Purrder She Wrote

by Cate Conte

When I’d run out of things to move, I tried to get some work done. I had some voice mails on the café cell phone, which I realized guiltily that I’d turned to silent yesterday and never turned back to loud. I checked messages and called back the ones I needed to. I did vet checks and reference checks for my kitten who was waiting on his new family. All good news, so I called his family to tell them they could come get him tomorrow. I grabbed my computer and checked e-mails again to see if any registrations had come in for the rest of the week and sent another e-mail to my Web developer to prod him along with the registration site. This manual keeping track of things wasn’t working for me. I would love to find someone to do it for me. Maybe Val would. It might take her mind off everything. Annoyed, I shoved my computer aside. I couldn’t focus. I needed to get out of this house for a bit.

  “Come on, JJ,” I called, picking up his harness and shaking it. Just like a dog, he bounded over.

  I slipped JJ’s harness on and led him outside. I thought about walking, but it was superhot and we’d probably run into more nosy people that way. We got into Grandpa’s truck and drove slowly down the street. Damian Shaw was leaning on his counter at the shack when we cruised by. He waved and pantomimed eating, pointing at JJ.

  I pulled over. JJ would never forgive me for passing by his treats. Damian always gave him scraps from the lobster or whatever else he was serving, and today was no exception.

  “There’s my boy,” he said with a grin, coming around with a dish that he placed on the ground. JJ immediately attacked it.

  I smiled. “Thanks, as always.”

  “Anytime. So how’s it going?”

  “I’m fine. How are you? How’s business?”

  “Business is good. Great, actually. All that marketing stuff you helped me with really made a difference.”

  When I’d met Damian, he’d just moved to the island and taken over the shack from a local couple. He’d also been practicing saying lobstah with a Boston accent. Which, to a guy from the Midwest, did take some work. I’d given him some tips on how to attract not only the vacationers going to and from the ferry, but also the islanders who were harder to win over. Grandpa thought he had a crush on me. But Grandpa thinks any boy who talks to me has a crush on me. “So what was going on over there this morning? I saw police cars,” he said casually.

  I grimaced. His flagging me down hadn’t been for totally unselfish reasons. “Ugh. I don’t want to talk about it.”

  He laid a sympathetic hand on my arm. “I know. I’m sorry. Is it about the woman who works for you?”

  So much for not talking about it. “Yeah. The police seem to think she had something to do with the murder. They’re wrong,” I added, in case there was any question.

  “So who do you think did it?” he asked, leaning in.

  “I have no idea! And I don’t want to talk about it anymore. For real.”

  “Okay, okay. I’m sorry.” He looked properly ashamed.

  “Don’t worry about it.” I glanced down at JJ, who’d cleaned out his bowl of treats. He looked up at me and squeaked, his signature sound. For a rough-and-tumble cat like JJ who’d lived on the streets for who knew how long, the sound was almost comical. But he got very offended if anyone commented on it. “We’d better go. We have some errands to run in town.”

  “Have a good rest of your day,” he said. “Keep me posted on, well, you know.”

  “Sure, Damian,” I muttered. “Be happy to. Come on, JJ.” JJ squeaked and followed me back to the truck. We drove on, passing the ferry docks. A boat had just come in, and it disgorged its passengers in a throng. Tourists, mostly, people who were starting their vacation. And doing it with a vengeance. The island attracted folks who were serious about a real summer experience. They wanted the whole nine yards—beautiful beaches, junk food, overpriced shopping. The quest for bad food was one of the reasons why it was hard to find a decent juice bar here. There were a few places that dabbled in juices, but nothing like mine and Ethan’s place out West. The locals were convinced that places like that would die in a month here, that people only truly wanted the milkshakes and frappes. But I didn’t buy that. Anyone who paid attention could see the subtle shift in the types of people who came to the island. Of course people wanted the frappes and giant sundaes. Usually the families. But there was also the crowd that wanted to keep up whatever healthy lifestyle they lived off-island. Or at least touches of it. And I wanted to be there for that crowd.

