by Amy Vansant
Smelling the sweet, fruity scent of the lipstick, Charlotte figured someone had had to improvise after realizing they had no paper or a pen. Strangely, they did have a massive roll of duct tape.
She decided that wasting brain time solving The Mystery of the Lipstick Missive would have to wait for another day, but she did take the time to read the note.
“Joe, where are you?? Need Suzy!!” —Marg
Between the abundance of tape and exclamation points, Charlotte couldn’t help but feel Marg had overcompensated for her lack of paper and pen. She was pretty angry about Suzy, too.
Eager to leave the doll shop’s influence, Charlotte continued past a small convenience store called Quickie Stop, and a side-by-side apartment, before reaching the pink-painted cement block cottage Blade had described to her.
Imagine Pepto-Bismol was a house he’d said.
He wasn’t wrong.
She knocked and Blade answered, his bulky frame filling the doorway.
“You forgot your check,” she said, presenting the envelope.
“Oh, thank you, Miss Charlotte. I’d forget my head if it had been sawed off with a Buck knife.”
Yikes. Declan’s warning about Blade echoed in her mind.
Blade shifted to the left, revealing a sliver of living room behind him. From what she could see, the room was empty but for a lounge chair and an olive-drab foot locker that appeared to be military issue.
A cat’s head surfaced at one end of the chest, one remaining eye peering at her. She stared back as the head turned and floated along the edge of the chest, before Blade’s body blocked her ability to track it. The locker was much too tall for the cat to have been walking. She tried to work out how the face could have been floating—
Didn’t that cat have a couple of missing legs?
“Hey, Blade—what can you tell me about that cat of yours?”
“You mean like where I found him?”
“That’s a start.”
Or if he’s possessed by some kind of cat demon, perhaps the dolls were all filled-up...
Blade squinted at her. “You want the real truth? I like to tease Declan a little.”
She chuckled. “The real truth.”
He flicked a finger in the direction she had walked. “He was out there, in front of the convenience store, yowling at people as they went in and out. The owner tried to chase him away but he kept coming back. I thought I better grab him before he ended up dead.”
“How does a two-legged cat get chased away and come back?”
Blade chuckled. “That’s kind of a funny story—”
The cat’s head bobbed behind the chest again and Charlotte grimaced, unable to contain herself any longer. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to interrupt, and this is going to sound crazy, but I think I saw your cat’s head floating behind your chest there.”
Blade stepped to the side and Charlotte yelped. The cat stood directly behind him, his head even with the big man’s knee. Standing on his two remaining hind legs, the cat kept his balance by tottering back and forth, like a tiny, furry dancer, trapped in a constant state of cha-cha.
“He walks like a person.”
“That was the funny story,” said Blade, hoisting the cat and draping him over his shoulder.
“Did you decide whether you’re going to call him Spot or Charlie?”
“Nah. I’m still thinking.”
Charlotte chuckled. “Well, there’s got to be a name for a cat that walks on two legs. Christopher Walkin’? Johnnie Walker Cat? Maybe Boots, because Boots is made for walkin’?”
Blade’s eyes widened. “Ooh, I like Johnnie Walker.”
“That’s a good one. He looks like a Johnnie.”
Blade nuzzled the cat and, once again, Charlotte couldn’t imagine Blade hurting a fly.
“Well, I better get going. See you later.” She waved and took a few steps before turning back. “Hey, do you know anything about the shop on the corner?”
“The dolls?” Blade peered through his nearly closed door. “Nah. That place gives me the creeps.”
Chapter Eight
Charlotte had been home in Pineapple Port for less than five minutes before Mariska and Darla knocked and entered; barely a heartbeat passing between each action. Charlotte watched her soft-coated Wheaten terrier, Abby, rub against the ladies in her typical, ferocious-guard-dog fashion.
Lull intruders into a sense of false security, that’s her plan.
“What are you two up to?” Charlotte asked, unfazed by the familiar neighbor ambush.
