by Linda Reilly
“No,” Brenda said, a catch in her voice. “I won’t.”
“When do you have to fly home?”
Brenda’s face flushed. “I’m not really sure yet. But if we hang around through Christmas, I’ll definitely let you know.”
No more talk of meeting Rod, Lara noticed. Or of the guest gig with the Greenhorn Geezers.
Lara also wondered where her mom and Rod were staying. Could they afford to live in a hotel until Christmas?
Aunt Fran had discreetly remained in the kitchen. When she heard Brenda leaving, she came into the large parlor to exchange a hurried goodbye with her sister-in-law. Lara helped her mother out to her rental car to be sure she didn’t slip on an icy patch. When she came back inside, her aunt was standing there, glaring at her.
“That wasn’t like you, Lara,” Aunt Fran said quietly. “You brought out those letters to embarrass her. I’m truly surprised at you.”
“What? I didn’t bring them out to embarrass her. I wanted her to know that what she did was wrong.”
“I understand your anger. But your mother had only been here a few minutes when you shoved those letters at her. It’s something that should have been saved for another time, if at all.”
Lara swallowed. “I’m...sorry I disappointed you, Aunt Fran.” She felt an ache settle in her stomach like a jagged rock.
Her aunt started to say something else, but Lara turned and ran upstairs, tears flowing down her face. She couldn’t recall her aunt having ever spoken to her so harshly—not even when she’d questioned Lara’s motive for returning to Whisker Jog after sixteen years.
The door to Lara’s bedroom was halfway open. Swiping a knuckle over her wet cheeks, she pushed it open farther. Her mouth dropped open, and she covered it to suppress a gasp.
Nutmeg had tunneled under Lara’s chenille bedspread, her tail sticking out like a furry baton. Ballou was pouncing on Lara’s pillow trying to capture her tail. He rolled around joyfully, grabbing her tail in his paws and then releasing it again.
He was playing!
She felt more than heard her aunt coming up behind her. Aunt Fran touched Lara’s shoulder. Lara turned and saw a smile light up her face.
They watched for a minute or so, until Ballou suddenly realized he was being observed. He shot them both a panic-stricken look, then bolted under the bed.
Nutmeg crept out from under the bedspread. She glanced around for her new pal, who’d fled without warning.
Lara and her aunt both broke out in laughter. “Oh, that was adorable. I could’ve watched them all day.”
“I know,” Aunt Fran said, grinning. “I think Ballou might have finally found his soulmate.”
Found his soulmate.
Lara had long sensed that an odd dynamic was transpiring in their little shelter. Did Blue have anything to do with it? She wasn’t sure. Whatever it was, it was bringing cats and people together in a strange and wonderful way.
Lara and her aunt spoke at the same time.
“Lara, I’m sorry. I—”
“Aunt Fran, I didn’t mean to—”
“You first,” Aunt Fran said.
“I was only going to say, I’m sorry for the way I handled Mom. I put her on the spot, big-time, didn’t I? And I invaded your closet after you told me not to.”
“You did,” her aunt said. “But it’s over now. It’s time to move forward.”
Lara smiled. Live for the present.
Aunt Fran went over to Lara’s bed. She sat down on the edge, and Nutmeg instantly leaped into her lap. The tortie sniffed and licked at her fingers.
“She’s a darling,” Aunt Fran said. “I don’t know why, but I have a feeling someone’s going to show up to claim her.”
“They might,” Lara said. “We’ll see.” She went over and squeezed her aunt’s shoulder. “Need any help getting the food ready for book club?”
“The food’s all set. When the ladies get here, I’ll put you in charge of the hot chocolate.”
“You got it.” She bent and planted a kiss on her aunt’s cheek.
Chapter 19
Brooke Weston squealed with delight when she tore off the wrapping from the untagged gift. “Hmm,” she said, sneaking a look at Mary Newman. “Someone must have noticed me admiring these earrings in her gift shop.” She held up a pair of dangly red earrings that resembled a chandelier. “I love them!”
