Meow for Murder Mysteries Boxed Set

by Addison Moore

  I’d hate to break it to Opal, but the people looking to start the day off with truffles and champagne aren’t headed to the Manor Café for an early morning pick-me-up.

  The door swings open and I can’t help but scowl at the malfeasance making her way over.

  Regina Valentine strides on in as if she owns the place, and immediately I’m filled with regret about my decision to hire her. Surely there was a void she could have filled somewhere else in Starry Falls. The library? A scientific research lab on the outskirts of town that tests the effects of toxins injected straight into the heart? The morgue? Seeing that Regina has glaring control issues, a facility where a majority of the people she’s working with are in a state of eternal silence might bode well for her.

  Okay, so that all sounded a bit harsh, but I don’t need to consult the psychic in me to realize this woman is up to no good, and she’s aiming all of her no good efforts my way.

  I’m just about to hand her an apron when a handsome thriller writer steps in behind her.

  Shepherd Wexler is dressed rather unassumingly today in a T-shirt and jeans—two things I didn’t think existed in his wardrobe. But it’s the adorable black cat with a cinnamon-colored tail tucked in his arms that makes me coo.

  “Well, look who the cat dragged in.” I reach over and give the frisky feline a quick scratch on the head. Her left eye is sealed shut, but her right eye glows as yellow as the sun. “Why is she winking at me?”

  “He’s not.” Shep gives the sweet thing a gentle pat over the back. “This is Lucky. He’s missing an eye.”

  Regina grunts over at the sweet beast, “I was there the day he lost it.” She purrs up at Shep, “If memory serves correct, it was the day I lost something to you.” She bites down seductively on her lower lip.

  “Ew.” I shove an apron her way. “Table six needs a refill on everything,” I tell her, but she doesn’t move a muscle.

  So it begins.

  But I choose to ignore her silent tantrum of defiance, and instead dot a kiss to the cute cat in Opal’s arms.

  “Opal, can I please have Pixie and Lucky?” I touch my nose to the sweet one-eyed cat in Shep’s arm, and I swear he purred right into my soul. Either that or it was Shep growling at me for getting too close. “I promise to keep them both in catnip, until death do us part.”

  “Not on your life.” She gives a sly wink to Pixie. “But negotiations will be open if I can see another financial infusion in this place. How’s the mother-daughter soiree coming along?”

  “Great,” I say. “In fact, Tilly and I are making up flyers and hitting up every shop on Main Street for donations to fill that basket we’re going to raffle off.”

  “And I’ve got just the picture of a hot shirtless man for those flyers.” Tilly tries to swipe Pixie from Opal, but it’s a no-go. “Trust me, there won’t be a mother or daughter in town who doesn’t show up on our doorstep for the dirty dance-off.”

  Somehow I think signals have been severely crossed when it comes to Tilly’s understanding of the event at hand.

  Shep looks my way. “Actually, I was hoping to steal you away, Bowie.”

  Regina scoffs. “What’s this? An afternoon tryst?” She clucks her tongue at him. “How I miss our afternoon delights. I don’t suppose you’d be up to extend an invite to the party?” Her fingers fumble with his collar. “What do you say we ditch the fake redhead on our way back to my place?”

  I glance at myself in the mirror across from me and shrug. I guess the Cherry Coke color my Uncle Vinnie picked out is still working its magic in my tresses after all.

  “No can do.” Shep nods my way. “Whenever you get a chance.”

  “Chance,” I say, taking off my apron and handing it to Regina. “If you’re not going to wear them, you might as well start a collection. I’m taking off for the rest of the day to see what the hot-shot author has planned. Tag, you’re it. I’m leaving you in charge.” I have a feeling the only tyranny Regina will work under is her own.

  Shep and I head out into the fresh spring air and he sets Lucky down on the porch, right next to the fifty other cats that are lounging around the kitty oasis Opal has created.

  “Where are we off to?” I ask in a chipper tone that can only be achieved once you’ve left work early.

  Shep glances past the crooked manor and off toward those mysterious falls that bleed white over the verdant hillside.

