Claws of Action

by Linda Reilly

  It was almost a year ago that David and Sherry had met. He’d gone into Bowker’s Coffee Stop for breakfast one morning, and the two had felt an instant attraction for each other. Though David had wanted to give Sherry a diamond ring seven months earlier, at Christmas, Sherry knew it was too soon for her. The few relationships she’d had ended badly. She had no intention of rushing into this one. They’d agreed that if they still felt the same about each other on the anniversary of the day they met, they would officially become engaged.

  Sherry’s cheeks pinked. “Frilly? Never. But I think we’re going to do it, Lara. I think we’re actually going to do it.”

  Lara squealed.

  “Don’t count your chickens yet,” Sherry cautioned. “We still have a lot to talk about. Where to live. What kind of wedding. Where to have it…”

  “Minor details,” Lara scoffed. “The main thing is how you and David feel about each other. Is this right for you, Sher? Is this truly your heart’s desire?”

  “Oh my God. You sound like a character from a romance novel.” Sherry hesitated only for a moment. “But…yeah, I think it is. I mean, after a year together we should know, right?”

  “Then go for it,” Lara said, feeling a pang. Would she and Gideon ever get to that point? “And whatever I can do to help, just let me know, okay? I’ll even hand-paint your wedding invitations, if you’d like. Assuming you don’t invite four hundred people.”

  Sherry’s eyes glistened, and her mouth opened slightly. “Oh, Lara, that would be awesome. I’ll bet no one else has ever done that. And don’t worry about the guest list—no way are we inviting four hundred people. Forty at the most, and even that’s a stretch.”

  Lara started to get excited now, thinking about the wedding and all the planning. “So, you think you’ll wear something traditional?”

  Sherry grinned. “Who knows? I haven’t thought that far ahead.” She popped the last bite of her cone into her mouth.

  “Uh, yeah. I don’t believe that for a minute. I saw that bridal magazine in your back seat a couple of days ago.”

  Sherry laughed, choked on her bite of cone, then finally swallowed it. “Leave it to the town detective to notice that.” Her face softened. “I’m so glad you moved back here, Lara. If you were still in Boston, I don’t know how I’d get through this.”

  “You’d get through it just fine. You’d have your mom, Loretta—”

  “Yeah, but there’s no one like you. As for Loretta,” she said flatly, “the minute we make the announcement, I have a bad feeling she’ll want to take over the reins and start planning it all on her own. Without any input from me and David, of course.”

  “You can handle her. I’ve seen you do it.”

  “Yeah, I guess I can. Hey, keep it under your hat for now, okay? I haven’t really said much to Mom yet.”

  “Don’t worry,” Lara assured her. “Your secret is safe…for now. Hey, I meant to ask you. New subject, by the way. Do you remember Jenny Cooper from middle school?”

  Sherry wiped her hands with a napkin. “Jenny? I think so, yeah. Quiet, kept to herself. Not much of a joiner. Not that I was, but Jenny was different. What makes you ask about her?”

  “Turns out she’s Evonda Fray’s daughter-in-law,” Lara said.

  “Whoa. Seriously?”

  “Yup. I met her, and her hubby, at the police station this morning.”

  Narrowing her eyes, Sherry gazed off into the distance. “I’m trying to remember her better. I know she went to Whisker Jog High, but for some reason I don’t think she graduated with my class. I can’t remember why, though, whether she moved, or…” She shook her head. “Maybe it’ll come to me.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I was just wondering.” Lara looked at the time on her phone. “Good glory, is it almost six? I’m meeting Gideon at his place at seven. We’re having a light supper tonight at the pub.”

  “Then let’s get a move on,” Sherry said.

  A family of three—a pregnant mom and two young girls—strolled past them, glancing all around for a free table.

  “We were just leaving,” Lara said, smiling at them. “Take this one.”

  The mom looked relieved. “Oh, thank you,” she said, tilting her chin at the table. “Janey, April, go sit over there. April, no! Don’t set the cone down on the—Here…wait.” She scuttled over and grabbed the cone from the younger girl while the child swung her legs around and settled in at the table.

