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

by Addison Moore

  If Parker were the killer, would he really want to encourage others to come forward with information? Unless, of course, he’s so cock-sure he’s untraceable to the incident, he wants to present himself as an innocent party to all this. In that case, his tactic would be brilliant. And, seeing that he’s not only a renowned plastic surgeon, but he’s on the cutting edge of extinguishing wrinkles for good, I’d say he’s pretty darn brilliant.

  “I will,” I assure him. “But I’m sorry to say, I don’t know anything more than you do.”

  His lips curl as if to say his wicked work is done.

  A sign sitting on the counter behind him with a picture of a fish on it catches my eye. It reads, ask me about the innovated ways we’re working on making aging a thing of the past.

  “So”—I point over to the cartoon fish with a goofy grin on its face—“what are the innovated ways you’re working on to make aging a thing of the past?”

  His expression falls flat at the sight of the sign.

  “Yes, well, my laboratory has been experimenting with serums derived from the turquoise fish, a native to Zimbabwe and Mozambique. The fish is known for its advances in the field of dermatology. The serum has taken years to develop and quite a bit of finances.” He glowers at the floor a moment.

  “I take it it’s not going too well?”

  A dark chuckle bucks from him. “It’s going exceedingly well. Unfortunately, my lab was pilfered a few weeks back, and now I’m in litigation with a competitor who has suddenly come up with the exact same formula. I’m afraid it might take years to wade through this legal nightmare.”

  “I’m guessing that makes you furious.”

  “You bet.” His eyes sharpen over mine. “I was fit to kill when I discovered the serum had been swiped from underneath me.”

  Fit to kill?

  I bet he was.

  “Any idea who could have done something like that to you? They must have sold it for a hefty fee.” I know I would have.

  He nods as he glances to the window. “I have an idea.” He takes a deep breath. “But that’s in the past. All I can worry about now is getting my rights back and blocking my competitor.” He offers an affable smile. “So you’re seeing Jackson. I never thought he’d settle down. But you seem nice enough. I can see why he’d eschew his former lifestyle to make room for something stable.”

  “Yes, well, we’re still a little new.” A thought comes to me. “I just came out of an awful relationship. My ex was cheating on me with one of my good friends.”

  His eyes widen a moment.

  Was that an admission of guilt?

  “I mean”—I clear my throat—“I understand that people change, things happen. No judgment. We made a clean break after he admitted it.”

  Although, I doubt Parker here has admitted anything to Sophia.

  “Hey? You wouldn’t happen to be the same Parker Goldman who’s seeing Sophia Hathaway, would you? Sophia and I hit it off at the wine festival the other day.”

  He swats his thigh playfully. “Guilty as charged.” His features darken. “So you’ve met Sophia?” He frowns a moment. “She and I have been steady for a couple of years now. She didn’t mention Lucas by chance, did she?”

  My mouth falls open. “Madeline’s old boyfriend? No, actually, she didn’t.”

  His tongue protrudes into his cheek as he glances to the window again.

  “Okay, good to know.” He nods. “She’s been helping him, you know, with his grief.”

  So that’s what they’re calling it now.

  “I bet she is.” It comes out a bit testier than I anticipated. “Sophia mentioned that she and Madeline were good friends. She can’t believe what’s happened. She really misses her.”

  His chest pulsates with a huff. “Not nearly as much as her father does.”

  “Mr. Hathaway? What was his name again?”

  “Wallace. Madeline was a vital part of his philanthropy division for the Hathaway Foundation.”

  “Oh, that’s right. Actually, it was Madeline herself who told me that the night of—” I wince in lieu of finishing my sentence.

  “The night she was killed,” he completes it for me. “Madeline loved to brag about her relationship with Wallace. Especially in front of Sophia. I think she knows it got her going. Sophia is a daddy’s girl. But she didn’t want the philanthropy position—too much real world work. So Madeline jumped on it. Sophia wanted one of her good friends, Kiera, to take it on instead, but Kiera had her own business to run.”

  “Goober.” I nod, happy to be in the know. That conversation Kiera and I had in her lab comes back to me. “Parker, who is Kiera seeing? She brought up the fact she was having trouble with her boyfriend, but I never got around to asking his name.”

