Cat Got Your Secrets: A Kitty Couture Mystery

by Julie Chase

  I dropped my phone on the counter and performed a search on my phone for freezer-related deaths. As suspected, Mr. Becker’s death was unusual.

  “Lacy?” Imogene called from behind the bakery counter. “Telephone.”

  I cheerfully took an order for the Creative Cavies Easter Celebration. Ten bunny costumes for guinea pigs. Exactly what I needed to keep my mind busy. Sometimes my life was kind of perfect.

  I flipped through design books, marking pages. Then I grabbed a new spool of elastic for perfect one-size-fits-all creations. An hour later, my first mock-up bunny costume was finished, and the steady flow of customers through Furry Godmother had fizzled.

  “What do you think?” I asked Imogene, raising the tiny white fabric into the air.

  “What is it?”

  Mom swept dramatically into the shop before I could answer. She was wearing big black sunglasses and a matching floppy hat. If she was trying not to be noticed, she’d failed. I wasn’t sure if it was the black swing coat or leggings that put the whole high-end ninja look over the top, but it was something.

  “Mom?”

  She scanned the empty shop. “Good. We’re alone.” She stood guard by the front window, gaze traveling up and down the sidewalk outside. “Come here.”

  I dropped the fuzzy material and approached her with care. “Everything okay?”

  “No!” She whipped the oversized glasses off her face.

  “What’s wrong? Why are you dressed that way?”

  “I’m lying low. The local news and the CB have painted your father as a monster.”

  “What’s a CB?” Imogene asked.

  “Cuddle. Brigade.” Mom spat the words. “They’re making everything worse.”

  I peeked through the window at her side. “You think someone followed you here?”

  “I don’t know. I’m humiliated, and I’m worried about your father. He’s not speaking. He hasn’t left his office since we returned from the police station.”

  “I’m still unclear about the outfit,” I said. “Are you a ninja or is this supposed to be slimming?” It certainly did nothing to help her blend in. Magazine Street was an artsy and colorful display of local shops and native blooms. She stood out like a weed in a rose bouquet.

  “I’m on my way to deliver Mrs. Becker’s casserole. Black is the traditional color of mourning. I’m dressed to show support.”

  “Really?” I checked the time on my phone.

  Mom left the window, apparently satisfied she hadn’t been followed. She rounded the counter where I was working and lifted my bunny costume mock-up. “Very nice.”

  “Thanks.”

  She turned the piece over in her hands, examining the stitches and seams. “If I were someone you listened to, I’d suggest creating a collection of your favorite designs. Everything that screams Furry Godmother, and I’d get it together as soon as possible.”

  “Why? What have you heard?”

  She did her best to look aloof, but I knew her. She had information, and as long as someone asked her for it, she wasn’t gossiping. She was simply being polite. “The National Pet Pageant finally decided on this year’s location.”

  I held my breath. This was the moment I’d been waiting for. I’d checked their website for months, but with all that had happened today, I’d forgotten.

  “They’re coming to New Orleans this summer.”

  “Yes!” I dropped my head back and did a silent scream.

  When I righted my face, Mom didn’t look half as excited as I was. I tried and failed to tone down my enthusiasm, but her news was huge. “Do you think I should make some show pieces? Were you suggesting a portfolio?”

  “That’s what I said, isn’t it? Every pet owner in the district is climbing over one another to get the perfect outfit and venue for a party. If you handle this properly, you’re guaranteed to have more business than you can manage.”

  I pressed my hands into prayer pose. “Where did you hear this? Is it on the website? Are you sure this is solid information?”

  Mom dropped her patent-leather Kate Spade bag on the counter and gave me her exasperation face. I’d seen that one a lot since coming home. “The National Pet Pageant Welcoming Committee.” She spoke slowly, waiting for the words to mean something to me.

  “Who?”

  “I told you I formed the committee. I even asked you to join us so you’d know everything about the pageant before anyone else. You refused.”

  “You were serious?” When she’d told me the idea at Christmas, I’d assumed she’d had too much eggnog. The National Pet Pageant had made it clear they wouldn’t reach a decision on the next location for months. Why start a committee for an event that might not even happen on the same side of the country?

