Meow for Murder Mysteries Boxed Set

by Addison Moore

  “I cry foul,” Opal huffs as she cinches her gown in the front. “I don’t see why it’s necessary for us to undress if we’re simply here to have our faces ironed out.”

  “I’ll tell you why.” Tilly knocks her shoulder to Opal’s. “Because the good doctor is a pervert. But don’t worry. I plan on using my blooming bosom to garner us a major discount. I’ve got an arsenal that will take both him and his prices down.” She shakes her chest when she says the word arsenal.

  Opal tips her head to the side. “Not a bad idea.” She opens her paper gown a notch and takes a quick glance at the goods. “One look at what I’ve got, and that man will not only give me a discount, he’ll beg to take me to dinner. My breasts haven’t aged a day since I was twenty-two.”

  Tilly snorts. “That’s because you’ve kept them hermetically sealed. Mine have been exposed to an element or two. Just last week, I went up on the roof of the manor, took off all my clothes, and napped for two hours straight.”

  “Two hours?” I muse. “Tilly, you could have burned your delicate bits and pieces to a crisp.”

  “Don’t worry,” she says. “I brought along a tub of margarine I found in the walk-in and slathered it all over my body. And before you get testy with me”—she shoots a look to Opal—“I put it right back in the fridge when I was through.”

  “Great.” I sigh. “I wondered why it was so low when I was scooping it out and dotting it on every pancake order I had this morning.”

  Opal growls, but lucky for Tilly, the door swings open and in strides a tall, classically handsome, faux tan sporting, wavy-haired Dr. Parker Goldman.

  His face brightens at the sight of us.

  “Well, if it isn’t a trio of lovely ladies. What’s on the agenda this afternoon, girls?” He steps over to the patients in question.

  Tilly whips open her paper gown and flashes him with a pair of rosy girls who, true to Tilly’s word, look as if they’ve seen a bit too much sunshine—and have effectively turned into fried bologna.

  “I’m here for the works,” she shouts as if she needed to struggle to be seen in a crowd.

  Opal clears her throat and carefully peels open her gown as well. And let’s be honest, as much as I don’t want to look, a part of me demands to know if hermetically sealing off delicate body parts is something I should look into.

  “Holy wow.” Parker takes a staggering step back, seemingly mesmerized by Opal’s youthful appeal. “You are both stunning in every capacity.” He motions for them to close up shop and they’re slow to comply.

  Opal nods. “I’d like the works myself. I’ve got crow’s feet, frown lines, and forehead wrinkles that I’m no longer interested in housing.” She stretches out the words with that intricate accent only the upper crust can truly achieve.

  Tilly scoots forward. “Iron me out, too, Doc. I’m a firm believer you can never start too early. I’ve still got me a man to snare.” She grazes her teeth over her bottom lip. “Are you up for a little snaring later on? I’ve got a meat hook in my bedroom that hasn’t been used since Christmas.”

  He belts out an apprehensive laugh. “It would be an honor. But I’m afraid I’m already taken.”

  Yeah. By two people. Or at least he was. According to Keira, he was two-timing Sophia with Madeline. And, according to Sophia, he may have bumped off Madeline for stealing some secret youth formula he was ready to unleash on the world.

  He quickly assesses Opal and Tilly, and before either of them could flash another body part his way, he’s injecting them both with enough botulism to paralyze a herd of well-wrinkled elephants.

  “How about you?” He winks my way. “I can squeeze one more in. Just hop into a paper gown and you’re good to go.”

  I can’t help but make a face. I’m sure he’d love to take a look at my tatas. I’d call him out on his peeping Tom ways, but I figure I need to play nice until I squeeze a few answers from him.

  “No thanks.” I force a smile to come and go. “I’ve got an ornery boyfriend back home, and I’d hate to spoil him.”

  Opal gasps, her face unmoving as her eyes flit in my direction.

  “Oh, Bowie, that’s fantastic!” she trills. “I had no idea things progressed for you and Jackson so quickly.”

  “Jackson?” Tilly’s eyes dart my way, and I’m betting if she had control of her facial muscles she’d be scowling at me.

