Claws of Death Page 5

  “Deanna, I wish I could help. Aunt Fran and I told the police everything we know, but, quite honestly, I’m not sure how useful it was.” Lara thought about the white flowers scattered around the crime scene. Should she mention them to Deanna? Would that fall into the category of loose lips?

  “I—” Deanna hesitated, then in a quiet voice, “Lara, a little bird told me you helped the police catch a killer last year. Is that true?”

  Inwardly, Lara groaned. She hadn’t caught a killer, not really. She’d figured out a few things, with Blue’s help, that is. Then the killer had caught up with her before she could report what she’d discovered, and she’d had to defend herself.

  “That’s not exactly how it went,” Lara said. “But I’m honored you’d think I’m that clever. Deanna, if there’s anything at all I can think of that might help the police, I’ll definitely follow through and push them on it. I give you my word on that.”

  She couldn’t tell Deanna about Blue, of course. After the first murder, the spirit cat had been instrumental in pushing clues at Lara—things she’d probably never have pieced together on her own.

  Deanna sounded relieved. “Thank you, Lara. I have every faith in you. You know something? You’re the kind of person who gives me hope for the world. I’ll always be grateful for the day our paths crossed.” Her voice cracked a bit.

  Lara was stunned. She hadn’t known the woman all that long. The sentiment was a bit melodramatic, but at least it was heartfelt. She hoped.

  “Wow. What a nice thing to say. Thank you.” She phrased her next question carefully. “Deanna, do you have a favorite flower? Maybe a signature flower? I’m a watercolor artist, so I’m asking for artistic reasons.”

  “Oh, that sounds cryptic.” Deanna’s smile infiltrated her words. “Roses. Lavender roses. There’s a florist in LA who used to tint them for me and deliver them to my home twice a week. I…miss that.”

  Lavender roses. Lara was sure the petals strewn around the crime scene had not come from roses. And they definitely hadn’t been lavender. They’d been snowy white.

  “Thanks. I was trying to gather some ideas for future paintings. Deanna, this is none of my business, but I saw Nancy Sherman leave earlier with a state trooper. She looked kind of scared. Is she a suspect, too?”

  Deanna paused. “Nancy’s had some issues in the past,” she said, sounding annoyed at the question. “That alone pegs her as a suspect, I’m afraid. But I will tell you right now that Nancy had nothing to do with what happened to Donald Waitt. I would stake everything I own on that.”

  “Oh, then I apologize for asking.”

  They chatted a while longer, then Deanna claimed she had to dash. After Lara disconnected, she gave her aunt a brief rundown of her conversation with the actress.

  “I don’t know what to think,” Aunt Fran said. “I honestly don’t see her as a killer, but then…”

  Lara knew what she was thinking. The killer Lara had confronted last fall had been a shock, as well. Everyone in town had been gobsmacked.

  “I hear you,” Lara agreed. “And I know what the chief told us. I’m only going to keep my eyes and ears open and report anything strange or out of place. Nothing wrong with that, right?”

  Her aunt gave her a quirky smile. “No. Nothing wrong with that. Just be aware of your surroundings, Lara.”

  “Not to worry. I learned my lesson.”

  Lara spent the next hour or so grooming cats. She was itching to get her fingers on her watercolor brushes, but she’d decided to set aside the evening for that.

  Frankie, one of the newbies, adored the feel of the rubber brush rolling over his gray and white fur. He twisted his body every which way to allow her full access over his silky form.

  Frankie’s history was a mystery. A few months ago, a young couple had shown up at the shelter carrying a cardboard box with the flaps folded down. In the box was a sweet little gray cat with a white chest and paws. The couple explained that they owned a small apartment building on the opposite side of town. They’d found the cat abandoned and crying in a recently vacated unit.

  Disgusted that anyone would leave a cat that way, Lara and Fran had welcomed him into the fold. They’d named him Frankie after the way he’d attached himself like static cling to Aunt Fran. And though he seemed to be thriving in the comfort of the shelter, Lara sensed he’d be happier in a quiet home where all the attention would be lavished on him.

  “There you go, sweetness,” Lara said, plunking him on her aunt’s lap. “You can chill with your favorite gal for a while.” She eyed the all-black male making a beeline for Aunt Fran. “Uh oh. Looks like you’ll have to share your lap space, Frankie. Dolce is on the prowl and he’s headed your way.”

