Claws of Death

by Linda Reilly

  “Sure.” Lara supplied Deanna with Joy’s contact info.

  “Lara,” Deanna said in a much softer tone, “would you and Fran like to come for lunch today? Nancy’s going to make a quiche. I can ask her to whip up a fresh spinach salad. And you can both play with Noodle and Doodle to your heart’s content. You’ll be able to see for yourself what a wonderful home they’re living in.”

  That made Lara smile. “Thanks, Deanna, but I’ve made plans to visit someone today. He recently moved into assisted living and could use some company. Aunt Fran has a summer cold, so she’s taking it easy.”

  “Oh, that’s too bad.”

  “Some other time, maybe?” Lara said, feeling bad now. She really did want to visit the kittens, and lunch at the mansion sounded like fun. Plus, it would give her a chance to chat a bit with Nancy Sherman.

  “Certainly. Let’s aim for one day this week. Please give your aunt my regards. I hope she feels better soon.”

  They disconnected, and in the next moment the buzzer went off on the stove.

  The buckle smelled heavenly—warm blueberries, butter, and cinnamon all blended into the same whiff. Lara grabbed a pair of potholders and pulled the pan out of the oven, then set it on a rack to cool. She was sticking the potholders back on their hook on the fridge when Aunt Fran’s landline rang. Lara grabbed the receiver.

  “Hello,” a woman’s soft voice filtered over the line. “I hope it’s okay that I called this number. I know your shelter is closed on Sunday.”

  “It’s fine,” Lara said. “I’m Lara Caphart. Can I help you with something?”

  “Oh, then you’re probably the gal I’m looking for. We’ve never met, but I’m Jennifer Conley. Trista’s mom?”

  Trista. The little girl who loved chimpanzees and wanted to read to cats.

  “Of course. Trista paid us a visit a few days ago. She’d heard we had cats and wanted to read her chimpanzee book to them.”

  “I’m awfully sorry she tried to barge in like that,” Jennifer apologized. “She knows better. My husband and I raised her better than that.”

  “No need to apologize. Trista was very sweet, and polite. I explained to her that she needed to have you call us first to be sure we’re going to be home.”

  Jennifer laughed softly. “That was a tactful way to put it. Actually,” she said, after a slight hesitation, “that’s kind of why I’m calling. I was wondering—and this is awfully pushy of me—but if you’re going to be home today, could Trista maybe read to one of your cats? Only for about fifteen minutes. I think that would satisfy her. She has a cousin who visited a shelter in another town, and they have a program where kids read to cats. Now Trista has it stuck in her head that she has to do the same thing.”

  Kids reading to cats. Lara loved the concept. She’d heard of at least one shelter in New Hampshire that was doing the same sort of thing. She didn’t know exactly how it worked, but after today she planned to find out.

  To make it work at High Cliff, they’d have to set parameters and decide how to match up each kid with a cat. Some parental supervision would be required, but that shouldn’t be difficult. Maybe with Kayla’s help, they could get a program started before the end of the summer.

  Right now, a little girl she knew wanted to read to a cat.

  “I have plans for the afternoon,” Lara told her, “and I was hoping to make the noon service at Saint Lucy’s. It’s quarter to ten now. Do you have time to bring Trista over this morning, say around ten-thirty?”

  “Oh, that would be perfect,” Jennifer said. “My, you people really are nice. I didn’t think it would be this easy.”

  “It’s only because we’re such a small shelter,” Lara explained, “that we can be this flexible. We don’t have as many cats as a traditional shelter, but I think I have the perfect cat for Trista to read to. I would ask that you stay in the room with them, though.”

  “Well, actually, Lara, I was hoping it would be okay if my mother-in-law brought her over. Trista usually spends Sundays with her anyway, and I’ve got about a million ongoing projects at my house I’m trying to tackle.”

  “That’s fine. As long as she’s accompanied by an adult, we’re good.”

  “Oh, excellent. You’re a life saver.” Jennifer thanked her again and hung up. Lara felt encouraged by the call. It gave her all kinds of new ideas for the shelter.

  * * * *

  Lara’s suspicion had been correct. Evelyn Conley was Trista’s grandmother. The two arrived right on time, Trista flashing a big smile and Evelyn a cautious one.

