A Candy Cane Cat-astrophe

by Addison Moore

  “Well, we already know that Holly and Carol once belonged to the same sorority. And that they went on to work at the same distillery. Kaila said they were friendly up until Holly got ousted by the company and Carol wouldn’t leave. Carol ended up getting demoted no thanks to all the drama, but Holly wasn’t satisfied with that. She was determined to make Carol’s life a living heck. Carol must have been furious.”

  He takes a breath. “Now why would Holly insist on Carol leaving with her?”

  “Maybe she was critical to the company? Maybe Holly thought things would fall apart if both she and Carol left? And when Carol refused to do it, Holly felt betrayed.”

  “Betrayed enough to destroy a family?” He glances out the window as he mulls this over. “What else did Kaila say?”

  “Nothing really. Oh, wait, she mentioned Ford’s marriage was blown apart, too. I guess she was a proficient homewrecker. And I guess the mayor and his brother have had nothing but strife ever since.”

  He tips his head back. “Did you mention that Kaila said she was single?”

  “Between men.”

  “That’s funny. I interviewed Ford today, and he swears he’s seeing Kaila Clark.”

  “Really? Maybe he’s using her as a cover?”

  “Or maybe he’s telling the truth and Kaila didn’t want to clue the local town sleuth in on the fact her boyfriend may have done the deed.”

  “I get it.” I nod. “I would totally lie to cover for you.” My eyes close a moment. “Just like you’re doing for me.” Shepherd is risking everything just to be with me. He knows my true identity. This couldn’t have been an easy decision. “Thank you,” I say without further explanation.

  Shep nods. “Anytime, Kitten.”

  We finish up our meals and opt to have dessert at the house where there’s a fresh batch of Nana Rose’s cookies waiting for us.

  Shep wraps his arm around me as we head back out onto Main Street, with its rows and rows of verdant garland and twinkle lights. The snow covers the sidewalks and the street with a blanket of white, and the red bows dotting the garland, the wreaths on the doors and windows of every business, pop out at us with a cheery hello.

  “I love this time of year,” I say, wrapping my arms around him. “What does your family do for Christmas? Fill me in on some of the Wexler family traditions.”

  “This year we’ll be meeting after the holidays. Mom is on a cruise so we’re holding off to get together and we’ll be kicking off the new year together instead. I’m hoping you’ll be brave enough to join us. And Lola is invited, too. We can’t leave her in the dark.”

  “You mean to her own devices. And thank you, I accept. I’m sure she will, too. When I left, she was pouting that she couldn’t come to dinner with us. I’m pretty sure we’ll get back to find her throwing a wild party to make me pay for it.”

  “Let’s hope those two mobsters aren’t on the guest list. Although I’m glad we know about them. Believe me, I’m on high alert. I’m not sure who I feel sorrier for, Scooter Springs or the Woodley Sheriff’s Department for having to keep up with them once they get their own nefarious party started.”

  “Yes, but think of the fun you’ll have. Plus, you’ll have me by your side to decode their every rotten move. Those boys won’t know what’s coming.”

  “The irony is, they think they have the upper hand.”

  “They might.”

  “I know,” he says, dejected. “We make a good team, Bowie.” He pauses to pull me in close. “And that’s why—”

  The ground beneath me feels as if it’s giving way. That warm, fuzzy feeling takes over my body and a serious case of tunnel vision sets in.

  The first thing I see is Regina Valentine’s ugly mug. Fine, it’s not ugly, but she startled me, so there’s that. She’s looking right at someone to my left, and I turn to see Shep standing there. For the life of me I can’t make out where they are, but it’s safe to say they both look tense.

  “I’m going to get her this time, Shep,” Regina pants. “And there’s nothing you can do about it. And I’m going to make sure she stays out of our lives forever.”

  “No,” Shep barks back.

  Oh, thank goodness he can no longer be swayed by her womanly wiles.

  He leans her way. “If anyone takes her down, it’s me. I’ve invested personal resources to carry on this farce. My neck is on the line—my reputation.”

  She runs her finger down his tie. “Oh, go ahead. If things work out, it will be the biggest sting operation of your life.”