  Her aunt smiled and patted the sofa. “You come right up here, Dolce. I can always make room.”

  Whiskers twitching, Dolce didn’t hesitate. He hopped onto Aunt Fran’s lap, then wrapped himself around Frankie like a furry protector.

  “Oh, this is too adorable,” Lara said. She snatched up her cell. “I’m putting this on our Facebook page.”

  She took the pic and showed it to Aunt Fran.

  “Lara, for pity’s sake. The lace trim on my camisole is showing.” Aunt Fran fussed to readjust her garment. “If you’re really going to put it on Facebook, you’d better take it again.”

  Giggling, Lara aimed her cell. Then, slowly, she lowered it. “Lace,” she muttered. “Lace—that’s it!”

  “What?”

  “Those flowers, at the crime scene. They reminded me of lace. Excuse me a minute.”

  Lara hopped up and returned a minute later with her tablet. She plunked down on the floor and Googled several different combinations. And there it was.

  “Queen Anne’s Lace. Aunt Fran, I’m almost sure these were the flowers scattered around that poor man’s body today.” She showed the image to her aunt.

  “It’s a fairly common flower,” Aunt Fran said. “I’ve often seen them in bouquets.”

  “Which means they’re easy to find. The question is, what does it mean? Why were they at the crime scene?”

  “It might mean nothing, Lara.” Aunt Fran rested a hand on Dolce. “And I think it’s the job of the police to figure that out.”

  Picking up on her aunt’s cautionary tone, Lara nodded and suppressed a smile. Because of her aunt’s friendship with Chief Whitley, she just happened to have his private cell phone number.

  She grabbed her phone. On the internet, she pulled up a crisp image of Queen Anne’s Lace. She flicked the pic to the chief with a brief text.

  Crime scene flowers Queen Anne’s Lace?

  There. She’d done what she promised Deanna. The police would have to take it from there.

  And if any other clues happened to land in her lap?

  She’d cross that bridge when she came to it.

  Chapter 6

  “I love adoption days, don’t you?” Lara set out a covered plate of homemade sugar cookies. A tall pitcher of lemonade, wrapped in a dish towel, rested nearby.

  Aunt Fran smiled, but her eyes held a touch of melancholy. “I love seeing the good we’re doing for our rescue cats, yes. But as you know, my heart breaks a little each time someone adopts one of our babies.”

  Lara slipped an arm around her aunt’s shoulder. “I know it does. I feel the same way. But remember how far we’ve come, and what we’ve already accomplished.”

  Nine months earlier, Lara’s childhood bestie, Sherry Bowker, had asked Lara to return to her hometown to help her aunt. Locals had been calling Aunt Fran the crazy cat lady because she’d taken in more strays than she could handle. And with two bad knees, Aunt Fran had been overwhelmed trying to care for them.

  At the time, Lara had been living over a bakery in Boston’s North End. She hadn’t seen her aunt in sixteen years—an estrangement she still didn’t quite un
derstand. A struggling watercolor artist, Lara had been making ends meet by working part-time in her friend Gabriela’s bakery.

  So much had happened since then. Lara had reconnected with the aunt she’d adored as a child. A murderer had been caught. And the High Cliff Shelter for Cats had gone from vision to reality.

  The door buzzer to the shelter jolted Lara out of her reverie. A balding, elderly man was peering through the screen door. “Are you open yet?”

  Lara glanced at the cat-shaped clock on the wall. It was only twelve-thirty; adoptions started at one. She opened the door, put on her best smile, and invited him inside. “Of course we are. I’m Lara Caphart. Welcome to the High Cliff Shelter.”

  “And I’m Fran Clarkson. You look familiar. Do you live in town?”

  The man’s filmy eyes brightened. “Sure do. Worked at the fire department, such as it is, for many years. Also did home inspections for the cooperative bank. I’m retired now. Wife died nine years ago.”

  “Have a seat, Mr., um…”

  “Heston. Curtis Heston. Everyone calls me Hesty, so you might as well do the same.” Walking at a slightly bent angle, he went over and plunked himself onto the nearest chair. “That lemonade sure looks tasty.”

