Stirring the Plot

by Daryl Wood Gerber

  “Goody. For children, too?”

  “Indeed. The next children’s class is in three weeks, right before Thanksgiving.” We didn’t want kids to come to the candy-making class. Too dangerous.

  “Perfect. I just moved to town, hence the boxes.”

  “At least fifty,” one of the children said.

  Gran laughed. “It took a bit of arm wrestling to get me to move, but now that I’m here, I love Crystal Cove, and your store is going to become my new home.” She told each of the children to pick something, then went to browse for herself.

  “Ka-ching,” Bailey whispered.

  I swatted her arm.

  “No kidding. Did you see that shawl? That’s a shahtoosh, made from the wool of a chiru.”

  “A what?”

  “A type of antelope from the snowy white mountains of Tibet. A shahtoosh is the softest, warmest shawl ever and the most expensive, sort of like Manolo Blahnik shoes for the shoulders.” Bailey tapped my hand and whispered, “You know, Gran, or whatever her name is, reminds me of your aunt. Too bad Vera didn’t have children. She would have had a gaggle of them with her at all times. Speaking of which, where is your aunt?”

  “Hasn’t she checked in today?”

  “She did at eight A.M., but it’s nearly ten.”

  My worry sensors went on high alert.

  “Yoo-hoo.” Katie rounded the corner with a plate of mini muffins. “Look what I’ve got. Apple spice with mascarpone frosting. Quite delicious, with an extra spritz of nutmeg.” She joined us at the sales counter. “Jenna, you haven’t eaten, I can tell.”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “Not enough. Another protein breakfast?” She clucked her tongue. “C’mon, you’re salivating. Take one.”

  I peeled off the muffin wrapper and popped the morsel into my mouth. “Love it. The texture is fabulous, but now I need a glass of milk.”

  “Coming right up.”

  As Katie started toward the breezeway, Maya, the owner of The Enchanted Garden, raced into the store and straight to the counter. Her slim body looked even leaner in skintight leggings and rib-clutching T-shirt. Her curly tresses flew wildly about her face. “Help!”

  “What’s wrong?” I said.

  “My cat. Boots.” The black cat with no white markings. Maya outlined him like she was participating in a game of charades. “He’s gone.” With her Southern drawl, the word gone stretched into three syllables. “Missing. Disappeared.”

  “Maybe he’s helping take care of a litter.”

  “Boots is a he, not a she,” Maya snapped, then quickly covered her mouth. “I apologize, y’all. I didn’t mean to holler. I hollered, didn’t I? It’s just that he’s never left before.”

  Katie said, “Are you feeling all right, Maya?”

  “You mean other than scared out of my mind?”

  “Sometimes cats leave their owners when they aren’t feeling well, even over something as silly as a cold, and well, you’re hoarse.”

  “You would be, too, from screaming after him. I need help. Is Vera here? Maybe she’ll be able to sense where he is.”

  Honestly, some of my aunt’s clients relied too heavily on her powers that weren’t really powers. She gave them confidence; she calmed them down. Then, in time, whatever it was that irked them seemed to dissolve. It was what she liked to call emotional magic.

  Without waiting for an answer, Maya tore to the stockroom. Bailey leaped out from behind the sales counter to block her. Only employees were allowed in the stockroom. And cops with suspects.

  Maya yelled past her, “Vera?”

  “She’s not here,” I said.

  “Where is she?”

  “Running late, I assume.” I tried to put the unease that had surfaced moments ago from my mind, except I couldn’t. Where was Aunt Vera? She was never this, well, unpredictable.

  “Please, can you call her?” Maya begged. “I need to find Boots. The Black Cat Parade is this afternoon. He’s got to win. He’s so . . .” She threw her arms open wide. “So beautiful. So special.”

  I glanced at Tigger, who had found his way to the group. He meowed. “Yes, you’re beautiful and special, too,” I cooed.

  “But not as singular as Boots,” Maya said.

  I don’t know. I thought Tigger was singular with the white tuft of hair down his chest, and the tawny color of his stripes was like none I had ever seen on a ginger cat.