  “What?” I shriek as the world blinks back to life.

  Shep’s eyes bulge a moment. “That’s too much, I get it.”

  I suck in a quick breath. Just my freaking luck.

  Shep probably proposed, and I missed the whole thing.

  Not that I should believe anything he says. According to that vision, it’s Shep who is personally invested in carrying on this farce. I’m guessing I’m the farce. And busting me will be the biggest sting operation of his life, according to Regina.

  But why not just turn me in?

  Why play with me like I’m some little—kitten! No wonder he calls me by the imperialistic sexist nickname. He’s toying with me. Come to think of it, he might be working for the feds trying to pump me for information by way of those phony books he writes. I have helped him get a few details right. But then again, he wrote those long before he met me. That would be some outrageously forward-thinking on his part.

  As much as I hate to do it, I think I’ll have to sleep with one eye open around Shep from here on out. I’m not running out of Starry Falls just yet, but once that vision comes true, and it’s confirmed that Shep has been playing poker with me in the dark, I’ll have no choice but to flee the scene.

  Shep nods my way. “That’s okay, we don’t have to talk about it anymore.”

  “Darn right we don’t.” I reach down, scoop up some of that icy white stuff, and form a hard ball before chucking it right at his chest.

  “Whoa.” He chuckles as he quickly makes his own snowball and beams me in the hip.

  Shep and I have a snowball fight for the ages before we head back to the cabin, laughing all the way like drunk teenagers. We enjoy Nana Rose’s cookies before enjoying those steamy kisses with each other.

  I might as well toy with him in the best way possible while I have the chance.

  And yet my heart breaks a little with each deceptive kiss.

  Oh, Shep. How I hope I’m wrong about all of this. And if I am, I’m going to marry you.

  And if I’m right, I just might kill you.

  After all, what’s another homicide in Starry Falls?

  Kidding.

  I think.

  Chapter 9

  Stitch Witchery is kind of a big deal at the Mortimer Manor.

  Long before I ever arrived, Opal Mortimer invited every person with a crafty mind to the library right here in the heart of the manor so the like-minded crafty folks could spend an hour or two with other like-minded people in what Tilly indelicately referred to as a stitch and bitch.

  The library itself is a mahogany wonder with dark wooden shelves everywhere you look. Embedded in the molding you’ll find carved angels and devils, gargoyles, and every other creature determined to give you nightmares. Some of the books here are so old I’m afraid to touch them, with their carved leather exteriors and their yellowing pages, so brittle they fall apart in your hands. Almost all of the newer books were donated from the local library, and the rest were castoffs from the townspeople themselves.

  Our usual yet adorable decorations are the hundreds of cats that mill around inside of the manor. You can find them tucked in every nook and cranny here in the library. And seeing that it’s Christmastime, Opal had the manor’s handyman, Mud, put up evergreen garland and colorful twinkle lights lining all the bookshelves.

  There’s a four-foot tall plastic snowman at the entry, and a few well-placed holiday wreaths, but the best part of the décor is all t
he holiday fine china spread out over the marble checkout counter. Of course, the cats are still the furry little stars of the show. I don’t think we’ve had a single function at the manor without them.

  I hold my own cat, Pixie, close as we take in the melee already well underway. I ran into Hazel this afternoon and that peppy little spook asked me to bring my sweet cat by this evening. She said that Pixie wouldn’t want to miss out on the big surprise she has in store for me.

  I glance over to the checkout counter at the dozens upon dozens of teacups and teapots. Traditionally, Stitch Witchery calls for all of Opal’s finery, which is legion, but seeing that it’s Christmas, the only teacup, teapots, and saucers that need apply are those with a holiday theme. And believe me when I say, Opal owns every single line of holiday-inspired china on the market. She’s got your Spode, your Villeroy and Boch, Fitz and Floyd, and just about every other fine china designer in all of creation. I must admit, the Christmas china is by far my favorite. Don’t get me wrong, I love her vast collection of delicate teacups and teapots, but there is something special about the holiday appeal of it all.

