Murder Most Meow: A Hazel Hart Cozy Mystery Four

by Louise Lynn

  Murder Most Meow

  A Hazel Hart Cozy Mystery Book Four

  Louise Lynn

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  Chapter 1

  “This is the Shakespeare Festival; not the Renaissance Faire,” Hazel Hart muttered as her best friend, Celia, tightened the laces on her corset.

  Celia snorted. “So? Shakespeare Festival or Renaissance Faire, the tourists who frequent these kinds of things like costumes. And you’ll get more business this way. So don’t complain when your register is overflowing at the end of the week. Plus, Violet went out of her way to make this for you. Do you really want to let her down?”

  Hazel pouted. She hadn’t asked Violet, the niece of the man she was dating, Sheriff Cross, to make the corset for her. But the girl had insisted. Even if she had enough work on her plate since she was an assistant to the costume maker for the festival itself. The sheriff thought she was overextending, and Hazel had to agree, if only slightly. Violet wanted to do it. She said it got her away from her boring peers, but Hazel imagined it had something to do with getting to hang around the Shakespearean actors who were in town for the various performances.

  Dominic Dane, the lead in Macbeth and a former Oscar nominee, was the most well-known. His face was plastered all over the posters for the festival, and Hazel had to admit it seemed to be working to draw people in. It was only the second day of the festival, but it was more crowded than it had been in years past.

  “I am wearing it. Why didn’t she make you one?” Hazel said though she figured she already knew the answer.

  “I have too many corsets to count. You know how my mom is.”

  Hazel thought her best friend filled the corset better than she did, but she kept her mouth shut on that and let Celia finish her work. She’d also managed to pin Hazel’s curly bob into a semblance of control. At least it got the hair off her neck.

  It was a perfect late spring day in Cedar Valley, and Lake Celeste shone at the edge of the festivities like a glacial jewel. But that good weather meant that Hazel would be sweating by noon.

  She was used to a more casual daily uniform of leggings and tunics, or skirts and blouses, even jeans. Not chemises and corsets and too many petticoats to count.

  “How am I even supposed to go to the bathroom in this?” Hazel muttered under her breath.

  Celia laughed. “You might need someone to help hold the skirts. And if you do, just ask.”

  Hazel shook her head. When she did wedding photography, some of the brides needed help with their dresses as well. Talk about embarrassing.

  She made a mental note not to drink as much coffee as usual that day—if she could get away with it.

  With one final tug, Celia finished the laces and patted Hazel on the back. “If it feels too snug at any point, have Michael or your dad loosen it for you.”

  “It feels too snug now,” Hazel said and rubbed her ribs.

  How did the women in the past manage something like this without going absolutely insane? Maybe that’s why so many of them had the vapors—corsets.

  “Is it?” Celia said and raised brow.

  Hazel took a deep breath. She could manage that. “No. It’s just… you know. Tight. But Michael and my dad are both in costume, so I wouldn’t want to disappoint them.”

  Celia grinned. “That’s my girl. Now, go knock them dead with your amazing booth.”

  Hazel nodded and marched out of the makeshift dressing room Celia had provided in the back of her own booth. The booth in question provided espresso, and a range of coffees, teas, and freshly baked bagels. Her typical mascot, Ophelia the white fluffy Persian, wasn’t in attendance, but the booth had been named after her—Ophelia’s Fountain.

  In the small Sierra mountain town of Cedar Valley the Shakespeare Festival was a huge deal. It brought in the first wave of spring tourists after the snow melted and Lake Celeste was gearing up for summer, the most popular season of the year.

  The weeklong festival was a way to kick off the end of spring and the start of summer, and had been here as long as Hazel could remember. When she was a girl, her dad used to take her to it and he usually did what she was doing now—acting as official festival photographer. To her surprise, the committee asked her specifically even though her father was back in Cedar Valley for the near future.

