Cat Got Your Secrets: A Kitty Couture Mystery

by Julie Chase

  Fat tears rolled over her narrow cheekbones. “Did I really kill him? There were drugs in the wine?”

  I dug a tissue from my clutch and offered it to her. “The coroner found a buildup of GHB in his system. We think the doses were masked by the wine. Eventually, it led to heart failure. I’m sure his age didn’t help.”

  She wrapped her arms across her center and dabbed her eyes with the tissue. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

  “You need to talk to Jack,” I said. “We already know about Sage. Jack’s trying to find him and stop his reign of terror. Too many people are being hurt. At least two people are already dead. I know you want to help, or you wouldn’t have come here to see me.”

  She sniffled. “I came to you because I knew Jack would arrest me. I can’t go to jail. There’s no one else to look after Mama.”

  I chewed my lip. “You have to tell him what you told me. Think of all the other people Sage is puppeteering. You can help them.”

  “She’ll kill me,” Tabitha said flatly.

  Jack sauntered into view. He shook hands with my dad and searched the crowd. His keen eyes stopped when he found me. He started immediately in our direction, leaving Dad to look on.

  “He’ll understand,” I said. “He needs to know.”

  Tabitha batted tear-filled eyes, unsure. Her body tensed when she saw Jack coming. “I wanted to tell him at Christmas, but I knew he’d never believe me. He wants revenge.”

  “He wants the truth.”

  She stuffed the tissue down the top of her dress and shook her hands out at the wrists. “Your dress is absolutely stunning. I am so sorry about this.”

  “Thank you.” I spouted the knee-jerk response before her pained expression registered. “Wait. Sorry about what?”

  She pulled both arms back, bending the elbows out to her sides, before slamming her palms against my shoulders.

  I squawked. My arms circled in the air like the coyote in the old Road Runner cartoons. My stilettos had sunk into the ground at different depths, eliminating any possibility of staying upright. I hit the table of stacked glassware with a scream.

  Jack skidded to a stop before me. “Lacy!”

  “Go!” I pointed to Tabitha’s fast-disappearing figure. “She’s headed for the lot!”

  He froze, unsure.

  “Go,” I said more calmly. “I’m not hurt. Catch her, then come back and arrest Mom for my murder.”

  His frown deepened before he turned for the lot and vanished in her wake.

  A too-familiar groan broke through the accumulating chaos. Mom stood ten feet away, white as a ghost and quickly turning purple.

  “I’m sorry,” I mouthed. Piles of broken glasses twinkled at my sides. I searched for a place to plant my hands and lift myself upright without being cut.

  She dropped her shoulders and let her hands fall to her sides. “For heaven’s sake,” she muttered. “Can we get a little help over here?” Her no-nonsense voice grew by the decibel, drawing instant silence from onlookers.

  People broke into a flurry of activity. Men poured forth, eager to assist in my aid. Women in uniform swept up the glass.

  Mom clapped her hands and barked orders at the band to continue playing. She sent the waitstaff into motion, filling empty hands with drinks and hors d’oeuvres.

  Chase pushed a path through the crowd and hoisted me to my feet with one strong arm. He wrapped me in a warm embrace and rested his chin on top of my head. “There’s never a dull moment with you, is there?”

  I buried my face against his jacket. “Can I die of humiliation?”

  “Not tonight.” He turned me away from the gardens and walked me straight to his car.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Furry Godmother’s hard truth: Egg on a face is hard to wash off.

  I woke on Saturday morning with a sleep deprivation headache. I’d insisted Chase bring me straight home after I wrecked Dad’s dinner. He’d complied and left me to my humiliation. I’d changed into something with less glass and waited for Jack to call.

  He didn’t.

  I showered, dressed, and gathered Mrs. Hams’s finished products for pickup. If insomnia had an upside, it was productivity. I pulled white boxes of fresh pupcakes and tuna tarts from the fridge and stacked them on the counter.

  The drive to work was quiet. Penelope lazed in her carrier on the passenger seat, enjoying the sunlight on her face. I rehashed the humility of being extracted from a collapsed table of champagne flutes while wearing a ball gown and five-inch heels, half the town looking on. The silver lining, I supposed, was the fact that half the town had shown up to support Dad.

