How to Kennel a Killer

by Cat Clayton

  “Oh, yes. It does. It’s so sad,” I said, turning back toward the photo of Petunia and Patches. “Petunia had one of those rare personalities with a magnetic pull.”

  “It’s such a shame,” said Mrs. Bateman, clutching her husband’s arm. “I hope they find who’s responsible and soon.”

  “Me, too,” I said.

  I noticed Jackson walk into the room. Half the women in Pleasant Hills noticed, too. Many heads turned. I waved, and he headed straight for me.

  “If you’ll excuse me,” I said to the mayor and his wife.

  I met Jackson halfway across the room.

  Does he have my sweet Taffy with him?

  Not this time, little buddy.

  “What’s up, buttercup?” he asked.

  His once irritating nickname now made me smile. “Taking this all in. I will miss Petunia and her quirky personality around town.”

  Jackson glanced around. “Looks good in here.”

  “I think maybe the city put all this together.”

  “Well, and me, thank you. I gathered all the photos of her and had them enlarged and framed,” a woman’s voice said from behind him.

  Jackson stepped aside and Lizzie Madden stood there dressed head to toe in black, her hair swept up into a fancy up-do. Her spritely green eyes teared up. A grieving best friend. Standing beside her, her artist husband was quiet and seemed uncomfortable.

  Who isn’t uncomfortable at these things, Chiquita?

  My pup had a point.

  “Lloyd, dear... your handkerchief, please?” she said, reaching over and clutching his arm.

  He stiffened at her touch, the reaction subtle, but clear.

  Without a word, he withdrew a folded baby blue handkerchief from his sports coat pocket and handed it to her.

  “Lizzie, the pictures are a beautiful tribute.” I hoped to cheer her up. Sometimes, a kind word could go a long way. I recalled how compassionate people were to us at Mama’s funeral, and though we were grieving, it seemed to help a little.

  “Thank you,” Lizzie said, blotting under her eyes. “It’s been such an awful week. I really can’t believe she’s gone.”

  Lloyd reached up and patted her arm. Lizzie snatched it away, her expression pained. Lloyd’s jaw dropped, and he strode away.

  Awkward, I thought.

  “Again, we are terribly sorry for your loss,” I said to Lizzie and pulled Jackson away.

  “I feel like things between them are strained. I guess losing Petunia has put a lot of stress on Lizzie.” I shrugged. “From the little I’ve seen them interact, they have an interesting relationship. Did you know they share a Facebook account?”

  “I’m not a big social media person,” he said. “But don’t a lot of married people share accounts?”

  Men, I thought. “No, well, I guess some do. But if you ask me, only controlling people do it. Either party.”

  “And who do you think wears the pants in their relationship?” he asked.

  Lizzie crying on someone’s shoulder distracted me.

  Speaking of a narcissist, I thought as I noticed who had her arms wrapped around Lizzie. When did they become friends? If Lizzie only knew Vivienne could be the one responsible for her best friend’s death.

  Mrs. Peacock, in the funeral home, with a bottle of perfume.

  I stifled a chuckle at Cuff’s continuation of my Clue reference with Mrs. Peacock.

  Seeing her reminded me. I nudged Jackson’s arm. “Hey, did you look into why Vivienne was digging around in the Dumpster behind Baker’s Bliss?”

  He nodded. “She claims to have lost her wedding band.”

  Likely story. “And what about—”

  “Before you ask, she has an airtight alibi for the time frame the morning of Petunia’s death,” he said, observing Lizzie and Vivienne.

  “Oh really?” I asked, rolling my eyes. “I bet she does.”

  “Sadie Baranowsky confirmed Vivienne was getting her hair done at the time. She said the color and cut took them all morning,” he said, nodding to the front door. “There’s Daniel.”

  Dressed in his usual GQ apparel, Daniel sauntered in fashionably late. “Let’s go talk to him.”

  Daniel, Gertie, Stoney, Pop, Jackson, and I, with a concealed Cuff, stood in a semi-circle discussing the current event and the upcoming costume contest, when we heard the sharp squealing sound of a microphone too close to a speaker.

  The roar in the room quieted.

