Claws for Celebration

by Linda Reilly

  “Well, they say everyone has a doppelgänger.”

  “Yeah, somewhere on the planet,” Lara said. “Not living right next door.”

  Lara’s phone pinged. It was a text from Sherry that said: Call me!

  “Bad news?” Aunt Fran’s face went ash-gray.

  “I’m not sure.” Lara called Sherry’s number. Her friend answered instantly.

  “Oh, Lara, this is awful, just awful.”

  “What happened?”

  Sherry sniffled loudly. “The cops found an empty foil bag in the Dumpster behind the coffee shop.”

  “An empty bag of what?”

  “Of...of lobster meat!”

  “Lobster? Is that what Miss Plouffe was allergic to?”

  “She was allergic to all shellfish. When I was in high school, everyone knew it. And believe me, plenty of jokes went around about it. I remember this one kid drawing a cartoon of a lobster with Miss Plouffe’s face choking on a ham sandwich. It got passed around for about a week before he finally got detention for it. Secretly, though, everyone was cheering him on.”

  A sick feeling settled like a stone in Lara’s stomach. She looked at her aunt and shook her head. “Sher, I still don’t get it. Why is it so strange that they found an empty bag of lobster meat? You guys run a coffee shop. Lobster is food. Period.”

  “Because we don’t have anything with lobster on the menu.” Sherry’s voice shook. “I tried to explain to them that Mom runs specials sometimes. Especially around the holidays, she likes to do lobster salad rolls. Everyone loves them! The fresh lobster is too expensive during the colder months, so she uses the frozen kind.”

  “Okay, that makes perfect sense. Didn’t they believe you?”

  “Oh sure, they believed me. Here’s the problem. They said the back of the cookie Miss Plouffe tasted had traces of lobster on it. How dopey is that? Like Mom would put lobster juice on...on her cookies!”

  A low throb, like the beat of a tiny hammer, pulsed in Lara’s head. She didn’t believe for a minute that Daisy had tainted her cookies with traces of lobster.

  “Sher, this is making me crazy. Your mom didn’t have any reason to want to harm Miss Plouffe, right?”

  A long silence followed. Then, in a quiet voice Sherry said, “Remember I told you that Mom had her share of run-ins with the—with Miss Plouffe when I was in high school?”

  “You mentioned she’d had a few screaming matches with her, but that was ages ago.”

  Something crashed in Lara’s ear. “Sorry,” Sherry said. “I dropped the phone. Anyway, about a month ago, Miss Plouffe came into the coffee shop and sat at the counter. Which was weird, because she’d never done that before.”

  “Okaaay,” Lara said, dreading the rest of the story.

  “Mom, of course, knew her instantly. She’s never forgotten that D in home ec on my report card, all because I couldn’t thread that blasted sewing machine. I’m not saying I was a scholar, Lara, but I’d never gotten Ds. Not until that one.”

  A D in home ec wasn’t exactly earth-shattering. Was it possible Daisy had held a grudge over it for this long?

  “Anyway, Mom, being Mom, couldn’t resist a wisecrack. Miss Plouffe ordered a grilled ham and cheese, and Mom made her a nice drippy gooey cheesy one. When she brought it over to Miss Plouffe and set it down, she put on this maniacal grin and said, ‘Sorry it took so long. I had trouble threading the cheese through the slicer. You know how it is.’ Then she winked at her and walked away.”

  Lara winced. She’d forgotten how overprotective Daisy had always been of Sherry. Being forced into the role of single mom had turned her into a mama lion.

  “That was only about a month ago?”

  “Yeah. I literally had to run into the kitchen so I wouldn’t laugh in the woman’s face. Oh, Lara, I know it sounds mean, but it’s nothing compared to the nasty stuff she used to do to kids.”

  “She was that bad, huh?”

  “She was. Anyway, two customers heard Mom say that. How could they help it? She practically announced it to the entire restaurant.”

  Lara’s head spun. In a single rebellious moment, Daisy had acted like a high school kid herself. Now it was coming back like a boomerang to smack her on the head.

  Nonetheless, it was still petty stuff. Not exactly a motive for murder.