  It’d been quite the honor, one she couldn’t turn down, though it did mean she had to rework her schedule to make sure none of her other clients were misplaced because of it. Good thing she didn’t have any weddings this weekend or she might have had to say no.

  In addition to her helping with the festival’s photography, which included taking photos of both the Shakespeare productions, actors and the festival itself, her assistant, Michael, talked her into opening a costume photography booth. In Hazel’s own studio, Wild @ Hart, which acted as a catch all photography studio since it was the only one in town. She even had an Old West studio because the tourists loved dressing up, and it brought in a chunk of income during the busy summer months.

  However, she’d never done the Shakespeare Festival before. Though, finding the costumes hadn’t been as difficult as she thought. And Violet and Celia had been more than happy to help scour the Internet for her in preparation for this.

  Even her father had jumped on board, volunteering to watch the booth when Hazel was off tending to her other photographer duties.

  The festival itself was held in the center of town at Lakefront Park, and as its name suggested, it stood next to the world-famous Lake Celeste. A makeshift stage was erected in the center of the park, and an avenue of booths were also in place. Nearly everyone who had a shop on Lake Street, Cedar Valley’s main drag, had a booth here.

  Hazel smiled at them as she strolled past. Her younger sister, Esther, sat at her own booth while Ruth, Esther’s eight-year-old daughter, played with a hula hoop in front of it, dressed like a fairy with a rainbow tutu. Not historically accurate, but at least she was having fun.

  Esther gave Hazel a harassed looking smile. Her cupcakes were more costumed than usual, with fancy sprinkles that caught the mid-morning light, and the price had increased by a dollar as well. But if the tourists would pay it, Hazel couldn’t blame her.

  Especially knowing all the work Esther put into the baking for any event.

  “Someone dressed up,” Esther said and held out a cupcake on a plate. It was plainer than the others, probably a reject. Which was why Hazel was getting it without any complaints. Still, it would taste just as good as the prettier ones.

  “Celia did market research. Costumes make a booth sell better. I see Ye Olde Cupcake Shoppe is doing fine though,” Hazel said and restrained from eating the cupcake right away. She would need to ask for two more rejects, one for her father and one for Michael, or else they’d want to wander down and get their own.

  “If it’s anything like yesterday, I’ll be sold out by noon. That’s fine. I’ll just go back to the bakery and take a nap,” she said and let out a sigh.

  She wasn’t wearing her typical catering outfit, black slacks and a white blouse. But she hadn’t gone full on Shakespearean costume either. She wore a flowing Kelly green dress, which complemented her eyes and her long auburn hair. She let it hang down her back in a tight braid.

  Not to Hazel’s surprise, Raj Kholi, the man who ran Cedar Valley’s local Indian restaurant, had his booth across from Esther’s, and
he had gone full costume. Though his was more traditional Indian than Shakespearean. But the bright colors matched with the rest of the festival, and she noticed him giving a shy wave to Esther.

  “Did you guys have another date last night?” Hazel asked.

  A playful smile tugged Esther’s lips. “Maybe. It was actually our first solo date. It wasn’t anything remarkable because we both had a lot of work to do. But it was fun. He helped me bake, and I helped him cook, and then we ate and collapsed.”

  “Well, think of it this way. Only six more days and you actually get to sleep in for once,” Hazel said and reached for the other rejected cupcakes.

  Esther gave Hazel one of her mom looks and held the plate up for Hazel to choose. “Don’t remind me. Six more days of this? Next year, I’m not sure I want to do a booth here. Especially without mom to help.”

  Hazel shrugged. “You can’t blame her. The festivals are one of her favorite parts of the year.”

  Esther didn’t have anything to say to that, and a group of tourists wandered by, who Ruth started calling to. “Best cupcakes in town! Come eat the fanciest, bestest cupcakes around!” she singsonged and moved her arms so it looked like her fairy wings flapped.

  The group was suitably impressed and came over to have a look at Esther’s wares, so Hazel drifted away.

