by Cate Conte
She grinned. “You’re good at that.”
“Of course I am.”
“What students?”
I gave her the name of the school and the teacher. “Maybe get a quote from him? Or one of the kids?” I suggested helpfully.
Becky thought about that. “That’s not a bad idea. I know the principal over there. I’ll call her.” She jotted down a note on a pink sticky pad and glanced at her watch. “I need to run this story in tomorrow’s paper so hopefully I can track someone down.”
“So for the rest of the story. Are you going to make it sound like we’re a bunch of crazy cat ladies?” I leaned over and riffled through Becky’s ever-present candy jar, pulling a Dove milk chocolate caramel out and unwrapping it. “Because that would be wrong. And traitorous.” I pointed the candy at her. “And you’re my best friend so you shouldn’t do that anyway.”
Becky regarded me with her big blue eyes. Anyone who didn’t know Becky could get the idea that she was the passive, agreeable all-American girl next door. She was tiny, maybe five one, and exuded sunshine and warmth. But Becky wielded her keyboard like a giant sword and didn’t take crap from anyone. I’ve watched her cut down mighty men with one fifteen-inch article, smiling all the way to the printing press. She was sharp, ruthless in her quest for truth, and never gave up on anything that mattered to her.
Especially a story. And the people she loved. Now she frowned at me. “Of course I’m not doing that.”
“But I’m sure June’s quote is all about pointing the finger at Katrina and the volunteers,” I said.
“Maddie. I can’t help the quotes. We’re reporting the story fairly and objectively. How do you know what she said anyway?”
I gave her a look. “I can make a pretty good guess based on what they say to my face. And it’s all crap.”
“Well, I don’t report crap,” Becky said.
“I know, I know.” I sat back and popped the candy into my mouth before it melted in my hand. “I still wouldn’t be surprised if it’s a set up.”
“Why do you say that?” she asked.
“Because they really want us to go away. And if they can get people to think we’re there to scope out their fancy mansions and to steal things instead of to feed the cats, they can get rid of us and turn people against us.”
“Sounds like a lot of work,” she said doubtfully.
I spread my arms wide. “They don’t have much to do. Does June Proust know about the lawsuit?”
Becky shook her head. “If she does, she didn’t mention it. It hasn’t actually been filed yet. And I’m not putting it in the story for that reason.”
“I wonder if Katrina knows about it.” I slumped lower in my chair. “This whole thing is such a stupid mess.”
“For real,” Becky said. “It does seem silly. They really dislike cats that much?”
“It’s the optics. They think it makes their neighborhood look dirty and brings down property values. Someone actually said that to my mother.” I stood and pulled on my jacket. “I have no idea how people can be so cruel. But hey, maybe add a line in the story about how we’re accepting donations for the ferals? Money or food?” I winked.
Becky smiled. “Maybe I can add in a sidebar,” she said.
As I clattered down the stairs from the second-floor newsroom, I thought about Avery Evans’ family suing the Prousts. I actually thought it was kind of funny now, after seeing what someone had done to our shelter. It probably wouldn’t go anywhere, but at least the optics would look bad for the Prousts for a while.
Chapter 8
Monday, December 21: the day before the murder
5 p.m.
I hadn’t trapped any cats yesterday. I’d pulled up my traps at night—it wasn’t smart to leave them set if no one could check on them for so many hours—and figured Adele could set them up again in the morning if she’d be around to check on them. She’d volunteered for the morning duty, which left me free to spend the day in the cat café.
JJ, as usual, was my little shadow. He walked around like he owned the place, making sure that everything was in order, that the cats were okay, and that any visitors gave him treats. We had three customers, a record for this time of year. He charmed them all. Usually at least once a day I had to tell someone he was not one of the cats up for adoption, and today was no different. Instead, I pointed the woman to Gimley, and she filled out an application. Then I sold her a JJ coffee mug.