  I angled my Volkswagen against the curb on Magazine Street. I loaded my hands with bakery boxes and a cat carrier, then hobbled to Furry Godmother’s door and wedged my key into the lock. I made my way to the counter to unload. Penelope stretched slowly from her carrier. Tired. Bored. I shoved a mug under the Keurig seated on my minifridge.

  The door jingled open before I’d had time to flip the sign or switch on all the lights. Jack strolled in, wearing last night’s white tuxedo and looking a lot like I felt. Exhausted. “You okay?” he asked.

  “Yeah.” I wrapped Mrs. Hams’s lace llama bonnets and eyelet capes into tissue paper and boxed them for pickup. I piled the straw hats into a logoed bag with the accompanying bandanas. “I finished a ton of projects last night while I waited to hear from you. What’d you do?”

  “Chased a ghost.”

  I pulled the finished coffee off the Keurig and handed it to Jack. “Sorry to hear that.” Tabitha certainly was a slippery one. “Did you learn anything from your talk with Wallace Jr.?”

  “Yeah. He was in Vegas last Friday. He’s got photos, receipts, and a call log to prove it. He couldn’t have killed his father.” Jack turned his phone over for a look at the screen. “Your pet line at Grandpa Smacker just got another huge preorder. If this keeps up, you can quit your day job.”

  “No thanks,” I said.

  He put the phone away and gave me an appraising look. “Sorry I didn’t call. I haven’t stopped moving in twelve hours. I’m glad to hear you got a lot of work done.”

  “Thanks. I also read everything the Internet had available on Robin Hood, so if you’re ever in a pinch for extremely specific literary trivia . . .” I waved a dismissive hand.

  He raised the mug to his lips, a slight tremor in his hand. “What about Robin Hood?” He rested his elbows on the counter and gulped the hot, bitter liquid.

  “Something Claudia Post said. She’s the woman who runs a high-end thrift shop called Resplendent,” I explained. “I thought she might recognize the Tonka truck or Tabitha because she’s on the road in the district a lot and visits a lot of local homes.”

  “You were hoping she was a gossip.”

  I rolled my eyes. “She was as tight-lipped as my mother promised when it came to her donators, but she recognized Tabitha from a picture I have on my phone.”

  Jack cocked his head. “Not bad, Crocker. What’d she say about her?”

  My chest puffed with childish pride. “She thinks she’s seen her at the coffee shop where she has lunch.”

  “Where?”

  “Somewhere on Prytania.”

  He grinned. “I know that place. I’ve taken her there myself in the past. Okay, so what did she hear about Sage?”

  “Someone compared him to a modern day Robin Hood.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  I smiled back. “I have no idea.” I made another cup of coffee. “I have so much to tell you.”

  He pinched the bridge of his nose between a thumb and forefinger. “Hang on. I’ve got something for you, and I don’t want to get called away and forget.” He left his coffee and walked outside.

  Imogene passed him on her way in. “Happy Valentine’s Day!” Her red cardigan had pink hearts sewn on it. Her matching maxi skirt nearly hid her shoes.

  I smiled at the sight of her. “Good morning. Do you want coffee?�
�

  “No thanks.” She dropped her bag behind the bakery counter and huffed. “I’m running on pure caffeine. Veda and I were up half the night, but we finally got a bead on her granddaughter.”

  “Oh,” I sagged. “I was supposed to help. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s no problem. She’s safe and sound. Living in Ohio.”

  “That’s fantastic. Is she coming to visit? I can show her around,” I offered.

  Imogene gave me a strange look. “I’m afraid Veda’s family doesn’t work that way. She’ll reach out to her when she dies.”

  I twisted that sentence in my head a few ways, but it never made more sense. “Do you mean Veda? Veda will reach out to her when Veda dies?”

  “That’s right.”

  Jack returned with an accordion folder, and I cheerfully redirected my attention to him.

  Imogene gave him a questioning look. “Either you’re overdressed for this time of day, or those are your walk-of-shame clothes.”