  She passed her mother’s booth, complete with a tent in the back for psychic readings, which Hazel assumed her mother’s business partner, Tess, performed.

  Her mother already looked the part of some Shakespearean witch in her multi layered gauzy outfit with a few sarongs thrown here or there. Her fading red hair frizzed around her round face, and her glasses slipped down her nose as she talked adamantly about a set of tarot cards and a spirit board with the group in front of her.

  Hazel was surprised she didn’t have the cauldron out in an attempt to drum up more business. But, as far as Hazel could tell, she had enough as it was. Maybe the cauldron was a backup plan.

  As Hazel followed the path to her booth she not only had to avoid running into the bustling tourists, but also the abundant squirrels. They charged up the towering cedar and pine trees, chattering to anyone who would listen of their displeasure at having their home invaded. Stellar jays and robins joined them in the fuss.

  Hazel smiled as she approached her own booth, tucked closer to the stage than the others. It was for her own convenience that she’d set up there, and since she was the official photographer, the committee allowed it.

  Michael grinned as she approached, his eyes focused solely on the cupcakes. “Are those for us?”

  Hazel nodded and set them down.

  Her assistant looked more at home in hose and a tunic then she imagined he would. Her father did not. He kept tugging at the puffy pants he wore over the hose, and adjusting the frilly collar that Celia insisted he wear. She thought it was some sort of joke she and Esther were playing on him, but she wasn’t entirely sure. Her father was too good-natured to question it at all.

  Anthony Ray, her fluffy black cat, was also leashed to the booth, and in costume as well. His consisted of the same sort of frilly collar her father wore, only cat-sized. Anthony Ray was not happy about that turn of events, and complained loudly at anyone who would listen. The rest of the time, he kicked at it with his hind feet. Hazel gave him a sympathetic pat on the head.

  “Well if you don’t look like a vision of loveliness, I don’t know who does. My very own Juliet,” her father said and kissed her hand.

  Hazel rolled her eyes. “Juliet was fourteen. I think I’m a touch older than that.”

  Her father shrugged and tugged at his lace collar again. “You may be older, but you’re still my daughter. I think the costumes are working. We’ve had a rush of people, and the play hasn’t even started yet. Imagine how many will be here after the performance.”

  Hazel could imagine it, and it wasn’t a bad thing. They had two changing tents set up behind the makeshift booth, one for men and one for women. In order to make a profit on this booth, they had to have a decent turnaround time. But after one day in business, they’d been doing fine.

  By the time Hazel turned back to the plate of cupcakes, Michael had finished one, and Hazel decided she may as well eat before the other two disappeared as well.

  No sooner had she finished brushing the crumbs from her lips than a group of people stalked toward her.

  She recognized the first one as the director of the festival and the man responsible for hiring most of the actors and directing the plays as well, Christopher Allen.

  He was nearly ten years older than her thirty-five, putting him in his mid-forties. His normally friendly face was twisted into a scowl, and his flop of mousy brown hair was combed over the balding spot on top of his head. He was about Hazel’s height, give or take an inch or two, which made him about five feet nine or ten. He wore khaki pants and a white button up, and made Hazel feel ridiculously overdressed.

  Behind him trailed his wife, Sophia, whose face was pulled into an even sourer expression than normal. She glared at Hazel as they passed. A teenage boy followed her, Christopher and Sophia’s son, who Hazel only knew from Violet’s description of him as a greasy pimply weasel—Darcy Allen.

  Upon closer inspection, Darcy wasn’t as covered in acne as Violet made out, and it wasn’t his fault, but Hazel kept her mouth pinched shut.

  Violet Cross took up the rear, a scowl plastered on her face and aimed right at Darcy.

  “Ms. Hart I need you in my private tent. Now,” Mr. Allen called and stalked toward the tents set aside for the actors and their director.

  Hazel stared after them.

  She’d only just got ready to work in her own booth and now this—whatever it was— called her away.

