Pawsibly Guilty

by CeeCee James

  “Welcome, Laura Lee. Please, have a seat. We have a lot to talk about.”

  “I guess we do. Your personal assistant said you wanted the staff at Thornberry to look into what we can find about Andy’s murder. By the way, I’m so sorry.”

  “Thank you. And I wasn’t referring to the staff.” She smiled and looked sneaky. “I was talking about the book club.”

  I gasped.

  “You think I didn’t know? Missy, I helped provide those shelves you are using to hide the books after Janice’s ridiculous declaration. At the time, she was grieving the loss of her husband, and we know grief does strange things to people. It’s my hope she sees things in a different light soon. In the meanwhile, your secret is safe with me.”

  “Okay.” I took another swig from my water bottle, at a loss for words.

  “Let me tell you what I do know. Andy Fitzwater was my nephew. He was also a cad. Make no mistake, I knew him for his true nature. He fought with his dad his whole life. My brother would have disowned him had Andy not been his only child. Unfortunately, Andy had a gambling problem and made more than a few bad investments. Even worse, he lost the money of others as if it were water through his fingers. He was also known for taking pictures at the wrong place, at the wrong time. He had a golden tongue and could talk a woman wearing a cashmere sweater into bathing a dog. But, in the end, he was always found out. So it’s safe to say he had enemies. Many of them. And four of them were at the dinner table last night.”

  My loss of words just took another tumble. Mrs. Fitzwater had dumped so much information, I hardly knew where to begin to unpack it. Finally, I said, “Four of them?”

  “Yes. The butcher, the baker, the candlestick maker.” Mrs. Fitzwater numbered her fingers as she gave a wry smile. “In other words, the politician, the lawyer, and the reverend.”

  She surprised me by not mentioning the young man, Austin. After all, Marguerite and I had caught him in the room with the body.

  I decided to ask. “What was Andy’s relationship with Austin?”

  “Oh, those two. They were school chums. Austin Danver belonged to the same fraternity and got into the same trouble. Unfortunately, if Austin doesn’t learn a lesson from all of this and start to make better choices, he will most likely suffer a similar fate. You know what they say. Birds of a feather flock together.”

  “Dotty mentioned that Andy was… murdered?” I hated to say it out loud.

  “Was there ever really a question?” The woman shook her head as if I’d asked if she wanted imitation crab. Her flossy hair fluttered with the movement. “Andy was the picture of health. My goodness, he spent so much time at the gym, they named a class after him. He was in the room less than two minutes after lighting his cigar, and his color went off like sour milk. The next moment, he pitched straight forward with a strangled scream.” Mrs. Fitzwater reached for her own throat, her eyes gazing in the distance. “It truly was horrible. As awful as he was to me, I’d never wish that on another person in a million years.”

  “You?” I caught, before adding. “I’m so sorry.”

  Mrs. Fitzwater smiled. “Yes. I told you there were four enemies in the room. I was the fourth.”

  Her hands kneaded a fold in the hem of her skirt. “He nearly swindled me out of all my wealth. I only caught him in the nick of time before he bled my finances dry. And the way he managed to accomplish it was so sneaky, there was no recourse. Of course, he never admitted to it. Just said it was a horrible investment. It’s not like I could bring in an investigation. I couldn’t cause that kind of scandal to our family.”

  I’d gasped when she first started and now shook my head. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Well, you know how they say keep your friends close and your enemies closer. That’s what I had to do. It was infuriating. He would often tell me about the new purchases he’d made—cars, Rolexes, money spent on his women. Sometimes I think he did it to torment me on purpose.” Her gaze dotted toward me, and she flushed. “You must think that’s a horrible thing to say over someone who died so tragically.”

  “I think it’s a normal human reaction.” I felt nothing but pity for her. “Was he friends with Miss Janice?”

  “I believe he came with the politician to discuss a deal with her. She’s inherited quite a fortune now that she’s sold Thornberry’s crown. Obviously, I would never let that happen.”