  I hadn’t said as much to Ethan yet, but the wheels had already started turning about an East Coast branch of Goin’ Green. Once the cat café was up and running, all the glitches worked out, it seemed like a logical venture to pursue. I’d already spotted some storefronts that could work, both here in Daybreak Harbor, as well as in Turtle Point. The latter town wasn’t as big as Daybreak Harbor, but it had a nice downtown with classy shops and restaurants. It was a bit quieter, but I think it attracted a more serious clientele. Which could also work.

  I could feel the adrenaline course through my veins just thinking about it. I loved new business ventures. Plus, it took my mind off Cole, Holly, Val, and Adele. Setting up shop, creating business plans, marketing, all of it excited me. Well, when I wasn’t dealing with murders at the same time. The sight of a group of people with TV camera equipment getting off the ferry quelled my thirst for a new adventure, at least for the moment. Word was out on the mainland about Holly. Becky would be hyperfocused making sure the paper was getting first dibs on any and all information coming out about the murder. She got really defensive about her turf.

  We hurried into town and straight for the pet store. JJ perked up as I pushed the door open. He liked this place. The owner, Mish, was behind the counter with her Yorkie in her lap. Mish and I had gone to school together. She waved at me.

  “Hey, Maddie! How are you? Hello, JJ! Oh, I have to come over there and scratch his chin.” Placing her dog on the chair, she bolted out from behind the counter and bent to JJ’s level, cooing ridiculous baby talk to him. I hid a smile. JJ was so not that cat. I feared he might take a swipe at her, but he withstood the degradation. He was no dummy. He knew his favorite treats came from this place. Mish ordered all the treats from a woman down in Connecticut who ran an operation called Pawsitively Organic. All her pet treats were homemade, with locally sourced ingredients. I’d actually been thinking about stocking some myself to sell.

  “I’m good, Mish. You?” I tried to head back to the treat aisle before she started talking, because I knew what the topic would be. But she just followed me.

  “I’m good, but wow, I can’t believe this whole Holly thing! Can you?”

  I shook my head, pretending to be engrossed in finding the right flavor of crunchy snacks.

  “I mean, I know she wasn’t the nicest gal. She was a total jerk to me in high school. Or maybe that was Heather,” Mish said thoughtfully, tapping on her chin with a long, pink nail. “Either way, what a way to go. At least she died on the beach. If I have to die, I want to be on a beach. You know?”

  “Mish … I don’t really want to talk about it,” I said. How many times was I going to have to say that today?

  She was instantly contrite. “I’m sorry. I understand. It has to be difficult, since it was your grand opening and all where it started.”

  “That’s a bit of a jump, don’t you think?” I said. “No one said anything started at my place. She and Adele had a disagreement. It’s early to link the two events, no?”

  Mish gave me a skeptical look. “I heard the cops are questioning Adele at the station this time. I’m sure they’ve got plenty of reasons to suspect her. I mean, she wasn’t shy about how she felt. I remember one time last summer at the pet fair down on the green. I don’t even know what she was mad about, but she threatened to slash Holly’s tires. Right in front of a huge crowd. And she’s got that younger gal running around acting crazy with her.” Mish shook her head. “Maybe the two of them were in it together.”

  “Younger gal?” My brain l
urched into gear. “You mean Gigi Goodwin?”

  Mish nodded. “Adele has her all fired up. Crazy cat-lady-in-training,” she said with a laugh, then immediately sobered. “I shouldn’t joke. This is serious. There was some incident where they were caught prowling around Holly’s car at the other Hawthorne house. The one where the parents live. I don’t think they did anything, but the police came. They said they were feeding cats or something.”

  Before I could ask her when this was, the bell on the shop door jangled. Mish went to see about her new customer, leaving me with my cat treats. But warning bells were dinging in my brain. Had Gigi and Adele really been feeding cats on the Hawthorne property? It made sense, given what I’d heard about Holly turning cats loose outside. Or had they been up to no good? And Gigi had seemed so upset this morning when Adele was taken away. Which was understandable, given how close she was to Adele. But I remembered her words. I feel like this is all my fault.

