by Linda Reilly
“First of all,” Lara said, smiling at what she hoped was her friend’s grand exaggeration, “I can’t picture Daisy Bowker killing anyone, let alone killing David’s mom. Second of all—”
“But that’s just it! She’s been doing things so out of character lately. Even David has noticed it.” A slight flush tinged Sherry’s cheeks. “He’s worried that his mom is becoming a bee in my mom’s bonnet. He doesn’t know how to stop his own mom without hurting her feelings.”
Sherry had been seeing David Gregson for about five months now and still wore the glow of having found the so-called perfect man. Lara thought it was way too early in the relationship to make that assumption. Still, she was happy for Sherry’s newly minted romance. She hadn’t seen such joy in her friend’s eyes for a very long time.
Lara liberated the furry knot from the soft-bristled brush and wrapped it in a paper towel. She kissed Purrcival’s head and released him from her grip. He rubbed his face on her chin, then padded away to score some extra love from Sherry. Sherry took the cat in her lap and stroked his mat-free fur.
Sherry groaned. “It’s all about the cookies, Lara. Mom and Loretta each got an email three days ago. They’re both finalists in the Whisker Jog Annual Cookie Challenge. I’m so bummed. I was praying Loretta wouldn’t make the cut.”
“Okay, well, that doesn’t sound so bad,” Lara said. Except she knew that Daisy was putting all her hopes on winning the contest this year. She’d placed second three years in a row. This year she had her heart set on winning the thousand-dollar prize from the sponsor, The Bakers Thryce Flour Company. As for Loretta, Lara wasn’t so sure about her intentions. She didn’t really know the woman.
Sherry sank her fingers into Purrcy’s soft fur. The cat closed his eyes and purred. “You don’t get it, Lara. Lately, Loretta’s been copying everything Mom does. Last week she got a new hairstyle that looks suspiciously like Mom’s. Short in the back, longish on the sides, with a single blond streak. She’s like, you know, almost stalkerish!”
“That only means she admires Daisy,” Lara pointed out, though the image of a woman in her fifties copying another woman’s hairdo gave her a slight chill. “You should be happy.”
“I should be, but I’m not. It means she’s competing with Mom. I’m not sure what she’s competing for, but she’s in the flippin’ cookie contest. I didn’t even know she’d entered, and now she’s one of the thirty finalists!” Sherry pulled a strand of her raven-black hair into her mouth and chewed the ends. Lara hadn’t seen her do that since grade school.
“I hear you, Sher. And I’m not trying to dismiss your feelings. But trust me, Daisy won’t do anything crazy, even if David’s mom is driving her crazy.”
“Maybe not,” Sherry said grimly. “But you’d better be there. Just in case.” Her shoulders sagged. “Unfortunately, there’s one more thing that will not make Mom happy.”
“Uh-oh.”
“Yeah. Uh-oh. I just found out this morning that Gladys Plouffe, my old home ec teacher, is going to be one of the two judges. She’s a last-minute sub for the music teacher, who fell down the stairs two days ago and broke both her ankles.”
“You mean...the Plouffeinator?”
“You remembered,” Sherry said dismally. “And you never even met her!”
“I remember you telling me about the abominable Miss Plouffe,” Lara said. “Among other lovely names, you called her a witch of a...well, you know.”
“She tormented me in school, Lara,” Sherry said. “Gave me Ds for no reason except that I couldn’t, to save my life, thread that stupid sewing machine. Back in the day, Mom had more than a few screaming matches with her. I’m dreading Mom finding out that she’s a judge.”
“Does the...does Miss Plouffe still teach home ec?”
“She did until a year ago. Finally, finally the witch retired. But she had clout in that school, Lara. No one’s really sure why.” Sherry’s eyes took on a glazed, faraway look. “I can still see her, sitting alone in her room chomping on a ham sandwich. She never ate lunch in the teachers’ lounge, probably because none of them could stand her. I can’t think of one friend she ever had in that school.”
“Maybe she has dirt on someone,” Lara joked.
Sherry didn’t smile. “Has to be something. Anyway, you have to be at that competition next Saturday to keep a close eye on Mom.”