  Aunt Fran sat, and Lara did the same. Lara poured a glass of lemonade for each of them. The man—Hesty—slurped down a mouthful and gave out a loud, “Ahhhh.”

  “So, um, Hesty, what brings you to our shelter today?” Lara asked.

  He looked around. “Thought there’d be cats here. You run out of cats?”

  Aunt Fran quirked her lips. “No,” she explained. “On adoption days, we keep them in the house until we’re ready to open. This porch—we call it the meet-and-greet room—is where we greet visitors and invite them to get to know the cats that are ready for good homes. Have you had cats before?”

  Without warning, Blue sprang onto the vacant chair. The Ragdoll’s blue eyes widened. Her chocolate-colored ears twitched in agitation.

  Uh oh, Lara thought.

  “Yep, I’ve had several of ’em,” he said. “All of ’em lived to a ripe old age. Can’t say I’ll do the same, but I’m trying.” He cackled at his own joke.

  Lara fidgeted on her seat. “Did your cats live inside, Mr., um…?”

  “I told you, it’s Hesty.” He scrunched one wrinkled eye as if it had a magic view into the past. “No, my first cat went out all the time. Back in the seventies, I think that was.”

  “And after that?” Aunt Fran prodded.

  “After that I got married, and my wife gave me what for, if you get my drift, for letting my cat go outside.”

  Aunt Fran smiled. “She was a wise woman. She obviously knew that indoor cats are healthier, happier, and live much longer lives.”

  “You’re right there, young lady. Anyway, my Tilly—that was my cat, not my wife—died seven months ago. She was seventeen. Sweetest little furry gal you ever saw.” A tear crawled down one furrowed cheek. “It’s time for me to have another cat.”

  Blue turned around in her chair and sat at attention.

  Feeling unnerved at Blue’s apparent distress, Lara hesitated. Then, unable to delay any longer, she rose and opened the door to the large parlor. Almost instantly, Munster trotted over to Hesty and wrapped himself around the man’s legs.

  “Aw, look at this one,” Hesty cooed. He scratched Munster between the ears. “Can I have him?”

  At that moment, Frankie strolled in. The cat’s eyes went large at the sight of Hesty. Ignoring Aunt Fran, he padded directly over to the man and leaped onto his bony lap. Frankie leaned into Hesty’s chest and buried his face in his polyester shirt.

  “Oh, would you look at that?” Hesty said. “This one already picked me!” He bent and rubbed his stubbled chin on Frankie’s head. Frankie closed his eyes and purred, looking as if he’d found the mythical Shangri-La.

  Lara bit her lip. Blue’s tail was swishing back and forth. What was wrong?

  “Okay, I’m picking this one,” Hesty said. “How much is he?”

  “Don’t you want to know his name?” Lara asked. She felt her aunt’s quizzical gaze on her.

  “Sure,” he said, “but names don’t matter. I’ll change it if I don’t like it. Won’t I, sweetie?” He kissed Frankie’s pink nose.

  “Hesty,” Aunt Fran put in tactfully, “we’re happy that you found a friend so quickly—that’s Frankie, by the way. But like all shelters, we do have an application process. After it’s reviewed and your references check out, we’ll contact you to pick him up.”

  Hesty shrugged. “Oh. Well, no problem, I guess. My granddaughter can help me fill out the application. I don’t see so good these days.”

  “There’s also an adoption fee,” Lara said. “All of it goes toward our shelter’s expenses.” She quoted the fee.

  “Like I said, not a problem.”

  Lara nodded. Her head was beginning to throb. “Would you like us to email you the application, or—”

  “Email, shmee-mail. Just give me the dang form.”

  A bad feeling gripped Lara. Blue had clearly given Hesty a thumbs-down. Yet Frankie had snubbed his beloved Aunt Fran and cozied right up to the man!

  “Excuse me just a moment,” Lara said. “I’ll go print out an application.”

  Lara quickly left the room, puzzled by Blue’s behavior. Could the Ragdoll cat be wrong about Hesty?

  She returned with the application and set it down on the table in front of the man. By that time Blue had vanished—not a surprise.

  As she started to reclaim her chair, she felt something push, hard, at her hand. Her lemonade glass tipped over, spilling pink liquid over the table.