  His brows twitch. “That’s exactly why I asked if Sophia mentioned Lucas Lane. Prior to Madeline’s death, Sophia had been shouting from the rooftops that Kiera and Lucas had a thing. She made no secret of it with Maddie, but Maddie brushed it off. Maddie.” His face brightens a notch as he says her name.

  “You really cared about her.”

  He closes his eyes a moment. “We were good friends for a time.” His jaw stiffens as he looks to that advertisement of his new serum. “Excuse me.” He exits the room without a lot of fanfare.

  I collect Opal and Tilly as Wanda and I drive those frozen faces right back to Starry Falls where they belong.

  And I try to wade through the shark-infested waters of that conversation I just had with Parker Goldman.

  He didn’t seem pleased with Madeline Swanson at all.

  But was he angry enough to kill?

  Then there’s the new plot twist with Kiera’s dicey love life.

  I’m thinking it’s time to pay a visit to Madeline’s dicey ex, Lucas Lane.

  If Madeline Swanson’s suspect list was a Venn diagram, Lucas seems to find himself in just about every circle.

  Chapter 10

  After a long day at the café serving four large pans of lasagna, and more cups of coffee than I care to count, Tilly and I start to pull out the teacups and teapots for Stitch Witchery. The library is already bustling with women of every age and stage of life, ready to arts and crafts with the best of them. Mostly it’s crafts like knitting, latch hook, embroidery, and cross-stitch that take over the long wooden tables conjoined in the center of that cavernous room, but there are a handful of other odd projects, too. Of course, there are plenty of cats roaming around the library, so the ladies who take part in the crafts free-for-all have the ability to get a little fuzzy snuggle time in as well.

  Before I came on board, Opal opened up the library to the ladies of Starry Falls as a sort of a tea and crafts mixer. But once I spotted Opal slipping a little comfort into her Earl Gray, I knew we had a moneymaking machine on our hands.

  Side note: Opal enlisted me to come up with an entire slew of moneymaking endeavors after that, and I quickly came up with a few doozies—like reading to cats, where the kids can come in, check out a book in the children’s section—and yes, Opal’s library has a blooming children’s section thanks to the program itself— and they can have the pleasure of reading to nonjudgmental little felines who will hardly bat a lash if they mispronounce a word or two. And we’ve got pet therapy where you can find a spot in the gardens out back and squeeze all the felines you want—not to mention the cat yoga sessions headed up by Regina, the queen of mean herself, once a week.

  All we ask in exchange is a donation of any amount to participate. We let the donors know that a portion of all the proceeds goes straight to the feline alliance—i.e., cat food. It covered veterinarian bills for a while until I hit up a couple local vets and asked if they’d care for Opal’s feline population pro bono seeing that she does her part to keep them happy. And now every cat has been tagged, spayed, and neutered—not to mention they’re free of fleas and ticks, and have better teeth than most people I know.

  The library is pretty ritzy, with its dark wood paneling and heavily
carved gargoyles and angels hovering above each row of books. It’s ridiculously spacious, about half the size of the public library back in Hastings, and has the entire Dewey-Decimal-nine yards going for it.

  There’s a nonfiction section with religion, self-help, politics, science, and history. There’s a mystery section, my favorite, which includes true crime and cozy mysteries—adorably crafted whodunits with frame-worthy covers, featuring adorable animals or magical bakers. And, of course, romance, sci-fi, paranormal, and thrillers—with plenty of S.J. Wexler releases.

  I’m reading through Shep’s Manon Tate Series right now. A storyline set on the life of mobster Manon Tate. It’s more or less accurate. When Shep is right about something regarding the mob, he’s very right. But when he’s wrong, he’s woefully wrong. And those are usually the parts that give me a little comic relief.

  The marble counter that sits in the front of the library is arranged with every fancy tea set in Opal Mortimer’s collection. No Styrofoam cups here. No siree. Not when there’s comfort involved. This is upper crust all the way. Have I mentioned comfort is code word for whiskey?

