Before any of the other cats could say more, a high-pitched yipping came from inside the antique store, and everyone jumped.
Pandora jerked her head in the direction of the yipping to see Willa peering out the window. Oops. Not good. Willa thought she was locked back inside the bookstore, and she didn’t want her human to know she could get out anytime she wanted. Knowing Willa, she would search the place until she found Pandora’s escape route. Willa only wanted to keep her safe, but Pandora needed her freedom. Besides, she could take care of herself. She was not the usual cat, without means of defending herself in times of danger.
“Sorry, guys. Gotta go!” Pandora said, taking off before Willa found her way out of Delaney’s Antiques and discovered the gray cat really was hers.
11
I parted ways with Gus after leaving Delaney’s Antiques and headed back toward the bookstore, wondering about the gray cat I’d seen. Of course it wasn’t Pandora. How could she get out?
Surely there was more than one gray cat in Mystic Notch. In fact, there was quite a large population of feral cats that I sometimes helped care for. That was most likely them hanging around behind the store. Some of them did look like Elspeth’s cats, but for all I knew, they all hung around together. Just because one was gray didn’t mean it was Pandora.
My thoughts would be better spent thinking about Sarah Delaney. She’d seemed evasive, and I had to wonder if she was up to something. She also seemed like she was ready to point the finger at Felicity. Clearly she didn’t like the other woman, though I couldn’t say I blamed her there.
As I walked down the short side street, I passed A Good Yarn. Since it was across the street from Jack’s Cards, Mrs. Quimby might have seen something that night, as she’d been there late due to her knitting class. Now seemed like as good a time as any to ask.
Inside, the shelves were brimming with a rainbow assortment of yarns. Mrs. Quimby had owned the store for decades and apparently hadn’t seen fit to update it in that time either. Some of the advertisements for various yarns on the walls and papers tacked to the window were yellowed and the edges tattered, as if they were from the 1970s. A few of the patterns looked to be from that era too. I mean, who would knit a jumpsuit in this day and age?
Mrs. Quimby was behind the counter, her white hair smoothed back into a bun near the nape of her neck and the chain from her glasses glinting in the sunshine streaming through the front windows. She looked up at the sound of the bells on the door, smiling at me, though worry lurked in her gray eyes. “Willa, dear. How are you? Did you hear about what happened to poor Jack? Horrible thing. Just horrible. But I have faith in our local law enforcement. They’ll find the responsible party, and all will be right again.”
I wished I had the same confidence at the moment, given how odd my sister was acting, but I didn’t want to let Mrs. Quimby know that. No sense in worrying the kindly old lady. I smiled and walked up to the counter. “That’s actually why I’m here, Mrs. Q. I wondered if I could ask you a few questions about what you remember from the night Jack died.”
“Oh, of course, dear. Though I’m not sure how helpful I’ll be. I was busy with a knitting class that night.” Mrs. Quimby set aside the basket of things she’d been sorting through and focused her attention on me. “Ask away.”
“Okay.” Resting my hip against the counter, I concentrated on what Sarah had told me earlier and hoped to fill in some of the missing pieces. “What time did your knitting class end that night?”
“Nine.”
So, about an hour prior to Jack’s time of death, according to what Striker had told me from the ME’s report. “Did you see anyone unusual lurking around the area?”
“Not anyone unusual,” Mrs. Quimby said, frowning. “Just Duane and Jack, but that’s not out of the ordinary since their shops are located over there.”
“What about Felicity Bates?”
Mrs. Quimby scrunched her nose in distaste, and I bit back a smile. Clearly the woman was a good judge of character. “No, I didn’t see her that night. Though I did catch her skulking around behind the lamp shop last week after dark.”
“What were you doing behind the lamp shop?” I asked, confused.
“It’s a free country, isn’t it?” Mrs. Quimby said, uncharacteristically upset before she collected herself again. “I’m sorry, dear. It’s just hard getting old. Honestly, I forgot where I parked my car and was looking for it.” At my concerned stare, she waved me off. “I’m fine, dear. Really. Don’t worry about me. I’m not going senile or anything.”
