The Time for Murder is Meow

by T. C. LoTempio

  “I know, I know.” He grinned as I cut him a look. “It would mean so much more if it were another male making eyes at you. Like say, Detective Bloodgood, perhaps?”

  I stuck my tongue out at him and self-consciously patted my bust, where the wire reposed. “You’re positive this will work?”

  “I’ll go into the kitchen, and you and Olivia say something. You can talk about how fabulous I am.” He gave us a broad wink and vanished.

  I looked at Olivia. “Gary is fabulous,” I said. “A fabulous pain in the butt.”

  Olivia started to giggle. “With an even more fabulous head of hair.”

  “And a fabulous, giant-sized ego.”

  Gary emerged from the kitchen, a frown on his face. “Enough about my butt and my ego.” He smiled, though, when he looked at Olivia. “You, however, can talk about my hair, and anything else you want, anytime.”

  “Great, you can hear the conversation,” I cut in, as the two of them started to make goo-goo eyes at each other. Olivia was more age-appropriate than some of Gary’s past girlfriends, but that didn’t mean I wanted to watch them flirt.

  “Yes, I can not only hear you, I’m taping you.” He pressed a button on the tiny device he held, and Olivia’s voice came over, clear as crystal: “With an even more fabulous head of hair.”

  “Okay,” I said. “So, what’s my code word for if I get in trouble, or Quentin decides to pull a knife on me?”

  “I doubt he’ll be pulling a knife on you in the middle of the day at a public place.”

  “No, but he can pull one out under the table and tell me to walk outside. Now, what’s the code word?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. It should be something fairly easy to use in a sentence.” He tapped his chin with his forefinger. “You seem to like the word fabulous.”

  “Fine,” I grumbled, as I snatched up my light jacket. “Fabulous it is. Let’s get this party started.”

  ∞

  Sure enough, Quentin Watson was waiting at a table near the kitchen door when I arrived. Another girl, a lanky blonde with legs that seemed to go on forever, was the hostess this afternoon, and she showed me to the table with a quizzical look that said more plainly than words, Why are you wasting your time with him?

  I slid into the seat opposite Quentin and flashed him my megawatt television star smile. “Thank you so much for agreeing to meet with me, Mr. Watson,” I cooed. “I just feel as if we got off on the wrong foot.”

  Quentin studied me, his beady eyes taking in every detail of my outfit, lingering perhaps a moment too long on my more-than-generous expanded bustline. “Don’t mention it, my dear. I am always more than willing to give people a second chance.”

  I had to bite down hard on my lower lip to stop the nasty retort that wanted oh so badly to come out. I set my purse down and leaned across the table, cupping my chin with one hand, and batted my eyelashes (lengthened within an inch of their life with my Mally mascara) at him. “Where would you like to begin?”

  The waitress appeared at that moment. Quentin glanced up at her and then turned to me with a smile. “I think I’ll begin with a Manhattan, very dry. Ms. Marlowe?”

  Straight Scotch would have been good, but I needed all my wits about me. I gulped and smiled. “White wine spritzer, please.”

  Quentin tapped at the menu. “We’ll need a few minutes before we order,” he said. The waitress nodded and withdrew to the bar area. I gave a quick glance over in that direction. There was a girl tending bar, but she had bright red hair. Not Josh’s sister. Damn.

  Quentin was wearing his customary pea coat. Now he unbuttoned it so that I could see a brown V-necked sweater underneath. He reached inside the pocket of the coat and whipped out a thick notebook and pen. He flipped through the notebook until he found a blank page and then looked expectantly at me, his pen poised.

  “So,” he said. “What’s a nice actress like you doing in a town like Fox Hollow?”

  I smiled, letting my fingers toy with the stem of my water glass. “Looking for a fresh start,” I said. “It’s as simple as that.”

  He looked up from his scribbling and frowned. “Not that simple, surely. My readers would get bored.” He leaned over and said in a stage whisper, “C’mon, throw me a juicy bone. Any truth to the rumor that you moved cross-country to avoid Patrick Hanratty?”

