by Linda Reilly
Her aunt had obviously tried to place the boxes in strategic locations in the house. Not easy, especially since the cats avoided the small parlor. In addition, the layout of the lovely old Folk Victorian was deceiving. The rooms were small, if charming, leaving not much space to spread around the litter boxes.
For the second time that day, Lara walked a bag of trash out to the barrel next to the house.
The October sky was cloudy, the moon hidden. Dampness clung to the air.
The sharp, sudden cry of a small animal rent the air. It came from the vacant field, not far from where she’d tripped over the rebar. Lara felt her pulse spike.
She prayed it wasn’t a cat she’d heard. Was Goldy still missing? As far as she knew, no one had reported spotting her. Lara reminded herself to check her tablet once she got back inside the house.
She was scurrying up the porch steps when she heard the cry again. She turned and stood stock-still. Wendy had said that the cat knew her name. Lara cupped her hands around her mouth and called, “Goldy.”
Her only response was the toot of a car horn somewhere in the distance.
Lara sagged. She called Goldy’s name several more times. Finally, she trudged back inside and heated some water for cocoa.
Chapter 19
Aunt Fran was watching a program on PBS—something about the Egyptian pyramids. Dolce lay curled in her lap, snoozing.
“I wondered where you were,” Aunt Fran said.
Lara explained what she’d been doing outside. “I put on some water for cocoa. You’ll have some, right?”
“I’ll pass,” her aunt said. “I don’t need to be up all night.”
“Right. Gotcha.”
After a few minutes the kettle whistled. Lara made herself a cup of instant hot chocolate and returned to the large parlor. She held the mug close as she sipped the chocolatey liquid. With cats all around, she didn’t want to risk scalding any of them. Munster, especially, was famous for coming out of nowhere and leaping onto her lap.
Callie and Luna were nestled in their favorite spot on the carpeted tree. When Lara looked up, she noticed one of them observing her curiously. It was Callie—the more long-haired of the pair.
“Talk to her,” Aunt Fran said quietly.
Smiling, Lara spoke to Callie, keeping her voice soft and singsong. “Sweet Callie,” she murmured. “Will you let me hold you one day?”
Callie perked her ears, then leaned against her sister, Luna. Not today, she seemed to be saying.
“She will, one day. I feel sure of it.” Aunt Fran closed her eyes and leaned her head back, setting the remote on the edge of her chair. “I’m going to rest my eyes for a few.”
Lara smiled and slid the remote off the chair arm. Her aunt looked so peaceful. Lara turned down the sound on the television, taking a moment to study her aunt. Even at—what was she, fifty-six?—she still looked so youthful, so attractive. As a younger woman, Aunt Fran had reminded Lara of the actor Audrey Hepburn. Slender, with stunning green eyes, high cheekbones, and the warmest of smiles.
Sometimes Lara forgot that her aunt had been married once. From the few pictures Lara had seen, Brian Clarkson had been lanky and athletic, with straight blond hair and a mischievous grin. Her aunt was twenty, a junior at UNH, when she and Brian had eloped during spring break. Brian, who’d already earned his master’s, was teaching middle school in a town near the UNH campus.
The happy couple had been married only eight months when Brian stopped one day on his way home from school to help a stranded motorist. It was one of those icy, snowy, blustery days, when the windchill made it feel like twenty below. Brian had stepped out of his car on Route 108 and had begun trudging toward the disabled vehicle. He never made it. A tow truck, whose driver claimed he hadn’t seen Brian until it was too late, slammed into him, killing him instantly.
Her aunt never talked about Uncle Brian, at least not in Lara’s memory. Lara’s dad was the one who’d told her the sad story, when she’d asked once why Aunt Fran had a different last name.
Did Aunt Fran ever think about her husband? Did she ever ponder what her own life would’ve been like if Brian’s hadn’t been tragically cut short?
Surely she did, at least once in a while. Oddly, there were no photos of Brian displayed in the house. Lara suspected Aunt Fran had tucked them away in a private place, along with the shards of her broken heart.
Lara was itching to get her hands on the art supplies she’d bought earlier in the day. The watercolors were calling to her, begging her to paint Blue.
