Meow for Murder Mysteries Boxed Set

by Addison Moore

  Shep lifts his chin toward his old buddy. “Hilary mentioned the funeral is this Friday.”

  “That it is.” Lloyd closes his eyes a moment. “It’ll be held over at the True Life Chapel in Maple Grove—one in the afternoon. The sheriff’s department is pitching in for a taco bar in the church hall.” He gives Shep’s stomach a playful smack. “Don’t miss it, buddy. I made sure it’s all-you-can-eat.” He looks my way. “Nobody loved tacos more than our buddy Craig.”

  “Sounds like he had great taste.” I bite down on my lip a moment as something Hilary said during Stitch Witchery comes to mind. “Lloyd? You seem pretty confident that James and Craig were at odds. You don’t think they were fighting over a woman, do you?”

  He takes a deep breath. “Could’ve been.” He glances over my shoulder as his eyes grow vacant. “Come to think of it, Craig was spending an awful lot of time at the construction site with Oliver.” He shrugs. “Kadie Ryan—Beaumont’s place.” He nods to Shep. “Craig had mentioned a time or two that Kadie had friends dropping by all the time. Good-looking women, mostly single mothers. Might have been one of them.”

  “Huh.” Shep tips his head. “The plot thickens.”

  Lloyd gives a wistful shake of the head. “That’ll happen when you start adding women into the mix.”

  The two of them share a chauvinistic chuckle before Lloyd waves as he starts to take off.

  “I’ll see you both at the funeral. Wear a Hawaiian shirt if you got one, Shep. This is a party for Craig, and we’re seeing him out in style.”

  He takes off and Shep turns my way.

  “Craig was known for his love of Hawaiian shirts.”

  “That explains the tie that night.”

  We’re about to head toward the homicide division when a woman with a dark head of hair and a knowing gleam in her vindictive eyes that only an ex can have pops up.

  “Nora.” Shep nods her way. “I’m here. What’s going on?”

  She expands her lips my way. “I see the two of you are inseparable. Isn’t that precious.” She smears it with just the right amount of sarcasm, and I can almost respect her for it. The more I get to peer into the dark soul behind the iron ex-fiancée curtain, the more I like Nora. She’s not nearly as annoying as Hilary and not anywhere close to as psychotic as Regina. Why Shep let this little bitter gem of a gun-toting gal get away, I will never know.

  She produces a thick envelope from behind her back and hands it over to Shep.

  “Your walking papers in reverse. I’m here to formally invite you back into the fold. Your old position just vacated again, and I’d love nothing more than to work elbow-to-elbow with you.”

  Shep stares at the manila envelope a moment before accepting it.

  “I’m flattered.” He dips his chin as he looks her way. “You do realize this writing gig is working out for me.”

  She laughs. “And it was working for you the last time you worked here as well. I’d take part-time if that’s all you are willing to give. It’ll add a few more dollars to your bank account. Don’t answer now. Take some time to think about it.” Her eyes ride up and down my body. “I’m not sure why, but this one looks like she appreciates the finer things in life.”

  As much as a part of me wants to be offended at the dig, the rest of me appreciates feeling so seen.

  “Don’t worry, Bowie.” She rolls her eyes when she says my name. “You’ll still get plenty of time with your fiancé.” She glowers over at Shep a moment. “That is, if this is real at all. I have a feeling it is all a setup to try to stave off a full-blown attack from Hilary.” She shudders when she says her name. I knew I liked this woman. “Hilary was the high school sweetheart; I was college,” she says, looking right at me. “And after that, let’s just say it was a very long-drawn-out free-for-all.” She leans in. “I’d get tested for any communicable diseases if I were you.”

  Shep’s chest bounces with a dry laugh.

  “You’re a riot.” He waves the envelope in his hand. “I just spoke to Lloyd about the case. He’s helping out, huh? I guess there’s no stopping him.”

  “Nope.” She makes a face. “And to be truthful, I don’t mind all hands on deck. This was personal for him. But don’t think for a minute I’m not beating Lloyd to the punch. I’ll be solving this case—and arresting the killer. Just you wait and see.”

