Furbidden Fatality

by Deborah Blake

  She flinched as something—an owl or a bat, probably—flew over her head, close enough for her to feel the passage of its wings. She came to a halt right in front of the shelter entrance as silence fell, shattered only by a few lingering halfhearted woofs. Then it was just her, standing alone in the middle of the night, listening to nothing.

  “Seriously?” she muttered to herself. Since she was out there anyway, she played the flashlight over the door, which looked untouched, and walked around to the side. Gingerly, she poked her head around to where she’d found the dog warden’s body, but all she saw was a ribbon of crime scene tape shining dully in the flashlight’s bright beam. A yawn nearly split her face in half and she shrugged. Must have been a bear after all. Or maybe a raccoon. She made a mental note to check the garbage cans in the morning, and maybe look into getting a small shed built to house them. It would be worth it if it saved her more nights like this.

  In the distance, she could see the lights in the Lees’ house blink out. No doubt they were headed back to bed. That sounded like a darned good plan to her. Morning would come way too soon as it was.

  Seven

  Kari was sitting bleary-eyed over a cup of coffee the next morning, Westley perched on her knee and Fred sitting at her feet under the rickety card table at the edge of the kitchen that served as her dining area, eagerly awaiting any toast crumbs that might happen to fall in his direction. An unexpected knock on the door made her drop the entire slice, butter, jam, and all, although it didn’t stay on the floor long enough to leave a mark.

  “Darn,” she said as she glanced at the cat clock on the wall. “It’s not even seven o’clock yet.” Surely the volunteers who came in to feed and clean could manage without her until she finished breakfast. Although it would appear that Fred had taken care of that for her. The kitten trotted next to her and sat down on her haunches, gazing at the door like a tiny black greeting committee. Easy for her to be cheerful—she’d already had her food.

  Kari swung the door open in time to see Bryn, her fist poised to knock again. The two of them had arrived at an uneasy truce. The younger woman clearly still didn’t trust Kari’s motives or commitment to sticking around when things got tough, but she couldn’t help but be appreciative of the improvements Kari had been making. Kari was simply grateful the girl had decided to stay and help. Mostly they maintained a polite distance. Certainly Bryn had never come to the house before. Kari was pretty sure this first time wasn’t for a social call.

  “I’m sorry to bother you so early,” Bryn said. Concern wrinkled her brow and there was a pinched look around her full lips that suggested bad news was coming. “But I think you’d better come to the shelter. There’s something you need to see.”

  “Okay.” Kari didn’t even bother to ask questions as she slipped her feet into her sneakers. She knew Bryn of all people wouldn’t have disturbed her for nothing.

  Queenie hopped onto Kari’s shoulder as she bent down, and stayed in her favorite spot effortlessly as they walked in the direction of the shelter. But even the determined kitten wobbled a little as Kari came to a sudden stop, stunned by the sight in front of her.

  Sara’s car was parked at a slight angle, probably because she’d been caught off guard by the same display that had Kari standing there with her mouth open. The older woman was attired in her usual work garb of jeans and a flowered shirt, glaring at the shelter wall with her arms crossed in front of her chest and a scowl on her face that would have curdled milk.

  Scrawled across the formerly pristine building was the word MURDERER on one side of the door and HORE on the other. The red paint had dripped wetly across the newly spread gravel underneath. It looked uncannily like blood.

  “‘Hore’?” Kari asked, her voice only shaking slightly. The other word was fairly self-explanatory.

  “I believe whoever wrote that probably meant whore,” Sara said in a dry tone. “With a W. I’d get my red pen, but that seems somewhat superfluous, all things considered.” Mrs. Hanover’s red pen had struck fear into the hearts of many ninth-grade English students who had found it used prolifically on their papers.

  “What I don’t understand is how someone could have done this without setting the dogs off,” Bryn said. Her expression was calmer than Sara’s, but Kari noticed that Bryn’s hands were curled into fists at her sides.

  Kari sighed. She didn’t know how she’d missed the writing, except that it was dark and she had only been focused on checking the lock on the door, not the walls next to it.