“We were wondering if you wanted to go to Apricot’s for dinner?” asked Mariska, invoking the name of a frequently visited hole-in-the-wall restaurant featuring the cheapest chicken-fried steak in town.
Charlotte’s lip curled involuntarily. Apricot’s food wasn’t inedible, but the ambiance lacked something—for instance, a post-nineteen-eighty-two decor and plastic menus that didn’t feel as if they’d served as the previous customer’s plate. Wire clothing hangers dangled at every booth, serving as makeshift paper towel dispensers. She did appreciate those. They were a joy money couldn’t buy.
“I’ll pass, thanks.”
“Your loss. Today’s peach cobbler day.”
Charlotte gasped. “Well, why didn’t you say so?”
“So you’ll go?”
“No.”
Mariska huffed.
Darla finished petting Abby, much to Abby’s chagrin, and straightened. “So what’s new with you today, missy?”
“Oh, the usual. I have to solve a murder and Declan’s ex subtly reminded me that she’d love to murder me.”
“Stephanie? What is she up to now?” asked Mariska.
“She’s working for Cora Bloom, organizing this competition between Penny and Tabby.”
“What were the chances of that?” mumbled Darla.
“I suspect it wasn’t a coincidence. She hid in the back seat of the VW and then popped up to tell me I needed to investigate Bucky’s death if I wanted Penny to win.”
Mariska’s eyes grew wide. “She hid in my car?”
Charlotte nodded.
Mariska scowled. “She better not have scratched it.”
Darla patted Mariska on the arm and returned her attention to Charlotte. “I love coming over here. You always have the most interesting things to share. All I can report is what time my mail arrived and how long Frank was in the bathroom.”
“Anything else?” prodded Mariska.
Charlotte shrugged. “Not about Penny’s situation, oh, Blade has a new friend.”
“That’s the man who works for Declan? The one with the summer teeth?” Darla pointed her index finger at her own mouth and swirled it.
Charlotte’s brow knit. “Summer teeth?”
“Sum’r there and sum’r not?”
“Oh, ha. Yep. He found a cat with no front legs and was wearing it like a fur stole when I visited Declan.”
Mariska put the tip of her fingers over her mouth. “Oh no, what happened to the poor thing?”
“Blade doesn’t know. Found it that way. It also has one eye.”
Darla snickered. “That’s not a cat. That sounds more like a ca—”
Mariska’s head tilted so far to the right Charlotte feared her neck had quit to join the circus. “What are you thinking?”
Mariska’s lips drew into a knot. “This cat, does it walk on its hind legs?”
“Yes. How did you know that?”
“Mr. French over at the doll hospital had a two-legged cat that walked like a person. I guess they can all do that—”
“What color was his cat? White?”
“If I remember right. Why? Is this cat white?”
“Yes.”
Mariska gasped. “So all cats with two legs are white?”
“Noooo, Blade lives two houses from the doll shop...”
“It’s the same cat,” said Darla, slapping the counter as if she’d just calculated Amelia Earhart’s location.
/> “Did French’s cat have one eye?” asked Charlotte.
Mariska shook her head. “I don’t remember. I only saw it once driving Fay there to pick up the most darling little prairie-girl doll.”
Darla snorted a laugh. “Fay loves her dolls. I think they’re a substitute for that ungrateful daughter of hers.”
Charlotte tapped her fingers on the counter, her memory wandering to the darkened Kewpie Kare. “The doll shop is closed and there are notes on the door from people frantic for their dolls. No one can reach him, apparently.”
“You don’t think Mr. French would move and leave his cat behind, do you?” asked Mariska.
“He wouldn’t have to walk away very fast,” said Darla. Her voice was strained, a case of the giggles knocking at her door.
“You’re terrible,” said Mariska.
Charlotte did her best to ignore the situation, knowing full well she only had a minute or two before both Mariska and Darla were cackling too uncontrollably to be of any help. “Maybe I should grab Frank and swing by there to make sure something didn’t happen to Mr. French?”
