Meow for Murder Mysteries Boxed Set

by Addison Moore

And if they don’t, they should.

  Chapter 14

  The next day, the café is bustling once again. It’s a little after four in the afternoon and the dinner rush is in full swing.

  Shep heads up to the counter where Tilly and I are busy making a few fresh pots of coffee. It’s the one product that sells just as good in the morning as it does in the evening—even the leaded variety.

  Shep nods to the two of us. “I’m heading out, ladies.” He sets his briefcase down on the counter as he digs into his pockets for his keys.

  Tilly hops in his direction. “The way you were pounding on that keyboard all day, I bet you finished your book.”

  “I’m close. But I did get a couple of chapters in.” His cheeks flicker as he looks my way. “Goodnight, ladies. Stay out of trouble.”

  “Staying out of trouble is my middle name,” I’m quick to fire back. “I’ll be off in an hour.” My stomach does a few flips at the prospect of what I’m about to say next. “I can go over one of your books if you like. You know, I can head to your place—or you can come to mine. Pixie would love it.”

  Regina comes sniffing around with her hair in a heap on top of her head like a messy brown mop. And darn it, if it doesn’t up her cute factor.

  “What are you doing with his books?” She looks between the two of us, rife with suspicion.

  “Proofreading,” I say it a little too fast as I try to mask the real reason I was offering to look over his work.

  I just so happen to be Shep’s voluntary mob consultant. But in truth, I was hitting him up for some alone time to see if we can move our relationship to a whole new level—the level where the lips meet and the hands go wild.

  It’s not my usual MO. I’m all about being chased by men—the feds and mobs withstanding. But it’s Friday night. And I haven’t had a date in months. Here’s hoping he takes the hint and accepts my deliciously salacious offer.

  Shep nods. “Bowie has a unique talent when it comes to filling in the blanks.” He frowns my way. “Missing words, things like that.” A sorrowful look crosses his face. “I’m sorry, Bowie. It’s my mother’s birthday. My siblings and I are headed to dinner out in Sterling Lake.”

  A snickering laugh escapes Regina as she pretends to sort the menus.

  Shep’s lips twitch in my direction, and those piercing blue eyes cut right through me.

  “How about tomorrow night? My place,” he says it low and seductive, and all sorts of inappropriate things are going on in my body because of it.

  “I’ll bring the lasagna.”

  “Sounds good.” He nods to the three of us before taking off.

  Tilly squeals so loud in my ear it sponsors double vision for a moment.

  “It’s a date!” she screams.

  “It’s a date,” I scream right back.

  Regina clears her throat and we look over to see Shep standing there with an amused look on his face.

  “Forgot my briefcase.” He scoops it up as a wicked smile tugs at his lips. “Goodnight, ladies. And remember to stay out of trouble.”

  “Stay out of trouble.” I grunt as soon as he clears the exit. “It’s as if he thinks it bears repeating.”

  Regina steps over. “Knowing you, it probably does. So where are the two of you off to tonight?”

  Tilly butts her shoulder to mine. “Well? Are we off to investigate or not?”

  A thought comes to me.

  “Wait a minute.” I crane my neck and catch a glimpse of Shep driving off down Main Street. “If Shep and his siblings are out for dinner, this might be the perfect time to head back to his sister’s office. If I can just get a quick glimpse of Wallace Hathaway’s account, it might paint a clearer picture of things. Like, maybe Madeline was moving funds to some of her other friends’ accounts? Or maybe she was siphoning additional large sums to Kiera?”

  Regina shakes her head. “I don’t know who the heck those people are, but count me in.”

  Tilly and Regina whip off their aprons, and in less than ten minutes the Mortimer Café is down three waitresses.

  I’m about to peel back the curtain and see what information is hiding in Wallace Hathaway’s financial report.

  Let’s hope it was worth the trip.

  * * *

  By the time Regina, Tilly, and I drive out to Sterling Lake—after an impromptu wardrobe change—Tilly insisted we show up clad in black, and after a jaunt through Pickin’ Lickin’ Chicken—Regina’s request because she was hungry enough to kill, and seeing that the only two potential homicide victims were Tilly and me, I happily acquiesced—Financial Premier is officially closed for the day. The parking lot is empty, save for a small pink car that touts the words Magnificent Maids on the side.

