by Peggy Webb
I always told them I’d come back. I just didn’t expect to come back as a cat.
Oh, well, Que Sera, Sera. I had more immediate problems than trying to figure out how they got this incarnation wrong.
For one thing, that girl had found the body. When she didn’t go hysterical, my opinion of her went up a notch. She wasn’t even heaving and looking upset. In fact, she went down on one knee to put a finger on the pulse in the victim’s throat.
I knew at first glance the woman was deader than a doornail. But then, humans can’t see half as well as cats. Nor do they have a cat’s instincts. Not to mention savoir faire. Oh, I could go on all night about the failings of the human race, but I’ve decided to let you find out for yourself. No need for me to draw a map.
“Who are you?” that girl asked, but I could tell she wasn’t expecting the dead to sit up and start talking.
She’s Lolly Beaufort. The girl jumped straight up and pointed one of those lethal weapons straight at me—sitting all innocent on the backyard fence.
“Good grief, Houdini! I almost shot you!”
Haven’t you ever heard that a cat has nine lives?
Some of us have even more, but there was no use sitting here talking to that girl. She’d already dropped back on her knees beside the body.
“If I had a sheet, I’d cover you up. I’m sorry, but I have to leave you like this and call the cops.”
The minute that girl mentioned cops I could see the wheels start to spin. She was on the run. The last thing she needed was the police—all those questions and reports, not to mention the reporters who hang out around the NOPD waiting for the next story. And boy, would that girl make a story!
“Now what?” she said, and started to pace.
“What’s this about cops, dear?”
That girl jumped six feet when she spotted Grace. If she was going to be any good at this hiding and evading business, she’d better get hold of her nerves. I didn’t even blink an eye when they wrapped me with chains and suspended me from the Empire State Building. I could teach her a thing or two, if I took a notion.
But I was more interested in Grace’s reaction to the body. She’d spotted the murder weapon—a lethal knitting needle, plunged into the victim’s throat. The needle was purple, Pearl’s signature color. Plus, just this evening I sat in the bay window of the living room and watched while she knitted a pair of baby bootees with that same needle and its mate. Not that she knows anybody who’s having a baby. Nor did any other old busybody in that room, I dare say. Pearl just wanted to do something easy and get it over with in one evening.
Or she might have been in a hurry so she’d be finished with her needles in time to plunge one of them into Lolly Beaufort’s neck. There was no love lost between those two. I’d go into all the gory details but then I’d miss what was going on under my own nose.
“Aunt Grace, there’s a dead woman in the backyard.”
“It’s best to call her Lolly, dear, or she might rise up and haunt you.”
“One of your knitting group ladies?’
“Yes. She’s also our best customer at the Charmed Cat. Or was.” Grace made a rueful face at the recently deceased. “Of course, she might have dropped to the bottom of our customer list anyhow on account of that love potion Pearl sold her.”
“Aunt Grace, I don’t think now is the time to go into details about her buying habits. You need to notify the police, and I’ve got to get out of here so I won’t be involved.”
“You just leave everything to me, dear.”
Famous last words, I say, and Grace whirls toward my perch with her arms akimbo.
“There’s no need for sarcasm, Houdini.”
“What did he say?” that girl asked.
“You don’t want to know. Besides, I don’t have time to explain the mysterious ways of a black cat. I’ve got to swing into high gear. Just grab Lolly’s legs, dear, and don’t ask questions.”
“You’re not moving the body!”
“I can’t just let her lie here in the back yard. That’s Pearl’s needle in her neck!”
You could knock me off this fence with a nasty blue jay feather when that girl grabbed Lolly’s legs. Still, I have to brag a bit about Grace. She’s one of the most persuasive human beings I’ve ever met. She’s likeable, too. People will do what she says just to hear that charming laugh of hers.
Grace got a grip under Lolly’s arms and the whole cadaver rose up like it was being levitated.
Suddenly the entire gory ensemble was lit up like a Christmas parade. Pearl was standing not three feet from them, catching them in the beam of her flashlight. If you want to know how she got so close without being detected, you’ll have to torture this cat. I never divulge family secrets.