  “We’re off to see the wizard,” he says.

  “The wizard?” I’m almost amused. “And who would that be?”

  “Your father.”

  * * *

  Okay, so I’m not really going to see my father, but I’m going to hear his voice—his precious, beautiful voice that I never thought I’d hear again once I left my life behind in Hastings.

  Shep drives us up an evergreen-lined road that leads to the majestic marvels that watch over Starry Falls and give the town a part of its official moniker. It’s one thing to see them from the manor—and even there, in miniature, they look grand and spectacular—but up close the falls are a thing of wonder. There are two fountainheads at the top that merge in the middle to create one large sweeping, weeping display of watery glory.

  Shep and I follow an empty trail to a clearing that affords a front and center view of the thunderous watery display, and I take a moment to breathe in the air scented with honeysuckle as my ears fill with the roar from the falls. It’s not egregiously loud, but it’s not a quiet whisper it is from the manor either.

  Shep lands us at a bench that faces the otherworldly wonder.

  “All right, Bowie, are you ready to do this?”

  I nod. “And before we get started, I want to thank you for everything you’re doing for me.” I take him in as he holds all the Irish charm that his ancestors gifted him. That dark hair, those navy-rimmed pale blue eyes, a face that makes the women of the world drool. His genuine desire to help me out affords some peace into my otherwise chaotic life. Shep Wexler is the whole package. I reach over and pick up his hand. “I will never forget your kindness toward me. You really are one of the good guys.”

  “Don’t start any rumors.”

  A dull laugh bounces from me. “Have it your way.”

  He holds his phone up. “Rules.” His jaw clenches and my insides cut with heat at the sight. There is nothing hotter than a gorgeous man about to bark out a few orders. “He’ll be calling in about seven minutes. This call will be recorded by the prison. It may or may not be listened to—we’ll treat it as the former. You’re my co-writer in this scenario. And we’re looking to glean some info for the sake of research on one of our upcoming books. Whether or not he catches on is entirely up to him. If he doesn’t get the hint and play along, I’m cutting the line.” He nods toward the falls. “We’ll be having a bad connection from the get-go.”

  “Wow, you’re a criminal mastermind. I might have actually liked you in another lifetime. Heck, I sort of like you now.” I make a sour face. “Don’t start any rumors.”

  Shep’s cheek rises on one side, an almost smile that doesn’t quite take flight.

  “Bowie, there’s one more thing you should know. The reason I originally went to the Corbel Men’s Correctional Facility wasn’t to speak with your father all those years ago. It was to speak to mine.”

  I suck in a quick breath. “You mean he’s at the same facility?” A few weeks back, when Shep confessed his father was doing time as well, it never occurred to me to ask where.

  He gives a curt nod. “That’s right. In fact, a while back my dad and I were talking about the new series I was fleshing out.”

  My mouth falls open. “The Manon Tate Series?”

  “Yup. And my dad said he knew a guy, and that’s how I met Angelo Santini.”

  Something in me warms just hearing him say my father’s name.

  Back in Hastings my father’s name was reduced to something shy of an expletive.

  I shake my head. “It’s as if the universe had been planning this all
along.”

  His lips curl. “Maybe.”

  The phone rings and my entire body seizes.

  Shep picks up and puts the phone on speaker mode.

  “This is a call from the Corbel Men’s Correctional Facility. Angelo Santini would like to speak with you. Do you accept?” It’s a computerized recording for the most part, but it was my father’s own voice saying his name and my chest seized just hearing it.

  “Yes,” Shep says it loud and clear.

  “Shepherd Wexler?” My father’s manly thick voice belts out with confidence from the other side of the speaker and my entire body bucks with emotion.

  “Speaking.” Shep’s tone is a touch lighter than usual. “Great to hear your voice again, Mr. Santini. I hope you don’t mind if my co-writer and I ask a few questions. We’re shooting for a genuine voice in our novel, and we’re confident you can help us out with that.”

  “Sure thing, son. Let’s hear it.”

  Shep holds the phone out my way and nods for me to take it.