  We’re hardly out the gate with Stitch Witchery and already the room is humming with women. The elongated tables have been joined as one, and there’s nary a vacant seat left open. It’s mostly women, but there is a small smattering of crafty men. The crafts range with everything from knitting, needlepoint, crochet, cross-stitch, embroidery, latch hook, punch needle point, diamond painting, and I think there’s someone on the end working on a puzzle. The sound of their voices rise high and light like the happy hum of a beehive, and every once in a while the room quiets to a hush as everyone tries to listen in on a juicy bit of gossip.

  Then there is the comfort, which is code for whiskey. It was Opal who originally put a spot of the hot sauce into her tea, and once I told her we should extend the offer and start charging those interested, she hopped right on board the tipsy express. Out of all of the schemes Opal and I have concocted to turn a dollar, Stitch Witchery and its famed comfort is the most profitable of them all.

  Right now, Flo and Thea are manning the comfort station. Tilly and her daughter Jessie are working intensely on projects of their own, while Opal heads my way.

  Tucked in Opal’s arms are King, the Bengal leader of the feline pack, and Lucky, a black, one-eyed cutie pie who is my next target to cat-nap as my own.

  Opal has on an emerald velvet cape, the frilly green dress on underneath that looks as if it was pulled straight from the seventeenth century, and enough thick chunky jewelry around her neck to qualify as a diamond studded millstone. Her silver tresses have a lavender twinge in this light, and her lipstick is dragon’s blood red. That’s her go-to lip color pretty much year-round.

  Opal touches Lucky’s nose to Pixie’s. “I’ve got one word for you, Bowie Binx—wigs.”

  Stephanie bops up and bumps her hip to Opal’s as she scoops up Lucky.

  “I’ve already tried to play that game with her.” Steph looks my way. “Mine was two words—bare-chested Santas. Don’t feel bad, Opal. I didn’t get far either.”

  Opal grimaces at my sister. “Oh dear, I’m afraid I’m not coming in clear.” She drones each word out like only someone in her former tax bracket can. “I’m simply stating they’re on the agenda.”

  “Wigs? As in hair pieces?” My brows hike a notch. “Are you talking for personal use, or is this an addendum you’d like to see tacked onto the new uniforms down at the café? Because I know from past experience, I look like a street walker with a cheap carpet on my head.”

  “Oh, these won’t be cheap,” she points out. “And they most certainly won’t be for you. I’m thinking of expanding my accouterments with the hairy darlings. I’ve always been experimental with fashion.”

  Stephanie nods. “I can relate. Before I came up north, I was experimenting a lot with fashion myself—specifically a red leather dress. I loved it because it hugged my every curve. And I hated it because I needed to bathe in oil to get it off me.”

  I shrug. “But I bet your skin was nice and soft after that.”

  “More like bruised and welted from knocking myself into walls while trying to pull the dang thing off. Once I became so entrapped, I dropped to the floor in a heap and fell asleep. My boyfriend found me and nearly called the cops because he thought I had been tied up and robbed.”

  Nearly being the operative word. I happen to know the ex which she speaks of was a second generation mobster. And as second gen, you’re pretty much indoctrinated into the world as much as you have been into the mob. So I can see the urge to call the police. But every good mobster knows that no matter how bad it gets, you don’t call the cops for anything. You take care of it yourself, no matter how bloody or messy that may be. There was a very real reason we had an ample supply of cleaning solutions in our garage at any given time.

  Opal sniffs. “Regardless, I have an entire slew coming in next week. A sort of early holiday gift to myself. Oh, and before I forget, the other night I had a dream I was a psychic just like the two of you.”

  I suck in a hard breath.

  Stephanie openly growls at her. “There are a lot of things you can call us, but the P word isn’t one of them.”

  “She’s right,” I whisper. “Everyone and their spiritual mother knows that psychics are a no-go with the Big Guy. He’s adamant about staying away from them. They’re wicked, demonic, evil, and they are highly frowned upon in most religious circles—ours being one of them.”

  Steph nods. “We like to think of our little voyeuristic journey into the future as a gift from the Almighty—gifted by the Almighty, with a divine purpose behind it.”

