Meow for Murder Mysteries Boxed Set

by Addison Moore

  Kiera nods to Lucas. “This is Detective Sexler.” She giggles as she brings her fingers to her lips. “Did I just say that out loud?” She licks her bottom lip as she looks him up and down.

  Wait just a disrespectful minute.

  I glide my arm around Shep’s waist and pull him in.

  “We’re looking forward to the mixer at the Hathaway estate,” I say to the two of them.

  Shep gives me a sideways glance, but I choose to ignore it.

  Keira sighs. “As are we.” She looks to Lucas. “Jackson is putting together one last soiree for Mads.” She purses her lower lip while clutching at her chest as if the idea were adorable.

  Lucas frowns. “Nice of him to let me know. But don’t worry,” he says to her sternly. “I’ll be there.” He tries to brush off his irritation but doesn’t seem to get far as he looks our way. “How can I help you?”

  “Actually”—I glance to Shep and shrug, wondering if our original plan is still in motion, and he gives a slight nod affirming that it is—“I fell into some unexpected money.” I lift my bracelet for the two of them to ogle and Kiera gasps with delight. “My uncle passed away and left me his entire estate,” I tell them.

  Dear God, I hope I didn’t just curse Uncle Vinnie to death.

  I’m moved to sneak in a quick sign of the cross but choose to abstain.

  Kiera coos as if that, too, were adorable. “I’m sorry to hear that. What’s the jackpot?”

  Shep stiffens at her word choice, and so do I.

  “Two thousand,” I say before having a chance to crunch some serious numbers.

  “Two thousand?” Kiera stomps her foot as if she were the one my Uncle Vinnie let down.

  “Two hundred thousand,” Shep corrects. “Bowie is still grieving.” He slings his arm around my shoulders and I snuggle against his chest because it’s practically mandatory and deliciously so.

  “Ah, I see.” Lucas nods to Kiera. “We’ll talk soon. Don’t worry about a thing. Everything is going to work out. I promise.”

  She rolls her eyes before saying a quick goodbye to the three of us and taking off.

  Everything is going to be all right? What exactly is going to be all right? More to the point, what do they expect can go wrong?

  Getting caught for murder one is where I have my fictitious money.

  Lucas leads us into his spacious office where there’s a simple desk, a less than stellar looking sofa, an oversized computer monitor, and a rather sparse looking calendar laid out on his desk. Shep and I take a seat in the lush burgundy office chairs across from Lucas while he plops down on what amounts to a towering throne.

  Lucas regales us with talks about leveraging my newfound income by utilizing a strategy intended to land me on easy street once I retire. But about twenty minutes into the conversation, my brain begins to sizzle and fizzle—and not in that fun I’m-about-to-have-a-prognosticating-spell kind of a way. No sooner do I tune out than I spot a picture on his bookshelf of Lucas and Madeline as she sports her unibrow proudly. An exotic locale can be seen behind them, and they look happy, on the surface at least.

  “That’s a great shot of the two of you,” I say, nodding over to it.

  Lucas glances back and sighs. “Those were better times. And I’d like to think Madeline is in a better place. It’s funny, but since she’s passed I can’t help but think of her a bit more fondly than I did while she was here.”

  Shep nods. “I hear that’s common. Death has a way of washing away any disagreements we might have had.”

  Lucas ticks his head to the side. “You two look pretty happy. What’s your secret?”

  My mouth falls open as I look to Shep. “He finishes my sentences.” I give a little shrug. “Like now for instance. Go ahead, Shep. Tell him what you think our secret is.”

  His brows furrow. “She tells me what to do and I do it.”

  Lucas and I belt out a laugh at the thought.

  I lean in toward my faux beau. “Have I told you lately that you are a wise, wise man?”

  He leans in a notch himself. “Only every morning when you wake up by my side, sweetheart.”

  My mouth falls open and Lucas laughs alone this go-round.

  “How I miss having that chemistry with someone.” He taps his pen to the table in spite. “But I’m sure when the time is right, I’ll have someone coming around.”

  A wry smile cinches on my lips.

