by Molly Fitz
“We will,” I said, but then I squatted near Hunch, too. “I…just…I think my cat is about to choke up an important clue.”
The sigh Detective Gibson let out didn’t convey confidence. But Hunch had proven he had a nose for investigative work. Returning to me so quickly from the crime scene could only mean he’d found something important.
While Hunch coughed and Amber cooed over him, I offered the best explanation I could. “I know it’s hard to believe, but my cat really can sniff out clues as good as any police dog I’ve ever met.” Granted, I’d only ever met one police dog, but Detective Gibson didn’t know that. “Clive Richards made snide comments to everyone on the tour—including our tour guide. Everyone disliked the man, but in only knowing him one day, who actually had a motive to kill him? And who had access to a poison? Certainly not my sixteen-year-old friend.”
I didn’t leave time for him to respond. “Emile Dubois had a substantial grudge against the man that started well before the food tour. He’s local and knows food, and perhaps could have concealed a poison. Victoria Kinsley suffered from depression and how upsetting do you think it had been when Clive mocked her food intolerances? He had even threatened the leader of the food tour about getting him fired. Did you question Liam O’Conner about that?”
It surprised me when the detective nodded. “Mr. O’Conner told us about the threat. He also told us that his company, Foodie Elite, was the one taking bribes from restaurants in order to place them on the tour, so he had no fear of getting fired. Besides, all those people you’ve mentioned have alibis. Your friend here doesn’t.”
I didn’t let his words deter me. “Mr. Richards also humiliated his girlfriend many times.”
“Scarlett Marsh?” Detective Gibson looked over his notepad.
I was so surprised he was listening to me, I stood and rooted through my purse until I found the discount museum card.
He ignored the card and held out a hand. “I’d like to search both of your purses, please.”
I slid mine across the table for him and then reached for Amber’s. We had nothing to hide.
He searched them quickly, as though looking for something specific, and then passed them back.
I slid the discount card another inch toward him. “Scarlett works at a local museum. My next stop was going to be to see if she did go to work and if she happened to work at the pharmacy museum, only a short walk from Café N.O.”
Detective Gibson studied the card. “You were at the crime scene trying to perform your own investigation.”
I couldn’t tell if it was a question. “It’s what we do back in West Virginia.”
“Well, I don’t know how they handle police work in West Virginia, but in Louisiana, we let the trained detectives handle our investigations.” He twisted his lips, still staring at the card.
“But we found something,” Amber said. “Don’t forget the statue.”
Detective Gibson looked at me. “The statue?”
I explained the missing strand of beads and showed him the before and after photos on my phone. “If you still have an officer on site, have him go and look. Maybe take some fingerprints.”
Detective Gibson held his phone to his ear. Not only did he tell the person on the line to check the statue, but he also asked him to go by the pharmacy museum and find out if a Scarlett Marsh had been working today.
Scarlett Marsh still felt like a long shot, but she was all we had.
At least until a moment later, when Hunch let out one loud hack and chucked up an antique button with a leaping dog in the center.
Chapter Seventeen
The police didn’t catch up with Scarlett Marsh at her job at the New Orleans historical pharmacy museum, where she hadn’t been scheduled to work on this particular Saturday. Instead, they caught up with her at her apartment, not far from downtown.
She’d been calming her shaken nerves with a bottle of wine, and it hadn’t been difficult for Detective Gibson to talk a confession out of her about finally getting rid of the boyfriend who had belittled and threatened her for months.
When Clive went outside the restaurant and called her cell phone, she had been lurking nearby. He saw her and came after her. She grabbed for the Mardi Gras beads from the statue to fend him off. If not for the poison in his system, he would have been too strong for her.
Detective Gibson also found three empty bottles of eye drops in her purse that she hadn’t bothered to discard.
We heard the details late the next day when Detective Gibson visited us in our hotel restaurant to let us know we were free to stay in town or travel home. Unfortunately, with an upcoming catering job in West Virginia, we had to leave. Alex had told me detectives weren’t supposed to share detailed information, but now that Detective Gibson was doing it as well, I had to wonder if Amber and I somehow emanated trustworthiness.
“So she really poisoned him with Visine?” Amber asked. We’d left Hunch in our hotel room, but he’d get to hear all the details on our long drive home.
“Our medical examiner suspected tetrahydrozoline, a substance found in many over-the-counter eye drops. He won’t be able to confirm it until the lab reports return.”
“That’s why you searched our purses?” I asked.
He nodded. “The medical examiner had never seen a fatal case of tetrahydrozoline poisoning. Miss Marsh claimed she only wanted to make him sick, but as an employee at a pharmacy museum, we suspect she would have known the large amount she gave him would have been deadly. It’s a difficult taste to mask, so we still haven’t worked out how she got him to take it yet.”
“The pepper eating contest!” Amber said.
I went on to explain how several gentlemen, including Clive, had taken part in a hot pepper eating contest at the Irish pub. “She must have put the poison in his drink while he was trying to buy one of the prize T-shirts.”