  “Wait a minute.” Parker steps back and examines the roster in front of him. “Opal Mortimer. I thought your name sounded familiar. You must be Jackson’s mother.”

  “Darn tootin’, hot stuff.” Opal gives her chest a shimmy. Her delivery was a little dry, no thanks to the fact she could hardly move her lips, but on the bright side, she could do stand-up as a ventriloquist.

  Parker chuckles. “Well, consider this a freebie, girls.” He points my way. “I bet you’d like in on it now. Offer’s still good.”

  Honestly, if a little bit of liquor cranked up the volume on my sibylline abilities, who knows what a little facial paralysis could do? And since I’d hate to malfunction so early on in my planetary stay, I kindly refuse the offer.

  He touches his finger to his nose while staring intently at me. “I have a vague feeling we’ve met. Were you at Jackson’s masquerade ball?”

  “I sure was. We met and spoke that night. But my face was sort of hidden, so I don’t blame you for not remembering,” I say as I head in his direction.

  “Ah, yes, what’s a masquerade ball without a mask? Please excuse my inability to recall it.”

  “Not a worry. It was a bit of a rough night.”

  Both Opal and Tilly are lying back on their respective glorified lounge chairs while being tended to by a couple of young assistants, pressing warm towels over their faces.

  I shrug up at him. “Any word on what happened to the poor girl?”

  He glances back at Opal and Tilly from over his shoulder.

  “Apparently, she was murdered,” he whispers. “Poison. I’m not sure with what. The sheriff’s department is pretty tight-lipped about this.” He presses his glowing brown eyes to mine. “Please, if you remember any details at all from that night, be sure to call the homicide department. Detective Grimsley is the one I spoke with. I’m afraid if any more time goes by, the case will dissolve.” He sighs at the thought, and I try to make heads or tails out of his words.

  If Parker were the killer, would he really want to encourage others to come forward with information? Unless, of course, he’s so cock-sure he’s untraceable to the incident, he wants to present himself as an innocent party to all this. In that case, his tactic would be brilliant. And, seeing that he’s not only a renowned plastic surgeon, but he’s on the cutting edge of extinguishing wrinkles for good, I’d say he’s pretty darn brilliant.

  “I will,” I assure him. “But I’m sorry to say, I don’t know anything more than you do.”

  His lips curl as if to say his wicked work is done.

  A sign sitting on the counter behind him with a picture of a fish on it catches my eye. It reads, ask me about the innovated ways we’re working on making aging a thing of the past.

  “So”—I point over to the cartoon fish with a goofy grin on its face—“what are the innovated ways you’re working on to make aging a thing of the past?”

  His expression falls flat at the sight of the sign.

  “Yes, well, my laboratory has been experimenting with serums derived from the turquoise fish, a native to Zimbabwe and Mozambique. The fish is known for its advances in the field of dermatology. The serum has taken years to develop and quite a bit of finances.” He glowers at the floor a moment.

  “I take it it’s not going too well?”

  A dark chuckle bucks from him. “It’s going exceedingly well. Unfortunately, my lab was pilfered a few weeks back, and now I’m in litigation with a competitor who has suddenly come up with the exact same formula. I’m afraid it might take years to wade through this legal nightmare.”

  “I’m guessing that
makes you furious.”

  “You bet.” His eyes sharpen over mine. “I was fit to kill when I discovered the serum had been swiped from underneath me.”

  Fit to kill?

  I bet he was.

  “Any idea who could have done something like that to you? They must have sold it for a hefty fee.” I know I would have.

  He nods as he glances to the window. “I have an idea.” He takes a deep breath. “But that’s in the past. All I can worry about now is getting my rights back and blocking my competitor.” He offers an affable smile. “So you’re seeing Jackson. I never thought he’d settle down. But you seem nice enough. I can see why he’d eschew his former lifestyle to make room for something stable.”

  “Yes, well, we’re still a little new.” A thought comes to me. “I just came out of an awful relationship. My ex was cheating on me with one of my good friends.”

  His eyes widen a moment.

  Was that an admission of guilt?

  “I mean”—I clear my throat—“I understand that people change, things happen. No judgment. We made a clean break after he admitted it.”