  “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry,” Lara said, wincing. The lemonade saturated the application and dripped onto Hesty’s trouser legs.

  Hesty frowned and swiveled his legs around in the chair. “Don’t worry, Frankie,” he said lovingly, “I won’t let that sticky stuff get on you.” Hugging Frankie close with one arm, he snagged his napkin and swiped at his trousers with his free hand.

  Aunt Fran scooted from the room. She returned moments later with a roll of paper towels. The mess got cleaned up quickly, but Lara was in a mental tizzy.

  A knock at the shelter door interrupted her thoughts. Kayla peeked her head in. “Hi,” she said shyly. “May I come in?”

  Lara was relieved to see her. It gave her something else to focus on. “Of course. Come right in, Kayla. Would you like some lemonade?”

  Kayla nodded and stepped inside, handing Lara a sheaf of papers. Introductions were made, both human and feline. Lara poured her a glass of lemonade and invited her to sit.

  “I guess I better go,” Hesty said, “before something else spills on me.” He kissed Frankie’s furry head so sweetly that it made Lara’s throat tighten.

  “Let me print another application for you,” Lara offered and left the room. She returned a few minutes later and gave the form to Hesty. He rolled it into a tube and rose from his chair.

  “I’ll be back for you, Frankie. Ladies, I’ll have my granddaughter drop off the application later today.” Reluctantly he handed over the cat to Kayla, who immediately took him into her arms. Frankie’s gaze never left Hesty—he watched the man until he was out the door.

  “He seems like a nice man,” Kayla said in her soft voice. “Frankie sure liked him.” The cat squirmed in her arms, and she set him gently on the floor.

  “Yes, he did,” Aunt Fran said, sliding a glance over at Lara.

  The remainder of the afternoon went by quickly. No other visitors arrived, which didn’t surprise Lara. The day had turned out to be perfect beach weather—which is probably where most people had spent the day.

  Kayla worked neatly and efficiently, cleaning litter boxes and taking out the trash to the barrel behind the house. After that she spent time with the cats
, getting to know each of their personalities.

  “Should I come back tomorrow?” Kayla asked, pushing her glasses higher on her nose.

  “Absolutely, if that works for you. I assume you read over the materials we gave you about the shelter?”

  “I did. I think it’s unbelievable what you’re doing here.”

  “Thanks. Since tomorrow is not an adoption day, we’ll work on some other projects. Catalina and her one remaining kitten have a vet appointment tomorrow. Do you think you can handle taking them? We have a large-sized carrier that will fit them both. I’ll help you get it in and out of the car.”

  “I’d love to.” Kayla clasped her hands under her chin. “Thank you, both of you, for having me here. This is going to be a wonderful summer—and such good experience for me.”

  Kayla left a little after four. Aunt Fran pounced on Lara.

  “What in heaven’s name was going on with you when Hesty was here, Lara?” she said, an edge to her voice. “You acted as if you didn’t like the poor man.”

  With no way to explain about Blue, Lara hedged. “I-I can’t put my finger on it, Aunt Fran. I was just getting a weird feeling about him.” She held up a hand before her aunt could interject. “I know, Frankie obviously swooned over the man. The two looked like a match made in heaven.”

  “I called Jerry while you were working with Kayla. He’s known Mr. Heston—Hesty—forever. He might not be the most polished of individuals, but he and his wife have always had cats. They gave every one of them a loving home.”

  “Okay, I concede,” Lara said. She threw up her arms. “We’ll review his application, if he ever delivers it, and check out his references. Then we’ll go from there.”

  “Agreed,” her aunt said, but she still looked a bit miffed.

  Lara went over and kissed Aunt Fran’s cheek. In an attempt to lighten the tension, she said, “Don’t mind me. You should know by now I have paranoid tendencies.”

  Her aunt laughed. “I won’t argue with that. But so long as it’s for the good of the cats, I suppose I can overlook it.”

  The porch table now wiped down and the floor washed, Lara prepared an early supper for the two of them. She grilled two marinated chicken breasts while Aunt Fran whipped up a salad of romaine lettuce and fresh, local tomatoes. For dessert, they splurged on strawberry shortcake with strawberries from Daisy Bowker’s garden.