An Awful Cat-titude (MEOW FOR MURDER Book 1)

by Addison Moore

  Chapter 12

  “Two words,” I say as I look Opal Mortimer in the eye. “Naked Pilates.”

  She squints into me with those raccoon eyes of hers and her lipstick a touch too orange as we stand in the café after the lunch rush pushed through.

  Her brows hike. “Exactly who is going to be naked in this scenario?”

  “You. You’re going to teach it,” I’m quick to inform her. “And, of course, the students will be naked, too. You won’t be alone. But where you’ll draw the big bucks is in the secret viewing area we’re going to install in the next room.”

  Mud belts out a goofy laugh. “Where do I sign up for this delight?” His blond hair has that electrocution thing going on, and judging by the way he’s been giggling like a teenage girl all morning, his brain is fried, too.

  Opal plucks off her little white gloves and smacks me on the arm with them.

  “No can do. I never did have a thing for pilots, clothed or otherwise. Back to the think tank with you.”

  Shep catches my eye as he sips his fourth cup of coffee while contemplating his next literary move, or mistake for that matter. I cherry-picked my way through that book he gave me and he’s painted the entire mob to be a caricature of its cartoon self.

  I pick up a fresh carafe and head on over, but I’m not interested in filling his cup to the brim more than I am picking his brain. I take a seat across from him and Opal plops down next to me.

  Opal sags over her coffee. “I miss money.” She elongates each word in that socialite twang of hers I’m beginning to envy.

  Shep glances up at the two of us and his lips curl at the tips.

  “What’s happening here?”

  I lean in. “I just wanted to apologize again for momentarily restraining your sister. Is she really from Connecticut?”

  “She was.” He dips his chin a notch and lands those comely peepers over me.

  As much as I hate myself for it, there is an undeniable animal attraction that Shepherd Wexler exudes. Every woman knows it. I can’t fault myself for falling under his animalistic spell.

  He pulls his coffee close. “She moved back to Maple Grove last year.”

  “Nice,” I say. “And it was nice to see she was so supportive of your work last night. Along with every woman in Starry Falls.” I meant for it to come out cute and funny, and instead, it came out passive-aggressive and rife with jealousy. “Sorry, that sort of didn’t come out exactly the way I envisioned.”

  Opal waves me off as she pulls her mug to her lips. “Just about every woman in that room was his ex.” She gives a sly wink over to him. “Isn’t that right, Shepherd? How did it feel having all of your discarded paramours lining up to see you? I can only imagine that’s quite a mind bender.” She sighs. “And back to me now.” She groans my way. “When are these surefire ways of putting me back in the financial swing of things going to take effect?”

  Shep blinks over at me. “You’re going to put her back in the financial swing of things?”

  My mouth falls open. “What’s that supposed to mean? You don’t think I’m capable?” An incredulous laugh huffs from me. “You don’t know half the things I’m capable of.”

  Shep frowns as he toasts me with his mug. “That’s exactly what I’m afraid of.”

  Tilly traipses over. “Did I miss anything?”

  “No,” I’m quick to inform her. “I was just about to ask our resident private dick here if he knew where I could find Nicki Magnolia.”

  Shep’s brows slowly rise as if he were amused or percolating with anger. With him you never can tell.

  He clears his throat. “And why would you want to find Ms. Magnolia?”

  Tilly scoffs. “So she can quiz her.” She jabs his arm with her elbow. “It’s no wonder you quit the homicide division. You were awful at it. Anyone can see Bowie is determined to catch that killer.”

  Shep gives a long blink. “I didn’t quit. I retired.” He looks my way. “And I’m fully aware of why you want to speak with Nicki. I get it. You’re worried. You’re on the suspect list and you’re in a panic to find whoever did this to clear your name.”

  “And hers.” I point to Opal.

  Shep nods. “You’re a good friend, Bowie. But there’s no need for you to put yourself in danger. Nora and I can handle this.”

  “Ooh.” Opal wiggles her chest and that silver blouse she’s donned shimmers like a disco ball. “Sounds like someone is using this homicide as a means to get back on the love nest express with his ex.”

