The Time for Murder is Meow

by T. C. LoTempio

  I finished my latte and pushed my chair back. “Would you? I’d appreciate it. And if you think of anything else—”

  “Come to think of it …” Rita stood up too. “Garrett used to do the museum accounting, exclusively. That’s how he got on the board.” She reached over and squeezed my hand. “My break’s over. Catch you later.”

  ∞

  Back on the street, I started to head toward my car when I happened to glance up and see the Secondhand Sue’s sign. Impulsively I crossed the street and walked over to peer into its large bay window. The items displayed weren’t vintage antiques, but they were many and varied. Some were vintage kitsch, like the black and blue Batman lunch box, complete with matching thermos. Others looked as if they were waiting to be given a second chance, like the twin lamp set with bases carved out of rose marble, or the bust of Edgar Allen Poe with a raven beside his head. I’d always liked Poe’s works and his poem “The Raven” was one of my favorites. I could visualize that bust behind the counter at the pet shop—which reminded me I had to call the parakeet breeder and put off our interview. I pushed open the door, intending to price it, when suddenly a brown and tan blur shot past me. The next instant I was down on the floor, being covered in sloppy doggy kisses.

  “Rocco! Down! Where are your manners? Goodness, miss, are you all right?”

  Rocco was pulled back and I found myself considering a woman’s face that reminded me faintly of Josh. Same jawline, same bump on the nose, same hazel-gold eyes. Only instead of dark hair, hers was a light ash blond, cut into a stylish pixie crop. She wore an expression of concern on her face as she peered down at me.

  Abruptly she pushed the dog into the arms of a young boy who’d come up behind her. “Henry, take him for a walk. He’s definitely got too much energy today.”

  “Wait. I’m fine.” I struggled into a sitting position. “Don’t blame the dog too much. Rocco and I have met before.”

  The woman stared at me. “You have?”

  I nodded. “Yes. Saturday, in the park. He jumped on me then too. Your brother rescued me.”

  Her brow furrowed, then cleared, and her thick lips split in a wide smile. “Oh goodness! You must be Shell Marlowe! Or is it Shell McMillan?”

  “McMillan.” She helped me stand up, and I brushed at my pants legs. Rocco came up, a bit more subdued now thanks to the leash Henry’d snapped on his collar, and sniffed at my ankles. I grinned wryly. “I guess he remembered me.”

  “Yes, Bloodgood men seldom forget females they’ve branded.” She extended her hand. “I’m Sue Bloodgood, but I think you already knew that.”

  “Yes, I heard you own this shop. I think it’s fantastic. You have a lot of nice things here.”

  “Thanks. Second chances are in, you know.” She winked. “I hear that’s what you’re after too, here in Fox Hollow. Or is talk of you reopening Purr N Bark only idle gossip?”

  “No, it’s true. I’d originally planned on next week, but as things stand right now I’m afraid it’s been delayed indefinitely.”

  Sue’s tongue clicked against the roof of her mouth. “Oh, you mean what happened to Amelia. Josh said you found the body.” She gave a small shudder. “It gives me the creeps just to think about it.”

  “It wasn’t exactly the highlight of my day,” I admitted. “Even though Amelia and I didn’t exactly start out on the right foot, I would never wish that fate on anyone.”

  Sue grinned. “Well, for what it’s worth, I can’t understand why Amelia wouldn’t want those posters on display. Why, Tillie even used to bring some of ’em into the pet shop and display them from time to time.”

  Somehow that didn’t surprise me. It sounded like a good idea, and one I’d hopefully be able to continue. “Ones with animals, I’ll bet.”

  “Yep. She had Thin Man posters with that cute little Asta, a Lassie Come Home that was real cool, and my favorite, Turner and Hooch.”

  I laughed. “I like that movie too. I like pretty much anything with Tom Hanks. I met him once at an awards show. He’s really cool.”

  “I bet.” Sue reached up to scratch behind one ear. “A few weeks before she took ill she had a Bringing Up Baby poster in the window. Cary Grant was her favorite, you know.”

