Purrfect Murder

by Louise Lynn

  Purrfect Murder

  A Hazel Hart Cozy Mystery One

  Louise Lynn

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  Chapter 1

  Hazel Hart tightened her camera’s focus on the bear at the lake’s edge. Using her most powerful telephoto lens, she could have gotten a better close-up, but she’d left it in her shop the day before.

  Oh well, she thought. This will have to do.

  Anthony Ray let out a pitiful meow from his perch at the end of the deck’s railing. He lifted one of his paws to clean the food from his face.

  Hazel ignored her cat.

  Her finger hovered above the shutter, ready to snap a burst of photos. Sudden movement rustled in the trees closest to the water, and the bear started from its place.

  Hazel pressed the button.

  A series of barely audible clicks filled the still air as the bear lumbered down the pebble-strewn beach, leaving nothing but a ripple of water in its wake and a few footprints in the snow.

  Hazel let out an exasperated sigh and turned to Anthony Ray. “You did that on purpose.”

  He looked as smug as he ever did. It was his round black face that did it, and those orb-like eyes, pale green, like beryl. He’d been a stray when he’d shown up at her home in L.A. two years before, before the divorce was finalized. It had been pouring rain when the scrawny black kitten came to her porch and let out a mournful meow. He’d been soaked and shivering, and Hazel didn’t have the heart to turn him away.

  He hardly resembled that lost kitten now. Anthony Ray acted like the king of his domain, and Hazel was but a kind servant. He must have been mixed with some larger breed since he was twice the size and weight of most cats.

  But that didn’t matter. He’d shown up when she needed him, and now, Hazel couldn’t imagine her life without him.

  Hazel leaned against the rail and lifted her camera, an Olympus OM-D, from around her neck. The trees rustled again, and she pointed her lens in that direction and snapped a few photos. The early morning light made it difficult to see far into the forest. The low hanging cedar limbs didn’t help either.

  Probably just another animal … Hazel hoped.

  Anthony Ray put his nose in the air and fluffed out his fur. His eyes focused on the faint sounds in the distance, and Hazel put a hand on his back. He never roamed far from the house, and she wouldn’t let him outside without being nearby, lest he get lost in the woods or become a snack for a bear.

  Her breath came out in white puffs. They’d had another few inches of snow the night before, and it was far from the last snowfall they’d get before winter was over.

  “I hope it’s not that skunk you got into a row with last time,” Hazel said, but Anthony Ray ignored her and carefully went back to cleaning. “Next time, don’t interrupt when I’m trying to get a photo of that bear.”

  Her stomach rumbled. She needed to pick up breakfast before she opened her shop.

  Regardless of the snow and the relative seclusion, Cedar Valley had plenty of tourists in the winter, especially on the weekends, and today was one of those days.

  She bent to his level and looked him right in the eye. He didn’t blink, and neither did Hazel. Then she kissed his fluffy forehead. “I’ll be home to give you lunch around noon. Be good until then, please. I’d take you to the shop, but the clients today have a cat allergy.”

  He followed her to the cabin, and Hazel let him in the back door then locked it before she walked around to the front. Like most of the buildings in Cedar Valley, it was nestled deep in the forest and near the edge of the world-famous Lake Celeste, named for the pale glacial blue of the water. Though it did deepen to a darker blue, the same color as the twilight sky, toward the center.

  The cabin’s interior was more modern than the exterior let on. Two stories with three bedrooms including one in the loft, a great room and an open kitchen. Her favorite features were the large wood burning stove that heated the whole cabin and the wraparound porch. To the back, it looked over the startling blue waters of the lake. To the front, Hazel had a view of a small meadow that hugged the gravel driveway.

  She had even put a darkroom in her garage for developing film when she felt like it. Digital was easier, by far, but there were some things it couldn’t replicate.

  The construction was simple, cedar logs and planks, but it suited her fine. Especially since she’d spent most of her divorce settlement on it. Still, having a place to call home in a town Hazel loved was better than a cheating husband and the outrageous cost of living in L.A. any day of the week.

