Cat Got Your Secrets: A Kitty Couture Mystery

by Julie Chase

  “Did you know your dad taught me to drive?” His deep voice vibrated my cheek.

  “What?” I pulled back for a look at his face.

  “I was fifteen and a half, praying for sixteen, and my parents were busy worshipping Carter. They were never home. Always looking at colleges with Carter, attending his baseball games and academic debates. Fretting over his future.”

  “Don’t sound bitter or anything.”

  He released me on the heels of a hearty laugh. “I’m not now. Now he’s my best friend, but back then, I hated the guy. I loathed him throughout my entire adolescent life. Everyone thought Carter hung the moon, and I was an emotional drain on the family. Everyone was right on both counts, of course. I couldn’t even yell fraud. He was perfect, always striving to please our parents, while all I wanted to know was how soon I could leave their unyielding grasp.” He rubbed a hand through his hair. “One night, your dad came by looking for my dad, but he’d gone somewhere with Carter. So your dad came back a few days later. Same thing. The second time, he stayed and waited. Dad didn’t come home for two hours, but your dad stayed. He asked me about my most recent suspension for fighting and how volleyball was going. Eventually, he ordered fish tacos and took me with him to pick them up. On the way home, we started talking about driving, and I confessed I hadn’t had a lesson. He drove us straight to the lot behind Armstrong Park. We ate tacos and talked about the gauges on the dash, what they meant, why they’re important. When we finished, he handed me the keys.”

  That sounded exactly like my dad. “Where was I?”

  “Who knows?” Chase gave me a sad smile. “He worried a lot about you back then. I was troublesome, but you were practically a delinquent.”

  “Was not.” I was more like a teenage Houdini who’d mastered the art of vanishing from her room after curfew to kiss boys who lived outside the district. “Okay. Maybe I was a tad rebellious, but I never meant to worry Dad.” I stepped away from Chase. “I’d only intended to upset my mom.”

  He nodded. “Well, for what it’s worth, I kept your dad’s mind off of whatever you were up to at least once a week for a couple months. He picked me up every Saturday after that for tacos and a driving lesson.”

  My heart swelled with love for my father, appreciation for Chase, and a million other things I couldn’t name. “I can’t believe I never knew that.”

  “Your dad’s like that with everyone. It’s who he is and everyone knows it. No one’s going to believe he killed Mr. Becker. They might be clamoring for gossip right now, but in their hearts, they know.”

  I moved back against his chest and laid my cheek over his heart. “Thank you.”

  “It’s no problem. It’s the truth.”

  I wrapped my arms around his middle and inhaled the comforting scents of fabric softener, mint gum, and cologne. “Thank you for being there for him when I wasn’t. For taking his mind off his obstinate daughter. And for being his friend.”

  His strong arms curled more tightly over me. “You want to kiss me now?”

  I laughed. “Yeah. A lot,” I confessed. Maybe I was an oversharer.

  He released me with a cocky grin. “Good.” He pinned me with a ready stare. A cocky smile slid into place. “Go on.” He lowered his voice to a smooth whisper. “You can do it.”

  Time slowed to a crawl, and for a moment, every thought in my head seemed vacuumed away. He didn’t move as I pressed my mouth to his, allowing me complete control and, more important, the opportunity to abort. Tension leaked from my body, and my eyelids fell shut.

  My phone erupted with Mom’s special ringtone.

  I pulled back on a sharp intake of air. “It’s like she knows,” I whispered, pressing shaky fingertips to my mouth. I grabbed the phone and hoped for good news. “Hi, Mom.”

  “Lacy? This is your mother.”

  Chase watched as heat spread over my cheeks and neck. There was a wicked gleam in his eye.

  “Hi, Mom,” I said more slowly. “How’s Dad? Have you heard anything more from the police or your attorney?”

  “Of course not. Your father’s in his office pretending that none of this is happening, and I’m out here handling things.”

  “What do you mean by ‘things’?”

  “For starters, I’ve hired a personal security team to watch the perimeter.”

  “That sounds smart. Anything else going on?”