  “We meet again,” Evelyn said. Clad in long pants and a short-sleeved flowered blouse, she stepped into the meet-and-greet room clutching her granddaughter’s hand. “And I understand you already met Trista.”

  “I sure did.” Lara smiled at the child. “How are you today, Trista?”

  Instead of pigtails, today the girl sported a thick ponytail. Wearing a mint-green jersey over matching leggings, she held up the same chimpanzee book she’d had with her on Friday. “I’m good,” she said. “Mom and Grandma said I can read this to a cat.”

  “You may, and I have the perfect cat for you.”

  She’d already chosen Munster, their official greeter, to sit with Trista while she read. Gentle and loving, Munster rarely extended a claw. He was more likely to crawl into Trista’s lap and purr while she read.

  Evelyn dropped onto a chair and rested her arm on the table. “That walk through the woods nearly did me in,” she said with a slight grunt. “I knew I should’ve taken the car.” She looked all around. “It’s quite pretty in here, isn’t it? Very welcoming.”

  “We try,” Lara said. “Can I get either of you something to drink?”

  “No, we’re fine,” Evelyn said firmly. “I suspect we’re bothering you enough just by coming here.”

  “Honestly, it’s really not a bother. I’ll go get Munster.”

  Trista giggled at the name.

  “Do you mind if Trista sits on the floor?” Evelyn asked. “It’s her favorite way to read.”

  After assuring Evelyn that Trista could sit anywhere she liked, Lara went into the large parlor and retrieved a sleepy Munster.

  Trista’s eyes widened with delight when she saw the orange-striped cat. “Oh, Grandma, look at him!”

  Evelyn glanced at the cat and nodded. “Very cute,” she said.

  The child had already settled on the floor, her back propped against the wall under one of the windows and her legs stretched out in front of her. Munster instantly strolled over and rubbed his head against the girl’s arm. After that, he plunked himself onto her lap, and Trista began to read.

  “Trista’s read that book a hundred times,” Evelyn quietly explained. “It’s about a twelve-minute read, if that’s okay.” She pulled a paperback book from her purse and set it on her lap. “While I wait, I might as well get a bit of reading in myself.”

  “Perfect.” Lara smiled. “I’ll leave you guys alone. Be back in fifteen.”

  It was close to eleven when Lara stepped back into the meet-and-greet room. The chimpanzee book was on the table. Trista was stretched out on the floor with Munster tucked against her chest. The child wore a blissful expression as she gently stroked the cat’s neck.

  Evelyn instantly rose and shoved her paperback into her purse. “Lara, we can’t thank you enough. I think Trista had more fun today than she’s had in a long time.” She held out her hand to the child to signal it was time to leave. “What do you say to Lara?”

  Trista made a face, then got up off the floor. Lara suspected the girl would opt to stay for several more hours if she could.

  “Thank you,” Trista said politely, then her gaze wandered to the corkboard hanging on the wall. “Grandma, can I look at that?”

  “Only for a minute,” Evelyn said. “We don’t want to wear out our welcome.”


  “Those are pictures of our successful adoptions,” Lara proudly explained. She thought about asking Evelyn if Trista’s family was looking to adopt, but then decided to wait. With all cats except Frankie currently spoken for, the timing wasn’t ideal.

  Trista came over and tugged on her grandmother’s wrist. “Grandma, see this lady over here?”

  Looking bored now, Evelyn followed her granddaughter over to the corkboard.

  Trista plunked a finger over the picture of a smiling Deanna holding her two kittens. It was the pic Lara had taken at the actress’s home and tacked up on the board herself.

  “She used to have long hair,” Trista declared. “I saw her in that book you have in your attic.”

  Evelyn narrowed her eyes at the photo, then sucked in a breath. A flush crept into her cheeks. “I don’t know what book you’re talking about, Trista, but we really need to get going.”

  Looking frustrated, Trista pulled at her grandmother’s sleeve. “The book, Grandma. You know, the big book with all the pictures and stuff pasted in it. I found it in your attic. It has a million pictures of this lady. Some looked really old.”

  A scrapbook, Lara thought.

  Evelyn shot Lara an odd look. “Well, enough of that. We’ve wasted Lara’s time for far too long already. Let’s get going.”

