Meow for Murder Mysteries Boxed Set

by Addison Moore

  “Bowie?” Shep’s voice sounds distant and dreamlike. “Bowie?” He gives my hand a shake. “Hey, are you all right?”

  The room zooms back into focus around me and I take in a sharp breath.

  I blink over to Lloyd. He’s going to solve this case. My heart drums wildly in my chest. And the killer is going to try to make sure he doesn’t. If Lloyd isn't careful, he’ll end up with a bullet in his chest, too.

  “What?” I glance from Shep to Lloyd. “I’m sorry. I’m just so tired. It’s been a long day.”

  Lloyd gives a soft laugh. “I think someone needs a vacation. Shep, I expect you to treat this girl right. Take her somewhere nice, would you?”

  The two of them wrap it up and take off and I do the same as Hilary follows me into the library located in the heart of the manor on the main floor.

  Lloyd might be in hot pursuit of the killer, but for his own sake someone else needs to find them first.

  Someone like me.

  Chapter 10

  The library is basically an antique in and of itself and is host to thousands upon thousands of old clothbound books that are probably worth thousands.

  The wood shelves are stained chocolate and are ornately carved with faces of lions and cherubs near the expansive ceiling. There are rows of dark glossy tables in the middle of it where the women of Starry Falls have chosen to congregate for a group crafts night full of tea, cats, books, and knitting needles, or whatever needle of choice it may be.

  Last month, I had the brainstorm to upsell these women with a spike of “comfort” to their tea for a nominal fee, and a fruitful business venture was born. Opal has us pull out a variety of fine china for the event, and a dozen carafes of hot water are set out on what used to be the old marble reception counter in the front of the room. Tilly and I made sure to bring baskets brimming with a variety of tea bags, and Opal herself brought in the whiskey from her private reserve.

  And then there are the cats. Every variety, every level of adorableness, every level of aloofness, too. King sits over the marble counter up front as if he were overseeing the operation, while his many minions prance around dodging the grabby hands looking to love on them—one of which is me.

  I scoop up a black fuzzy long-haired creature named Tabitha and plant a kiss on her forehead as I walk around and admire all the different craft projects.

  Last month, I did cross-stitch, and I’ve been hooked ever since. It’s just a string of X’s that you can work on mindlessly while watching TV, and before you know it, you’ve made a whole picture. That pillow I sent my Uncle Vinnie comes to mind. I should find another way to get our code word to him. The word is meow and it means all is well in my undisclosed neck of the woods.

  Every woman in Starry Falls is already seated and hard at work on the projects at hand. The gossip is buzzing, the whiskey is flowing, and there are pillows, miniature rugs, socks, and blankets to be made.

  I head over to where Tilly sits with her mini-me, Jessie.

  The mother-daughter duo shares the same dark hair and blonde chunky highlights, same light eyes and sassy disposition.

  “Whatcha working on?” I say as I peer over their shoulders.

  Tilly holds up a fat yellow pen. “I’m trying my hand at diamond painting. It’s basically these little doohickeys getting glued in all the right spots, and when I’m done I’ll have a beautiful picture of the night sky shining over a waterfall. Starry Falls, get it?”

  “Cool beans,” I say. “And you, Jessie?”

  She smooths her hands over a sea of pink and white yarn.

  “Latch hook.” She shrugs up at me. “It’s Hello Kitty. I don’t care how old I get, I’ll never outgrow my love for this cat.” She reaches up and gives Tabitha a quick scratch on the head. “And maybe you.” She gives a cheeky wink. “Hey, Bowie,” she whispers and I lean in to hear whatever it is she has to say. “How about you spike my tea with a little comfort? Mom’s making me take up babysitting as a summer job and guess what? I hate kids.”

  “I’m sorry.” I wrinkle my nose at her. “No can do on the comfort, but if you play your cards right I’ve got a few chocolate muffins I can box up for you.”

  “Now we’re talking.”

  Opal comes over, dressed head to toe in purple with a large chunky gold chain around her neck that looks as if she plucked it right off a rapper.

  “Evening, girls,” she trills as she holds out a small hoop in her hand. “Guess who’s venturing into punch needlework?”

