Crafts, Cat Burglars, and Murder

by Stacey Alabaster

  But there was a special event going on at the Red Room that evening and when we got to the door, we had to pay sixty dollars each to enter.

  “That seems expensive for some live acoustic music,” Ryan commented, though he didn’t sound too annoyed, just like he was teasing the hostess.

  The woman at the door, a tall, slim lady with brunette hair down to her waist and a name tag that red “Jo,” laughed a little. “This is ‘blind date with a book night’,” she explained. I could see that Ryan’s face was still blank.

  She gave him a quick rundown. “The cover charge includes everything for the night. The live entertainment, a chocolate supper, a glass of wine, and at the end of the night, you get to take home a free mystery book.”

  “Oh, I don’t really ready mystery novels,” Ryan commented.

  The poor woman tried not to laugh again. “No, the book you get will be a mystery. It’s pulled out of a drawer. It could be any genre.”

  “Oh, right.”

  We paid the cover charge and went in. “These are all pretty much my favorite things in one place,” I said to Ryan as we made our way though the sea of plush sofas to find a place to sit. “Chocolate, wine, books, and some great live music.”

  “And a great date.”

  I laughed. “That too.”

  The first part of the evening included some rather awkward ‘get to know you’ icebreakers amongst the guests. There was something called the “string game” where every person got different length of string, and in the time it took each of us to wrap it around our index finger, we had to stand up and give the crowd a quick rundown about ourselves.

  How long is a piece of string? I got one that was only a few inches long. “Hi, I’m George, I run a craft shop and…” Oops, my time was up. But poor Ryan got one that was about five feet long and had to give his entire life history to the crowd. He was already out of words with half the piece of string still to go so he rapidly wound it as fast as he could and sat down, a little flustered and shaking his head at me. I supposed he wasn’t a great public speaker.

  “Thanks for this,” Ryan said.

  I laughed. “I’m sorry! I had no idea there would be games involved.”

  Thankfully, the activities part of the evening came to an end and the chocolate platters were brought out to share amongst the tables. The busker I’d taken the flier from, Dylan Hepburn, played first, so Ryan and I took the chance to chat while I waited for the real entertainment to start. Well, Ryan took the chance to chat, I took the chance to stuff my mouth with the delicious dark chocolate fudge pie. Ryan slid his own plate over to me when I was finished and said I could have his too. “I’m not that much of a sweet tooth.”

  “I didn’t think I was either, but this is amazing—”

  I stopped talking when Dylan thanked the crowd and said he was taking a break and that the support act would be playing during the intermission. I put down my slice of chocolate pie and sat up. Ryan was looking eagerly at the stage. “She must be good if you’re so excited about her,” he said to me.

  But then Sian Miller walked out onto the stage, wearing a long, loose, swaying dress, carrying her guitar, and sat down on a chair behind the microphone.

  I immediately saw Ryan’s face change.

  He turned to me sharply, accusation thick in his voice. “That is Andrew Comb’s girlfriend,” he said hotly.

  “Ex-girlfriend,” I corrected him, looking away and suddenly becoming very interested in my chocolate pie again.

  Ryan was definitely not about to let the subject drop. “Why did you really bring me here, George?”

  I swallowed the last of my pie and wiped my mouth with a napkin. Suddenly, the candlelight atmosphere didn’t seem so romantic. “To hear some great music!”

  Ryan shook his head. “She is a suspect in a murder case, George. You should not be following her around,” he whispered. “Stalking her like this.”

  “I’m not! I promise I didn’t even know who she was.”

  “So, this is the very first time you’ve ever seen Sian Miller?” Ryan asked me, flatly, in total disbelief.

  I thought for a while about the best way to answer that question.

  “Yes, Ryan, this is the very first time I’ve ever seen Sian Miller. Now, are you done being paranoid? Can we sit here and enjoy some music?”

  “Fine,” he said quietly, folding his arms and staring at the stage.

