Meow for Murder Mysteries Boxed Set

by Addison Moore

  “Will do,” I say just as she bends over and picks up King, a tan striped and spotted Bengal cat who seems to be more or less in charge of the menagerie of felines that linger in and out of the manor itself. Opal is your quintessential crazy cat lady and both her passion for crazy and for cats is what I like best about her.

  “Oh”—she lifts a well-polished fingernail my way—“and when you put in an order for more supplies for the café, do add cat food to the list. I’ll need kibble for the strays, and both wet and dry for the boys and girls right here at the manor.”

  I wrinkle my nose at her. “Opal, the restaurant supply store only has people food.”

  “Put in a request to change that, would you?” She gives a wink and takes off to greet the guests enjoying their lunches.

  I’m pretty sure if rumor got around that the Manor Café is stocking up on cat food, it won’t exactly earn us a Michelin star. Not that we’re gunning for one either.

  I’ve made a few small menu changes since I’ve been managing the café, but both the menu and the décor could use a major overhaul. The tables are chipping, the red Naugahyde booths and chairs are splitting despite the fact the stuffing is being held together with duct tape, and the black and white checkered wallpaper border looks as if it’s fainting off the walls.

  Tilly bounces back my way.

  “I took care of table three for you.” She sets the coffee pot back where it belongs and pops up next to me. “Mother’s Day is coming up. Are you going back to Chicago, Connecticut to see your mama?”

  I bite down on my lip. I’m not from Chicago, Connecticut like I told everyone when I arrived. I’m pretty sure Chicago, Connecticut doesn’t even exist. I’m from Hastings, New Jersey, and seeing that my mama is probably too embroiled with the young men she likes to run around with to notice I’m gone—not to mention the small detail of landing myself on every wanted list in the country—no, I’m afraid I won’t be going back.

  “I don’t think so.” A thought comes to me. “Hey? We should have a mother-daughter brunch right here in the garden. We can sell tickets and shake down the local businesses to donate prizes and everything.” And I’m pretty sure I can siphon a nifty little profit off the event myself.

  Since Opal’s cheating ex left her with nothing to her name but this manor—and she’s pretty hard up for cash—I told her I’d find creative ways to increase her bottom line if she cut me in on the take. So far it’s working swimmingly. The cat therapy program we have is a winner, and the program where kids come into the library and read to the felines among us is killing it, too. But the real bread and butter is coming from a little crafts group called Stitch Witchery.

  Stitch Witchery has been going on a lot longer than I’ve been around. It’s basically a bitch and stitch with tea and crumpets. But as soon as I caught Opal spiking her tea with whiskey, I had the brainstorm to add a spot of what Opal likes to call comfort to any and everyone’s teacup who needed it—for a small fee, of course, and voila. Winner winner, whiskey dinner. We’ve been riding high financially ever since.

  “Mother-daughter brunch?” Tilly shrugs. “Sounds like fun. Get the okay from Opal, and I’ll spread the word.”

  Opal nods as she walks by. “Whatever it is, consider it done. Bowie here is my new financial advisor.”

  I’m about to thank her when in walks that tall, arrestingly handsome ex-homicide detective turned best-selling thriller author I just had that dark vision about.

  Shepherd J. Wexler strides in and stands before me just the way he did a little over a week ago when he called me by my given name, Stella Santini, and shocked the living heck out of me.

  I feigned a stomachache and retched all the way to the cabin I’m renting, which happens to be right behind his—and seeing that he owns the place, that makes him my landlord. He sent me a text and let me know he would be on a book tour for the next solid week—and thankfully, he assured me he wouldn’t mention a thing about my other life.

  And now here we are.

  Face to face once again—him armed with the knowledge of who I am, and considering the fact he’s a mob buff, he’s armed with the knowledge of what I’ve done, too.

  And me?

  Well, I’m armed with the potential to reach a spatula in less than three seconds flat.

  Shep and I bonded loosely a few weeks back when we discovered both of our fathers are in prison. Mine for a RICO charge and his for murdering his wife—Shep’s stepmother.