Mary, an attractive, thirtysomething brunette, gave an exaggerated shrug. “Don’t look at me. Someone else could have bought them. Besides, Brooke, this is a Yankee swap. One of us might well take those earrings from you. Lara, don’t you have number one?”
“I do,” Lara said, wiggling her eyebrows.
No way would she take those earrings from Brooke. A freshman in high school, Brooke was their youngest member. Bubbly, fun, and smart, she was the darling of the book club. This month she’d highlighted her hair a dark burgundy for the season.
Aunt Fran was next, with number four. She chose the gift Lara had bought. “Oh my, isn’t this perfect.” She held up the green velvet change purse with a cat embroidered on the front.
“If you don’t like it, you can take Brooke’s earrings,” Mary said gleefully.
Brooke swatted her arm playfully. “Hey, don’t give her any ideas.”
“Don’t worry, Brooke,” Aunt Fran said. “Your earrings are safe. This little change purse is perfect for me.” She opened it. “Oh, and there’s a lottery ticket inside. Who knows, I might strike it rich.”
Brooke looked at Lara with a fake pout. “Please don’t take my earrings.”
Lara pretended to mull it over. “Well, then, I guess I’m stuck with this charming cat lady mug.” She knew Brooke had bought it. “Actually, I love it.”
Aunt Fran winked at Brooke. “Then I think we’re done,” she declared. “And we even managed to keep the cats out of the kitchen for an hour and a half.”
“Yeah, but Nutmeg was definitely bummed about it.” Brooke laughed. “She wanted one of our crabmeat rolls bad.”
“Don’t worry, Brooke,” Aunt Fran said. “I’ll give her a smidge of crabmeat later.”
“She’ll love that.” Brooke sighed noisily. “I guess I better start getting ready. Mom’ll be swinging into the driveway any minute, and I’ve got an algebra quiz to study for. I’ll help you put the dishes in the sink, Ms. C.” She stood and began stacking plates in her arms.
Aunt Fran got up and hugged her. “You’re so welcome, Brooke. All of you. I’m glad we decided to meet here today.”
“You don’t think it hurt Daisy’s feelings, do you?” Mary asked, biting her lip.
Lara collected the empty hot chocolate mugs. “No, I chatted with Sherry earlier. I think they were actually grateful. The earlier they can close up the coffee shop, the better. Besides, we’ll be meeting there next week.”
“So, are we agreed on Rebecca for our next read?” Mary asked.
Everyone nodded their assent. “I am,” Lara said. “I’ll get my copy at the library. I have to go over anyway to return a book.”
“I’ll read it on my phone,” Brooke said, a grim look crossing her face.
Lara understood. A little over a year ago, Brooke had had an unfortunate experience with one of the classic books she was reading. After that, she’d switched to reading electronically and never looked back.
“How are things at the high school?” Lara asked her. “Are the police still hanging around?” She followed Brooke to the sink, the empty hot chocolate mugs clasped in her fingers.
“They’ve definitely been there,” Brooke said. “I saw one of them go into the cafeteria yesterday. Do you think they’re still searching for evidence?”
“They might be.” Lara set the mugs on the counter.
Brooke’s face fell. “I feel so awful for Ms. Bowker. The cops need to leave her alone!”
“I know,” Lara said. “We all feel bad for Daisy.”
Something else was nagging at Lara. She had to find out more about the woman who died in the nursing home. Irma something-or-other.
Irma Hansen Tisley. That was it. The name came to Lara out of the blue.
Her mother’s comment about her new hubby bringing his mother’s dog to the nursing home had ignited the theory. What if one of Irma’s loved ones had brought her cat to the nursing home before she passed away?
Lara needed to check into it further. Kayla was busy with her studies, so Lara didn’t want to stress her out with any more research.
“Hey, you still with us?” Brooke waved and made a funny face at Lara.
“Sorry.” Lara rinsed the mugs and stacked them in the dishwasher. “I tune out sometimes.”
“It’s okay,” Brooke said with a worried look. “I tune out all the time.”
* * * *
By the time Brooke and Mary left, it was nearly four thirty. The book club discussion and luncheon had been the highlight of the day, Brenda’s visit notwithstanding.
