Meow for Murder Mysteries Boxed Set

by Addison Moore

  “Bowie, you can’t be serious about that guy. He’s completely disconnected from reality.”

  “I can’t help it. It’s nice to feel appreciated as a woman,” I snip as I iron out the front of my dress just to prove to Shep that I happen to have a figure hiding out under this tarp. “Besides, if the only man I can get to give me a sideways glance happens to be disconnected to reality, so be it. If you haven’t noticed, my unique situation leaves me a bit disconnected with reality, too.” Shep not only knows about the fact I’m a wanted felon, but just last month he helped me speak to my father.

  That frown on his face lets me know I’m not getting his approval anytime soon.

  He leans in and I can feel the warmth of his body.

  “Have you received any more of those ominous notes?” he whispers and I take in his warm scent, the spice of his cologne, and the mint on his breath.

  Last month, both Shep and I received messages alluding to the fact that someone was watching us—more to the point me. And as much as it makes me shudder, I’ve decided to let it ride for now.

  “No,” I whisper back as my hand absentmindedly latches onto his tie. I can’t help it. I like the proximity of his body to mine, and a part of me wants to hold on for dear life. “Have you?” I bat my lashes up at him, doing my best to flirt, but Shep remains unflinching.

  “Not yet, but I anticipate something coming up soon. Do you have any idea who might be behind this?”

  My eyes quickly dart around the room and happen to snag on Regina Valentine dressed in red, with an eye patch covering one eye. It’s safe to say she marches to the beat of a different drummer.

  “Regina laid out some second-tier threat last month. She’s still interested in you.” I frown his way. “They could have come from her. I don’t like to think about the alternative.”

  The alternative in question is someone from one of the mob families I ticked off. “Both the Fazios and Morettis aren’t too pleased with me at the moment.”

  Shep’s lips curve at the mention of those infamous families. Not only does Shep specialize in writing thrillers, they just so happen to be based on real life mobsters—specifically my family. Apparently, Shep knows as much about the mob as I do, or so he thinks. He’s a little jagged when it comes to the details.

  A thought comes to me.

  “Hey? If you want, I can read over the manuscript you’re working on and I can, you know, make sure it reads authentic.” I don’t dare breathe a word about the mob in a room with this many roving ears.

  His cheek rises on one side as the threat of a lopsided grin threatens to break out.

  “I’d like that.” He inches back and his eyes ride over me once again, and I swear on all that is holy, they leave a sizzling trail in their wake.

  Regina calls to him from a few feet away.

  “Come quick!” she calls. “Your detective services are needed.”

  I can’t help but roll my eyes at that one.

  Shep turns my way. “Save a dance for me?” His eyes magnetize to mine, and it’s simply electric.

  “You bet.” I swoon as he takes off to see what farce Regina has dreamed up now.

  I head over to the bar and help Mud as we dole out drinks to the well-to-do-masses—vodka concoctions that have been christened as the designer drink of the evening called Masquerade Nights. Once the demand for hard liquor slows, I thread my way through the jovial crowd to see if I can find my waitresses—as in the girls who work for me in the Manor Café, not to mention checking the canapé supply in the kitchen. But I don’t get three feet from the bar before spotting Tilly in her gorgeous gold gown.

  “Hey, chickee, how’s it going?” I ask before noticing that she’s holding the hand of a man in a pinstriped suit.

  She leans my way. “Better than expected. I’m working on a two-fer for the night. And you?”

  I’m about to answer when Jackson Mortimer blinks into existence before me and tucks his lips to my ear.

  “Meet me in the library, sweetheart,” he whispers. “I’ve got something special to show you that I think you’ll really appreciate.”

  I suck in a quick breath just as Tilly giggles like a schoolgirl over at the man in the pinstriped suit.

  Shoot.

  There goes a perfectly good vision that I would have sworn on my upside down life was meant for Tilly.

  I’ll have to break the news to her later.

  Although, according to her body language, she won’t be too disappointed.