  “What’s that?” I ask, looking at the plain cloth embedded in the hoop in her hand.

  Flo steps up in all her Goth glory. “It’s embroidery that mimics the loops for a rug.” She pulls a hoop of her own from her tote bag and we gasp as soon as we see the adorable lion’s mane that looks soft to the touch. “Get over here, Opal, and I’ll show you what to do.” Flo takes off to find a seat. But before Opal can follow along in strides Regina Valentine, sans a tote bag or any business whatsoever to be here, and I grunt at the sight of her.

  “Opal,” Regina hisses without bothering to acknowledge anyone else. Regina’s long dark hair is slicked back into a pony tail, her face is tan, her lips are pink as a petal, but she’s got that glimmer of wickedness in her eyes, so not many people could mistake her as a kind soul. She’s your classic villain. And considering every story has one, I guess she’s mine.

  Opal blinks over at her with those heavily drawn-in eyes.

  “Regina, darling, what is it?” Opal pulls the words out. “What can I possibly do for you?”

  Tilly crops up next to me as if she didn’t want to miss the show.

  Regina makes a face before looking back to Opal.

  “I’m glad you asked.” Her lips curl. “My rent is due, and my bank account is running on fumes. I need a cash infusion, and fast.”

  Opal scoffs. “You know I’ve been wiped out myself. I’m afraid I can’t help. But if you’re at the alleyway between Main and Lincoln at four-thirty each day, I’ll be filling a trough with kitty kibble. I’m sure the cats won’t mind sharing.”

  I swallow down the urge to giggle. It may not be funny in theory, but the visual is everything.

  Regina scowls over at me as if she read my mind. “I need my old job back. It’s not a question of if, it’s a question of when. I want you to give this interloper the boot and put me back in my rightful place as the manager of the café.”

  “No.” I shake my head over at her. “I’m sorry, but no can do. I’m about to revamp the entire menu. I’ve got a real relationship going with the people down at the restaurant supply store in Woodley, and I’m practically engaged to Shep.”

  Regina inhales a sharp breath. It’s safe to say she’s both infuriated and alarmed.

  “Opal.” She practically gags on her name. “I demand my job back, right this minute.”

  Opal bats her false eyelashes over at the girl. “And what do you propose I do with Bowie?” Her words are elongated in that strange way only the really rich can pull off, and it only makes me like her more.

  “I don’t know?” Regina’s arms gesticulate wildly. “Fire her. Eat her. Lock her in the car and roll it off a cliff. Who cares? I’m practically family and you know it.”

  “Fine.” Opal shudders as if the thought of being related to Regina on some level made her sick. Can’t say I blame her. “Bowie, I’m afraid Regina needs her position back.”

  “What?” I squawk. “Opal, you can’t let me go. I’ve practically grafted my flesh onto that café. And think of all the lucrative business deals you and I have been profiting from these last few weeks. You can’t let me go or I won’t be around to think of more lucrative ideas and, believe you me, I’ve got some whoppers coming down the pike.”

  Opal’s nostrils flare as she lights up with excitement.

  “I’m sorry, Regina. The only way you can work at the manor is if Bowie finds something for you to do. She’s the new manager. All the hiring and firing is on her shoulders.”

&nb
sp; Regina quickly pulls me to the side and Tilly bounces right along with us.

  Tabitha lets out a hiss in Regina’s direction and, honest to God, Regina hisses right back at the poor cat.

  “What’s it going to be, Bowie?” Regina needles those dark eyes into mine. “You can let me back into the café or I’ll tear my way back into Shep’s life.”

  “You’re going to do that either way this goes,” I say without missing a beat.

  She sniffs hard and lifts her chin. “True, but if I’m working at the café, you’ll be able to keep an eye on me.”

  I think on it a moment. “And you’ll be a good employee who shows up when scheduled and doesn’t give me grief about wanting weekends off and Christmas?”

  She makes a face. “The café isn’t open on Christmas.”

  “It will be this year if you’re there to run it.” I shrug. “Manager’s prerogative.” I’m teasing, but I’m also testing—the latter of which is important with a girl like this.

  “Fine,” she snips.