Darla nodded her approval. “I hope French didn’t pay full price for that cat.”
Mariska tittered. “Nah, it was half off.”
The two women exploded with laughter and Charlotte left to find Frank. The ladies would be of no further help.
She spotted Frank tending to the small pond in his front yard. A ceramic frog sat on a stone beside him holding a small rod and reel, forever fishing without bait.
“Get a new koi?” she asked, approaching.
“Nah. They’re expensive little buggers. I’m just trying to keep the ones I have alive. They need more oxygen.”
“I was wondering if I could interest you in checking out Mr. French’s doll hospital.”
Frank stood and wiped the sweat from his brow. “Kewpie Kare? What’s up?”
“Blade, the guy who works for Declan, found French’s cat, and there are notes on the door from people trying to retrieve their dolls.”
“I think he lives over the top of the shop. It’s probably the dolls that got him.”
Charlotte chuckled. “That’s my theory.”
“Did Blade knock on the door and see if the man is missing a cat?”
“Blade doesn’t know anything about the cat other than he found it. It was Mariska who knew Mr. French had a two-legged cat.”
“Two?”
“Two. Walks on its hind legs like a person.”
“You’re pulling my leg.”
“Nope.”
Frank shrugged. “He’s probably got a cold, but I’ll check. It’ll be worth it to see a walking cat.”
Chapter Nine
Seamus eased to the guard box at the Silver Lake retirement community in his ancient Toyota. Parking Pass Pete stood inside the box, wearing his ill-fitting guard uniform. Pete lived in Pineapple Port but worked at rival Silver Lake, so whenever he was on duty, Charlotte and her cohorts had an in.
“Top o’ the mornin’ to you, Pete,” said Seamus.
“It’s almost dinner.”
“Whatever. Hey. I need to meet with the head honcho. Can you tell me what house she lives in?”
Pete chuckled. “Tabby? She doesn’t live in this place with the rabble anymore.”
“No?”
“Nah. She has a big house on the other side of Silver Lake. All the better to peer down on the little people from. Just bought it. Go around the community and you’ll see a dirt road with a big wooden dolphin for a mailbox. Can’t miss it.”
“Hm. Thanks. Take it easy.”
Pete nodded once and opened the gate so Seamus could make a U-turn. Seamus waved as he passed and circled the community to the opposite side of the lake.
Following a small paved road, he crept along until he spotted a carved wooden dolphin mailbox fitting Pete’s description. Pulling onto the dirt road beside it, he drove another five minutes before a large, new-built home loomed into view.
Seamus slowed his car to a stop.
A yellow, nineteen sixty-seven Mustang convertible sat in the driveway.
He’d seen one like it before.
It couldn’t be.
A woman wearing a flowing, flowered jumpsuit exited the house followed by a suave tan man with dark, slicked-back hair.
Edmundo Baron.
Edmundo “Fast Eddie” Baron had been Seamus’ chief rival in the Miami investigative world. He’d always solved the largest cases and had his name splashed across the local papers. Nearly every client Seamus received came via Eddie’s reject pile.
What is he doing here?
The woman with him looked like Penny, so he suspected he had the right house.
Seamus stepped out of his car. “Eddie.”
The man smiled. “Seamus, my Irish friend. It’s so good to see you.” He opened his arms wide and slapped them around Seamus’ shoulders, squeezing tightly.
Once released from the boa constrictor’s grasp, Seamus cleared his throat and did his best to smile.
“What brings you to my neck of the woods, Eddie?”
Eddie glanced at Tabby and smiled. “Oh, you know. Business as usual. Seems they have to import talent in this neck of the woods.”
Tabby held out her hand. “Tabby Trahan. And you are?”
Seamus tore his glare from Eddie. “Apologies. Seamus Bingham, nice to meet you.”
“What brings you to my door, Mr. Bingham?”