  But he grew more and more uncomfortable as the night progressed. “I’m not sure it’s right for me to be here, given that I am a police officer and she is a suspect,” Ryan eventually said, handing me his second untouched plate of chocolate that we’d been handed during the music interlude. “Here,” he said. “I think chocolate is more your thing. The books as well. Feel free to take mine home with you.”

  “You are abandoning me on our date?” I asked, my jaw down to my ankles as I watched him stand up and put his jacket back on.

  He sighed. “I’m just trying to do the right thing. It’s not right for me to be here, George. Hey, you’re more than welcome to come with me.”

  Oh.

  I ummed and ahhed for a minute, without giving a definitive answer.

  “You know what?” Ryan said. “Just don’t worry about it, George. I’ll just see you some other time. But it’s not me abandoning the date. It’s you.”

  I was a little disappointed to be sitting there without Ryan, but I was also kind of peeved at him for leaving me sitting there on my own, so I wasn’t sure how to feel about him right then.

  Though, I had to admit, the deception had kind of been my fault. If I was sitting on my own, I had only myself to blame.

  At least I did have two full plates of chocolate now. And two glasses of wine. And two books to take home later. I hadn’t come out of the evening too badly off, all in all.

  There wasn’t really a ‘backstage’ at the Red Room, just an area behind the platform where the musicians packed up their gear once they were done.

  But by the time Sian had finished her set and was packing up her guitar, the crowd had started to stand up and people were socializing with each other, talking about books and writing and the things they had discovered about each other during the string game.

  One young woman, wearing a yellow fluffy sweater that made her look a bit like a duck, jumped in front of me and accosted me. “You run a craft store in Pottsville? I’d love to get into crafting. What is the address?”

  “Erm…” I was craning my neck over her shoulder, trying to see what Sian was doing. “I’m awfully sorry, sweetie. Can you excuse me for just a second?”

  “Oh.”

  I might have just lost a prospective customer, but I needed to speak to Sian before she left. I had no contact details for her and no way of finding her unless I kept standing on the street corner hoping to bump into her again.

  But by the time I’d pushed through the crowd, there was no sight of her. ‘Backstage’ was empty except for Dylan and his amplifier.

  Great. Frightened off before I even had a chance to speak to her. Maybe Ryan was right and this was all a very bad idea.

  Oh well, at least Sian hadn’t seen me. So she couldn’t hold my stalking against me the next time I saw her.

  Well, if I couldn’t speak to Sian, I was just going to have to settle for the next best thing.

  Dylan grinned at me as I approached him. “I don’t mind older women.”

  Ah, great. I supposed I was just going to have to play the role of wannabe groupie for a little while if that was what would work.

  I leaned up against the amplifier with my glass of wine in my hand. “And I don’t mind younger men,” I said, telling what was essentially the truth.

  “Nice,” he said. Dylan didn’t look that dissimilar to Andrew, as in, they both had the same sort of long haircut and wore the same sort of clothes, although Dylan wore a leather jacket. And Dylan was far taller, probably at least six-foot-four and towering over me even though I was wearing heels that ni
ght.

  “Hey, so did you know Andrew Combs at all?” I asked casually, playing with my hair a little bit to try and make him think that I was simply flirting with him, not digging for dirt on a murder.

  A waitress brought Dylan a tray of four shots of whiskey. I watched in shock as he downed all four, one after another.

  He blinked a few times once he was done. “Sure. Andrew and I used to play in a band together. He was a good guy.” He ordered a beer from the waitress and began to drink it.

  “I heard that Andrew kept a lot of pets on his premises,” I said. “Maybe too many,” I added. “According to the neighbors, Andrew might have been putting those animals in danger, keeping so many like that.”

  He shook his head. “No way. Andrew was a vegetarian.” He thought about this for a second. “Or maybe vegan. One or the other. He loved animals. He wouldn’t even wear leather jackets, always gave me a hard tome about mine. There’s no way he’d ever do anything to hurt those animals.”

