Meowsical Death: A Hazel Hart Cozy Mystery Two

by Louise Lynn

  “It’s a beauty, isn’t it?” Ambrose asked and ran his fingers along the edge of the wood.

  Hazel nodded. “Oh yes. Lovely instrument. How old is it?”

  Ambrose smiled, and his pretty features sharpened. “Over a hundred years and extraordinarily rare. And even more extraordinarily expensive,” he said and propped it under his chin.

  Hazel didn’t doubt that. Though, it did make her wonder if Roberta Martin’s violin was the same sort. Because as far as she knew, Roberta had been a teacher her entire life. And her husband, who’d died a good ten years before, had run a boat rental shop on the edge of the lake. He couldn’t have made that much money. Not enough to afford a violin like this, anyway.

  She got behind her camera and fiddled with refining the focus as Michael fixed the lights.

  “Is this your first time in Cedar Valley?” Hazel asked and fixed a few settings on her camera. She needed a wider aperture to get as sharp a focus as she could.

  Ambrose shook his head and his hair flowed around his shoulders as he did. A tuft stuck in his mouth and he pulled it out, less gracefully than she imagined. “No. I’ve been coming to Lake Celeste since I was a child. We had a vacation home here ages ago, but that was in North Lake City. It was, of course, destroyed with the recent acquisitions a few years back. But I’ve always felt that Lake Celeste is where my heart was.”

  Hazel nodded. She understood the sentiment more than she would’ve imagined a few months before. “So why not live here full-time?”

  Ambrose laughed, and it sounded as fake as the rest of him. The sort of laugh he must’ve practiced alone for hours to get right, containing a mixture of both mirth and condescension. “Oh no, you don’t have anywhere for me to play. Well, besides that little community theater. I could never live in such a backwoods town. I’m part of the New York Philharmonic.”

  Hazel raised her brows and schooled her face into mild shock. “Oh, I had no idea someone with such an alarmingly impressive pedigree would come to my little studio.”

  Ambrose shook his head. “Well, you are the only photographer in Cedar Valley. And I needed to book something last-minute.”

  She smiled pleasantly and looked through her viewfinder. One of the lights was too bright on Ambrose’s face, and she motioned for Michael to fix it.

  He did, and she settled back to start the shoot.

  She didn’t, however, ask him why he didn’t have his updated photos taken in New York, since he was an esteemed part of the New York Philharmonic. They obviously had plenty of photographers there.

  But she bit back the question and thought of her father’s words: You’ll have to deal with people that make you want to chew off your own hand, but that’s what running a photo studio is about.

  Taking a deep breath through her nose, Hazel let it out of her mouth and began the shoot.

  If she had to say anything positive about Ambrose Angel, at least he wasn’t as stiff as a corpse when she went to take his photo. That was the problem with a lot of portraiture, the people weren’t used to being photographed and tended to either smile too much, or not enough.

  But Ambrose obviously was used to this sort of attention. He flung his hair in the air and held the violin posed under his chin, the bow gripped delicately in his other hand as if he were ready to play.

  She snapped photos of him in several different positions, all carefully featuring both the violin and his ridiculously overpriced watch.

  Only once did he stop for a sip of the bottled water that Michael had offered. And at one point, Ambrose insisted on changing shirts, which he did. He tied a sweater around his shoulders in a way that would’ve looked fine at Cape Cod, but here?

  Hazel held back the desire to snort.

  Still, she wasn’t going to critique her client, and they finished the photo shoot without any problems.

  “Are you coming to the show?” Ambrose asked as he put his violin carefully in its case and wiped his fingerprints from the surface.

  Hazel wondered if the oil from human skin harmed the violin, but she bit back the desire to ask. “Perhaps. I’m not sure yet.”

  Ambrose frowned heavily at that response. “Well, I should think you would go. A town like this is lacking culture, so when culture comes here, take advantage of it,” he said and put his nose in the air as he pulled on his black wool coat and leather gloves.

  Something about the gloves reminded Hazel of a mobster film she’d seen, and she shook the thought away.