  “Fine,” I snip right back.

  “So I’ve got the job?” Her amber eyes expand my way.

  “You’ve got the job,” I say. “But remember. Bowie giveth and Bowie can taketh away. Behave. I think you and I could be real good friends if we try.” I’m not sure that’s true, but half of my job description is to pump up my employees whether I believe the things streaming from my lips or not.

  She lifts a shoulder my way. “I’ll be by in the morning. That’s when I prefer my shifts. I serve Shep. His table is my table. And two hour lunches suit me better than the traditional one. I expect a raise every six months and a starting wage that’s competitive with what my sister earns down at the bank. It makes Thanksgiving dinner less awkward. If you’ll excuse me, I need to see what this punch embroidery is all about. The violent intention of it all appeals to my nature.” She takes off and finds a seat next to Opal and Flo.

  “Welp.” I turn to Tilly. “At least she’s not demanding.”

  Tilly chuckles. “Hurricane Regina is right back in the path of the manor. I hope we survive.”

  “We’ll survive. It’s Regina who won’t if she acts up.”

  And something tells me she’ll act up.

  Tilly heads back to Jessie just in time to intercept a little comfort distribution in her teacup.

  I spot Hilary seated next to Thea, and the two of them look as if they’re attacking an innocent ball of yarn with a couple of knitting needles.

  Tabitha stirs in my arms, and I lean in and kiss her cool little ear.

  “I’m not too thrilled she’s here either,” I whisper as we make our way over.

  “How’s it going, Hil?” I ask, staring down at the yarn lying in a lifeless clump at the base of her wrist.

  She shoots me a look that says so many things, but above all it screams step off and die.

  Thea grunts, “I think I’d better get us some more tea—extra comfort if we’re going to get the hang of this.”

  She takes off and I land in her seat, shedding a greedy grin over at Shep’s old high school nightmare.

  “Still haven’t managed to snatch Shep away from me, huh? What’s the matter—getting rusty?”

  She smirks. “Give me some time. If I were you, I wouldn’t put a deposit on a wedding dress just yet.”

  “Glad to know you’re honest.” I take a breath. “I saw Lloyd checking you out back there. Any romantic history between the two of you? If he’s single, maybe you can try barking up that tree? It’s going to be awfully lonely for you if you continue to pursue my man.”

  She inches back. “Lloyd and I aren’t happening. He’s single, though. He’s been divorced for quite some time. He’s got a kid, a son, Lloyd Junior. He’s in high school, I think. I don’t know. Anyway, Lloyd is off limits to me.”

  “Oh? Why’s that?”

  Her mouth rounds out as if she were caught doing something she wasn’t supposed to.

  “He’s a cop. I don’t date cops. Besides, he’s seeing someone, and they’re in a very serious relationship.”

  I thought she said he was single?

  “Shep is a cop,” I point out. An ex-cop, but now is not the time to highlight that status. “And he’s in a very serious relationship himself.” I hold up my bare left hand as if to make a point.

  “I don’t care. Shep and I are right. I’ve been scrawling Mrs. Shepherd Wexler across my notebooks before you ever laid eyes on him.”

  “And with that knowledge, I should be Mrs. Johnny Depp by now.”

  “Funny.” She makes a face.

  “Hilary”—I lean in a notch—“Lloyd mentioned something about James and Craig owning a maple farm together. He made it sound as if things were going south between them. You don’t think James could have done this to him, do you? I mean, I’m presuming he had a gun on him that night. He is a deputy. And he wasn’t happy with Craig.”

  She closes her eyes a moment too long. “I g—guess,” she stutters out the words. Something is bothering her. “It’s true, James and Craig didn’t get along.” She looks crestfallen at the thought.

  “Hilary, you like James, don’t you? Do you like him more than a friend?” I’m trying to gauge where her sudden rush of remorse for the guy is coming from.

  “James, well, he’s sort of off limits, too.” She inverts her lips. “I don’t tread where my friends have been, if you know what I mean. It sort of axes any hope of having a relationship with their men ever again.”

  “Is it too late to declare you my new best friend?”

  She waves me off. “You think you’re funny. That’s the problem.”