  “You suspect he played those games with more than just you,” I noted.

  “He was toxic. You and your group must track down the one who murdered him. Because, evil or not, he was still my blood.”

  Chapter Five

  After Mrs. Fitzwater had dropped me off, I headed into the kitchen for some tea.

  The kettle hadn’t even come to a boil when Marguerite rolled her eyes and waved at me with her dishtowel. “Good gravy, Laura Lee. I swear you’re sneezing in five different languages.” She shook her head and went back to wiping the dishes. Then she turned to me with a frown. “You’re not sick, are you?”

  I sniffed and tried to smile. “Believe it or not, it’s allergies. I bought some medicine to help. It should be kicking in soon.” I checked around me and lowered my voice, “And guess who I ran into. Mrs. Fitzwater. She wants to hire our group to solve Andy’s murder.”

  Her eyes rounded like an owl’s and so did her mouth. I wouldn’t have been surprised if she gave a little hoot right then. Instead, she collected herself and went back to wiping. But a second later, she sent me a side-eye that spoke a thousand words. “We’ll discuss your news tonight.”

  I nodded.

  After that, she bustled with a different energy, one to get things back on track. “You know what I think. I think maybe you should take the rest of the evening off and let the other six dwarves cover for you. Get Cook to make you some ginger tea. Oh, and some of her chicken noodle soup. She keeps bags in the freezer. Jewish penicillin, my grandmother used to tell me, and I swear it’s true.”

  “I promise, it’s allergies.”

  “I’m not paying any faith in that. We need you better, no matter what the cause. You’ve been working hard, you’ve earned it. Besides, I don’t want the rest of the house sneezing in stereo. Go relax.”

  “Are you sure? I swear I’m feeling a bit better.”

  “I’m not taking any chances. Allergies I can deal with, but I don’t want to bring the whole house down with a sneaky virus.”

  I smiled with gratefulness. Back in my room, I slipped into a sweater and jeans and opened the cupboard for Hank. Where was that darn cat hiding out at? I missed him and could barely sleep last night without his heavy weight on my bed.

  “Hank?” I whispered inside.

  Something about that dark crack gave me the shivers. Who knew where it led? Quickly, I shut the door.

  I headed back downstairs for my chicken soup, patting the giant chess piece bust on the way for good luck in finding Hank.

  “There you are, girlie! Mar already told me!” Cook chimed happily as I entered. The scent of homemade tomato sauce and soup floated in the air. She nodded toward the stove, where a small pot bubbled, causing light to glint off her sparkly headband. “It’s right over there, started for you. How’re you feeling?” She turned back to cutting out noodles.

  I leaned over the pot. Immediately the scent grabbed me like being hugged by my own mom. Rich broth, carrots, celery, chicken, and homemade noodles. How did I get such a blessed life? I ladled it into a giant coffee cup and then rinsed the pot. I would have washed it, but Cook shooed me away.

  “Out with you. Mar says we need to give you a few hours to see if this is allergies yet. I’m not taken any chances it’s a buggy.”

  I already felt better, but I didn’t argue. “Thank you, Cook,” I hollered as I left the kitchen.

  I considered returning to my room as Marguerite suggested. But the study door caught my attention. This room was one of Hank’s favorite places, a spot where he’d once spent a lot of time with Mr. Thornberry. Maybe the cat would
be back, snuggled like a little fluffy comma on his old pillow.

  No one was around, so I slipped inside the study, knowing the door would tattle on me with a squeal if opened too slow.

  A cavelike staleness saturated the room, surprising me. The room was quiet. I walked over to the windows to yank open the curtains. I’d left them gaping earlier and wondered who kept shutting them.

  Sunlight entered the room and splashed a rectangle shape up the wall, catching a corner of Mr. Thornberry’s portrait. His glaring expression could at best be called reserved. It was hard to believe there’d been such a deep friendship between this formidable man and Hank.

  I took a sip of my soup and wandered over to the cat’s bed next to the enormous desk. Disappointment punched me when I saw the cat’s pillow appeared cold and dirty and not at all recently loved.

