Claws of Death Page 10

  “Oh, this book is excellent. You know how I love World War Two dramas? This one’s about a brother and a sister in London who get separated during the Battle of Britain.”

  Aunt Fran waxed on about the book’s plot, but Lara only half-listened. She couldn’t stop her mind from wandering. Her thoughts bounced back and forth between Hesty’s tidy little house and Deanna’s stone mansion. The homes, while vastly different, had one thing in common—their owners had come into the shelter to adopt cats.

  A car pulled into the driveway, a pale blue sedan with a missing hubcap that Lara didn’t recognize. She exchanged looks with her aunt. “Are you expecting anyone, Aunt Fran?”

  Her aunt shook her head.

  The shelter had its own parking area on the other side of the house. Since it was clearly marked, Lara didn’t think it was someone who’d mixed up adoption days.

  The driver shut off the engine. After what seemed like an excruciatingly long time, the door opened. A woman wearing oversized sunglasses emerged from the car. Attired in dark brown capris and a coffee-colored tee, she had straggly black hair that stuck out from the edges of a green scarf. The woman glanced all around, then spotted them in the yard. Lara jumped up off the ground to greet the visitor.

  “Can I help— Oh, good glory, Deanna. I didn’t recognize you.”

  The actress, who’d removed her sunglasses, smiled wryly at her. “Good. I didn’t want to be recognized. I’m driving Nancy’s car and wearing one of her wigs.”

  Lara gave her a polite hug, then waved a hand in her aunt’s direction. “Aunt Fran and I were just chatting about books. Can you join us for an iced tea or a lemonade?”

  Deanna heaved a theatrical sigh. “You know what? I’d love that. I’ve been feeling like a hostage in that place.”

  That place. Her tone made Lara cringe.

  “Thank heaven for whoever carved out that service road through the pines,” the actress went on. She followed Lara into the backyard. “I used it to escape all the gawkers. I’m grateful for one other thing—some of the media trucks have finally left. I guess they got bored. Either that, or their bosses told them to find a real story instead of bothering an innocent person.”

  “I’m sure that’s a relief,” Lara said.

  Aunt Fran smiled curiously when she saw them approach. After several seconds of staring, she recognized the actress. “Deanna, what a lovely surprise.” She closed her book. “Do you have time to sit with us for a while?”

  “Yes, I’d love to, and I’ll take you up on that iced tea, Lara.” Deanna lowered herself gracefully onto the other Adirondack chair.

  Lara dashed inside the house. She returned with a glass of chilled iced tea and gave it to Deanna, then sat down again on the grass. “Is everything all right with the kittens?”

  Deanna waved a hand. “Oh my, yes. They’re doing wonderfully. Living large in my bedroom.” She flashed a Hollywood smile. “They’ve been keeping me company at night,” she said dreamily. “They sleep at the foot of my bed…well, you saw how large it is. When I woke up this morning, Doodle was kneading my neck. It was so adorable! After a few more days, I’m going to expand their living space to the entire top floor. The room that Nancy overcleaned, to put it mildly, is starting to air out.”

  Lara pulled up her knees and wrapped her arms around them. It was strange to see the glamorous actress hiding behind a cheap wig. Then again, that’s what acting was all about, wasn’t it? Playing a role. Pretending to be someone else.

  “That’s good to hear, Deanna,” Lara said. “The thing is, and I don’t mean to sound judgmental, but I’m a little worried about Nancy Sherman. It’s sort of obvious she doesn’t like cats. What’s going to happen if you leave town? What if you have to travel, or take a vacation?”

  “Or go off on a film shoot?” she said acidly. “That’s what you’re really thinking, isn’t it?”

  Feeling suddenly under attack, Lara held out her palms. “No, that’s not what I—”

  “I suppose you’ve heard rumors. I haven’t made it public yet, but my acting days are over, at least for the time being. My agent and I have parted ways. We’ve severed our contract. I would appreciate it if you’d respect my privacy and keep that to yourselves. I’ll be making an announcement over the next few weeks. This little…murder problem has set me back, I’m afraid.”

  Lara felt her jaw drop. Little murder problem? Is that how she thought of Waitt’s horrible death?