I spent the rest of the time organizing the area we were going to use as our gift shop. Along with my current offerings of JJ-branded items, I’d ordered new tote bags, notepads, journals, and even some fun branded sweatpants and I couldn’t wait to start offering them. Thanks to some awesome opening-day publicity, the café was gaining interest not just on the island but beyond, and I’d started to get requests to sell animal-related items.
Always a businesswoman, I’d quickly realized a gift shop was an opportunity to raise my profit margins. The fees to visit with the cats were low by design—we wanted this to be a place where anyone could come and enjoy a few minutes with the furbabies. And ultimately, the goal was to get them adopted, so if a visit turned into a forever home, it was better than making a few dollars. But people loved to buy things, especially in a tourist town. And they loved to buy things from specialty places. So if someone went home with a JJ mug and another trinket or two, all the better.
The house was quiet. Val was planning our Christmas Eve menu and doing some last-minute stuff for her party that night. Ethan was out somewhere, and Grandpa had gone Christmas shopping. So I basically had the house to myself. It was actually peaceful and productive and I was feeling good when Adele called to tell me the traps were indeed set and at last check she hadn’t caught any cats, and could I check them tonight when I went to feed?
I told her I would, and figured I’d wrap up work for the day. It was dinnertime and I hadn’t stopped to eat lunch. And I had to feed JJ, which was probably why he’d been squeaking at me for the past half hour. “Sorry, bud,” I told him. “I’m coming.”
He gave me a reproachful look, then stalked to the kitchen with his tail high to wait for me.
I followed him and found the Chronicle strewn on the table. I remembered Becky’s article and flipped through until I found it in the local news section, page seven. After I put JJ’s food in his bowl and as he was attacking it, I read the article while I heated up some leftover chili I found in the fridge. It was short and to the point.
RASH OF THEFTS, VANDALISM HAS TURTLE POINT COMMUNITY ON EDGE
BY BECKY WALSH
Residents in Turtle Point’s exclusive Sea Spray Lane development are struggling to keep their holiday spirit despite a string of thefts that have left many missing Christmas decorations.
“It’s really terrible that someone has to try and ruin what should be such a beautiful season,” said June Proust, one of the residents. While the Prousts haven’t personally had anything stolen, she said it’s left her feeling unsafe.
I made a face. What was really terrible was that people could want to try to poison innocent cats, but I guess she couldn’t mention that part. I skimmed the rest of the piece while I ate. It was pretty generic: how the police were investigating, that they had instituted more frequent drive-bys, and that residents should install motion detectors in their yards. Near the end there was a brief mention of the feral house that had been vandalized in the woods where some “local animal rescuers were caring for a feral colony.” The piece closed with a quote from an Officer McDonald about how they were taking the incidents very seriously. Nothing about the lawsuit, so I guessed it hadn’t been filed yet. I still hadn’t mentioned that to Katrina. I should tell her. She’d say it was karma.
I tossed the paper back on the table as Val raced into the kitchen, a look of sheer panic on her face. “My car won’t start.”
“Really? Your fancy car? It’s practically brand new,” I said. Val had a Lexus, one of the leftovers from her marriage to Col
e Tanner. Sometimes I had to remind her that she used to be considered part of Turtle Point’s elite.
“It doesn’t matter how old the stupid thing is. It won’t start and I need to get to the senior center!”
“Well, where’s Ethan?” I asked. “Isn’t he home yet?”
“He’s out at a Tai Chi class with Cass.”
I felt a rush of guilt—and a little jealousy—at hearing that. One of the reasons I’d been excited to move home was to get to spend more time with Cass Hendricks, one of my best friends and longtime mentors. Cass owned and operated Jasper’s Tall Tales, a spiritual self-help center, tea room, bookstore, and all-around refuge. But now it seemed Ethan was spending way more time with him than I was. I’d been so busy with the remodel, the café, and the colony. And it showed. Ethan was way more Zen than I was these days. I also figured part of me was avoiding Cass because he’d want to get to the bottom of this Lucas thing, and I wasn’t ready to talk about it with him yet.