  Although, I doubt Parker here has admitted anything to Sophia.

  “Hey? You wouldn’t happen to be the same Parker Goldman who’s seeing Sophia Hathaway, would you? Sophia and I hit it off at the wine festival the other day.”

  He swats his thigh playfully. “Guilty as charged.” His features darken. “So you’ve met Sophia?” He frowns a moment. “She and I have been steady for a couple of years now. She didn’t mention Lucas by chance, did she?”

  My mouth falls open. “Madeline’s old boyfriend? No, actually, she didn’t.”

  His tongue protrudes into his cheek as he glances to the window again.

  “Okay, good to know.” He nods. “She’s been helping him, you know, with his grief.”

  So that’s what they’re calling it now.

  “I bet she is.” It comes out a bit testier than I anticipated. “Sophia mentioned that she and Madeline were good friends. She can’t believe what’s happened. She really misses her.”

  His chest pulsates with a huff. “Not nearly as much as her father does.”

  “Mr. Hathaway? What was his name again?”

  “Wallace. Madeline was a vital part of his philanthropy division for the Hathaway Foundation.”

  “Oh, that’s right. Actually, it was Madeline herself who told me that the night of—” I wince in lieu of finishing my sentence.

  “The night she was killed,” he completes it for me. “Madeline loved to brag about her relationship with Wallace. Especially in front of Sophia. I think she knows it got her going. Sophia is a daddy’s girl. But she didn’t want the philanthropy position—too much real world work. So Madeline jumped on it. Sophia wanted one of her good friends, Kiera, to take it on instead, but Kiera had her own business to run.”

  “Goober.” I nod, happy to be in the know. That conversation Kiera and I had in her lab comes back to me. “Parker, who is Kiera seeing? She brought up the fact she was having trouble with her boyfriend, but I never got around to asking his name.”

  His brows twitch. “That’s exactly why I asked if Sophia mentioned Lucas Lane. Prior to Madeline’s death, Sophia had been shouting from the rooftops that Kiera and Lucas had a thing. She made no secret of it with Maddie, but Maddie brushed it off. Maddie.” His face brightens a notch as he says her name.

  “You really cared about her.”

  He closes his eyes a moment. “We were good friends for a time.” His jaw stiffens as he looks to that advertisement of his new serum. “Excuse me.” He exits the room without a lot of fanfare.

  I collect Opal and Tilly as Wanda and I drive those frozen faces right back to Starry Falls where they belong.

  And I try to wade through the shark-infested waters of that conversation I just had with Parker Goldman.

  He didn’t seem pleased with Madeline Swanson at all.

  But was he angry enough to kill?

  Then there’s the new plot twist with Kiera’s dicey love life.

  I’m thinking it’s time to pay a visit to Madeline’s dicey ex, Lucas Lane.

  If Madeline Swanson’s suspect list was a Venn diagram, Lucas seems to find himself in just about every circle.

  Chapter 10

  After a long day at the café serving four large pans of lasagna, and more cups of coffee than I care to count, Tilly and I start to pull out the teacups and teapots for Stitch Witchery. The library is already bustling with women of every age and stage of life, ready to arts and crafts with the best of them. Mostly it’s crafts like knitting, latch hook, embroidery, and cross-stitch that take over the long wooden tables conjoined in the center of that cavernous room, but there are a handful of other odd projects, too. Of course, there are plenty of cats roaming around the library, so the ladies who take part in the crafts free-for-all have the ability to get a little fuzzy snuggle time in as well.

  Before I came on board, Opal opened up the library to the ladies of Starry Falls as a sort of a tea and crafts mixer. But once I spotted Opal slipping a little comfort into her Earl Gray, I knew we had a moneymaking machine on our hands.

  Side note: Opal enlisted me to come up with an entire slew of moneymaking endeavors after that, and I quickly came up with a few doozies—like reading to cats, where the kids can come in, check out a book in the children’s section—and yes, Opal’s library has a blooming children’s section thanks to the program itself— and they can have the pleasure of reading to nonjudgmental little felines who will hardly bat a lash if they mispronounce a word or two. And we’ve got pet therapy where you can find a spot in the gardens out back and squeeze all the felines you want—not to mention the cat yoga sessions headed up by Regina, the queen of mean herself, once a week.

