The Girl with the Kitten Tattoo

by Linda Reilly

  Lara felt a flush creep up her neck. “Now you’re making me sound like Joan of Arc.”

  He grinned. “Did she rescue cats, too?”

  She gave him a light swat on the knee.

  He got serious again. “But I want to add this because it’s important. I don’t want you to think for one moment that I ever doubted you about Blue. During one of our conversations, I had the feeling you were thinking that. You didn’t exactly voice it, but I was reading between the lines. Anyway, I just want you to know—Blue is as real for me as she is for you. The only difference is that I can’t see her.”

  Lara sagged against the sofa with sheer relief. She reached up and hugged him, but he gently took her arms and released her.

  “Our only point of contention, it seems, is this strange involvement you have with murderers. I don’t know why—to this day I don’t get it—but they just seem to keep stumbling into your path.”

  Inwardly, Lara winced. She couldn’t explain it herself. How could she expect anyone else to understand it?

  “I don’t think ‘involvement’ is the right word,” she defended. “I don’t attract murderers, but if they threaten people I love or care about, then I have to do everything in my power to stop them.”

  He nodded. “I understand. And that’s exactly what you’ve done, and what I’d expect you to do. The thing is, after the last time, I really thought that would be the end, you know?” His voice dropped off and he swallowed hard, and Lara saw that he was struggling.

  “This is different, Gideon. It’s almost as though—how can I say it? As though I’m supposed to help someone, and I don’t even know who that someone is.”

  Gideon shot her a confused look. “I thought you were trying to help Megan,” he said bitingly. “God knows she’s bothered you enough.” He shifted on the sofa and crossed one leg over the other.

  Lara leaned back and closed her eyes. “I don’t know if it’s Megan or not, but her aunt and uncle came over today.”

  “What?”

  Lara related the highlights of her conversation with the Emersons, ending with their tale of Megan’s arrest the night before.

  Gideon threw up his arms. “Good God, what’s she going to do next?” he said heatedly. “You know, I’m starting to realize something. All of this is my fault. You never would’ve heard of Megan Haskell if it hadn’t been for me. I’m taking the blame for all of this.”

  “It’s no one’s fault, Gideon. This isn’t about fault. Besides, after today, I’m pretty sure Megan will never speak to me again.” She explained how Megan got offended when Lara showed her the slip of paper that read: I know who you are.

  “I know who you are. Why did you write that?”

  Here goes…

  “The day I met Karen Chancer, she told me that the police found a note near her husband’s body that said, ‘I know who you are.’”

  “But you don’t even know if that’s true. She might have made that up.”

  Lara looked at him. He had a good point. What if Karen had invented the story about the note to cover her own guilt? What if she’d written the note herself to throw the police off her trail?

  Except that when Lara had mentioned the note to Lieutenant Cutler, he’d seemed incensed that she knew about it. He’d gone so far as to warn her not to breathe a word of it to anyone.

  “I’m pretty sure there was a note,” Lara said. “I mentioned it to Cutler the day I ran into him and he acted weird about it, like he was ticked that I even knew about it.” She pulled in a calming breath. “I—I have something else to tell you, too.”

  She explained how Karen Chancer had acted so needy when Lara met her at the Peach Crate. “She called me and asked if I’d go with her to her husband’s memorial service on Monday. I tried to say no, but she sounded desperate.”

  Gideon’s face reddened. “You know that’s ridiculous, don’t you? She has a father, she has friends—”

  Lara didn’t appreciate his tone, but she let it go—for now. “She said the few friends she had have pretty much ditched her since her husband’s death. I know that’s not what you wanted to hear, but I gave her my word. But I will promise you one thing, and this is a firm promise. After Monday, I’m done with Bakewell. Totally. Forever.”

  He sat back, his face pinched. “I have no choice but to accept that, I guess.”

  The mood had shifted, like a seismic wave of roiling emotion. Lara knew that it would be folly to spend the night at Gideon’s.

