by Linda Reilly
Outside, the sky was still overcast. Lara glanced toward the wooded area beyond the school property. “My friend Kayla and I were here yesterday. We didn’t spot her, but Kayla followed her prints into that section of the woods. They kind of disappeared after that.”
“Yeah, not surprising,” Jason said. “I think she must have found a safe spot to hunker down in the hollow of a tree, or something like that. I’m worried that she’s going to freeze. She’s not very big, poor little gal. I—oh, wait.” He grabbed Lara’s forearm. “Look, that’s her. She knows my voice now. I think she associates it with food.”
Sure enough, a tortoiseshell cat was coming toward them, her paws sinking into the snow with every step. Wary of her surroundings, the cat paused and looked around. Lara was grateful the snowfall hadn’t left more than a few inches. Otherwise the whole kitty would have sunk into the snow.
Jason knelt down slowly and pulled the plastic bag from his pocket. “Come on, sweetie,” he cooed. To Lara, “See, she knows I have food.”
When the tortie was about ten feet away, she picked up her pace and darted toward Jason. She had a darling face, half gold and half black, with adorable, big green eyes. Jason dumped some chicken pieces into his cupped hand. When he held it out to her, she sniffed his fingers for a few seconds. Then, with her delicate little teeth, she gobbled a chunk of chicken.
Remaining very still, Lara watched Jason. She was impressed with the way he’d been able to lure the cat into eating from his hand. Hadn’t he said she’d only been coming around for less than a week? The kitty didn’t appear to be feral. Her demeanor supported Lara’s suspicion that she’d been dumped by someone who didn’t want her.
In a soft voice, Lara said to the cat, “What a pretty girl you are.”
The tortie sniffed the tips of Jason’s fingers again, then sharply pulled her head back. He laughed. “I bet she smells the nutmeg. I was rolling out dough for Rose and got some on my hands. I love the scent, but it’s strong. Cats have sensitive noses, right?”
“Right,” Lara said. “Jason, I think you just named this cat. Do you mind if I call her Nutmeg?”
“That would be awesome!”
They stood in the cold for another two or three minutes, until Nutmeg had devoured every last shred of chicken. The tips of Jason’s ears were red. Lara saw that he was freezing.
“Jason, I’m going to slowly unzip the carrier. Can you scooch your hands around her and lift her into it?”
“Yeah, it’s time we nabbed her. I really gotta get back inside before my you-know-what is grass.”
“Yup. I hear you. She seems to trust you. I think she’ll let you pick her up.”
Using careful motions, Lara unzipped the carrier. Jason distracted the cat by circling both hands around her torso. He lifted her into the carrier, and Lara quickly zipped it closed.
The two did a high-five. “Yesss!” Jason said. “That was easier than I thought. What a relief that she won’t be out in the cold anymore.”
Lara smiled at Nutmeg’s rescuer. “She’s in good hands now, Jason. Thank you for letting me know about her. I wish more people cared as much as you do.”
Jason’s face flushed as he peered into the carrier. Nutmeg was huddled at the back, looking confused at her sudden prisoner status.
“Don’t worry, little girl, we’re going to take good care of you,” Lara told her. “You’ll have a good home before you know it.”
“Lara, thanks for doing this. I’ll try to donate some money to the shelter before Christmas. I have a second job at the Shop-Along. I’m trying to save enough to move into some better digs.”
“Donations are always appreciated, but don’t strain your budget.” Lara hesitated, then plunged ahead. “Actually, before you go, can I ask you something real quick? How did you know Miss Plouffe carried one of those injectable thingies with her?”
He looked perplexed by the question. “Gosh, let me think. Okay, yeah, I remember now. That last year she worked here, I had to go up to her classroom to ask a question about one of the ingredients we were using in the kitchen. Snippy as she was, I figured she’d have the right answer. Anyway, that gaudy flowered purse of hers was sitting on her desk and the top was unzipped. I saw the injector thing sticking out of a pocket.”
“Thanks, I just wondered. Didn’t mean to put you on the spot.”
“No problem.”
