Cat Killed A Rat

by ReGina Welling

  She ran the tip of her tongue through a layer of creamy yogurt until it met the resistance of thick, smooth honey, enjoying the juxtaposition of two dissimilar, but pleasantly compatible, sensations. When she had licked the last spoonful clean and rinsed her bowl, Chloe headed upstairs to get to work.

  Too many emails were waiting in the Cone’s inbox, and Chloe sifted through several before she noticed the one from Technical Support. The tip line voicemail box was finally working again. Since she hadn’t been able to access the messages for close to three weeks, it was sure to be a long and interesting morning.

  Chloe opened the bottom drawer of her desk, pulled out an old brick-red lock box, and removed a thick leather-bound ledger from inside. The phrase Busybody Central had been stamped across the front cover, and Chloe could hear Wesley’s sing-song voice answering the Cone’s dedicated line with the same phrase. She transcribed every tip received that day, as she always did, including as many details as possible in case she needed to refer back at a later date.

  The first two messages were obviously from either Justice or Mercy Walker, who had tried but failed to disguise an unpleasant nasal whine. Both messages were aimed at implicating EV in Luther and Evan’s murders, but as they stated only suspicion and absolutely zero details she could follow up on, Chloe pressed 7 to delete them.

  She was nearing the end of her patience for nonsense when something about the next caller’s voice caught her attention. A whispering voice that Chloe recognized as female stated simply: “Mr. Worth’s word isn’t worth much. I know for a fact he was catting around near the church on the night Luther Plunkett died.”

  While it wasn’t a terribly detailed message, the fact that a name besides EV’s was being thrown out as a possible suspect came as a welcome change. Chloe added Ashton to her list of names for investigation, saved the message in case she needed it later, and continued through the voicemails until all were either archived or permanently deleted.

  Flipping through the ledger before putting it back into its box, Chloe recalled her first week at the Pine Cone. Wesley had given her this book, and sent her to his attic library to read old editions of the newsletter. After a solid seven days of finding Chloe curled up there in the morning, sound asleep with her nose in a pile of papers, Wesley insisted she go home and write her own column. It had been, for the most part, smooth sailing since then. But writing about actual murder was a lot different from reporting that Mavis Cooter had been given an unfortunate eyebrow wax at the Hootchie Cootchie Salon.

  It wasn’t long before Chloe was tapping away at the keyboard, funneling her frustration into her column.

  Hey, Piniacs, are you ready to dish? Which town matriarch is being put through the ringer by her own friends and neighbors? And what pair of viscous sisters tried to implicate her via the Pine Cone’s automated tip line? Maybe it’s time to bark up a different tree, people!

  On a lighter note, which bespectacled farmer found a couple of randy teenagers necking in his hayloft last Friday night? Parents, do you know where your children are?

  Could a certain pair of twins be on the outs? Word has it the two were spotted, suspiciously wearing differing outfits for the first time in…forever! What could split the gruesome twosome in half? I have a theory—I just hope someone warns the poor guy before it’s too late.

  And last but not least, ladies, how happy are you that Inspector Hottie is back in town? Will you sleep easier knowing he’s watching over you, or will the thought just keep you up at night?

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “Ow,” Chloe sucked her thumb where a cucumber spine had jabbed into it. She scrunched up her nose and winged the soon-to-be-pickle into the basket at her feet with force. “You bring another pair of those gloves? These things bite hard.”

  “Over there with my water bottles.” EV nodded toward them and kept on picking.

  “Remind me again why we volunteered to spend half a day bent over harvesting cucumbers when it’s hotter than a picnic in hell?”

  “We,” EV emphasized, “volunteered because YOU are addicted to pickles. You got that from your mother. She never met a gherkin she didn’t like.”

  “Why is it always my fault?”

  “Whippersnapper so you are.” EV intoned.

  “Thanks, Yoda,” Chloe deadpanned.

  “Just keep picking; you’ll thank me later when you’re sucking down my special mustard spears. The ones I make from my grandmother’s recipe.”