  “We have to be preemptive, Lacy. It’s our Southern duty to exemplify hospitality. I daresay the pageant chose New Orleans, at least in part, thanks to the efforts of our committee. Now they’re coming, and this district needs to wow those NPP people.” She smiled. “The ladies and I are calling them the NPP to save time. It stands for National Pet Pageant.”

  I did a slow nod. “Got it.”

  “We need to show the NPP that they made a wise decision by choosing New Orleans. We can’t just wing it and hope for the best.”

  “Remind me why locals are throwing parties?”

  Her mouth fell open. “This is exactly why I keep telling you to get more involved in the community. You’re so busy working you don’t know what’s happening under your nose, and this pageant has to do with you.”

  I waited. There was nothing I could say without egging her on. Clearly, I was failing as a proper Southern woman, daughter, business owner, and other unnamed things.

  Mom shot Imogene a look before turning her attention back on me. “The NPP Welcoming Committee is choosing a local face for the event. An ambassador, if you will.”

  “Your committee is choosing an ambassador. For the NPP event?” I let that sink in.

  “Of course. It’s basic good manners. The ambassador will give us one more method of making the NPP feel welcomed. Our local pet ambassador will have his or her face on every NPP flyer, poster, brochure, and flag made by the committee. We’re designing them now. We’ll use them to drum up local enthusiasm.”

  The concept disturbed and invigorated me. Sure, the competitive culture in our district was borderline certifiable, but I was about to be buried in an avalanche of design requests. “Are you entering Voodoo?”

  Voodoo was the Crocker family cat, a typical black with big green eyes. Like the others before her, she was adopted as an adult when her predecessor became ill or died. Dad’s family had been replacing Voodoo for decades. To the outside world, she was ageless, mystical, the epitome of New Orleans’s culture. To us, she was family.

  Mom frowned. “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t do this for the glory, darling. I’m only here to help others. Besides, how would it look if the committee chose one of the members’ pets as ambassador? People would think we were self-serving.” Mom hooked her bag in the crook of one arm and squared her shoulders. “I’ve got to go. There’s a widow in need of dinner out there.” She adjusted her floppy hat and glasses before striding away.

  I flipped the “Open” sign to “Closed.” “She’s so dramatic.”

  Imogene hiked both eyebrows into her hairline. “She is?”

  “Yes.” I flipped the dead bolt. “I know she’s your best friend, but she’s over the top.”

  Imogene chuckled. “Mm-hmm.”

  “What?” I tidied shelves of bedazzled Shih Tzu tutus and Swarovski-encrusted turtle tiaras.

  “Pots and kettles,” Imogene said.

  “Now who sounds like my mom? I heard the same thing from her this morning.”

  She chuckled.

  I straightened a shelf of Banana Bacon Pupcake mix and thought of my conversation with Robbie. What if he was right, and I wasn’t the only one cleaning up right now? What if an ent
ire crew descended upon the event hall to scrub it down before I had a look at the crime scene? What if the police missed something?

  Imogene flipped the overhead lights off, leaving the setting sun to light our space, and moseyed in my direction. “I see those wheels turning, and I think you’re plotting trouble.”

  I focused on my shelves. “No, I’m not.”

  “Mm-hmm.” She cocked her head over one shoulder. “Probably you and that little red-headed sidekick of yours.”

  “Scarlet!” I had an idea so fantastic it couldn’t wait for shop cleaning. “You’re brilliant, Imogene.” I kissed her cheek and hugged her tight. “I know what to do next.”

  “Calling Scarlet?”

  “Yep.” I grabbed Penelope on her next pass through the shop. She straightened her legs as I lifted, attempting to continue her ride on the Roomba. I tucked her against my chest and grabbed her travel pack.

  “Come on, sassy. It’s time to visit my favorite Hawthorne.”

  Chapter Five

  Furry Godmother’s advice on friends: The best ones will drive your getaway car.

  I dropped Penelope off at home, then made a beeline for Scarlet’s place. Hers was the massive estate surrounded by painted garden stones and the vibrant blooms of cherry trees. Evidence of her young family spilled from the property’s seams, brightening the sidewalks and faces of passersby. Tiny soccer nets and plastic golf clubs lined the walkway, and a row of tricycles shared a spot in the driveway.