Detective Gibson looked as satisfied as Alex usually did when his investigations clicked into place. “I wouldn’t wish for you to be involved in another murder investigation in our city, but we’re appreciative of your help. If you wanted to seriously pursue a future in investigative work…” With this statement, he looked at Amber. “You’d do well with it. We’d even welcome the help of your cat.”
“Yeah, this wasn’t our first rodeo.” Amber easily took the praise.
After Detective Gibson left, Amber and I packed up. We had to get home in time to do a big shop for our catering event.
“Home sounds good about now, doesn’t it?” I asked Amber.
She tucked Hunch into her duffel bag and headed for the hotel room door. “Yeah, but maybe we could come back again and actually try some local food sometimes when murder isn’t on the menu?”
I laughed. “Sounds good. But it is a long drive back to Honeysuckle Grove. What do you say we find somewhere that serves a po’ boy to go?”
Want More?
We hope you enjoyed Murder of a Po’Boy! It’s part of the “Mallory Beck Cozy Culinary Capers,” which you can keep reading HERE.
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If you liked this, then you’ll also love Murder at Mile Marker 18, the first mystery Mallory and her cat solve together. It features an unlucky amateur sleuth, an adorable cop, and a cat with a hunch. Find out more when you start reading today!
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Learn more about Denise Jaden, her awesome books, and where you can find her at www.DeniseJaden.com.
Art Heists and Hairballs
by Bailey Booth
About this Story
ART HEISTS & HAIRBALLS
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A chubby black cat travels to New Hampshire in a cardboard box
There’s no such thing as a typical day at Helping Paws Animal Shelter, and this wasn’t the first time I’ve had a soggy box waiting for me on the doorstep with a disgruntled cat inside. But this was the first time the cat talked to me.
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Persephone insists she’s been catnapped, and she’s witnessed an art
heist. There’s a huge reward for the safe return of the painting, and that money could go a long way to helping all our animals find their forever homes. Now I have to convince the gallery owner and her associates—including the suspicious but adorable Henry the Hottie—that with Persephone’s help, I can find the priceless painting.
Copyright © 2021 by Bailey Booth.
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All rights reserved.
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No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Chapter One
Pulling up to Helping Paws Animal Shelter always filled me with trepidation. Not the I hate my job variety. Just the opposite. I loved my job, but I wished there wasn’t any reason for me to have it. The sinking feeling was solely associated with the fact I never knew what might wait for me when I got there.
This was one of those mornings.
My coffee soured in my belly when I spotted the box sitting by the door. Not even a travel crate. A cardboard box. Ugh.
We marched to the beat of our own drums in Harmony, New Hampshire. That was why I felt at home here. So there was an outside chance we’d received a middle-of-the-night delivery.
But I knew better.
I said a quick prayer to Saint Francis of Assisi and climbed out of the car. He was the patron saint of animals, and I had his metaphorical number on speed dial.
“Hey, buddy,” I said as I lowered myself to the pavement beside the box. Dampness immediately seeped through my leggings. The responding yowl sounded an awful lot like help! Definitely a cat, but when they were scared, animals all spoke the same language. I needed to gain its trust in a hurry. “I know you’ll find this hard to believe, but things will only get better from here on out. My name’s Addie, and you’re at Helping Paws. You’re safe here. You’ll be warm, fed, and loved and then I’ll find you an awesome forever home.”
I was rewarded with another loud meow and some scratching in response. Good. I liked them feisty.
“This isn’t my first rodeo, so I’ll bring you inside before I let you out.” I fully expected that protest when I lifted the box. The only thing more heartbreaking than finding an animal waiting for me in the parking lot was having them escape before we even got in the door. This was New Hampshire, and we had some serious wildlife waiting in the woods behind the shelter for that kind of opportunity.
Kicking the door closed behind me, I swiped the light switch with my elbow. I’d done this too many times. The animals who called Helping Paws home greeted me.
“Good morning! We have someone new. I’ll be getting them settled and Brooke and Casey will be here soon to help me get everyone fed.” People thought I was crazy for telling the animals everything I planned to do, but I liked to think they understood me. Even if they didn’t know the words, they definitely understood intent and goodwill.
My efforts were met with another yowl I hoisted the box onto the table. Whoever was inside was pretty heavy, which I hoped was a good sign. A paw poked through the drooping slit that was supposed to be an airhole. I hit speed dial to Saint Francis one more time, hoping Brooke would be able to handle whoever I found inside when she arrived. She was studying to be a vet, and what she didn’t have in certifications she made up for with some seriously on-point instincts. Although my employees were always quick to suggest we call Dr. Oliver, the good-looking recent veterinarian grad that volunteered time at the shelter when he could.
The yowls from the box became more urgent, almost human sounding.
“You’re almost out, I promise.” I put on my gloves before slitting the duct tape that held the soggy cardboard together.