  “I didn’t mean to pry,” Lara said quietly, but in a firm voice. The topic of the kittens had strayed off. Lara needed to lasso it back in.

  “Be assured we won’t utter a word,” Aunt Fran added in a kind voice. “And we’re not trying to accuse anyone of anything. But, Deanna, after what we observed, we do have reason to be concerned about Ms. Sherman. Do you know very much about her?”

  Deanna blanched. “Well, yes, certainly I do. I had her thoroughly checked out before I hired her. She’s had some hard knocks in the past, but she’s good people. Solid. I trust her without any reservation whatsoever.”

  Lara saw that they weren’t getting anywhere. For whatever reason, Deanna had gone on the defensive about her housekeeper.

  A tear slid down Deanna’s pale cheek. “There was…actually a reason I came here. The police came over to question me again this morning. They’d gotten printouts of Donald’s cell phone records. It seems someone pretending to be me had been sending him threatening texts before he died. The texts started around the time the announcement went in the local paper about my moving here.”

  Lara felt her insides churn. “What do you mean, pretending to be you? Can’t the police track where the texts originated from?”

  “That’s where it gets tricky. The impostor evidently used a burner phone. I’m sure you’ve heard of them. You pay cash for them and buy prepaid minutes. Your identity remains totally private, which is why criminals use them.” She heaved a long sigh. “Here’s the worst part. A few days before the tea given by the Ladies’ Association, the tone of the texts changed. They suddenly became friendly. My impersonator supposedly invited Donald to show up at the tea so we could chat”—she made air quotes with her fingers—“about the old days.”

  Aunt Fran looked flummoxed. “Deanna, if anyone can buy a burner phone, why are the police so sure the texts came from you? It was obviously someone pretending to be you, right?”

  Or was it? Lara mused.

  “That…isn’t all,” Deanna went on. “The last text, supposedly sent by me, asked Donald to meet me in the cemetery at five a.m. that morning—the morning of the murder. It also instructed him not to park anywhere on the property. That must be why the police found his car parked somewhere down the road.”

  Lara felt as if someone had struck her with a rock. For the first time, she felt a trickle of unease about the actress. From the beginning, Lara had believed in her innocence. Waitt’s body had been dumped in that family cemetery to implicate Deanna in his murder; Lara had been sure of that.

  The graffiti on Deanna’s car—time to pay the piper. Clearly someone had been trying to frighten her. But the connection was flimsy. Why scare Deanna and then murder Waitt?

  Another thought chilled Lara. What if all of it had been a publicity stunt? A stunt that somehow went too far and ended in Waitt’s untimely demise?

  Hollywood was rumored to be a tough place for aging actors. Lara had read that some of them struggled constantly to get decent parts. Was Deanna one of them? Even with her Oscar and Tony nominations, her age alone limited the available roles.

  “That’s what I’m trying to tell you,” Deanna said in a shaky voice. “Whoever sent those texts to Donald knew my real name.”

  “Real name?” Lara said.

  Deanna nodded. “My agent went to great lengths to keep my given name hidden as much as possible from the public. Still, it’s out there if you dig deep enoug
h. You know how it is—you search a well-known personality on the internet and their entire life story appears. True or not, people believe what they read.”

  “They do,” Lara agreed. She realized she’d never searched Deanna’s name online. Why hadn’t she thought to do that?

  “This has to remain among us,” Deanna said, her voice fading to a murmur. “My given name is a horror, especially for someone of my celebrity. My surname was Dorkin, and my parents named me Idena after my mother’s favorite aunt.”

  Lara stared at her. “Idena Dorkin?”

  “Except that I was always known as Deeny. Deeny Dorkin. Can you imagine a more horrifying name for an actress?”

  A bubble of laughter threatened to burst from Lara. She tamped it down, realizing how insensitive it would sound. “If it’s any consolation, these days it would be quite a distinctive name.”

  “These days.” Deanna barked out a harsh laugh. “These days aren’t like the days of old—the glory days, as I think of them.”

  Aunt Fran, who’d remained quiet until now, spoke up. “Deanna, if the police seriously suspect you of Waitt’s murder, then why are you here? Why haven’t they taken you into custody?”