  She takes off just as that vision I had the day Lloyd stepped into the Manor Café comes back to me. Lloyd with a grief-stricken look on his face. “You killed Craig. You did this. How dare you try to weasel out of it. And you’re not going to kill me. I won’t let you.”

  Maybe Nora will arrest the killer, but it sure sounds as if Lloyd will discover who it is just a touch sooner.

  But then, my visions have been known to go astray.

  And I’m betting it will be me who finds the killer.

  And when I do, I bet that lipstick tube will have something to do with it.

  Chapter 13

  All last night and well into the morning I’ve been walking on air.

  I spoke with my father.

  My father—the same father that my mother, Marie Snag-Herself-a-Younger-Man Santini declared was as good as dead the day he was hauled off to prison.

  She wasn’t wrong. But thankfully for me, he is very much alive.

  And in an odd turn of events, that walking on air feeling wasn’t exclusively because of the fact I was able to speak to my father—although that was beyond my wildest, and quite recent, dreams—it had a little something to do with a certain best-selling author slash private eye.

  I know.

  I know.

  Shepherd Wexler isn’t the plot twist I need in my already tumultuous life. In fact, he’s the exact opposite of what I need.

  My focus should be on protecting myself. I should make my way to the Great White North and find myself a heavily wooded region run by elves or fairies or vampires. The last thing I need to do is remain in Starry Falls with real humans, falling in love with this blip on the map of a town, with the people, with Shep.

  There.

  I said it.

  I’m falling hard and fast and I can see the concrete coming up quickly. This is going to end badly. And it’s going to hurt. I can feel it.

  In no universe do I end up with Shep Wexler. And that’s exactly why I’ve decided to squash my feelings like a bug—a love bug.

  It’s the next afternoon and both Shep and Hilary have been sitting side by side working on her fictitious novel—which is ironically fiction.

  “Why is he being so nice to her?” I hiss to Tilly as I glower their way.

  But it’s not Tilly that crops up in my airspace. It’s Regina Valentine and her burgeoning bosom. Regina has unbuttoned her blouse to vulgar extremes and is currently forcing the general public to ogle her perky boobs.

  “You know what they say”—she lifts a shoulder my way—“you lose him like you got him.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” I snip in lieu of smacking her with the hand towel sitting on the counter. “Never mind. I know exactly what you’re driving at. But I didn’t steal Shep from you. In fact, not only am I not with Shepherd, I’m not convinced you were ever with him either.”

  “I was with him.” Her voice hikes as if she takes umbrage with the fact. “Ask Tilly.” She pulls Tilly in by the elbow and attempts to stride into the kitchen. “Tell her I was with Shep.”

  Tilly carefully yanks herself free. “She was with him. But then again, Shep was with everyone.”

  “Everyone?” I lift a brow at my newly minted bestie.

  “Relax.” She lands the dirty plates she’s holding into the bin behind her. “He’s not with anyone now that you’re here.”

  Regina grunts, “Except for Hilary.” She brazenly growls in their direction. “I think I’m going to offer them both a fresh cup of coffee and I’ll be sure to add a little something special to hers.”

  Tilly titters at the thought. “A little secret sauce from your kiss
er? Before you serve it, hand it my way and I’ll hock one up, too.”

  “What?” I buck in horror. “No way. We do not offer bodily fluids as an unwanted side here at the Manor Café. That’s considered battery in some states. Don’t ask me how I know.” Okay, fine. I hocked up a serving or two from my own kisser back in my donut shop days. I ran the register and dealt with more jerks than should ever be legal in the entire state of New Jersey, but I’m not proud. “And never mind Shep and his latest conquest.” I take a moment to growl in their direction myself. A lot of good he’s doing trying to clear my name off that suspect list. Figures. Leave a man to do a woman’s work.

  “Come on, Tilly,” I say, taking off my apron. “We’ve got places to go and suspects to see.”

  Tilly bounces on the balls of her feet and lets out a wild yelp that can rival the mating call of a yeti.