“Well, I need to go feed the cats and check the traps, so you can’t take Grandma’s car. Grandpa’s out too with his truck.”
“Then you have to drive me.”
I sighed. “Seriously, Val?”
“Yes, seriously! How am I supposed to get there?” She moved past me to grab a Christmas cookie from one of Ethan’s early batches off the counter.
“Have you heard of Uber?”
She shot me a haughty look. “You might be fine riding around with complete strangers in the dark, but I surely am not.”
I resisted an eye roll. “Well, I can drive you but then you have to come with me to feed the cats when you’re done.”
She shook her head. “I’m managing the party.”
“How long is the party?”
“Ends at eight.”
I smiled. “Perfect.”
We eyed each other, neither of us willing to give in until we got what we wanted.
“Maybe Craig will go with you.”
“That’s the best you can come up with? Why would I ask Craig when you’re right here?”
“Because he’s right here too. Behind you.” She pointed.
I whirled around to find Officer Craig Tomlin standing at the kitchen door. “When did you get here?”
“Just now,” he said.
“Oh. Well, I didn’t mean why would I ask you generally. I just mean why would I call and drag you away from whatever you were doing. You know. To come all the way over here.” I was babbling. Val watched me with barely concealed amusement.
“No problem,” Craig said dryly. “What was it that you wouldn’t ask me to do?”
This wasn’t awkward at all. I mentally cursed Val. Craig had been my high school boyfriend, and when I’d returned to the island he’d tried to rekindle our old flame. I had to admit I’d given it some thought. Craig had grown up well, for sure. But I’d been interested in Lucas, and even though Craig hadn’t been happy with that, we’d settled into a cautious friendship. But he kept tabs on things with Lucas, and I knew he knew that there were some problems. Problems I didn’t want to discuss with him.
“I have to go feed and check the traps out in Turtle Point. Adele set them up a couple of hours ago. Dr. Kelly is available for surgeries this week and I have no cats yet.”
“And I need the car,” Val chimed in. “Something’s wrong with mine.”
“And she’s a big baby and won’t take an Uber,” I added, for good measure.
He looked from me to Val and back with barely concealed amusement. “Reminds me of high school,” he said dryly. “Sure, I’ll take you.”
I blinked. “You will?”
“Yeah. Give Val the car and let’s go.”
“But don’t you have something else to do? Why did you come over, anyway?” I flushed, realizing how that sounded.
He didn’t look fazed by my comment. “I actually came because the chief wanted to make a donation to your party,” he said to Val. “We’ve been donating to all the senior centers on the island for Christmas. Keeping up with Grandpa Leo’s tradition,” he added with a sideways glance at me. Grandpa had been very generous as the police chief, and every year he would do something for all the senior centers. “Anyway, we have some stuff for you to bring.”
“That’s so sweet! Thank you,” Val said. “I’ll get the car.”
“That is really sweet. And I didn’t mean—oh, never mind.” I muttered, ignoring Val’s laughter as she left the room.
We swapped out Craig’s giant fruit basket and a tray of cookies and brownies for a bag of cat food. I waited while he brought the goodies over to Grandma’s car and loaded them in for Val, then we headed out.
“Thank you for taking me,” I said.
“No problem. So where am I going?”
“Sea Spray Lane in Turtle Point.”
“Oh, this is the colony you guys have been having trouble with. You’re trapping cats out there?”
I nodded. “Dr. Kelly offered to fix the ones we could get to try to get that population stabilized. We’ve gotten six of the cats done. One of them is that cute kitten I have now—Gimley. You know, the little black and white one?”
Craig nodded. He’d been playing with Gimley the other day when he was over to see Grandpa. I keep telling him he should adopt a cat, but so far he hadn’t bitten.
“So what will you do if you catch some?”
