A Claw-some Affair (MEOW FOR MURDER Book 3)

by Addison Moore

  “Taking you to bed?” Shep inches back as he examines me. “That’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

  Chapter 8

  All night I have one feverish vision after another.

  Trust me. There is no mistaking these infernal wanderings as something as simple as a dream, and they certainly fall under the nightmare classification if anything at all.

  First up was Tilly and me in the Manor Café. Jackson was there, too, looking like the delicious snack he is, and he picked up one of our hands—it was hard to tell if it belonged to Tilly or me. Then he whispered the words, “I’m going to give you a night to remember.”

  I’m pretty sure all of his naughty intentions were aimed my way. I won’t even bother filling Tilly in on that one. No sense in getting her carnal hopes up anymore.

  Then there was a disturbing vision regarding Regina and Shep. I’m not sure where the three of us were, but her hair was mussed and his tie was askew—and I felt the sudden urge to slaughter them both. No words were exchanged, but I’m betting that’s because I had already peppered them both with a few salty words.

  And finally there was the doozy of the bunch. Shep and I were at some unknown locale. It was dark and the mood was tense. He looked me in the eyes and said, “This is where it ends with you and me. It’s over. It’s done.”

  It’s that last one that sends me sitting straight up and gulping for air.

  “Can’t breathe.” I gasp as I look around the strange room around me. For a split second I think I’m back in Hastings, my old apartment, my old room, one hair away from my biggest mistake. But instead of dry wall, I’m met with log cabin walls, a patchwork quilt wrapped around me, and Pixie whipping my arm softly with her fuzzy pink tail.

  “Oh, Pixie.” I moan as I gingerly place my palm to my forehead. “Pain.” A horrible sound emits from my throat and ricochets right through my skull. “This is exactly why I shouldn’t drink.”

  The room glows peach as if the sun just crested the horizon, and the shadow of a man walks into my bedroom. My eyes work overtime to quickly assess the situation. If I were back in Hastings, I’d grab my baseball bat. Note to self: buy a baseball bat.

  Instead, I clasp my hands together and point my fingers over at the perp as if I were holding a gun.

  “I’m gonna shoot!”

  “Hold your fire,” an all too familiar deep voice sounds as Shep comes into view with his dark hair, a body built for a football field, and a smile that I’m not sure is genuine or manufactured. And if I’m not mistaken, he seems to be holding a tray with breakfast offerings on it.

  A horrible pain rockets through my head, as if someone just shot off a bottle rocket through my skull, and I moan like someone who’s having her toes sawed off with a butter knife.

  Shep lets out a breath as if my agony exasperated him.

  “This, Bowie, is exactly why you shouldn’t insert yourself into a homicide investigation.”

  I grunt as he lands the tray full of pancakes, orange juice, and coffee before me.

  “Wow”—I muse, breaking off a piece of a pancake and popping it into my mouth—“On the contrary, if you’re going to roll out the culinary red carpet, I might just sign up for the part of town lush.”

  He takes a seat next to me and touches his finger over my nose, and just like that, the vision I had at the wine festival comes true.

  A swell of relief fills me.

  It was something simple for a change. I like that.

  “So do you always make breakfast in bed for your boarders?” I take a careful sip of my coffee, my eyes never leaving his.

  “Nope. You’re my first.” He tips his head flirtatiously before getting right back to frowning. “Bowie, you were pretty wasted last night. You couldn’t walk. I had to carry you in here. You were moaning and talking in your sleep all night.”

  “All night?” My voice hikes a notch at what this might mean.

  “Don’t worry. I didn’t take advantage of you.” His pale blue eyes bear into mine and a spike of heat bites through me. Judging by my visceral reaction, my body was rooting for the former option. “I spent the night on the sofa in case you needed help, or felt the sudden urge to stagger out the door. Jackson wanted to take you home.”

  I gasp as I lean back against my headboard.

  “That could have been disastrous,” I muse.

  “Yes.” He gives a curt nod, and I can’t help but note how comely he looks when he’s good and upset. Come to think of it, that’s a rather natural disposition of his. “That’s why I took it upon myself to help you out. In the event you haven’t noticed, you can’t hold your liquor.”