“Of course not.” I patted her arm, noticing the flyer for the knitting class on the counter. Class started at seven and got out at nine. Apparently they had tackled a knitted-socks project. “Do you keep a list of who comes to the class?”
“I don’t need a list, dear. It’s usually the same folks. Though not everyone comes each week.”
“Do you remember who came to the class the night of the murder?” Even though Mrs. Quimby apparently hadn’t seen anything fishy, maybe one of the other knitters had.
“Of course I do. There was Eloise Flaherty, Molly Saunders, Betty Wilder…” Mrs. Quimby’s voice drifted off, and she squinted, as if trying to remember. “Anne Crosby might have been there. She comes sometimes. Oh, and poor Brenda McDougall. She insisted on following me home. No wait, that wasn’t the night I forgot where my car was. That was last week.”
“Are you sure?” I asked. My confidence in getting a list of potential witnesses faded.
“Of course I am.” She glanced at a row of hooks on the wall, where I could see her car keys hanging. “It’s so hard to find parking here in town sometimes. I have to park in one of the lots, and then I can’t quite remember which one. Anyway, if you are asking because you think one of them might have seen something, you’re barking up the wrong tree. The class gets out promptly at nine, and everyone hightails it out of here by quarter past. I heard Jack was killed around ten.”
Mrs. Quimby’s hands shook, and I realized I was being insensitive. Here she was, an old lady with a failing memory, and I was interrogating her like I was Jessica Fletcher. Clearly having someone murdered across the street would be disturbing.
“I’m sorry. I hope this isn’t upsetting to you.”
“Oh, no worries. I feel bad for Jack and Brenda, of course. But don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself.” She bustled over to one of the tall shelves that held skeins of yarn and started filling a basket. “I’m sorry I didn’t see anything pertinent, but I’ll let you know if I remember something. I’m not quite as senile as everyone thinks.”
I watched her a moment then sighed, looking down at the knitting-class flyer. Should I even bother asking the others that had been in the knitting class? For all I knew, the list she’d given me was wrong. Had she really seen Felicity behind the lamp shop? That might be something to mention to Striker, but exactly how bad was Mrs. Quimby’s memory?
When I glanced back up at Mrs. Q, she’d turned from the display, her basket full, and was smiling at me. “Now what kind of yarn did you say you wanted today, dear?”
12
Back at the bookstore, I let myself in then glanced over to find Pandora snoozing away in her cat bed, just like I’d left her. Of course she was. Why I’d doubted it was beyond me, but here was the proof. That cat behind Delaney’s hadn’t been her.
I walked into the back of the store and started to open the new boxes of books that had arrived the prior day. Pandora must have woken because I could hear her at her food bowl. I was glad when she joined me in the stockroom. I could use her as a sounding board as I talked out the case. I knew she couldn’t understand me, but I appreciated her meows, which seemed to come at all the appropriate times anyway.
“Do you know where I went earlier?” I asked the cat as I gathered a stack of books to carry out to the shelves in front. “I went and talked to Sarah Delaney at the antique store.”
“Meow.” The tone of her meow held disdain, refl
ecting my feelings about Sarah exactly.
“Yep. And she said she saw Felicity around the lamp store around the time it was broken into.”
Pandora meowed again, as if this was no surprise to her.
I slid two books onto the shelf and moved down a row. “But then I stopped at Mrs. Quimby’s on my way back here, and while she did see Felicity lurking around behind the lamp shop, she was kind of vague on when that was, and she didn’t see Felicity the night of the break-in and murder at Jack’s Cards.” I sighed and bent to stick the last book in my pile onto the bottom shelf. “But she did mention seeing Duane and Jack.”
Pandora gave a loud, prolonged meow at that information.
Straightening, I looked over at my cat and smiled as a new idea formed. “You’re right. I should go talk to Duane next. If he was there that night, then he might’ve seen something, especially since he shared an entrance with Jack. Good thing I thought of that.”
Pandora eyed me skeptically.
I was about to head back into the storeroom for more new books when the bells above the entrance jangled, and a woman walked in. I recognized her as the bartender from the Blue Moon.