Jason waved goodbye and headed back inside. Lara lifted the carrier and hurried off to her car with Nutmeg.
Chapter 11
Glancing over at the school’s snow-covered athletic fields, Lara steered the Saturn along the frozen driveway leading away from the school property. The wind had picked up, sending drifts of frozen particles dancing across the football field.
Lara peeked into the rearview mirror. Nutmeg was huddled at the back of the pet carrier, which Lara had secured on the back seat. “You’re being quiet, little girl. But don’t worry, you don’t have to live in the woods anymore. You’ll be warm and well fed. Soon you’ll have a permanent home with someone who loves you.”
Lara was grateful for Jason’s persistence in feeding the little tortie. He’d done the right thing, contacting the shelter—although it was her accidental meeting with him at the coffee shop that had been the catalyst, so to speak. She smiled at her own pun. “Doesn’t it feel better to be in a warm car?” she asked Nutmeg.
The cat remained still, but Lara saw through the carrier’s zippered screen that the tortie’s eyes were watchful.
The receptionist at Amy Glindell’s veterinary clinic beamed when she saw Lara striding through the door. The carrier clutched in one hand, Lara loosened her scarf with the other. “Hi, Gail. This is the little stray I called about. We’ve already named her Nutmeg.”
Gail Grimaldi slid aside the Plexiglas window separating the office from the waiting room. She peeked into the carrier, a grin splitting her thin, freckled face. “Oh, look at her. Isn’t she a sweetheart?”
All cats were sweethearts to Gail, who had four felines of her own in the home she shared with her husband and two aging Doxies.
“Here’s the prob. I got two other patients waiting, and Amy got called into emergency surgery. A little pup with an intestinal blockage. His owner thinks he might’ve eaten one of her earrings.”
“Oh, poor little guy,” Lara said. “I hope he’ll be okay.”
“He’s in good hands, that’s for sure.” Gail waved a hand toward the waiting room. “Why don’t you have a seat? I’ll see if I can get an idea of how long she’ll be.” She went off through a rear door.
Unhooking the top button on her jacket, Lara went over to the row of molded plastic chairs along the front window. She set Nutmeg’s carrier on the vacant chair beside her, next to a woman who was tapping away at her cell phone. Something about the woman looked familiar.
Lara looked all around the waiting room. The floors were tiled in speckled gray, the walls painted a pale, textured green. A sizeable watercolor graced the main wall. The painting depicted two cats—one pure black and one solid white—curled lovingly around one another as they snoozed in a flower-patterned chair. They were Amy’s cats, Sleepy and Bianca.
When the High Cliff Shelter was in its infancy, Lara had learned that one of Amy’s clients, a Doberman with a congenital heart defect, was in dire need of surgery. Without it the dog wasn’t likely to survive. Lara had overheard the dog’s distraught owner talking about it one day in the waiting room. The owner, who couldn’t afford the dog’s surgery, was terrified she’d be forced to euthanize the Dobie.
That day, after taking the veterinarian aside, Lara made a secret deal with her—she’d paint a watercolor of Amy’s cats in exchange for the dog’s urgently needed procedure. The owner was told only that a local sponsor had covered the cost.
The surgery was a success, but it was a revelation for Lara—a heartbreaking one.
How many other loving owners couldn’t afford lifesaving procedures for their pets?
That single incident ignited an idea in Lara’s mind. Using the fee collected from the sale of one of her commissioned paintings, she started a fund for animals in need of lifesaving surgery. The account had started small but was steadily growing. A few local business owners had also made contributions, which helped tremendously.
Nutmeg issued a tiny meow, reminding Lara that she was there. “I know, it’s hard to wait,” Lara told the cat. “But it shouldn’t be too much longer.”
A man sitting at the opposite end of the row of chairs shot her a look. Fifty or so, his roughened hand was wrapped loosely around the leash of a lethargic black dog. He nodded at Lara, and she smiled in return.
Lara’s charge looked more at ease now, her black nose lifting to take in the various scents around her. Nutmeg leaned her head against the screen, and Lara pressed her hand to it. When Lara looked up, the woman sitting beside Nutmeg’s carrier was gawking at her. Lara’s heartbeat spiked. The woman’s haircut was the mirror image of Daisy’s, the color nearly identical.