  I mentally counted to ten, swallowed, and pasted that plastic smile across my face again. “There’s always a grain of truth in rumors,” I said sweetly.

  “Hm. More than a grain in this one, I think. Didn’t you find him in bed with one of the stagehands on the eve you were going to announce a definite date of marriage?”

  I could feel my jaw clenching and unclenching of its own volition. “Yes.”

  “And you never suspected this guy had a roving eye? There had been rumors of him involved with other women before.”

  “Yes, but that was before we became a couple.” I coughed lightly. “I made the mistake of falling into a very common trap. I assumed that because our love was so strong, he’d be different with me. But people basically don’t change.”

  “That’s very true.”

  I took a deep breath and fixed my best moonstruck gaze on him. “Haven’t you found that to be true in your experience? I’ve heard that you’ve interviewed half the people in this town at one point or another. I’ll bet there’s plenty you could say about each one of them.”

  He set down his pen and looked at me. “I can’t deny that. I’m quite tenacious when it comes to digging up facts.”

  Or making them up, I thought. “Take someone like, oh, I don’t know—Garrett Knute, for instance. You’ve interviewed him, right? He seems like a very private person. How’d you get him to open up to you?”

  “Garrett is indeed a private person. I interviewed him once for an article about an exhibit the museum was putting on display.”

  “Really? I would have thought you’d have interviewed Mazie Madison for something like that.”

  “Mazie is somewhat of a scatterbrain when it comes to interviews. She manages to conveniently forget details. I personally think she prefers to avoid the spotlight. Fortunately, her admin has no such qualms.”

  “You mean Londra Lewis?”

  “Yes. Londra has no problem speaking her mind on many matters. As a matter of fact, I’ve quoted her on several occasions—some of which she’s not even aware of.” He leaned back, a pleased expression on his face.

  The waitress returned with our drinks. I took a long sip of my spritzer; Quentin knocked back half his Manhattan and raised his glass to the waitress. “I’ll have another,” he said. “Make it a bit drier, please.” He raised a questioning eyebrow in my direction and I shook my head, pointing to my nearly full glass.

  “I’m fine, thanks,” I said. The waitress withdrew again and Quentin brandished his pen.

  “So, it’s my understanding that you plan to pick up the pieces of the Purr N Bark?”

  “Yes. As you probably know, my aunt left her house and her business to me, and I think continuing the business she so lovingly built up is the best way for me to honor her memory. My aunt was a big animal lover, and she was also a very big collector of movie memorabilia. Her poster collection is legendary. She has many signed by famous stars.”

  Quentin shot me a knowing look and cleared his throat. “Isn’t it true Mazie Madison recently told you that the museum will take you up on your offer to display your aunt’s Cary Grant posters after all?”

  “She did mention something, but I don’t believe it’s public knowledge yet. I’m assuming your source on that is Ms. Lewis?”

  He waggled his finger. “Now, now, Ms. Marlowe—or I guess I should call you Ms. McMillan? A good reporter never reveals his source.”

  “Of course.” I did some more eyelash batting. “And please call me Shell.”

  “Ver
y well. Shell. How’s that murder investigation coming along? Are you still at the top of the suspect list?”

  Now I almost did lunge across the table at him. “I’m sorry, where did you hear that? If anything, I’m a person of interest, nothing more.”

  “Yeah? Well, you did find the body, and you did have a vicious argument with the deceased the day before.”

  I gave my head a toss. “I’m not the only one who did,” I said. “Garrett Knute and Amelia had a pretty big blowup right on this very street the day before her death.”

  He waved that away. “That’s nothing. Knute’s always blowing off steam at one person or another. He’s harmless.”

  “You might not say that if you’d witnessed the same argument I did,” I declared. “They were arguing pretty vehemently over the contents of an envelope Amelia had in her possession.”

  Quentin chuckled. “Amelia always did know how to push Knute’s buttons,” he said.

  I cocked a brow at him. “Then you don’t think obtaining the contents of that envelope would be a strong motive for murder?”