Eddie slapped a hand on Seamus’ arm and grinned. “Let me guess. You were hoping to get Ms. Trahan to hire you? But once again I have beaten you to the punch?”
“No. I—” Seamus realized he didn’t have a straight answer prepared. His plan had been to meet Tabby and poke around to see if she’d reveal what she knew and who she might hire. His plans had not included jockeying with his arch-nemesis.
Charlotte had only heard about the need to solve Bucky’s death less than a day ago. Clearly, Tabby had known for much longer if she’d had time to call Edmundo from Miami. And if that was true—Eddie was no coincidence. Someone had done their homework. They knew Seamus would be working for the competition.
“They” had to be Stephanie.
Time for that later. Right now, he had to invent an excuse for being there. “I’m working for Penny. I thought I’d swing by and find out who Tabby hired. See if maybe we could all work together on this.”
Eddie and Tabby burst into laughter.
“Why would we help you?” asked Tabby.
Seamus opened his mouth but failed to find an answer that wouldn’t elicit further joy from Eddie.
“He’s always been funny,” said Eddie, slapping him on the shoulder as he headed for his Mustang.
Seamus’ fingers curled into fists.
“I will be in touch soon,” Eddie called as he pulled from the driveway.
“Anything else?” asked Tabby, arching an eyebrow in Seamus’ direction.
Seamus considered trying to reason with Tabby and warning her about Stephanie’s inclination for mischief.
Nah.
Let her find out on her own.
“No, I think that’s all. Nice to meet you,” he said, with a bow of his head. He turned and entered his own, less-impressive vehicle.
Pulling back onto the dirt drive, he hit the first pothole and heard Tabby’s voice behind him.
“Tell Penny she can go to—”
He turned up the radio and kept driving.
Chapter Ten
Charlotte and Declan liked to meet at his house in order to avoid the prying eyes of Pineapple Port. Retirees had a lot of free time to fill, and being nosy killed time.
At Declan’s home, they had the opposite problem. Seamus didn’t gossip and couldn’t care less about their love lives. But he was so oblivious that it didn’t occur to him that his almost constant presence—sitting in the middle of the sofa drinking a beer and watching Jeopardy—made romance difficult.
Seamus’ hours were spotty at best. Someti
mes he stayed with his girlfriend, Jackie, in Pineapple Port. Other times he stayed at Declan’s, parked in front of the television like a piece of furniture or sprawled on almost any surface with a book in his hand, for days at a stretch.
The one thing he never seemed to do was find a house of his own.
Charlotte knocked and Declan answered, throwing his arms open wide.
“Hello darling, I’m so glad you’re here.”
She cocked an eyebrow. “Huh?”
Declan placed his finger over his lips, asking her to be silent, and then poked his thumb in the direction of the living room. Charlotte tilted to peer past him, and spotted Seamus inside, waving a black box over the coffee table. He glanced up and waved, before holding his finger to his lips, requesting silence.
“I wanted to show you my new flowers out front.” Declan walked past her, shutting the door behind him.
“He’s sweeping for bugs?” she asked.
He scowled. “Yes. You might have told me you thought the place was bugged.”
“Seamus suggested it was a possibility after I talked to you at the shop. You know, about the time Stephanie popped from my back seat.”
“Seamus told me about that. You’d better start locking your car.”
“That’s the thing; I think I did. I don’t know how she got in there. And keep in mind, if there is a bug, that means she was in your house, too.”
The door opened and Seamus joined them on the front porch.
“Living room, bedroom and out back.”
“That’s where you found bugs? You’re kidding,” said Declan, eyes bulging.
“Bedroom?” mumbled Charlotte, the blood draining from her face.
Declan put his hand on his forehead. “Did you remove them?”
“Nope.”
“No? Why not?”
“We might be able to use them to feed her bad information.”
“Are we sure it’s her?” asked Charlotte.
The men shot her withering glances.
“Okay. Dumb question.”
Declan shook his head. “How am I supposed to live in a house knowing Stephanie can hear everything I do and say?”