  “Hank,” I called out in a lilting whisper. “Kitty, kitty, kitty.”

  Normally, he would answer back with a little sassy meow. Only the tick of the clock answered me today.

  I nudged the cupboard door open under the bookshelf. This was his connection to the secret wall passage that wove throughout the house. The door stuck, and I had to yank hard to open it. I knew he wouldn’t be in there. Still, my heart sank at the empty hollow inside.

  Closing it, I eyed the other bookshelf at the end of the wall, next to Mr. Thornberry’s portrait. Even though it was empty like this one, it concealed the most wonderful secret in the whole world.

  The hidden garden.

  It had been weeks since I’d last been there. Ever since I’d discovered it, I’d felt caught in a pretzel of a dilemma. Should I keep it a secret? So far, Mary and I had promised to hold it between us for now. It was kind of nice to have a secret.

  I walked back to the painting and carefully pressed the snail-shell swirls embedded in the cherry-wood frame. There was a subtle click and a snap, and the bookshelf popped open. My heart gave a little smile. I slipped inside, bringing my soup with me.

  Immediately I entered an enchanted world as the garden sang its magic. Majestic trees shaded the land, all amazingly hidden from outside view by the manor’s enormous walls. Their leaves clapped like they were happy to see me. An emerald carpet of grass covered the ground, as a stone path—framed with carefully tended moss between the cracks—meandered through. Against the brick wall, the soft rustles of many flowers whispered their welcome. A fountain bubbled brightly with clean and fresh water from the garden’s center.

  I’d never seen so much as a footprint to indicate anyone took care of the garden. It truly felt like this place was maintained by magic.

  This was where Mary and I had found the crown. The bejeweled masterpiece had gone for auction and sold for nearly twenty million dollars. Plenty of money to take care of the maintenance of the estate, which had already started. In fact, at this very moment, I could hear the distant sounds of workers repairing the roof.

  I wandered over to the stone bench to sit. Sipping my soup, I stared up at the sky where the clouds moved like lazy sheep herding their lambs. I wondered if anything else could be hidden in here. If there was something of value, then I was doing Miss Janice a great disservice by not telling her about this place.

  Sighing, I pulled out my phone and opened social media. If we were going to take on the job, I needed to find out whatever I could about Andy Fitzwater.

  I typed in his aunt’s name, Clara Fitzwater. All that showed up was a verified page. There were a few of her glamor pictures on it, and some from old films, likely maintained by her publicist.

  I clicked her profile picture and saw that credit had gone to Andy Fitzwater.

  Interesting. She’d mentioned he was a photographer but made it sound like his pictures were more of the sneaky nature.

  I typed Andy’s name into the search bar. A professional page popped up. When I clicked it, the page filled with several celebrities photos that I’d classify as B listers. One was a shot of him and Austin.

  Nothing showed up under his personal name. That was understandable. After all, his family was famous.

  On a hunch, I typed in Austin Danver.

  He popped up right away. And I was even more thrilled to see his tagged photos weren’t protected. There were a few professional headshots, and again, I saw credit given to Andy Fitzwater.

  The rest were candid photos that seemed to revisit old glory days with Andy, Austin, and two other aging college buddies. The men all appeared to be best friends.

  Taking a sip of soup, I studied the next image where the four of them stood outside a building. I zoomed in and read the name, Danver Family Law Practice.

  A family business. Interesting.

  The last picture was from a night in Vegas. There were girls, lots of drinks, and laughter.

  Something caught my attention. I zoomed in. In the background a decidedly moody face photobombed the group. The man must not have been aware he’d be in the picture from the way he glared at Andy.

  I searched back through the pictures, trying to track down this new guy. It took several photos, but I did manage to get a name.

  Clint Miller.

  An innocent-sounding moniker, Clint listed his employment as a paralegal. Judging from the rest of the photos, he seemed to be the bit player of the group. In every picture, he could be found in the outskirts. Always a part of the cheerleading squad, with Andy and Austin in the forefront like two show dogs.