  “They did bark,” she said. “Mr. Lee called me at around two a.m., and I came down with a flashlight to check. But they stopped, and I didn’t see anything wrong with the door, so I just went back to bed. I thought it was a bear.”

  Queenie meowed, as if to say that if she’d been allowed to come, she would have discovered the mess right away. Which wouldn’t have surprised Kari at all. She reached up to pet the kitten in silent apology.

  “Well, at least we know when it happened,” Sara said, sounding resigned. “You’d better call the police and report it, and then take pictures for the insurance company.”

  Kari winced at the thought of dealing with either one. “I don’t suppose it will just rinse off?” she asked hopefully.

  Bryn reached out one finger and touched the red paint. “Nope. It’s completely dry. You might be able to scrub it off, but that red will leave a stain behind.” She shrugged. “There was a lot of graffiti where we used to live when I was a kid.”

  “Bad neighborhood?’ Kari asked.

  Bryn rolled her big brown eyes. “It was a perfectly nice neighborhood. Just too close to the college. The students are very big on graffiti, especially anything to do with fraternities or sports teams.”

  Ouch. Kari winced. That was what she got for making assumptions. “Sorry,” she said. “It’s early, I haven’t had breakfast, and also, I’m an idiot.”

  Sara patted her on the shoulder. “I’m sure you’re slightly less idiotic when you’ve had more sleep and fewer shocks. I’m afraid you’re going to have to call the painters and ask them to come back, though.”

  Kari winced again, this time at the thought of paying the painters twice for the same job. It would probably take at least two coats to cover that red. “Who would do such a thing? And why would anyone do it?”

  “That’s a good question,” Sara said in the tone that meant she was thinking. It was usually accompanied by a slightly absent look that told the careful observer her mind was elsewhere, hard at work. “You have been asking a lot of questions of a lot of people. Apparently one of them didn’t like it.” One finger twiddled with the turquoise streak in her hair, although she probably wasn’t aware she was doing it.

  “Or maybe someone was afraid they were next on the list,” Bryn put in. “And wanted to discourage you from asking more questions.”

  “Darn,” Kari said. “Does that mean we should stop looking into Myers’s death?”

  “Heck no,” Sara said with a gleam in her eyes. “We’re obviously getting somewhere. It means we push harder.”

  Kari stared from MURDERER to HORE. “Great,” she said. “Maybe it would be easier to just have them repaint the entire front of the building red. Save us some trouble the next time.” She was pretty sure if she followed Sara’s advice, there would definitely be a next time. She only hoped whoever it was stuck to paint.

  * * *

  * * *

  To Kari’s not very great surprise, Suz found the misspelled accusations more humorous than alarming. She’d come over and pitched in with the crew who had washed the worst of the mess off before the painters got there, and commiserated with Kari over both the expense and the police department’s exasperating but not unexpected lack of interest in the crime. She had also made Kari pose in front of the door, between the two words, so she could take a picture. Oddly, Suz’s reaction made Kari feel less freaked out by the w
hole thing.

  So it was more than a little worrisome when Suz texted her early on Saturday morning a couple of days later and said, Meet me at the diner for breakfast. You have a problem.

  Kari pulled her hair back into a scrunchie, hurriedly threw on a pair of reasonably clean jeans and a black tee shirt that said Everything looks better with cat hair, and rushed down to the not very imaginatively named Lakeview Diner. Built out of brick like most of the downtown buildings, it had a bright yellow awning and a few cast-iron tables outside that only the tourists used.

  Inside, red vinyl booths lined two walls, with a long counter running the length of the third. There were matching red backless stools in front of it for customers to perch on, and no matter what time of day you came in, there were sure to be at least three or four customers sitting there with anything from a cup of coffee to the full three eggs, stack of pancakes, bacon, and sausage breakfast special (which also included home fries, in case there weren’t enough carbs and fat on the plate for you already).

