A Hiss of Murder (Pet Shop Cozy Mysteries Book 7)

by Susie Gayle

  ***

  They say, “all’s well that ends well,” but for me that phrase should be, “all’s well that ends with a Whale of an Ale.” About five hours after our ordeal ended, the four of us—me, Sarah, Karen and Sammy—share a table at the Runside, Seaview Rock’s finest eating establishment.

  Tom Savage got his snake back. I was adamant about him taking Petunia as a sign of goodwill, and he seemed genuinely grateful. I left out the part about me being deathly terrified of snakes. Rachel Stein seemed placated after seeing the group of us collectively lie to the chief of police and headed back to her office to do whatever it is she does with numbers. Karen, at Patty’s request, made a stop at the hospital for her snake bite and received a clean bill of health.

  And the only way that seemed fitting to end a day like today was to have a drink and a good meal.

  A gawky young kid around nineteen teeters toward our table with four big mugs. He sets them down carefully, as if spilling even a drop of the Runside’s homemade brew might anger the gods.

  I grin and shake my head at him. “Ham, you work here, too, now?”

  Hammond Dobes looks up at me in surprise, as if he was so focused on delivering the drinks he didn’t know who he was delivering them to. “Mr. Sullivan, hi! Yeah, I just picked up a couple evening shifts here. Got to save that money, you know?”

  “Sure thing, Ham.” Hammond, as far as I’m aware, is already the bagger at the local grocery store and a barista at Better Latte Than Never. Who knows how many other jobs the kid has.

  “Okay,” he says, “I have four Whale of an Ales for you.” He frowns. “Or is that Whales of an Ale? Oh, I need to go talk to Holly.” He hurries off, puzzled, and we all share a laugh.

  Under the table, Rowdy rolls over onto my foot. Holly, the owner of the Runside, doesn’t mind if Rowdy comes in with us as long as he behaves—but where Rowdy goes, a certain three-pawed kitten is usually nearby.

  “Sarah, where’s Basket?” I ask.

  She smiles sheepishly and looks left and right. “Well, Karen gets to carry snakes around in her purse, so…” She opens her handbag and a fuzzy little head pokes out, blinking sleep from his eyes.

  Karen shakes her head. “I can’t believe you kept him.”

  Sarah pets Basket on the head. “He’s our little shop-cat. Of course we kept him.”

  “What do you mean, you can’t believe it?” I ask Karen.

  She sighs and puts both hands flat on the table. “Alright, today’s been all about coming clean, so… I’m the one that left him outside your shop.”

  “Say what?” Sarah asks, incredulous.

  Karen shrugs. “A while back, Pookie got out of my apartment. I looked all over for her. I would’ve come to you for help, but I was afraid you’d call me a bad pet owner. She wandered back home that same night, but she was sort of, well, pregnant. So, I read all these books and looked stuff up online, but when the day finally came…” She stares at the table. “This little guy was the only one that survived. And he only had three paws. I couldn’t take him to a shelter; it would’ve broken my heart. So, I took him somewhere that I knew he’d be cared for.”

  I shake my head. “You guilt-tripped us into keeping him.”

  “No, I just assumed that your compassion would lead you to make the right decision.”

  “That’s the same thing I said, just nicer sounding.”

  Karen shrugs. “All’s well that ends well, right?”

  Sarah strokes Basket’s head and coos, “So Pookie is your mama?” To Karen, she says, “You should have told us. We would’ve understood.”

  “I don’t know what I was thinking. Actually, that’s not true; I know exactly what I was thinking. I was crying my eyes out over four kittens that didn’t make it, and looking at the one that did, and thinking that he needed a good life. No matter what. And then too much time passed, and it didn’t seem like the right time to admit it. Until now.”

  “I’m glad you did,” Sarah tells her. “Maybe Basket can visit his mommy sometime soon.”

  “I think she’d like that.” Karen smiles.

  The ladies go on chatting about kittens meeting their mothers, but I’m distracted; I catch Sammy’s eye and notice a sadness behind them. I raise an eyebrow his way. In response, he raises his glass in a silent toast and sips.

  Sarah must notice the gesture, because she suddenly says, “I, uh, have to go… powder my nose. Karen, don’t you also have to… powder your nose?”

  “What? No. I don’t ‘powder my nose.’ Is that a metaphor for something…? Oh.” She finally catches on and the two of them head to the ladies’ room, leaving Sammy and I alone for a moment to talk.

  Before he says anything, he takes another sip and lets out a deep sigh. Then he simply says, “Thanks, Will.”

  I nod. “Sure. Anytime.”

  “I didn’t know… you know, about costing the town so much.”

  “Yes, you did. You just didn’t want to admit it.”

  He shrugs. “That’s fair.” Then he smiles with half his mouth. “You need a haircut.”

  “I know.” I clear my throat. “So, what are you going to do now?”

  “I’m going to run my business. And I think I’m going to be more proactive in the community, too. Maybe spearhead a fundraiser or two to try to make up for some of the money I lost the town.”

  “That sounds nice.” I take another sip. “So, Savage and Stein, huh? I gotta say, a million thoughts ran through my head—embezzlement, tax evasion, what-have-you—but I never thought an affair.”

  Sammy chuckles. “I know, right? Imagine my surprise.”

  “Ahem. Hey guys.” I turn toward the voice to see Ham Dobes standing awkwardly by our table. “Did you, uh, want to order any food?”

  “The ladies ran to the restroom. Maybe you can check back in ten minutes?”

  “Sure thing, Mr. Sullivan.” He scurries off.

  I raise my glass. “Cheers.”

  “Cheers.” Sammy raises his too, and we both sip. It tastes good—it always tastes good, but this time it tastes better. It tastes like a big, giant, monolithic roadblock has been eroded away. It tastes like the road ahead is clear; uncertain, but clear. It tastes like life is good.

  THE END