  “They’re adorable.” Sherry grinned and hoisted her purse onto her shoulder.

  “Thanks,” the mom said, blowing a strand of hair out of her eye. “Some days it’s a juggling act.”

  “Think we’ll ever be doing that?” Sherry said to Lara on their way to the parking lot.

  Lara dug into her tote for her keys. “Doing what? Shuttling our kids around to get ice cream cones?”

  “Yeah, you know. The whole mom thing. Think we’d be good at that?”

  The idea made Lara smile. “Probably, but let’s not jump three steps ahead. I’m definitely not ready for diapers yet. Changing them, that is.”

  Sherry snorted. “I’ll never be ready for diapers.”

  “Goes with the territory,” Lara warned.

  By the time Lara and Sherry got to their cars, Lara’s spirits had revived a bit. Once Sherry and David made it official, she could occupy herself with the wedding plans. Ideas for painting the watercolor invitations were already skipping through her head.

  It was the one thing she could contribute to making Sherry’s wedding unique. It would also be a welcome distraction from the unpleasantness of murder.

  Chapter Nine

  The Irish Stew was quieter than usual, mainly because it was early in the week. Several tables were empty, but nearly every booth was filled. Their favorite booth—the one in the far corner—was occupied, but the hostess had seated them at a cozy booth for two near the bar. On the dark-paneled wall next to them, the photo of a long-retired Red Sox player who’d dined at the pub ages ago hung from a sturdy nail. The scent of onions and herbs drifted from the kitchen, sending aromatic tendrils curling into every nook and cranny.

  “I always forget how good this rosemary bread is until I get here,” Gideon said. He slathered butter over a small piece and popped it into his mouth.

  “It’s one of the things the pub is known for,” Lara reminded him. She jabbed a fork into her iceberg wedge.

  As they ate their dinner, a silence settled over them. Lara liked to think it was a comfortable silence, the kind enjoyed by two people who’ve been together for a long time. Tonight, however, the tension felt as thick as the gravy in the pub’s famed beef stew.

  Gideon dabbed his mouth with his napkin and pushed aside his plate. He smiled over at Lara, but his eyes held a look of deep concern. “You’ve been awfully quiet,” he said. “Did anything else happen today, other than meeting the Frays at the police station and Brian visiting his cat?”

  Lara shook her head. The bubble of joy she’d felt after all the wedding talk with Sherry had burst the minute she got home. “No, it’s just me. I’m in gloomy land today. Doesn’t it strike you as totally weird that five people, counting Evonda, have been murdered since I moved back to town?”

  For a long moment he studied her, and then his gaze softened. “Maybe a little,” he confessed. “Hey, listen, coincidences happen all the time. You know that. Whisker Jog is just having a bad run, that’s all.”

  Lara knew he was trying to make her feel better, and she loved him for it. Lately, though, she couldn’t shake the feeling that murder followed her around like a baby duck waddling behind its mother.

  “When you think about it,” Gideon went on, “if it hadn’t been for you, more than one of those killers might have gone free.”

  Lara sat back and folded her napkin. “I guess you have a point. So, what you’re saying is, the
universe brought me back here for a reason? Like, to solve murders?”

  He chuckled. “Not exactly. But if the universe had anything to do with your moving back home, then hats off to the universe for a job well done.” He reached over and took both her hands in his. “Seriously, Lara, we already know that the world holds all kinds of magic. You’ve proven that to me many times over.”

  Lara knew he was referring to Blue. It still warmed her heart to remember how accepting Gideon had been when she revealed her secret about a cat no one else could see. Blue had pulled her out of a bad spot more than once. Not only had Gideon never doubted her for a moment, but he’d embraced the idea of her having a spiritual guardian, and a feline one at that.

  “Hey, I meant to ask you. Do you know Roy Tierney?”

  “The guy who found Evonda this morning? Not really, but he used to deliver Uncle Amico’s paper when he still lived at home.”

  Gideon’s uncle, a sweet old man who’d just reached his ninetieth birthday, had moved into an assisted living facility a little over a year ago.