  “Go on. We have things handled here. Though neither of us would look as good in a corset or gown as you do,” her father said with a twinkle in his eye.

  Hazel grinned. “You never know until you try.” Then she walked after Mr. Allen.

  He was, in effect, her client. So she had to listen to his request, rude or not.

  She was the last to arrive in the tent, and she shut the flap behind her.

  Mr. Allen gave her a quizzical look. “You think you’re going to be on stage Ms. Hart? As far as I know, you’re just the photographer. Wouldn’t it be easier to wear something a little less… that?”

  His wife chortled, and Hazel felt her cheeks heat. “I was wearing this for my own private booth. I’m sorry if it interferes with my work for the festival,” she said through gritted teeth. She refrained from mentioning that the committee had hired her as a whole, not Mr. Allen privately, and there was nothing in her contract that said she had to dress a certain way. Though, taking pictures in leggings and a tunic was probably worlds easier than the multiple skirts and corset.

  “It doesn’t matter. For today. But we have a problem.”

  Everyone glanced at each other. Violet’s eyes went wide, and Sophia’s expression hardened. Darcy was the only one who didn’t look particularly concerned. He stared at Violet in a manner that Hazel could only describe as twitter-patted.

  “What’s the problem?” Hazel asked since no one else felt the need to. Maybe they all had an idea what was going on, but Hazel wasn’t going to play guessing games with them.

  Finally, Mr. Allen let out a beleaguered sigh. “Our lead in the Scottish play, Dominic Dane, is missing.”

  Chapter 2

  “Dad, what do you mean by missing?” Darcy asked in a quiet voice and finally tore his eyes away from Violet.

  Mr. Allen rolled his eyes. “What do you think it means? Missing. No one can find him. We called his cell repeatedly. His wife has no idea where he is, and he’s going to be late for the last dress rehearsal. Unless we can track him down. Not to mention I have to get the actors ready for As You Like It in an hour. This is a disaster!”

  A deep pit formed in Hazel’s stomach. Last time someone went missing in Cedar Valley it hadn’t ended well—far fr
om it. “Are you the one who hired Dominic Dane for the lead in Macbeth?”

  Most of the actors only arrived in town a few days before, and she hadn’t had any sessions with them yet.

  “Call it the Scottish play, unless you want to doom the production! Do you have any idea how unlucky it is to say that name? And, yes. Christopher put in a lot of hard work to get him here, and see how ungrateful the man is,” Sophia said and flipped her hair over her shoulder. She looked to be in her early forties, though she was one of those women who fought to look even younger, with her dyed red hair and the load of carefully applied makeup.

  Hazel swore in the right light it would look like plaster.

  “Have you contacted the police? If you think he’s in trouble–” Hazel started.

  “No police. He hasn’t even been missing twenty-four hours. It’s probably just… We need to find him. And I don’t want word of his disappearance to leave this room. You’re all nonessentials, as far as I’m concerned, so I can spare you to go hunt him down. Got that?” he said and his eyes locked with Hazel’s.

  A frown pulled her lips. She could say she may be nonessential to him, that she had her own booth to run and storm off, but that was all kinds of unprofessional. And her father had warned her of clients with terrible attitudes. She had to learn to deal with it, and never work with them again once it was over.

  So, Hazel took a deep breath and plastered a smile on her face. “It would be helpful to know where you think he is. Where is he staying? I’ll do anything to help. And I might be nonessential to you, but the committee expects me back here in an hour to photograph As You Like It.”

  Violet snorted at that, and Mr. Allen let out another sigh. “You’re right. I’m sorry. And I shouldn’t even be asking, but I’m desperate. This is turning into a disaster—just like L.A.” Mr. Allen looked at his wife, who glanced away quickly. “If you can’t find him in the next hour, you can come back here and get on with it and everyone else can keep looking. Got it?”

  The four of them nodded, and Hazel turned to leave. Violet stuck to her side.