  “Can I ask you one last thing?” he asked, as if he sensed the same thing.

  “Of course,” Lara said, terrified to hear the question.

  “Something must have triggered this…this feeling you have that you’re supposed to help someone in Bakewell, whoever that someone is. What was it, Lara? Was it something someone said?”

  You cannot escape the responsibility of tomorrow by evading it today.

  “It was,” she said. “And it was Abraham Lincoln who said it.”

  Chapter 30

  Lara dreaded going to the coffee shop on Saturday morning. The moment Sherry saw her, she’d know immediately that Lara hadn’t resolved things with Gideon.

  When she arrived, however, she was surprised to see Jill scurrying around behind the counter instead of Sherry. Lara dropped onto her usual stool and waved at her.

  “Hey! We missed you yesterday.” Sporting a pink hoop ring in each of her pierced eyebrows, Jill scuttled over and poured a mug of coffee for Lara.

  “I missed you guys, too, but I had a lot going on. One of those days, you know?”

  “Yeah, I hear you.”

  “So, where’s our favorite gal today?”

  “Kellie’s giving her a trim this morning. Sherry didn’t want to get it done too close to the wedding, just in case it comes out a bit too short.” Jill’s eyes lit up. “It’s getting sooo close to the big day. I’m seriously excited, aren’t you?”

  Lara grinned. “I am over the moon.”

  Jill plated a poppyseed muffin and set it down in front of Lara. Normally, Lara would slather it with butter and devour it as if she hadn’t eaten in days. Today she skipped the butter and picked at the muffin. It felt like lead going down her throat.

  Her appetite had deserted her.

  The night before, she’d had a series of baffling dreams. She was in Bakewell again, walking among that same sea of faces she’d dreamt of before. The crowd kept thickening, shoving her aside, and she couldn’t seem to make any forward progress. She sensed she was supposed to find someone in that crowd—if only she could figure out whom. The dream—more like a nightmare—then morphed into Gideon driving past her in his sedan. But when she waved at him, he merely looked at her with a deadpan expression, almost as if she were invisible. She’d awakened in a cold sweat, grateful none of it had really happened.

  “Not hungry today?”

  Lara jumped. She hadn’t noticed Jill standing directly in front of her, gawking at her. “Oh, um, not really. I had some raisin toast with my aunt this morning.” It was a fib, but she didn’t want Jill to sense that anything was wrong. It would get right back to Sherry and then she’d have the devil to pay. “I’ll take the rest of the muffin home with me.”

  Jill nodded, then fetched her a small carryout bag. Lara gulped down the rest of her coffee, paid the tab, and left.

  Tote bag on her shoulder, she paused for a moment in front of the coffee shop. The air was crisp, the sky crowded with gray clouds. Since it was Saturday, this was about the time of the morning Gideon would typically be making waffles or pancakes for the two of them. The memory made her throat hurt.

  Lara glanced in the direction of Gideon’s house. She could be there in five minutes if she hoofed it.

  Should I, or shouldn’t I?

  She hadn’t heard from him since she’d left the night before. They’d hugged, but it
hadn’t felt genuine. It’d felt as if the end was near.

  Lara turned and headed home. Kayla had texted her the night before saying she was taking Saturday off. Her new friend, or boyfriend, or whatever he was, was taking her to the planetarium in Concord—a place Kayla had always wanted to visit.

  Today was an adoption day. Lara could certainly handle it on her own, plus Aunt Fran would be there. Maybe this was a good day to reach out to a few other shelters to see if they wanted High Cliff to take in a few of their cats.

  Aunt Fran was sitting at the kitchen table, tapping away at her keyboard. Dolce rested in her lap. “Still cold out?” she asked Lara.

  Lara peeled off her outerwear. “In the high thirties, but kind of raw. I’m wondering if we’ll get some rain.” She plunked her muffin bag on the counter. Munster was chowing away at one of the food bowls, but Panda was MIA.

  Aunt Fran looked at Lara, her face etched with concern. “Lara, I’m not going to press you with any questions, but I’m here, always, if you want to talk.”