  Why would Adele’s being questioned by the police be Gigi’s fault … unless she had something to do with Holly’s death and Adele was taking the blame?

  Chapter 27

  I hung around for a half hour waiting for Mish to finish with a woman agonizing over the right tutu for her tiny Maltese. When Mish finally returned to ring up JJ’s food and treats for the week, she looked like she had a headache. I hated to add to it but I really needed some intel.

  “So. This thing you mentioned with Adele and Gigi,” I said, as she bagged up my stuff. “Do you remember when it was?”

  Mish thought as she passed the bag over the counter to me. “I guess last summer,” she said finally. “Why? Do you think it’s a motive?” She looked excited, caught up in the real-life drama like everyone else. I wanted to remind her that real people were involved, but suddenly I didn’t have the energy.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I was just curious, I guess. Thanks, Mish.” I grabbed my bags and JJ’s leash and made my way over to the market, still lost in thought about Adele and Gigi.

  I’d missed the farmers’ market this weekend, which was a bummer. One reason I loved summer in New England was the fresh fruits and veggies. Don’t get me wrong, California had a plethora of them, and more farmers’ markets than I could keep up with. But in New England, they seemed like a treat, a fleeting moment in a season that most everyone craved, one that passed with the blink of an eye. To not take the fullest advantage of it seemed like a crime.

  So I did the next best thing and went to my favorite place to food-shop, the local co-op. JJ liked it here, too, because the cashiers always slipped him some organic cat treats. I don’t think he much cared about the organic part. He just loved to eat, and anyone who offered him food ranked pretty high on his list.

  I was inspecting the kale for the best bunches for our juices when a woman stepped almost right in front of me without an excuse me, nearly stepping on JJ in the process. And she didn’t even have the decency to apologize or even look at me, for that matter. I gritted my teeth and prepared to be the bigger person, walk away, then realized who I was looking at.

  Heather Hawthorne. Holly’s sister. Buying Swiss chard like her twin sister hadn’t just been murdered a couple of days ago. Then again, last night she’d been eating ice cream with my brother-in-law, so I guess this wasn’t really all that shocking.

  Be nice, I ordered myself. You have no idea what that was about last night. But maybe I could find out.

  “Heather,” I said, forcing sympathy and a touch of sweet into my voice. “I’m not sure if you remember me. Maddie James.”

  She turned and faced me, still holding her bunch of Swiss chard. It dripped all over the floor, and all over JJ. He shook the water off and ran behind my legs. Heather’s eyes narrowed and her lips thinned and for a second I could swear I was looking at Holly, even though Heather’s hair was a lot longer and cut differently, with sloping bangs falling over her forehead and loose curls worked into her layers. Holly’s hair was—had been—chin-length, cut into a fashionable shag that looked like she’d perpetually just gotten out of bed.

  The irony of that wasn’t lost on me.

  “I know who you are,” she said. “You have some nerve.”

  I frowned. “Sorry. What?”

  “You have some nerve,” she repeated, louder now, taking a step toward me. She waggled the Swiss chard like a weapon, and I had to blink water out of my eyes. “You don’t talk to me or my family. Your friend murdered my sister!”

  The last word rose to a shout, and the people around us turned and stared, their quests for the perfect fruit or vegetable forgotten with the promise of more drama. The entertainment factor on the island could be limited, even during tourist season.

  “Heather,” I said, keeping my voice as low and reasonable as possible, determined not to get sucked into this call for attention. “I’m very sorry about Holly. I’m sure you two were … I can’t imagine losing one of my sisters,” I finished. I’d been about to say I’m sure you two were close, but I knew they weren’t. “Anyway. Please let me know if there’s anything I can do for you.”

  There. Leaving it at that, I turned, put my kale in the basket, and prepared to walk off with JJ.

  The bunch of Swiss chard hit me smack in the back of the head. More water sprayed down the back of my tank top. Beneath me, JJ squeaked under the shower of greens and drops of water.

  I turned, slowly. “You have got to be kidding me,” I said, as the crowd around us collectively held their breath.