“Hi,” she said, tucking a piece of her short brunette hair behind her ear. The sunshine outside highlighted her blond streaks. “Your sister, Gus, referred me to you. Said you might have a copy of an out-of-print antique cocktail book I’ve been looking for. If not, she said you might be able to order it for me.”
“Well, let’s see what I can do,” I said, leading her over to the counter.
“Thanks. I really appreciate it,” she said. “Gus says you’re a genius at finding old books.”
My heart swelled a bit with pride at my sister’s rare compliment. Gus usually never said such nice things about me. It made me more determined than ever to help her solve Jack’s murder so she kept her job and her reputation intact. Hopefully, once all this was over, Gus would go back to normal and do her work properly again, but if her new habit of being semi-nice to me remained, I supposed that wouldn’t be a problem.
I went behind the counter and woke up my computer then signed into the search database I used. “Do you have the title of the book you’re looking for?”
“I do.” She rattled it off, and I typed it in, hit Enter, and a few moments later, got a hit.
Squinting at the screen, I smiled. “Looks like you’re in luck. They have a copy in an old bookstore in California for only twelve bucks, including shipping. I can order it for you and let you know when it comes in. Shouldn’t be more than a few days. Sound good?”
“Sounds great,” she said, handing me the money. “Thanks so much again, Ms. Chance.”
“You’re welcome. And please,” I said, handing her back a receipt. “Call me Willa.”
13
The bookshop was unusually busy that afternoon, and I never got time to go over to Duane’s ice cream shop. When I locked up at five, the line for ice cream was twenty deep. He would be too busy to talk, so I headed home to meet Striker. Luckily he’d brought dinner, and we compared notes over Thai food.
“I stopped by the sheriff’s office on my way here, and it didn’t look like Gus had uncovered any more clues. There was no DNA found at the scene and hundreds of partial prints, which is understandable, given it’s a store,” Striker said around a mouthful of pad khing sod. “We found those hairs at the lamp shop after the break-in but nothing like that at Jack’s. Still, Gus is running those hairs through analysis at the crime lab, just in case. Not sure if she has a rush on it or anything, though.”
“Given her relaxed attitude toward things, I doubt that.” I swallowed a bite of my pad see ew, the sweet soy sauce and wok-fried noodles the perfect complement to the crispy broccoli. Major yum. “Sounds like things are stalled.”
“For now.” Striker wiped his mouth then took a swig of his soda. “How about you? Discover anything interesting?”
“I did.” I smiled. “I went over and talked to Sarah Delaney at the antique store, then stopped by Mrs. Quimby’s on my way back to the bookshop.”
“And?” He raised a dark brow at me.
“And Sarah told me she saw Felicity Bates behind the lamp shop the night it was broken into, and Mrs. Quimby also saw Felicity behind that shop.” I frowned, remembering Mrs. Quimby’s memory issues. “Though I’m not so sure we can count on her for the exact timing. I am sure that she did see Felicity back there, though.”
“Interesting.” Striker paused and blinked at me. “Assuming the break-ins were all by the same person, that does make Felicity seem suspicious. But why would she want to kill Jack?”
“Good question.”
“Meow!” Pandora seemed to agree. Either that or she wanted Striker to feed her another piece of shrimp from the carton of shrimp lo mein.
Striker sat back and pushed the rest of his food aside, exhaling slow. “So, basically we’re back where we started, then. Man, if only we had some security footage or something from that night to see who was going in and out of Jack’s store.”
“Mrs. Quimby said she didn’t see anyone suspicious lurking around. Just people who would normally be there—Duane and Jack. She did have a knitting class that night, and I got the names of some of the attendees.” I took the piece of paper on which I’d written the names after my visit to Mrs. Quimby out of my back pocket and handed it to Striker. “Not sure how reliable that list is, and besides, she said they all left by nine fifteen.”
Striker looked at the list. “It’s worth asking them. Maybe someone saw something unusual before they left. Jack’s time of death was ten p.m., but the killer was probably on the premises before that.”