She looked over at her aunt, who was dozing peacefully in her chair. Lara gulped back the dregs of her cooling hot cocoa, delivered her mug to the kitchen sink, and dashed upstairs. She retrieved her Jepson’s bag from her closet, where she’d tucked it for safekeeping. At the last minute, she remembered to grab her tablet, too.
The kitchen table was the perfect place to spread out her art supplies. Lara set up her palette, brushes, and two cups of water. She carefully tore a sheet of 140-pound paper from the pad she’d bought. Luckily, she’d remembered to buy masking tape, which she used to line the edges.
If she’d tried, she couldn’t have stopped the grin she felt forming on her face. Using one of her pencils, she made a light sketch of Blue’s head and chest. Next, she dipped a fine-tipped brush into water and drew the outline of the cat.
From there, she filled in the colors, using a blend of black and brown paint to depict Blue’s chocolate-toned face. It took several tries to get the hue just right, but she was pleased with the way it came out.
Blue’s eyebrows and body were a lush cream color. Lara had bought a small tube of white paint, and she squeezed a tiny amount onto a sheet of scrap paper. She gradually added touches of gray and brown, until she got the shade she wanted. When she painted at her studio apartment in Boston, she used a tile to blend colors. For now, she’d have to improvise. It hadn’t been practical to buy a full set of watercolor supplies, especially since she had no idea how long she’d be in New Hampshire.
To depict Blue’s stunning eyes, Lara dipped her brush in the aquamarine paint. She tried several color blends, using miniscule amounts of yellow and green to enhance the blue. She’d have preferred having a photo to work from, or even the real cat.
Yeah, right.
Aunt Fran didn’t believe there was a real Ragdoll cat. And Lara was beginning to wonder if Blue existed only in her imagination.
Lara worked until her eyes watered. She was more tired than she realized.
After she finished, she sat back and examined her results.
She’d captured the gorgeous feline perfectly, right down to the serene, inscrutable expression in her azure eyes. Nonetheless, she wasn’t totally thrilled with the result.
Lara jumped when she heard the tap of her aunt’s cane on the linoleum floor behind her. Aunt Fran came around the adjacent side of the table and sat down. She set aside her folded newspaper. Her sharp eyes perused every square inch of the painting.
“Well done,” Aunt Fran said in a guarded tone. “It’s nice to finally see one of your watercolors.”
“Thank you,” Lara said. “I was going a little crazy without my art supplies. It feels good to put color to paper.”
“What kinds of things do you normally paint?” Aunt Fran asked. “I assume you don’t always paint cats.”
“You’re right.” Lara smiled. “Although I do try to incorporate cats into my watercolors, even if they’re not the focus of the painting.” She looked over at her tablet. “Here, let me show you some examples.”
Lara pulled her tablet over and brought up a file she’d labeled “Gallery.” The file contained three of her watercolors that the owner of an art gallery on Marlborough Street in Boston had agreed to display. “They’re a bit pedestrian for my clientele,” he’d told her smugly, “but you never know—they might appeal to a collector who goes for that sort of standard Boston backdrop.” He’d given her a patronizing smile and hung the watercolor
s in a far corner of his gallery, away from most of the foot traffic.
“This is the first one,” Lara explained to her aunt. “You probably recognize it—it’s Boston’s City Hall. Some people hate the design. Over the years, there’s been a ton of controversy over it. But I’ve always loved the stark lines of raw concrete, and the wide plaza that seems to stretch endlessly.” Lara felt herself getting animated. “Anyway, this is my favorite part.” She pointed to the lower right corner of the painting, enlarging it on her tablet.
Aunt Fran beamed. “Oh, Lara, I see what you’ve done. It’s marvelous. Absolutely enchanting.”
At the lower edge of the painting, a family of three dressed in Puritan garb—father, mother, and young daughter—gazed in sheer wonder over the vast brick plaza. They looked as if they’d emerged through a time warp into modern-day Boston. The child, a girl of about seven, had one arm clasped around a striped orange tabby. Her other hand was encased firmly inside her mother’s.