  “Boots is going to win this year,” Maya went on. “He didn’t win last year, but he’s destined to snare the prize this time. He’s bigger and so much more handsome than he was. From the point of his ears to the tip of his tail. I’ve been feeding him all organic food. Raw tuna. Homemade treats.”

  Not everyone ascribed to the raw diet for cats. First, it was hard to maintain—I, with my limited kitchen skills, would fail miserably—and second, I had heard that too many germs could pass through cats’ systems and, thereby, infect little kids who might touch them and put their fingers into their mouths after an affectionate cuddle. But I wasn’t the vet. I wouldn’t dare attempt to educate another cat owner.

  “Hello-o-o,” Emma called from the doorway. “Where’s my adorable Tigger?” She shuffled inside in a sort of crouch, arms outstretched. “Are you ready for your s-h-o-t-s?”

  Tigger couldn’t spell, but he could read body language, and he was having none of it. Could he remember Emma taking him for his DRCC/FVRCP vaccination? In addition, he needed a rabies vaccine and possibly a FeLV/FIV vaccination. But that would be the end of them for a long time. He dashed to the rear corner, ducked under a chair, and poked his nose out.

  “C’mon, Tig-Tig,” Emma said and clucked her tongue.

  The children who had come in with the vivacious Gran thought Tigger was begging to play with them. One dropped to all fours and attempted catch the paw.

  “Stop, Emma,” Maya ordered.

  Emma gaped. “But Tigger needs his shots.”

  “No, I mean stop. Right. There. You did it, didn’t you?” Maya advanced on Emma.

  Emma froze. Her face flushed. “No . . . I didn’t.” Did she think Maya was accusing her of killing Pearl? Her eyes filmed over. Was she going to burst into tears?

  “You stole my Boots.”

  “What? No.” Emma looked to me for help.

  “Boots is missing,” I explained. “He ran off.”

  “Another pet ran off? What is going on, bad karma?” Emma hurried to Maya and grabbed her hands.

  Maya wrenched free. “What did y’all do with him? Drown him?”

  “No. I wouldn’t. Why would you even think—”

  “Maya,” I cut in. “You know Emma is wonderful with animals. She would never harm one.” I said it with such authority that I wondered if I truly believed Emma could have hurt Dr. Thornton, the woman she claimed to love. Thanks to Pepper Pritchett, she had a verifiable alibi.

  Tigger, as if trying to back up my allegation, darted from beneath the chair and dashed to Emma. When he allowed her to pick him up and caress him, I had to assume the poor little guy didn’t have a clue what was in store for him. Nobody liked shots.

  Maya pointed at Emma. “She wants her own cat to win.”

  “Yes, of course,” Emma sputtered. “Everyone wants her cat to win.”

  “But yours isn’t as special as Boots.”

  Feeling the urgent need to do what my aunt would in order to stabilize the escalating situation, I rested a hand on Maya’s elbow. “Maya.” I focused on sending imaginary rays of white light through her to calm her. “You’re scared about Boots. Don’t blame Emma.”

  “It’s his turn to win.”

  “There will be hundreds of cats there, Maya,” I said. “Lots of competition. It’s anybody’s guess who will win.” I was entering Tigger. He wouldn’t walk on a leash like some of the other cats, but owners wer
e allowed—and encouraged—to carry their pets in the parade. The prize was a dozen Halloween cupcakes from the Seaside Bakery.

  Maya broke free of my less-than-spiritual hold over her and whirled on Emma. “You knew Boots would win. That’s why you stole him.”

  “This is ridiculous,” Emma said. “I am not a thief, and I am not a—” The floodgates burst. She couldn’t curb them any longer. “I’ll prove it. I’ll find Boots for you.” She handed Tigger to me. “The vet will do his shots next week, okay, Jenna? A few days won’t make a difference.” She aimed a finger at Maya. “I promise you, I’ll bring Boots to The Enchanted Garden inside of an hour, or I’m not a cat whisperer.”

  Maya looked less than convinced. Her jaw was clenched; she was breathing high in her chest. She pivoted and tore out of the store, leaving me to wonder about the animosity brewing between the Winsome Witches. What was going on? Was someone in town casting spells upon these poor women, or was it simply getting too near the bewitching hour?

  Where in the heck was my aunt?