  “I do.” I spread my hands. “I still can’t believe the museum voted against displaying her collection.”

  Sue nodded briskly. “Makes you wonder what they were smoking when they held that vote.”

  “I know. Their decision makes no sense to me. Aunt Tillie’s collection would be an asset, not a liability.”

  “Yeah, well, knowing the board I’m sure there’s more to the story,” Sue said. “I for one would love to take a closer look at your aunt’s collection.” She waved her arm toward the back of her shop. “I carry a few movie things here, but nothing like what’s in her—I mean your—shop. Mostly it’s Star Wars stuff, aimed at people our age. If you ever want to sell any of her stuff, though, let me know. We could do it on consignment.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” I craned my neck around. “You have a lot of nice things here,” I said. “I think your shop is charming.”

  “Thanks.” She beamed at me. “Your aunt liked it too. She came in here a lot. Even suggested that I should expand my inventory to include more upscale pieces.”

  “That might not be a bad idea,” I said. “Antiquing is very in.”

  “Oh, I’m not against the idea at all. It’s just that first I should scrape up some more capital and get rid of a few leftover bills. Lord only knows when that will be, though. Tillie suggested getting a partner, but so far I haven’t run across anyone who’d be interested.” Her lips twisted into a rueful smile. “Enough of my problems. See anything you like?”

  “Actually, yes. I wanted to price that Edgar Allen Poe bust. I think he and the raven would look great behind the counter in Purr N Bark.”

  “You’ve got good taste,” Sue said appraisingly. “That’s made from Sylacauga marble. It’s hardy material, but heavy too. You could probably kill somebody with it—oops!” She clapped her hand over her mouth. “Poor choice of words, huh?”

  I laughed. “Don’t worry, I’m getting used to it.”

  Sue walked over and glanced at the price tag, then quoted a price so low I was certain she had to be mistaken. “Are you sure? It looks more valuable than that.”

  “Let’s say we’re giving you the first-time customer/new resident/Rocco favorite discount,” she said. “Plus, these aren’t professional pieces. They were made by students at an art school in the city.”

  I gave the bust another appraising look. “It was made by an art student? You could have fooled me. It’s mighty fine work.” I pulled my checkbook out of my purse and we walked over to the register for Sue to ring up the sale and fill out a delivery slip.

  “If you’re not in a hurry, I can get it to you Friday morning,” she offered. “Should I just bring it over to the store?”

  “Hm, better bring it to my house. No telling when I’ll have my grand reopening right now. Everything’s kind of up in the air.”

  “Understandable. You don’t want any stigma attached to your name when you open for business, right?”

  “Exactly.”

  I leaned my elbow on the counter while she finished writing up the receipt. “So, has your brother mentioned how the case is coming along?”

  She frowned. “No, but I for one hope he wraps this up quickly. Josh is usually cool-headed, but this one got him a bit rattled. He worked on a couple of committees for the Policeman’s Fund with Amelia. Believe it or not, he liked her.”

  “Oh, I believe you. I thought myself he seemed a bit distressed.”

  “Yeah, well, Amelia might have been public enemy number one to most of the town, but she was always nice to Josh.”

  Since I honestly couldn’t conceive of any woman not being nice to Josh, I
had no answer to that. Sue’s next words, however, made me stifle a gasp.

  “Not like that strumpet of an ex-wife of his. Thank God she left town.”

  ∞

  Driving back toward my house, I reviewed the morning’s events, honing in on my adventure in Secondhand Sue’s. So, Josh Bloodgood had a strumpet of an ex-wife, eh? I chuckled as I remembered Olivia’s words: Everyone in a small town has a skeleton or two in their closet. Apparently not even Fox Hollow’s homicide detective was immune.

  After all, even I had a strumpet of an ex-fiancé, or whatever the male equivalent of strumpet was. I could think of several good ones, albeit unrepeatable.