  She huffed into the receiver. “I tried to deliver my sympathies to Mrs. Becker, but she wouldn’t accept my casserole. Can you believe it? She flat-out refused it and sent me off her porch in front of God and everyone.”

  “Who else was there?”

  “No one. What do you mean?”

  I rubbed my forehead. “I’m sure she just needs a little time. She’s probably in shock. You can’t fault her on lack of congeniality today.”

  “I didn’t expect her to offer me tea in her best china, but she could’ve at least taken the darn casserole. She could’ve thrown it in the trash when I left, but she should have accepted it.”

  “Mom,” I started, unsure how to say the thing she already knew, “she’s hurting. Grieving. Her husband died last night.” Or this morning. I couldn’t be sure, since Jack wasn’t speaking to me for some reason.

  “She can’t possibly believe your father hurt Wallace.” Her voice cracked, a rare loss of composure.

  I softened my voice. “Give her time.”

  “It’s asinine.” Mom sniffled.

  I agreed, but I’d also never lost a husband under any circumstance, especially not any as strange as these. “What exactly did she say?” Maybe Mrs. Becker knew more than I did, and she’d let a little something slip.

  “Well, for one thing, she said to count her off the District Welcoming Committee for the NPP. Now you’re going to have to fill in for her. I’ll get a schedule of meetings to you tomorrow.”

  Not the information I was looking for.

  I filled one of the empty glasses with wine and took a gulp. “You put me on the Pet Pageant Welcoming Committee.”

  “As a Crocker, you have certain community obligations.”

  I tossed back another mouthful of wine. I’d heard this particular speech all my life. The only difference being that since moving home, I’d been trying to live up to her expectations, which meant I was stuck. To make it worse, she was right. I owed my district for a growing list of things. The powers that be had supported my business, rescued my trashed shop after a break-in last summer, and welcomed me home with open arms after a ten-year sabbatical. “Okay.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean I will cheerfully join you on the committee. I’m glad to help.”

  “Good,” she said after a long pause. “I also need you to do your thing with Jack. Bond. Flirt. Use your feminine wiles if necessary, but get this insane allegation against your father squashed before the rumors do permanent damage.”

  I turned my back on Chase at her mention of me using my “feminine wiles.” “Don’t worry. I’ll figure out who did this.”

  “No!” she shouted. “Don’t do that. For heaven’s sake, you practically got yourself killed the last time you poked your nose into a murder investigation. I don’t care if they find Wallace’s killer. I just need to clear your father’s name before I can’t undo the damage. I swear my mother’s probably turning over in her grave to hear such things said about this family.” Her voice dropped to a rattling whisper. “You know she never wore a skirt that didn’t cover her ankles, and look at us today—showing off our rear ends!”

  “Mom!”

  “It’s true, isn’t it? Oh, here comes your father. Be here for dinner tomorrow. He needs some cheering up.” She disconnected without a good-bye.

  I dropped the phone onto the counter and refilled my glass. “Well, that was my mother.”

  Chase smiled. “I gathered. I also hear you joined a new committee.”

  I dropped my head onto the counter. “She’s practically swearing now. Nothing goo
d can come from that. Mom never gets that worked up. It’s unladylike and not respectable at all.”

  “I believe I’ve heard one or two zingers out of your mouth.”

  “Sometimes the crown slips.”

  We stared at one another in a strange heated silence. We’d finally kissed. I’d officially repaid my debt for the safe return of Penelope. Now what?

  “Are you thinking about kissing me again?” he asked.

  “Yes.” I loaded cooled pet treats into bakery boxes lined in pink-and-green paper to keep my hands busy.

  “Good.”

  I released a long, slow breath and sealed the final box with a fleur-de-lis sticker.

  “What’re you going to do now?” he asked.

  I turned in a slow circle, looking for something to keep my harried mind occupied. My pink canvas tote came into view. “Since there’s no chance I’m sleeping tonight”—I pulled the tote into my arms—“I guess I’ll start the mock-ups for Mrs. Neidermeyer. She asked me to make seven vintage military tutus and tops for her Shih Tzus. They’re performing to Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy. I didn’t ask at the time, but they’re probably dancing for the NPP Welcoming Committee.” I kneaded the aching muscles in my neck and shoulders. “I guess that’s me now.”