“I think we should try to summon Jack again,” I said, clearing away our plates while Striker put the leftovers in the fridge. “He might be more forthcoming with information. We can ask him if he knows Felicity and who would know about the bank deposits.”
“That’s a good idea.” Striker leaned in to kiss my cheek then walked over to the liquor cabinet. “Martinis again?”
“You know it,” I said, laughing as I rinsed off the dishes and stuck them in the dishwasher. Once we were settled in the living room, on the sofa, drinks in hand, I glanced at the paperweight again, but I didn’t see anything unusual. Odd, though, as it seemed I was drawn to the shiny bauble. Pandora, too, if the way she kept batting at it was any indication. Finally I gave up thinking the paperweight might enlighten me and sat back on the sofa.
It took about half a pitcher of martinis before Jack finally made an appearance, and neither Striker nor I were feeling any pain.
Setting my empty glass on the coffee table, I leaned forward to rest my elbows on my knees and fixed ghostly Jack with a pointed stare. He was back to snooping through my things again, same as the night before.
“Who knew about your nightly deposits, Jack? Someone from the bank? A neighboring store owner? Maybe someone from across the street?”
He gave me an irritated glance then went back to his rummaging. “No idea. I always made the deposit on Thursday morning. Everyone at the bank would know that and most anybody nearby my shop.”
Including Mrs. Quimby, I thought before I brushed the idea aside. She was a sweet old lady. No way she could be behind the break-ins or Jack’s death.
“Why do you keep asking me about that night anyway?” Jack fussed, scowling at me. “I don’t care if they catch the person or not. What I want to know is if you found any old sports cards.” I shook my head, and he sighed. “Well, if you do, then let me know. I’ll give you a good valuation on them.”
“Hey, Jack,” Striker said. “How well do you know Felicity Bates?”
Jack jerked his head up from the credenza he was looking in. “That crazy lady who thinks she’s a witch and walks her cat on a leash?”
“Yep.”
“I don’t know her. She came in once for tarot cards, and I sent her on her way. Don’t have time for frou-frous like that,” Jack said.
“When did she come i
n?” Striker asked. “Was it the night you were killed?”
“Nope. Few weeks ago.”
“And you didn’t see her around that night?” I asked. I had to admit I was hoping to tie Felicity into all of this. Plus I was sure she’d killed someone once before, so she probably wouldn’t bat an eyelash at doing it again.
“No.” Jack looked bored with the line of questioning, and his ghostly presence started to fade.
Striker hastily added, “I know you don’t want to think about it anymore, but if you could remember anything at all about your killer, that would be—”
“I don’t, okay?” Jack said testily. “And whatever happened, it had nothing to do with what I was doing before I was killed, all right? Now drop it. I need to go. It’s happy hour on the spirit side, and the booze flows freely. See you.”
He vanished in a puff of irritated mist. I exhaled and sat back, holding out my glass for a refill. “That is so strange. Usually the ghosts pester me to find their killer so they can move on to whatever comes next, but Jack doesn’t seem to care so much. In fact, it seems like he wants the opposite.”
“Agreed.” Striker kissed the top of my head then sipped his drink, pulling me closer. “Jack is acting weird. And if you ask me, something doesn’t add up.”
14
“If you ask me, something doesn’t add up,” Inkspot said.
The cats were meeting in Elspeth’s barn to talk about the strange goings-on in Mystic Notch. Pandora had had no problem sneaking out. Turned out this new martini ghost-rousing routine made Willa and Striker less observant of what she was doing. She could have opened the front door and walked out of the house right in front of them, and they might not have noticed. Silly humans.
Despite the disturbing events going on in town, Pandora was not afraid to walk the path through the woods alone. She’d been doing it for a long time and could traverse the path with her eyes closed. Even if somehow she veered from the path, she could navigate by the moon and stars. She was afraid of nothing in the woods—the night owls, tall oaks, and other forest creatures were her friends. But underneath her brave exterior, a deep dark fear did lurk. Would the woods and its creatures still be so friendly if the pleasantry spell was reversed?
Wrong Side of the Claw Page 6