by Linda Reilly
“Mom...and Rod,” Lara said. “I didn’t even get you a Christmas present. I feel awful.”
Rod helped Brenda with her coat.
“No biggie,” Brenda said. “But instead of feeling awful, why don’t you paint something for us? Rod and I are getting a new apartment in mid-January, so it can be like a housewarming gift.”
“Oh, I’d love to. Give me an idea of what you’d like, okay?”
“You betcha,” Rod said. “We’ll even send you a photo.”
After a flurry of hugs and promises, Brenda and Rod left.
“You know what?” Lara said. “I actually like Rodney. Something tells me he’s genuine.”
“I agree,” Gideon said. “He’s the real deal.”
Lara and Gideon gathered up the glasses and plates they’d used and brought them into the kitchen. Aunt Fran opened the oven to check on her pumpkin pie.
Lara rinsed the dishes in the sink, her heart heavy when she thought about Nutmeg and Ballou. She hadn’t expected them to be gone before Christmas.
A few days after Jason had been arrested, Nutmeg’s owner had shown up at the shelter. The woman had left the tortie in the care of a neighbor while she went on a pre-Christmas tour of Germany and Austria. Unfortunately, the neighbor’s dog hadn’t approved the plan and scared the poor cat into bolting. The neighbor had been sick with worry but had no idea where to turn for help. It hadn’t occurred to her to check online sources, or even local vets’ offices. Nutmeg—whose real name was Swee’ Pea—had somehow found her way through the woods to the back of the school, where Jason had fed her lobster. When the neighbor returned from her trip and learned her cat was missing, she was frantic. She’d immediately gone online and searched all the area shelters.
“You’re lost in thought,” Aunt Fran said, slipping an arm around Lara’s waist.
“I know. I keep thinking about Nutmeg, I mean Swee’ Pea. And Ballou.”
“And you know they’re both thriving. We got new pictures yesterday, remember?”
When Lara had explained to Swee’ Pea’s owner that the tortie had single-handedly transformed their feral cat into a playful darling, the woman immediately wanted to adopt him. Aunt Fran was unsure, but Lara had a good feeling about it. It helped that Blue had given her blessing to the match. It had taken some work to entice Ballou into the pet carrier, but once he arrived at his new home, he’d settled down with Swee’ Pea and begun to explore. So far, he hadn’t allowed anyone to touch him, but his owner had high hopes.
“This is what we do, Lara. You’re the one who reminded me of that.”
“I know.”
The doorbell chimed again. Voices rang out in the hallway.
“We’re here!” Daisy Bowker called.
Lara quickly dried her hands and dashed toward the front door. Daisy, Sherry, and David stood in the hallway, shedding their coats and gloves. Hugs and handshakes made the rounds.
David, who wore his ginger-colored beard neatly trimmed, couldn’t take his eyes off Sherry. It was obvious he adored her. Soft-spoken and reserved, he thanked Lara and Aunt Fran for inviting him there for Christmas.
Sherry, looking terrific in a forest-green dress that accentuated her figure, her black hair fluffed around her face, pulled Lara aside. “Lots to tell you, but we’re not engaged—yet. Whew! We’ve agreed to revisit our relationship in early July, on the anniversary of the date we met. If we still feel the way we do now...well, you’ll be shopping for a maid of honor dress. Or maybe, a matron of honor dress?”
“Maid,” Lara said firmly. She showed her the sapphire cat pendant. Sherry squealed.
“Forgot to tell you,” Sherry said. “Loretta accepted your invitation, but she can’t make it until later. It’s so weird. Since she went back to looking like her old self, she and Mom have kind of bonded.” She rolled her eyes. “Let’s hope it lasts.” Sherry’s gaze meandered toward the cat tree in the window. “Oh...my God, is that Butterscotch?”
Lara grinned. “It sure is. He’s a different cat since he met that little boy last week.”
At the “read to a cat” event the Sunday before, a sweet, dark-haired boy about seven years old had arrived with his book in hand. As the boy read aloud to Munster, something about the child’s voice drew Butterscotch to him. Inexplicably, Munster made himself scarce, giving Butterscotch room to curl up at the boy’s side. Blue nestled up on the opposite side, and Lara knew they’d made another match.