  “You got that right, buddy. And that’s exactly why I don’t drink. It was all Sophia Hathaway’s fault. But on the bright side, she basically told me that she thinks her boyfriend is involved in Madeline’s murder. How strange is that?”

  “Not strange at all. She hinted at that with me as well when I questioned her.” He presses his tongue against his upper lip, and, oh my wow, I think I just drooled.

  He nods as if he heard me. “She made it clear she doesn’t think Parker is responsible, but that something went awry with a project the two of them were working on. Don’t dig into this, Bowie. Nora and I have handled tougher cases. You make a mean lasagna. Stay in your lane. Your stint as a llama jockey could have resulted in a broken neck. I’ve got control over this. I promise.”

  “Stay in my lane?” My lips twitch from side to side. “I’m not sure how I feel about you telling me to stay in my mean lasagna lane.”

  “It’s not me talking. It’s the law.” His chest expands with his next breath. “Enjoy your breakfast.”

  “You’re changing the subject.” A smile curls on my lips as I pull the tray forward and pour a river of syrup over those light and fluffy pancakes. “It’s nice to know if I’m short-staffed at the café, I can call in a culinary expert. So tell me something about yourself. Start with your family.” I wince because I happen to know that Shep’s father is doing time just like mine. But unlike the RICO charges my father is in for, his is in for murder one for killing Shep’s stepmother. Fun fact: our fathers are both serving time at the same correctional facility. And in a cosmic twist of fate, here we are—their offspring chitchatting in bed over a plate of pancakes.

  “Dad’s still in prison.” He shrugs. “Mom lives in Sterling Lake now.”

  My mouth falls open with delight. “Was she at that fancy party yesterday?”

  “No.” He glowers. “And I’m thankful for it, too.”

  “You and me both,” I say as I indulge in a syrup-drenched bite. “Mmm, wow, Detective. You’ve got the right moves in the kitchen. I bet you’re pretty good in other rooms of the house, too.” I give a cheeky wink and his lids hood a notch. “Never mind. Keeping talking. I’m starting to feel human again. So how does your mother pass the time?”

  “She’s active in the community. She was a librarian, so she reads a lot.”

  “Aww—a librarian?” I coo at the thought. “It’s no wonder you grew up to be a best-selling author. How about your siblings? Lee and Kelly?” Technically, I’ve met them both, but I don’t know a whole lot about them.

  “There’s my brother Leslie—or Lee as he prefers.” He frowns at the thought of his more than comely brother. “He’s got the auto shop out in Scooter Springs to keep him busy. And Kelly whom you’ve met.”

  “I sure as heck did.” In fact, I tackled her at one of Shep’s book events a few weeks back because I thought she was a deranged fan. It turns out, I was the one who looked deranged in that scenario. Kelly is blonde, has about five years on me—so that puts her in her mid-thirties—and as far as I know, she’s single. “What’s she up to?”

  His lips pull tight. “Kelly is a hedge fund manager at Financial Premier. She still lives out in Maple Grove. That’s where we grew up, blew up, and reunite every now and again.”

  My shoulders sag. “Be grateful. I’d give anything to have one more Sunday dinn
er with my motley crew. My brother, Lorenzo, is probably still schmoozing the ladies two at a time. And Steph, my sister—she’s way too involved with her loser of a boyfriend to notice there are actually other people in the world. Don’t tell her I said that.” We share a quick laugh.

  “I’m sorry.” He reaches over and gives my hand a quick squeeze.

  “Don’t be sorry. I’m the dodo bird who got herself into this predicament to begin with. I don’t even know what I was thinking. Scratch that, I know exactly what I was thinking. I was going to get ahead by way of cheating the mob. Not the brightest idea I’ve ever had. But now that I’ve had a chance to think about it, I wonder if that came from the fact my dad was sitting in a prison cell because of his dicey connections. Okay, so his decision to squeal may have played a part in it. But do you know why he did it?”

  Shep gives a sorrowful nod. “I do know because he told me.”

  Shep met up with my father in prison before we ever met—for research purposes for his books. Come to find out, his books read like a who’s who of the crime families of New Jersey—namely mine.

  Shep leans in. “He did it for his family. He wanted out. He wanted a better life for his children.”