  “Of course, it would depend on what the contents were, but I doubt it was anything to kill over. Knute was one of the few people on that board who spoke his own mind and didn’t accede to Amelia’s wishes. I can only recall one time he did side with her, and that was when Mazie Madison recommended Melvin Feller for a seat on the board.”

  Now I was getting somewhere. I leaned forward. “Really? I’d heard that Feller used to work for Knute. Apparently there was some trouble?”

  “Trouble? You might call it that, I guess.” Quentin let out a snort. “Feller worked for Knute and Frank Sakowski’s accounting firm for a time, and they got more complaints about his work than Carter had liver pills. Sakowski felt sorry for the guy, so they kept him on until one day when Frank and Rita were away and some questionable accounting of Feller’s came to light. Knute had no choice but to fire him after that.”

  “Questionable accounting?”

  “I’ve never been able to get out of Knute exactly who was involved, but it was the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back. Feller never seemed to mind being out of work, though. From what I understand, he was injured in the Screaming Eagles, so he gets a good pension; plus, he apparently does pretty well at the blackjack table.” He coughed lightly. “Enough about town gossip. It’s you my readers are interested in. Do you intend to stay here permanently, or will you be making your way back to Hollywood the minute you get tapped for another series?”

  I waved my hand. “I’m totally committed to making a life and a new career for myself here in Fox Hollow. It seems to be a very well run little town. I imagine the mayor has a lot to do with that?”

  “Carolyn’s a good mayor, despite what some people think,” Quentin said. “I myself give her my full support. She’s always been very outspoken on her views about freedom of the press, which makes my job a lot easier.”

  I leaned forward and said in a confidential tone, “I understand she had some trouble recently with her kids?”

  His head jerked up, and for a minute he reminded me of a bloodhound sniffing a scent. “Her kids? Really? I can’t think what that might be. Her daughter’s doing very well in school. Top of her class.” He let out a deep chuckle. “She wants to be a hairdresser, though, and it’s a sore point with Carolyn. She was rather hoping to have a lawyer in the family, and Selena’s her only hope.”

  I saw my chance and took it. “Why? Is it because Kyle has a learning disability?”

  Was I imagining it, or was that a look of unease on the reporter’s face? “Right,” he said quickly.

  I pounced on his discomfiture like Purrday on his catnip mouse. “Except that’s not true, is it? Kyle doesn’t have a learning disability. He got involved with drugs, didn’t he?”

  He hesitated, then threw down his pen and crossed his arms over his chest. “Fine. I’ll tell you, but you can never repeat it. If you do, I’ll deny it, as will Carolyn. Six months ago, Kyle was caught smoking and attempting to sell marijuana on the grounds of that fancy schmancy school she’d enrolled him in. Long story short, another kid, the son of one of her competitors, framed him.”

  Wow! “Did Amelia know about this?” I asked.

  “Who do you think helped hush it up? Amelia went to Detective Bloodgood and had the kid cleared of all charges.”

  I stared at him. “She did?”

  He nodded. “Amelia and the mayor might not always see eye to eye, but Amelia did like her kids, Kyle especially. He used to run errands for her sometimes. And, of course, Mayor Hart requested my cooperation in keeping this indiscretion quiet, because Kyle was a bit unhinged by the whole episode. She pulled him out of school and got him private tutors, and Amelia helped him get that job at the General Store. He’s really come a long way.” He eyed me. “I trust you will be discreet with this information? There are whispers, of course, but no concrete evidence.”

  “Of course,” I murmured. Well, there went any chance of Carolyn Hart having a motive for wanting Amelia dead. No wonder she’d sounded so effusive with her praise of the woman at the memorial.

  Quentin cast me a shrewd look. “And make sure your friends keep it quiet, too.”

  I started. “My friends?”

  “Yes, that co-star of yours, and Olivia Niven, and God knows who else.” He inclined his jaw toward my chest. “What’s your watchword?”

  My hand flew automatically to my breast. “Pardon?”

  “Your watchword. Oh, please, Shell, what sort of a newsman do you take me for? We’ve had extra ears listening ever since we sat down. That’s a wire you’re wearing, right?”

