Claws of Death

by Linda Reilly

  Mary looked trapped. She glanced at her watch. “I…guess I could spare a few minutes.”

  “Great.” Joy grinned and turned back to Lara. “Lara, regarding our mutual friend…you know, the one we honored on Sunday?”

  Lara nodded warily.

  “I’ve been hoping, well, I mean, wanting to have a private tea party for her, complete with a tealeaf reading. I can also do a tarot card reading if she’d like. Lots of the stars like that sort of thing, though I believe the leaves tell it all.” Joy furrowed her thick eyebrows. “Since she adopted kittens from your shelter, I thought you might be able to approach her for me. You can tell her I’d be glad to go to her home so she wouldn’t have to face all the media hounds.” Joy’s eyes glittered.

  Now Lara was the one to feel trapped. Joy was obviously a fan of the actress and was trying to get into her good graces.

  “That’s really thoughtful of you, Joy. I’m sure Deanna would appreciate the offer. She has a lot going on right now, but I’ll mention it the next time I talk to her.”

  “Thank you, Lara. And don’t forget—I owe you a free reading!”

  Lara waved as Joy trounced off, a dazed-looking Mary shuffling in her wake.

  Sherry rolled her eyes. “Poor Mary. She never even took a sip of her coffee. That woman’s like a steamroller, isn’t she?”

  “She’s energetic, that’s for sure,” Lara said. “I never had a chance to introduce her to you. Sorry about that.”

  “No prob.” Sherry reached under the counter and pulled out a white bag. “Here’s Fran’s muffin. Mom said to let her know when you need more cookies.”

  “We have about two dozen in the freezer. We’ll probably need more by Tuesday.”

  “My ears are burning,” Daisy Bowker said, scooting up behind her daughter. “How’s Fran today, Lara?”

  “Still upright, as she likes to say. She sniffled a bit this morning. I hope she’s not coming down with something.”

  Daisy winked at Lara. “Tell her to take Echinacea. Works for me every time. Hey, I gotta dash. My daughter’s been running me ragged.”

  “Drama queen,” Sherry shot at her mother’s retreating form.

  “You two,” Lara said, her voice suddenly raw. A wave of emotion gripped her by the throat. “What would I ever do without you?”

  Sherry looked alarmed. “What’s wrong, Lara? Did something happen?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “Don’t mind me. I’m having a weird week, that’s all. First that teacher, then Hesty—”

  “I know,” Sherry said softly. “It’s like a bad luck week for you, isn’t it?” She squeezed her friend’s arm. “Somehow, though, I think it’s going to end on a positive note.”

  Lara choked out a nervous giggle. “I hope so, Sher. I sure as heck hope so.”

  Chapter 14

  Lara began the short trek back to her aunt’s, the sun baking her arms. She glanced across the street at the town library. Signs had been put up at the entrance to the parking lot, asking patrons to park on the street. Evidently, it took the better part of a day to set up for Saturday’s yard sale.

  Today Lara wanted to do more painting, if she could squeeze it in. She was sitting on a few commissioned projects, which, luckily, had distant deadlines. One of the projects was for Wayne Lefkovitz, a wealthy Boston art collector. The year before, he’d paid Lara a hefty sum for six watercolors of famous Boston landmarks. Each of the paintings had a unique feature—in one corner, an early colonial family gazed in awe at the sight of modern-day Boston. The money she’d earned had helped her and Aunt Fran fund startup costs for the shelter.

  Her thoughts straying in a thousand directions, she’d almost reached the foot of High Cliff Road when she spied a familiar car. A big white Mercury was parked in one of the diagonal slots in front of the town’s tiny park. On the granite bench at the rear of the park, a young woman sat hunched over a book, a high-tech type of stroller parked in front of her. She’d hooked one foot over the bottom of the stroller, no doubt to keep it close and her baby safe.

  Memories came at Lara like a locomotive. In the fall of last year, after she’d first reconnected with her aunt, she’d been in town less than a day when she’d stumbled over a body behind that granite bench. Several days later, the killer had come after Lara. She hated to think where she’d be right now if Blue hadn’t intervened.

