A Crazy Cat Lady and Canine Crunchies

by Aleksa Baxter

  But then I got over it. Let him think what he wanted. This was my home. I'd eat and look how I wanted to.

  He carefully pulled the other chair out from the table and sat down. "Now we set a trial date. There'll be discovery and motions. But that's basically where we are. The case they have is largely circumstantial—no one saw you push her down the stairs or hit her in the head with a frying pan—but it's also pretty convincing."

  "What do you think my odds are?"

  "I don't like to talk odds."

  He sounded like one of those cancer doctors who never want to tell you your odds of making it five years because it'll just be too depressing and, hey, you never know.

  "Mason."

  "If nothing changes? Probably a ninety percent chance you are going to be convicted. If they offer you a plea deal, you should consider it."

  I took a bite of bacon and sighed in pleasure. Salty fat. Just what I'd needed. "If I take a plea deal, I have to say I killed her."

  "Yes."

  "But I didn't."

  He shrugged. "You can take a plea deal and be out in five years. Or you can stick to the truth and serve a twenty-year term. Your choice."

  "Or I can find the killer before I go to trial."

  My grandpa set his paper down. "Maggie May. You promise me you will not try to find the killer."

  "But, Grandpa, that's my only chance of getting out of this."

  "No. You promise me."

  I ignored them both as I finished up my breakfast and put my plate in the kitchen sink.

  "Maggie May…"

  "I don't know what to tell you, Grandpa. I am not going to sit here and let a bunch of strangers decide my fate when I can do something about it."

  "I did not bail you out so you could go get yourself killed."

  Mason set his phone on the table. "For the record, I agree with your grandfather. If there is someone who killed Janice Fletcher running around loose, the last thing you should do is try to find them."

  "If? The police said she was hit in the head with a frying pan. The only reason there wouldn't be a killer running around loose is if you think it was me."

  "I misspoke. I apologize. Please sit back down."

  I sat, crossing my arms and glaring at both of them.

  Mason leaned forward. "The best way to address this is by attacking your motive during the trial. There were plenty of other people who wanted Janice Fletcher dead."

  "But none of them were seen running away from the crime scene the morning of the crime. I was."

  "Nor did anyone else admit to the police that they were there both before and after." He shook his head. "You haven't given me much to work with, Maggie. But I will work with it."

  "Fine. Thank you. I should probably get into work."

  "I wouldn't do that."

  "Why not?"

  My grandpa cleared his throat and handed me a copy of the Baker Valley Gazette. The headline on the front page read Bakery Owner Arrested in Murder of Local Icon.

  Local icon? Janice Fletcher? Please.

  I scanned the article. He'd really emphasized the fact that I'd just moved to the area from Washington, DC, somehow implying that I'd brought that big city crime with me. You know, like people in DC just walk around murdering one another left and right.

  Granted, I'd had a friend who lived in a place in DC where shots were fired on a regular basis to the point that she'd advised me not to walk from the metro to her house. A cabbie had even pointed out bullet holes in the car right ahead of us once while we were parked at a stoplight. But all that aside, DC was not some murder-filled metropolis like the article made it out to be.

  And even if it had been, that didn't mean I was a murderer.

  I threw the paper down in disgust.

  My grandpa took it back, stacking it neatly at his elbow. "Give it a day or two. Jamie can handle things."

  Mason stood up. "I need to go. Call if anything comes up. And stay out of it. Let the cops do their job."

  The cops doing their job is what had landed me in this mess, but I didn't say that. "Thank you for getting me out so quick." I walked him to the door.

  "You're welcome. Just try not to do anything that will get you thrown back in before the trial, please."

  I smiled and nodded but after I'd closed the door I stuck my tongue out. Who did he think I was? Some rash and uncontrolled criminal who couldn't curb her instincts for mayhem?

  Okay. Maybe just a little. Take out the criminal part and it was probably pretty accurate. But if that was the case, telling me not to do anything wasn't going to help. He should've known that.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Two hours later I was going a little stir crazy. I really, really wanted to go talk to that neighbor who'd seen me run from Janice Fletcher's house. Or to Matt. Or to Greta. Or to Greta's investigator. I needed to figure out who had really killed Janice Fletcher. It was my best chance of getting out of this mess. But I knew that if I left the house I'd just be courting trouble.

  So instead I built Fancy a staircase.

  Yep, you read that right. I built my dog a staircase to make it easier for her to get up on the bed.

  She'd been very sad since we'd moved because she couldn't jump high enough to get onto my new bed. In one sense, that was a blessing, because Fancy pretty much takes up the entire queen-size bed, only leaving me about ten inches of space along the very top edge. But I figured I owed it to her. She'd been raised to expect a certain standard of living and she hadn't had it since we'd moved.

  So, since I had the free time and my grandpa had the lumber to make it happen, I set out to build her a three-step staircase that would let her just walk right up and onto the bed.

  I built it in place, in my room, because the lumber I was using was not light-weight and I wasn't sure the finished product would actually fit through the doorway.