  “On behalf of the City of Pleasant Hills, we’d like to thank you all for coming today,” Mayor Bateman said. “We’re all deeply saddened by the passing of our city librarian, Petunia Jinks. May her colorful soul rest in peace.”

  “Here, here,” echoed in chorus about the room.

  I heard sniffling to our left. Standing alone, Lizzie leaned up against the back wall, dabbing her teary cheeks. I felt the need to go comfort her, but I didn’t want to attract attention to myself.

  “At this time, we’d like for anyone who wants to say something about Petunia to come up to the podium and please do so,” the mayor said. “And thanks to the kind folks here at Slater and Sons, they’ve provided us the space to celebrate her life. They’ve set up chairs if you’d like to sit for this portion of the service.”

  I observed Mr. Peacock grab his wife’s arm, but she broke away and marched to the front of the room.

  Everyone froze.

  Vivienne tapped the microphone. “Citizens of Pleasant Hills,” she began.

  Oh Lord, this ought to be good, I thought.

  I stood in the back with my party, sans Gertie, who’d waddled her way up to the front row of chairs. She collapsed in one and crossed her legs, a cheetah print toe pumping up and down.

  “Think she’ll behave?” Pop asked, clasping my arm.

  “Is that a trick question?” I asked.

  “With Vivienne speaking, Gigi will probably heckle her,” Daniel said.

  Vivienne continued. “As you all know, our dearly beloved librarian has left this world. Bless her heart. And though we’re saddened by her passing...”

  A loud wind noise, like the brakes of a train pulling to a stop, issued from the front row. Gertie.

  Daniel nudged my arm. “Maybe I should go sit by her. You know... in case she has something up her poufy sleeve.” In his stylish dark blue slacks and paisley button-up, he made his way to sit near Gertie.

  Vivienne glared at Gertie in the front row. “And although we are saddened by her loss, I want you to all know the library will continue on, running as usual, with me as the head librarian.” She grinned like the Cheshire Cat toward the crowd of people.

  Oh, she didn’t just go there!

  Yes, Chiquita, she did.

  Vivienne pointed at Gertie, then toward the back of the room, at me. “I’d also like to add, I had nothing to do with poor Petunia’s murder! I mean it. She was my very good friend.” Vivienne’s voice trembled.

  “Oh, for Pete’s sake,” I said. Out loud. Oops.

  Pop shot me a look. I shrugged in response.

  The mayor jumped up from his seat. “Thank you, Vivienne. That was nice. Would anyone else like to say a few words?”

  Beside me, Jackson appeared to be trying to maintain a serious expression.

  Pop looked absolutely mortified.

  I noticed Gertie and Daniel with their heads together, whispering. What were they talking about?

  Cuff popped his head out of my bag. Oh, Chiquita. I am certain Daniel is no match for her.

  Pop raised an eyebrow at Cuff and peered at me over his glasses.

  “I don’t trust Gertie,” I whispered, leaning over to Jackson. “I’m joining those two up front. Do you want to come with?”

  “I’ll stay here with your dad and sister,” he said.

  “You’re enjoying this a little too much. Aren’t you?”

  “Can you blame me?” He grinned.

  Halfway on my trek to the front row, Gertie popped out of her seat, turned and saw me coming
, and scurried to the podium.

  Oh my goodness, no!

  I was too late.

  Chapter 22

  “I’d like to say something, Mr. Mayor,” Gertie said, sidling up next to him.

  Daniel shrugged, expressing his apology as I slid into the chair next to him. I could feel Pop’s glare burning a hole in my back.

  “Way to go. Keeping an eye on her and all,” I whispered.

  “Sorry,” he said. “I turned my head for one second.”

  That is all it takes.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Lamarr,” the mayor said. “We’d love to hear from you.” He backed up a few steps, motioning for Gertie to get closer to the microphone.

  Someone from the crowd hummed the tune of Nine-to-Five by Dolly Parton.

  Gertie ignored the humming heckler and dug into her handbag. She produced a book. Oh, sweet baby Jesus, as my Grandpa Lamarr would’ve said.

  “Hi, y’all,” Gertie said, pulling the mic down closer to her mouth. She came in loud and clear.

  I made eye contact with her and gave the knife-to-the-throat action.