  I happen to know he thought the time for someone else to come around was while Madeline was still living and breathing.

  “I spoke with Sophia the other night,” I say in an effort to needle him with my knowledge of his two-timing ways, and I wriggle with delight when his eyes spring wide like a kid who just got his hand caught in the cookie jar—or more to the point, the nookie jar. “She mentioned Madeline had some nefarious dealings with a friend of yours.” I snap my fingers as if trying to think of his name. “Parker Bowles?” I shake my head at Shep and catch his wide-eyed glare.

  “Parker Goldman.” Lucas leans back in his seat before shedding a satisfied smile. “I heard the same. Unfortunately, I think it’s true. Maddie was obsessed with getting her hands on that serum of his.”

  “Why is that?” Shep asks, and the words come out a touch too stern.

  Don’t they teach them anything in Detective 101? You have to finesse your suspects. You can’t come across gruff or they’ll clam up and the entire investigation will take two steps back.

  “Beats me.” Lucas shakes his head. “Although, she did mention that once the trial was through, the serum was going into the vault for another year or so. Lucas needed FDA approval, and apparently it’s a lengthy process. Maddie was furious.”

  “And the competitor she supposedly sold the formula to?” I lean in. “Was he trying to release it sooner?”

  Lucas glances to the ceiling. “Not that I know of.”

  Shep’s chest thumps. “She did it for the money. Madeline Swanson was drowning in debt, wasn’t she?”

  Lucas closes his eyes a moment. “I know what you’re thinking. Some financial advisor I turned out to be, right? But let me make it clear, Maddie didn’t allow anyone to tell her how to spend her money. Her family is wealthy, but they cut her off once she turned twenty-five. It happened to a lot of our friends. Our fathers are into that whole leave no wealth behind for the next generation movement. Instead, it’s all being funneled out through philanthropist efforts.”

  “Like the one Madeline was working for.”

  “Exactly.”

  Shep’s lips twitch, and I can tell his sexy wheels are turning and churning.

  “Lucas”—he leans forward— “does your father’s firm handle Wallace Hathaway’s finances?”

  “Oh no.” He gives a dark chuckle. “My father and Wallace are competitors through and through. Wallace has his money over at Financial Premier.”

  Financial Premier… why does that sound familiar?

  “Financial Premier,” Shep says it as if he’s more than familiar himself. “My sister works there. It happens to be where I have my own portfolio.”

  “Good place to cast your finances.” He nods. “But before you migrate in that direction,” he pulls out a packet of information and slides it my way, “I’d really like for you to consider us first.”

  “I certainly will,” I say.

  Shep and I stand and my window of questioning Lucas Lane is quickly closing.

  There are still so many things I’m dying to know, like what’s going on between him and Kiera? And what about Sophia? Are they still having an affair?

  Lucas walks us to the door, and I pause a moment.

  “Lucas? Who do you think killed Madeline? Sophia inadvertently pointed a finger at Parker. What do you think about that?”

  He rocks back on his heels as he thinks on it a minute.

  “I don’t know who killed Madeline. But I do know that Madeline was having financial problems. I didn’t think she was desperate enough to steal and make a buck o
ff someone I once considered a friend.”

  His expression grows dark, and I wonder if Lucas knew that Madeline and Parker were having a fling?

  Shep shifts his body. “It doesn’t sound like the two of you are friends anymore.”

  “We’re not close.” He shakes his head. “Let’s just say, Parker was inserting himself where he doesn’t belong. If you ask me, the killer got the wrong person.” His expression lightens on a dime. “Then again, maybe he’s your killer, Detective.” He nods to Shep then me. “I’ll see you at the memorial mixer.”

  Shep and I hightail it out of there and out of the building into the crisp fall air as papery leaves in a rainbow of citrine colors trickle from the trees.

  “Well?” I ask. “What do you think?”

  “I don’t think we learned anything new.” Shep glances back at the building. “Do you think that guy is having it with both Kiera and Sophia?”

  “Jealous?” I ask.

  “Not me. I’m happily married, remember?”