  The diner was open from five in the morning until eight at night, seven days a week, and featured exactly the kind of food you would expect from a small-town diner. Plus pies, cherry and apple and lemon meringue, homemade and delivered every morning by Mrs. Reynolds, who had been baking for the diner for as long as anyone could remember. The aroma of fresh burgers sizzling on the grill and the hand-cut onion rings in the deep fryer would hit you when you walked in the door and make you want to swoon and instantly reconsider that healthy diet you’d just started.

  When Kari had been a kid, one of her favorite things to do had been to spin around on the stools until she was dizzy. She and Suz had had competitions to see who could spin the longest, with the loser treating the winner to a hot fudge sundae. The tiny old-fashioned soda fountain at the end of the counter was popular with kids and adults alike, and in the summer there was often a line that wound halfway through the diner of people waiting for a double-scoop cone of ice cream produced at a local dairy. No fancy flavors—just vanilla, chocolate, strawberry, or chocolate chip, but every bite was creamy, decadent heaven.

  Suz was sitting at their favorite booth. There was a pot of coffee in front of her, and two white porcelain mugs on the table, along with a copy of the local paper.

  “What’s up?” Kari asked, pouring herself some coffee and adding cream and sugar. “Should I order breakfast, or am I going to be too upset to eat?”

  Suz ran one hand through her lavender hair so that it stood on end even more than usual and shoved the paper across the table. “You tell me.”

  Kari flipped open the newspaper and decided to go with the second choice. “You have got to be kidding me,” she said. She considered banging her head against the Formica surface in front of her, but she decided that the article on the front page already made her head hurt enough without any help. The front page. Crap on toast.

  “Crap on toast,” she said, deciding the comment was worth repeating outside her own head.

  “Yeah. I’m sorry,” Suz said. She wasn’t very demonstrative, so in lieu of a hug, she called over the waitress and ordered two breakfast specials. With extra bacon. Suz was a firm believer that bacon could solve almost any problem life might send your way. Of course, that was before the newspaper had plastered Kari’s face above the fold.

  Lottery Winner Victim of Vandalism! The article went on to tell the story of how Kari had won the lottery and then bought the Serenity Sanctuary. Of course, it used more flowery language, like luckiest woman in town and savior of unwanted animals.

  Kari changed her mind and thumped her head a couple of times on the table anyway. It didn’t help. And now she had maple syrup in her hair.

  “It must have been a slow news day,” Suz said sympathetically. “I guess they ran out of goats and politicians.” She nudged Kari upright to make room for their food.

  Cookie, one of the waitresses who worked the morning shift, unloaded the steaming plates from her tray and slid them into place as if performing a one-woman ballet. For a large woman with flat feet, she was surprisingly graceful. Her blond bouffant hairdo, which she insisted was the only appropriate style for anyone who worked in a diner, didn’t even quiver.

  “Here ya go, honey. I had them give you extra, extra bacon.” She grimaced. “I saw the paper. Jeez, it’s like no one in this town ever won any money before. It’s a little late to make a fuss about it, if you ask me.” She patted her hair. “Mind you, no one ever asks me. I can’t believe we worked together for two years and they didn’t even interview me for that article. Not that I would have told them anything anyway.”

  Kari opened her mouth to say thank you, but a man at a nearby table made the mistake of waving his menu in the air to try to get Cookie’s attention.

  “Aw, keep your shorts on,” Cookie hollered. “I’m coming.” She snagged a piece of bacon off Kari’s plate, folded it in half, and stuffed it into her mouth. “Mind you, now that you’re rich, I guess you can leave me a bigger tip, huh?” She winked and then hustled off, chewing rapidly.

  “And so it begins,” Suz intoned grimly. She pointed one unvarnished nail at the paper. Suz liked to keep her decorative impulses to her hair and the various tiny studs that ran up the edge of her left ear. Today’s theme was rainbow hues. For the earrings. The hair was still lavender. This week. She always said that getting your nails done was for people who didn’t spend all their time with their hands in sudsy water. Kari tended to agree, although Cookie’s nails were long and brilliant green.

  “What do you mean?” Kari asked, but she was afraid she already knew.