  I pulled against the curb and waved to her husband, Carter. He bounced haphazardly across the lawn dressed as Clark Kent, carrying three of their four offspring. The high-end suit was probably standard business attire, but his Man of Steel impersonation was spot-on. Dark hair, black-framed glasses, kind eyes. One pint-sized boy laughed wildly in each of Carter’s arms while a red cape and a third tiny smiling doppelgänger hung around his neck and down his back.

  Scarlet stopped to kiss their faces on her way to the sidewalk. She met me on the curb with a baby strapped to her chest.

  I dragged my attention to Poppet’s sleeping face and powered down the passenger window. I leaned across the console and stage whispered, “What are you doing?”

  Scarlet bent forward for a better view through the open window. She cradled the baby’s head in one palm. A white eyelet bonnet covered Poppet’s wispy red hair. “Park here. Okay? I’ll drive.”

  “Why?” I cast a wayward gaze to Carter and the other offspring as they collapsed into a roaring heap of laughter. Shouldn’t he be collecting the baby?

  Scarlet made a show of peering into my back seat. “I don’t see a rear-facing infant seat with five-point safety harness.”

  She had me there. No five-point harness. Also, no baby to necessitate whatever that was. “I keep one of Penelope’s spare cat carriers in the trunk,” I offered.

  She shot me a droll expression. “I’ll drive.”

  Scarlet headed for the white Lexus SUV in her open garage while I parked my eight-year-old VW on the street.

  “Ready?” she called as I approached. She unloaded Poppet from the sling and positioned her into the bizarre three-strap seat belt with mind-boggling ease. The complicated safety harness looked like something out of the space shuttle or a professional race car and incredibly out of place on the bulbous little infant seat.

  I rounded the vehicle to the passenger door and climbed aboard. My grown-up, single-strap seat belt seemed suddenly like a ruse.

  Scarlet slid behind the wheel. “Sorry for bringing the baby. She has separation anxiety, so I have to take her everywhere now.”

  I gave my friend a long look. That sounded exhausting. “How are you doing?”

  “Okay.” She slid designer sunglasses over her eyes and heaved a sigh. “You know. Living the dream.”

  I smiled. “You really are. And hey, they’re only babies for a little while, right?”

  She reversed out of the drive with a hearty laugh. “As long as they weren’t born with a Y chromosome.”

  “Well, that seems unfair.” I smiled at the spread of male Hawthornes on her lawn.

  “Apparently you’ve never seen a grown man with a cold. Or a papercut. Or just out of reach of the remote control.” She merged into traffic with a smile. “Where are we headed? Your call was a bit cryptic.”

  “How do you feel about crashing a crime scene?”

  “Like I thought you’d never ask. The reception hall beside the Cuddle Brigade offices?”

  I raised and lowered my chin in exaggerated movements.

  “Excellent. This is exactly what I needed. A little excitement. An adventure.”

  I turned the stereo on low and brought up my favorite station. “I aim to serve.”

  “You aim to misbehave,” she corrected.

  Occasionally, that too. Sunlight warmed my face and arms as we traveled along the familiar streets wrapped in nostalgia, whisper-singing to songs from our high school days while Poppet slept in the back.

  Scarlet pulled smoothly into a space behind the reception hall and settled the engine. “What’s the plan?”

  I wobbled my head. “No plan.”

  “Goal?”

  I released my seat belt and angled to face her. “I want to know what the police saw in the freezer. I can’t get a look at Mr. Becker, but I can explore the crime scene before it’s scrubbed down and restocked. I want to know what kind of ‘evidence’ the police might try to use against my father.” I popped my door open. “Do you want to wait here?”

  “No. Why?”

  I cast a pointed look into the back seat. “We can’t risk getting Poppet arrested.”

  “She can’t get arrested. She’s a baby.”

  “Still, that would be the epitome of setting a terrible example.”

  Scarlet rolled her eyes and hopped out. A moment later, she swung Poppet’s sling over her head and swaddled the baby inside. “Think of this as a lesson in true friendship. Poppet and I are out here supporting you and finding justice for your father. Two noble causes.”