  Both Tilly and I gasp in horror.

  “Gross.” Tilly shoots him a look. “I’m talking about you and Nora, not that whole using the dead guy. Personally, I think dragging a dead body into a relationship could spice a few things up.”

  The three of us offer her a morbid stare.

  “What?” She blinks our way as if trying to make sense of it. “That was weird, wasn’t it? I think I see a customer up front. Buh-bye.” She scuttles off, and Opal tosses a hand in the air.

  “Murder,” she jeers. “Why didn’t I think of that? If I would have killed my ex, I wouldn’t be in this financial pickle right now.”

  “Right,” I say. “You’d be in a prison cell.”

  She brushes me off with a roll of the eyes. “Nonsense. I would have gotten creative. I’ll have you know, I can be a crafty little vixen when I want to. I would have poisoned his coffee or locked him in the closet with a couple of rabid coyotes. Oh, the possibilities were endless, and now look at me. I’ve squandered a perfectly good opportunity to become a legend among women everywhere.”

  “Well, if you got creative, I’m pretty sure no one would know. I mean, that’s the point, right? Getting away with something.”

  “And have it all be for nothing?” She takes a sip from her coffee. “Heavens no. I would write a tell-all and give it to my old butler, telling him not to hit publish until an hour after my death. That way those who want to praise me could still do so at my viewing. Anyway, that’s all blood under the bridge as they say.” She leans my way. “But you’re still young. Don’t be like me. You start plotting your future husband’s demise right now, young lady. I’ll give you that advice for free.” She gives my cheek a quick pinch before heading off, and Shep shakes his head my way.

  “Don’t do it, Bowie. Her advice might be free, but you’ll have to pay another way.”

  “Why? Because no good deed goes unpunished?”

  Shep lets out a heavy breath as if he were exasperated with me. “Because no criminal goes unpunished.”

  “You really believe that? I’m almost amused.”

  “Yes, I believe that. Just because I’ve retired doesn’t mean I’ve stopped believing in our judicial system. And I believe in something more than that. I believe people may get away with something for so long, but eventually, we all have to pay the piper.”

  I swallow hard at the thought.

  If Shep is right, that means my days are numbered.

  He nods my way. “Are you dropping this incessant need to put away Perry Flint’s killer?”

  “No,” I reply without pausing. “Whoever did this is thumbing their nose at the sheriff’s department. And that old girlfriend you’re chumming up with again happens to have a vendetta against me. I can see it in her wily eyes.” I make a face. “And please don’t tell me you’re really using this case to get back into her good graces. That is sick, by the way. Just pick up the phone and ask her to lunch, dinner, or dessert at your place with nothing more than a can of whipped cream. You’re S.J. Wexler. You can have any woman you want.”

  “Any woman?” He tips his head my way.

  “What exactly are you implying?”

  “I think you’re trying to change the subject.”

  A sharp laugh belts from me. “I think you’re trying to change the subject.” A thought comes to me and I whip out that shiny new cell phone the ornery ex-officer across from me landed in my greedy little hands. “I bet Nicki is all over social media displa
ying where she is, putting a time stamp on it and giving me a map to the place.” Sure enough, Nicki’s signature dark bun appears on my screen and I click into her account. “Ah-ha! Look at this. It says hashtag scrapbooking. Hashtag Sterling Lake Public Library.” I click onto the library hashtag and it leads me to their events page. “Well, well. It looks as if they’re having a scrapbooking event all day. I bet Tilly has a ton of old pictures she’d just love for me to organize.”

  “No, she doesn’t.” Shep strums his fingers before me. “You don’t have any business going down there.”

  “You don’t tell me what I can and can’t do. My ex tried that with me once, and you don’t want to know what happened to him.” I zip across the café, and Tilly is just about to hand over the keys to her car when Shep strides up, briefcase in hand, a fresh scowl on his face.

  “No need to involve Tilly.” He frowns my way. “I happen to be heading that way myself.”