  “Bowie Binx.” His brows lift a notch. His dark wavy hair is slicked back, he has just the right amount of stubble peppering his cheeks, and those clear baby blue eyes are ringed in navy, giving him that Alaskan husky appeal that has always had the ability to make my heart go pitter-patter.

  Shep is caustically handsome, the type of good-looking that gets the attention of all the girls in the vicinity, both the young and old alike. And at the moment, about three tables of women have all craned their necks in his direction. He’s the serious type—tall, dark, and brooding, and all that seriousness only seems to make the masses swoon all that much more.

  “Shepherd.” I swallow hard. “Um”—my body spikes with heat and I have the sudden urge to dig my keys out and pray that Wanda has enough gas in her to get me to Canada after all—“you know, I think Tilly can help you. I’m due for a break.”

  I move over a step, and he moves along with me.

  “No.” It comes out curt as he pins his gaze to mine. “Tilly can’t help me. I need you.”

  I’ll admit, a warm quiver just ran through me as he said those last three words. I can’t help it. Shep isn’t just drop-dead gorgeous, he’s drop-dead ornery, too. And for the last twenty-seven years I’ve been alive, I’ve been more than mildly attracted to handsome jerks—believe you me, Shep Wexler more than fits the mold.

  “Ooh.” Tilly hops over and wiggles her chest at him. “Do tell, what can Bowie help you with that I can’t?”

  “I need to go somewhere.” Shep dips his chin and glowers my way a moment. “It’s my high school reunion. And seeing that everyone I went to high school with knows that Tilly and I are just friends, I thought you could help me. I need a date.”

  “A date?” both Tilly and I squawk in unison.

  Tilly takes in a sharp breath. “Shepherd Wexler. Are you trying to stop all the single ladies from harassing you?”

  Shep gives a slow blink. “Something like that.”

  “Aw,” Tilly coos with just enough of a sarcastic edge to let you know the zinger is coming. “Poor little Sheppy doesn’t want to look like a loser. When’s the big event?”

  “Tonight.” He nods my way. “What do you say?”

  A group of customers heads on in and Tilly picks up a stack of menus before leaning my way.

  “Say yes,” she says. “But only if he promises to take you home and have his way with you.” She gives him a little wink before taking off. “You’re welcome.”

  I make a face at him.

  “High school reunion?” I meant to whisper it to him, but it came out more of a hiss. “Is that code for the Woodley Sheriff’s Department?”

  “I’m not turning you in.” His cheek flinches. “I promise. As far as I’m concerned, you’re Bowie Binx. A pink-haired hurricane of a woman who blew into town and turned this café on its ear.”

  I roll my eyes. “Technically, I have black hair with Cherry Coke highlights. I happen to have a big personality, and I like food, so yes, this café and I are a good fit. As for the date, I—”

  I’m about to turn him down when that vision I had earlier flits through my mind once again.

  Both Opal and Tilly know about the fact I can see the future.

  I’m what my Nana Rose referred to as transmundane, further classified as sibylline. There are other supernatural powers that fall under the transmundane umbrella, but I’m only familiar with the one. And it just so happens that my Nana—God rest her soul—and sister share my quasi-sinister gift as well. I can’t control what I s
ee or when.

  God knows if I could, I would never be standing here contemplating a date with the ornery writer before me. I’m still not sure I should trust him.

  “A date, huh?” I scowl over at him.

  “Yes, a date.” His brows dip a notch, showing off his own frustration with the situation. “Don’t look so enthused, Sweet Cheeks.” He digs his hand into his pocket before tossing a couple hundred dollar bills onto the counter. “Buy yourself something nice. I’ll pick you up at seven.” He takes off, and I swipe the money off the counter.

  “Seven,” I say to myself.

  According to my vision, someone is going to try to kill Shepherd, perhaps as soon as tonight.

  The do-gooder in me says I should go along and try to stave off the inevitable.

  The Santini in me says stay home and let the bodies fall where they may. The man does know a little too much.

  But the woman in me says no one in their right mind turns down a date with a hot man like that.

  Guess which voice I listen to?