  “I knew today would shape up to be a good one. Where are we off to? A bar? A tattoo parlor? A strip club?”

  “I don’t know. We have to track down our suspect first. It’ll be the luck of the draw.”

  “I’m feeling lucky already.” Tilly balls up her apron and tosses it to the kitchen, nearly landing it into an open flame.

  Regina narrows her eyes my way. “What about me?”

  “You’re the lucky one who gets to boss Thea and Flo around. Mud is prepping the ballroom for the mother-daughter dance coming up, and if you want, you could head that way and tell him what to do, too.”

  She makes a face as she glances over at Shep. “I’ve got someone else I’d much rather boss around.” Her lips curl with a malevolent smile. “In fact, I think I’ll start there.”

  She takes off in their direction and my stomach explodes with acid. Why do I feel as if I just let a viper into my love nest?

  I watch as she speeds in his direction with two dicey cups of coffee.

  Shep turns my way, those steely blue eyes freezing me solid and burning me up at the very same time. But my feet head for the door, and I take Tilly with me.

  I’m not watching another minute of the Hilary and Shepherd show.

  I’m tracking down whoever killed Craig Walker.

  News at eleven.

  * * *

  The next suspect on my list is James Palmer, the dark-haired, bushy-browed deputy slash maple farm owner who, according to Hilary, might have been at odds with the deceased over a woman.

  Plausible.

  But then again, they were in business together, and according to Oliver Kincaid, who was also in business with the deceased, Craig Walker was a difficult person to work with. Apparently, he liked to call the shots.

  The motives are present with both Oliver and James, but it sounds as if James might have been doubly motivated to see that Craig Walker had a bullet pumped into his chest.

  “Ooh!” Tilly squeals from the passenger seat as she fumbles with her phone.

  I was feeling brave so I fired up my Honda, Wanda, and drove her without incident all the way to Maple Grove. I figure she needs to be kick-started once in a while, or she might head off for the great automotive graveyard in the sky.

  “What is it?” I ask, slowing down and pulling over. We headed straight for Maple Grove without any real idea of where to find James. The truth is, I needed to get out of Starry Falls before I walked over to Shep and Hilary and bonked them both over the head with one of yesterday’s stale croissants.

  Tilly holds her phone out for me to see. “I did a little cyber stalking and voila. James just snapped a picture of his meatball sub at a place called the Grove Deli.”

  “Good work.” I pull out my own phone and quickly look up the Grove Deli. “Tilly, it’s right up the street.” I take off again, and just as we’re about to pull alongside of the establishment, James strides out wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses as he hops into his truck.

  “That’s him!” I squeal, and Tilly follows suit with a rambunctious sound that you might hear on the other side of the wall of a cheap motel room.

  “Follow that man, Bowie. I bet he’s off to find his next victim.”

  “I’m on him.”

  Fortunately for us, we don’t have to follow him far. James drives about two blocks away and parks in front of a nail salon called Nifty Nails and More!

  Tilly grunts as we watch him make his way inside, “Do you think he’s going to get his nails done? Or maybe he’s going to surprise his girlfriend at work?”

  “I don’t know, but we’re about to find out.”

  We jump out of Wanda as if she was on fire and hit the entry of the salon at the very same time, inadvertently stagnating in the entry before sling-shotting into the room.

  It’s crowded inside. Each nail booth is occupied with women busily chattering away while their nails are painted bright as candy. The strong scent of polish mingles with a vanilla-scented candle burning over the reception counter and the sound of soothing music, inspired by the Far East, filters smoothly from the speakers.

  Tilly shoots me a look. “Next time I walk in first.”

  “Why do you get to go first?”

  “Because I’m the cute single one. You’re the cute taken one, and everyone knows once you’re taken, you might as well be dead.”

  “I’m not taken as far as I know. And thank God I’m still on the right side of the soil.”

  “Oh, you’re taken.” She gives a vigorous nod just as I spot James being led to a room in the back. “I’ve seen the way Shep looks at you when he thinks nobody is watching. Sexy Wexy is over the moon.”