“I don’t think we’ll be wanting any dinner,” Lara said, patting her stomach.
“That’s for sure.” Aunt Fran used the remote to turn on the television. Dolce snuggled into her lap and rested his head on her knee. “Two crab rolls and that peppermint flan really filled me up. Want to watch the early news with me?”
“I think I’ll catch it later, if you don’t mind,” Lara said. “I’m working on a watercolor for a couple in Colebrook. They live out in the wilderness, in a sprawling log cabin home they designed and built themselves. I’m painting it from the picture they gave me.”
“Sounds like an ambitious project.” Aunt Fran smiled. “I can’t wait to see the finished painting.”
“Yeah, me too.”
In the small parlor—Lara’s studio—she set up her painting supplies, including the tiles she used to mix colors. She’d started the painting a few days earlier but hadn’t made much progress. So many distractions had cluttered her head. Luckily, the customer didn’t need it by Christmas. They wanted it for the housewarming party they were throwing at the end of January.
The photo the customer had given her showed the log cabin nestled against a backdrop of newly planted fir trees. Touches of orange played at the horizon of a pale blue sky. Lara was applying a touch of burnt sienna to the painting when movement on one of the upper bookshelves caught her eye. She’d set a stack of papers there, intending to go through them at some point and either file or toss them as needed.
The top two sheets fluttered like paper airplanes, landing in the wastebasket Lara kept near the door.
“Now how the heck...” she muttered. She went over to the basket and plucked out both sheets. They were the two obituaries Kayla had copied at the library—Sarah Nally’s and Irma Tisley’s.
“Okay, that was weird,” Lara said, reaching up to return them to the shelf.
From behind her, a fluffy Ragdoll sprang over her shoulder. Startled, Lara jumped, and the papers flew from her fingers. She watched, stunned, as the cat pushed both sheets of paper back into the wastebasket. The cat sat inside the basket, her blue gaze fixed on Lara.
Lara’s heart raced, and then it struck her.
“Those obits. They’re both dead ends, aren’t they?” she whispered.
Blue blinked once, then blinked again.
Lara closed her eyes and took several deep breaths, willing her heartbeat to slow. When she opened her eyes, Blue was gone.
Back to square one, she thought. So where do I go from here?
Chapter 20
Thursday morning dawned far too quickly after a restless, dream-filled night. In one dream, Lara was trudging through a piney forest in search of a lost cat. Her feet kept getting stuck in deep snow, preventing her from moving forward. At one point she fell, then spotted the cat in the distance. As it came into focus it morphed into a mountain lion, hungry and ready to spring.
“Nooo,” she groaned, feeling a paw squashing her eyelid. Her brain kicked into gear. “Give me a break, Teena. I’ll feed you in a few minutes.”
The paw stayed put. Lara lifted it gently and wrenched open her eyes. She was surprised to see Nutmeg’s nose looming about an inch above her own. The little tortie made a brrrp sound and then licked her chops.
Laughing, Lara ruffled the cat’s head. She was amazed at how quickly Nutmeg had adapted to the household. Only a few days ago the tortie had been wandering the woods. Thanks to Jason, she was now safe, warm, and well fed.
At the top of the cat tree, Ballou sat, watching. His tail switched back and forth. “I think he’s sweet on you,” Lara said, remembering how Ballou had jumped on the bed with Nutmeg the day before.
She grinned when Teena, Purrcival, and Snowball bounded into her room and leaped onto her bed in a wave. “Thanks, guys. Just what I need at six forty-five in the morning—a cat party.”
A gust of wind rattled Lara’s window, followed by an eerie, howling sound swirling through the distant trees.
It must be freezing out, Lara thought, slipping into her robe.
She was tempted to shower first, mainly to warm up her bones. Instead she went downstairs and performed her usual cat duties.
Feeding times had gotten more challenging, especially with some cats leaving the shelter and new cats coming in. Although each cat had a separate bowl, Lara wondered if some should be moved to another location. Where to put them was the question.
One more problem to resolve—and soon.