  “They can’t. At best, the evidence is circumstantial and they know it. They’ve had no luck tracing the murder weapon—a knife of some sort. And as Lara pointed out, anyone can use a burner phone and pretend to be me. The question is,” she said in a choked voice, “who knew my real name?”

  Someone local, Lara speculated. Someone from Deanna’s past. Someone who’d read that Deanna Daltry was moving to Whisker Jog.

  Lara now suspected that the threat against Deanna had been real. If Deanna hadn’t killed Waitt, then someone was trying to frame her.

  She got up, went over to the actress, and knelt on the grass in front of her. “Think, Deanna. Go back in time, to when you lived here. Is there anyone you might have made angry enough to hold a grudge?”

  Deanna’s face went slack. “I-I don’t think so. How can I remember that far back?”

  “Everyone remembers some things from their school days,” Lara pointed out. “I’m not trying to bully you. I’m the last person who’d do that. I’m only begging you to think back. Was there a boy whose feelings you hurt by rejecting him? A shy girl you failed to befriend?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t remember!”

  Lara sat back on her heels. She didn’t know what else to say, so she shook her head.

  “Deanna,” Aunt Fran put in, “I apologize for changing the subject, but if the kittens are too much for you right now, we’d be happy to take them back until things settle down.”

  Tears flowed down Deanna’s pale cheeks. “Please don’t do that to me. I adore those furry little darlings. I promise you, they’ll be safe and pampered and loved. I give you my word on that.”

  Aunt Fran looked at Lara. Finally, she nodded. “All right, then. But in return, you have to promise that if you’re taken into custody, Lara and I have your permission to pick up Noodle and Doodle and bring them back here with us.”

  “Absolutely,” Deanna said, crossing her heart with her fingers. Her face creased with anguish. “If that happens, I will totally relinquish them.”

  Chapter 13

  Kayla called Lara early Friday morning. Her grandmother, she told Lara, had made a last-minute doctor appointment in Concord that day, and Kayla didn’t want her gram to go by herself. “If I can switch my work day to Saturday, I’ll get there super early. I promise.”

  “No problem,” Lara had told her, feeling a bit disappointed. “See you tomorrow.”

  With Friday being an adoption day, Lara had hoped to have Kayla get more acquainted with the process and help with prospective adoptions. So far, the young woman had been a dream-come-true employee, handling every cat with loving care.

  Lara stared into her teacup and munched on a half-slice of toast.

  “Everything okay?” Aunt Fran asked from across the table. Dolce, the all-black male, was curled in her lap. “You’re only eating half a slice of toast.”

  “Yeah, I’m fine. Kayla begged off working today, but she’s switching to tomorrow. Something about her grandmother having a doctor appointment in Concord.”

  “That should be fine,” Aunt Fran said, “but I do have a suggestion. It might help if you made up her schedule a month in advance, instead of winging it week to week. That way you can plan better.”

  Lara smiled, then slid off her chair and kissed her aunt’s cheek. “My logical, organized aunt to the rescue,” she teased. “Will do. By the way, where’s Frankie? Laying low today?”

  Her aunt frowned. “He hasn’t been his lovable self since yesterday. I know this sounds strange, but I think he senses he’ll never see Hesty again. He goes off by himself and sleeps.”

  There are stranger things, Lara thought. “I suspect you’re right. I’ve always thought cats had a sixth sense about stuff like that.”

  “You headed to the coffee shop?” Aunt Fran asked.

  “Yup. I’ll make it a short visit. Lots to do today.” She swallowed her last bite of toast, then delivered her empty plate and mug to the sink. “I purposely ate a light breakfast. Daisy’s making cinnamon-streusel muffins today. I want to scoop one before they run out.”

  “Grab one for me, too,” her aunt said and dabbed her nose with a tissue.

  “You got it. You okay?”

  “Fine. Bit of a sniffle is all.”

  Ten minutes later, tote on her shoulder, Lara strode through the front door of Bowker’s Coffee Stop. She shot a glance toward the back of the restaurant’s dining area. Gideon sometimes sat there with his laptop and worked while he nibbled at a bite of breakfast.