  “Shoot.” I make a face as the door closes behind my suspect. “Wait, does Shep really look at me that way?” I take a moment to soak in the thought, but am quickly interrupted when James ducks out of view. “Never mind Shep. It looks like James will be occupied for who knows how long.”

  Tilly and I watch as the door to the back room closes with finality.

  “Now what?” I ask as I take a quick look around. “They look pretty busy.”

  “Watch and learn.” Tilly motions me to follow her as we come upon an older woman with dark hair cut into a blunt bob. “Two for acrylics, please.”

  I shake my head at Tilly. “Acrylics tear up my nails.” I look to the receptionist. “How about a set of gel nails, please? Those seem to work better for me and they feel a bit more natural.”

  The woman glances to the calendar in front of her. “No can do. Our nail appointments are booked straight through the day. Would you like to schedule for tomorrow?”

  Tilly’s jaw drops as she points to a framed glossy picture of a woman whose eyelashes are standing straight up at attention.

  “I want that,” she beams and I lean in to further inspect this eyelash sorcery.

  “Eyelash perm?” I squint as I read the words over and over again in my head, because, honestly, that must be a typo.

  “That’s right.” The receptionist stands to admire the model who is sporting the electrocuted lashes. “It’s relatively new to the salon, but we’re seeing great success with it.”

  Before I can axe this cornea catastrophe in the making, Tilly lands her elbows on the reception counter as if she were doubling down.

  “A friend of mine just went into a room in the back,” she whispers. “About how long do you think he’ll be?”

  The receptionist glances that way. “The wax room? Typically about twenty minutes.”

  Tilly leans in. “And how long does an eyelash perm take?”

  The woman shrugs. “About the same.” She looks my way. “We can take you both right now if you like.”

  Tilly shrugs my way, and I growl over at her.

  “I don’t see a single thing that can go wrong with this.” And yet I’m certain they will.

  Tilly and I are shuffled to the back and quickly smacked in the face with glue— silicon slivers that are adhered to our upper eyelids while a small army of women work furiously doing their best to curl our lashes into a chemical oblivion.

  When I was a kid, my mother’s sisters
used to come over and they’d have what they called a perm party. Each of them helped to land their hair in colorful curlers, and the entire house smelled like an ammonia plant just exploded in the bathroom. My father had a sudden urge to play poker with the boys on those nights, leaving my siblings and me and our poor innocent lungs to fend for ourselves.

  However, the stench of the solution emanating from around my eyes doesn’t nearly offend me as much as the thought of permanent blindness does. This eyelash perm has me more than a little on edge.

  My mother’s perm nights were pretty much a disaster from the moment they pulled the home boxed kits out of the bag. And it didn’t end until one of them screamed Quick! Yank the curlers before all my hair falls out!

  “Tilly?” I hiss her name like a reprimand. “Remind me to veto your next six bright ideas.”

  “Relax, Bowie,” she murmurs out of the side of her mouth like a seasoned ventriloquist. “Once you see how awesome your eyelashes are, you’ll be coming back with me month after month.”

  “I’m not a convert just yet. But if my vision is still intact by the time we leave, I might consider it. Lord knows I’ve engaged in far more dangerous efforts.”

  The women buzzing around like a hive instruct us to relax for twenty minutes while they take off to play eyelash roulette with some other person’s visual field.

  I spin around and catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and swallow down a scream.

  “GAH!” I cry out as I lean in to inspect myself. “I look like a castoff from A Clockwork Orange.” My lashes have adhered to round peach-colored globs stuck to my upper eyelids, extending my eyes unnaturally and giving me that perpetual state of surprise look that no one is ever going for. Shockingly, though, I can still manage to blink.

  The door to the back room opens, and James heads out. He takes a seat at one of the fancy massage chairs lining the back wall and swiftly takes off his shoes and socks, before sticking his feet into a bubbling bin of water at the base of his seat.

  “How do you like that?” I whisper over to Tilly. “It looks as if the dapper deputy is having the works done today.”