  And then suddenly an older man I’d never seen before rushed over and grabbed Heather’s arm. He had graying, wavy hair and a neat, trimmed beard. He also had kind eyes.

  “Come on,” he said quietly, shooting me an apologetic look. “I’m sorry,” he murmured as they passed us.

  “I’m not,” Heather shrieked, trying to wrench her arm away from his. He simply held on firmly, as if she were nothing more than a child, and led her out the door, depositing her full basket of produce on an end cap as they exited.

  I wasn’t aware I’d been holding my breath until I let it all out with a whoosh. The chatter started around me, low and excited, rising to a full-on buzzing within seconds. I picked up the Swiss chard from the floor and handed it to the co-op employee who’d stood silently in front of one of the displays, too stunned to defend his veggies. He took it without a word.

  I abandoned my own basket, scooped up JJ, and left the store. Apparently both Hawthorne twins had anger-management issues. Either that, or they were just nuts.

  Chapter 28

  I left the co-op and stood on the corner with JJ, trying to wrap my head around what had just happened. But I couldn’t, so instead I texted Becky that I was stopping by the paper. She texted back to come to the reporter’s entrance and she’d let me in.

  We hopped back in the truck and drove the few blocks to the newspaper office. But, of course, parking down here was abominable. I cruised the block twice hoping for a metered spot to open. When it didn’t, I pulled down a side street and parked, hoping for the best. It was fifteen-minute parking, but I hoped any cops that came by would recognize Grandpa’s truck and skip the ticket.

  The Daybreak Island Chronicle still lived in the same building it had years ago when Becky and I were growing up. We used to ride our bikes there most days so Becky could stand outside with her notebook and pretend to be interviewing people. She was one of those kids who always knew what she wanted to do, and never wavered in her pursuit of it. Even better, she knew where she wanted to do it. Right here on the island. Unlike me, she’d never been inclined to wander. She’d gone to college at Salem University, then promptly moved back home. And like it had all been planned by a higher power, a reporter position opened up pretty much the week she returned with her degree. She’d been at the paper ever since, working her way up.

  I grabbed JJ and hurried around the corner, buzzing the intercom. She must have been waiting there for me because as soon as I rang the bell, the door to the reporter’s entrance buzzed o
pen. I climbed the stairs to the newsroom. She poked her head around the corner as I made my way up.

  “Oh, good. You brought JJ,” she said. “I’m going to feed him the fish that one of my copyeditors keeps leaving in the fridge. Stuff stinks up the whole floor.”

  “Great. You know, you don’t need a gym with these stairs,” I said, huffing and puffing slightly as I reached the top. The Chronicle’s staircase was twice as tall and steep as any normal staircase. Either that, or I needed to get back into my exercise routine. It was one of the things that had fallen by the wayside during this transition period. I did miss rollerblading down by the pier, something I did nearly every day when I lived in San Fran. I needed to find something to replace it here. Rollerblading in the summer, with these crowds, could end up being more of an extreme sport than an enjoyable exercise routine.

  “Yeah, well, you get used to it,” she said.

  I followed her into the newsroom, which buzzed with activity. Reporters were crammed into nearly every cube. The newsroom assistant, Miranda, glanced up and waved at me.

  Becky led me to the empty meeting room and shut the door. I dropped into a chair and settled JJ on my lap.

  “What’s going on?” she asked.

  “Heather Hawthorne just threw a bunch of Swiss chard at my head.”

  She stared at me, then burst out laughing. “What? How?”

  “At the co-op. Lunatic. I told her I was sorry about her sister and she attacked me with vegetables. It’s as random as a cat toy. You were right. They should be looking at her.” I tried to shake off my annoyance and refocus. “Speaking of that cluster. Any news?”

  She cocked her head at me. “Other than the Boston newspapers and TV people having nothing else to do but worry about my island? Not much. Nothing I can use, anyway.” She paused.

  “Ah. You heard they were here.”

  “Heard? They’ve been coming in shifts.” She shook her head. “Vultures.”

  “Why are the Boston papers so interested?” I asked instead of answering.