  All we ask in exchange is a donation of any amount to participate. We let the donors know that a portion of all the proceeds goes straight to the feline alliance—i.e., cat food. It covered veterinarian bills for a while until I hit up a couple local vets and asked if they’d care for Opal’s feline population pro bono seeing that she does her part to keep them happy. And now every cat has been tagged, spayed, and neutered—not to mention they’re free of fleas and ticks, and have better teeth than most people I know.

  The library is pretty ritzy, with its dark wood paneling and heavily carved gargoyles and angels hovering above each row of books. It’s ridiculously spacious, about half the size of the public library back in Hastings, and has the entire Dewey-Decimal-nine yards going for it.

  There’s a nonfiction section with religion, self-help, politics, science, and history. There’s a mystery section, my favorite, which includes true crime and cozy mysteries—adorably crafted whodunits with frame-worthy covers, featuring adorable animals or magical bakers. And, of course, romance, sci-fi, paranormal, and thrillers—with plenty of S.J. Wexler releases.

  I’m reading through Shep’s Manon Tate Series right now. A storyline set on the life of mobster Manon Tate. It’s more or less accurate. When Shep is right about something regarding the mob, he’s very right. But when he’s wrong, he’s woefully wrong. And those are usually the parts that give me a little comic relief.

  The marble counter that sits in the front of the library is arranged with every fancy tea set in Opal Mortimer’s collection. No Styrofoam cups here. No siree. Not when there’s comfort involved. This is upper crust all the way. Have I mentioned comfort is code word for whiskey?

  Once I spotted Opal slipping a spot of whiskey into her tea, I knew we were onto an eighty proof financial bonanza. That spot of comfort costs the fine people who attend Stitch Witchery to partake in it, but by the end of the night, Opal’s little tip jar is brimming with enough greenbacks to outfit every cat in here with a diamond studded collar.

  Okay, so it’s not quite that much, but Opal is making money hand over fist—and, per our agreement, I get a healthy percentage of the revenue. It’s definitely enough to put a dent in that brick oven I’m t
rying to purchase for the café. I’m Italian. When it comes to pizza, it’s go brick or go home. Although, the décor in the café could use a little sprucing up, too.

  I guess I’m planning on sticking around this old goofy town. Fine, it’s not so goofy. If anything, I’m the goofy one in the equation. Starry Falls is—well, magical.

  That note Shep found comes back to mind and does its best to wipe all the magic away.

  Whoever penned it all but asked if I was going to stay or if I was going to run.

  It’s almost as if I sent it to myself. I used to sleepwalk as a kid, so it’s not a far stretch. In fact, I’d much rather I sent it to myself.

  I shudder before taking a breath and forcing myself back into the moment as the library brims with knitting needles, hoops, floss, yarn, and needles. Just about every craft is present and accounted for as the sound of women carrying on lively conversations fills the cavernous room.

  A tall, handsome, and rather devilish man steps into the library, and Tilly crops up next to me just in time to sigh at the sight of Jackson Mortimer.

  “Isn’t he dreamy?” She lands her head on my shoulder as if she were one wink away from passing out, or maybe it’s the fact she’s been trying to crack a smile all day. She’s suddenly not such a big fan of Dr. Goldman’s freeze-dried injections now that it looks as if she’s brooding all the time.

  “Nobody says dreamy anymore.” Shep comes to mind and I sigh right along with her. “Come to think of it, he is kind of dreamy.” Shep, not Jackson, but the latter of the two is upon us and I don’t have time to sort out the details.

  Tilly elbows me. “Step off my territory, sister. You can’t have ’em all. And I’m still not thrilled about that defunct vision you gave me.”

  “Yeah? Well, I had another one and there’s no way I’m sharing that one with you.”

  Jackson pauses at the entry to speak with a couple of women, but from where we’re standing, I can’t quite make them out.

  “You had another vision?” Tilly yanks me close by the elbow. “Speak or forever hold your keister after I kick it.”