  Plus, it was the location that mattered the most. The solitude and surrounding wilderness were both perfect for her job as a photographer. And Cedar Valley had been her home as a child which didn’t hurt either. Tucked into the northern Sierras, the lake boasted a long history in the area, especially around the Gold Rush. The town itself was still a relatively sleepy place, outside of the tourists, and it remained almost unchanged since the building boom in the 1960s.

  She hopped into her truck, a Ford F-150 in racer red. Personally, she would have gone for a smaller car, but she needed the oversized wheels and four-wheel drive to get around in the long-lasting winter months.

  Her cabin was nestled on the outskirts of the town proper, but it only took her ten minutes to make it to the main drag, Lake Street. Huge pine and cedar trees crowded the road on either side, their boughs heavy with snow, as the town appeared around the bend in the road.

  Cheerful shops lined the street, mostly in the style of rustic log cabins or alpine lodges with deep-green trim, their doorways lined with multicolored sparkling lights this time of year. The plow had been through that morning, which made driving easier, and the sidewalks were kept clear of snow, so the tourists could walk without tripping over the stuff.

  Hazel parked behind her shop, Wild @ Hart Photography, and walked a block to the corner. It was early enough that most tourists hadn’t hit the streets, so only locals were milling about and getting ready for the rush.

  While Cedar Valley was a bigger vacation spot in the summer because of the lake, the lodge on the hill, built in the early 1900s, brought vacation seekers even in the winter. The surrounding mountains offered plenty of opportunity for skiing and snowboarding, and the town obliged by selling winter clothes, Christmas ornaments, and any kind of other knickknacks a tourist might like.

  Paul waved as Hazel walked by his ski and kayak shop, and Hazel smiled a hello. “Celia’s is already crowded.”

  “Figures.” Hazel shrugged. “Can’t complain when people are spending money.”

  Paul laughed. “Got that right. Hey, have you gotten a letter from Hilltop Realty?”

  Hazel rubbed her hands together. Even in her knit gloves, the air chilled right through them. “Not that I’m aware of. Why?”

  Paul was in his mid-thirties, like her, but he spent most of his time outdoors, so his face was tanned and lightly lined. He would have made the perfect model for Backpacker’s magazine with his ruggedly boyish good looks and his limitless supply of flannel shirts. He wore a blue one with one of those puffy vests now. Hazel didn’t know how he could stand to be outside without a full coat. Her coat, gray fleece-lined wool, came to her knees, and Hazel was still shivering.

  And she knew the reason he was probably sore about Celia’s place being crowded; he couldn’t flirt with her with that many people present.

  “No reason, it’s just … Maybe it’s only my shop. Never mind, but if you hear anything from them, let me kno
w, will you?”

  Hazel nodded and hurried down the street toward CATfeinated, her best friend Celia’s coffee shop. It was the only one in Cedar Valley, which meant it was packed most days.

  The line stretched to the door, but Hazel managed to squeeze her way in. No way was she going to stand in the freezing cold for coffee. She needed her fix, but she had limits too.

  Ophelia, a white Persian with bright yellow eyes, spotted her before her owner did. Ophelia had more quiet dignity than Anthony Ray. Hazel wouldn’t ever tell him that though, even if he didn’t understand her.

  Since she was working in her shop today, she’d opted for a knee-length gray wool skirt, insulated black leggings, and leather boots paired with a black turtleneck sweater. Her mustard knit hat ruined the ensemble, but it set off her hair, as her mother always said. Her mother chose to name her Hazel before she even knew how well it fit her coloring. Her hair was a coppery red and her eyes were anywhere from blue to green, depending on the light.

  The mustard set off her hair, sure, but the overlarge pom-pom on the top didn’t do her any favors. Still, she’d rather be warm than perfectly stylish. And her newly bobbed hair meant her ears were more exposed to the cold, hence the hat. Only a few curls stuck out around her face, but taking it off would be a disaster of epically frizzy proportions, so Hazel left it on.

  “Nice hat,” a man behind her said.