“I wanted to convey the awe that the early settlers would feel if they saw Boston today. It’s a concept I’ve been toying with for a long time. That’s why it’s so important to get their expressions right. I want all their hopes and fears and dreams to be reflected in their eyes.”
She swiped her finger over the tablet and brought up the other two watercolors. Each depicted a different Puritan family—plus cat, of course—one peering up at the towering glass face of the John Hancock Tower, the other gazing over the reflecting pool at the Christian Science Center.
“So, what do you think?” Lara said gingerly.
Aunt Fran’s eyes filled. “I think,” she said softly, “that my niece is a supremely talented artist with a shining career ahead of her. I’m simply blown away by these paintings.”
Lara pushed back her own tears. She was surprised at how much her aunt’s praise meant to her. “Thank you. That means a lot. Problem is, no one’s shown any interest in these particular paintings. At least as far as I know. Anyway, I have scads of other watercolors. Sometimes people text me pictures of their kids, or dogs, or families, and I paint from those. I’ve sold a bunch of them online, but the shipping is kind of a pain. Some customers want to buy them framed, so I have to arrange for that, too. Plus, I have to work at the bakery to keep my rent affordable.”
Aunt Fran looked somber. “And then you have to contend with a grumpy aunt with bad knees and a house teeming with cats. It’s too much.”
“Grumpy aunt?” Lara shrugged with exaggerated nonchalance. “I’m sorry, but I don’t have one of those. To whom might you be referring?”
Her aunt smiled, but her eyes were serious. “I think, Lara, that it’s time we discussed your return to Boston. Don’t you agree it would be best for both of us if we set a date? That way there aren’t any ifs or maybes.”
Lara pushed aside her tablet and sighed. When she’d driven to Whisker Jog on Wednesday, she’d figured it for a two-day trip at best. She hadn’t intended to fall in love with her hometown again. She hadn’t intended to get so attached to her aunt—and to the cats.
And she hadn’t anticipated finding Blue, who seemed to pop in and out of the scenery like a prop in a play.
She leaned her elbows on the table, cupping her chin in both hands. All her best efforts at giving the house a thorough cleaning had been stalled by one thing or another—mainly Barnes’s murder.
Tomorrow is the day, she decided. If she could whip the house into some semblance of order, she’d feel that much better when she had to leave.
Beyond that, she didn’t have much of a game plan. Maybe she needed to choose a weekend every month to spend with Aunt Fran and keep the house in decent shape? That way Aunt Fran could plan, too. During each visit, Lara could buy a month’s worth of groceries and cat supplies, and get the house all spiffed up.
In the morning, she’d propose it to Aunt Fran.
Unfortunately, her aunt’s knee problems weren’t going to resolve themselves. Somehow, she had to persuade her aunt to have the surgery she needed.
Lara was packing up her watercolors when she spied a portion of the headline in the newspaper her aunt had brought into the kitchen.
“Aunt Fran, may I see that paper?”
With a baffled look, her aunt gave it to her.
Lara unfolded it and stared at the caption over the article above the fold:
TRUCK ROLLOVER CAUSES MAJOR JAM.
She read the article quickly, interested only in the major points. On Thursday morning, a trailer truck had jackknifed across the Everett Turnpike in Nashua, creating a massive traffic backup. The driver had escaped with minor injuries, but the traffic jam had extended over the Massachusetts border for nearly twenty-two miles.
An aerial photo of the traffic backup showed a stretch of cars at a standstill behind a semi that rested diagonally across the highway.
Thursday.
That was the same morning Josette Barnes claimed she’d sailed up the Everett Turnpike like she had wings on her car. If that were true, her car would’ve needed real wings, not metaphorical ones.
Lara gave her aunt a brief account of what Josette had told her and Kellie at the beauty salon.
“I don’t know, Lara. I hear what you’re saying, but I simply can’t see Josette killing Theo. The woman doesn’t have murder in her bones—I’m sure of it.”
Maybe, Lara thought. But the story Josette had related of her magical night with her “beau” was beginning to seem more like a fairy tale than a true account.
“I forgot this part,” Lara added. “She told me she’d been wanting to talk to you about something. That she planned to stop by some day and see you. Do you have any idea what it might be about?”