  “I know. Thank you.” She kissed her aunt’s cheek. “I’ll be in my studio for a bit.”

  Lara hurried into her studio and closed the door. She needed to be alone for a while.

  The sketches she’d done for Amy’s project were sitting on the corner of her worktable. Lara studied them again, wondering if Kayla had hit on something when she noticed that the shriveled flower beds in the newer pics were different from the ones in the older photo. She sent Amy a quick text, asking her to call when she got a free minute.

  Meanwhile, she fired up her tablet. There were at least three area shelters she wanted to get in touch with. She went to the Web page for each one and located the email address for the person who appeared to be in charge. She sent each one a message with an offer of help. High Cliff could easily take in two or three more cats.

  It was almost certain that Sienna would be going home with Jeannie Jennings in the coming week. Lara smiled, thrilled that the sweet kitty’s diagnosis wasn’t impeding her from being adopted by a loving mom.

  Her cell rang, and Amy’s face popped up on her readout. “Hey, Lara, I got your message.” As always, Amy’s voice was full of sunshine and cheer.

  “Hey, yourself,” Lara said. “Thanks for calling me back. I have a quick question. I looked at the recent pics you sent of the farmhouse and compared them to the old photo. This might sound strange, but did you replace any of the flower beds after you bought the house?”

  “The flower beds,” she mused. “Oh! Gosh, yes, I did. I can’t believe you even noticed that. When I first bought the farmhouse, one of the dogs—Freida—kept poking around in the flowers in front of my house. It wasn’t until she threw up one day that I made the connection. The beautiful flowers in front of the house were poisonous!”

  Lara winced. “Oh no. Was Freida okay?”

  “Thank God, yes. But I was mortified that I’d let that happen. Being a vet, I was horribly embarrassed that I hadn’t picked up on it sooner. I’d just moved in and was up to my eyeballs in projects, but that’s no excuse.”

  “What were the flowers?” Lara asked her.

  “They were lily of the valley. Totally gorgeous when they’re in bloom, but they’re also quite toxic. Soon as I realized what they were, I ripped out those bad boys and planted petunias. It’s a cautionary tale, for sure. I lecture all my pet owners about it now.”

  They chatted for another few minutes before Amy said, “Hey, I gotta dash. We just got an emergency patient in.”

  Lara thanked her and disconnected.

  Lily of the valley. Was that what Blue had wanted her to notice in the photo? She started to Google the flower in question when her cell pinged with a text. It was from Kayla.

  Did some snooping this morning on Chancer. Weird, and I don’t know if it means anything, but check out this link. Could he be the unnamed juvenile? Check out the other links, too.

  Lara sent her back a quick text thanking her and wishing her a great day.

  The link referred to an article from a newspaper in Peasemore, Massachusetts, dated October 17, 1993. Two teens and a juvenile had been arrested for throwing a softball-sized rock off an overpass onto the highway below. The rock smashed through the windshield of an SUV driven by a local nurse—Olive Dandreau of Lynnfield—killing her fourteen-year-old son.

  Frowning, Lara scrolled down further.

  The teens, both eighteen, were identified as Richard Mulhaney and Chad Walford, both of Peasemore. The juvenile, who was sixteen, was not named.

  As Lara read through the article, a sense of horror washed over her. The perpetrators had been close high school friends, despite the age difference between the older two and the youngest. In a sick, senseless act that took a fraction of a minute, they destroyed a family. The driver, Dandreau, a single mom, suffered multiple injuries. Her fourteen-year-old son, Jarrod Dandreau, was crushed by the rock when it sailed through the SUV’s windshield.

  Lara clutched her stomach, sickened by what she’d read. A grainy photo of a smiling Jarrod appeared next to the article. With his gap-toothed smile, he looked achingly young, not even close to fourteen. His life had barely begun before it was callously extinguished.