“We’ll bring them to the animal control center. Katrina has a spot for them.” I hoped. She’d mentioned the shelter was full right now. She had more dogs than planned. One of the reasons the cat café was so important to the island was because the cats had a hard time in the small facility with the dogs, and if they were overrun with dogs it cut back on the already sparse spaces they had for the cats. This way, they could live in a nice home while they waited to be adopted. I wished we could do the same for the dogs, but that might be a bit much to take on just yet. “If we can get them tonight, Dr. Kelly will spay or neuter them, give them their shots and a flea-and-tick treatment. And tip their ear.”
“Tip their ear?”
I nodded. “So they can be identified as being fixed.”
“Huh.” He thought about that. “And then what happens after that?”
“They recover for a couple of days—longer for the girls—then we put them back.”
“So maybe you should tell these clowns out there that you’re removing them for good when you trap them,” Craig suggested. “Since they want them gone anyway. How will they know the difference?”
“Because we’ll have to keep coming back to feed them?”
He thought about that. “Good point.”
“Yeah. Maybe you should leave the cat planning to us.”
He smiled a little. We pulled onto Sea Spray a few minutes later. “So where should I park?” he asked.
I directed him to the Hacketts’ driveway.
Craig obliged. “You have a flashlight?”
I nodded. “You?”
He gave me a look. “Course.”
“Cool. You carrying the food?”
“I guess I am,” he said with a chuckle.
I waited until he’d hefted the bag, then led the way down the Hacketts’ yard. I stuck close to the fence until we got to the tree line, then shined the light ahead. “Ready?” I said over my shoulder. “Let’s do this.”
Chapter 9
Monday, December 21: the day before the murder
6:30 p.m.
He stepped up next to me, shining his flashlight in tandem with mine. His was better. “Ready as I’ll ever be. You really come here and do this alone?” he asked as we moved deeper into the woods.
I laughed. “You act like it’s a black ops mission in enemy territory.” Although, come to think of it, the enemy territory concept wasn’t too far off. “It’s Turtle Point. Nothing much happens in Turtle Point, even in the woods.”
Craig grunted. “You don’t know that. You’d be surprised.”
That didn’t make me feel much better. I fo
cused on the Havahart traps, which I could now see just ahead. And one of them had a cat. Score!
“Yay,” I said quietly, poking Craig and pointing.
He shone his light straight onto the poor cat, who had seen us coming and was now cowering in the back of the trap. I recognized the cat—the fluffy black cat I’d started calling Toby. Katrina had said he was pretty smart about the traps. Thus far he’d evaded capture—I think he’d figured out a way to eat the food without getting trapped.
Cats are so smart. “You mind an extra stop on the way home?”
Craig laughed. “I left myself open for this, huh?”
I smiled innocently at him. “Hey, you never know where rescue work will take you.”
“I guess not,” Craig said, but he didn’t look like he minded all that much. Actually, he was kind of looking at me in a weird way.
I cleared my throat. “So, we should go fill up the food bowls,” I said, shining my flashlight on one of the little cat shelters stationed a few feet away.
“Okay. Just food? What about water?”
“We have to go to the shed over there.” I used my thumb to point behind us, toward Whitney’s house across the street. “There are heated water bowls in there. We’ll hit that on the way out.” I led the way to the first little shack and peered inside. Empty. I took the bowls out and Craig poured food into them. I returned them to their spots, then shined my light around until I spotted my other shelter. The one that someone had trashed.
“Can you help me with something?” I asked.
“You mean something else? Sure thing.”
I led the way over to the house.
“What happened to this?” Craig asked, circling it.
“No idea. Some kids being jerks, probably.”
“Kids? What kids live around here?”
I thought of Monica’s boys, but I didn’t think they’d do this. They were much more interested in playing Star Wars video games and killing people with light sabers or whatever it was they did in the other dimension. “I’m sure there are kids on surrounding streets,” I said. “Anyway, I’d like to see if I can still use it until we get another one built.”