  “You know, Cedar Valley is really only lacking in culture during the winter. Our local movie theater shows plenty of art-house films to make up for it. And all summer long we have plenty of other cultural things. The Shakespeare Festival in May, and the Jazz Festival in August, to name a few,” she said and smiled sweetly as she and Michael carefully broke down the set.

  Ambrose Angel made a rude sound out of his nose. “And how many world-class musicians do you have popping in on a regular basis?”

  Hazel’s answer was going to be: Oh, about twenty a month. But she bit her tongue and held it back.

  “Hardly ever. Well, I suppose I’m convinced. I simply must see you play,” she said, copying the way she’d seen some of the wealthy people at the Lodge talk when she was younger. Her and Esther had an entire tea party like that as children while their mother giggled hysterically the whole time.

  However, Ambrose wasn’t in on the joke.

  He smiled benignly and moved to the foyer. “And how soon can I expect the prints from my shoot?”

  “How soon do you need them?” Hazel asked and mentally went over all the other things she had to do.

  Michael was running through the school photos, but she would have to finalize his choices in case he made a bad one. Not likely, but she didn’t want any mistake to reflect poorly on her when she could have avoided it.

  “Well by the end of the week, at the latest,” he said and wrapped a black scarf around his neck.

  Hazel nodded. “I can do that.”

  He made another show of checking his watch, the violin case cradled in his free arm. “Oh, good. I’m on time for my next appointment. Lunch with my old mentor. I do wonder how she’s getting on.”

  A ball of dread formed in Hazel stomach. “Mentor? Who would that be?”

  Cedar Valley was a small enough town that she was sure there were no other violin virtuosos living there. In fact, besides the high school orchestra teacher, she wasn’t sure of anyone else who even played violin professionally.

  Besides the one person who’d been murdered that morning.

  “Oh, you probably don’t know her. Roberta Martin. She inspired me as a child, and I’ve come back to show my respects,” he said and flashed his perfectly white teeth.

  Hazel swallowed the lump in her throat. Should he hear it from her or from the police?

  Well, neither would make it much easier.

  But she might as well save him a trip to the elementary school. They’d taken Roberta’s body to the morgue by now.

  She frowned, and it didn’t even have to be forced. “I’m very sorry Mr. Angel, but Roberta Martin is dead.”

  Chapter 6

  “He did what?” Celia said and nearly choked on her bite of sandwich. Maybe Hazel should’ve waited to tell her until after she swallowed.

  “Well, first there was the scream. I thought he would get upset, but not that upset,” Hazel said, explaining the events from earlier that day during their usual lunch break.

  This time, Celia had opted to join Hazel at the photo studio instead of Hazel joining Celia at the coffee shop. She’d brought Ophelia, who currently nuzzled with Anthony Ray on a chair in the foyer.

  It was a slow day, and Hazel wasn’t expecting any more clients. Thankfully.

  “I’m surprised somebody liked Roberta Martin,” Celia said and looked as if she instantly regretted it. “That was an awful thing to say about a recently dead person, wasn’t it?”

  Hazel fought the desire to snort. “Probably, bu
t she was pretty awful.”

  “What did he do after he screamed?” Celia asked and leaned forward. She wore a formfitting red skirt that hugged her ample curves, and a long-sleeved striped shirt. Her hair was pulled partway back, and the perfectly coiffed ringlets hung around her smooth dark face. Everyone thought she was the most beautiful woman in town, and Hazel really couldn’t argue with that assessment.

  The good thing about Celia was that she was as lovely inside as out.

  Hazel thought back to the events of that morning, after she told Ambrose Angel about Roberta Martin’s fate. The piercing scream had been the largest shock. She was afraid, for one moment, that it might break her windows. Or the camera equipment.

  At last it had petered off into something a little more reasonable for human hearing, guttural and pained.

  “He fell to his knees and started weeping. I felt awful,” Hazel said and frowned at her own lunch. She couldn’t stop thinking about Ambrose’s reaction, and Roberta Martin’s body. The combination was enough to take away her appetite.