  Chapter 12

  AS NOON APPROACHED, Aunt Vera still hadn’t shown up at the shop. I finally gave in and called her at home.

  She answered on the second ring. “Hello, Jenna.”

  “How did you know it was me?”

  “Caller ID.”

  Of course. Silly me. “Are you all right? Why didn’t you ring me back?”

  Aunt Vera sneezed. “I’m sorry, I spoke to Bailey. Didn’t she tell you?”

  “Yes, but I thought—”

  She blew her nose. “Were you worried sick?”

  Worried to distraction was more like it. She was obviously the one who was under the weather. “How are you feeling? Have you come down with something?”

  “I’ve been in bed since I dropped you at the shop on Thursday. It’s just a cold.”

  “Would you like me to bring you some chicken soup? I’ll have Katie whip up a batch. Heavy on the noodles.” I would even bring her a copy of Chicken Soup for the Soul: 101 Stories to Open the Heart and Rekindle the Spirit. I kept copies of it in the general fiction section of the store. We invariably had to reorder it. The book was a cult success, with heartwarming stories and poetry.

  “No, sweetheart, I’m fine. I’ve been drinking plenty of liquids. I’m just run-down.”

  “And emotionally strung out.”

  “Yes, it’s been a hard week. Losing Pearl. My powers floundering . . .” Her voice trembled.

  “Aunt Vera,” I started, but stopped. I wasn’t going to refute her powers, not when I was feeling so many mixed emotions about my own spiritual awakenings.

  “I promise I’ll be in tomorrow.”

  “No, that’s not why I called. I mean, yes, I love when you’re at the shop, but we don’t need—” I stopped blathering. “Rest up. I’ll check in with you later.”

  She blew me a kiss and hung up before I could ask her what else she might need. Cough syrup, antihistamines, tea?

  Rather than call her back, I dialed my father and put him on the case. He was pragmatic. He wouldn’t take no for an answer. He would see her in person, or else. Tag, Dad. You’re it.

  * * *

  LATER THAT AFTERNOON, when it was time for the Black Cat Parade to begin, I left Bailey in charge of the shop, dressed Tigger in his cute witch hat, and headed out. The mayor and her committee had done a bang-up job of decorating Buena Vista Boulevard. Black wire outlines of cats were attached to every lamppost. Black parade banners with fringe hung across the streets. Prior to 6:00 A.M., all automobiles had been diverted through neighborhoods. Only foot traffic was allowed.

  Hundreds of participants with cats showed up. There were tabbies, black cats, Burmese, Siamese, and ragdolls. An American shorthair with a white tufted neck had the sourest face; he clearly didn’t like the devil’s ears his owner had put on him. A smug Persian wore a crown and was draped with jewels. I even saw a Maine Coon, like the cat in the Cat in the Stacks Mysteries that I had just finished reading. The cat was huge and wore only suit-type cuffs around his ankles. When I asked the owner what his cat was dressed as, he grinned and said a stripper. I laughed out loud.

  Dogs were not allowed at this parade. The mayor had made a decree. Cats and dogs didn’t mix. Owners didn’t seem to be put out. At the upcoming Winter Holiday Carnival, adorable canines would rule.

  Like people do in New Orleans at Mardi Gras, many were trolling the streets handing out strands of black and orange beads to put people in a festive mood. Others were singing along with the music being piped through speakers: an instrumental of “Black Magic Woman,” followed by “The Lion Sleeps Tonight” and “What’s New, Pussycat?”

  I was surprised—but not very—to see Cinnamon Pritchett among the mix. She was cuddling two cats, one under each arm. Both wore teensy red hats. At first, I thought they were devil-style witch hats, but then I realized the horns were deer racks. Cinnamon had named her cats Donner and Blitzen because she found them last Christmas. I approached her and allowed Tigger to sniff the strangers. “Cute costumes,” I said, delighted to have a conversation with her about something other than murder. “Are they Santa’s magical helpers?”

  “Yep. In December they’ll be flying around, but in October, they’re grounded.” She smiled. “Aren’t all the kids in costumes cute?”

  A group of Winsome Witches stood beside a booth handing out treats to any child in a costume. Some of the witches looked frighteningly scary; others looked as docile as the fairies in Cinderella.