  I offer Jackson a cool glance. “As enticing as your offer sounds, I think—”

  I’m about to turn him down flat when gasps and light screams emerge from nearby.

  The crowd parts as a woman in a pink dress staggers her way over with her hand clasped over her neck.

  A jewel-encrusted mask falls from her as she reaches out to grab Jackson by the sleeve but misses as she lands to the floor, flat on her back, arms splayed wide for all to see.

  Shep emerges from the crowd and quickly checks the poor woman’s vitals before shaking his head my way.

  A crowd quickly gathers around the body.

  Maddie won’t have to worry about any more philanthropic efforts.

  Madeline Swanson is dead.

  Chapter 3

  Screams erupt through the ballroom like a chorus as Shep quickly calls for backup on his phone.

  “Give us some room,” I shout as the crowd presses tightly around poor Madeline, sprawled across the floor. “No crowding.”

  I drop down next to Shep as both of our chests pound out of rhythm. Madeline’s face is ghostly pale, a thin line of lavender liquid drips from her lips, her pink dress sits askew, and her neckline is stretched as if she had been plucking at it, but it’s the dark spot near the bottom of the skirt that catches my eye.

  “Shep, look,” I whisper as I point over to the peacock feather trapped in the hem of her gown. “How do you think that got there?”

  His brows furrow as he quickly takes a picture of it.

  “I don’t know. But she could have picked it up as she was walking.”

  “Doubtful with that fabric.” I spike to my feet and quickly retrace her steps.

  Madeline staggered in from the left. She was unstable on her feet, clutching at her throat.

  A glimmer of a glass sits on the floor near the entry to the room, and there’s a film of lavender liquid in it, just like the drippings from Madeline’s lips. I quickly scoop it up with the hem of my skirt. If it’s evidence, I sure as heck don’t want to compromise it. I give a quick glance around, noting the man in the red suit who pulled Madeline to the side earlier stands by the door. He’s twirling a ring on his finger with his thumb, over and over, a nervous twitch if ever there was one. His eyes meet mine, and he frowns before making his way toward the body on the ground.

  Odd. I specifically saw him speaking to her just a little while ago. It’s almost as if he had no reaction to what befell the woman he was just having a conversation with. I decide to follow him and spot Kiera Hillerman, the blonde friend of Madeline’s, throw her arms around him.

  “Oh, Lucas!” she wails. “What’s to become of us? Our poor Maddie is gone!”

  Poor Maddie, huh?

  Not an hour ago she was accusing her of being philanthropic with her body. I guess giving up the ghost changes things. It whitewashes people of their sins pretty quickly—even moments after death.

  I spot that redheaded friend of Madeline’s staring dazed at the body on the floor as a team of emergency medical workers make their way in, followed by members of the sheriff’s department.

  “Sophia.” I step in close to the redhead and she does a double take my way.

  “We met earlier. Jackson introduced us,” I say, nodding over to him as he speaks with Shep. “I’m Bowie Binx.”

  “Oh, right.” She blinks hard. “What a disaster. I mean, who thought this night would end this way?”

  “Not me.” Some superpowers I have as far as peering into the fut
ure goes. Of all the things I could have seen, my mind decided to zero in on a flirtation gone awry. I take in the woman’s pale face and her bright orange lips that only seem to accentuate the cardinal hue of her hair. “Sophia, when you were at the bar, do you know what kind of drink Madeline might have ordered?” I ask as I curl the glass in my hand behind my back.

  Her lips part as a mild look of confusion takes over her face. “How do you—” She shakes her head. “I don’t know, Kiera was ordering something for her.” She takes a deep breath. “I was late to that party.” She shrugs. I got waylaid speaking to Jackson. Her lips invert a moment. “You don’t think somebody spiked her drink, do you? I mean, she was choking, and gagging, and clawing at her throat. My God, you don’t think someone killed her, do you?”

  “Well, maybe not on purpose. She could have ingested something she was allergic to. But the coroner will be able to determine that pretty quickly.”

  Sophia takes a step in closer to the body, her eyes quickly washing over her friend as she lies there lifeless just as Shep steps over to us.