  “What did Miss Plouffe do when Daisy said that?”

  “Oh, she sputtered like a steam engine. Acted like she didn’t know what Mom was talking about, but I know she knew. I saw it on her face before I fled into the kitchen. When I finally went back out to the counter, Miss Plouffe had left all but one bite of the sandwich and taken off. She never even paid for it.”

  Lara had a bad feeling she knew what was coming next. “Did anyone tell the police about it?”

  “Of course they did,” Sherry said bitterly. “Old Mr. Patello couldn’t wait to trot down to the police station this morning and spill the whole incident to Chief Whitley. I’m not sure if I can ever look at him the same again. It really turned my stomach.”

  Mr. Patello was a cranky, elderly gent who parked his hat on a stool in the coffee shop every morning to save it for his deceased friend Herbie. And heaven forbid anyone should try to sit there. Even if the place was jam-packed with customers, he’d insist that it was Herbie’s seat.

  “None of that is a motive for murder,” Lara said. “No reasonable person could possibly interpret it that way.”

  “I know,” Sherry said in a choked voice. “But what if they do, Lara? What if they do?”

  Chapter 9

  A light coating of snow had fallen overnight. By Monday morning, it was just enough to cause multiple fender-benders as people headed off to work. The plows did a valiant job of clearing the snow, but the roads were deceiving. What looked like bare pavement was actually an invisible layer of ice.

  After performing her morning feline duties, Lara made her daily trek to the coffee shop. She tucked her favorite green scarf—a recent gift from Gideon—around her neck and plopped fuzzy ear muffs over her ears. The walk was tricky, with treacherous patches of ice dotting the sidewalks. The town did its best to keep the sidewalks clean, but keeping up was a challenge.

  Lara pulled open the door to the coffee shop, and a blast of warm air caressed her cold cheeks. She stepped inside and looked around. The dining area was nearly empty. Only a few tables were occupied. The counter stools were even more sparsely populated. The crabby Mr. Patello was glaringly absent. Lara slid onto a stool and pulled off her gloves.

  Sherry’s expression was bleak. She poured a cup of coffee for Lara and set it down in front of her.

  “Quiet today, huh?” Lara said. “Typical for a Monday, though.” She cringed at her own lie.

  “No, it’s not typical for a Monday.” Sherry’s eyes were puffy. She’d foregone her eyeliner, and her thick black hair rested flatter than usual on her head.

  “Want a muffin?” Sherry said dully. “Mom made cranberry-orange ones. God only knows what they taste like. I had to remind her to add the cranberries.”

  Lara felt an invisible fist squeeze her heart. Sherry’s and Daisy’s lives were in ruins, yet they carried on. They had to.

  “Sure, I’ll have one. Is David coming in today?” Lara hoped a change of subject might distract her friend from her gloomy thoughts.

  “I’m not sure. His boss gives him his schedule every Monday morning, so he never knows till he gets there. If he has to travel up north, mostly likely he won’t make it in here.”

  David worked as a salesperson for a regional tractor chain. According to Sherry, he was particularly busy at this time of year. Snow removal equipment was a big part of their inventory.

  “Hey, don’t tell Mom what I told you yesterday about, you know...”

  Lara nodded. “Say no more. My lips are sealed with Elmer’s Glue. Is there, um,
any news on that front?”

  “No way,” Sherry said. “With everything that’s been going on, that’s the last thing I want to discuss with David right now.” Her shoulders drooped. “I’d probably make a rotten wife, anyway.”

  Before Lara could protest, Sherry went off through the swinging door to the kitchen. She returned with a warm muffin and set it in front of Lara.

  “I don’t want to hear you talk that way,” Lara said softly but sternly, “because it’s not true and you know it.” She broke off a piece of her muffin and popped it into her mouth. “Tell Daisy her muffin is delicious.”

  “She’s just going through the motions,” Sherry said. “Which doesn’t matter anyway, since it doesn’t look like we’re going to be flooded with customers today. I’m thinking of shutting down before lunch and putting a sign on the door saying we had to close unexpectedly for the day, or something like that.”