I was greeted by a plump, frowning cat. Ears back, eyes full of rage. And a hiss.
“I like that you’ve got some fight in you after a rough night. You’re safe here.” I didn’t attempt to pick up the cat yet. I liked having eyeballs too much to even thinking about handling an angry animal. “Newcomers get wet food. It’s a luxury I can’t give you every day, but we’ll make sure you’re comfortable here until we can find you a home.”
The newest resident of Helping Paws was a black cat, and they were notoriously hard to adopt. We were a no-kill shelter, but each long-term resident meant that we wouldn’t have the room to help someone else.
I’d do everything in my power to find this cat a new home. Just like I did for everyone who came through our doors.
Placing the food and water on the table, I smiled at the cat, who’d taken the first opportunity of freedom to clean themself. Besides some muddy paws, this cat appeared to be in good shape. Saint Francis was reading his text messages today.
The cat looked me square in the eye. “I need your help.”
“Of course you do.”
Wait a minute, what?
I turned to the door, but no one was there. It was just me and shelter animals. I looked at the cat again. “What did you say?”
I was treated to one of those exasperated looks that only a cat could give. “I need help. I’ve been catnapped.”
“Good morning!” Casey called out as she walked in with Brooke. The animals went wild in response to her voice. There was something about the way she talked to them that made them all fall in love with her. When she wasn’t working at the shelter, she was a YouTube influencer, so we played her videos for the animals when we needed to soothe them. “We brought oatmeal breakfast cookies.”
“Are you actually going to eat them this time?” Casey loved to cook, but she frequently had a first date on the horizon, which meant Brooke and I reaped the benefits of her hobby. I didn’t mind. My idea of a perfect Friday night was sitting in front of the TV watching the weekly marathon of my favorite cooking show, Parking Lot Potluck, and eating food someone else made.
“It’s Friday, so it means I’ve got to fit into Lucky.” It was the name of her little black dress that never disappointed.
The ladies approached the table and frowned.
“I see we have someone new.” Brooke swallowed a mouthful of cookie and squinted to inspect the cat. “Did the cat come in this box or is this a it fits I sits situation?”
“I was catnapped!” The cat protested again. The voice had a hint of an older female, one who’d had a pack-a-day habit and had seen some things. “I need your help!”
The ladies cooed over the cat, offering a hand to sniff before scratching her head.
“Did you hear that?” I asked.
“Hear what?” Casey asked. “She’s purring, so she’s friendly.”
“They found the spot.” The cat grimaced. “I can’t stop purring when someone finds the spot.”
It was official. I’d lost my mind. “You don’t notice anything unusual about her?”
“Not yet. She’s beautiful and well fed,” Brooke said. “And pretty trusting for someone…you never said if she came in this box.”
“Yup. Found her waiting for me outside the door in a damp box.”
The ladies groaned. We’d had many conversations addressing what we thought about anyone who could do such a thing to an animal and there was no need to revisit.
The cat pushed up to encourage more head rubs. She hadn’t gone for the food right away, which was odd. Most of our new residents were hungry. Maybe she had been catnapped, like she’d said.
Or the lady at the drive-up window put hallucinogens in my coffee.
“She wants something.”
Brooke, Casey, and the cat glared at me when I said that.
“That totally came out wrong. Are you sure you don’t notice anything strange?”
“She’s in awfully good shape to come here in this ratty box. That doesn’t make any sense.” Brooke furrowed her brow. “Once we get everyone else fed, I’ll give her an examination.”
“What are you seeing, Addie?” Casey asked. “I haven’t had my coffee yet.
You need to spell it out.”
Did I tell them?
“I’ve been catnapped,” the cat said again. “You all seem very nice, but I want to go home.”
Here goes nothing. “Does it sound like she’s…talking?”
That was the look I expected.
“Nothing other than purrs.”
“I swear I can understand her.” Way to double down on the unbelievable.
Brooke and Casey side-eyed each other. “You do have a special touch with the new animals. You make them feel at home here,” Casey finally said. “Maybe that’s why you think she’s talking.”
“Okay, never mind then.” I turned on my heel before they could see me turn red. “I’ll get the kibble ready for the rest of the residents.”
“Addie!” Brooke called me back. “What did she say?”
I swallowed hard. It was almost impossible to find good, loyal employees who worked as hard as Brooke and Casey. They were students at Harmony Community College, and they wouldn’t be with me forever. Brooke would be a doctor, and Casey had plans for online world domination.
“She says she’s been catnapped.”
Their lips quivered, and I wasn’t sure if they wanted to laugh or cry. I put my hand on the cat’s head, loving the little internal motor of approval. I needed it.
“There are people who can communicate with animals,” Brooke said. “We’re learning about it in school. It’s new science, and controversial, because” —she gestured at me and the cat— “but my question is, why would you be able to understand this cat, and none of the others here?”
“Just lucky, I guess?” Maybe I hadn’t lost it after all. “Maybe I should stick with her and see what else she says.”
