Cat Got Your Secrets: A Kitty Couture Mystery

by Julie Chase

  “Will you?”

  “Forgive you? Of course.”

  My phone buzzed again. Another call from my mother. I ignored it. “What’s in the file?”

  Jack heaved a sigh. “Everything. Blurry snapshots taken by Wallace. Paranoid notes from at least three months before his death. He’d documented his suspicions fairly thoroughly, but they seem a little crazed. I’m not sure what was real and what was the result of his imagination gone wild. No pictures of the truck you’ve been seeing.”

  I’d once thought I imagined a man in a giant cat head outside my window. I could relate to the effects of stress on the psyche. “I hate to do this, but I need to call my mom and get ready for Dad’s dinner. Maybe I’ll see you there?”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  We disconnected.

  I called Mom while I flipped through a wad of dresses in dry cleaning bags inside my closet, praying something spectacular would appear.

  She answered on the first ring. “Finally,” she heaved. “Where are you? Are you home?”

  “Yep.”

  “Good. Hang up.”

  The phone went dead. “Mom?” I shook it and stared at the blank screen. A video call rang through from Violet Conti-Crocker. I accepted.

  Mom’s eyes appeared. “Are you there? Can you see me?”

  “Back up,” I said. “I can see your pores.”

  A hand flew over her nose as she pulled the camera away. She set the phone on something and stepped in front of the screen wearing a lovely, tea-length Vera Wang. The floral midnight-blue-and-lavender pattern was gorgeous against her ivory skin and neutral lipstick. “What are you wearing tonight?” she asked. “My stylist brought a rack of things for you to try. Come over and bring a black clutch and heels. Those will go with anything. Hair and makeup will be here at five.”

  “I’m doing my own hair and makeup,” I said. Though I had absolutely no idea what I would be wearing. “You look fantastic.”

  The lines on her forehead smoothed. “Do you really think so?” She pulled a rack of dresses into view. “I’ve tried them all twice. Nothing feels right. I want tonight to be perfect for your father.”

  “It will be.”

  “What if no one shows up? What if he thinks I look like a mess?”

  “He thinks you’re beautiful no matter what you wear,” I said. “And if no one shows up, it’s their loss because we’re going to have an amazing time.”

  She spread one hand over her collarbone. “He doesn’t want to go.”

  “He’ll go.”

  “What if he doesn’t?”

  I gave her an empathetic smile. I’d felt the same way last night on Jack’s couch. What if everything falls apart and I can’t stop it? Maybe Imogene was right. Maybe Mom and I were equally dramatic. “He’ll go because it will make you happy.”

  She ran her hands down the length of her dress. “See you at seven.” She reached for the phone and blinked out of sight.

  I turned back to my closet. There was nothing remotely pastel left inside. As if Mom wasn’t stressed out enough, her daughter was about to show up in a vibrant, nonfloral gown or worse. Black. I pushed elbow deep into the gowns, searching for some forgotten number that had been somehow shoved from sight.

  Claudia Post’s business card stared up at me from the floor. A delicate green vine of sweetheart roses formed the border. My heart quickened in a moment of creative clarity. I owned a rose-colored dress and the lion’s share of appliqués and accents. There was hope for this evening yet.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Furry Godmother’s words of wisdom: Being fashionably late requires first being fashionable.

  I took a cab to the Elms Mansion and arrived fashionably late. By the looks of the parking lot and line at the valet, things weren’t as dire as I’d assumed. Half the district had turned up to honor Dad’s contribution to the community. The cynic in me said they’d only come to stare at the murderer or see if he’d go cuckoo during his speech, but the rest of me—the parts that understood what it meant to belong here—knew that neighbors stuck together and that I’d overreacted by assuming the worst.