  “What branch are the Shih Tzus serving in?”

  I wrinkled my nose. “She didn’t say.”

  He laughed. “Why are they performing for the committee?”

  “The winners will be crowned as our local ambassadors for the National Pet Pageant.”

  “Ah.” Chase stretched to his feet. “I’m going to leave you to it.” He kissed my head on his way to the front door. “I’d try for a kiss goodnight, but I don’t want to press my luck. Also, I call a do-over. I’m falling asleep sitting up, so that wasn’t my best work.”

  Not his best work? I’d kissed him twenty minutes ago and my toes still hadn’t uncurled. “A do-over?” I squeaked.

  “Yep.”

  I followed him onto the porch. “When?”

  He rubbed his eyes and made a frown face. “Wait a minute. Won’t making costumes for contestants in an event you’re judging create a conflict of interest?”

  Not the response I’d wanted. I gave his question a quick deliberation. “Probably, but there’s no way I’m not making those costumes. Besides, Attorney Hawthorne, this isn’t a court of law. It’s the Garden District, and serving it is my civic duty.” With any luck, I’d be hired to make all the competitors’ costumes as well. Maybe I could use the conflict of interest angle to get out of judging.

  Chase moved onto the sidewalk with a broad smile. “It also helps that your mom is the ruling queen of this place, and you’re the fair princess.”

  “You didn’t answer my question,” I called.

  He winked and dropped into his shiny new sports car.

  I ducked inside and set my alarm. I’d just gotten through one highly anticipated kiss and he wanted another? I wouldn’t survive it without an endorphin-induced coma.

  Chapter Seven

  Furry Godmother’s advice on burning the midnight oil: Save some for morning.

  I flipped the “Closed” sign to “Open” at Furry Godmother and arranged my vintage military uniform mock-ups on a rolling rack for Mrs. Neidermeyer. Despite the occasional local rubbernecker, come to see the killer veterinarian’s daughter, there was a steady stream of genuine shoppers buying valentines for their pets. I could’ve used a little help from Imogene, but she claimed Sunday was the Lord’s Day and meant for rest. I happened to know she was planting a garden and having lunch with her friend, Veda, in the French Quarter. According to Imogene, Veda ran an enchanted cookie shop off Royal Street, and I was dying to know if it was the shop or the cookies that were magical. Imogene was too tight-lipped to give me a decent clue.

  Shoppers filled the space around my bakery display, oohing and ahhing at the little pastries inside and emptying the shelves at a record-breaking pace. The line at the register made quick work of my prepackaged mixes and elastic Cupid wings for pets under twenty pounds. I’d never been so thankful for my favorite cushioned wedges. I’d come scarily close to wearing open-toe red lace pumps. If I’d worn those, I’d have been barefoot before lunch.

  Eventually, the bright Louisiana sun began its descent. Happy hour slowly lured my shoppers away, tempting them into local cafés with cheap drinks and underpriced appetizers.

  Penelope climbed onto Spot the moment I released him. I didn’t like her to ride in an overcrowded store. Someone was bound to trip, and my shop owner’s insurance didn’t cover catastrophes. She batted wildly at the spiral of pink pipe cleaner antennas I’d added for her entertainment. Spot bounced off a tiara display and headed in another direction.

  I went to the back room to gather inventory for restocking the shelves.

  When I returned, Jack’s big black truck was seated at the curb outside my window, throwing shade over my front door. He strode into the shop with heavily tinted aviators over a carefully controlled cop face. A day’s worth of stubble covered his cheeks. He walked inside with a bag of ice in one hand. A tear in the top threatened to spill the fast-melting contents. Red syrup dripped through the bag. “Is this yours?”

  I stumbled back a step and emptied my arms on the counter. “Where’d you get that?”

  “It was leaning against your front door. There’s melting ice all over the bench out there and puddles on the sidewalk. You want to tell me what’s going on? Don’t say ‘nothing’ because I can see on your face that this means something to you.”