  Fancy lay in the hallway watching this desecration of her sacred sleeping place with her head resting on her paws. Usually she sleeps through most of the day, but not this time. She had an eye on me the whole time I worked, silently reproachful.

  "This is for you, you know," I told her.

  She didn't care. Change is not her thing. And putting in those steps meant moving her bed.

  It took me three hours and four failed attempts to get it done. Fortunately I had pre-made risers to work with, so all I had to really do was put boards across them for each step and build a brace so that the stairs could stand alone and not collapse. But that was actually a lot of boards that needed measured and screwed into place.

  (I let my grandpa do the cutting. Me and power saws? Not a good mix. I used a jigsaw once. Almost took out my leg. That was all I needed to know about saws.)

  The finished product was actually pretty beautiful. The wood I'd used was redwood and it smelled really nice. I was so proud of myself. Until Fancy decided she was having none of it. She put one paw on the first step, slipped just a little bit, and then backed away and refused to go near it.

  I tried putting treats on each step, but she wasn't interested. She ate the ones she could reach and then sat down and cried. When I tried putting treats on the bed she sat off to the side away from the steps and stared pitifully until I gave up and retrieved them for her.

  So then I spent another hour adding carpet to each of the steps figuring maybe she was just scared that she'd slip.

  But no. She still wasn't having it.

  Next I added boards behind the gap between steps thinking maybe that's why she was scared. Still no joy.

  So after five hours of effort all I had to show was a monstrosity of a staircase at the base of my bed and a dog that now refused to step foot in my room let alone use the stairs I'd built especially for her.

  My grandpa stood in the hallway watching me try to lure Fancy onto the stairs, clearly trying not to laugh.

  "Don't say it." I gave up and sat on the stairs myself as Fancy sprawled in the hallway.

  "What? That that's what you get
for building a staircase for a dog?"

  I leaned my elbows on my knees and looked at him. "What am I going to do, Grandpa? I don't know how to get out of this."

  He sat down next to me and patted my knee. "You're going to take this one day at a time. Worst comes to worst, you'll serve your time, get out, and get on with your life like I did."

  I shivered. "It won't come to that. It can't."

  "It could. And you have to accept that."

  "But I didn't kill her."

  He nodded. "I know."

  "Do you? Do you believe me?"

  "I do. You're a little wild around the edges and you have a temper, that's for sure, but not that kind of temper."

  "But then…"

  He rubbed the back of his neck. "Maggie, life isn't always fair. We want it to be one way, but sometimes it just isn't. And when it isn't you have to live with the life you're given instead of hoping for the one you don't have."

  I guess in some part of my mind I'd thought that this would all just work itself out. The killer would come forward or Matt would find a fingerprint on a plate or something.

  But why? Why should that happen? I mean, it was a pretty slim chance that they'd suddenly discover some other murder suspect, wasn't it, when they had me admitting to being there right before and right after the murder?

  "Come on." He patted my knee again and stood. "Let's have dinner. And then you and I need some more Scrabble practice. Can't let Matt keep beating you so badly."

  I followed him out to the kitchen, Fancy trailing along behind us. "After this I seriously doubt Matt will ever come over here again."

  "Oh, he'll be back. Trust me on that one."

  I scratched Fancy's head. "Yeah, I guess someone will have to help you look after Fancy when I'm in prison."

  He swatted my arm. "Don't talk like that, Maggie. That may be what happens, but it hasn't happened yet. And there's no sense wasting the good moments anticipating the bad."

  He was right. Plus, as long as I was free there was a chance I could find the real killer. (I know. Danger, blah, blah, blah. But really? Give me the choice between tracking down one person who'd hit an old lady with a frying pan and shoved her down a flight of stairs and serving prison time? I was probably much safer finding the killer. And if I wasn't, well, other than what it would do to Fancy and my grandpa and Jamie and the barkery, I'd rather go out swinging, you know?)

  Anyway. We had a very pleasant evening playing Scrabble—I even almost won a game. But then the next day came and I knew I had to do something more than sit around the house waiting for my trial date.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Jamie and I agreed I shouldn't work at the barkery for a few days. It was going to cost us some money to have our assistants work longer hours, but it was better than people staying away because they didn't want to associate with a murderer.

  Of course, I should've remembered the lesson I'd learned working at the dropzone. Every time there was a serious accident that made the news we actually had more people show up wanting to jump. You'd think stories about slamming into the ground at terminal velocity would make people reconsider their dangerous life choices, but nope. It somehow drove them to take that risk themselves.

  What can I tell you? People are crazy. Especially skydivers.

  Even though I wasn't working I did still go into the barkery to meet Greta and hear what her investigator had found. Fancy was thrilled by the chance to get out of the house for a few hours. The last few days had severely disrupted her routine and she just didn't know what to make of it.

  There were a few overflow customers from the café sitting on the barkery side and they all eyed me as I walked in, leaning over to whisper to one another.

  (Guilty until proven innocent sounds nice and all, but the reality is that the minute someone is charged with a crime all the people in their world assume they're guilty. At least rational people do. Not like the cops go around charging people with murder all willy-nilly. I knew I was innocent, but there was no reason anyone else should believe that.)