  Lara assured them once again that it had been no trouble. And once again Evelyn thanked her, then hustled her granddaughter out the door. Lara watched through the porch window as they trekked across the yard toward the path through the wooded buffer. Evelyn’s feet were moving so fast that Lara wondered if she’d picked up a tailwind.

  It begged the question: Why did a woman who was at least in her sixties have a scrapbook filled with photos of Deanna Daltry?

  Chapter 20

  Lara slipped out of her pew after the service at Saint Lucy’s and made a beeline for the Saturn. Normally, she and her aunt would hang around and chat with friends after church. Today she wanted to make a fast exit. She was anxious to see the look on Uncle Amico’s face when she showed up with his freshly baked blueberry buckle.

  The facility looked busier today than it had been when she and Gideon had stopped there during the week. The parking lot was packed with cars. Lara assumed Sundays were probably big visiting days. She wondered if the facility held any special activities for the residents on weekends.

  She stepped inside the lobby. A girl who looked barely out of high school greeted her at the reception counter. On the desk in front of the girl was a textbook—math, Lara noticed with horror. When Lara was in school she’d dreaded the subject, favoring the arts and literature end of the learning spectrum.

  Lara explained why she was there.

  “Just sign the clipboard,” the girl said. “Do you know which room he’s in?”

  “Yes, thanks. I was here a few days ago.”

  “Okey dokey.” The receptionist went back to her textbook.

  Lara wrote her name on the clipboard sheet, along with the time she arrived. She went directly to Uncle Amico’s room. His door was wide open. He sat in his recliner, looking perky in a red bow tie and plaid shirt. His television was tuned to a black-and-white movie on one of the classic film networks.

  “Well, if it isn’t Lara,” he said, beaming at her. “What a wonderful surprise. Is my nephew with you?”

  “No, it’s just me today, Uncle. Gideon’s tackling his backlog today, but I wanted to bring you a surprise.” She set her tote on the floor and kissed him lightly on the cheek.

  He handed her the remote. “Would you mute that for me?” he asked. “I can never find the right button.”

  Lara muted the TV and set the remote on his side table. She pulled the foil-covered blueberry buckle out of her tote and set it down beside the remote.

  “Oh, don’t tell me you made me that buckle,” he said. He reached for her hand and squeezed it with his own gnarled one.

  Lara laughed. “I did, but it’s my first one so I have no idea what it tastes like.”

  “Oh, I already know.” His faded gray eyes brightened as he watched her peel back the foil. “I can tell just by lookin’. Can we sample it now?”

  Lara was glad she’d thought to bring a short stack of paper plates, napkins, and some plastic utensils. She cut a large square and set it on a plate for Uncle Amico. The blueberries looked gooey and luscious.

  Uncle Amico took his plastic fork and dug right in, his smile growing wider with every mouthful. “Delicious,” he kept repeating. “Marvelous,” he added.

  Lara sat on the sagging sofa and sampled hers. She was thrilled with the way the buckle had turned out. Although she’d worked in a Boston bakery for a few years, she’d never done any real baking. But this dessert had been a breeze to prepare. She’d definitely have to make more buckles in the future.

  After he finished a second helping, Uncle Amico said, “Lara, remember when you and my nephew were here a few days ago, and we talked about that Waitt fella?” He wiped his mouth with the napkin Lara had supplied.

  Lara nodded, her mouth stuffed full of cake and blueberries.

  “Well, I guess I couldn’t get it out of my head, ’cause I kept thinkin’ about him. Sometimes things get all jumbled up here”—he tapped his temple—“and I can’t make sense of ’em. But that night, after we’d talked, something hatched out of my brain like a baby chick from an egg.”

  Lara sat up straighter. She dabbed her lips with her napkin. “It did?”

  Uncle Amico nodded. “You recall me saying that the Waitt boy played high school football?”

  “I do,” Lara said.

  “Well, I started mullin’ it over, and it finally triggered a memory. There was this other boy, a classmate of his, name of Jimmy Rousseau. Jimmy played football, too, but he wasn’t nearly as good. Kid’s dad pushed him into sports, I think, but the poor boy would’ve rather tinkered with a hammer and nails. He loved buildin’ things.”