  Premier Financial locked up over an hour ago, and there’s not an employee or customer in sight.

  “What’s the plan?” Tilly whispers.

  Regina rolls her eyes while cradling that bucket of chicken in her lap.

  “You don’t need to whisper, Tilly,” she snips. “We’re still in the car.”

  I make a face. “Just follow me and be very quiet. It looks as if the back door is being propped open by a mop. We’ll head in through there. Kelly’s office is to the left. I’ll need the two of you to keep an ear out and warn me if anyone is coming. There might be a straggler in there who has nothing better to do on a Friday night but sit in that industrial-sized box.”

  Regina huffs while waving a chicken leg in her hand. “Why do I feel exposed?”

  Tilly snaps off her seatbelt. “Oh come on, Regina. Once we finish up the jewel heist, we’ll hit Scooter Springs and I’ll buy you both a drink.”

  The three of us head in and narrowly miss the cleaning lady who’s currently roaring up a storm with the vacuum and a set of headphones on.

  We land in Kelly Wexler’s office and I shut the door behind us, closing my eyes a moment in hopes my heart will stop racing. But no such luck. In fact, when I open them back up and spot both Tilly and Regina sitting on the small sofa in the corner pilfering through that bucket of chicken, I nearly launch my heart out of my chest.

  “Are you girls nuts?” I traipse over on my tiptoes as if that made this little breaking and entering escapade any better. “Why on earth did you bring that chicken in here?”

  “Because we’re hungry.” Tilly takes an aggressive bite into a juicy looking thigh, and it takes all of my strength not to join in on the impromptu picnic we seem to be having.

  “Keep an ear out for the housekeeper, would you?” I hiss as I head to the desk and in no time bring her computer to life—surfing her client files with ease until I hit Hathaway, Wallace.

  Several portfolios pop up, but it’s the file marked Hathaway Foundation that I click into. The screen populates once again, and I note an entire column dedicated to donations.

  “Bingo,” I whisper to myself as I quickly snap a picture of the screen.

  I go as far back as I can, snapping away while Tilly regales us with stories of her naughty night with Jackson Mortimer.

  “Wait,” I say as I’m momentarily disrupted from studying Wallace Hathaway’s philanthropic endeavors. “Did you say barbeque sauce? As in the condiment?”

  “That’s right.” Tilly nods just as Regina rattles her by the arm and begs her to continue.

  I do the same, scouring these donations. Most of these seem on the up and up. Money is thrown at museums, other foundations, libraries, schools, and art centers. But about once a month, a donation of exactly ten thousand dollars is sent to Madeline Swanson.

  Huh. That’s strange. I mean, if she’s an employee, wouldn’t she be paid through payroll? Or maybe this is the way they did it? But ten thousand dollars a month? If that’s what Wallace was offering Madeline to give away his money, boy, am I in the wrong line of work.

  I scroll to the bottom and, sure enough, there’s that half a million dollar donation. It reads, BD Goober, Inc. And it’s dated exactly a week before Madeline was murdered. I bet she was going t
o get a nice cut out of that, too. You don’t get raised by mobsters without understanding that you get a cut out of every deal.

  I wonder what BD stands for?

  The door to the office flies open and a harrowing scream ignites as a woman in a flirty pink maid’s outfit belts out an impromptu aria. Honestly, she’s not half bad.

  Tilly and Regina hop to their feet and start in on the howling fun, chicken goes flying, and I try my best to scramble from behind the desk.

  “I’m calling the police!” the woman shouts before leaving and shutting us into the room once again.

  “The police!” Tilly howls. “I can’t get arrested. I don’t want a record.”

  “You already have a record,” Regina snips. “It’s me I’m worried about.” She tosses the bucket to the floor and at least eight good pieces scatter. “Let’s make a run for it.” She starts for the door, and I block her.

  “That woman might have a gun,” I say. “Let’s try the window.”

  We make a run for the window, and for the life of me, we can’t get it open.

  “I can’t get it to budge,” Tilly cries. “My fingers are too greasy. This is all your fault, Regina!”