  “Whew!” Tilly mockingly wipes her brow. “I was just kidding about having a box full of Jessie’s baby pictures.”

  “Oh.” I cringe. “Is it because nobody has film anymore?”

  “No”—she shakes her head—“it’s because all my old pictures are of me.” She gives a sassy smile. “Now, you kids go off to the library and make out or whatever it is people do in there these days. I’ll make sure the customers have a good time.” She unbuttons her blouse a notch.

  Opal lifts a finger my way. “And if you find another body, Bowie, for God’s sake, pick his pockets this time. They don’t really need cold hard cash where they’re going.” She takes an angry bite off her croissant.

  “Will do,” I say as Shep and I head out into the warm Starry Falls afternoon. “What should we bring to the scrapbook event we’re about to attend?”

  His cheek rises on one side. “I have an idea I think you’ll approve of.”

  But that mischievous twinkle in his eyes tells me I won’t.

  Chapter 13

  Sterling Lake is a ritzy town, where judging by all the expansive luxury mansions, you need to achieve a certain tax bracket just to drive through the place.

  Lucky for me, Shep knows his way around this glitzy place and lands us right in front of the Sterling Lake Public Library. I pick up the backpack where I scooped up all of the pseudo-scrapbooking supplies, or lack thereof, that Shep was able to give me.

  The inside of the library looks more like an upscale department store, with steel counters, white glossy floors and tables, and clean lines everywhere you look.

  I lean toward Shep. “Is it me, or does it feel as if this place gives off a space-age feel?”

  His cheek flickers. “It does have an intergalactic vibe. Here’s hoping Nicki will beam up the info we need on the killer.”

  There are mobs of women here today from every age and stage of life as they lay out their photos before them like playing cards. Each and every one of them has a serious look on their face as they carry on hushed conversations with those around them.

  “Hey, look.” I nod to the table to our right. “There she is.” Nestled among a handful of women sits Nicki with her hair up in a ponytail. Her pink lips are twisted to the side as she gives serious thought to her scrapbooking ways.

  “Okay,” I whisper. “I’m going in.”

  “I’m going in, too.”

  “No, you’re not.” I look at him as if he were insane. “There’s not a single man at that table.”

  He inches back as he glances around. “There are two men over at that table.” He points left. “I’ll simply even out the testosterone.”

  “No, you won’t. You’ll cause a hormonal scene. It’s what you do. Believe me, once the women in this room sniff you out, there won’t be a quiet ovary in the house.”

  His lids hood dangerously low and his lips curl just a hint.

  “Eat it up, buddy,” I say. “But you’re not sitting with us. Why don’t you go off and stalk yourself or something? I bet they’ve got a nice selection of your mob light books.”

  “Did you just say mob light?” He steps back to get a better look at me.

  “Yup. That’s what they are. You should read ’em and weep. I have. And I bet the mob has, too.”

  “This is the second time you’ve contested the quality of my work. What makes you such an expert on the mob?”

  “I”—my mouth contorts into twelve different shapes, all of them denoting a little bit of my guilt—“am a good guesser. And I’m guessing half of those things you put in there are nothing but stereotypes.”

  “Do you know where they get most stereotypes? From the truth.”

  “Not really.” I close my eyes a moment because I have no problem correcting him. “They get most stereotypes from half a lie. The truth is, most mobsters are pretty decent guys who happen to love their families—I’m guessing.” Hastings and everything I’ve left behind comes rushing to the forefront of my mind and a shudder rides through me. “Never mind. I’m off to scrapbook within an inch of my life in an effort to nail a killer. Wish me luck.” I take off and Shep keeps pace with me right up until a mob of women sniff out those pheromones that are dripping off him like honey, and soon enough he has an entire fan base surrounding him, demanding he do an impromptu reading of one of his books. They cage him in at the next table over and I shoot him a look that says told you so.

  “Is this seat taken?” I ask no one in particular as I land next to Nicki. No use in playing coy. For all I know, Nicki has a nail appointment in fifteen minutes.

  “Nope. It’s all yours,” she says without looking my way.