  “I—what—how on earth did you know?”

  He grinned, showing off his uneven, yellowed teeth. “You don’t get to my position without having learned a few tricks. You were so reluctant to give me an interview, and then suddenly you call me up, all smiles, and want to meet. It’s only logical that I assume you’ve got an ulterior motive in mind, and it’s not the pleasure of my company.” He leaned so far over the table his nose was almost level with mine. “You wanted to pump me for information about some of the people you believe are suspects in Amelia’s murder.” He leaned back, a self-satisfied smirk on his face. “Did you get everything you needed?”

  I slashed my lips into a thin line. “Not quite.”

  “Then let me help you out.” Before I knew what was happening, his hand shot out, dipped down the front of my tunic, and a second later he held the wire aloft. “My, my,” he said. “This is a nice one. Expensive too. Wherever did you get it?”

  I clutched at the front of my blouse. “Why, of all the nerve … how dare you … fabulous! Simply fabulous, fabulous!” I burst out.

  Quentin looked as if he were having trouble trying to stifle a laugh. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t worry, I wasn’t trying to cop a free feel. I just don’t want any other ears listening in on what I’m about to tell you, because I’ll deny it to the hilt. And I guess I’d better hurry up. Fabulous was your watchword, right?” He clasped his fingers over the end of the wire, leaned over, and said in a stage whisper, “If I were you, I’d check out that Feller-Lewis connection very thoroughly. Not many people know this, but one of Feller’s hobbies, in addition to gambling, is his extensive knowledge of antique knives. And he’s shared that information on more than one occasion with someone else who also has an interest in antique cutlery.”

  “Londra Lewis?”

  He let out a laugh that sounded more like a cackle. “Oh, come now, Shell. What fun would it be if I did all the work for you? I’ve given you a nice lead. What you do with it is entirely up to you.” He dropped the wire and gestured with his hand. “Oh, and you and your friends feel free to have lunch on me. Just tell the waitress to put it on my tab.”

  “Wait.” I grabbed at his arm as he started to push past me. “Do you know who killed Ameli
a?”

  His grin was laconic. “If I did, it would be front page news by now, sweetums. I’m counting on you to get me the scoop on that one. Believe me, it’s been tough being the only Sherlock Holmes around this burg. I’m happy to have someone else to share the honors with.”

  He glanced significantly toward the doorway just as Gary and Olivia burst through the door. He raised two fingers to his forehead in a salute. “And here, if I’m not mistaken, is your cavalry. I’d best leave. We wouldn’t want to cause another scene, would we?

  “Have a nice day … Shell. And don’t bother to let me know how you fare questioning Feller.” He closed one eye in an exaggerated wink. “As I’m sure you’ve already guessed, I’ll find it out on my own.”

  • Twenty-Two •

  “Q uentin Watson sprang for lunch! Will wonders never cease?”

  Olivia took a last bite of her hot turkey sandwich and popped a French fry into her mouth. When she and Gary had rushed into the Captain’s Club, they immediately made a beeline for Watson’s retreating form. I had to jump up and literally pull them back and over to the table, where I quickly explained what had happened. Needless to say, my friends didn’t waste any time once they learned a free lunch was in the offing. Gary immediately signaled the waitress and ordered a Michelob and a Reuben, while Olivia and I both opted for the hot turkey sandwich with fries and Cokes. Since all our stomachs started to growl at the same time, we decided to halt further discussion on the case until we had all been well fed.

  I polished off the last of my turkey and pushed my plate off to the side. “I know, right. He actually seemed to be a bit human, there at the end.” I picked up my Coke and took a long sip. “I still think he knows a lot more than he lets on, though.”

  “Oh, absolutely,” Gary said, his mouth full of Reuben. He took a quick sip of his beer before he spoke again. “I still can’t believe he knew you were wearing a wire!”

  “Oh, yeah,” I said, my cheeks coloring as I remembered him leaning over and ripping it out of my blouse. “Hence my use of the word fabulous.” I eyed him. “BTW, you need to work on your power walk. If he had been the murderer, I could have been dead by the time you two got here.”