  An old Sonny and Cher song, “I Got You Babe,” rang out from the pocket of Sherry’s pants. She flushed deeply and pulled out her cell. “Hey,” she said, turning her back on Lara.

  The old love song was Sherry and David’s chosen theme song, and they both used it as their ring tone for one another.

  Lara pulled her own phone out of her tote and pretended to study her text messages. She didn’t want Sherry to think she was eavesdropping, even if she was straining her ears a bit in that direction.

  While she had her phone out, she figured it was a good time to check the shelter’s Facebook page. She did a fist pump when she saw that Jason Blakely had left a private message. Supplying his phone number, he asked if Lara could come by the school about a half hour before noon to help him trap the stray kitty. He’d provide the goodies if she’d bring along the cat carrier. He gave her instructions for meeting him at the back of the school—instructions she didn’t need, since she and Kayla had already been there.

  Her first instinct was to return his message with a phone call. Since he was working at the school, however, she didn’t want him to get in trouble for taking a call during work hours. She messaged him back with a promise to be there, waiting behind the school with a cat carrier.

  Sherry turned back to Lara and stuck her phone in her pocket. “He’s gotta drive up to Littleton today, so he won’t be coming in. Just as well. I look like a troll.”

  Lara wanted to protest, but she knew her friend despised being patronized. “I think you’re mostly tired, which is understandable. I’ll bet you didn’t sleep much last night.”

  “You got that right.”

  The door opened, and a pair of senior women bundled in puffy coats hustled in. “Whew! Nice to get out of the cold,” one of them said, rubbing her gloved hands together.

  Sherry smiled weakly and sat them at a table, a task usually handled by Daisy. She took their orders and delivered them to the kitchen. When she returned, her eyes were watery. “Lara, you were a super friend to help us out yesterday, but I honestly don’t think Mom and I can get through the day today. We’re both dead on our feet. Jill has her office job weekdays, so she can’t fill in. Do you think it would be terrible if we closed early? I can make a sign that says, ‘Closed for family emergency’ or something like that.”

  “Not at all,” Lara said. “You need to cut yourselves some slack. I know you feel bad because the police forced you to close early yesterday, but people will understand.” She smiled and pulled her trusty set of colored pencils out of her tote. “I’ll even make you a sign.”

  Tears filling her eyes, Sherry nodded. “That would be great. I don’t have enough energy to even do that much. If anyone else comes in, I’ll tell them we’re closing.”

  “Grab me a sheet of paper from your mom’s printer, and I’ll whip something up.”

  Sherry fetched a sheet of paper, and within two minutes Lara had sketched a whimsical drawing of Sherry and Daisy, their heads touching, cheeks red, thermometers sticking out of their mouths. CLOSED FOR FAMILY EMERGENCY. PLEASE STOP BY TOMORROW!

  “Tomorrow?” Sherry groaned. “What if we’re not ready by then?”

  “Take the entire day to rest,” Lara said. “I know it’s hard, but you need to try. Tomorrow, things will look a lot different.” I hope, she added silently.

  “Yeah, tomorrow Mom might be staring at us through prison bars.”

  “That’s not going to happen. Your mom didn’t do anything wrong.” Lara leaned over the counter and hugged her friend. “We’ll figure this out. I promise.”

  Sherry swiped away a tear. “You are good at catching murderers, I’ll give you that. But if you figure this one out, you’ll be a miracle worker.”

  Chapter 10

  Unlike the day before, the parking lot at Whisker Jog High School was packed with cars. Lara managed to squeeze her car between a monster-sized pickup and an SUV with a massive wreath attached to its grille. The Saturn looked like a pathetic filling to an oversized vehicular sandwich.

  She sent a quick text to Jason letting him know she was there.

  When she rounded the corner at the back of the school, he was already waving to her. She waved back and trudged through the snow until she reached the rear door of the cafeteria.

  “Hey, great to see you again,” he greeted her.

  “You, too,” Lara said, her breath forming puffs in the air.

  Jason dipped his head toward the cat carrier. “Leave that there for a minute and come on in. Get out of the cold for a few. You look frozen.”