  In court, both teens had sobbed before the judge, insisting they’d never meant to harm anyone. Identified as the ringleader, Chad Walford was sentenced to eighteen months in prison. Mulhaney received a one-year suspended sentence, along with community service. Charges against the unnamed juvenile—declared by the judge to be an “unwilling participant” in the horrific act—were dropped.

  Lara shook her head, disgusted by what she’d read. But why had Kayla assumed that the unnamed juvenile had been Wayne Chancer?

  She scrolled down and saw that Kayla had attached two other links.

  The first opened to an article about a trio of teen boys, identified as “lifelong friends,” who’d emerged victorious in a game of field hockey in a face-off against the team from a neighboring school. Chad Walford, Richard Mulhaney, and Wayne Chancer were pictured with their arms around each other, grinning into the camera. In an interview, their coach had glowingly described the three young athletes as being “tight as ticks.”

  Lifelong friends.

  Tight as ticks.

  Did that mean the three had done everything together? Including tossing a rock off a bridge and killing a boy?

  Lara moved on to the third link. This one was an online article about the problems of addiction, and the scarcity of resources for those seeking help. One of the examples given was that of Richard “Rickster” Mulhaney, who’d died several months earlier from an overdose. The article quoted Richard’s grieving mother, who’d been shocked that her son had slipped back into addiction after he’d been clean for so long. His death from an apparent overdose had been completely unexpected. “Happy and positive one day, gone the next,” she was quoted as saying. “Something’s not right. I want answers.”

  Her heart racing, Lara saved all three links. Had Kayla stumbled on to something?

  Clearly the three had been close buds, friends who’d done everything together.

  I know who you are.

  Lara shivered. The words took on a whole new meaning.

  She felt sure Kayla was on to something, and now she couldn’t help wondering. Had the unnamed juvenile in the deadly rock-throwing incident been Wayne Chancer?

  Chapter 31

  On Saturday afternoon, two different groups showed up for adoptions.

  The first was a fourteen-year-old girl and her dad. From the surly way the girl spoke to her father, combined with his meek responses, Lara suspected she was a spoiled teen who’d always been allowed to do pretty much what she wanted. The girl had been annoyed when Lara told her they didn’t have any kittens. They left right after the teen had scarfed down two of Daisy’s cat-shaped cookies.

  An elderly cou
ple came in shortly after that. While they seemed genuine, they’d been surprised not to see a few dozen cats from which to choose. They’d evidently thought the shelter was the equivalent of a pet store. The woman, somewhere in her late seventies, Lara guessed, had set her sights on adopting a Siamese cat. When she learned that High Cliff didn’t have a Siamese, she heaved a dramatic sigh, then signaled to her husband that it was time to leave.

  So much for adoption day.

  Late in the afternoon, Lara was tidying up the meet-and-greet room when a call came in. A volunteer from one of the shelters Lara had emailed was interested in learning if High Cliff could take in a pair of female siblings.

  “They’re very sweet, but very timid,” the woman, whose name was Glenna Tyler, said. “They came from a feral community that a local man has been caring for in his barn. But these two,” she explained, “didn’t really act feral. They seemed more scared than anything, so after they were spayed and vaccinated, they went to a foster home. Problem is, the foster mom is going into the hospital next week. She really needs someone to take them—otherwise they’ll end up here.”

  “I see,” Lara said.

  “Not that we don’t provide good care,” Glenna was quick to assure her. “We do. But after being in a real home for several weeks, it would be hard for them to adjust to shelter life. We’re afraid it might undo the progress they’ve made. When I saw your email today, it was like…like a prayer had been answered, you know? I’ve read about High Cliff,” Glenna went on, the smile obvious in her voice, “and I know it’s a real home for cats. I think it would be perfect for them. They’re both in excellent health, and I can supply their records.”

  “I think so, too,” Lara said, not without a touch of pride. “There is one thing I want to tell you. One of our little girls is FIV positive, but it looks like she’s going to be adopted by a wonderful woman early in the week. She hasn’t shown any signs of illness, so it shouldn’t be a problem.”