  My shoulders bounce. “Either that or he was heavily distracted when creating the transmundane people. Nevertheless, if you go around telling people you got a word from God, they’ll see to it that you’re locked up in the looney bin.”

  Opal flicks her wrist our way. “Pish posh. Wait a minute? That dream wouldn’t qualify me to be one of you, now would it? Maybe what you have is a catching condition?”

  Steph wrinkles her nose. “Dreams don’t count. Dreams are weird. The other night I dreamed I found Pixie in the dishwasher.”

  “Was it on?” I ask.

  “No, why?”

  “Because that’s how I’d know if you were a psycho.”

  Opal chortles. “Don’t worry, Lola, I like you too much to care.” She takes off just as a pink spray of stars materializes near the supernatural section of the library, and I haul my sister over with me.

  “Hazel,” I whisper as I give a little wave.

  Her long auburn hair swirls and curls as effectively as if she was underwater. Her glowing eyes appear luminescent green at this moment, and it’s a positively stunning look on her.

  Stephanie stomps her foot, and Lucky gives a little yowl in her arms.

  “Hear that?” Steph leans my way. “Lucky and I both want in on some ghostly action. It’s no fair Regina dropped a pumpkin over your head, and now you can see through to the other side. Quick—bonk me over the head with a dictionary. Maybe that way I can see her, too.”

  “Don’t tempt me.”

  Hazel giggles. “That may not be necessary. I scoured the area until I finally came upon a few friendly ghosts at a B&B down in a small town called Honey Hollow. They told me everything I’ve ever wanted to know about ghosts and people who share your ability, Bowie.”

  I suck in a quick breath as I look to Steph. “Hazel says she’s learned something about the transmundane, and she’s found more ghosts!”

  “Don’t keep me in suspense.” Stephanie swats me with Lucky’s tail. “Spill the supernatural details.”

  Hazel nods. “Okay, Bowie. I’m not sure if this will work, or how well, but the ghosts told me that there’s a woman in Honey Hollow by the name of Lottie Lemon. Her transmundane gift is referred to as supersensual, which means she can see the dead. They seem to think when you got hit, it must have unlocked another element to this
strange ability you have. And, depending on how strong your abilities are, there’s a chance your sister might be able to hear me—or even see me if she holds your hand. Apparently, this woman, Lottie, acts as a conduit with just about anybody. But, seeing that Stephanie is transmundane, too, it might have more of an effect.

  “Hold my hand,” I say to my sister, and she quickly threads her fingers with mine. Before I can tell Hazel to go ahead and say something, Steph’s whole face lights up with fright before she quickly morphs into something of wonder as she stares openly at the specter before us.

  “I can see her!” She leans toward Hazel. “I mean, I can see you. Wow, and to think I didn’t even need to get bonked on the head to do it. You’re pretty hot stuff, by the way. Neat trick with the hair. Any hot ghostly dudes roaming around the nether sphere?”

  Hazel makes a face. “No luck in that department so far. But I’ll keep you posted.”

  “I’m amazed, Hazel,” I say. “Thank you. And you’re right. This is a big surprise.”

  She shakes her head, and a handful of pixie dust floats from it like a mini constellation.

  “That wasn’t the surprise, but I’m glad you both appreciate it.” She looks to Pixie. “Hand me the pink one.”

  “This is Pixie,” I tell her as I hand her off. “She’s the cat-child I share with Shep.”

  Stephanie nods. “Outwardly, it seems to be an amicable shared custody arrangement, but I secretly think Pixie prefers me best of all.”

  Hazel’s lips expand. “Let’s find out.”

  She taps the pink feline over the nose until poor Pixie startles into submission.

  “Pixie?” She leans in. “Can you hear me?”

  A sharp yowl evicts from her.

  “Hey?” I say. “Neat trick.”

  Hazel looks intently into Pixie’s eyes before landing her palm over Pixie’s back.

  “Okay, Pixie, I want you to tell us. Do you like Stephanie best?”

  Pixie belts out another meow as she looks my way.

  Hazel laughs. “She said, ‘Of course, I like Stephanie, but it’s Bowie who allows me to sleep on her head.’”