  Once I spotted Opal slipping a spot of whiskey into her tea, I knew we were onto an eighty proof financial bonanza. That spot of comfort costs the fine people who attend Stitch Witchery to partake in it, but by the end of the night, Opal’s little tip jar is brimming with enough greenbacks to outfit every cat in here with a diamond studded collar.

  Okay, so it’s not quite that much, but Opal is making money hand over fist—and, per our agreement, I get a healthy percentage of the revenue. It’s definitely enough to put a dent in that brick oven I’m trying to purchase for the café. I’m Italian. When it comes to pizza, it’s go brick or go home. Although, the décor in the café could use a little sprucing up, too.

  I guess I’m planning on sticking around this old goofy town. Fine, it’s not so goofy. If anything, I’m the goofy one in the equation. Starry Falls is—well, magical.

  That note Shep found comes back to mind and does its best to wipe all the magic away.

  Whoever penned it all but asked if I was going to stay or if I was going to run.

  It’s almost as if I sent it to myself. I used to sleepwalk as a kid, so it’s not a far stretch. In fact, I’d much rather I sent it to myself.

  I shudder before taking a breath and forcing myself back into the moment as the library brims with knitting needles, hoops, floss, yarn, and needles. Just about every craft is present and accounted for as the sound of women carrying on lively conversations fills the cavernous room.

  A tall, handsome, and rather devilish man steps into the library, and Tilly crops up next to me just in time to sigh at the sight of Jackson Mortimer.

  “Isn’t he dreamy?” She lands her head on my shoulder as if she were one wink away from passing out, or maybe it’s the fact she’s been trying to crack a smile all day. She’s suddenly not such a big fan of Dr. Goldman’s freeze-dried injections now that it looks as if she’s brooding all the time.

  “Nobody says dreamy anymore.” Shep comes to mind and I sigh right along with her. “Come to think of it, he is kind of dreamy.” Shep, not Jackson, but the latter of the two is upon us and I don’t have time to sort out the details.

  Tilly elbows me. “Step off my territory, sister. You can’t have ’em all. And I’m still not thrilled about that defunct vision you gave me.”

  “Yeah? Well, I had another one and there’s no way I’m sharing that one with you.”

  Jackson pauses at the entry to speak with a couple of women, but from where we’re standing, I can’t quite make them out.

  “You had another vision?” Tilly yanks me close by the elbow. “Speak or forever hold your keister after I kick it.”

  “I’m pretty sure that’s not how the saying goes.”

  “So what. I like to put a spin on things. What have you got?”

  “Fine.” I nod over to Jackson. “He was there and said something about giving me a night to remember.”

  Tilly bucks and moans as if she were in physically pain.

  “Well hell.” She glances around. “I’d better get to knitting me some socks. If I’m going to grow old alone, I may as well warm my own feet.” She takes off just as Jackson strides this way with not one but two familiar women on his arms, and I gasp.

  Not only am I being treated to Kiera Hillerman, but he’s got Sophia Hathaway pinned to his other side.

  I’d better text Shep and let him know we’ve got a smorgasbord of suspects to choose from.

  Jackson presses out a smile as he steps up with the blonde and the redhead.

  “If it isn’t the lovely Tilly Teasdale and the lovely Bowie Binx.” He scans the area, momentarily confused. It’s almost as if he rehearsed his lines before Tilly took off and he forgot to modify the script. He gives an amicable nod my way. “When my mother invited me to bring a couple of friends along for drinks in the library, I had no idea we’d have such lovely company.”

  Tilly swims over to him and scooches Sophia out of position. “I believe you called me lovely.”

  “And I mean it.” His lips curve with naughty intent. “While I have the two of you here, I want to invite you to the mourning mixer I’ll be hosting at the Hathaway estate over in Sterling Lake next weekend. Sophia’s father was quite fond of Maddie. I tried to arrange for a gathering here in her honor, but he insisted we host it at his home.”

  Mourning mixer? Wow, the rich do everything on another level. Even their funerals sound better.

  Sophia’s mouth twitches. “Yes, Daddy misses Maddie as much as the rest of us. She was an invaluable employee and cherished friend.”