“Not a clue,” her aunt said. She looked at Lara and smiled. “I guess I’ll find out when she gets here.”
Lara tapped her fingers on the table. “What about Glen Usher? Could he have had, well, ‘murder in his bones,’ as you put it?”
Aunt Fran’s face clouded. She shook her head. “Glen was more like a child than an adult. Intelligent, yes. But emotionally he was disorganized and immature. I can’t imagine him arranging a secret meeting with Theo. It would’ve taken planning, and Glen wasn’t a planner.”
Lara sat up straighter in her chair. “Then I’ve made a decision. I’m not leaving Whisker Jog until Barnes’s murder has been solved.” She reached over and squeezed her aunt’s hand. “I’m not leaving you here with a killer on the loose.”
Chapter 20
There was something about the clusters of lilacs on the wallpaper that made Lara smile every time she walked into her bedroom. Well, her bedroom in Aunt Fran’s house. The periwinkle flowers, trailing along slender green stems against a pale yellow backdrop, summoned a host of warm memories.
How many nights had she slept in this room as a kid? One hundred? Five hundred?
She chuckled when she saw Izzy and Pickles. The pair lay sprawled atop her chenille bedspread, their furry calico forms stretched to maximum length. Izzy looked up sharply at her, then began licking a paw. Lara pictured a thought bubble above the cat’s head. Don’t even think of dislodging us ’cuz it ain’t happening.
Lara laughed. “Don’t worry, you calico cuties, I’m not going to kick you off the bed. But you have to leave a little room for me, you know.”
She toed off her boots, plunked the bag with her watercolor supplies on her bureau, and scooted onto the bed with her tablet. Remembering that her cell was in her jacket pocket downstairs, she made a mental note to charge it before morning.
Lara managed to twist her body around the cats until she found a comfortable position. “Come on now, guys. We have some Googling to do.”
It took only seconds to bring up a link to the “Midnight Mary” song. As she’d guessed, it dated back to the sixties. The lyrics intrigued her.
The song was about a teenage boy in love with a girl named Mary. Mary’s father disapproved of him, so he and his beloved Mary had to meet secretly. They always met
at the same place—and apparently always at midnight.
It made Lara wonder—did Glen fantasize about secretly meeting Mary Newman? She was a lovely woman, if a bit naïve. Had he spun daydreams in his head about being with her? Had he believed he had a shot at wooing her away from her husband?
Aunt Fran claimed Glen wasn’t a planner, but Lara had her doubts.
What if the note had been Glen’s cryptic way of asking Mary to meet him at midnight? Since the note didn’t say where, it suggested that Mary knew the meeting place.
The thought sent a chill down Lara’s spine.
And yet…Lara couldn’t imagine Mary having anything to do with Glen. She’d already expressed her distaste for him. What had she said? Glen has to go. Or I will.
A weird thought sneaked into Lara’s head. What if Mary had agreed to meet Glen at midnight, but sent her uncle Theo instead? According to Aunt Fran, Barnes had adored his niece. Could Mary have recruited her uncle to put a good scare into Glen? Tell him to quit bothering Mary or else?
Possibly.
If it were true, it meant Glen had come prepared. Whoever had met Barnes that night behind the park bench had already filched the hoe from the side of Aunt Fran’s shed. Why would Glen do that if he’d thought he was meeting Mary?
Lara yawned. She needed to sleep on all those unanswered questions. Her feline-covered bed was calling. Tomorrow promised to be a busy day.
She noticed that the battery power on her tablet was running low. Before she stuck it into the charger, she took another peek at Sherry’s Facebook page. Unfortunately, no one had reported seeing Goldy, the missing cat.
Poor baby. Please be safe.
After breakfast with her aunt the next morning, Lara set about doing a thorough cleaning of all the rooms. Aunt Fran’s trusty Hoover was old, but it sure sucked up the dust and cat hair.
Lara even ran the vacuum-cleaner attachment over all the curtains, both downstairs and up. She wanted to launder, press, and rehang them, but she’d have to tackle that task when she could devote an entire day to it.