“Sher, I think you’re overthinking it, but I’ll definitely be there. I mean, who loves cookies more than I do?”
Sherry gave up a tiny smile. “Probably only Santa Claus.”
* * * *
Lara hadn’t told anyone, but she’d tried entering the contest herself. Not with people cookies, but with cat cookies.
Cookies for cats, that is.
The yearly cookie event was sponsored by The Bakers Thryce, a privately owned flour company founded at the end of World War II by one of Whisker Jog’s most beloved entrepreneurs—Holland Thryce. The business flourished until Holland’s sons, Tate and Holland, Jr., joined the company. It wasn’t long before all three had a falling out. Tate left with a bitter taste in his mouth, while Holland and his elder son continued with the business. Not long after Holland Jr.’s son, Todd, was born, he and his wife died in a boating accident, leaving the child in the care of his grandparents.
As for Holland, who’d long since rolled out his last mound of cookie dough, his legacy thrived. His grandson, Todd Thryce, had carried the company into the twenty-first century by stubbornly refusing to go public. He’d also moved the company’s offices to a prestigious New York address.
None of which meant anything to Lara. It was the cookies and the contest she cared about.
She bit her lip and frowned. The letter she’d received ten days ago from the company was signed by Thryce’s personal assistant, Alice Gentry. Lara’s suggestion that a pet-friendly cookie category be added to the lineup was soundly, if politely, denied. “You may enter cookies that look like cats,” Ms. Gentry had crisply stated in the letter, “but not cookies that are for cats.”
The letter went on to say that if such a category were added, there would be no fair way to judge the entries. They couldn’t exactly ask the judges to taste cookies made from tuna, pumpkin, and boiled chicken livers.
Lara had to admit, they had a point. But that got her brain cells fired up. She came up with a way the cat cookies could be judged...and encourage cat adoptions at the same time. She only wished she’d thought of it before she sent off her letter to the company.
There was one more thing she could do, she decided. The contest was held each year in the gymnasium at Whisker Jog High School. In the opposite wing of the school, in the cafeteria, those who didn’t make the cut could offer their cookies for sale. The proceeds went to the local food bank.
She sat at the kitchen table and booted up her tablet, the scent of cloves and cinnamon wafting around her. Aunt Fran had made a pot of mulled cider. It simmered on the stove, making the room smell heavenly.
For some reason, the internet connection took forever. After what seemed like several minutes, Lara tried to pull up the Web site for the cookie competition. Another long wait. When the site finally came up, she smiled.
“You look intense,” Aunt Fran said, coming up behind her.
“Ach!” Lara jumped. “I didn’t even hear you. You’re quieter than a cat sometimes, you know that?”
Her aunt winked at her. “The easier to spy on you, my dear,” she said in a mock evil voice. On her shoulder, a small white cat with one blue eye and one green eye perched contentedly. The cat peered around the kitchen, her pink nose lifting at the scent.
Lara smiled and held out her arms to the cat. Snowball leaped softly onto her lap and rubbed against her snowman-themed sweater. Lara bent and kissed the little feline’s soft white head.
“What do you think about this?” Lara asked her aunt. “What if
I make my cookies for cats and sell them at one of the tables in the school cafeteria? According to the Web site, there are three tables left, and they’re up for grabs. It’ll only set me back ten bucks for the day.”
“Go for it,” Aunt Fran said. She pulled two Santa-shaped mugs out of her cupboard and set them on the counter. “You might start a whole new trend.”
Lara tapped at her tablet. The connection was slow, deathly slow. It took a few minutes to get to the page where she was able to reserve a table.
Aunt Fran set a mug of spicy warm cider on the table, behind Lara’s tablet. “Thanks,” Lara said distractedly. “Now I’m having trouble getting onto Google. The Wi-Fi’s acting wonky. It has been all day.”
Her aunt sat down adjacent to her. She wrapped her hands around her own mug and then took a slow sip.
“What are you trying to find?” Aunt Fran asked.
Lara grinned. “Cookies for cats. I want to find a recipe that I can tweak and make into my own. It’ll be so much fun to experiment.”
“You’ve only got another week,” her aunt warned.