  It meant the person chucking ice at me from the Tonka truck hadn’t been a random hoodlum. That ice had been a threat, and now someone had left another much larger one on my doorstep.

  A cold twist of nausea spiraled through me. Whoever was responsible for the ice knew what I drove and where I worked.

  “Lacy?” Jack’s deep tenor pulled me back to the moment.

  I forced what I hoped was a congenial expression and met him in the middle of the room. “You’re dripping.” I pushed him to the door.

  He set the bag outside. “Talk.”

  I grabbed a roll of paper towels and mopped up the floor. “Some crazy person in a big yellow Tonka truck was pelting my car with ice yesterday.”

  “Why?”

  I finished the job and stood. “Because they’re crazy?”

  He didn’t look convinced.

  “I don’t know, and I’m trying not to read too far into the ten-pound bag with blood-colored syrup.”

  Jack scowled over his shoulder at the front window, where the tip of the bag was still visible outside.

  I needed a change of subject. “I’ve texted you a half dozen times. You didn’t answer, and I was starting to worry.”

  “There was a shooting in the Lower Ninth Ward. I was tied up late into the night.”

  I simmered in silence, torn between my need for information and a broken heart for whoever had been involved in the shooting. “I’m sorry to hear that. I hope there weren’t any casualties.”

  He dragged his slow gaze over me, and I tried not to overthink my outfit. The blue pleated skirt and white V-neck blouse were adorable, district appropriate, and slightly boho chic.

  Jack, on the other hand, looked like trouble. His overall vibe was more renegade cowboy than urban crime fighter.

  I crossed my arms to keep from fidgeting. “I heard Mr. Becker had a knock on the head. Was that the cause of death?”

  He raised his eyebrows. “How do you know that?”

  “Police report,” I hedged. “Public record.”

  Jack leaned forward, bridging the significant gap in our heights. “I’m handling this.” He furrowed his brow.

  I stuffed my thumbnail between my teeth and gnawed. “What was the official cause of death?”

  “If I tell you, will you stop digging?”

  “I’m not.”

  He peeled the glasses off his face and tucked them into his shirt pocket. “You pulled the po
lice report.”

  I bit into the tender skin along my cuticle to keep from tattling on Chase and opening another can of worms.

  He rubbed his square jaw, pulling my attention to the peppering of tiny white scars hidden beneath the stubble. One more of his many secrets I’d never know. “It could be another day or so before I get anything official back from the ME.”

  I dropped my hand to my side and hid my throbbing thumb inside my fist. “Okay. At least tell me you’re done looking at my dad as a suspect.”

  “I’m following up on all leads. That’s my job, even when you don’t approve of the direction it takes me.” His voice was patient and tender, worrying me further.

  “This is my dad,” I pleaded. “What about your gut? What does that say?”

  He cocked a hip and rested one hand on the butt of his sidearm. “My gut can’t keep your dad out of jail. I’m hunting admissible, irrefutable evidence.”

  I blew out a shuddered breath to calm my jarring fear.

  He scanned the empty store. “I’m looking into Becker’s finances. Maybe that’ll take me in a new direction.”

  “It was probably his wife. It’s always the spouse.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” His cheek twitched.

  I smiled. “Did you know Mrs. Becker refused my mother’s casserole? Who does that?”

  Jack’s cheeks lost the battle to stay somber. His lips curled into a handsome beam. “It’s no wonder. She thinks your dad killed her husband. Tell your mama bourbon works better on Mrs. Becker than food. No one enjoys a stiff drink more than a 1975 rodeo cowgirl.”

  “No!” I pressed cool fingers to my lips, trying to imagine a young Mrs. Becker riding bareback.

  Jack’s smile turned sly. “Everyone’s got secrets. Some are just a whole lot easier to dig up than others.”

  “Speaking of secrets.” I spun on my toes and headed for the slightly more private space behind my counter. I bent my finger for him to follow. “Any news on the other thing you’re looking into?” In other words, had he gotten any further in his search for Grandpa Smacker’s ex-girlfriend?