  Hot men have always been my downfall.

  Let’s hope I don’t end up taking a bullet for this one.

  Chapter 2

  The Twin Oaks Inn is the swanky spot to be if you happened to have attended Maple Grove High exactly fifteen years ago and you’re in the mood for reuniting with an old buddy or two.

  The inn itself is laden with large sparkling chandeliers and has a ballroom tacked onto it, brimming with dapper men in suits and stunning women in cocktail dresses. Everyone looks well-polished and spit-shined, and most importantly, dressed to impress. Maroon and gold balloons are set out everywhere—school colors I’m assuming—and the music is a blast from the past, something I’m guessing they all rocked out to back in the day. This is the in-your-face event of the season after all.

  One good thing that’s come from escaping my old life is that I’ll never be subjected to this hypocrisy.

  I take a moment to straighten Shepherd’s tie before we head over to the check-in desk right outside the mouth of that rowdy overhyped senior prom.

  Shep has donned a black suit, dark dress shirt, black tie, and believe me when I say, it’s a hotter-than-heck look juxtaposed against his pale blue eyes. We made small chitchat on the way over, but not once did either of us touch upon the fact I’m no more Bowie Binx than I am the Easter Bunny. I’m guessing he’s saving that conversational nugget for later.

  “How are we going to play this?” I whisper.

  He rides his eyes up and down my dress, doing that broken elevator thing.

  I took him up on his offer and his money, and waltzed down the street to a snazzy boutique called Glitz ’n Glam and picked out a silver dress iced with crystals. It’s both low-cut and high-cut in all the right places—and will scream out to all the girls here, No need to come sniffing around. Sexy Wexy has scored himself a hot sidepiece.

  “We’re definitely dating.” He frowns as if the thought ticked him off on some level. Come to think of it, frowning is Shep’s go-to look. “And, if I haven’t mentioned it”—his cheeks cinch just shy of a smile—“you clean up nice.”

  “I get dirty nice, too,” I tease, giving his tie a tug and he lifts a brow, amused. “Don’t get your hopes up, cowboy. I’m just here doing a favor for a friend.”

  I crane my neck toward the crowded room before us and spot a tall man, handsome in a Ken doll sort of way, dark hair, nice suit with a loud blue and white floral tie, and he looks as if he’s getting into it with someone. His face is red, his arms gesticulating—the whole nine angry yards. I try to get a glimpse of the other guy, but he’s standing behind a cloth partition just behind the buffet, and all I can make out is the glint of a triangular cufflink. The Ken doll of a man steps behind the partition as well and now they’re both hidden from view. I shrug as I take a quick breath. “All right, Shep. It’s showtime.”

  Shep checks us in and already the girls at the reception desk are swooning. No sooner do we step into the crowded hall than just about every person here turns to look our way.

  A series of gasps circle the room, and a few men let out a cheer comprised of Shep’s last name.

  But we don’t get five feet before a caramel-haired blonde accosts us. She’s tall, lanky, has on a hot pink dress that looks as if it was melted over her body by way of latex, and she’s got the greedy hue painted onto her lips as well.

  Her pink mouth falls open. “Well, if it isn’t my high school sweetheart. How I’ve missed taking a bite out of my favorite Shepherd pie.” She wraps her arms around him, and he reciprocates, albeit without as much enthusiasm.

  Why do I get the feeling Pinky here is the reason I’m all dressed up and playing the part of his plus one?

  “Hilary.” Shep sheds a genuine grin, one that’s so rare I’m almost moved to pull out my phone and snap a picture of it. “How have you been?”

  “Better now,” she purrs like the sex kitten I’m betting she still is, before she glances my way and any trace of hope in her eyes quickly vanishes.

  Shep pulls me in by the waist and something in me stirs to have him holding me this way. I’ve been held by handsome men before but never a handsome man of Shepherd Wexler’s caliber.

  He motions her way. “Bowie, this is Hilary Campbell. It’s true. We dated all through high school. And Hilary, I’d love for you to meet my fiancée, Bowie Binx.”

  Fiancée?

  I nod to Shep with a touch of amusement. This escalated quickly.