  Tears come to my eyes. “That’s exactly why.” I sniff hard in an effort to get ahold of my emotions. “Come here.” I scoot over and pat the spot next to me. “Don’t think I didn’t notice there were two forks here.”

  “Did I do that?” A devilish grin twitches on his lips as he scoots in close. That musky cologne of his clings to his skin and electrifies my senses.

  Shep and I indulge in a pancake breakfast while reliving my short-lived career as a llama jockey. I tell him all about my new friends, Sugar and Cinnamon, and we laugh until we cry. Okay, so I laugh until I cry. Shep winces a lot and chuckles.

  It feels good to laugh with Shep.

  As much as I hate to admit it, I’m falling hard for this ornery sourpuss of a man.

  What’s not to love? He checks off all the sexy boxes, with intelligence and dark humor being the two most important.

  Love.

  Now there’s something that will never happen for the two of us.

  That last vision I had before I opened my eyes sealed the depressing deal.

  Too bad.

  I think we would have made a good team.

  Chapter 9

  It turns out, Parker Goldman is Dr. Parker Goldman. And not only does he own the Biogen Laboratory, but he’s also a practicing plastic surgeon who specializes in youth and beauty treatments.

  As soon as I got to the café this morning, I started to research the guy. I called his office as soon as I spotted his number and, sure enough, there was a cancelation this afternoon I was able to procure. Of course, I’m not actually having the consultation myself. The last thing I need is Dr. Feel Good digging around and discovering that I have no medical history, so Tilly volunteered for the effort. I didn’t tell her why I didn’t want Parker poking around in any part of my fictitious history, but no sooner did I mention that Dr. Goldman has the ability to erase the effects of Father Time, than not only did Tilly hop into my beat-up Honda, Wanda, but Opal did, too.

  Wanda was a parting gift from my Uncle Vinnie that he gave me when I took off from Hastings in an effort to ditch the mob and the feds. Wanda and I had our sights set on Canada, but she gave up the vehicular ghost as soon as we rolled into Starry Falls.

  I guess you could say I have Wanda to thank for my new life in Vermont. And even though she sputters and stutters far more than she zooms or vrooms, I sort of consider her my good luck charm.

  The Fountain of Youth Clinic owned by Dr. Parker Goldman is in the heart of Sterling Lake’s posh downtown district. The building is a conglomerate of squares smooshed together and the inside is a modern sea of glass and stainless steel.

  I somehow manage to parlay our single office visit into a two-fer and the nurse allows both Opal and Tilly to be seen in the same room at once.

  Both Opal and Tilly are commanded to strip from the waist up and put on a paper gown.

  “I cry foul,” Opal huffs as she cinches her gown in the front. “I don’t see why it’s necessary for us to undress if we’re simply here to have our faces ironed out.”

  “I’ll tell you why.” Tilly knocks her shoulder to Opal’s. “Because the good doctor is a pervert. But don’t worry. I plan on using my blooming bosom to garner us a major discount. I’ve got an arsenal that will take both him and his prices down.” She shakes her chest when she says the word arsenal.

  Opal tips her head to the side. “Not a bad idea.” She opens her paper gown a notch and takes a quick glance at the goods. “One look at what I’ve got, and that man will not only give me a discount, he’ll beg to take me to dinner. My breasts haven’t aged a day since I was twenty-two.”

  Tilly snorts. “That’s because you’ve kept them hermetically sealed. Mine have been exposed to an element or two. Just last week, I went up on the roof of the manor, took off all my clothes, and napped for two hours straight.”

  “Two hours?” I muse. “Tilly, you could have burned your delicate bits and pieces to a crisp.”

  “Don’t worry,” she says. “I brought along a tub of margarine I found in the walk-in and slathered it all over my body. And before you get testy with me”—she shoots a look to Opal—“I put it right back in the fridge when I was through.”

  “Great.” I sigh. “I wondered why it was so low when I was scooping it out and dotting it on every pancake order I had this morning.”

  Opal growls, but lucky for Tilly, the door swings open and in strides a tall, classically handsome, faux tan sporting, wavy-haired Dr. Parker Goldman.

  His face brightens at the sight of us.

  “Well, if it isn’t a trio of lovely ladies. What’s on the agenda this afternoon, girls?” He steps over to the patients in question.