  Lara’s fingers felt icy, but the rest of her was warm. But she wasn’t going to pass up an opportunity to get a peek at the school’s kitchen. “You’re sure it’s okay?”

  “Technically we’re not supposed to have visitors in the kitchen, but don’t worry about it. It’s only for a few minutes.”

  Jason held the door, and Lara set her carrier against the side of the building. She stepped inside, and the scent of cafeteria food swirled around her. Memories of her school days skipped through her head. “Let me guess. I’m detecting tomato sauce and basil. With a hint of garlic.”

  Jason laughed. “You’re exactly right. Vegetarian pizza buns are the main course of the day. The alternate is a chicken salad wrap. With a banana or a ginger cookie for dessert.”

  “No cake?” Lara grinned. When she was in high school, her favorite dessert had been the spice cake the head cook was known for.

  “Not today. But tomorrow we’re serving slices of plum pudding with sprigs of holly.”

  “Umm...you know holly berries are poisonous, right?”

  Jason smiled and pulled a metal chair over for her, setting it next to the commercial oven. “Sit for a minute. The holly will be made from royal icing. Rose is going to a lot of trouble to make the desserts. They’re gonna be awesome. She’s a culinary rock star.”

  Rose. Wasn’t she the person who’d been assigned to judge the bar cookies at the cookie competition? The woman who’d run for help after Miss Plouffe fell ill on Saturday?

  “I hear you throwing my name around,” said the woman coming up behind Jason. She had a slight, lilting accent that Lara hadn’t noticed on Saturday. Her hair was encased in a brown hairnet, and her hands in vinyl gloves. From the lines around her eyes, Lara guessed her to be around fifty. “I’m Rose Stevens,” she said, offering a faint smile. She wiggled her gloved hands. “For obvious reasons, I won’t shake your hand. I recognize you. You’re the woman who tried to help us the other day. When Miss Plouffe...” She shook her head, and her dark eyes grew moist.

  “I’m so sorry I couldn’t have done anything,” Lara said.

  “You called for the ambulance, and that was a biggie, as my kids would say. Jason and I were so upset we couldn’t even think straight.”

  It was actually Gideon who’d called, but Lara didn’t contradict her.

  Jason’s face fell. “I thought she was having a heart attack. That’s why I kept pou
nding on her chest. If I’d known it was an allergic reaction, I’d have tried to find that allergy thing she always carried.”

  “Wait a minute. You knew she was allergic to shellfish?”

  “Everybody did,” Rose said. “She always made a big deal out of eating alone so she wouldn’t accidentally get near someone’s lunch that might have the tiniest bit of shellfish.”

  “Which was totally weird,” Jason offered. “No one brings that type of stuff for lunch anyway. Even the teachers only bring ham or turkey or cheese sandwiches.”

  Rose nodded grimly. “It gave her a good excuse for why she had to eat alone. The real reason was that no one wanted to be around her.” The woman crossed herself, then winced. “I’m sorry. I know I should not speak ill of the dead, but that’s the God’s honest truth. The poor soul didn’t have a friend in the world.”

  Lara didn’t know what to say. Had Miss Plouffe been that awful, even to her coworkers? If so, it begged the question: How had she kept her job for so long?

  A buzzer went off. “Those would be my pizza buns,” Rose said. “Excuse me. I have to go feed a horde of hungry students.” She paused. “I’m sorry, but I never got your name.”

  “My fault, I didn’t introduce myself. I’m Lara Caphart. I live with my aunt at the High Cliff Shelter for Cats.”

  Rose smiled, and her dark brown eyes sparkled. “Ah, you must be the one everyone calls the cat lady.” She slid a teasing glance over at Jason. “Now I know why he invited you here. He wants you to help him get that stray.”

  “Can you cover for me, Rose?” Jason said, looking a bit guilty.

  “Yes, but don’t be long. It’s almost lunchtime.”

  They said their goodbyes, and Jason threw on a ski jacket. “I’ve got some food all ready for her. For a stray she sure is a fussy little thing, but she’ll have to get by with canned chicken today. It was on sale at the market.” He pulled a plastic food bag from the fridge and shoved it into his pocket.