  “I know I’m funny. That’s the problem.” I shrug. “It’s nice to know you’re loyal to your friends.”

  Hilary glances to the floor a moment. “Yeah,” she whispers. “I’m the best.”

  “Do you think Craig and James could have been fighting over something other than the maple farm?” A scenario runs through my mind. “Like, maybe a woman?”

  Her eyes widen my way and they tell me everything I need to know.

  Bingo!

  “I need to get back to my project,” Hilary stammers just as Thea lands a teacup full of whiskey before her with a spot of tea.

  Hilary just implied that James and Craig were fighting over a woman.

  Now to figure out who that woman could be. Maybe she has the answers?

  Who knows, maybe she’s the killer?

  Chapter 11

  “One word”—I say as I look into Opal Mortimer’s heavily outlined eyes—“lasagna.”

  “Lasagna?” Opal drags the word out as if she were singing a lullaby. She bows her head and lands a kiss to the ornery pink Scottish Fold in her arms. Pixie is an adorable, typically white with pale gray stripes, kitten who had the misfortune to be seated near a rambunctious four-year-old out in the foyer when the toddler dumped fruit punch over the unsuspecting feline. Fortunately for Pixie, pink is a good look on her, and the other cats have been eyeing her as if they, too, were interested in this new edgy look.

  Mud gives the back of his head a scratch. “I give. What is it?”

  My mouth falls open as I look to the friendly, albeit a tad bit scruffy, man.

  “Mud, you mean your taste buds haven’t had the pleasure of indulging in one of Italy’s greatest gifts to the world?”

  Flo grunts, “I thought pizza was Italy’s greatest gift to the world.”

  Thea shakes her head. “I’m pretty sure it’s the pope.”

  Tilly squints as she lifts a finger. “I’m pretty sure it’s the Italian men’s soccer team.”

  Thea and Flo are quick to agree.

  It’s the middle of the afternoon and the Manor Café has slowed to a crawl, so I thought I’d throw an impromptu employee meeting.

  “Well? What do you think?” I ask with a touch too much enthusiasm.

  Flo yawns as she adjusts the giant safety pin holding her skirt together as though she’s not all that interested in the m
enu changes at hand—and I’m betting she isn’t. But she should be. The inevitable boost in tips alone that my Nana Rose’s lasagna recipe is capable of sponsoring will be nothing short of Italian gold. Not that I have Nana Rose’s recipe on paper—a minor detail. But I’ve helped her make it a hundred times. If I can just dust off my memory, we’ll be in like sin.

  “It’s delicious,” I say. “And I know you’ll love it. I just need to hone the recipe. Everyone knows at the heart of just about every Italian dish is a great sauce, so I’ll start there. I’m planning on heading to the restaurant supply store, and I’ll pick up all the ingredients I’ll need.”

  Tilly wrinkles her nose. “Count me out of the food run, but if you’re headed anywhere where I might be able to pick up a date, I’ve got a pair of heels and a little black dress in my trunk. I call it my Bowie bug out kit.”

  “I like the sound of that.” I hold a hand up her way and she slaps me five.

  “If you like that, you’re going to love the name I’ve thought up for our little faux detective agency. Ready for it? The Sexy Snoops. I’ve got a tagline all worked out for it, too. If you’ve got the crime, we’ve got the time.”

  “Love it,” I say. Too bad I’ve already done the crime and have no intention on doing the time.

  A small crowd moves in and Thea, Flo, and Mud take off in three different directions.

  “So what do you think, Opal? If it works out, we can add it to the lunch and dinner menu.” I ask, secretly hoping for her seal of approval. I’m not sure why I need it. She’s all but given me the reins to this place, but a part of me wants the grand dame of Mortimer Manor to be more than pleased with the new menu items I’ll be adding. Heck, I want her to love them.

  She tosses a hand in the air and her silver-hued fingernails glimmer like stars.

  “Oh, what the heck. But if you’re going to jazz up the lunch and dinner menus, you might as well wake up the breakfast menu, as well. No reason to make it feel unloved. Try something with truffles.” She strokes the pink kitty in her arms. “Oh, and champagne. Lots and lots of champagne.”