  He snorted. “I wish. I’ve only been home long enough to grab this and head over here before you got busy.”

  Imogene tied a striped apron around her neck and grabbed a feather duster. “Won’t be busy today, except for a trickle of Last-Minute Lulas pretending they didn’t put off their valentine shopping until the morning of.”

  Jack opened the file and lifted out a flat box tied in red ribbon. “I figured I ought to bring a gift if I wanted you to work on a holiday.”

  I nearly spilled my coffee. “This is for me?” I lifted the box for a closer examination. “I didn’t get you anything.”

  “You’ve done more than you realize,” he said with a grin. “Open it.”

  I slid the ribbon off and loosened the tape along one end.

  Imogene dusted a quick path in our direction.

  Jack kept his eyes on me. “They’re for your designs,” he said. “For sketching.”

  I slid the paper away and marveled. “Colored pencils.”

  “The lady at the art store said these are the best. She said an artist would know.”

  He’d gone to a store and asked which colored pencils to buy. I pressed my lips into a smile, then stepped aside to open the drawer at my waist. I lifted out a matching, but extensively tattered, box of sharpened pencil nubs.

  He smiled. “These are the same ones you use?”

  Imogene ran her duster down his sleeve. “You two want to be alone with those pencils?”

  He barked out a laugh and shook the rest of the contents from his file. “No, ma’am. I think Lacy was about to educate me on Robin Hood.”

  I hung my head. “I reread the legend, skimmed the stories, watched the movie. I searched for news articles on modern day instances like local high-end robberies and anything else I could think of in an effort to make sense of what Claudia overheard, but nothing panned out. Everything was a dead end.”

  “Maybe this won’t be,” he said. “This is everything I’ve dug up on Tabitha.”

  I fingered the smattering of loose papers on the counter. “She said her mom’s in a facility for Alzheimer’s patients in Bon Temps. Maybe you can track her through her mother.”

  Jack typed something into his phone. “That’s good. What else did she say?”

  “Sage dragged her into this. She had no idea about the GHB in your grandpa’s wine. Apparently, she hasn’t had a drink in seventeen and a half years.” I piled receipts into a neat stack.

  He went slack-jawed. “She thinks she’s the victim? Grandpa’s dead, and she thinks she’s not to blame?”

  Fresh adrenaline pumped in my veins. “Yes, and guess what else? I think Sage is a woman. When I tried to convince Tabitha to tell you everything she was telling me, she said, ‘She’ll kill me.’ She, not he.”

  “More maybes.” He rubbed his face. “I need to find Tabitha. Same thing I’ve been trying to accomplish since Christmas. Look where that’s gotten me.”

  “You’d better get something to eat,” I said. I gave the street a cursory glance, knowing full well that no restaurants would open for another hour, maybe two.

  “Don’t worry about me. I’m headed home to shower and change. I’ll check long-term care facilities in Bon Temps for Tabitha’s mother and see if I can get a bead on Tabitha that way. Maybe she listed herself as the emergency contact.”

  The bell over my door jingled. Mrs. Hams walked inside with a smile. She rubbed her palms together with vigor. “Are my babies’ hats and capes ready?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” I smiled as she opened the box and bag, oohing and ahhing over my work, but my thoughts were elsewhere.

  I checked my phone regularly for a text from Jack that never came.

  The number of last-minute Valentine’s Day shoppers increased by the hour, slowly clearing out my stock of Cupid costumes, heart-shaped pillows, and boxes of treats. By closing time, I was hard pressed to find anything red or pink on the sales floor.

  I carried my phone all the way to bed with me at half past midnight. Jack never called, but I slept like a baby.

  * * *

  I picked Mom up after work on Sunday for the NPP Welcoming Committee meeting. I’d dug up pale-gray satin slacks and a white wrap blouse to pass as pastel and added a floral silk scarf to the strap of my purse for flourish. Mom met me at the door wearing Nina Ricci and a frown. “You didn’t call.”

  “I told you I’d be here at two,” I said. “I’m early.” I spun my key ring on one finger, a little disappointed. I’d hoped to win her over with my impressive punctuality and a sincere apology for causing a scene at Dad’s dinner.