  “Way to twist the facts. It’s as if you married a lawyer.”

  “The very best.”

  “Good.” I eyeballed the cleaning crew swarming in and out of the open back door like honeybees from a hive. “Get him on speed dial so we don’t wind up in jail.”

  “Pft.” She puffed air into her wavy sideswept bangs. “We’re two nice ladies and a baby. No one’s going to think we’re up to anything.”

  I followed her through the open rear door, moving upstream against workers in white overalls hauling boxes of frozen items to the truck outside. Broken crime scene tape fluttered along the frame as I passed.

  Ahead of me, Scarlet tipped her baby’s head back and futzed with her hat.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “Looking for Poppet’s lost bonnet.” She untied the string and slipped the cover from her baby’s head. Red hair stretched skyward in a haze of static electricity. Scarlet tucked the bonnet under Poppet’s body and looked around. “Which way to the freezer?”

  “Follow them.” I motioned to the men and women angling past us in the hall.

  We moved through the passageways between the kitchen and manager’s office until the freezer came into view. A large calendar was taped to the wall outside the office. Apparently Mr. Becker’s event hall was as big of a hit as his nannies. I trailed my gaze over the weekend dates. Someone had drawn a red X through tonight’s Bark-Mitzvah. Dark-blue ink scribbled over something written in the box beside it denoting Friday’s events. I inched closer, squinting at the tangle of looping lines. I scratched the page with my fingernail, as if I could somehow pick the top layer of ink away. “Can you make out what’s written here?” I asked Scarlet. “Someone scratched it out.”

  Scarlet nearly pressed her nose to the paper. “I can’t read it. What do you think it says?”

  “I’m not sure. Are those ones? It’s hard to make out, but there might be a number eleven under all those curlicues.”
I snapped a picture with my phone.

  A woman appeared at the end of the hall and headed right for us. Alarm stretched her eyes into saucers. She pressed her palms together and stopped to admire the baby. “What are you doing here, little one?” she cooed at Poppet. “Oh, she’s sleeping.” The woman spoke more softly. “A true Sleeping Beauty. Just look at you. You tiny angel baby girl.” She lifted her animated expression to Scarlet. “She’s beautiful. How old is she?”

  “Four months.”

  “She’s precious.” Her hands hovered in the air, desperate to touch, knowing she shouldn’t.

  Scarlet smiled sweetly and stroked Poppet’s pink cheeks. “That’s so nice of you to say. Thank you.” Her voice grew sugary and her accent more pronounced. “Are you the supervisor?”

  “Oh, no.” She shook her head and stepped away from Poppet, seeming to recall she had a job to do. “Not me. No. Frank’s out front.”

  Scarlet tipped her head in a show of appreciation. “Thank you so much. You’ve been ever so helpful.”

  The woman’s smile grew. “You’re quite welcome.”

  I waited until she’d sashayed away before turning to Scarlet. “What was that about?”

  Scarlet turned wild eyes on me. She shoved my shoulder, pushing me toward the freezer. “You go check out the crime scene. Poppet and I will distract the manager.”

  I marveled at the tiny Hawthorne. “Is there anything she can’t sleep through?”

  “Yeah,” Scarlet answered coldly. “The night.”

  I stifled a laugh. “Okay. Go.” I slipped into the freezer for a quick look around, careful to check that the doorstop was secured on the right side of the door. The temperature dropped immediately. A thin layer of frost covered most of the shelves and remaining stock. The interior structure was a monochromatic ode to silver. Silver floor. Silver walls. Silver shelves.

  The throng of workers barely glanced in my direction as they continued the circuit of load-up-and-leave. Gray dust clung to the threshold and doorknob, likely evidence of the crime lab’s attempt to pull fingerprints. I dragged my toe over something pink on the floor. It was too flat and brightly colored to be gum, but it didn’t budge. I crouched for a closer look. I snapped a picture with my phone. Nothing else in the room was that shade of pink. I rubbed the pad of my finger over it. There were no visible markings on the little wedge of adhesive, but it must’ve been the remains of a sticker.