  Don was leaning against the café counter chatting with Jamie as I let Fancy into her cubby.

  "Hey, there." Jamie gave me a quick hug. "How are you holding up?"

  "As well as can be expected I guess." I told her about how I'd occupied myself the day before and she laughed.

  "I bet she gets used to it eventually."

  "I hope so. Or else I'm going to have a very crowded closet. Assuming I can fit that thing in there." I sneezed and reached for my bottle of Benadryl. Maybe I really did have seasonal allergies.

  Don had been listening in on our conversation. "You could just take it apart again."

  "It took me five hours to build that thing. No way am I taking it apart. I will find a use for those stairs if it's the last thing I do."

  You know, it's funny. I say things like that a lot. "If it's the last thing I do." But right then it struck me that if I were sent to prison, that that could really be true.

  Ugh.

  "So, Don, how's your business going?" I asked, trying to be polite.

  "Good. Hoping to wrap up in the next week or so and then maybe Jamie can come visit me in Vegas."

  "Wouldn't that be fun, Maggie? You could get by without me for a few days, couldn't you?"

  "Absolutely." After all of this Jamie was going to deserve a break. She'd been taking way more of the burden running the café than she deserved.

  I sat down with Greta and we exchanged a little small talk. Within a few minutes we were surrounded by the overly curious. One woman hadn't even tried to hide it. She'd just picked up her meal that was half-eaten and moved to the table right behind ours. If the table hadn't been bolted into the floor I'm pretty sure she would've moved it closer. As it was she pushed her chair so far back she almost bumped into me.

  "You know," I said. "Fancy hasn't had much of a chance to play the last few days. What do you say to us taking the dogs out back while we talk?"

  "Yes. This would be good."

  We had a large grassy area out back where the dogs could run around, but because you had to go through the kitchens to get there, it was private. Only Lulu and Fancy were normally allowed back there. But I figured Greta was my friend and Hans was one of the most well-behaved dogs I'd ever met, so why not.

  Plus, it would give us privacy from all the obnoxious lookie-loos.

  Fancy practically tore my arm off as soon as she realized where we were headed. She loved to run around back there. Only reason I didn't let her spend more time out back was because the border on the far end was just a stream, one that Fancy loved to wade in, and I just knew that if I left her alone out there enough that one day she'd run right across that stream and into the woods behind it.

  Hans was his normal restrained self until Greta let him off his leash. Even then he sat and watched her like there was nothing else in the world, not even a large barking black Newfoundland who desperately wanted to play, until Greta snapped a word in German.

  Hans immediately turned and ran towards Fancy, all restraint and dignity forgotten as they tumbled and wrestled on the ground. I watched them, ready to jump in and save one or the other, but as rough as they were being with each other it was clearly all play. They were hopelessly covered in grass and dirt within moments, but at least they were having fun.

  I laughed and relaxed onto the bench we kept out back. "Dogs are the best, aren't they?"

  Greta nodded and sat down next to me, a little more reserved in her posture than I was. "Oh yes. I would trade all of my husbands for one Hans. He obeys. He is loyal. He is kind. He will defend me."

  I leaned my head against the wall. "It's too bad when men resemble dogs that it's usually all the other qualities they embody." I glanced towards the store. "At least Jamie seems to have moved on from Lucas Dean."

  "Mm. This I would not be so sure of."

  I sat up straighter. "Are they still seeing each other?"

  "I am not certain, but I believe so,
yes. This man, this Don, he is fun and they talk. But I believe your friend is still in love with Mr. Dean."

  "Ugh." I grabbed her hand. "Do me a favor. Please. Find her a man who is worthy of her. I am so tired of seeing her fall for these schmucks. She is so much better than that."

  Greta patted my hand. "I will try. But what the heart wants, the heart takes. The mind cannot control this. Now. What my investigator found."

  As Greta pulled a folder from her bag, Fancy plopped down next to me, panting heavily. Her limit on extreme play is about two minutes.

  Hans ran at her, clearly wanting to play more, but with one uttered command from Greta he stopped short and went to lay by her side instead.

  I shook my head. "You have amazing control over him."

  "He was trained well." She patted his head and then handed me the folder. "This is the list of people Janice Fletcher has argued with in the last two years. There may be more, but this is the list my man found."

  I scanned the list of people and their businesses. There had to be at least forty names there, and a few looked awfully familiar. "Give me a minute. I think we need Jamie for this. She knows the people around here better than I do."

  I grabbed Jamie and brought her out back. The store was pretty dead and we still had two assistants working for the lunch rush. They could handle things for a few minutes.

  I handed her the list and pointed at the third entry down. "The pool hall, wasn't that what was here before us?"

  Jamie nodded. "Yeah. And that Apple Café was one block down. I interviewed the woman who ran it when we were thinking about this location because I wanted to know why they failed."

  "What did she say?" I'd been trying to wrap up my life in DC so hadn't been as involved in the set-up of things as I would've liked.

  "She said that sales were great initially, but over time the locals turned against her."

  "Why? Because of Janice Fletcher?"

  "She didn't say that specifically, but given what happened with us I do wonder."