  Jackson nods. “Of course, there will be drinks and lively conversation.”

  “A booze and schmooze?” Tilly has that squirrely look in her eyes as if the cute boy in class just invited her to prom. “We wouldn’t miss it.”

  “For sure,” I say. “That was very nice of you to extend the invite. And I hope you don’t mind all of this.” I give a quick wave at the library. “Tonight is Stitch Witchery, one of Opal’s most famed social events here in Starry Falls.”

  Tilly nods. “We craft up a storm, gossip, and get boozy ourselves.” She winces at a group of teenage girls congregating around the teacups who look as if they’re getting a little too close to the whiskey at hand. “Jessie?” Tilly crows. “Don’t you think about getting near my liquor. I’m not carrying you home again.” She takes up Jackson’s hand. “Come on heart-attack-Jack.” She offers him a flirtatious wink. “Let me show you what I’m capable of with my gene pool.” They trot off and I’m left standing with Kiera and Sophia, both of which look as if they need a stiff drink, stat. I’m getting close myself.

  “Are either of you girls crafty by nature?” I’m not sure why I asked. I’m pretty sure I know the answer. And it would be yes, but crafty with these two socialites has an entirely different meaning.

  A dark laugh strums from Kiera as she looks to Sophia.

  “Come on, Soph. Pick up a couple of knitting needles and show us what you’ve got.”

  Sophia tucks a crimson lock behind her ear. “Now, now, Kiera. Everyone knows you knitted that crooked scarf you wore last winter yourself.”

  “Crocheted,” Kiera barks back before gasping.

  “Ah-ha!” Sophia snaps with glee. “Knew it. You’re a closet crafter.” She says those last two words as if they were the slimiest words on the planet.

  “So what if I am?” Kiera roars.

  If it wasn’t clear we had a situation brewing before, it’s pretty apparent now.

  Regina slinks up to my side with a maniacal giggle bubbling from her.

  “There’s nothing like a couple of billionaires about to have a slug-fest.” She does her best to whisper. But Kiera shoots her a look, assuring us she heard.

  “I’ll have you know, neither of us are billionaires.” Kiera turns her full rage back where it belongs, on the redhead in front of her. “And so what if I’m a closet
crafter? Maybe if you did something other than sit on your behind, you wouldn’t be in the predicament you’re in.”

  Sophia glances my way before huffing at the thought. “If by predicament, you mean in love, then so be it. And what’s this?” She inches forward to the contemptuous blonde. “I think I see a hint of a unibrow forming. I always knew you were nothing but a Madeline Swanson knockoff. And once you braid your brows together, the rest of the world will know it, too!”

  “What’s wrong with that?” Kiera grunts. “Madeline had style. She was unique, which is more than I can say for you.”

  “Oh, please.” Sofia clasps her hand over her chest as if she just took a bullet. “I’m the one who has to step into Maddie’s shoes now that she’s gone in order to keep my father’s philanthropy endeavors from capsizing. All you do, day in and day out, is ask people to sniff your feet!”

  Regina leans in. “She’s not wrong.”

  “Ha!” Sophia barks out a laugh. “Hear that, Kiera? This woman knows I’m right. You think you have the universe dialed in. That only you can predict what’s hot and what’s not.” Sophia claps her hands above her head. “Hear ye, hear ye! Everyone bow down to Kiera Hillerman, the magnificent sage who knows everything about nothing. No need for a physician, cast aside your fortunetellers, no need to be a free thinker—instead, submit to Kiera’s ridiculous wisdom!” She leans in toward the bitter blonde. “Line right up to buy her two thousand dollar T-shirts and fifty thousand dollar chandelier earrings on her website where she tries to prove she’s just like one of you.”

  Kiera sucks in a breath as she looks around at the crowd. “I don’t try to prove I’m just like one of you on my website,” she shouts to the dozens of women who have stalled their knitting needles while observing the shout-fest at hand. “I try to prove I’m just like one of you on my social media page. Please follow me at Kiera don’t care dot com! You’ll find links to all of my social media outlets. And just a quick freebie, grow out your brows right now, ladies. It’s always prudent to stay ahead of a trend!”