  Hazel started, turned, and came face to face with someone she swore she’d never met, though he looked far too familiar. He was a good six-feet two or more. Hazel wasn’t short; but at five-nine, he was taller than her by a handful of inches. He wore what her mom called a satisfied smirk, the kind that men who know they’re handsome get.

  And this guy had a reason to smirk.

  His dark hair was parted to the side, and he was stunningly good-looking with a strong jaw, a gently sloped nose, and sharp, inquisitive blue eyes. The only wrinkles were at the edges of those eyes, which crinkled when he smiled.

  He reminded her of Cooper from Twin Peaks—the original not the sequel—and if he said something about cherry pie, Hazel was going to laugh.

  She licked her lips and silently swore at herself for neglecting to put on lipstick that morning. The bear at the lake took all her attention away from getting ready.

  “Thanks. Do I know you?” she asked as the line shuffled forward.

  “Probably not. I’m new around here,” he said, and looked over her head, most likely trying to catch Celia’s eye.

  Most men in town, tourist and local, couldn’t help but flock to Celia and her perfect hourglass figure. It also didn’t hurt that her skin was smooth and light brown, the color of coffee in milk, and set off by her wild deep-brown curls, which framed her lovely oval shaped face. Her wide brown eyes were caught somewhere between a doe and a cat, and her full lips were always made up, usually in mauve or red.

  Today she’d gone mauve.

  Mr. Smirk didn’t seem predisposed to continue the conversation, so Hazel waited until the line thinned.

  Celia leaned over the counter and smiled when she spotted Hazel. “Hazy! I got your text. Your coffee and bagel are ready.”

  Hazel tried not to flinch at the old nickname. Her mother had to go and give her a name that was a good hundred years out of date. Still, it was better than her sister’s nickname, given to her by a class bully in the third grade: Esturd.

  “I was next in line, actually,” Mr. Smirk said, and leaned around her.

  Part of her wanted to elbow him in the stomach, but she kept it in check.

  Celia narrowed her eyes. “She has a standing order. It’ll only take a second.”

  Hazel gritted her teeth but stepped aside. “No. By all means. Go first,” Hazel said, and forced herself to keep the smile.

  Mr. Smirk looked down at her for a long moment, and his smirk faded. “You’re a terrible liar.”

  Hazel pursed her lips. He wasn’t wrong, but being called out on it by a stranger pushed a button. “Well, if you were first, you could have said something sooner.”

  “Maybe I couldn’t see the menu over your hat.”

  “Maybe that’s why I wore it. To block random people from seeing the menu. Are you going to order or continue to waste Celia’s time?” She crossed her arms and raised a brow.

  He matched it with a wider smirk. “Sesame bagel and cream cheese. Plain large coffee. I think I’ll make mine a standing order too.”

  “That’ll be six-fifty. And I only do standing orders for locals. Sorry,” Celia said, and busied herself with the cash register.

  “I am a local. Now.” Mr. Smirk took a step back after she’d returned his credit card.

  Hazel grabbed her own bag of food and coffee from Celia, and Celia put a hand on her wrist. “I reserved your seat on the porch. Wait a bit? I’ll be back in a few.”

  Hazel had no reason to open her shop before ten a.m, so she nodded and moved away.

  Then Celia turned back to Mr. Smirk. “Welcome to Cedar Valley. What brings you here?” she asked. Her perfectly polite smile was more convincing than Hazel’s, by far.

  Hazel couldn’t help hanging by the doorway at the edge of the counter to listen for his answer.

  Mr. Smirk noticed, and he looked at her, his blue eyes glinting. “You probably voted for me. I’m the new sheriff.”

  Chapter 2

  “Colton Cross.” The sheriff tilted his head in Hazel’s direction.

  Beneath his black overcoat, Hazel spotted the uniform. Beige shirt and dark pants with black snow boots. She might have seen it sooner if she hadn’t been distracted by his looks.

  “Well, sheriff,” she said, and turned.

  “You didn’t pay for your meal.”

  Hazel froze. She felt like Anthony Ray when his hackles rose, ready for a fight. Something about this guy rubbed her the wrong way. Probably the smirk. Or his stupidly handsome face.