“He stays up there all day watching the shelter doorway,” Lara said. “I think he’s waiting for his little boy to come back.”
Sherry’s face fell. “Oh, that breaks my heart.” She tapped her cherry-red fingernails against her chest.
“Not to worry. The family’s going to come back over school vacation. I’m almost positive they’re going to adopt him.”
“Lara!” Aunt Fran called from the kitchen.
“Gotta run. Be right back with drinks and snacks!”
* * * *
After everyone had stuffed themselves with ham, scalloped potatoes, steamed broccoli, and pumpkin pie, they gathered in the large parlor. Chief Whitley and Loretta had each arrived late but made it in plenty of time for dinner.
“Now that we have a chance to relax,” Daisy said cryptically, “I have some news.” She took a slow sip from her mug.
Everyone gawked at her.
“Okay, Mom, you’re making them nuts,” Sherry said, inviting Munster onto her lap. “Just spill it.”
Daisy grinned. “There’s a shop in Moultonborough that specializes in high-end gift baskets. They ship all over the country, and they’ve been looking for someone to make specialty cookies for them. Their last baker didn’t work out, soooo...I’m their new baker.”
Everyone roared and clapped and went over to hug Daisy.
“Not to mention,” Sherry added, “that now we’ll be able to hire someone to work weekdays at the coffee shop.”
“I’m thrilled for you, Daisy,” Aunt Fran said warmly. “No one deserves it more.”
“I’ve changed my mind about using The Bakers Thryce flour,” Daisy said sheepishly. “Especially since Todd Thryce is giving me a lifetime discount on all their baking products.”
Lara had spoken to Todd only once since Alice’s arrest. He was devastated but coping, grateful to be back in New York. And while he acknowledged that Daisy had been the clear winner of the cookie competition, he’d added that in light of Miss Plouffe’s tragic death, he was donating the prize money to the local food bank.
Daisy pulled a tissue from her pocket and sneezed. “Fran, Lara, I’m afraid I need to leave. I took two allergy pills before I came here, but they’re wearing off.”
“We understand,” Fran said. She lifted Dolce off her lap and set him down on the carpet. After another round of hugs, Daisy left with Sherry, David, and Loretta.
Gideon and Jerry had insisted on doing the dishes, while Lara and Aunt Fran put away the leftovers.
When the kitchen was spotless, the two men rolled their shirtsleeves back down. “Fran, Lara,” Jerry said, “you both outdid yourselves today. That was a fabulous meal.”
“And the company was top notch.” Gideon swept Lara into his arms and kissed her. “But honestly, Jerry and I are going to leave. You both deserve a rest, without the men around.”
A wave of relief swept over Lara. As much as she’d have enjoyed going home with Gideon, tonight her place was here with Aunt Fran. And the cats.
They watched the men’s cars back out of the driveway, red taillights flashing behind them as they drove down High Cliff Road.
“Let’s have a Christmas nightcap, shall we?” Aunt Fran suggested.
Lara poured them each a snifter of white chocolate liqueur, tossing a few semisweet morsels on top. They sat in the large parlor, Lara in her favorite chair with Valenteena on her chest, and Aunt Fran
on the sofa with Dolce and Twinkles vying for position in her lap. Snowball hopped onto Lara’s shoulder, and Lara tickled her chin. “The view is perfect from up there, isn’t it?”
Lara rested her head back and closed her eyes, letting her thoughts stream freely through her mind.
Over the past year, she and her aunt had been through so much together. Aunt Fran had had both knees replaced. Lara had stumbled onto a few murders and helped bring killers to justice. Aside from that, they’d performed near miracles with the shelter. They’d rescued cats, found loving homes for most. And while they couldn’t do as much as a traditional shelter, what they’d accomplished mattered.
A lot.
“Aunt Fran?” Lara said, her eyes half-closed. “Did you ever think of adding on to the house?”
Her aunt gave out a slight laugh. “You must have read my mind. I’ve been mulling it over for a while now.” She paused. “We’d need an architect, of course.”
“And a builder.” Lara sipped her liqueur, letting the warmth suffuse her. “Todd Thryce gave us a pretty hefty donation. We could build out from the back porch, add a second room to the meet-and-greet area. It could be like a little library, where kids can read to the cats.”