  Lara stared hard at the big Mercury. Something about it bugged her. She detoured over to it, her stomach buckling as she drew closer. On the passenger-side window was the decal of a cat curled around a kitten.

  The car belonged to Kayla’s grandmother.

  Kayla, who’d claimed she couldn’t work today because her gram had a doctor appointment in Concord. Had the appointment been canceled? Had Kayla decided to work today after all? If so, why had she parked on the street instead of in the shelter’s lot?

  A shard of disappointment zinged through Lara. She hoped Kayla hadn’t lied to her. For now, she’d give her the benefit of the doubt. The young woman might have a perfectly good reason why her gram’s car was parked there when they were supposed to be in Concord.

  Lara started to walk away when something inside the car caught her attention. On the passenger seat was a pile of newspaper articles. In the top article, the headline read: MURDER IN WHISKER JOG SOLVED; DEADLY CONFRONTATION LEADS TO ARREST.

  Lara’s heart pounded. That article—she remembered it well. It ran in the county’s largest newspaper the day after Lara had been attacked by a determined killer.

  Feeling light-headed, she skimmed her gaze all around the park and the street, but saw no sign of Kayla. Lara covered her mouth with her hand. What was Kayla up to? Had she applied for the job as shelter assistant because of an obsession with the murder? Lara had read about murder groupies. Was Kayla one of them?

  Lara cupped her hand around her eyes to get a better look inside the car. Several other news articles were in that pile, but she couldn’t see if they were all from the same case.

  She blew out a breath and rubbed her eyes, then turned and headed to her aunt’s. Maybe she was making too much of it. In a way, wasn’t it normal to be curious about a murder that happened so close to your employer’s property?

  If Kayla was at the shelter, Lara intended to question her about it.

  “I’m home,” she called out when she entered the house through the kitchen. She didn’t see her aunt, but a bubbly face framed by fuchsia-tinted hair greeted her. Brooke Weston was sitting at the kitchen table, thumbing away at her cell phone. Munster snoozed in her lap. He yawned when he saw Lara, then went back to his nap.

  “Brooke!” Lara leaned over and hugged the teenager. Brooke had been a regular visitor at Aunt Fran’s from the time Lara had met her last year. Since then, the tint in her hair had gone from aqua to copper—not unlike Lara’s hair—to the current shade of pink. She’d also toned down the silver studs that had once lined her ears to few delicate faux gems per ear.

  “Surprised?” Brooke said, setting aside her cell.

  “Pleasantly surprised,” Lara said. She dropped her tote onto a kitchen chair. “I thought you couldn’t volunteer until Sunday?”

  “Mom switched days with someone, so she took today off. She’s taking Darryl to some dorky water park.” She rolled her brown eyes at the ceiling. “Kids’ stuff. Not for me. I’d rather help out here with you guys.”

  “Is Darryl excited about the water park?”

  Darryl was Brooke’s younger brother, a sweet boy who’d struggled with reading until a certain Ragdoll cat had sat beside him and read along with him. Darryl never saw Blue, but his reading skills had taken a giant leap forward. According to his mom, he was now reading at least three books a week.

  “Yeah, the little nerd’s all, like, dopey over it. Mom’s taking him and a friend, so she’ll have her hands full. Full of little monsters, that is,” s
he added with a snort.

  Lara smiled. She knew Brooke adored her younger bro, but needed to maintain the guise of the tormented big sister.

  “Ms. C. said that your new assistant bailed on you today. Good thing I showed up, right?”

  “I’d say your timing was excellent,” Lara said.

  “Oh, before we start, can I run something by you?” Brooke lifted Munster and gently set him on the floor. “I know we disbanded book club for July, but I had an idea for our next classic when we start up again in August.” Brooke clasped her hands together. “Get this. What about Old Possum’s Book of Practical Cats?”

  “Brooke, that’s an excellent idea!” Lara had actually read T.S. Eliot’s classic book about cats, but would happily reread it. “I know Aunt Fran will love it, and I think Mary will, too.”

  Lara, Aunt Fran, Brooke, and Mary Newman were the members of a classics book club that met every Wednesday at the coffee shop. The original club had suffered from a shakeup of its members, so now it was only the four of them.