  I rounded the corner and as I approached my driveway, I let out a gasp of dismay. Parked straight across the entrance was a light blue convertible. I glanced around but saw no sign of the driver. Fantastic. I wondered who I’d make as an enemy now if I called to have that car towed.

  I pulled up to the curb and was just about to rummage in my purse for my cell when I heard someone shout from my porch.

  “Well, it’s about time. Where in heck have you been?”

  I froze. I knew that voice, but it couldn’t be, could it? Then a familiar dark head came into view, and I saw I wasn’t mistaken.

  The owner of the convertible was none other than my former co-star. Gary Presser.

  • Fourteen •

  For a second I just stared, and then I raised my arm, took some skin between my thumb and forefinger, and pinched myself hard.

  “Ow!” I cried. Well, that settled that. I wasn’t dreaming, or hallucinating. He was really here, along with a large black suitcase propped up against my front door.

  Gary tripped down my porch steps and ran over to stand in front of me. “There you are,” he said, waggling his finger. “For a second there, I thought that guy at the gas station gave me directions to the wrong house.”

  I fisted a hand on my hip and shot him a stony stare. “Gary, what are you doing here?”

  His lips drooped down almost immediately into a hangdog expression. “Gee, thanks a lot. I fly cross-country and drive all this way and that’s the greeting I get? I told you I was coming, remember?” When I didn’t answer, he persisted, “I kept asking you what was wrong, and you kept avoiding the issue, so I said I’d come on out and see for myself.”

  I pushed the heel of my hand through my hair. “You did say that, but I didn’t think you really meant it.”

  His arms enveloped me in a gigantic bear hug. “Oh, come on, Shell. What sort of co-star would I be if I deserted you in your time of need?” He pulled back a bit to study me. “This is your time of need, right? I mean, something’s up. I could hear it in your voice.”

  “I’m fine, Gary. You didn’t have to uproot your life and come all the way out here to check on me.”

  He spread his arms wide. “Hey, you decided to uproot your life and change careers. I guess that dark store in town with the reopening sign on it is yours?”

  “You guess right. I’d hoped to be getting the store and its stock ready for a grand reopening, but instead …”

  “Yeah, I know.” He reached out and gave my hand a squeeze. “That’s why you could use my help. After all, right now I’ve got nothing else to do, other than sign up for unemployment.”

  The note of disappointment in his tone was unmistakable. “What happened? They didn’t go for the reboot?”

  “To quote the producers exactly, ‘That show just isn’t worth spit without Shell Marlowe.’ Or similar words to that effect.”

  I remembered Max’s words and a pang of guilt arrowed through me. “That’s not true and you know it.”

  “Yeah, well, it seems they were gearing the show more toward the male audience, and not the action end of it, if you get my meaning.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “Then I’m glad I turned it down, although I’m sorry it didn’t work out for you. You’ll get something else, Gary, but only if you go back to L.A. and start auditioning.”

  “I’m not so sure.” He plopped down on my bottom step and cupped his chin in one hand. “I had a lot of time to think on the plane ride out here. Series tv is getting to be a rat race, and I’m not as young as I used to be. Maybe I should try something different, maybe Broadway, or Off Broadway.”

  I laughed. “You’re considering a play? I thought you always said theater was for people who couldn’t make it in Hollywood.”

  He grinned sheepishly. “I did say that, didn’t I? Well, maybe I’ve had a change of heart. Look, I didn’t come all the way out here to talk about me. What’s going on with you, Shell?”

  I looked down at the ground. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Oh, yes, you do.” He leaned over so that his nose was only about an inch away from mine. “I could hear it in your voice when we spoke on the phone. You sounded just like you did when Pat left you.”

  I raised my gaze to his and thrust my jaw out. “I most certainly did not. And I left Patrick, no matter what he told you.”

  “Whatever.” Gary folded his arms over his chest and stood, one foot tapping impatiently on the concrete. “Are you going to tell me what’s up with you, or not?”

  I folded my own arms over my chest. “Not.”