  But if she didn’t eat now, she’d be doubly hungry later. She forced herself to take an oversized bite.

  Celia shook her head. “Poor guy. Did you hug him?”

  Hazel stared at her best friend. “I tried to comfort him, and he threw me off, so no. Then he stormed out without saying a word. Or paying.” The last bit was a grumble under her breath.

  Celia raised her perfectly plucked eyebrows. “That’s suspicious.”

  For someone who usually looked for the best in people, if Celia thought something was suspicious, it was.

  Hazel shrugged. “He’s staying at the Lodge, so I know I’ll be able to track him down and ask him to pay but…” She didn’t have to finish that sentence for Celia to know what she meant. Doing so would be the definition of awkward.

  “What did Michael do?” Celia said around another bite and swiped a smear of mayonnaise from her lips. Somehow, her lipstick stayed in place.

  This time, Hazel couldn’t help the smile that yanked at the corner of her mouth. “At first, he stood there shocked. Then, he ran and got Ambrose water and some tissues, so he probably reacted better than I did.”

  Celia nodded. “Is it normal for people to react like that? I mean, in LA you saw detectives break the bad news to other people, right?”

  Hazel had, as a forensic photographer for the LAPD, witnessed a few instances like that. But everyone reacted differently. Some were totally silent, while others wailed as Ambrose had. Although, they had all been closer to the deceased than a former student.

  Her nose wrinkled. “Well, everyone reacts differently. Look at how everyone reacted to Dirk Barkley getting killed. But Ambrose said he hadn’t seen her in years. Not that he didn’t have a reason to be upset, but it felt a little extreme.”

  As Hazel said it, she thought of something Sheriff Cross told her after Dirk Barkley had been murdered a month before. If the loved ones weren’t crying it was especially suspicious. Well, that wasn’t the case with Ambrose Angel. His eyes had turned into faucets, tears dripping down his cheeks like mini waterfalls.

  Celia took a long swig from her water bottle and reached down to scratch Anthony Ray under the chin. “Well, maybe he was lying. Maybe he’s had more contact with Roberta Martin than he wanted anyone to know.”

  That wasn’t something Hazel had considered yet, and she mulled it over as she finished her lunch. “And? If he has, what am I supposed to do about it? Tell the sheriff?”

  A devious smile spread over Celia’s lips. “You could do that. Or do what you did last time. You solved that Barkley case before the sheriff even got close and you know it.” Celia poked Hazel in the shoulder as she said it.

  A rush of pride mixed with the other emotions that still lingered from that morning. “Oh, yeah. The sheriff would love that.”

  Celia shrugged. “Hey, he asked you to take the photos this morning. Why do that if he doesn’t want you involved?”

  Hazel took that moment to finish the latte Celia brought her. Fourth coffee of the day. Potentially the final one as well, as long as she didn’t have to work late. “He asked me to take the photos because his last ones were absolutely atrocious. They weren’t even in focus.”

  “Well, either he wanted you involved, or he’s subtly trying to flirt with you.” Celia smiled at her own assessment.

  Hazel let out a burst of humorless laughter. “You sound as bad as my mom and Esther. Or, he realizes that he’s not the best photographer in the world, and I was there so why not.”

  Which was obviously the most sensible and realistic reason.

  This whole ‘Sheriff Cross has a crush on you’ line needed to die a fiery death. And her family and best friend needed to stop going on about it.

  “I wonder why he can’t take photos in focus. Don’t cameras do that for you now automatically?”

  Hazel nodded. “Most do, and I’m not sure what kind of camera he used, but Esther has the same issue. Maybe he has bad eyesight like she does and refuses to wear glasses.”

  That thought caused a strange jolt of excitement in Hazel’s gut. Her own eyesight was impeccable, like her father’s, but Esther had taken after their mother who had atrocious eyesight. The idea of glasses perched on Sheriff Cross’s straight nose made her feel as giddy as a schoolgirl. She shook her head to dispel the feeling.

  “He might. He seems like the type,” Celia said.

  “What does that mean?”

  “Vain.” Celia grinned and stood up to dispose of their lunch refuse.