  “Which you refuse to give me.”

  “I ever tell you about my grandmother and her recipes?”

  Chloe loved hearing stories about EV’s family. “No, I don’t think so.”

  “Well, she calls them receipts and if she deigns to give you one, she writes it out herself so she can alter the ingredients just a little. Not enough to totally screw up the dish, but just enough so yours won’t taste exactly like hers. When she gave me the pickle recipe, she doubled the amount of alum in it so my first batch was horrific.”

  “How did you figure it out?”

  “Sneak attack. I waited until she went to sleep, and rifled through stacks of recipe cards and little scraps of paper until I found it. Remind me to make her prize-winning blueberry cake sometime. Snagged that one, too, and found out she substituted nutmeg for cinnamon.”

  Half an hour later, sweat running in her eyes, EV announced a water break and Chloe followed her to the edge of the field where there was enough shade to drop the temperature by a stingy three or four degrees. Even that small bit of relief was welcome.

  Chloe chugged a bottle of water that barely whet her whistle, so she popped the top on another.

  “I finally got access to the tip line yesterday. There were some pretty bizarre comments on there.”

  “You’ve been holding out on me. Dish.” EV ordered.

  “Most of it was obvious fantasy. Someone actually had an elaborate theory that aliens had taken Luther up in their spaceship, and when they were returning him, something went wrong and he fell to his death.” Skepticism and a healthy dose of derision raised Chloe’s eyebrows. “Oh, and there were no fewer than four calls from people who thought the ‘weird sisters’ cast a spell.”

  “None of that surprises me. The alien one was probably Sabra; she’s obsessed with aliens.”

  “Well, there’s one that might be useful—someone saw Ashton Worth hanging around the church on the night Luther died. When you add that to his being the one who perpetuated the most gossip about you killing Evan, it’s certainly suspicious.”

  “Ooh, that’s interesting,” EV speculated. “Any idea who left the tip?”

  “Woman’s voice—stage whisper, hard to tell—but she used the term ‘catting around’ which isn’t something you hear too often these days.”

  After a moment of staring into space with a thoughtful expression, EV said, “I can’t picture mild little Ashton having the stones to kill anyone. Or the motive for it, come to that. And as far as I know, he hasn’t had any work done by Luther at his place recently.” She ticked off possibilities. “I don’t ever remember seeing he and Evan together, either.”

  “Maybe he has a thing for Talia and got rid of Luther so he could—” Chloe broke off as the mental image of Ashton and Talia assaulted her mind. “And now I’m picturing it. Quick, say something to make it go away.”

  “Aren’t you the one who was convinced Evan was bouncing on Talia? She must be quite the femme fatale under that fluffy exterior.”

  “Who else has a motive?”

  “Lottie for one.”

  “Wait, I’ve heard this all before: how Lottie thought Talia married beneath her, and was jealous that her younger sister found a husband first.”

  “No, there’s more to the story. When Talia started dating Luther, Lottie was off in Warren going to college for a degree in hospitality management or some such. Talia worked for an insurance company in Gilmore and lived at home. I guess the plan was for Talia to save up enough to build or buy a pl
ace, and then she and Lottie would run it together. “

  “How on earth do you find out all this stuff?”

  “Talia applied for a grant through the co-op program.”

  “Ah, okay.” Chloe gestured for her to continue on. The longer they talked, the less time she would have to spend in sweaty labor.

  “I’m not quite clear on how Talia and Luther came to start dating, but once they did, all hell broke loose between her and Lottie. Talia decided she would rather get married than go into the B&B business. When Lottie found out, they had an epic battle in the middle of one of the festivals. I can’t remember which one. Talia and Luther eloped the next night and Lottie never forgave her for that.”

  “So how did Lottie end up with the B&B, then?”