  A laugh bubbles from me. “Our relationship got a demotion no thanks to Kiera, but I liked plan A better myself, too.”

  “So what’s next, Detective Binx?”

  “I think there’s a hedge fund manager at Financial Premier we need to speak with. If Madeline was desperate enough to sell out an old friend, maybe she was desperate enough to steal from old man Hathaway?”

  “No can do. I’m leaving my sister out of this.”

  “Have it your way.” I’m not leaving my newfound sister-in-law out of anything, but Shep doesn’t need to know that.

  His shoulders sag as he looks my way.

  “I know that look, Bowie. You’re thinking about the things you’re going to do once my guard is down.”

  “Only every morning when you wake up by my side, sweetheart,” I toss his words right back at him and he offers the hint of a devilish grin as we head for his truck.

  He’s right, though.

  But I don’t need to blow up his ego with that tidbit just yet.

  Chapter 12

  The entire next day the Manor Café is bustling.

  Tilly and I added five new menu items, and each one has been a huge hit with the hungry crowd. Pumpkin spice pancakes for the breakfast menu, creamy chicken pot pie, a calzone—delicious folded pizza with tangy sauce and enough mozzarella to stretch from New York to Los Angeles—and for dessert, glazed apple dumplings and pumpkin brownies. Of course, the lasagna is now a staple on the menu, too. And if business picks up, Opal has approved the hiring of a couple more cooks and waitresses.

  It’s a little after seven in the evening, and Tilly heads my way while taking off her apron.

  “Take it off, Bowie Binx.” She motions to my apron as well. “Tonight’s the kickoff of the fall festival.”

  “What’s the fall festival?”

  “Every year, on the first day of autumn, all of Starry Falls heads to the Abernathy Farm and knocks back spiked hot apple cider while taking a roll in the hay.”

  “Why do I get the feeling the truth is a little more G-rated than that?”

  Thea waddles by with an enormous tray of dirty dishes.

  “Because it is!” Thea shouts on her way to the kitchen. “And if the two of you go, get me one of those honey apple fritters. They’re to die for. I won’t be able to go until Saturday.”

  “Will do,” I say, taking off my apron and grabbing my purse. “Come on, Tilly.” I thread my arm through hers. “Take me to your fritter.”

  * * *

  The Abernathy Farm is located southeast of the famed waterfalls themselves. And as soon as we get out of Tilly’s car, we’re treated to miles of oaks and maples with their leaves in every fiery hue as they pay homage to the season. The air is crisp and scented with sugary fresh baked goods, and there are throngs of people roaming an expanse of the farm with its craft booths and food tents.

  But the most majestic sight of all is the white rush of water that flows freely down the mountainside to the left. There is nothing grander, purer, and more heavenly than the twin falls this town holds near and dear in its very own moniker.

  Tilly drove to her place first and did a quick change into a pair of jeans so tight it took both Jessie and me to help button them up. She also donned a pair of chocolate brown boots that hit just below her knee and a low-cut orange sweater. Normally, I wouldn’t be so attentive to Tilly’s wardrobe choices, but it just so happens that fall fashion has always been my favorite.

  “I miss this,” I say as we make our way through the crowds. “I miss boots and holey jeans—that I paid a mint for—flannels, cable knit sweaters, my lambskin leather jacket that fits as if an Italian tailor made it just for me, and my collection of Hermes scarves.”

  “What’s a Hermie?” She elbows me before I can answer and points to a tent on the left where a sign reads, welcome local authors. “Well, look who’s here!”

  We thread our way through the thicket of people and spot S.J. Wexler himself seated at the most popular table by far. A line of about sixteen people deep snakes all the way to the churro stand next door.

  “Let’s get a churro, Tilly. And by the time we finish our treats, we can say hi to Shep.”

  “No can do,” she says while fiddling around with her phone. “Jackson just texted and he’s here somewhere with friends. I’ve got to find that boy. My lips have been missing him something fierce all day.”