  “Good,” Brooke said. “I’ll send a text to Mary. Now, where should I start today?”

  “Can you wash out all the food and water bowls and replenish them?” Lara said. “I’ll start scooping and cleaning around the litter boxes. Adoptions start at one, so we want the place to look—and smell—spiffy.”

  “Ms. C. said to remind you to take the cookies out of the freezer. She already made a pitcher of pink lemonade.”

  “Good idea. By the way, where is my aunt?” Lara went to the freezer and pulled out a sealed container of Daisy’s cat-shaped sugar cookies.

  “Upstairs. She said she wanted to start cleaning out her closet ’cuz it’s getting too crowded. She made us some tuna salad for sandwiches.”

  Cleaning out her closet? Out with the old, in with the new?

  “Okay, then. Let’s get cracking. I’ll meet you back in the kitchen at noon and we’ll all have a bite of lunch.”

  For the next hour, they each performed cat chores. Brooke was a whirlwind of energy, washing bowls vigorously with gentle soap and refilling them with fresh water and kibble.

  The litter boxes freshened and the surrounding areas scrubbed, Lara scooted upstairs to change into something presentable enough to greet prospective adopters. She was surprised to see Frankie stretched out on her bed.

  “Hey, sweetheart,” she said softly, sinking her fingers into his soft fur. “You look a little glum today.”

  Frankie’s tail twitched, but he didn’t purr. Lara was convinced that the cat knew Hesty was gone from his life. She bent and kissed his head. “Don’t give up. You’re going to find the perfect home, I promise.”

  She threw on a pair of sporty white capris, topping it with a loose blue tee with short, lace-trimmed sleeves. Not fancy, for sure, but perfect for adoption days. In her ears she stuck the oversized pink cat earrings she’d found on eBay. She ran a comb through her hair, shot a glance at the mirror, then lifted Frankie gently off her bed. “Come on, sweetie. You might meet your forever Mom or Dad today.”

  Downstairs, she set Frankie on the sofa in the large parlor. Brooke had already thrown together three tuna sandwiches. She and Aunt Fran were sitting at the kitchen table waiting for her.

  “There you are,” Aunt Fran said, smiling at her niece. “It seems we’re like ships that pass in the night, aren’t we?”

  These days, yes, Lara thought.

  “Lara,” Aunt Fran said carefully, “would you mind if I let you and Brooke handle adoptions today? I was hoping to get a bit of shopping in before the weekend.”

  Shopping, Lara thought. The cupboards were stocked full, and the perishables were fresh. Even if they’d needed milk or eggs, it wouldn’t take an entire afternoon.

  No, Aunt Fran wanted to shop for something else.

  “Of course we can,” Lara said with a smile she hoped looked laid-back. “By the way, did the chief ever get back to you about the little girl I saw yesterday?”

  “Not yet, but I wouldn’t be too concerned. If Jerry thought it was anything to worry about, he’d be on it in a heartbeat.”

  “What little girl?” Brooke asked.

  Lara gave her a recap of the child who’d tried to get into the locked shelter.

  “It’s weird that she had a book with her,” Brooke said, then chomped off a huge bite of her sandwich.

  They gobbled down their lunches, then Brooke and Lara went into the shelter’s meet-and-greet room. Brooke had set the table with a handmade runner festooned with images of cats. The cushion covers had been freshly washed. The room smelled clean and welcoming.

  It was around one-thirty when two faces peeked through the shelter’s glass-paned door. Lara grinned at the blond man smiling at them, a little boy of about seven huddled next to him. The child looked excruciatingly shy, hiding his face in the man’s beige polo shirt when Lara opened the door.

  “Welcome to the High Cliff Shelter,” Lara said, smiling at the little boy. He had short, wheat-colored hair and huge blue eyes. The sadness in his expression broke her heart.

  The man gently pushed the boy into the room. “Hello, I’m Bruce Willoughby, and this is Petey.” Bruce held out his hand, and Lara shook it briefly.

  “Pleased to meet you. I’m Lara.” She stooped down so that she was eye level with the little boy. “Hi, Petey. Thank you for coming here today. I’ll bet you like cats.”

  The boy’s eyes brightened, and he nodded.