  “Talia followed through on the grant, put up the difference from her own savings, and presented the whole thing to Lottie as a gift. You’d think that would have brought the two of them together, but it drove them even farther apart. Lottie accused Talia of trying to buy her off; Talia accused Lottie of trying to run her life. They’ve been fighting off and on ever since. More on than off, really.”

  “Interesting, but it still only gives Lottie motive for Luther if she thinks getting him out the way would put her ambitions back on track.”

  “Unless she knew something we don’t about Evan’s plans once he pushed through the annexation and became mayor.” EV was reaching with that one and she knew it.

  “Doesn’t track for me but I guess we shouldn’t rule it out. It’s the best theory we have right now. Maybe we can run some of this by Talia tomorrow when we help her with the thank-you notes for Luther and Evan’s funerals.” Butter wouldn’t melt in Chloe’s mouth as she dropped this particular bomb on EV.

  “We’re doing what, now? I think I’d remember agreeing to take on something like that.” EV’s withering glare didn’t faze Chloe in the least.

  “I ran into Talia yesterday and she kept talking about not being able to face the task,” Chloe said, taking another pull from her water bottle. “And, I remembered how you thought we should confront her. Before I knew it, I’d volunteered us to help.”

  “You were the one who thought we should confront her; I said leave it alone. And just when were you planning to tell me?”

  “Right now. Break’s over.” Cucumber picking was starting to look like the lesser of two evils compared to listening to an EV tirade about being shanghaied into doing something she would rather not do.

  “Payback will be swift and uncompromising,” was EV’s parting shot.

  “Yeah, yeah. Whatever.” Chloe grinned.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Talia greeted her helpers with a hug and a huge mug of coffee, which EV figured she would probably need in order to get the job done. She’d rather be picking squash bugs in the fields. It was all Chloe’s fault for accepting this chore, and EV intended to make her pay for it. A nice blind date ought to do it.

  She took a gulp, then nearly choked on the flavor of whiskey. A second, more cautious, sip revealed there was just enough coffee in it to give the whiskey flavor, and not the other way around. It had just gone noon; so a little earlier than EV normally drank alcohol. But then again, this was exactly the type of chore that might require some blurring around the edges. Still, when she set her cup down on the table, it was with the intent not to pick it up again.

  From what she could see, Talia probably wouldn’t be winning any awards for her organizational skills: sympathy cards spread across the table like they’d been tossed there without thought. Meanwhile, the normally quiet Talia was talking a mile a minute, though EV had no idea what she was talking about.

  “I put Mrs. Peeves in the kitchen, but then little Austin cried and cried, so I had to let her out.”

  EV nodded absently, letting Chloe field the conversation while she took a moment to look around. She assumed both Mrs. Peeves and little Austin were cats, since the room seemed ripe with them. Talia lived in one of the oldest homes in Ponderosa Pines; it was hard to tell, though, since Luther had remodeled parts of the interior to disguise all evidence of energy efficient building. Sheetrock camouflaged the log ends in the living room half of the open floor plan living-dining combo, and also covered up the spectacular bottle-end window Luther’s father had worked into the front wall. He would have liked to do more, but the board turned down his request for special dispensation for violating the required percentage of recycled materials.

  The kitchen was closed off from the other two main rooms by an old swinging door, with a porthole window that probably came from a fifties-era diner. Presumably, it had been too heavy for Mrs. Peeves to manage.

  From where he crouched on the stairs, one yellow tiger cat eyed EV with curiosity, and she could feel more eyes than just his on her: there were cats everywhere. One pair belonged to the fattest white feline she had ever seen; his girth sprawled over a brightly patterned afghan thrown across a pale blue, overstuffed chair. Judging by the way his bugged-out bright green eyes darted around the room, EV sensed that he wanted nothing more than to run and hide, but his inherent laziness kept him firmly in place.

  In matching powder blue, the longest leg of an L-shaped sectional sofa divided the dining area from the living room and faced a massive, open-hearth fireplace set with decorative fieldstone. Regardless of his affinity for duping customers and trying to skate around regulations, Luther had been skilled with mortar and stone. He had set several niches into the wide chimney face to serve as shelves. A couple of these had been taken over by lounging felines.