  “He’s here with friends? Which friends?” Considering the fact Jackson’s friends are all suspects at this point, I’m pretty interested in finding that boy myself. “Wait—hold the phone.” I’m being literal as I pluck the phone right out of her hand. “Did you just say your lips have been missing him all day? As in they’ve become intimately acquainted?”

  “More intimately than you’ll ever know, Bowie Binx.” Tilly ticks her head to the side as a wicked grin takes over. “That vision of yours was a good luck charm. We hit his place that night and then we hit all the bases.”

  “Hang onto the details,” I’m quick to tell her. “I’ve been in a bit of a dry spell ever since I rolled into town, and I’d hate to get hot to trot with no one to blow any of that steam off with.”

  Tilly’s phone buzzes and she examines the text.

  “Sophia’s the friend.” She wags the phone in my face and I can see the text from Jackson. “And I’m calling your bluff. You’ve got one hot author to blow some sexy steam off with.” She hitches her head toward the tent. “Go get yourself a churro and then get yourself a man. Sexy Wexy is ripe for the picking. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. He hasn’t looked at a girl that way since—” She squints out at the tangerine sky as evening gives way to a star-filled night.

  “Since Regina?” My stomach cinches at the thought of Shep’s stunning yet annoying ex. “Since Nora?” He was engaged to the woman. Surely he gave her a noteworthy glance or two.

  “Nope to both. I guess there’s just you.” Her phone buzzes again, and she gives a little squeal. “Jackson’s near the tractor pull. I can smell a roll in the hay less than two minutes away.” She leans in. “Mud is running the cider press. Slip him a bill or two and he’ll deliver it more spiked than spiced. And don’t forget to take a bite out of that shepherd pie! It’s long overdue.” Her voice trails as she saunters into the crowd.

  I make my way over to the churro stand, pick up two, and eat them both while waiting in line for Shep’s latest book. No sooner do I get to the front of the line than I spot a familiar, crafty yet sultry brunette.

  “Regina?” For reasons unbeknownst to me, I choose to address the vampy vixen by his side rather than the author himself. Her hair is wild, her makeup accentuated with glittery eye shadow, and she’s wearing a skintight red dress that’s more lady of the night than it is night out at the pumpkin patch.

  “Bowie.” Her glossy red lips expand with delight. “I’m Shepherd’s table helper for the night.”

  “Hello, Bowie,” Shep says as my attention shifts his way.

 
He’s donned a tweed jacket, tan shirt, and navy tie. His thick hair is slicked back with a sheen, but it’s those hooded lids and that dangerous smile flirting with his lips that sends a heat wave washing over me. Normally, I’d enjoy the heated sensation, but at the moment, I’m not all too thrilled with anything that has to do with Shepherd Wexler.

  Clearly, he could have asked me to be his table helper.

  I would have said no. But still, it’s nice to be asked.

  “I bought you a churro,” I say as his eyes widen with a touch of hope. “And then I ate it.”

  “Someone’s grumpy.” Regina shoves a copy of The Made Man my way. “I bet you’re here looking for something to keep you company in bed. Happy reading, Bowie.” Her lips expand with a caustic smile. “Shep here tells me you have a cat you can snuggle with. Sounds as if weekends are pretty wild at your place.”

  I growl over at her. Why do I get the feeling that vision I had about finding the two of them in a compromising position is about to come true?

  “No thanks. I’ve already got a copy.” I lean in a notch as I squint over at the good author. “You should really find someone who can fact check your mobster knowledge. You never know who’s reading your books.” I cinch a smile. “I’d better get going. Rumor has it, my new friend Sophia Hathaway is out there somewhere just waiting for some company.”

  Shep fiddles with the pen in his hands, his icy eyes never leaving mine.

  “Bowie.” It’s all he says as the muscles in his jaw flex tight.

  The woman behind me shoves her way to the front, and in a blink the table is mobbed with a pack of literature hungry ladies.

  I don’t bother sticking around for the Sexy Wexy Show. Instead, I head back out into the breezy autumn night and admire the lights strung high over the festivities. The fall leaves, the bales of hay dotting the periphery, Mud and his dicey cider press in the distance, it’s all giving me a pinch of nostalgia for better falls gone by.