  Tilly whips open her paper gown and flashes him with a pair of rosy girls who, true to Tilly’s word, look as if they’ve seen a bit too much sunshine—and have effectively turned into fried bologna.

  “I’m here for the works,” she shouts as if she needed to struggle to be seen in a crowd.

  Opal clears her throat and carefully peels open her gown as well. And let’s be honest, as much as I don’t want to look, a part of me demands to know if hermetically sealing off delicate body parts is something I should look into.

  “Holy wow.” Parker takes a staggering step back, seemingly mesmerized by Opal’s youthful appeal. “You are both stunning in every capacity.” He motions for them to close up shop and they’re slow to comply.

  Opal nods. “I’d like the works myself. I’ve got crow’s feet, frown lines, and forehead wrinkles that I’m no longer interested in housing.” She stretches out the words with that intricate accent only the upper crust can truly achieve.

  Tilly scoots forward. “Iron me out, too, Doc. I’m a firm believer you can never start too early. I’ve still got me a man to snare.” She grazes her teeth over her bottom lip. “Are you up for a little snaring later on? I’ve got a meat hook in my bedroom that hasn’t been used since Christmas.”

  He belts out an apprehensive laugh. “It would be an honor. But I’m afraid I’m already taken.”

  Yeah. By two people. Or at least he was. According to Keira, he was two-timing Sophia with Madeline. And, according to Sophia, he may have bumped off Madeline for stealing some secret youth formula he was ready to unleash on the world.

  He quickly assesses Opal and Tilly, and before either of them could flash another body part his way, he’s injecting them both with enough botulism to paralyze a herd of well-wrinkled elephants.

  “How about you?” He winks my way. “I can squeeze one more in. Just hop into a paper gown and you’re good to go.”

  I can’t help but make a face. I’m sure he’d love to take a look at my tatas. I’d call him out on his peeping Tom ways, but I figure I need to play nice until I squeeze a few answers from him.

&n
bsp; “No thanks.” I force a smile to come and go. “I’ve got an ornery boyfriend back home, and I’d hate to spoil him.”

  Opal gasps, her face unmoving as her eyes flit in my direction.

  “Oh, Bowie, that’s fantastic!” she trills. “I had no idea things progressed for you and Jackson so quickly.”

  “Jackson?” Tilly’s eyes dart my way, and I’m betting if she had control of her facial muscles she’d be scowling at me.

  “Wait a minute.” Parker steps back and examines the roster in front of him. “Opal Mortimer. I thought your name sounded familiar. You must be Jackson’s mother.”

  “Darn tootin’, hot stuff.” Opal gives her chest a shimmy. Her delivery was a little dry, no thanks to the fact she could hardly move her lips, but on the bright side, she could do stand-up as a ventriloquist.

  Parker chuckles. “Well, consider this a freebie, girls.” He points my way. “I bet you’d like in on it now. Offer’s still good.”

  Honestly, if a little bit of liquor cranked up the volume on my sibylline abilities, who knows what a little facial paralysis could do? And since I’d hate to malfunction so early on in my planetary stay, I kindly refuse the offer.

  He touches his finger to his nose while staring intently at me. “I have a vague feeling we’ve met. Were you at Jackson’s masquerade ball?”

  “I sure was. We met and spoke that night. But my face was sort of hidden, so I don’t blame you for not remembering,” I say as I head in his direction.

  “Ah, yes, what’s a masquerade ball without a mask? Please excuse my inability to recall it.”

  “Not a worry. It was a bit of a rough night.”

  Both Opal and Tilly are lying back on their respective glorified lounge chairs while being tended to by a couple of young assistants, pressing warm towels over their faces.

  I shrug up at him. “Any word on what happened to the poor girl?”

  He glances back at Opal and Tilly from over his shoulder.

  “Apparently, she was murdered,” he whispers. “Poison. I’m not sure with what. The sheriff’s department is pretty tight-lipped about this.” He presses his glowing brown eyes to mine. “Please, if you remember any details at all from that night, be sure to call the homicide department. Detective Grimsley is the one I spoke with. I’m afraid if any more time goes by, the case will dissolve.” He sighs at the thought, and I try to make heads or tails out of his words.