  Really? Talia had never given off the crazy cat lady vibe.

  Curiosity finally forced the question from EV. “Which one is Mrs. Peeves?”

  Talia pointed to the enormous white cat. “Lottie dropped her off here the night Luther died.”

  When Talia excused herself to top off her own coffee mug, both Chloe and EV refused a refill. As soon as Talia left the room, they exchanged astonished expressions.

  “Did you see…” Chloe whispered as she waved in the general direction of the cat menagerie.

  Nodding, EV whispered back, “Uh, yeah. And the coffee? That stuff would strip the paint off a battleship.”

  “I know. It’s…shh, here she comes.”

  A pair of Siamese kittens pranced through the kitchen door before it swung shut, upping the total in the room to at least eight. The fatter of the two made a beeline for Chloe, climbed her leg like it was a tree, and then settled into her lap. Contented purring filled the air. Enchanted, she stroked the downy, soft fur of his head while the second little ball of fur went berserk. For no apparent reason, she hopped straight up in the air to land with arched back and tail fluffed out like a bottle brush, then skittered across the floor and disappeared under the couch.

  Mere seconds passed before she was back, racing around the room like a miniature tornado. The burst of fury continued as the kitten made a spectacular leap from the back of the sofa to the edge of the table where the three women sat, then scampered across its surface, knocking several envelopes to the floor.

  At this point, Talia made a half-hearted attempt to catch the tawny ball of energy before it could inflict any more damage.

  “Come here, Mummy’s little snuggy wuggums,” Talia cooed to the kitten, who took great offense to the baby talk and renewed her efforts to wreak havoc. When Talia dodged left, the kitten banked right, launched herself off the sofa back to slide across the surface of a nearby console table and send its contents crashing to the floor. That nothing on the table had been breakable was evidence this was not her first time playing the trick.

  More baby talk seemed to further enrage the kitten.

  “Who’s a cute little sugar baby? Come to Mummy, sweetie.”

  It was EV who ended the chase when the kitten swerved around Talia, then leapt onto the table. As the tiny terrorist skated across the table, scattering the envelopes Chloe had once again neatened into a pile, EV’s hand shot out and snatched the little be
ast on her way past.

  Cradling the blue-eyed cutie in her hands, EV held the kitten at eye level and gave her a much needed lecture on proper cat behavior. Instead of appearing chastened, Mummy’s little snuggy wuggums reached out a claw-sheathed paw to touch EV’s nose in reverence. Her purr filled the air.

  “What’s her name?”

  Talia quirked an eyebrow, “After that performance, I’m thinking her name should be Thing One or Thing Two but I’ve been calling her Sugar.” She pointed to the kitten in Chloe’s lap, “And that one is Spice. Horis found the pair of them in his barn, covered with fleas and hungry. He asked me to foster them while he tried to find good homes.

  We treated the fleas and got them their shots, but I swear, Sugar hates me. I hope we can find a place for them, but it seems a shame to break them up when they’ve been through so much already.” Talia’s voice turned husky with the sympathy for the kittens. It seemed obvious to Chloe and EV that Talia was projecting her own feelings onto them.

  A blind date and a pair of furry new roommates—EV’s revenge would take more than one form.

  Chloe changed the subject back to the reason for this visit.

  “What can we do to help you with these thank—you notes, Talia?”

  It might have been the two cups—at least—of the Irish coffee Talia had consumed, but when she answered, her voice sounded as quivery as an elderly auntie’s. “I wish Lottie and I could find a way to bury the hatchet; she should be the one helping me right now.”

  When she felt Chloe’s foot nudge hers under the table, EV decided to take charge of the job at hand, and gently moved little Sugar to a spot on the back of the couch before gathering up all of the condolence cards strewn across the table. The funeral home had provided a list of floral tributes along with more unopened cards.