  “I was wondering,” I began.

  Cinnamon shook her head. “No shop talk. Not at a parade. Think fun, Jenna. Life is supposed to be fun. Besides, I’m late meeting up with my handsome fireman.”

  “Are you two getting serious?”

  “As serious as a cop and a firefighter can be. The chemistry is good. We’ll have to see if the flame fizzles.” She moved south.

  Tigger and I headed north. As we neared the Purr-fect Pet Adoption booth, where dozens of kittens and grown cats were housed in an air-conditioned vehicle nearby and ready for someone’s love, Tigger snuggled into me and started to quiver. Had he picked up a scent? Did fear work like a dog whistle, so high-pitched that only animals could sense it?

  “It’s okay, Tig,” I cooed. “You aren’t going anywhere. No way am I giving you back.” I still wondered why he had been abandoned; if only he could tell me.

  I heard laughter and turned. Tito Martinez stood at the head of the adoption line. He must have asked the curly-haired woman handling the adoptions a funny question. He held a mini tape recorder in front of her mouth.

  As I passed by, Tito said, “Hola, Jenna. Hold up.” He bid good-bye to the woman and raced to walk with me. “You look pretty.”

  My hair was pulled into a knot, and I hadn’t put on a speck of makeup. Pretty was stretching it.

  “I’m doing an article for the Crier about the parade,” he said. “So, how did you hear about it?” He thrust the tape recorder in my direction.

  I raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

  “Okay, dumb question. Everybody in town got a flyer.” He grinned. “How do you think all the turistas found out?”

  “Because our savvy mayor put the word out via the Internet and elsewise. Ads. Radio. She’s fearless.”

  “Care to comment about Dr. Thornton’s murder?” Talk about a guy with no grace when segueing.

  I said, “The answer is still no.”

  “I was talking to her housekeeper the other day at the coffee shop. She said the doc was having trouble with her daughter. Now do you care to comment?”

  “Tito.” I didn’t mean to sound exasperated, but I couldn’t help myself sometimes around him. He seemed to have no nuance. From zero to sixty in less than three seconds. A roller-coaster designer would do well to study Tito.

  “It relates to my article about pet adoption,�
�� he went on. “The daughter asked Dr. Thornton to get rid of their cat. Doesn’t that speak to the young woman’s character?” He waited. I didn’t respond. “No? Nothing?”

  “Chief Pritchett is right over there.” I pointed.

  “Yeah, like she’ll talk to me.” He hurried off in the opposite direction. Was he in hot water with Cinnamon?

  At the booth for Cat Food Consortium for Organic Cat Food—a name as long as a cookbook title—the folks were offering homemade pet treats. I purchased mini-sized tuna oil and oatmeal treats. When Tigger finished the first, I worried that he might leap out of my arms for more samples. I held on to him with all my might.

  “Hi, Jenna.” The local veterinarian, an Asian woman with the most gorgeous blue-black hair, approached and scratched Tigger’s ears. “How are you doing, little guy?” She didn’t take her eyes off him. Emma had told me that Tigger was so scared the first time he went in for shots, he was shivering down to his teeth. Now? He didn’t shy away from the veterinarian. I chalked it up to the doctor’s incredibly warm demeanor. “He looks real good, Jenna.”

  Her words were like gold to me. I was being a good kitty parent.

  “Doctor, I was wondering if I could ask you a question about Emma. She said she fainted at the sight of—”

  The vet cleared her throat and pointed to something over my shoulder. “Ahem. I think we’ll have to talk later. A handsome man wants speak to you.”

  I spun around. Rhett was approaching while waving his arm.

  “What a surprise to see you here,” I said as he drew near.

  “Yeah, I considered boycotting. No dogs. What was the mayor thinking?” He grinned. “I’m actually taking a midday stroll, then heading back to Bait and Switch. How is your aunt holding up?”

  “She’s under the weather. Stress can cause the nastiest colds.”

  “Tell her to try a mixture of lemon juice, hot water, and garlic.”

  I scrunched my nose. “Ick.”

  “Works like a charm every time. Gotta go.” He took my hand and pulled me in for a quick kiss.

  Then he loped off, leaving me breathless. Let’s hear it for public displays of affection.