  She stuffed a stack of pastel folders into her shoulder bag, obviously avoiding eye contact. “How was I to know you’d come at all? You left the dinner party in a blaze of glory, and I haven’t heard a peep from you since.”

  The humiliation of landing on my backside in formal wear struck anew. The memory of my gown’s fabric flowing over a broken table. A halo of shattered glass circling me like a bull’s-eye. The moment was hardly glorious. “I called as soon as I got home so you wouldn’t worry. I left a message.”

  She shooed me out the door and locked up behind us. “It’s fine.” Her tone sharply implied that it wasn’t. “Chase came back and explained everything. He said he’d been showing off for you and tripped.”

  “He did?”

  “Indeed. I’d swear that boy made a point of apologizing to each guest individually. He seemed truly humbled by his blunder.”

  My heart melted. I was so lucky and undeserving of my amazing friends. “No one saw what really happened?”

  “No. Chase stuck to his story with me, but I saw him arrive after you were already on your keister.” She walked to my car’s passenger door and looked at me over the roof. “We could’ve taken my car.”

  “I know.” I loved Mom’s Mercedes, but I had a stop to make, and my car was already loaded. “I shouldn’t have left without saying good-bye. I should’ve been the one to reassure your guests that the fiasco was no fault of yours.”

  She buckled up, careful not to ruin the pleat of her skirt, and arranged her bag beside her feet. “Like I said. It’s fine.”

  “It’s not fine.” I pulled away from her house with renewed vim. She’d claimed she wanted to know all about my life. Maybe it was time I tested the statement. I started talking at the light on her corner and didn’t stop until we’d arrived at the district’s end. “So that’s what really happened,” I concluded. “That’s what I’ve been doing since I learned about Mr. Becker’s death and Dad’s threatened reputation.”

  She didn’t speak for several blocks. Her cheeks were pink, and her lips were parted. I hoped it was a look of exhilaration and surprise, not the beginning of a lecture.

  “Say something.”

  “And you think Jack’s dead grandpa’s ex-girlfriend is a murderess who is blackmailing wealthy men in the district and aiding a second woman who is threatening to kill you?”

  “Basically,” I said, slowing for a family to cross
at the intersection. “I haven’t heard from Jack since he went home to track her down with the new information I gave him. He’s a real pain about keeping me in the loop. It’s completely willy-nilly.” I stopped at a changing light and double-checked my phone for missed calls or messages.

  “So you don’t resent me for putting you on the NPP Welcoming Committee?” she asked, eyes trained on the windshield in front of her.

  “Not at all. In fact, I kind of like it. I had fun talking about costumes with the ladies and feeling plugged into the community.” Getting to know my mom as an adult was pretty great too. “It’s nice being able to tell you things about my life without being sent to my room.”

  She looked at me from the corner of her eye. “Believe me, if I thought it’d work, I’d try. Just because I’m listening and not screaming doesn’t mean I’m okay with any of this. Your curiosity has gotten you hurt more times than I can count. I lived in a constant state of panic while you were growing up. Remember when you jumped off the limbs in our oak tree with a sheet overhead? You kept climbing higher and higher. Jumping over and over.”

  “It was a parachute.”

  “It was a five-hour visit to the emergency room. I thought you were dying. A broken arm was luck. I imagined you in traction or permanently in a wheelchair, with brain damage, a lifetime of pain, and repeated surgeries.”

  “That’s a little over the top.”

  “You aren’t a mother.”

  My heart broke a little. “I didn’t mean to worry you. I had a plan. I even made a pile of leaves for a landing target.”

  She scoffed.

  “I had to know how high I needed to be before the air would catch in the sheet like a sail. I had to know. Once the question was in my mind, there was no other way of getting it out.”

  She feigned interest in passing scenery. “It’s a sickness. All those reckless behaviors. All the boys,” she expelled the last word on a groan. “Lord only knows what else you’ve gotten into since you left my care.”

  “Doesn’t matter. I’m home now, and I’m settled, and I’m going to be fine.”