She and Sherry had agreed that Lara would skip her morning visit to the coffee shop. Instead, they’d meet right after closing time to come up with a plan for approaching David’s mom. And Lara still wanted to go to the library. If there was an obit that Kayla missed—unlikely, Lara thought—she wanted a shot at finding it.
She also couldn’t stop dwelling on Gideon. Something about their date Monday evening had felt off-kilter to her. If only she could pinpoint what it was, she might be able to troubleshoot.
As for what to get him for Christmas, she was still without a single idea. He had enough scarves, gloves, and earmuffs to sustain him through another ice age. In his rare spare time, he loved to read, but a book seemed too impersonal. She’d briefly considered a cashmere sweater, but Gideon was more of a casual guy. Cashmere was far too fussy.
If she thought about it long enough, she’d end up getting him nothing. Not acceptable, she chided herself.
Lara spent the morning catching up on smaller projects. Focusing on mundane tasks sometimes helped trigger an idea that wouldn’t otherwise have come to her.
By noon, she was ready for lunch.
“Is there any of that crabmeat left?” Lara asked her aunt.
Aunt Fran, who’d spent her morning shopping, smiled and shook her head. “I used every last drop, including the smidgeon I saved for Nutmeg. I need to buy more, though. I’m going to make crab cakes, coleslaw, and steak fries for Jerry’s birthday. His birthday’s Tuesday, but we’re celebrating it on Saturday.”
“So, you finally caught up with him?” Lara asked her, rummaging in the fridge.
“I did. We had a long talk last night.” She set down one of her grocery bags. “Lara, I have something to tell you. I don’t want to get your hopes up, but it’s almost certain that the police won’t be charging Daisy.”
Lara pulled out a block of cheddar and slammed the refrigerator door. “Oh my Lord, that’s wonderful news! Not enough evidence, right?”
“Pretty much,” Aunt Fran said.
“What a relief.” Lara set the cheese on the counter. “Do Daisy and Sherry know?”
“They do, but it’s not confirmed, so please don’t repeat it to anyone,” her aunt cautioned. “I’m sure Sherry’s been dying to tell you, but the police warned them against sharing that information.
The investigators still think foul play was involved. They just don’t know how. From what I understand, at least two other cookies—not Daisy’s—had traces of lobster as well.”
Lara pulled a sharp knife out of the utensil drawer. “Then someone wanted to be sure Miss Plouffe got a good dose of shellfish. Who? Who?” Loretta Gregson’s face flitted through her mind.
“I don’t know.” Aunt Fran set two plates on the counter. “But that’s for the police to determine. Not us. Specifically, not you.”
Lara smiled. “Don’t worry. I can take a hint.” She’d encountered enough killers—two, to be exact—to last her a lifetime and beyond.
She turned on the burner and prepared two grilled cheese sandwiches. Aunt Fran poured each of them a glass of cranberry juice. Lara told her aunt about their planned meeting with Loretta Gregson that afternoon.
“Sherry really should be meeting her alone,” Aunt Fran said. “I’m afraid it’s going to look like two against one. Loretta might think you’re ganging up on her.”
“I know, and I agree.” Lara said. “But Sherry is terrified to face her alone. Which baffles me, because nothing ever really scares her. She’s one of the bravest people I know.” She tore off a bite of her grilled cheese and chewed it thoughtfully.
“It’s a different kind of fear,” Aunt Fran noted. She picked a shred of cheese from her sandwich and held it out to Munster, who was waiting in the wings. “She’s afraid of being hurt. She’s worried that whatever’s going on with Loretta will impact her relationship with David.”
“You’re right.” Lara sighed. “But whatever happens today, I’m determined to stay completely neutral. I’ll be there for moral support only.”
Famous last words, she thought.
* * * *
The bagel café was only a short ride from downtown Whisker Jog. It was located in one of the strip malls Lara had always found sterile and boring. The parking lot had been plowed clean, she was happy to see. Not a speck of treacherous ice remained on any portion of the pavement.
The café itself was crisp and clean, with checkered curtains and red plastic booths reminiscent of an earlier time.