  She looked away and grinned wider than the state of Texas. She opened the hardcover book. She’d removed the dust jacket, probably so no one would know what kind of book she chose. But, oh boy, I knew.

  I steadied myself. In my mind, I recalled the cover of the book she showed us the night we’d let ourselves into Petunia’s house. The smutty romance Gertie said bordered on erotica. Mama, if you’re up there listening, send help. Now.

  “Everyone here knows Petunia loved books,” Gertie said. “But some of you may not have had the pleasure of her lending you books from her personal library. Well, I did, and I’d like to share with you a reading from one of her favorites.”

  The word pleasure made my cheeks blush. Soon, everyone in the room would be blushing.

  At the podium, Gertie cleared her throat and pushed her reading glasses back on her nose. “I dedicate this reading to Petunia, who knew love, but was denied the ability to show it.” Gertie focused on the pages between her fingers.

  Nobody made a move to stop her. I wanted to, but sat, frozen to the seat of my chair. My lips pinched shut. I grabbed Daniel’s hand.

  Here it goes, Chiquita.

  “Morgana roamed the gloomy hall, the frayed hem of her dress dragging the dusty floor. She waited for him, her dark knight, her escape from reality. Longing to feel his strong arms holding her, loving her, the way he should love another, she stopped briefly to listen to the howling winds outsi—” the microphone cut out.

  Gertie tapped it a couple times, and it popped back on.

  I took it as a sign. Mama tried.

  Gertie continued.

  “The moon’s reflection danced upon the water below the window. A chorus of crickets serenaded her. Soon, she thought. Any moment now, he’d come to her and whisk her away into the night. Her lover would hold her close, whisper in her ear, and transport her body to the places only he could, and together they would spend the night entangled in each other’s arms,” Gertie said, closing the book.

  I reached inside my bag and withdrew my inhaler, shook it, and took a big puff.

  It could have been worse, Chiquita.

  Gertie frowned, peering at the silenced crowd. “I can never trade books with Petunia again. Like the character Morgana, Petunia loved someone who she couldn’t have. Someone she wasn’t supposed to love. And like Morgana, Petunia would never get the chance because of a scorned, selfish—”

  Someone wailed from the back of the room. The voice sounded female.

  Eek! I jumped up. “That was lovely, Ger... I mean, grandmother.” I rushed up to Gertie’s side. “I’m sure you’ll treasure her book always.”

  She gave me a cross look. “I’m not finished.”

  “Yes, you are,” I said through clenched teeth.

  Mayor Bateman cleared his throat behind us. “A beautiful tribute, Mrs. Lamarr. Thank you. But, we’d like to allow others to pay their respects or share stories, too.”

  I tugged her arm. “He’s right. Let’s sit back down.”

  “Fine,” she said, shoving the book into her bag. “But, I wanted to read a love scene between Morgana and Rex.”

  On our way back to our chairs, I noticed Pop had his eyes closed, shaking his head. Stoney’s lower jaw hung slack, her eyes wide. And Jackson stood with his hand over his mouth, hiding what I knew to be a smile.

  Several of the other townspeople shared nice stories about Petunia. A few of the children she’d read to in the past stood up and spoke about the funny reading lady who wore farmer’s pants and a flower in her hat. Lizzie was last to speak on Petunia’s behalf. By the time she’d finished, my cheeks were a wet mess.

  As I busied myself with a tissue and a hand mirror, attempting to correct a tear-streaked face, the mayor announced the service had concluded and invited everyone to stay for refreshments.

  Vivienne Peacock’s shrill voice rang out. “The refreshments are courtesy of the Pleasant Ladies Society!”

  Of course, they are, I thought.

  When Daniel, Gertie, and I joined the rest in the back, Jackson asked Gertie what she’d meant during her speech.

  Gertie gave us all a shocker.

  “I read it on purpose. Because her killer is here. Listening. Watching us mourn. Petunia knew she was in trouble. I wish she would’ve told me who she’d been sleeping with. But, she didn’t. It’s only a matter of time before it all comes out,” Gertie said. “Now, who’s ready for some cookies and punch?”

  “I thought you two could keep her under control,” Pop said, his head bouncing between me and Daniel.