  I nodded at the doorman and slipped into the vibrant affair. The Van Benthuysen Elms Mansion and Gardens was one of the most famous historic homes in the district. Its exquisite Italianate-style architecture made it the Mona Lisa of St. Charles Street and one of the most popular venues in the city. Knots and clusters of guests sipped champagne and wandered down hallways lined in ornamental cornices and twenty-four-carat sconces. I held my wrist at hip level, keeping the small ribbon of material looped around it at an appropriate distance from the floor. The ribbon was attached to my train. Thanks to the delicate border on Claudia Post’s business card, I’d turned my fashion crisis around in under sixty minutes. The red, Pretty Woman–esque ball gown in my closet stopped looking so not floral and started looking like the start of a beautiful flower. With a few tight stitches and a line of tiny silk rosebuds down one side of the plunging neckline, I’d repurposed a piece I never thought I’d get to wear again. I smiled at a pair of whispering women as they pointed to the length of material flowing beneath my gloved arm.

  “Miss Crocker,” a woman in a pantsuit speed-walked in my direction. “This way. Your mother has been worried sick.” Her strained face and clipboard screamed “party planner.”

  “I was running late,” I said by way of obvious explanation.

  She powered ahead, all business. “Your father’s dinner is being held in the ballroom. Dessert will be served in the gardens. Get something to drink and mingle until you’re called to be seated. You’re sitting at the head table with your family, your date, and the men and women who nominated Dr. Crocker for the service award.”

  My date had called while I was sewing my dress a new look. Something had come up, and Chase needed to meet me here so as not to make me late. Given my last-minute wardrobe issues, he’d probably beaten me.

  I tiptoe-ran along behind Pantsuit, unable to keep up with her long legs and ballet flats. The black-and-silver stilettos on my feet were made for show, not sport.

  We passed through great arching doors at the end of the well-appointed hall. She blended instantly into the woodwork and headed away from the crowd. I slowed to admire the grand ballroom and its ornately jeweled windows. Though I’d visited the Elms many times, the view never grew less impressive.

  Mom was easy to spot, shaking hands and kissing cheeks near the bar. “This home was built in 1869 for Watson Van Benthuysen II,” she told an awestruck couple before her. “He was a Yankee, from New York, until he moved down here and joined the Confederate Army.” She paused briefly for dramatic effect. “He died right here in this house back in 1901.”

  Her gaze landed on me. Her sharp blue eyes narrowed, then widened, taking me in from head to toe. She excused herself from the couple and came to my side. “You’re late.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.”

  “I called. You said you were on your way.” She looked me over again, more carefully this time. “This is beautiful. Where’d you get it?”

  “Closet.” I squirmed.

  “This is one of yours?”

  “I made it in design school. I’m fresh out of pastel, so I dressed it up to comply with the Welcoming Committee dress code. Now I’m a rose.”

  She moved around me in a tight circle, dragging gentle fingertips over the material gathered at my waist. “Could you make another in periwinkle before the National Pet Pageant?”

  I forced my gaping mouth shut. “You want me to make you a dress?” Mom only wore couture. Period. If the designer wasn’t a global name, she didn’t have time to look at it.

  “That’s what I said, isn’t it? If you can’t, that’s fine. I know you’re busy with the flower costumes.” She hiked a brow. “You have started the flower costumes. Right?”

  “Sure.” I’d start as soon as I got home.

  “Is Jack coming?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. He s
aid he’d try.”

  She made a face. “After last night, I assumed he wouldn’t miss it.”

  The words floated loosely in my mind for several beats as I dialed. “What happened last night?”

  Her expression fell. “Don’t be coy. Everyone on the street saw your car at his house all night. Surely you didn’t think that information would somehow elude me.”

  “Nothing happened.” I grabbed a flute of champagne from a passing waiter. “Where’s Dad?”

  “In the gardens. He’s telling dreadful stories about our early years—taking over his dad’s once-failing practice and other times of struggle.”

  I smiled. Dad loved telling those stories. To him, they were badges of honor, times he’d persevered and overcame the odds. To Mom, hard times were an embarrassment, representing places in her life where she’d fallen short somehow, either directly or by association with someone else who’d also struggled. Mom thought life should be easy. Dad thought life should be a challenge. And they wondered why I was conflicted.

  “Hello, gorgeous.” Chase cut through the crowd to Mom’s side and kissed her cheek. “You look beautiful, Mrs. C. What a lovely party you’ve planned.”