“Don’t remind me,” Lara said wryly. After Thanksgiving was over, the days leading up to Christmas seemed to fly by on speedy little reindeer hooves.
“Darn.” Lara scowled and swiped at her tablet. The Wi-Fi was definitely acting up. Finally, she set aside her tablet and pulled her mug closer. The moment her lips touched the warm cider, she felt a smile creep across her face. “Yum,” she said, after taking her first sip. This is positively scrumptious.”
“Thank you.” Aunt Fran looked pleased.
“You know what? I think I’ll go to the library. I’ll bet they have a book or two on pet-friendly recipes. Plus, I’ll get to see that adorable Santa scene they set up every year.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Aunt Fran said. “When you were a kid, you loved that display. I used to have to drag you out of there before we got locked inside the library.”
Munster chose that moment to stroll into the kitchen. An orange-striped cat with big gold eyes, he was one of the original feline residents before Aunt Fran began taking in rescues. A lovable darling, he looked miffed at the sight of Snowball nestled atop Lara’s flannel-lined jeans. He promptly turned up his nose at her and plopped onto Aunt Fran’s lap.
Lara laughed. She drank the rest of her cider, then said, “And I have to let you go, Snowball, so I can pop over to the library.” She gave the white cat one more kiss and set her gently on the floor.
Across the table, a sudden movement caught Lara’s eye. A fluffy, cream-colored cat with chocolate brown ears sat gazing at her. Her eyes were the bluest Lara had ever seen on a cat. The Ragdoll cat blinked once, then rested her chin on the table. A sure sign that Lara was on the right path.
You want me to make those cat cookies, don’t you? Lara asked silently.
The Ragdoll—Blue—blinked again. In the next instant she was gone.
About the Author
Photo by Harper Point Photography
Raised in a sleepy town in the Berkshires, Linda Reilly has spent the bulk of her career in the field of real estate closings and title examination. It wasn’t until 1995 that her first short mystery, “Out of Luck,” was accepted for publication by Woman’s World Magazine. Since then she’s had more than forty short stories published, including a sprinkling of romances. She is also the author of Some Enchanted Murder, and the Deep Fried Mystery series, featuring fry cook Talia Marby. Linda lives in New Hampshire with her husband, who affectionately calls her “Nose-in-a-book.” Visit her on the web at lindasreilly.com.
The meow of death . . .
Whisker Jog, New Hampshire, is a long way from Hollywood, but it’s the place legendary actress Deanna Daltry wants to call home. Taking up residence in a stone mansion off Cemetery Hill, the retired, yet still glamorous, septuagenarian has adopted two kittens from Lara Caphart’s High Cliff Shelter for Cats. With help from her Aunt Fran, Lara makes sure the kitties settle in safely with their new celebrity mom.
But not everyone in town is a fan of the fading star. Deanna was in Whisker Jog when she was younger, earning a reputation for pussyfooting around, and someone is using that knowledge against her. After being frightened by some nasty pranks, Deanna finds herself the prime murder suspect when the body of a local teacher is found on her property. Now, it’s up to Lara, Aunt Fran, and the blue-eyed Ragdoll mystery cat Lara recently encountered to collar a killer before another victim is pounced upon . . .
Here, killer, killer, killer . . .
For the first time in sixteen years, Lara Caphart has returned to her hometown of Whisker Jog, New Hampshire. She wants to reconnect with her estranged Aunt Fran, who’s having some difficulty looking after herself—and her eleven cats. Taking care of a clowder of kitties is easy, but keeping Fran from being harassed by local bully Theo Barnes is hard. The wealthy builder has his sights set on Fran’s property, and is determined to make her an offer she doesn’t dare refuse.
Then Lara spots a blue-eyed ragdoll cat that she swears is the reincarnation of her beloved Blue, her childhood pet. Pursuing the feline to the edge of Fran’s yard, she stumbles upon the body of Theo Barnes, clearly a victim of foul play. To get her and Fran off the suspect list, Lara finds herself following the cat’s clues in search of a killer. Is Blue’s ghost really trying to help her solve a murder, or has Lara inhaled too much catnip?