. “It’s so pretty.”

  “Thanks.” Lara smiled, and Mary looked a little more at ease.

  “Lara, maybe you can help me,” Mary said. “Can I show you something?” She opened the cover of the laptop.

  Lara squirmed in her seat. This felt wrong—looking at Chris’s personal computer. She didn’t really know the man. Invading his privacy didn’t seem like the best way to learn about him.

  Although, she reasoned, what if Chris had killed Theo? What if one of the entries in his laptop gave Lara a clue she could take to the police?

  But that wouldn’t work, either. How would she explain it? Wouldn’t a savvy defense attorney get the ill-gotten evidence tossed out in a trial?

  Wait a minute. She was getting ahead of herself. This wasn’t a trial, and so far she hadn’t uncovered one iota of evidence. She looked over at Mary, whose fingers were nimbly skipping over the keys.

  “You know his password?” Lara asked her.

  Mary’s face reddened. “He always uses the same one—MyMary82. That’s the year I was born.”

  Very sweet, Lara thought. She wasn’t sure the contents of the computer would prove quite as benign.

  “Okay, look.” Her hand trembling a bit, Mary turned the laptop to give Lara a better view. “This is Chris’s e-mail program. Over the last few years, he’s been sending Uncle Theo regular e-mails, about once a month. Each e-mail is totally blank, with a single Word document attached.”

  Lara’s pulse spiked. “Okaaay.”

  “Now, watch this.” Mary clicked open the Word document attached to the most recent outgoing e-mail. “What do you think?”

  For a moment, Lara was baffled. The page was blank. “Am I supposed to be seeing something?” she asked.

  “You tell me,” Mary said with a sigh. “I’ve scrolled down, all the way to the end, but there’s nothing.”

  Well, isn’t this a puzzle, Lara thought. She wasn’t familiar with many software programs—especially those that didn’t relate to art or watercolors. She knew only the bare basics of Word. She had to agree that it was odd, though—Chris sending blank documents to Barnes.

  Could it be a code of some sort? A signal between the two? Something only Chris and Barnes would be able to interpret?

  Truth be told, Lara was grateful those documents had been blank. She barely knew Chris and Mary. She felt like a sleaze looking at Chris’s personal stuff. What would he say if he knew Mary had divulged the contents of his e-mails?

  “I’m so worried,” Mary said, fear rattling her voice. “Uncle Theo—well, he wasn’t always above board in his business dealings. At least that’s what people said about him. But it wasn’t his fault,” she added quickly. “His fat
her was a nasty man, a terrible role model. Anyway, he and Chris always used to clash. That’s why I’m so scared.”

  “Scared of what?” Lara asked quietly, though she thought she knew. Mary was terrified that Chris might have killed her uncle. Lara felt sure that was it.

  Her face pinched, Mary stared through the windshield. A sudden gust sent a handful of dried maple leaves scattering over the hood of her SUV. Lara shivered. She couldn’t help thinking it was an omen of some sort.

  “I’m scared Uncle Theo might have gotten Chris involved in something sh-shady,” Mary stuttered out. “Oh God, Lara. I can’t lose Chris, too!”

  “Don’t jump to conclusions,” Lara cautioned. “You can make yourself crazy thinking things like that. I’m sure none of that happened.”

  “Honestly?”

  Lara nodded. “Mary, I don’t know what to make of the blank Word documents. But I’m also not the best person to ask. I used a word processing program when I was in art school, but since then I haven’t kept up. I work mostly with paints and colors.” When I’m not washing dishes at the bakery.

  Mary swallowed, then sniffled. “I was afraid you’d say that.”

  “Although,” Lara mused aloud. “If he sent the Word documents to your uncle as attachments, wouldn’t they be stored somewhere else on his computer? He would’ve had to attach them from some other program or folder, right?”

  “Right,” Mary said glumly. “I already checked that. Whatever they were, Chris must have deleted them. They’re not in his laptop anymore.” With a childish huff, she slammed the laptop closed. “Never mind. I shouldn’t have bothered you. I just thought you might—” She grabbed Lara’s wrist. “Hey, wait a minute. I bet if you take this home with you, you’ll be able to figure it out eventually. There has to be an answer! Someone just needs to take the time—”

  “I’m sorry, Mary,” Lara interjected, gently pulling her hand away. “But I can’t do that. If Chris gave me permission, I’d help you in a heartbeat. I mean, I wish I could help. I can see how bad you’re hurting. I…I just don’t think this is the way to go about it.”