“Let’s talk about it after the New Year, shall we?”
Lara looked over at her aunt. Blue had settled onto the sofa beside her, her fluffy head resting under Aunt Fran’s elbow. The cat blinked once, then again.
“Yes, let’s,” Lara said and raised her snifter. “In the meantime, Aunt Fran, Merry Christmas.”
Her aunt raised her own snifter. “And a happy New Year to you, Lara. The best is yet to be.”
If you enjoyed Claws for Celebration, be sure not to miss all of Linda Reilly’s Cat Lady Mystery series, including
The meow of death…
Whisker Jog, New Hampshire, is a long way from Hollywood, but it’s the place legendary actress Deanna Daltry wants to call home. Taking up residence in a stone mansion off Cemetery Hill, the retired, yet still glamorous, septuagenarian has adopted two kittens from Lara Caphart’s High Cliff Shelter for Cats. With help from her Aunt Fran, Lara makes sure the kitties settle in safely with their new celebrity mom.
But not everyone in town is a fan of the fading star. Deanna was in Whisker Jog when she was younger, earning a reputation for pussyfooting around, and someone is using that knowledge against her. After being frightened by some nasty pranks, Deanna finds herself the prime murder suspect when the body of a local teacher is found on her property. Now, it’s up to Lara, Aunt Fran, and the blue-eyed Ragdoll mystery cat Lara recently encountered to collar a killer before another victim is pounced upon…
Read on for a special excerpt!
A Lyrical Underground e-book on sale now.
Chapter 1
“Oh God, I’ve got to get ready.”
With the toe of her beaded blue sandal, Lara Caphart turned off the vacuum cleaner and pressed the button to retract the cord. The cord snaked into the vacuum with a loud snap. She jumped slightly at the sound.
Take a deep breath, she told herself. She’s only a movie star. She’s only been nominated for three Oscars and a Tony. She’s only Deanna Daltry…
Lara was lugging the vacuum back to the supply closet when she bumped smack into her aunt, Fran Clarkson. Seven months ago, Lara had moved into her aunt’s Folk Victorian home in the town of Whisker Jog, New Hampshire. Though Aunt Fran had lived in the house for well over three decades, as of the beginning of the year it officially became the High Cliff Shelter for Cats.
“Sorry, Aunt Fran. I’m rushing, and I— Oh good glory, you look gorgeous. Is that a new top?” She tucked a strand of her coppery hair behind her right ear.
Aunt Fran smiled, her green eyes beaming beneath the smidge of highlighter she’d swept along her upper lids. “Yes, it is,” she said, referring to the gauzy, moss-colored top she wore over her pale gray capris. She did make for a stunning picture. “Lara, why are you so jittery? Ms. Daltry won’t be here for at least another hour.”
“But…but…she’s Deanna Daltry! And she’s going to be living in our town—in tiny Whisker Jog, New Hampshire!”
Aunt Fran chuckled. “I’ve never seen you so starstruck before. Remember, she’s here to adopt, not to audition us for parts in her next movie.”
“I know, I know. It’s just—”
“And also remember, she has a reputation for being late. Notoriously late. So don’t expect her to be here at the stroke of three.”
Lara sighed. It was true. The famous actress, best known recently for her starring role in the Broadway hit Take Me, I’m His, had often been dubbed Hollywood’s “late date.” Never married, she was known for her string of leading-man lovers, as well as for her generous good works.
She glanced around the back porch. The official meet-and-greet room for the shelter, it boasted a sturdy square table over which a cat-themed runner had been draped. The ceiling border depicted whimsical cats—hand-painted by Lara—frolicking over a background of cerulean blue. A pine corkboard hung on one wall. Photos of cats that had been successfully adopted covered the board. Lara was pleased that four kittens and two adult cats had found good homes since the shelter opened in January.
A furry body leaped soundlessly onto one of the four padded chairs. The Ragdoll cat, blue eyes sparkling, gave Lara a curious look.
Lara grinned at Blue, the cat that had the knack of popping in and out of the scenery like a puff of smoke.
“You’re always smiling at that chair,” Aunt Fran said. “It must remind you of something.”