  My hand shakes as I draw it near to me, and suddenly that rigid mixture of glass and metal feels as fragile as a newborn.

  “D—Mr. Santini?” My voice hitches when I say it. “This is”—my eyes enlarge a moment because I’m not ready to give away my identity, any of them—“Rose, Mr. Wexler’s co-author.” A moment pulses by and I can hear my father’s breathing picking up on the other end of the line. He knows. My father would know my voice anywhere. He may have made a lousy mobster, but he’s a damn good father. A thought comes to me. “Top of the afternoon to you.” It’s something my father would say to my siblings and me almost daily, tailoring the greeting with the time of day—morning, afternoon, or evening.

  “Ho, ho, ho”—he howls before sniffing hard—“Rose, it’s good to hear you. So good to hear—you know, a female.”

  You can feel the emotion in my father’s voice, and it tugs at my heart until it feels as if it’s about to rip it in two.

  Shep nods my way as a genuine smile rises on his lips.

  “Rose”—my father booms—“how are you doing?”

  “I’m doing good, Mr. Santini.” I look over at Shep and get lost in his sky blue eyes. “Real good.”

  And just like that, a tiny part of my crooked world has been righted.

  We talk for his allotted fifteen minutes, and yet it seems our time is up in less than ten seconds.

  He encourages us to call him again and I assure him we’ll do just that.

  We hang up and I break out in tears.

  Shep pulls me in and offers a strong embrace and I hold on tight as if he were the only thing securing me to this planet. It seems as if gravity failed me as soon as I left New Jersey.

  Shep pulls back and examines me with a tenderness I’ve never seen in his eyes before.

  He brushes the hair from my eyes. “Feeling better?”

  I swallow down the urge to bawl as I nod.

  “I will,” I whisper. “As soon as your ex wipes me off the suspect list for killing Craig.”

  He comes shy of scowling. “Don’t worry, Bowie. That’s my job.”

  We sit and watch the falls, and every now and again a spray of water drifts this way and baptizes us with its cool precipitation. We take in the hawks as they circle above us in the pristine blue sky, and it feels as if we’ve traveled back to a simpler time in human history.

  Summer is almost upon us, a new season. And if feels as if my life is taking a cue from Mother Nature.

  A new season seems inevitable for me as well—right here in Starry Falls.

  A thicket of crows swoop in and blacken the sky in an instant. They say a flock of crows is called a murder and the irony isn’t lost on me. There is very much a murder darkening our world.

  Someone killed Craig Walker, and it’s as if the universe is begging us to bring his killer to justice.

  Who am I to fight the universe?

  Craig Walker’s killer is going down.

  And I plan on being the one that knocks him or her to the ground.

  Chapter 12

  Once Shep and I finish up at the falls, he offers to drive me to the restaurant supply store in Woodley. But before we fill up the back of his truck with enough food to feed all of Starry Falls, Shep takes to the Woodley Sheriff’s Department where Nora, one of his many exes, has asked that he pick up some paperwork.

  I’m not sure why the inside of a sheriff’s department gives me the willies, but I’m betting it has something to do with the fact I’m a wanted felon. But even before that, it had the power to send a shiver up my sibylline spine due to the fact I was once falsely accused of shoplifting. I was roughed up and dragged down to headquarters over a silly pair of cheap earrings.

  Okay, so that accusation wasn’t so false. I was foolish when I was young. And coincidentally, I was even more foolish the older I got. I made poor choices with men, my career, finances, and if you want to get personal, I made poor choices right down to the brassieres I was stuffing myself into. Everything was fueled by vanity, greed, the incessant need to make myself feel as if I was doing better than all the girls I grew up with. I was competitive with a capital everything, and eventually it was my undoing.

  The truth is, most of those girls I grew up with married decent men with honest careers while I was stuck with Johnny Rizzo, laundering dirty money and doubling down on my carb addiction.

  What I wouldn’t do for a good jelly donut right about now.

  The interior of this hall of justice consists of white floors, bland walls, and stainless counters. It’s about as welcoming as a morgue, and I’m just as anxious to leave this place as I would be that one.