  “Okay, then, I suppose I’ll have to guess.” He put a finger to his lips, closed his eyes, and then popped them wide open. “Aha, I have it.” He pointed his finger dramatically in the air. “You must be the actress they suspect of murdering the local termagant.”

  “Wow, is that a fifty-dollar word or what? I’m impressed. And just where did you hear this juicy bit of news?”

  He grinned. “It’s the main topic of conversation at the gas station out on the highway. It’s a veritable hotbed of local gossip.” His expression sobered and he reached out and gripped my hand. “Is it true?”

  “Is what true? That I murdered the local termagant or that I’m suspected of doing so?”

  “Very funny.”

  He looked so upset that I sighed. “Yes, it’s true. That I’m on the suspect list, not that I did the deed—although I had a public argument with the woman the day before her death.”

  Gary let out a low whistle. “Sounds like you could use a friend.” I glanced over at his suitcase, and he added, “If it’s inconvenient, I can always find a hotel near here. I’m not leaving, Shell.”

  My expression softened. “I know you’re not, and it’s not inconvenient. Come on, grab your suitcase. I’ll make you a cup of java and fill you in.”

  ∞

  I showed Gary to one of the guest bedrooms and left him to unpack and freshen up. I went into the kitchen and put on a fresh pot of coffee, then pulled out the wheels of cheddar and Brie I’d purchased at the General Store along with some crackers, arranged them on a tray, and set it on the table. I’d just poured us each a steaming mug when Gary reappeared. His hair was damp from a quick shower, and he’d changed into comfortable sweatpants. He eased himself into one of the chairs and sniffed the air.

  “Um, what’s that, Kahlua-flavored coffee? You wouldn’t happen to have the real thing to add to it, would you? I didn’t drink on the plane, and I’m overdue.”

  Gary had an aversion to air travel, so the mere fact he’d stepped on a plane to come to my aid was quite something, indeed. I opened one of the bottom cabinets and pulled out a bottle of Kahlua. I added a generous amount to both our mugs and then sat down across from him, my hands wrapped around my mug. We sat for a few minutes, sipping in silence, and then Gary set down his mug.

  “Care to fill me in on what’s going down here now? What was that public argument about that’s got you on the suspect list?”

  I explained all about the museum board vote and the supposed feud between Amelia and my aunt that I believed to be behind Amelia’s crusade. I also recounted my less-than-positive meetings with the other three board members who wer
e opposed to displaying the collection, as well as Garrett Knute. Gary listened intently and when I’d finished, ran his finger around the rim of his cup.

  “Sounds to me like you might have painted a target on yourself,” he said grimly.

  I bit down on my lower lip. “Funny. Josh hinted at pretty much the same thing.”

  Gary’s eyes widened a bit. “Josh?”

  Heat seared my cheeks and I ducked my head. “Detective Bloodgood. He’s investigating the murder.”

  “I see. And are you often on a first-name basis with detectives investigating you for murder?”

  “We’d met briefly before all this mess. His sister’s dog ran into me in the park. I had no idea he was a detective.”

  “Of course not.” He let out a low chuckle. “And what does this Detective Bloodgood look like? I’m betting he’s not paunchy with gray hair, like most of the detectives on tv.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “No, he’s not.”

  “So?” Gary persisted as I remained silent. “Is he as good-looking as me?”

  I made a face at him. “No one’s as good-looking as you, Gary, except maybe Hugh Jackman. I’ve already had to assure some of the local women that marvelous head of hair is all yours.”

  He reached up to give his hair a swift pat and laughed. “Nice try at a diversion, but I’m still interested in a description of your Detective Bloodgood.”

  “He’s not my Detective Bloodgood,” I protested. “Besides, I have a new man in my life.”

  Gary almost dropped his mug. “You do?”

  “Absolutely. I was worried he and Kahlua might not get along, but they seem to have effected a truce.”

  Gary’s brows drew together. “Kahlua? Your cat? Why wouldn’t he get along with your cat? Is he allergic?”

  “No, far from it.”

  I lapsed into silence, and Gary’s frown deepened. “So, details, Shell. What does this fellow look like?”