If you only knew, Lara thought.
“It reminds me that I’d better get hustling and clean up. When our illustrious guest arrives, I don’t want to look like something a squirrel dug out of a hole in the ground.”
* * * *
It was the stroke of four thirty-five when Deanna Daltry arrived. The actress had driven herself to the shelter, her vintage cream-colored Mercedes spotless and gleaming under a mid-July sun.
Slender and silver-haired, Deanna wore her hair in a short, casual style combed away from her face. Clad in faded denim capris and a white halter top, she held out one hand.
“Forgive my bare face,” she said, sounding apologetic. “I find that the less makeup I wear, the less recognizable I am.”
“Ms. Daltry,” Lara said, trying valiantly not to gush. “I would know you anywhere. And you look beautiful, with or without makeup.” She took the woman’s outstretched hand, holding it a second or two longer than she should have.
Deanna’s gray eyes made a sweep of the room. “Is this room the shelter?” she asked Lara. “I’m loving the feline décor.”
“The shelter is actually our home,” Lara explained. “Three of the adult cats live here permanently. On adoption days, we outfit them with blue collars to indicate that they’re in-house cats. This room”—she waved a hand at the table—“is where we introduce ourselves, tell you about our shelter, and enjoy tea and snacks with those who wish to partake. Is iced tea all right? With the heat, we figured…”
The actress grinned and winked at Lara. “‘Those who wish to partake.’ You’re a dear young woman, do you know that? And yes, iced tea sounds like just the ticket on this sultry day.”
Inwardly, Lara slapped herself. Why did she have to sound so goofy in front of this legend? Why couldn’t she just be herself?
“Anyway,” Lara went on, “my aunt, Fran Clarkson, will be here any second. She’s—”
“I’m here,” Aunt Fran’s voice trilled from the doorway. Lara couldn’t hide her smile. Her aunt’s tone never warbled that way. Was she feeling a bit starstruck herself?
Aunt Fran set a pitcher of iced tea on the table, along with a small plate of cat-shaped cookies. “Ms. Daltry,” she said, offering her hand to the actress, “I’m Fran, and we’re honored that you’ve chos
en our shelter. Please have a seat.”
The table had already been set with tall glasses, dishes, and spoons. Lara poured each of them a glass of iced tea. “I hope you like cookies,” she said. “Daisy Bowker at the local coffee shop made them especially for you. They’re flavored with lavender.”
Deanna’s smile widened. “To match the iconic gown I wore in Forever and a Century? How sweet of her.”
“That’s amazing, Ms. Daltry,” Lara said. “How did you know that?”
“First, I insist that you both call me Deanna.” The actress flashed a brilliant smile, but Lara spied a touch of sadness in her expressive eyes. Ignoring Lara’s question, she looked around. “Aside from these delightful cookies, I haven’t seen any cats yet.”
Lara laughed. “We close the door to the large parlor on adoption days, until we’re ready to let visitors in.” She pushed her chair back and left the room to open the door. Munster, an orange-striped darling, moved past her like a rocket. He knew that on days when that door closed and then opened again, he was about to meet new people.
Lara followed the cat to the back porch, where he promptly jumped onto their visitor’s lap.
“Oh, what a darling you are,” Deanna cooed, stroking his head. “But you’re wearing a blue collar, so I can’t adopt you, can I?” She pushed her chilled glass toward the center of the table.
“He’s our official greeter,” Aunt Fran said, then smiled at the slender gray cat eyeing them from the doorway. “But Bootsie here is ready for a nice quiet home, aren’t you sweetie?”
Bootsie dipped her head forward and moved cautiously into the room. Aunt Fran called to her, but Bootsie made a circuitous route and wound herself around Deanna’s ankle.
Deanna clucked over the cat, reaching down to run a hand along her soft body. “She’s a doll, for sure,” the actress said and then sighed. “I know I sound selfish saying this, but…well, I was actually hoping to adopt a pair of kittens.” She held up a slender hand. “And I already know what you’re thinking, that everyone prefers kittens over adult cats because they’re so cute and frisky. But for me, coming back here represents a new beginning, and—” She paused and gazed up at the ceiling, the fingers of one hand lightly touching her throat.