  “Great.” I quickly dump the photos out of my bag that Shep supplied, along with the old album he dug out of his garage, and quickly pull a few pictures out. They were already snug in their own compartment, but we thought it’d look more authentic if I were actually piecing the album together with everyone else.

  I glance over at the seemingly organized chaos in front of the suspect at hand and a breath hitches in my throat. An oversized album is set out in front of her with an array of fun, colorful pieces of heavy stock paper, but it’s not that nor the bevy of stickers and cutouts of shapes, or the confetti, or the rainbow of pens that she has laid out that has me holding my breath. It’s the fact every single one of her pictures is of Perry Flint.

  She looks my way momentarily before doing a double take up at me.

  “Bindi?”

  “Bowie.” I swallow hard as I look at the poor man’s smiling face strewn around the table haphazardly. “Wow, you must have really loved him.” I nod to the print she’s holding of Perry with the two of them at a cookout of some sort, a luau to be exact.

  “Oh, this?” She blows out a heavy breath and seems to be at a loss for words. I catch her looking over at the gaggle of photos I just laid out myself and she squints over at them as if she couldn’t believe her eyes either.

  “It’s my boyfriend.” I shrug over at her, hoping she’ll buy the lie. Every single picture in front of me happens to be of Shepherd Wexler’s unduly handsome mug. And just for the record, he looks mean in every single one of them. “I’m making this for his mom.” An easy smile starts to glide over my face before it stops cold because for the life of me I can’t remember if that’s the person his father is in prison for killing. Wait, it was the stepmother, right? I wince over in his direction. It’s not exactly the type of thing you want to bring up again, even if it is for clarification purposes.

  “Oh, right.” She looks down at the hundreds of pictures of Perry floating around. “That’s funny, because I’m actually doing this for his family, too. They’re just sick over everything that’s happened. His mother asked if I had a few pictures for the family album and I thought, boy, do I ever. My sister is the big scrapbooker in the family and she’s the one that told me about this thing the library does, so here I am.” She picks up one of his pictures and takes a straight blade to it, outlining him carefully before she runs a glue stick over the back and pastes him to the paper in fr
ont of her.

  “That’s so nice of you. That’s a beautiful album.” I point to the thick book that looks as if it’s a giant square and she closes it a moment, proving my theory.

  “I picked it up at a specialty shop in Woodley. It’s pricey, but I love the iridescent glow.”

  The album itself is dark purple in hue with a pink and blue patina and it is a real eye-catcher.

  “Pretty,” I say. “I’m sure his family will love it. I can’t imagine what they’re going through. Are you doing better?”

  “I’ll live.” She shrugs. “It’s weird not having him around, though. I mean, we did practically everything together.”

  “I bet you were close to Devin then, too. I mean, she was his girlfriend.”

  She glances to the ceiling. “Yup. She was always there. Popping up when you least expected it. They fought, though.”

  “They did?” Knew it. My vision is one hundred percent correct. I should probably tell Shep about my sibylline abilities, but then again, he doesn’t strike me as open-minded as Opal or Tilly. Not that he’s judgmental. It’s just that he’s a black and white kind of a guy. He was a homicide detective. He’s hardwired to look at facts. And face it, my supernatural abilities don’t exactly lend themselves to anything factual. It’s more or less a hope and a prayer.

  She nods. “Oh, they fought all the time. In fact, I just came from the sheriff’s department. They wanted to interview me again, and this time I didn’t hold back. I told them all about how Devin wanted a baby, and Perry wouldn’t give it to her. She said he owed her a kid because she gave him the best part of her life. And that if he didn’t do it soon, he would pay for all he had cost her.”

  I freeze while holding a picture of Shep in my hand. His searing baby blues seem to be looking right at me, and a part of me wonders what it would be like to have babies with someone like him.

  A cough sputters from me. “That’s, wow, that’s terrible. I guess the sheriff’s department will be knocking on her door soon enough.”

  “That’s right.” Nicki pulls forth a picture from one of Perry’s shows. “This is my favorite picture of the two of us.”