  “Hello, Chase,” Mom said. “You look dashing as ever. Where’s your valentine?” She shot me a pointed look. Tomorrow was Valentine’s Day.

  He smoldered. “I’m available if you are.”

  “Are you familiar with Eddie Haskell?” she asked.

  “No, ma’am.” He scanned the room. “Is he here tonight?”

  “He was a character on Leave it to Beaver.”

  An incorrigible one, if memory serves. I smiled at Mom.

  Chase made a puzzled face.

  I cast him a meaningful look.

  “Never mind.” She waved at someone over my head. “The Cummings are here.” She rolled her eyes to the ceiling in quiet exasperation. “She’s obsessed with her son. It’s ridiculous. You should probably go.”

  “Me?” I asked, confused by the sudden change of subject.

  She tossed back the remainder of her drink and grabbed another. “Cora,” she sang, “thank you so much for coming. This must be Max.”

  A woman with white beehive hair and a forty-something escort greeted Mom with air kisses. “Darling, yes. This is Maximillian.”

  Maximillian dragged a slow, creepy gaze over my neckline. “Nice to meet you,” he told my floral accents.

  I turned my train-carrying wrist discreetly in his view and pointed upward. When he found my eyes, they were slits of warning.

  He coughed and looked haphazardly around.

  I took a few steps in Chase’s direction. The path was intersected by Kinley. She grabbed Chase’s face and kissed his lips with a smack. “You were right! The band will take requests. I asked them to play ‘Old Time Rock and Roll.’”

  Mom closed her eyes for a long beat. I could almost hear her thoughts on the expensive string quartet she’d hired playing a Bob Seger cover. “Maybe you’d like to dance,” she suggested.

  I baby-stepped backward, putting more distance between myself and Maximillian.

  He advanced on me, stroking his thin black mustache. “Do you like to sail?” he asked. “My yacht is participating in the Bahamas regatta next month. I keep a house on the island.”

  I recoiled farther, accidentally bumping into Mom.

  Kinley smiled deviously. She’d twined her arm with Chase’s and pressed herself against him.

  “Excuse me,” I said, ducking my head and making an abrupt escape I was certain to hear about later.

  Chase was at my side in a minute. “I didn’t mean to spring the Kinley thing on you. It happened kind of fast. Not that it’s anything serious,” he assured. “I meant to talk to you about it before dinner, but I was running late today, and you weren’t home when I stopped by last night.”

  I blushed at the implication. “So tell me now.”

  He glanced in Kinley’s direction. “I ran into her at the grocery. We talked until the store closed. I was so engrossed I forgot to buy anything. The clerks kicked us out, and I followed her home. She offered me sweet tea, and we sat on her porch until almost four this morning.”

  “Well, she seems nice,” I fibbed. Honestly, she seemed a little hostile, and I hadn’t fully released her as a suspect in Mr. Becker’s murder, but I’d be angry too if I’d just lost my dad.

  He pierced me with sincere green eyes. “Are you sure you don’t mind? I mean, you said this wasn’t the right time for us.”

  “I don’t mind.” I smiled. “I’m sure she’s a great girl.”

  He sighed. “Probably won’t last,” he said. “She’s not the one I’ve been chasing all year.”

  “I think when it’s meant to be, you won’t have to chase her.”

  He bent forward to kiss my temple. “Well, back at you. Be sure to pack an extra towel for the Bahamas.”

  “Shut up.” I shoved his shoulder. “You’re such a jerk.”

  “Definitely get the sun block that sprays on.” Chase moseyed back toward his date, wiggling his fingers.

  I covered my mouth and shook my head. Maximillian wasn’t getting anywhere near me with sun block or otherwise.

  A flash of gold swept through my periphery. I turned with a start. I’d been hyperaware of women in gold dresses since the night I’d first met Tabitha. She’d chosen a slinky gold number for a gala I’d attended. In the distance, a blonde in shimmering taffeta moved toward the kitchen and disappeared from sight. “Why not?” I asked myself.

  I gave chase. If I was wrong about the woman’s identity, I’d simply apologize. If I was right . . .