  Regina growls right at her. “This is Bowie’s fault, you nitwit. Ever since she came into Starry Falls, people have been dropping like flies and getting arrested. The law of probability has dictated this is our turn. That’s what we get for tagging along on one of her illegal adventures. Let this be a lesson to you, Tilly. The next time Opal wants to hire a stranger, feel free to shoot on sight.”

  “Enough talk about killing me,” I say, dropping to my knees. I’m about to scoop up the chicken before we storm our way out of here—I’d hate to leave a greasy pile of poultry behind in Kelly’s office. I grab the bucket and spot a single leg still rolling around the bottom, and without putting too much thought into it, I pull it out and take a huge bite. I can’t help it. I’ve always been an emotional eater.

  The door swings open and, oh my word—

  “Bowie?” Shepherd Wexler thunders, and suffice it to say, he looks more than a little startled to see me. His sister runs in behind him, as does his brother, Lee. “Are you eating chicken?”

  “Shep!” Tilly and Regina cry out at once.

  “I can explain everything,” I say as I struggle to rise to my feet.

  Kelly groans hard. “Why does it look like a fried chicken piñata went off in my office?”

  Lee, Shep’s look-alike hot blue-collar brother, starts in on a dark laugh.

  “Nice seeing you again, Bowie.” He shakes his head. “Shep was just telling us what a handful you’ve been since you blew into town when Kelly got the call from the security company.”

  Kelly narrows her eyes my way. “I’m going to have the three of you arrested and your little chicken, too!”

  It takes a half hour of shouting for Shep to convince his sister and the sheriff’s deputies who arrive on the scene that this was all a big clucking misunderstanding—only Shep’s language was a bit saltier.

  Tilly, Regina, and I pick the place clean of any fried offenses, and within an hour we’re all back safely in Starry Falls.

  * * *

  Shep stares hard at me from across the sofa as I hold Pixie back in my cabin.

  “Start at the beginning,” he says, unamused as to any of the shenanigans that unfolded this evening. He told me so himself on the drive home.

  Tilly drove Regina home, even though Regina insisted on riding shotgun in Shep’s truck but he outright refused her. But it was the first time I would have gladly acquiesced my spot to her. Needless to say, Shep was in a mood all the way back to the cabin. And not a good one.

  “So I had this idea,” I say, scooting in close and pulling Pixie into my lap.

  “That’s where you went wrong,” he deadpans. “The next time you have an idea, you should run the other way. Bake a cake. Bake a lasagna. Take a nip off of Opal’s arsenal of comfort. But for God’s sake, do not deep dive into any vagrant notion that might pop into your mind.”

  I scoff over at him. “Are you saying I have bad ideas?”

  “I’m saying you have dangerous ideas. You’re the one who called them bad.” He nods. “But I’d go with that if I were you.”

  “I’d say something snarky right back, but I know what side my legal toast is buttered on. Thank you for sparing me the clinker.”

  “The clinker is still hungry to have you, in the event you haven’t noticed. I would think your Uncle Vinnie would frown on your recent breaking and entering effort. And I’m going out on a limb to say, I bet he wouldn’t be too thrilled about you interfering in one homicide investigation after another.”

  “He wouldn’t be too thrilled I let a homicide detective slash thriller writer in on my secret past either, but you don’t see me berating myself for it.”

  Shep inches back, a smile forming on his lips.

  “Okay, you got me. What did you find in Kelly’s office other than a bucket of golden fried chicken?”

  Pixie lets out a sharp mewl at the thought of a tasty bird.

  “Madeline Swanson was up to no good.” I whip out my phone and show Shep the records that indicate Madeline Swanson was taking a donation for herself to the tune of ten grand before we look at the much heftier one she sent Kiera.

  Shep shakes his head. “The night of the murder, I could have sworn Kiera and Madeline weren’t getting along.”

  “They weren’t, which makes this donation that much more dicier.”

  “All right, Detective Binx.” Shep lands those Siberian husky cool blue eyes my way. “Who are your suspects and why?”

  “Ooh.” I lean in. “Why do I feel like you’re flirting with me?”

  “Because justice is your love language.”