“Grace, what are you doing?”
“We can’t hurt her, Pearl. Much as I’d like to. She’s already dead.”
Suddenly Grace lost her hold on the corpse, and the front end of Lolly crashed back to the grass. She never could multi-task. Grace. Not Lolly. The deceased’s ability to multi-task was what got her in trouble in the first place.
Or maybe it was the gossip she loves to spread. Half the women in New Orleans would gladly plunge a knitting needle into Lolly’s neck just to shut her up.
“Good grief!” Pearl said. “Maggie, put the rest of Lolly down. I’ll handle this.”
People would still pay money to see how Pearl handles a situation. Fortunately for this brilliant cat, I had a front row seat.
Chapter 5
In which the Delaneys hatch devious plans
I tried to set Lolly down as gently as possible, if nothing else to make up for Aunt Grace’s careless treatment of the recently deceased.
Aunt Pearl swept her flashlight over the body, stopping the beam right over the purple knitting needle. “Good grief!” She dropped to one knee for a closer inspection.
“Somebody’s trying to frame you, Pearl.”
“Lolly’s the only one I can think of who’d want to do that, and I can guarantee you she did not plunge my knitting needle into her own neck.” Aunt Pearl popped back up with the spryness of a woman half her age. “Everybody wait right here.”
She trotted off in the direction of a little potting shed I’d noticed in my own sweep of the backyard then disappeared inside. After being asked to move a corpse, I wasn’t sure I wanted to know what Aunt Pearl was doing in the shed.
“Maybe I should just go back inside and hide out till the cops have come and gone.”
“There may not be any cops, dear.”
“We’ve got a dead body, Aunt Grace. Of course, there will be cops.”
“Just wait and see what Pearl has to say.”
She was back now, and though she wasn’t talking, she was telling me plenty. For one thing, she was wearing rubber gloves. For another, she was carrying a revolver known as the Saturday night special. Before I could react to this odd assortment of paraphernalia, Aunt Pearl reached down and pulled the knitting needle out of Lolly’s neck. Then she pointed her gun and pulled the trigger.
I could tell from the get go the bullet was going to miss the corpse by a good two feet. Thank goodness, instead of hitting Grace, who was in the way, or the cat, who was still on the fence, it was stopped by the massive trunk of a magnolia tree. All I could do was stand there completely flabbergasted.
“Flitter. I’m losing my touch.” Pearl blew the end of the revolver as if she were some old Wild West marksman who had just shot the enemy at high noon. Without asking, she handed me a pair of gloves and the gun. “You’ll have to do it, Maggie.”
“Do what?”
“Put a bullet right through that little hole where the knitting needle was.”
“Are you kidding me? “
“Pearl is right, dear. We can’t have her going to jail for murder, now can we?” Aunt Grace was bouncing around with excitement and her color was high. If she had heart trouble, we were going to have another corpse on our hands.
&nbs
p; “Don’t just stand there, Maggie. Shoot while the body’s still warm.”
Oh, help!
“And then what?”
“You just leave the rest up to me,” Aunt Pearl said.
Gladly. I didn’t want to know another thing about this business in the backyard. Telling myself the woman was already dead and after all I’ve asked of the aunts this was the least I can do for them, I squatted so I was level with Lolly, took aim at the tiny target and pulled the trigger.
“Bull’s eye!” Aunt Grace shouted, and Aunt Pearl looked as pleased as if I’d just recaptured Olympic Gold.
“There now. It’s done.” Aunt Pearl reached for the gun with a handkerchief, and I was only too glad to relinquish it. “Maggie, you were never here. Grace, you take Maggie and her things to the apartment over the Charmed Cat. And stay with her. “
“We can’t just move her from pillar to post.”
“I know. Tomorrow we’re going to come up with a good plan. Meantime, please just do as I say, Grace.”
“What about you, Pearl?”
“In a few hours, I’ll have to inform the police that I went out to feed the birds and found my friend shot in my very own backyard. And I didn’t even hear a thing! Oh, boohoo.”