Could this be the woman Lara saw at the cookie competition, the one she’d thought was Daisy? The same one Aunt Fran was sure she’d spotted at the supermarket?
The woman reddened when she realized she’d been caught staring.
Lara disarmed her obvious embarrassment with a smile. “Are you here to pick up your pet?”
“Yes, I’m Loretta. I didn’t mean to stare, but your hair... It’s such a stunning color.”
Loretta.
Was she David’s mom?
“Well, thanks,” Lara said. She looped a finger through one coppery curl. “I could do with fewer curls, though. Sometimes they’re a nightmare to work with, especially when I’m in a rush.”
“Oh, never complain about your curls. I would simply kill to have curls like yours.”
Would you kill to knock Daisy out of the cookie competition?
The thought had popped, unbidden, into Lara’s head. She realized that in a back corner of her mind, she’d been suspecting Loretta all along of some devious action. Murder? Or simply sabotage of the woman whose daughter was dating her son?
Maybe Loretta was one of those moms who doted on their sons, who thought no woman was good enough for them.
“I never answered your question,” Loretta said. “I’m here to pick up my Cookie. Dr. Glindell spayed her on Friday. I had to leave her here until today because I had some events going on over the weekend. I’ve missed her awfully.”
Spayed her cookie? Lara giggled inwardly at the image. “Is Cookie your cat?”
“Cat?” Loretta looked aghast. “Heavens, no. I’d never have a cat.” She wrinkled her nose, which, strangely enough, resembled Daisy’s. “All that litter to fuss with? That’s not for me, thank you very much. No, Cookie is my Maltipoo. She was a rescue from one of those hoarding situations a few months ago in Rhode Island. Poor angel, she was a mess when she was rescued. Now she’s happy and loved.”
“I’m pleased, for both of you,” Lara said. “Cookie clearly lucked into a wonderful home.”
“Thank you.” Loretta squinted at Lara’s pet carrier, then her face flushed. “Oh dear, you have a cat in there. I’m awfully sorry. I didn’t mean to imply that cats were bad or anything. I just meant that, you know, they’re not for me.”
“No worries,” Lara said. “Different pets for different folks, right? I’m Lara, by the way. My aunt and I run the High Cliff Shelter for Cats.”
Loretta’s jaw lowered slowly. “Oh. Then you must be Sherry’s friend?”
“I am,” Lara said. “Such a shame, wasn’t it, about what happened on Saturday? Sherry told me you were one of the final contestants.”
Lara felt like the worst kind of gossip, but she wanted to gauge Loretta’s reaction. She also wanted to find out if Loretta had been at the school on Saturday.
“Yes, it was awful,” Loretta said, her eyes glittering. “You know”—she leaned toward Lara—“lots of people are saying that Miss Plouffe was a very unlikeable person. I didn’t know her, of course. But I heard someone say that she might have eaten a poisoned cookie right before she...”
Lara nodded. She needed to prod Loretta a bit more. “I heard something about a cookie, too. I wonder if the police have any more news about that.”
A worried look creased Loretta’s face. “Do you think, I mean...will the police check into her background? To see if she might have had a run-in with anyone lately?”
“An argument, you mean?” Lara tried to adopt a naïve expression. “I’m not sure, but you have a good point. Especially if Miss Plouffe really did have enemies. Maybe someone threatened her and followed through by poisoning her?”
Loretta was clearly disturbed by Lara’s response. Her lips puckered, and her nostrils flared. “The police don’t always get it right,” she said sourly. “I had to go to court once over a ticket I definitely didn’t deserve.”
Interesting, Lara thought. Was Loretta one of those people who believed nothing was ever their fault? Even if it was their fault? It made her wonder about Sherry’s future as Loretta’s potential daughter-in-law.
“It’s funny,” Lara said in a casual tone, “now that I think about Saturday, I remember seeing you at the school. You were waiting with a crowd of people, right? Someone had arrived in a limo, and everyone wanted to see who it was.”