  “She doesn’t have to. We’re old friends,” Celia said, but Sheriff Cross didn’t even glance at her.

  “Is that so? Hmm. Well, then I’ll see you around, ladies,” he said, and left. A gust of wind and snowflakes blew in after him.

  Hazel pushed open the back door and marched to her seat on the enclosed porch.

  When Celia joined her, she’d already finished her bagel and her coffee. Thankfully, there was a propane heater on the porch or else Hazel wouldn’t have been able to stand the cold. Sitting near it, she had to unbutton her coat and remove her gloves.

  Celia plopped down next to her and handed her another coffee cup. “Sorry. We got a new rush.”

  Hazel nodded and nudged Celia’s shoulder. “If it wasn’t important it could’ve waited until lunch.”

  Celia shook her head. “I know you too well, Hazel Hart. If I didn’t talk to you right away, you were going to stew over the new sheriff for the next four hours.”

  Hazel took a long sip of the coffee and pouted. Not particularly becoming on a 35-year-old woman, but old habits were hard to break. “He insulted my hat. My mother knitted this hat, and I told her the pom-pom was a bit much, but would she listen to me? No.”

  Celia flicked the pom-pom with a long elegant finger and grinned. “I like it. Without it the hat would be meh. The pom-pom adds personality. It suits you.”

  Hazel rolled her eyes. She’d heard the same spiel from Celia their entire lives. If anything was goofy or a little off, it suited her. “Would you wear it?”

  Celia managed to keep the grin in place. “I can’t pull off hats like you can. Too much hair,” she said, and wound her finger around one of her perfectly smooth curls.

  Hazel snorted.

  Celia ignored her. “So, what do you think about the new sheriff? I know they had that special election, but I didn’t know he would be taking over so soon, did you?”

  Hazel shook her head and took another sip of the coffee. The old sheriff had been involved in a scandal that had apparently stretched back a decade and involved several councilmen and deputies as well. The co
unty lost a great deal of money over it, and they had a special election just last month to unseat the old corrupt sheriff and replace him.

  “Now I know where I saw him. Those posters with his stupid handsome face plastered all over town,” Hazel grumbled, and squeezed the cup in her hands.

  Celia giggled. “You’re angry because you have a type, and he’s it.”

  Hazel opened her mouth to argue, and closed it just as quickly. Type, huh? It was true that her ex-husband, the man Hazel married right out of college at twenty-two, and didn’t divorce until over a decade later, also had dark hair and blue eyes. And, yeah, Dylan was incredibly handsome. But he was also a lying cheater.

  “He didn’t look much like Dylan,” Hazel said, more to herself than to Celia.

  Celia shook her head. “Same dark hair and blue eyes, but otherwise not really. I think you just had a knee-jerk reaction. He didn’t seem like a bad guy. Plus, I think he was checking you out.”

  Hazel laughed and brushed a renegade curl back from her cheek. Unlike Celia’s, her hair didn’t behave. And if Hazel took off her hat, her curls would be standing up everywhere. “Even if that were true, he insulted my hat. You know how I feel about things like that.”

  Celia raised one of her perfectly sculpted eyebrows. “Is that a new thing I’m not aware of? Never insult a woman’s hat?”

  Hazel nodded. “Something my mother always taught me.” She couldn’t keep the smile off her face.

  Celia nudged her shoulder and grinned back. “Actually, I wanted to ask you about something else,” she said, and pulled a folded envelope out of her pocket.

  Celia handed her the letter inside of it, and Hazel skimmed it. The letterhead said Hilltop Realty, and Hazel raised an eyebrow.

  “What’s this? They’re trying to buy your shop?”

  Celia worried her bottom lip, yet her lipstick stayed perfect. She must’ve used the non-smudging eight-hour kind that Hazel could never get to look right. “I think, but I don’t own the building. I have a lease. But if I don’t move my shop, the company that owns it is gonna raise the rent.”

  Hazel frowned. “Has Paul talked to you about this?”