  “Be glad she didn’t read the next part she had dog-eared. A love scene,” I said, defending myself.

  Pop did a face-palm. “Good gravy.”

  “Well, I thought her reading was sweet. Her friend Petunia is probably smiling down from Heaven,” Stoney said, tugging on her sweater dress.

  Vivienne Peacock, dragging her husband to the door, stopped in front of us.

  “Randall, I hear you had coffee with my younger sister a few days ago. How nice,” she said with a grimace. “I guess I can give you my blessing, seeing as how our parents are both gone.”

  I watched Pop squirm. He’d had two coffee dates in one week. The Stumble app kept him busy.

  “He doesn’t need your ‘blessing’ dum-dum. It was only coffee. They ain’t getting married,” Gertie said.

  Vivienne let out a hiss. “And Gertrude, such an interesting dedication speech for our dearly departed Petunia,” she said.

  Pop’s face contorted, but he kept his thoughts to himself.

  “I’d say the same thing about yours,” I said.

  Vivienne clenched her teeth, her eyes squinting to two small slits. I waited for her forked tongue to slither from her mouth.

  “It wasn’t really a compliment,” she said, striding off toward the front door. When she and Mr. Peacock stopped and engaged in what appeared to be a heated conversation, my curiosity beacon alerted.

  “Mine either,” I called after her.

  Pop touched my arm softly. “Steels, what would your mama tell you?”

  “But, Pop.”

  His salt and pepper eyebrows knitted together.

  I didn’t want to add to his stress level at the moment. “Fine, I’ll apologize. I’ll be back.” I headed toward the front door. Over my dead body, I thought.

  Chiquita, that is not funny.

  Leaning over the sign-in table, I picked up the pen and slowly wrote all of our names down from Scrubadub, my ears honed in on the Peacocks arguing.

  “This is shameful. Why’re we celebrating a woman who was sleeping around with a married man?” Vivienne Peacock snapped.

  So much for her being a very good friend.

  “Nobody forced you to attend the service,” Mr. Peacock said. “Why did you come, Viv? So, you could announce to the whole town you finally got her job?”

  I peeked over at them.
Her arms crossed over her puffed up chest, the maroon dress clinging to her body. It fit snug in all the wrong places. Mr. Peacock looked distinguished in his black suit, with trendy black-framed glasses perched on his nose.

  Vivienne Peacock reached out and grabbed his arm, using her left hand. I noticed a missing wedding band on her ring finger. Maybe her story of digging around behind Baker’s Bliss in search of her ring had been the truth.

  “You’d better watch yourself, Stanford. I’ve had about all I can take. If you’re not careful... I’ll—”

  He shoved Vivienne’s hand away. “You’ll what?”

  A flash of anger crossed her face, and she spun away from him, barreling out the front doors.

  I tried to make busy at the table, reorganizing the book, pen, and flower arrangement, but Mr. Peacock caught me watching him. He strode over. I had no time to escape.

  “Steely,” he said, too close. “I know what you’ve been up to.”

  Oh, Chiquita.

  “What on earth are you talking about?” I asked.

  “One Groomy Gal? It wasn’t difficult to figure out it’s you.” He scowled. “Don’t play games with me, little girl. I suggest you back off.” He spun around and sauntered off.

  “Mr. Peacock, in the attic, with the candlestick,” I whispered to his back.

  He is trouble, Chiquita.

  “You can say that again, little buddy,” I said.

  “Say what again?” Jackson asked, placing a hand in the small of my back.

  I jumped. “Ugh, don’t sneak up on me like that!”

  A glass shattered from across the room, the sound echoing. Voices rose from over near the table with the punch bowl and cookies. Heads swiveled, and everyone watched Lizzie and Lloyd make spectacles of themselves. Lloyd bent down and started mopping up punch with a paper napkin. Lizzie yanked on the collar of his sports jacket.

  “Look at me. I’m not finished!” she said, her voice high-pitched.

  Lloyd brushed her hand away and continued cleaning up the mess.

  Cuff yipped inside my bag, but no one paid him any attention given the commotion on the other side of the room.

  “Looks like Lizzie’s having a difficult time. I wonder if one of us should go help,” I said, still shaky from my disturbing encounter with Mr. Peacock.