  Jimmy Rousseau. Lara made a mental note of the name, though she wasn’t sure of the spelling.

  “Did something happen to Jimmy?” Lara prompted.

  Uncle Amico let out a long sigh. “Yeah, it did. I was working at the school in those days. Gid probably told you I was the janitor. Anyways, the coach had the team practicin’ after school one day. Poor Jimmy. They say he dropped nine out of every ten passes Waitt threw to him. Waitt finally got mad and stormed right up to the kid. He tossed the ball at his face, hard, from about six feet away. Jimmy was a slender kid, light-boned. He came away with a damaged eye socket.”

  Lara felt her stomach sway. “That’s…awful. Was the damage permanent?”

  “I never really found out, but Jimmy graduated and went on to start his own carpentry business. Did real well, I guess. Everyone loved his work. Died a few years back. Lung cancer, I heard.”

  “Does Jimmy still have family in the area?”

  “Hmm, let me think on that one.” He put his head back and closed his eyes. “I know he had a boy who moved to Arizona. Not sure about the girl…”

  “That’s okay, I was just wondering.”

  Lara mulled it all over in her head. Uncle Amico was a wellspring of information.

  A sudden wave of guilt swept over her. She hadn’t come here to extract information from the man. Her motive had been a genuine one. She really had wanted to bake him that buckle. But then he’d started remembering, and she couldn’t stop asking questions. How could she pass up the opportunity to learn more about Waitt’s early years?

  Gideon would say she was getting too involved. Okay, maybe she was being a tad nosy. But nothing she’d done so far had put her in any danger. She felt sure about that. Besides, she reasoned, anything that helped Deanna also helped her kittens.

  “Uncle Amico,” Lara said, “did Waitt ever get punished for what he did to that boy?”

  “Not so far as I recal
l. There was talk of suspension, but nothin’ ever came of it. Back then kids got away with stuff like that—not like it is now. Anyways, about a week after it happened, Jimmy’s father was toolin’ around in a brand new Chevy Corvair. Not surprisin’ as Waitt’s dad owned a Chevy dealership.” He grinned. “Everyone figured old man Rousseau got himself one heckuva deal on that car.”

  Bribery, Lara thought. She realized now why Uncle Amico had tapped his eye that day. The story about Rousseau had been stuck in his subconscious. Her mention of Waitt had jiggled it free. What other memories might be buried in there, waiting to bob to the surface?

  But there was one hitch, in Lara’s mind. Even if one of Rousseau’s family members had nursed a grudge against Waitt, why wait so long to kill him? That’s the part that didn’t make sense.

  A perky teen in a pink uniform and wheeling a food cart in front of her stopped short in the doorway. She peeked into the room. “Juice, anyone? I have cranberry, grape, pineapple”—she peered into a pitcher—“and about enough orange left for one more glass.”

  Gideon’s uncle opted for the cranberry, and Lara chose the grape juice. The teen gave them their drinks in small paper cups. “Have a great day!” she chirped, then wheeled her cart down the hallway.

  Lara gulped down a mouthful of juice. She was thirstier than she’d realized. “Uncle Amico,” she said, “I know I’m testing your memory, but do you remember Donald Waitt having a girlfriend in high school?”

  He rocked back in his recliner, his eyes creased in thought. “He had different girls, as I recall. One of ’em stood out though. Pretty as could be, she’s that gal who became an actress.”

  “Deanna Daltry?”

  “I guess that’s her name now. Used to be something else. Durkin, Dorkin...something like that. Isn’t she the one who bought the old stone mansion? Gid told me something about it.”

  “Yes, that’s her. Her name was Idena Dorkin when she lived here.”

  “Yup. Sounds right.” He shook his head, and his eyes misted. “I’m embarrassed to admit this, Lara, but I don’t read the paper anymore. Even the obits don’t interest me the way they used to, so long as my name’s not in there.” He gurgled out a laugh. “The news is always so bad, it makes my heart hurt. I only knew about Waitt because Gid told me. These days, I only watch the entertainin’ shows. Old movies, comedy reruns, stuff like that. Can’t stand to watch the real world anymore. I’m too old for it, Lara. Too darned old and weary.”