  “Any reason you’re asking?”

  “Not really. I just wondered if you knew anything about him. I mean…maybe he’s the killer. Maybe he only pretended to find Evonda’s body—”

  Gideon shook his head and smiled. “Nice try, honey.”

  Lara groaned. “I know, I know. I’m grasping, aren’t I?”

  “Lara.” Gideon frowned. “You’re already starting to worry me. I don’t mean to beat up on the past, but remember what happened in December?”

  Remember? How could she forget that terrifying confrontation with a desperate killer? Even now, Lara shuddered to think how it might have ended if it hadn’t been for Blue.

  “You don’t have to worry.” Lara squeezed his hands. “Lessons learned. I promise.”

  Gideon looked doubtful, but his face relaxed slightly. He paid the bill—it was his turn—and Lara swung her legs out of the booth.

  A man who’d been sitting at one of the tables suddenly rose from his chair. He swept past their booth so quickly that his legs brushed Lara’s sandals.

  Lara pulled her legs back.

  “Sorry,” he muttered. “My fault.”

  “That’s okay,” Lara said. “No harm done.”

  Red-cheeked with a square, sturdy build, the fortysomething man stared at her for an uncomfortable moment. “Hey, I know you. I’ve seen your picture in the paper. You’re Lara Caphart, aren’t you?”

  “Um…” She couldn’t actually deny it. “Yes, I am.”

  “I thought so.”

  Lara glanced over at Gideon. From his expression, she knew he was slipping into protective mode but was trying to be discreet about it.

  Gideon slid out of the booth and held out his hand. “Gideon Halley.”

  The man’s flabby hand pumped Gideon’s for a nanosecond. “Yeah, um…hi. Trevor Johnson.” He switched his gaze back to Lara, his small, dark eyes boring into her. “I heard you got embroiled in this Evonda Fray mess. What a freakin’ nightmare, huh?”

  Lara went mute. Who was this guy? And how did he know about Evonda’s visit to the shelter?

  Wait a minute. Trevor Johnson. Now Lara remembered the name. He’d been the health inspector before Evonda—the one who supposedly got fired for accepting a bribe.

  “If you mean her tragic death,” Lara said crisply, “then yes, I’m sure it’s a nightmare for her loved ones.”

  Johnson barked out a harsh laugh that grated in Lara’s ears. “Loved ones? Like, are you kidding me? If she has loved ones, they’ve got horns sprouting from their heads and pitchforks in their hands.”

  As much as Lara had disliked Evonda, she was disgusted by the man’s disrespect for the dead—and for the dead’s family.

  “Mr. Johnson, would you excuse us, please?” Lara said. “We were just leaving.”

  “Um, yeah. Sure.” Johnson took a step backward, bumping the table behind him. “But I got one more thing to say, Miss Caphart. I heard about what happened at your shelter yesterday. Yeah, don’t look so shocked. There are no secrets in this town.” He pointed a stubby finger about an inch from her face. “Listen, I don’t like cats. Never did. Never will. But I had that job before that witch got me fired, and I know a café when I see one. Bottom line—you guys ain’t a café. Just sayin’. I’d have never done to you people what she did.”

  His lips tight, Gideon closed his hand around Johnson’s finger. “I think we’re done here, Mr. Johnson. Do you need me to escort you out to your car?”

  Johnson’s face paled. He snatched his finger out of Gideon’s grasp. “No,” he said with a curt nod at Lara. “Have a good evening.”

  In the next instant, Johnson turned on his heel and strode toward the exit.

  Lara slumped back into the booth. Her hands were shaking. “Oh my God. That was awful. Can you believe that guy?”

  Gideon looked furious. “Now I know why he got fired. On top of all his other issues, he’s got the manners of a goat.”

  Lara looked around. Several people sitting nearby gawked at them. “I’m ready to leave,” she said softly.

  Gideon slipped his arm through hers and they went out to his car. She’d never seen herself as the damsel-in-distress type, but at that moment she was sorely tempted to melt into his arms. Instead, she got into the front seat and pulled on her seat belt. She stared through the windshield.