  I examined the Vegas photo background to see if I could find a clue as to where they were. One of the comments had some girl giggling about how great it was to see them at The Wise Guys.

  Flipping through the photos, I confirmed the only photo Clint was excluded from was the one of the four guys in front of the Danver Family Law firm.

  Clint was a paralegal, right? I found the Danver firm web page.

  Well, look at that. There was Clint as the main character in the header photo. I looked closer and was surprised to see he played the role of a client. I checked the website and confirmed there was no Clint listed under the lawyers or paralegals.

  How odd was that? Especially since these guys went that far back as friends. Wouldn’t it make sense to bring your buddy aboard the family business?

  At that moment, I noticed the pounding on the roof had paused in its staccato. It was nice to see the house finally receiving the repairs it had so desperately needed. On the other hand, the constant work was a nuisance at best and irritating at its worse.

  It wouldn’t be long before the workers would move inside the manor. We’d need to relocate furniture that had been in place for a century. Roll up the carpets, take down paintings and wall art. My temples throbbed at the thought of it.

  I drained the rest of the soup, slurping the last homemade noodle. The medicine had kicked in, and I felt great. It had been nice to have a little break.

  A weird rustling started in the bushes next to the brick wall. I stared at it. Deep in the cool darkness under the leaves, a shadow moved. Suddenly it occurred to me it could be Hank. Hope sparked.

  “Hank?” I stood, excited. “Hank? Kitty, kitty, kitty?”

  The rhododendron shivered and then the tall larkspur swayed. A little shadow popped up from behind a tree. Too big to be a cat. I jumped to my feet just in time to see a figure disappear around a tree.

  Chapter Six

  Dropping the cup, I yelled, “Hey! Come back here!”

  The person didn’t stop, so I charged after them. I’d never seen anyone in the garden in all this time, I wasn’t about to let them escape now.

  I rounded a bush just in time to see the figure dive toward a crack in the wall.

  It was Sophia, the little sister of Stephen, the gardener.

  “Stop right there! You’re already caught!” I yelled, slightly breathless.

  Sophia peeked over her shoulder, her braided hair swinging. Sweaty bangs curled over a patch of forehead freckles. Those freckles trickled down to spread over her nose and cheeks, highlighting her eyes as wide a
s a fawn’s. Her body tensed like she still might run.

  I lifted my hands in a nonthreatening way. “What’s the matter? You know we’re friends. Where are you going?” I grabbed the brick wall and tried to hide how I was out of breath.

  “Hi, Laura Lee,” she lisped, and then smiled, showing a darling display of missing teeth.

  I squatted down to be at her face level. “Hey, little lady. Where are you trying to disappear through?” I studied the wall.

  The reddish bricks stacked one on top of the other in perfect synchrony. I pressed along the crack, and it opened more, revealing it was all an optical illusion of a concrete wall.

  Another secret passage?

  “Amazing.” I reached to touch Sophia’s arm. “Are you the one who takes care of this little garden? You do such a good job.”

  Sophia stuck her tongue through the empty spot in her teeth and nodded. Her pink cheeks showed how very obviously pleased she felt at her hard work being recognized.

  “Do you come here often?” I smiled back.

  “Yes,” she said, her eyes sparkling.

  “It’s a beautiful place. Have you seen the flower fairies?” I teased.

  “No. You’re the first person I’ve ever seen in here. Minus Mr. Thornberry, of course.” She pointed to the far corner where tall stalks filled with pink and blue flowers bobbled in the wind. “He planted those for my birthday.”

  I glanced at them, tall and stately and swarming with furry bumblebees. “That’s very special. Does it bother you that I found your secret hideout?”

  She squinted her eyes and glanced up as if thinking, that tongue poking out again. Then she shook her head. “I like it. It should be shared.” Her forehead wrinkled with a stern expression, and she held up her finger. “But not by just anyone. By special people.”

  “Aww. You think I’m special?”

  She grinned. “So does my brother.”