  “Oh my God.” The words swim from her in a panic as she points to the same dark circle that caught my eye earlier. “That feather”—she wails as she cranes her neck in every direction—“I knew Kiera would take things too far. They never got along, but I’ll admit, I never saw this coming.” She darts off and the crowd blocks our view of her.

  “Shep, I found this on the floor.” I hold the glass out over the fabric of my dress. “It has a film of lavender liquid in it. I found it near the entry, in the direction where Madeline stumbled from. It’s the same color liquid that was—”

  “On her lips.” He quickly pulls the pocket square from his suit and gingerly takes the glass from me. “Bowie, this could be evidence.”

  “I know,” I say a smidge excited. “And you’re welcome.”

  He frowns my way. “I’m not thanking you. This could be compromised. You should have called me over.”

  “There were people all around. Someone would have kicked it away. Or the killer could have come back for it,” I hiss. “And did you hear? Sophia thinks Kiera took things too far.” My eyes widen over at him. “Shep, we have a murder on our hands.”

  His lips stretch slightly. “Bowie, I have a murder on my hands. Your job is to manage the Manor Café and keep your head low, remember?”

  I frown over at him. “I remember.”

  A petite brunette pops up with her hair pulled into a bun and her pale eyes narrowed in over me while she glowers as if I were the perpetrator in question.

  “Detective Grimsley.” I offer a nod her way.

  “Nora.” Shep sighs at his former fiancée as he quickly gives a rundown on all that’s happened.

  “Give me the glass.” She pulls a plastic bag out of her pocket and takes it. “I’ll have forensics go over this.” She looks my way. “I would appreciate it if you left the sleuthing to those of us who are qualified to do so.” She shoots Shep the stink eye. “Let’s speak to this Kiera woman and see if we can open and close this case in one night.”

  They start to take off and Shep backtracks, piercing me with those day-glow eyes.

  “Bowie”—he whispers my name like a secret, with a twinge of disappointment in his tone—“do us both a favor. Stay away from this case.”

  Nora nods. “What he said.”

  They take off and I all but roll my eyes at the two of them.

  Why in the world would I want to involve myself in another murder investigation?

  I spot a man with a slight bald spot, a white feathered mask in his hand, and I recognize him from earlier this evening. He’s the one that grabbed Madeline by the elbow and had a few heated words with her before she took off.

  Without putting too much thought into it, my feet sail me in his direction.

  He’s handsome, dark hair for the most part, has broad shoulders and what appears to be a genuine air of concern about him.

  “It’s a horrible thing,” I say as I come upon him.

  He turns to look at Madeline lying there and blows out a heavy breath.

  “You can say that again.”

  “I’m Bowie Binx. I run the Manor Café. Did you know her?” I refrain from referring to the poor girl as the deceased.

  “Yes, actually, I knew her well. Parker Goldman.” He nods. “Madeline and I were working on a project together. I guess I won’t have to worry about that anymore.”

  “Project?” I lean in. “As in her philanthropy?”

  He gives a little laugh as if the philanthropy was a joke.

  “No, not that. This was something else entirely.” He shifts his gaze to the girl on the floor and a cold smile curls on his lips. “But that’s all in the past now.”

  The man in the red suit lets out a horrible moan as he falls to his knees before Madeline’s body and the entire room quiets to a hush.

  “Who’s that?” I whisper to Parker as we witness a rather theatrical performance. And believe me, if I didn’t see him twirling his bling by the door while watching things play out with an air of indifference, I wouldn’t be so quick to judge.

  Back in Hastings, the mob-rich territory in New Jersey where I’m from, I’ve seen my fair share of funeral theatrics—and, the man in red is right up there with the best of them.

  Parker’s chest bucks with a dry laugh as if he, too, found the drama amusing.

  “That’s Lucas. He is, was, Madeline’s boyfriend. I guess this is his moment in the limelight.” He winks my way. “Sometimes you gotta make it look good for the sheriff’s department.” He takes off, leaving me with his cryptic words.