Loretta’s hands fluttered in her lap. She looked as if she didn’t know whether to lie about it or admit that she had, indeed, been at the school that day.
“I...only stayed a short while. I entered my butterscotch brownies with snowflake patterns on them. I knew if I looked at the other entries it would only make me more nervous.”
So that’s why Sherry was so bummed about those brownies, Lara thought. They were Loretta’s!
Gail emerged from a side door. Clasped in her right hand was a bright pink pet carrier. “Here we are,” the receptionist chirped, walking toward Loretta. “Cookie did just great. I’ve printed out post-surgery instructions, but be sure to call if you have any questions.”
Loretta’s face melted at the sight of her dog. She took the carrier from Gail, and they chatted for a few moments. Then she thanked Gail profusely and turned to Lara. “Hey, it was so nice meeting you. Maybe we’ll see each other soon.”
“Maybe we will,” Lara said and bent toward the carrier. “Bye, Cookie.”
After Loretta was gone, Gail said, “Amy’s going to be a while. Why don’t you leave Nutmeg here? She’ll get a thorough exam, and we’ll see if she’s chipped. Most likely she’ll need to be spayed, and possibly wormed.”
“Thanks, Gail.” Lara gave her the carrier with Nutmeg inside.
“Hang loose. I’ll get her settled in a clean cage and bring your carrier back in a jiffy.”
Lara sat down, relieved that Nutmeg was in caring hands. She was checking her phone for messages when the man with the dog mumbled something to her.
“Excuse me?” Lara said politely. “I didn’t catch that.”
“I said,” he answered testily, “that Plouffe woman you guys were talking about was a real piece of work. She harassed my kid to no end when he was in school. Believe me, there won’t be a lot of mourners at her funeral.”
“Is that so?” Lara rose and went over to sit beside him. “Why do you say she was...a piece of work?”
The man huffed out a sigh. “My kid, Trey, insisted on taking home ec when he was a sophomore. Lots of schools don’t even teach it anymore. I think it’s weird myself, but Trey wants to be a pastry chef. What was he supposed to do, take woodworking? The kid can’t even hang a picture on a wall without bashing his thumb.”
“He should be able to take whatever classes are offered,” Lara said. “Did Miss Plouffe object?”
The man’s lip curled in disgust. �
�Yeah, big-time. She gave him all sorts of crap over it, the flippin’ witch. Everyone at the school knew she didn’t want boys in her classes. A while back I heard there was another kid—a boy, of course—who was so traumatized by the way she treated him that he transferred to another school. No way that should be allowed to happen. No way.” His eyes flared with anger. “But my Trey, he’s a rebel. He was determined to take that class, no matter what he had to put up with. He was so sure he could win her over with his baking skills.”
“What happened?” Lara asked him.
“Turned out he was wrong. She made his life a misery.”
Lara sat back, her mind racing. How had Miss Plouffe gotten away with it? Why had she been allowed to bully kids for so long?
“I’m sorry about your son. I hope she didn’t discourage him from pursuing what he wants to do.”
“Nah. My kid’s pretty tough. Doesn’t look it, but he’s strong inside. Mark my words, one of these days he’ll be opening his own bakery. People will be lining up out the door.” He patted his protruding stomach and grinned. “How do you think I got this gut?”
Lara smiled. “Wish him luck for me. Don’t you think it’s odd, though, that Miss Plouffe was never called out for her behavior?”
“Odd? More like freakin’ suspicious, if you ask me. Oh sure, she got the occasional slap on the wrist, as they say. And believe me, Principal Casteel had enough complaints about her to fill a book. But she always sleazed her way out of it, you know? The b—witch still kept her job. The best thing she ever did was retire. Makes me wonder if someone pressured her to quit.”
Maybe someone had pressured her to quit. Had Principal Casteel issued her a final warning—quit or be forced out?
Or had something more sinister been at play?
And why had Principal Casteel—whoever that was—been protecting her?
Chapter 12
Late Monday afternoon, Kayla rang Lara’s cell phone. “Hey, I just left the library, and I found out a few things. Can I pop over for a minute?”