  Brooke came in just then, and Lara introduced her. Brooke winked at Petey, and he smiled for the first time since he’d entered.

  “I understand this is a small shelter,” Bruce said, glancing all around. “I can already see how different it is. You don’t have cats in cages, do you?”

  “No,” Lara explained. “Our home is the shelter, and the cats pretty much have free range. All are up to date on shots and have regular veterinary care. This room”—she waved a hand around the back porch—“is where we greet people and introduce them to cats.”

  Bruce’s face relaxed. “Wow, what a great concept. Anyway, I was hoping you might have a nice mellow cat available for adoption. A young one,” he emphasized. He cupped his son’s shoulders protectively and raised his eyebrows.

  Lara glanced at Brooke. She had the feeling that the dad wanted to chat with her outside of his son’s earshot.

  “Should I get Bootsie?” Brooke piped in, as if reading Lara’s thoughts.

  “That would be great.”

  Brooke fetched the slender gray cat from the large parlor and set her down on the floor of the porch. Petey instantly dropped down next to the cat and ran his small hand over her back, his smile like a burst of sunshine. Bootsie leaned into him, then crawled up the boy’s chest. Grinning, Petey pulled her close, rubbing his face against hers.

  “Looks like they’re already friends,” Lara said quietly, signaling to Bruce to step into the next room.

  They sat facing each other in the large parlor. Frankie had already disappeared.

  Bruce’s eyes welled with tears. “We lost Petey’s mom three months ago,” he said in a hoarse voice. “It’s been so tough on him. On both of us.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry,” Lara said, feeling her throat tighten.

  “Thank you. Petey’s always been a shy boy, but after Beth died he became even more withdrawn,” Bruce went on. “He’s not a rough-and-tumble type of kid, know what I mean? He’s quiet, doesn’t make friends easily. But I always noticed that he seemed drawn to cats. Problem was, well…frankly, Beth was afraid of them. Because of that, we never had any.”

  Lara nodded. “You’re thinking that a cat might comfort Petey, maybe bring him out of his shell a bit.”

  “Yeah, that’s exactly what I was thinking.” Bruce leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “The thing is, I like cats, too. Always had them growing up. I never made a bi
g deal of it, for Beth’s sake. But I think it’s time. Petey needs a cat, and so do I.”

  Lara liked this man. Her gut instinct told her Bootsie would be an ideal match for him and Petey.

  She gave him a summary of the cat’s history—how Bootsie and her three kittens had been rescued by a DPW worker, who’d immediately delivered them to his former teacher—Aunt Fran. Of Bootsie’s three kittens, only two had survived. Both now had loving homes.

  Bruce listened intently, then said he needed to go back to his son. He and Lara returned to the porch. Lara’s breath caught in her throat.

  Petey was lying flat out on the floor, Bootsie stretched lengthwise across his chest. Both looked as if they’d found heaven. But what struck Lara most was the sight of Blue leaning against Petey’s right arm. The Ragdoll cat blinked once, then rested her chin in the crook of the child’s elbow.

  “Why don’t you have a seat and I’ll bring in some lemonade and cookies?” Lara said to Bruce. “Does Petey have any food allergies?”

  “Not a one,” Bruce said. “And those snacks sound awesome, right buddy?” He reached down to ruffle his son’s hair.

  “Yup,” Petey said, his small hands resting on Bootsie.

  When the treats arrived, Petey reluctantly got up from the floor and climbed onto a chair. He grinned from ear to ear when Bootsie hopped onto his lap.

  The rest of the visit went smoothly. Bruce promised to fill out the application and email it to the shelter by the end of the day. He assured Lara that his references would check out. In return, she handed him a list of suggested brand names for food, toys, and kitty litter.

  After they left, Brooke reappeared and began gathering up the used plates and glasses. “They loved Bootsie, didn’t they?”

  “They sure did. And—” Lara stopped short and stared out the window, into the backyard. “Brooke, there’s that little girl again, the one who tried to get in yesterday!”

  This time Lara was determined to catch up with the girl. She trotted outside, Brooke following close behind her. She waved and tried to signal the girl over, but the moment the child spotted Lara, she spun on her sneaker and fled toward the woods.