  For the sheriff’s department?

  My God, this is all a show. I look back at Lucas who continues to howl like a werewolf in front of a full moon.

  I have to find Shep.

  No sooner do I take off than I bump into a body.

  “Excuse me,” a deep voice strums as Jackson Mortimer takes both of my hands and kisses them in turn. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine, I just”—a thought comes to me—“Jackson, do think someone could have done this to your friend on purpose?”

  That flirtatious demeanor of his shifts on a dime as he shoots a sour look to the crowd around Madeline Swanson’s body.

  “I suppose nothing is impossible. Maddie had a way about her. Some might say she had a nasty disposition.” He sharpens his gaze over my eyes. “But don’t fret. These things have a way of working out in the end, as all things do.” He rubs the inside of my left hand with his thumb and I quickly pull it away as if removing it from the flames.

  Just as I’m about to rebuff his touchy-feely efforts, the room begins to swirl and that old, familiar, warm, fuzzy feeling takes over and a vision forms in my mind.

  The night sky hangs above, peppered with stars as I see Lucas holding Kiera by the arms.

  “Nobody needs to know,” he riots as he gives her a slight rattle.

  “Nobody tells me what to do,” she snips. “I should have done this the very first night and saved myself the trouble.”

  The room blinks back to life in a dizzying roar and Jackson Mortimer is no longer holding my hands. Shep Wexler is.

  “Bowie?” Shep’s voice is loud and sharp.

  “Yes?” I straighten in an instant and take in the worry on his face.

  “Was Jackson hurting you? I practically had to chase him away.”

  “No.” The word comes out less than a whisper as my mind drifts back to that strange vision.

  “Bowie, what keeps happening to you? Are you all right? Are you prone to seizures?”

  “What? No!” Oh dear God, he’s going to demand I get my head examined.

  “I’m sorry, I think you need to see a doctor, or maybe this is a psychiatric issue. But I’ve seen you zoned out and unresponsive one too many times for me not to step in to help. I’m worried about you.”

  My heart drums at the thought of Shep worrying about me, stepping in to help me.

 
; My breathing grows erratic.

  “I don’t need your help, Shep. I’ll stay out of your investigation if you stay away from my problems.”

  I bolt out of the ballroom and straight out of the manor under a star-filled night.

  It’s bad enough Shep knows one dark secret of mine. I have no intention of adding something supernatural to the mix.

  It looks as if Shepherd Wexler and I don’t stand a chance in hell of happening.

  An image of Madeline Swanson lying lifeless on the floor flits through my mind, and a part of me knows I can’t keep my end of the bargain.

  I’m not staying out of his investigation.

  And I have a feeling he’s not backing down when it comes to investigating my fractured mind either.

  Chapter 4

  One might think the day after some poor soul dropped dead at the Mortimer Manor, the Manor Café would be listless and devoid of a single human body, but quite the contrary is true.

  Every chair, table, and booth was filled as soon as we opened the doors at seven a.m., and that includes Shep’s regular table near the back. You’d think a hotshot writer like him would want a primo window seat where he can stare out at the green belt surrounding the manor and the hundreds of feisty felines lounging over it. The rest of the patrons seem to get quite a kick out of watching the kitties while noshing on their morning waffles.

  I came in early myself and thought I’d give making a special of the week a whirl. I’ve been toying with the idea for a while, so I picked a few recipes, but since Nana Rose’s lasagna was making my tummy rumble I thought I’d start there.

  The Manor Café has three cooks and a baker, but I’ve taken the helm on this dish. I crumbled and browned the ground beef, whipped together a tomato sauce base with garlic, onions, fennel, sugar, a hint of cloves, black pepper, and a sprinkling of hope sent from my dead Italian ancestors before allowing the sauce to simmer for the next couple of hours.

  I may not have paid much attention to Nana and my mother in the kitchen, but one thing I keenly observed was the fact the sauce was left alone to do its thing for hours at a time. The thought of heating up spaghetti sauce from a can was tantamount to cursing in our house.