She’d have to dispose of the gun. Probably where it would be easy for the cops to find. And what of the knitting needle? Would she wipe it, too? Put it back in the basket with her knitting supplies? Knit something else with it?
Or would she bag it and find some way to lift fingerprints in order to catch a killer?
As if I didn’t already have enough to worry about with Rocco’s corpse, Nick’s obsession and reporters’ determination to thrust me back into the spotlight, now I was up to my neck in murder in New Orleans.
I didn’t even want to know how Aunt Pearl planned to spend the rest of this awful night. I just headed back inside to put on some clothes and pack my guns.
*
We arrived back at the Charmed Cat in the wee hours of the morning. Everything looked different in the French Quarter at night, more mysterious and exotic, streets and balconies deserted, storefronts lit by the flash of neon, courtyard gates locked, alleys hidden by deep shadows. Aunt Grace drove the Buick behind the Charmed Cat and left the motor idling while she unlocked an ornate set of wrought iron gates. Then she motioned for me to slide behind the wheel and drive the car through.
What I found behind the gates was a revelation, a brick-paved courtyard dripping with bougainvillea, wisteria and gardenias, wide parking spaces underneath a massive magnolia tree, wrought iron benches and Pauley’s Island hammocks surrounding a water fountain lit with colored lights. Faint strains of jazz drifted from the clubs beyond Jackson Square. The courtyard was a paradise, cooled by greenery and the mists that rose from the nearby Mississippi River.
“Your apartment is upstairs, mine is down. You’ll have a private balcony and a separate entrance.” As I followed Aunt Grace and Houdini up a winding wrought iron staircase, I noted how easy it would be to access the balcony by climbing up the enormous trunk of wisteria. The private entrance created the same problem. Anybody who wanted to find me would discover this little apartment in the French Quarter was easy pickings. Furthermore, I’d had so much press coverage when I won Olympic gold, I couldn’t even count on my assailants not knowing about my arsenal and my ability to use it.
I reined in my thoughts of capture, telling myself it was well after midnight, and things always looked worse in the dark. Though how much worse you could get than murder, I didn’t know.
“Here we are, dear.” Aunt Grace pushed open a door that led into a multipurpose room overlooking the courtyard—polished wooden floor and deep Oriental rugs, comfortable sofa and chairs arranged around a TV, coffee table and desk with a computer, a table nearby separated from a small kitchenette by a bar.
A short hall led to my bedroom, which fueled the fantasy that I was in paradise. The canopied bed and antique armoire spoke of a time when women kept parasols instead of guns and their biggest enemy was the sun rather than the Mafia. A glimpse through a half-open door showed a bathroom fit for a queen and all her court.
“Sweet dreams, dear.” Considering recent events, I doubted there’d be a thing pleasant about my dreams. Still I kissed Aunt Grace on the cheek, then tucked a 9mm semi-automatic under my pillow and fell into bed wearing as little as possible. I sleep hot.
*
The creak of the wooden floor shot me out of sleep. The sound was close, too close. I grabbed my gun then rolled off the bed and into shooting stance.
There were no more footsteps and I strained to see where my assailant might be. Only faint light filtered through the curtains and I chastised myself for not putting a flashlight within easy reach.
I waited with my gun pointed into the dark, and suddenly the hairs on the back of my neck prickled. There were more stealthy movements, footsteps, muted this time, and then a metallic click, too loud to be somebody taking the safety off a gun.
The sound was coming from the bathroom. The toilet flushing confirmed my suspicions. So the burglar had paused for a bathroom break. Maybe he’d had too much to drink before he decided to break and enter. But was he armed?
I selected a single action Colt .45 from my arsenal, just in case, and then I heard…singing? Good grief! Armed with two loaded guns and a bad attitude, I marched toward the sound of the booming male voice, singing off key. He was still behind the bathroom door, which might have forewarned me if I hadn’t been so mad that somebody with a bad bladder had gotten into my apartment and made it to the bathroom before I ever woke up. If I wanted to stay alive, I had to do better than that.