  I wasn’t sure what to think.

  I just couldn’t quite connect the dots.

  He picked up another beer and flicked the bottle cap off using his guitar case.

  “Did Andrew do any other kind of activist work?” I asked. Dylan was already three sheets to the wind and having difficulty keeping up with the conversation.

  His words were a little slurred when he finally replied.

  “Ah, depends what you mean.” He blew on the top of his bottle. “I mean, it wasn’t just the shelter he stole cats from.”

  Wait, hold up. “It wasn’t?” I asked him, trying to get him focused. “Who else did he steal from?”

  Dylan was swaying back and forth. He put his arm around my shoulder to steady himself. At least, that was what I thought he was doing. “So, are you and me going to get out of here or not?”

  I pulled myself from his grip. No, we most certainly were not.

  “Who else did Andrew steal from?” I had to yell to make myself heard over the music that had just started playing through the speakers. There was no more live music, apparently, just dance music from a DJ. It seemed the cafe had switched into a bar, and then switched again into a night club.

  Dylan shrugged. “Some neighbor,” he slurred. “Some chick. She was really angry with him when she found out too.”

  “What was the neighbor’s name?” I yelled.

  But Dylan was no longer interested. He was already stumbling onto the next interested woman, a young blonde lady who’d been hovering around since he’d finished his set.

  Besides, we were interrupted by the long brunette, Jo, who’d greeted us at the door earlier.

  “Hello, George,” she said, reading from the stickered name tag she’d made us fill out and stick to our chests when we’d entered the bar. “It’s time for you to come and collect your free, mystery book.” She pointed towards the entrance. “Just dip your arm into the barrel and pull one out.”

  I thanked her and wandered over, glad to be away from the loud DJ who was playing dance music I didn’t recognize. The barrel was full of books covered in brown paper bags like it was the 1950s and they contained scandalous materials. Each of them contained a few ‘clues’ as to what was inside, but they were cryptic, things like “Family of four” and “A woman’s hat is found” and so I gave up trying to guess what was inside and decided to just pick one at random.

  I settled on a thick one—figured I would be getting my money’s worth that way—and pulled it out, but didn’t unwrap it there.

  “And what about your friend?” Jo asked me, looking around the room for Ryan. “He needs to collect his as well.”

  “He had to leave early. Headache,” I said, before trying to flash a little grin. “But he’s given me permission to take his home.”

  Jo smiled at me and gestured for me to take another. I dived back in and got a second book. “Thanks so much for organizing a lovely evening,” I said to Jo before I left.

  “I hope your friend is feeling better,” she said to me, but I could see the pity in her eyes as I walked out.

  Even though Ryan had told me to keep the book, I decided to surprise him and deliver the book to his door that night. At least, I hoped it was going to be a pleasant surprise and not one that was going to get me kicked to the curb.

  But I had to take my chances either way.

  “George,” he said, blinking a few times when he answered the door, as though he couldn’t quite believe I was standing there.

  I passed him the book. “I didn’t feel right keeping all the spoils of the night considering you paid a hundred and twenty dollars for the evening,” I said. “Besides, you might really get a kick out of the book.” I was an avid reader and I always appreciated it when the men I dated were too. I was still trying to figure out if Ryan and I had any real connection to each other besides physical attraction.

  “Thanks,” he said with a little laugh. “Though you really didn’t have to.”

  One thing I did love about Ryan was that he was quick to laugh things off and to drop a matter. He didn’t hold a grudge.

  “I’m sorry I just took off like that,” Ryan said, eventually. “It was out of line, leaving you like that.”

  “As you said, you were just doing the right thing.”

  He stared at me for a minute. “And you really had no idea that Sian Miller was going to be there?”

  “None at all. I really just wanted to go and check out some great music. With a great guy.”