  No such luck today, but she spotted Daisy Bowker cleaning up tables from the breakfast rush. Lara waved at her and Daisy returned the gesture.

  “There’s my favorite cat lady,” Sherry said after Lara took a seat at the counter. She poured Lara a cup of steaming coffee. Lara thought her friend’s black hair looked more subdued than usual. The gelled spikes had morphed into gelled curls.

  “New ’do?” Lara asked.

  Sherry blushed, then shrugged. “I didn’t feel like fussing with it today. I saved a muffin for you.”

  “I hope you saved two. Aunt Fran wants one.”

  “I’ll talk to the lady in charge, see what I can do.” She went off in the direction of the swinging door that led into the kitchen.

  Lara plunked a packet of half-and-half into her mug just as the coffee shop’s door opened. “Lara, oh good! I’m glad you’re here.”

  Mary Newman, the thirtysomething owner of the downtown gift shop that opened early in May, flitted over to Lara. “I was hoping you’d be here. I have great news—I sold two of your watercolors this morning!” She slid onto a stool next to Lara.

  For the last three weeks, six of Lara’s watercolors had hung in the gift shop on consignment. Each one featured cats of various sorts. Lara’s plan was to use any sale proceeds to fund an account for cat owners who had difficulty paying veterinary bills. For some people, it meant the difference between keeping a cat or being forced to give it up for adoption.

  “Which ones?” Lara asked, her insides jumping.

  “The ones titled Calico Caravan and Blackjack Rummy. The buyer—I think she was a tourist—bought both. She couldn’t stop gushing over them.”

  “I’m so glad,” Lara said. “Thanks for displaying them, Mary.”

  Mary pushed a strand of her dark hair behind one ear. In her sleeveless cotton blouse and blue shorts, she didn’t look much older than a teenager. “Chris said he saw you at the welcome party for Deanna Daltry on Sunday.”

  “He did,” Lara said, somewhat grimly. “The way things turned out, I’m sure he got some juicy tidbits for this week’s paper.” The image of the threat scrawled on Deanna’s car window po
pped into her head. It reminded her that she needed to do more research on that flower—Queen Anne’s Lace.

  Sherry came over holding a steaming pot in the air. “Coffee, Mary?”

  “You bet.” She smiled at Sherry, who plopped a plate with a cinnamon-streusel muffin in front of Lara. “Wasn’t it horrible about that teacher getting killed?” Mary went on. “And then poor Hesty!”

  “Awful,” Sherry said, her gaze straying to the door. “I didn’t know the murdered guy, but Hesty was a sweetie.”

  Lara heard her stomach rumble. Her head buzzed, then she felt Mary’s hand encircling her wrist.

  “Oh, Lara, I’m so sorry,” Mary said. “I forgot you found both—”

  “It’s okay,” Lara said with a weak smile. “Let’s talk about something else.”

  “Hello.”

  Lara jumped slightly at the voice and swiveled around on her stool. Joy Renfield—was that her name?—stood barely a foot behind her. A powerful scent clung to her. Something with cloves, Lara thought.

  Sporting strands of neon bracelets, a tie-dyed tee, and a flowing purple skirt adorned with clusters of white flowers, she grinned from ear to ear. A massive purse made of painted burlap rested on one shoulder. “Hi, Lara. I was walking by on my way to the gift shop and saw you sitting in here.”

  “Oh, um, hi there. Nice to see you again, Joy.”

  “You remembered!”

  “Sure I did.” She smiled at the woman, who seemed over the moon at having spotted Lara in the coffee shop. “We met at the tea party. In fact, didn’t you give me a coupon for a free tealeaf reading?”

  Joy’s face lit up. “I did, and I hope you’ll take advantage of it soon. No time like the present, right?”

  “Right,” Lara said, nodding at Mary. “By the way, this is Mary Newman. She owns the gift shop.”

  Joy stared wide-eyed at Mary. “Well, then,” she said slowly, “you’re just the lady I was looking to meet. I have a side business making jewelry”—she held up her bangled wrist—“and I was hoping I could sell some at your shop. Can we chat?”