I shoved through the bathroom door with both guns pointed. Bad bladder had left the toilet seat up and was silhouetted in the shower behind a transparent plastic curtain, all six feet two inches of him.
“Come out or I’ll shoot!”
The plastic curtain slid open and the intruder stood there wearing not a stitch. “Can you wait till after I’ve finished my shower?”
What kind of man would face me, full frontal nude, and show not the least sign of embarrassment? For that matter, what kind of man would face me while I was holding two loaded guns and not show a sign of fear? Was he some kind of martial arts expert, capable of taking me down in one swift move?
“Put on some clothes!”
“The point of a bath is to take them off.” He didn’t even reach for a towel. I was so flustered I almost lost hold of my semi-automatic. “Would you mind pointing that gun somewhere else? I’m fond of that part of my anatomy.”
No need to look where my gun was pointing. I’d already seen it, and it was impressive. Maybe even mind-boggling. Still keeping one gun trained on him, I grabbed a towel and tossed it in his direction. His left hand shot out and he proceeded to use the towel to dry his hair.
If he thought I was going to turn my back so he could get the jump on me, he’d made a serious error in judgment.
“Who sent you?” I asked. “The Mafia or the press?”
He lifted a dark eyebrow and if he was trying for sardonic and sexy, he hit the bull’s eye.
“That’s some impressive company you keep.”
“I don’t keep any company. Certainly not with you. What are you doing in my apartment?”
“I could ask you the same thing.”
Oh, help. Is it possible Aunt Grace left out a small detail such as, you will be sharing the apartment with the kind of self-assured hunk you can’t resist?
“Who are you?”
“Josh Holt.” He actually leaned out of the shower and stuck out his hand. I gave it a smart shake and took my time letting go. If he thought I’d back down from that challenge then he had a lot to learn about Magnolia Jo Wild. “And to answer that skeptical look, Pearl and Grace are my best friends. And you?”
“Jo…Jo.”
“Just Jo? Or Jo Jo?”
I had to get inventive, and fast. A list of possibilities whirled thr
ough my mind, but in the end, only one would do.
“Jo Jo… Marsh…mmm.”
I had to stop myself before I said marshmallow.
My daddy was the only human being on this earth who ever called me Jo Jo. Hearing my pet name in the hunk’s deep voice had turned loose images so vivid I could almost see Dad.
We had made a bonfire on the beach in Fairhope where he and Mom were roasting marshmallows while Lucy and I ran around in our ruffled rompers filling pails with sea shells. Dad offered two toasted marshmallows on a stick. For two of my favorite girls, Jo Jo and Lulu. And for my other favorite girl, this. He’d pulled Mom close and kissed her, right there under a full moon so big it looked like a galleon in the sky. It was the perfect evening and one of my most treasured memories.
Dad was never shy about showing affection. Lucy is like him in that way, while I seem to have missed out on that particular touchy-feely gene.
Their disappearance was suddenly as fresh to me as the day it happened. And standing in that bathroom giving a naked stranger a false name, I swore I’d find out what happened to them if it was the last thing on earth I ever did.
“Jo Jo? Where did you go?”
“Nowhere. Did Pearl and Grace know you were coming?”
“No. They never do. They’re kind of enough to let me hang my hat here when I’m in town.”
“Are you out of town often?” I hoped so. This man seemed dangerous in more ways than one, and I didn’t relish the idea of sharing close quarters with him.
“That all depends.”
“On what?”
“If we’re going to play twenty questions, I suggest you let me finish my shower and you put down those guns. Deal?”
“Deal.” Thank goodness he didn’t offer to shake on it again.
I made a quick exit but I didn’t put down my weapons. I just holstered them and went straight to the window to survey the courtyard. Only one thing was different from when I first saw it. A Ford pickup truck of dubious color and ancient lineage was parked beside my aunts’ Buick. The truck was mostly black but a patched fender in dark green and a long scrape on the door that revealed red told the story that Josh Holt was not trying to impress anybody with his mode of transportation.