  A smattering of deputies in tan uniforms mill around the vicinity, but it’s the bald one doing a double take in our direction that calls us over with an enthusiastic wave.

  It’s Lloyd Jackson in all his beefy glory. His arms are so muscular it looks as if he inflated his biceps with a bicycle pump. With his sleeves rolled up, you can see the veins bulging under his creamy marble-like skin, and as soon as he sees me checking out his guns, he gives a cheesy wink my way.

  Great. He’s going to think Shep’s fiancée has a wandering eye.

  Little does he know Shep’s entire body is free to wander wherever it wants with whomever it pleases. And how I hate the idea of any part of him wandering away with Hilary.

  Lloyd belts out a friendly laugh. “Well, if it isn’t Shepherd Pie and his better half. How’s it going, you two?” He winks my way. “You’re not here to turn yourself in, are ya?” A riotous laugh bellows from him as he gives me a friendly pat and his cologne smells sweet and fruity, nothing at all like the manly spiced scent that Shep holds.

  “No,” I flatline. “If I were to commit a crime, it wouldn’t be anything as sophisticated as murder. I’m sure it’d be something a lot goofier, along the lines of embezzlement or money laundering.” It would involve the feds, the mob, and an idiot ex named Johnny Rizzo who filled my head with dreams of stealing our way to the lifestyles of the rich and infamous. He got the infamous part right—only I was too stupid to know what it meant at the time.

  Lloyd shoots me with his fingers. “I won’t say a word to Opal.” He nods to Shep. “What’s going on?”

  Shep glances to the left where a large blue sign reads Homicide Division.

  “Nora asked me to swing by, so here I am.” His chest expands at the thought before he reverts his attention back to Lloyd. “So how’s the case?”

  Lloyd blows out a breath. “It’s moving.” He sobers up as he leans in toward Shep. “Let’s just say, the deeper I dig, the more I’m not liking what I see.”

  “Which suspect?” Shep doesn’t hesitate asking.

  Lloyd twitches his head to the side. “You know who.”

  I suck in a quick breath. “James?” I couldn’t help but interject.

  Lloyd was at the café the other day and he all but implied James could have pulled the trigger. It makes sense. James is packing heat, see
ing that he’s a deputy right at this very sheriff’s department. And Lloyd did mention the fact Craig invested in a maple farm that James bought off his brother.

  Lloyd offers a somber nod my way.

  “Wow”—I blink back at the thought—“I know you mentioned they were locking horns over the maple farm. But could something like that really bring out the killer in someone? Let alone an officer of the law?”

  Shep gives a reluctant nod. “You’d be surprised, Bowie. Just about anybody can be pushed to the brink.”

  “That’s right.” Lloyd looks my way. “But don’t you worry. You’re not a serious suspect on the list. I’m sure it’s still on your mind, and I don’t want you losing any sleep over it. It’s just a technicality, seeing that you found the body.” He grimaces. “And that you had blood on your gown.”

  Shep rumbles out a dry laugh. “Don’t worry, Bowie. I’ll vouch for you.” He twists his lips toward his old friend. “What about any physical evidence on Craig? Any unusual fibers on his clothes? Stray hairs? Foreign tissue underneath his fingernails?”

  Lloyd shakes his head. “No. And I’m working very closely with Nora to ensure not a thread of evidence goes unnoticed.”

  “What about the lipstick?” I ask. “The gold tube that was a few feet from his body? I mean, the killer could have been a woman, and it could have fallen out of her purse as she made a getaway.”

  Lloyd chuckles at the thought. “I don’t know about any lipstick. If it was there, it wasn’t collected as evidence. But my guess is a woman from the reunion dropped it.”

  “Oh right.” I give a little shrug. “That’s what Nora said when I pointed it out.”

  Strange how it never made its way into evidence. Why would the sheriff’s department choose to dismiss a tube of lipstick found near the body? Isn’t everything within a certain vicinity admissible evidence in a case like this? I’m no pro, but I bet if it were a jock strap nearby that would have made the front page of the paper. Sounds like chauvinistic investigating if you ask me.