  “Are you kidding?” Suz said around a mouthful of crispy home fries. “The Daily Slur just put a target on your back.” The newspaper’s actual name was the Daily Standard, but nobody local called it that. It was mostly known for putting pictures of cute kids and puppies on the front page instead of actual news, and posting incorrect information for any important event’s time, date, or location. “Everybody and his brother will show up asking you for money now.”

  “It’s not like it was a secret that I won the lottery,” Kari said, trying not to sound desperate. She gave up on the rest of her breakfast and just nibbled on a piece of bacon. Even its salty, fatty goodness couldn’t seem to work its usual magic today. “Hardly anyone has bothered me so far.”

  “Yeah, that was before the Daily Slur put you on the front page and spelled out exactly how much money you won, and where you can be found most days.” Suz shook her head. “They’ll all forget again soon enough, but in the meanwhile, things might get a little hairy.” She snorted. “Get it? Hairy. Dog groomer joke.”

  Kari ate another piece of bacon despondently. She got it, all right. Although she wished she hadn’t. She flipped the page and read the rest of the article. “Oh, for the love of . . . they also mention the run-down state of the rescue when I bought it and how I found Bill Myers’s body. They managed to make me sound like an idiot and a murderer, practically in the same paragraph.”

  “I know,” Suz said, reaching out with her fork to snag some of the potatoes Kari wasn’t eating. Kari, who tended to run toward plumpness if she wasn’t careful, had long envied her friend’s seeming ability to eat anything and everything, and still stay as slim as a stick. Of course, Suz said she envied Kari’s boobs, of which she had none, so that probably made them even. “It was an unusually skillful bit of writing for the Daily Slur. I wonder if they hired a new reporter.”

  “Suz!” Kari pulled her plate back. “You’re supposed to be on my side!”

  “Oh, I am, babe,” Suz said. “But you have to admit, it is a little bit funny. In one article, they made you out to be the luckiest woman in town, a fool for buying a money pit of a shelter, and possibly a cold-blooded murderer. Who also happened to be a victim of vandalism. Who knew you were so multifaceted? I feel honored to be your friend.”

  “You know, I can still write yo
u out of my will,” Kari said. “I could leave my millions to that politician’s goat. Or Queenie.”

  Suz snorted. “Dude, by the time you get done fixing up that rescue, you won’t have enough to pay for this breakfast. Besides, Queenie would just blow it all on catnip. You might as well keep me in the will. It’s not as though you want to give the money to your family.”

  Kari shuddered at the thought. “Oh, heck no. I’d rather leave it to the darned goat.”

  * * *

  * * *

  After breakfast, Suz went off to groom a hyperactive labradoodle and Kari returned to the shelter to help out with the cleaning. The cat cages, the larger shared cat room, and the dog kennels had all been attended to already, and the animals given fresh food and water, but there were always dishes to be done and piles of laundry.

  Daisy had told her that when the place was full, they had gone through six or seven loads of laundry a day, since every cage got a new blanket or towel laid down when it was cleaned, and all the cat and dog beds had to be washed every couple of days. Daily, if an animal was sick. One look at the ancient donated washer and dryer had Kari adding Buy new industrial machines to her list. That list now rivaled the length of the collected works of Shakespeare.

  When she got there, Sara was sitting at the newly built front desk, a polished oak L-shaped unit that had an area for greeting people when they came in, as well as a functional area on the other end that included a phone, computer, and printer. There were two ergonomically designed stools with lumbar supports and padded seats. Sara had taken on the project of creating new intake, adoption, and fostering forms, as well as weeding through all the old paperwork and tossing out anything that was no longer relevant.

  There was a large box full of files on the floor next to her and a smudge of dirt on her nose, but she was clearly enjoying herself. She’d told Kari once that since they’d both retired, she and her husband found they got along best if they both spent large chunks of their days doing something besides getting in each other’s faces. Dave played golf in the warm weather and skied in the colder months. For Sara, the sanctuary was the thing that kept her sane and out of his hair. What was left of it.