  “Fiancée,” Hilary echoes and suddenly it looks as if she’s ready to do a throwdown. “Well, how about that?” Her day-glow green eyes twitch back to Shep.

  She’s pretty and not in any ordinary way. She has that glossy magazine cover girl appeal to her and it makes me wonder what pried these two lovebirds apart.

  “Yes.” Shep pulls me closer a notch. “It’s new. But it’s forever,” he chides and now the picture is coming in crystal clear. Hilary is the reason for the faux bling season.

  “Wow.” Hilary sharpens her eyes over mine. “And here I am single for the first time in years.” She looks to Shep with a marked level of wanting. “I guess I was hoping we could rev up the old love wagon, see if it still took us places, if you know what I mean.” She runs her finger over his tie seductively and I reflexively bat it away.

  “Sorry,” I say, wrapping my arm around him. “This is a fiancée only zone. I’m a bit overprotective of him. He’s a big famous author now in the event you weren’t aware.”

  Something tells me Little Ms. Priss here is well aware of every aspect of Shepherd’s life. I don’t think she ever let the flame die out on her end.

  Before she can respond, a happy-looking trio crops up among us, two dapper-looking men and a pretty brunette who get right to the business of air-kissing Hilary.

  I do a double take at the taller of the two men. It’s the man I spotted just a few minutes ago, getting angry at what I’m presuming was one of his former classmates. I can’t say I blame him. If I were at my class reunion, I’d be out for blood myself.

  “Hey hey!” The Ken doll pulls Shep in for a partial embrace. He’s got a thick mustache, deep-welled dimples, and a tan that makes him look like Tom Selleck. I’m hoping Hilary will notice the stunningly handsome resemblance and take her hot-to-trot libido in that direction. “Shepherd, my man. What is happening? I see your books everywhere I go. I’ve read a few, too. Who knew you could put pen to paper?”

  The man next to him with the shock of silver hair swats the guy.

  “Everyone knew Shep could do whatever he wanted and succeed. He’s Maple Grove’s golden boy. He could do no wrong.” He shoots the man next to him a sharp look. “Unlike you.”

  Shep shakes the other man’s hand.

  “Bowie”—Shep pulls me in—“I’d like to introduce you to my old buddies, Craig Walker and Oliver Kincaid.”

  Craig is the handsome walking-talking moustache with the floral printed tie, and Oliver is the one with the premature gray.


  “Super nice to meet you,” I say. “I’m his fiancée,” I toss out the matrimonial nugget only because I can. Besides, I have a feeling now that Hilary has been shown the boundary line, Shep might actually forget all about our little arrangement.

  Craig inches back. “Fiancée? Did I hear that right?” He mock-socks Shep in the stomach. “And here I thought we were destined to play our cards right for the rest of our lives.”

  The three men share a laugh, and I give Shep the stink eye.

  The brunette dives over Shep with a warm embrace.

  “I can’t believe it. Has it really been fifteen years?” She shakes her head before looking my way. “I’m Kadie.” Her lips lift into something shy of a snarl as she examines me from head to toe.

  Kadie has got on a tight-fitting red dress with matching heels. She’s graying at the roots, her skin looks thick and littered with lines as if the years haven’t been all that kind to her, and yet there’s an edge to her, a tough girl vibe which I’m guessing translates into a mean girl vibe, too.

  “Kadie.” Shep shakes his head. “What have you been up to?” He looks my way. “Kadie Beaumont and Hilary were best friends.”

  “Still are.” She wags a finger at him. “I’ve got kids now, you know.” She shoots Craig the side-eye before elbowing Oliver in the ribs. “This guy is working on an addition for me right now. And at the rate it’s going, it should be buttoned up in about another fifteen years. Now I know why he insisted I pay him by the hour.”

  Everyone indulges in a warm chuckle on Oliver’s behalf, but he’s not laughing.

  He looks her way. “I’d get a lot more work done if you weren’t distracting me with your shenanigans. Excuse me while I get a drink.” He takes off and Kadie gives a nervous laugh as she glances to Craig once again.