  How could this be happening? It’s like a recurring dream. A recurring bad dream.

  She made an instant decision. This time, she was not going to get involved. Let the police do their own investigating. Let the police find the killer.

  Lara never wanted to hear the name Evonda Fray again.

  Chapter Ten

  Her sunglasses covering half her face, Lara walked to the coffee shop the next morning with her head down. She didn’t want to see anyone or be forced to engage in polite chatter with any passersby.

  She was in a mood.

  Aunt Fran had tactfully suggested that morning that they postpone both the grand opening celebration on Saturday, as well as the first official “read-to-a-cat” day on Sunday. Reluctantly, Lara had agreed. Until Evonda’s killer was caught, the shelter remained under a dark cloud. Her heart heavy in her chest, she’d made all the announcements on their social media pages.

  The outside temps hovered in the eighties and it wasn’t even ten o’clock. The sun beamed in the eastern sky with the promise of another broiler.

  Without so much as a glance through the window, Lara walked past Kurl-me-Klassy, the salon where Kellie Byrd trimmed her hair once a month. Kellie’s window boxes, overflowing with pink pansies, looked in need of a cool drink.

  Lara went into Bowker’s Coffee Stop. Sherry and her mom, Daisy, had run the café by themselves for years—a schedule that left almost no time for a social life. At the end of last year, Daisy had landed a side gig baking her scrumptious sugar cookies for a specialty gift basket company. The extra income was a godsend. Instead of Daisy having to juggle cooking with serving, they were able to hire a helper.

  Jill, with her short, dark hair and jeweled eyebrow rings, bustled around the tables like an energetic steam engine. Initially she’d worked at the coffee shop only on weekends to bolster the income from her day job. After the holidays, however, her day job went south. She’d gotten so attached to the coffee shop that she’d agreed to come on board full time.

  Lara headed directly to her favorite stool at the counter. Sherry was missing. Probably in the kitchen. The tables were nearly all filled. The enticing scent of cinnamon and apples wafted over the café.

  “Hey, girl.” Jill, holding a steaming coffeepot aloft, slipped her free arm around Lara in a hug.

  “Hey, Jill.” Lara hugged her back.

  “You need a pick-me-up, I can tell. Apple muffin and coffee coming right up.”


  “Thanks. That’ll hit the spot. Where’s Mr. Patello today?” Lara dipped her chin at the empty stool beside her.

  “Been sick, I think. Who knows, with him?”

  The elderly gent was cranky and fussy, but he was a fixture at the coffee shop. He always took up two stools—his own and his friend Herbie’s. Herbie had died a few years earlier, but Mr. Patello saw to it every day that no one could occupy his friend’s spot by plopping his hat on it.

  Jill returned with her coffee, muffin, and Sherry, then scooted off into the dining area.

  “Hey, I wondered if you were coming in this morning.” Sherry grinned and slid the bowl of creamers over to Lara. With her fingers, she made a twisting motion over her lips in a be-careful-what-you-say gesture. “See that old dude over there with the red cap?” she whispered.

  Lara turned her head toward the dining area. A slight man with deeply wrinkled skin was hunched over a table at which three men were eating. His cardinal-red hat was at least three sizes too big for his head. “I see him,” she said.

  “Roy Tierney,” Sherry said quietly. “He doesn’t usually come in here mornings. But ever since he found the, you know, body yesterday, he discovered he’s got quite the audience here. He’s been blabbing for half an hour about it to everyone. You’d think he’d have gotten it out of his system yesterday, but noooo…” She sighed. “I guess he’s going to milk the story for all it’s worth. His fifteen minutes of fame, right?”

  Fifteen minutes of fame—the same expression Brian Downing had used.

  Lara absently buttered her muffin. “It’s getting out of control, Sherry. Last night at the pub, a guy named Trevor Johnson confronted me. Do you know him, by the way?”

  Sherry’s expression changed, and she looked away. “Um, you mean the guy who used to be the health inspector?” She bent to find something underneath the counter.