  Ryan reached out for my hand and held it for a moment before he pulled me in closer to him.

  I wasn’t entirely sure what was about to happen. It had been a while since I’d kissed a man. What if I’d forgotten how to do it?

  But I hadn’t. It came more naturally than anything in the world as we pressed our lips together and I melted into him.

  When it was over, I sighed. I’d just lied to a man, and kissed him.

  It was time to go home.

  Chapter 7

  “Tom!” I said, almost dropping the large bag of cat food I was struggling to carry and now, struggling very hard to conceal. Unfortunately, the bag was a garish shade of purple and had a large cartoon picture of a cat’s face on the front so there was no use hiding what it was even when I tried to put it behind my back. Instead, I dropped it to the ground and sighed in resignation.

  That’s it. I am getting a car. I’ll go down to the dealership this afternoon.

  Tom stopped in front of me and stared at the bag of cat food on the pavement.

  He always looked a bit like a clergyman with his high, buttoned up collars and the plain white or light blue shirts he always wore. Either that or a very conservative school teacher. And I felt like I had just been caught smoking behind the school.

  He folded his arms across his chest. He started to speak slowly and surely, like he really was a school principle telling off a student he’d just caught skipping school.

  “It’s funny, George,” he said. “I was just walking past my neighbor’s house and I spotted a very familiar creature sitting in the front garden.”

  I tried to make a joke of it. “A garden gnome. You know those things don’t really come to life, don’t you?” It didn’t work.

  “A cat. A small white kitten that I could have sworn was brought to the shelter three weeks ago. So I asked this neighbor of mine about her new kitten, and she informed me that she got little Sallie from a local craft shop that had run a cat adoption day. You don’t happen to know anything about that, do you, George?”

  I paused for a moment before I shook my head weakly. “You might have to ask the other craft shop in town, it’s run by my friend Caroline…” But I stopped talking. I didn’t want to pass the blame onto Caroline. That wasn’t fair. She didn’t deserve that.

  It was time to come clean. I picked up the bag of cat food. “Okay. I found the cats at Andrew’s house, the day I discovered his body. I felt like they had already been through so much…being surrendered or abandoned to the
shelter in the first place, then stolen by Andrew, then witnesses to a murder…that putting them through any further torment, taking them back to the shelter, just seemed cruel.”

  Tom shook his head. The look in his eyes softened. “I don’t know why you didn’t just tell me all of this at the time, George. I would have been happy that you were giving the cats a safe foster home in the meantime and that you intended to find them all permanent homes.”

  “Oh. Right.” I felt a little sheepish about the whole thing now. I hadn’t expected him to be so reasonable. “I suppose I thought you’d be angry at me.”

  Just like you were angry at Andrew, maybe? Angry enough to kill him? That was what I thought but didn’t manage to say.

  “I’m not an angry man, George. In fact, I pride myself on being a compassionate and understanding man,” Tom said.

  I nodded, holding the bag of cat food in front of me like it was a shield of armor. “Yes. It was wrong of me to avoid you. And to avoid telling you the truth. I do hope that the shelter has been running well in my absence.”

  Tom still looked incredibly hurt. “George, it was being lied to that I didn’t appreciate. Especially finding it all out from my neighbor like that. I felt quite foolish indeed.”

  “I really am sorry, Tom,” I said.

  “Sometimes sorry doesn’t quite cut it,” Tom said. “You’ve got to do the right thing in the first place, George, not just do the wrong thing and afterwards ask for forgiveness, hoping that everything is going to be all right.”

  Hmm. Maybe not quite so ‘kind and compassionate’ right at that moment.

  “You seem as though you recovered quite well from that flu you had last weekend,” I said, framing it like it was a compliment, when actually it was an accusation.

  Tom’s cheeks flushed red.

  “Yes, well, I suppose it was just one of those twenty-four hour things,” he hurried to say. After that, he quickly excused himself. “I am needed back at the shelter, George.”