  Hazel wasn’t sure if she agreed with that assessment. Sure, Colton Cross was ridiculously handsome, and he kept his hair perfectly combed and his face neatly shaved, but he didn’t seem like the type that spent hours grooming. More like that’s the way he was.

  Which, was the exact opposite of how Hazel felt. She was still more likely to roll out of bed and shove a hat on her frizzy red hair than to spend hours trying to perfect it. But that was because she was more practical than anything else.

  “Are you excited about your dad being home for a while?” Celia said as she pulled on her coat and fixed Ophelia in her harness.

  A secret smile spread over Hazel’s lips. “Of course.”

  Though, what she didn’t say was that she had kept that excitement tamped down until her father had a flight home. She’d learned to do that as a child because there was no use getting her hopes up when he had to cancel and take another job at the last moment. Esther never learned to forgive him for that, but Hazel didn’t see the point in holding grudges.

  “I don’t think Esther is going to be cooking that many fancy meals for him,” Celia said, voice dry.

  Hazel grinned. “I guess not, but there are plenty of places to eat, regardless.”

  The good thing about Cedar Valley being a tourist town was that it had plenty of variety when it came to restaurants. Everything from Mexican to Italian to Indian and even a nice little Vietnamese place.

  Even better, they were all delicious in their own way.

  Hazel gave Celia a quick hug and waved her off as she left.

  With everything that happened that morning, Celia was right. Her dad was home at last. So at least something was looking up.

  Which reminded her, they’d probably made it back from the airport already. But no doubt, her mom would either take dad home, or to her shop first. There was a slim chance they would swing by Esther’s café, Let Them Eat Cake, but somehow, Hazel doubted it.

  Still, she decided to give her studio a quick once-over and make sure everything was in its proper place. The Old West portion was neatly organized and hadn’t been utilized since the weekend. Few tourists about on a weekday in March.

  The main studio was similarly clean. Her office—not so much—but Hazel knew where everything inside it currently was and didn’t want to disrupt the organized chaos in which she worked best. Plus, Michael was currently hunched at one of the computers going over the school photos. She peeked in, but
he was totally absorbed in his work. She knew the storefront of her studio was also spotless, since she’d gone over it the day before.

  Well, nothing to do but work until evening when they’d have their welcome home dinner.

  At some point, Deputy Simmons came by for the crime scene photos, and Hazel told herself she wasn’t disappointed that Sheriff Cross hadn’t run the errand personally. He was too busy with a murder scene, no doubt.

  After that, Hazel had plenty to do. Including sending Ambrose Angel an email requesting he make his payment as soon as possible.

  To her surprise, Esther and Ruth swung by at about five p.m. as Hazel was getting ready to close for the day. Michael had shut down the computers already and shuffled out, his eyes bleary from staring at the screen for hours.

  Hazel was locking the office and gathering Anthony Ray when Ruth burst in. “Auntie Hazy,” she cried and snagged Hazel by the coat.

  “Is this about the words you need to have with me?” Hazel said and finished turning off the lights in the various studios.

  Esther scrunched her nose and frowned. “No. I’m avoiding the inevitable. Dinner at home tonight. I told her I was too tired to cook, so she’s picking up pizza.”

  Hazel’s stomach grumbled, and she couldn’t deny that pizza would be a welcome treat.

  “Pizza! Pizza! Pizza!” Ruth chanted, obviously agreeing with Hazel’s silent assessment.

  Esther didn’t have to say what she was really thinking, her pursed lips and the tension in her shoulders gave it all away. She, unlike Hazel, was not looking forward to the family dinner. Or seeing their father after eight long months.

  Hazel squeezed Esther’s shoulder. “He’s going to be home for a while now, so maybe it’s time you guys patched things up?” She regretted it as soon as the words left her mouth.

  Esther scowled. “Oh, patch up thirty years of neglect? Maybe you can do that, but I can’t.”

  Hazel sighed. “Sorry. But–”

  “But what? And you’re one to talk about patching things up. You couldn’t even stay in the same city as your ex-husband.”