  I rounded the corner to the kitchen, immediately assaulted by a cacophony of clanging pots and sweltering temperatures. The woman was gone. I checked under linen-covered carts and behind the counters. “Did a woman in gold just run through here?” I asked loudly.

  A man in a partially flattened chef’s hat pointed to the back door.

  “Thank you.” I hastened into the gardens via the service exit.

  White bistro lights were strung through treetops, along a picket fence, and around a central gazebo. Black chairs with white-cushioned seats circled a sea of small round tables. Replica lanterns with battery-operated tea lights formed the centerpieces.

  Dad stood at the garden’s center with a circle of men his age, all smiling over something he was saying. He lifted a hand when he saw me and flashed the most genuine smile I’d seen on him in days. “Lacy!” He moved in my direction with open arms.

  I was drawn in like a wave to the sea. “Hi, Dad.” I squeezed him quickly, scanning the area for another glimpse of gold.

  “Your mother throws quite a party.” He chuckled.

  “True, but all these people are here for you,” I said proudly.

  “I’m just glad you’re here.” He rested a palm on my shoulder. “If there was only you, your mother, and I, I’d still have the night of my life.”

  “Well, that’s because we’re awesome.” I lifted onto my toes and kissed his cheek. “I’m glad everyone came. I think it helps to be reminded that we’re important from time to time.” I looked him square in the eyes. “You are very important.”

  “Pst!” The sound came from the bushes. “Pst! Pst!”

  “Will you excuse me?” I asked Dad, already texting Jack.

  I think Tabitha is at the Elms.

  I crept in the direction of the sound, and crouched to peer through leafy green shrubs.

  Tabitha came into view at the mansion’s edge several yards away. Her back was pressed to the stone. “We need to talk.”

  I doubted this conversation would go as well as the one I’d had with Jack when he’d uttered those same words.

  She motioned me to join her beside a table holding at least four hundred champagne glasses stacked into impressive but precarious pyramids. “I’m being blackmailed,” she said.

  “Ha.” I spoke the word, unamused. “Funny.”

  “I’m serious.�
�� Her flushed cheeks and fidgety appearance tempted me to believe her. “My mama is in a nursing home in Bon Temps. She’s got Alzheimer’s. She’s getting worse all the time, and she needs special care.” Her face turned red. “I came down here looking for a man with money to fall in love with me and take pity on my mother. Her savings were gone. Mine were gone. I couldn’t afford to keep her in a nice facility, and moving her to one of those preapproved holes on the Medicare list seemed cruel. They’re understaffed. Not clean. Not homey. There are fewer full-time nurses and doctors at each location. I was desperate.”

  “So what?” I scoffed. “When Jack’s grandpa wouldn’t bend to your will, you decided to kill him?”

  “Are you insane?” she seethed. “That man had a heart attack.”

  “He was drugged.”

  “Heart attack.”

  I hesitated, unsure if this was part of her game. Hoping if I kept her talking long enough, Jack might show up and find her. “You had spiked wine together every night.”

  “I don’t drink.” She lowered her voice. “I’ve been sober seventeen and a half years, and I have never done drugs.”

  I guessed it made sense that she wouldn’t drink drugged wine, but he’d definitely had plenty of both. We stared at one another.

  “The wine,” she sobbed.

  I moved closer. “Sage sent it?”

  Surprise flashed in her eyes. “Yes. A delivery arrived every Sunday from his favorite vineyard. The bottles always had a note. Sometimes instructions. Pour him a glass after dinner and ask a question about someone I’d never heard of. It was simple, and he liked the wine. Who was I hurting? I’d write down the answers and leave them in the mailbox at dawn.”

  “Who is Sage?”

  She made a desperate face. “Sage was the name on the first envelope. The one meant for me.”

  “Photos?” I guessed.

  She wetted her lips and nodded. “Pictures of me when I was drinking. Awful ones. Those pictures would’ve ruined my life.”

  I was tempted to ask about the photos’ contents, but how could I believe anything she said? “Why are you here? Why tell me this?” I watched her carefully, hoping to learn as much from her body language as her speech. She seemed genuinely shocked.