  “Something like that,” I say as Pixie traipses over into his lap. “First up, Kiera Hillerman. She’s the owner of Goober, Inc., a very successful start-up that bilks millions of innocent people out of hard-earned dollars with overpriced stuff. The night of the murder, Kiera was the one who warned me to keep an eye out on my boyfriend around Madeline. And, not only was she the one who volunteered to get a round of drinks for her friends, but the mask she was wearing that night was made of peacock feathers. And we both know what we found attached to the hem of Madeline’s dress.”

  He nods. “A peacock feather.”

  “Not to mention she runs a company that has a lab. She had access to cyanide if you ask me. And Kiera heavily implied that Madeline had stolen one of her boyfriends, or at least had her way with him.” That vision I had of Kiera informing Lucas—“Nobody tells me what to do. I should have done this the very first night and saved myself the trouble”—comes back to me. It hasn’t come true yet. I bet it comes true right as I’m about to bust her for murder. “Kiera has the motive and the means to pull it off.”

  “I’d tend to agree. Who else?”

  “Sophia?” I shrug. “She claims to have been running Jackson’s social media empire up until Madeline died and then she stepped into Madeline’s shoes to help with her father’s foundation. Madeline was sleeping with Sophia’s boyfriend, Parker, but then Sophia was sleeping with Madeline’s boyfriend, Lucas. I have a feeling the rich and infamous don’t live by the same rules as the rest of us. Sophia mentioned something about having an open relationship with Parker.” The night of the murder comes back to me in jags. “Sophia is the one that told me about Madeline stealing Parker’s youth serum and selling it to his competitor. I guess all of those billionaires who thought it was a good idea to cut their kids off at the financial knees once they hit twenty-five had no idea the younger set would resort to a life of crime. Anyway, Sophia said Parker was furious about his life’s work being sold to the highest bidder. He’s definitely a contender.” I lift a finger. “I just had a thought. Right after Madeline collapsed, Sophia all but accused Kiera. She said she knew Kiera would take things too far. She’s definitely a contender, too.”

  “Duly noted. What abo
ut Lucas?”

  “Lucas Lane,” I say, plucking Pixie back and holding her close. “The night Madeline died—I saw him watching her coldly from a distance before one of his pals pulled him over and then the waterworks started. I wasn’t buying it. But that doesn’t mean I think he’s the killer either. Madeline was cheating on him, but he was cheating on her, too.”

  “We can’t rule him out. If he caught her being unfaithful, he still has a viable motive.”

  “Agree.” I sweep my gaze over Shepherd Wexler’s handsome face. “So, are you going to the mourning mixer tomorrow evening at the Hathaway estate?”

  Shep lifts his head a notch, and yet his eyes remain trained on mine.

  “It sounds as if you’re breaking our date for tomorrow.”

  For the life of me, I can’t figure out if he’s being sarcastic or not.

  “Huh”—I say—“I was so thrown off that you took me up on my offer, I forgot all about Jackson’s mixer.”

  “So did I.” He looks momentarily dejected. “Do me a favor. Don’t talk to any of the suspects tomorrow night. Nora and I will be there. Let us do the heavy lifting. You’ve done enough, Bowie. You risked it all tonight. If I hadn’t shown up, you might have found yourself in a jail cell along with Tilly and Regina.”

  “Being trapped in a cage with Regina sounds like a fate worse than both the feds and the mob could dream up.”

  His chest bounces with a dry laugh as he stands, and I walk him out.

  “Goodnight, Bowie.” He gives Pixie a gentle pat to the head. “Sleep tight, both of you.” He glances down at the diamonds dripping from my wrist. “Any luck trying to figure out who gave that to you?”

  “None,” I say, wriggling it off and holding it between us. “But I’m guessing the feds are out.”

  “Have you checked it for an inscription?”

  “Pfft,” I say, turning it over. “Nobody inscribes jewelry anymore.” I hold it under the light and, sure enough, a small gold disc dangles from the lobster clasp with the initials S.S. inscribed in a flowery font. “S.S.?” I look up at Shep in wonder. “Those are my initials. But I don’t get it. I’ve never seen this bracelet before. Oh my God!” I strangle it with my fist in horror. “Johnny must have sent this. He figured out where I was. It doesn’t matter if he’s sitting in a prison cell. He’s probably got his buddies in the Moretti family doing his diamond dirty work.”