by Peggy Webb
“You’re welcome. Here come Dave and Betty now.”
A couple who looked to be about sixty-five strode onto the front porch smiling, followed by two black Labrador retrievers and a calico cat.
As they headed our way Josh said, “The Bradleys are salt of the earth, Maggie. She’s a retired cop, he’s a retired schoolteacher. I’d trust both of them with my life.”
Josh introduced me as his friend, Jo, and that wasn’t the only thing that reminded me of home. Dave and Betty looked nothing like my parents but they had the same warmth and easy smile, the same way of exchanging glances as if they’d hung the moon together.
Betty took both my hands in hers. “Jo, we’re so glad you’re here. Any friend of Josh’s is a friend of ours.”
They had breakfast waiting inside, ham and biscuits with redeye gravy, scrambled eggs and strong coffee with plenty of real cream. Dave was the cook of the family.
“When we retired he wanted to open a restaurant,” Betty said, “but I told him I wanted to just hole up somewhere and sit on the porch and do nothing but twiddle my thumbs.”
“She hasn’t done any twiddling since she turned in her badge.” Dave winked at his wife. “The horses were her idea, and they don’t take care of themselves.” I caught myself before I chimed in about learning how to care for horses when Dad started buying thoroughbreds. “Let’s get you out to the stable while the day is still young.”
Did Dave see something in my face that gave me away as a big pretender? Suddenly my reason for running was heavy on my mind, but I pushed it aside as I followed the Bradleys to stables as beautifully kept as those at Wild Ranch.
And I fell in love at first sight with the most beautiful Appaloosa I’d ever seen. There were three other horses but they all paled compared to him.
“I’d love to ride that one.”
“That’s Wind Runner.” Betty went to his stall and patted his muzzle. “He’s fast and loyal and a real sweetheart in the bargain. Do you know how to handle the bridle and saddle?”
“Yes.”
Betty grabbed an apple from a nearby bin and tossed it to me. “Give him this, and he’s yours forever.”
In short order we had saddled up and were on a trail that led into deep green woods that felt as tranquil as a cathedral.
“You ride as if you were born to the saddle, Maggie.”
“I was. Sort of. Dad loved fine horses and fast cars and he made sure my sister and I became acquainted with both.”
Given what the aunts had said about Josh’s hard-scrabble youth, I didn’t pry into his childhood. Instead I asked about his friendship with Dave and Betty.
“I met her first. I was doing PI work for a client who was murdered, and it turned out to be Betty’s case. We became good friends, and have kept in touch ever since. I got lucky with the Bradleys.”
“Like you did with my aunts?”
“Same thing. Dumb luck.”
Judging by the ease with which he’d won my trust, I hardly thought Josh Holt’s friendships with salt of the earth people like my aunts and the Bradleys equated to dumb luck. Charm, maybe. Or the way he had of making you feel as if you’d known him for years. Or his down to earth approach to life. Or…
Suddenly there was a huge boom followed by a distinctive muzzle flash in the distance. Wind Runner reared as 5.56 mm round whistled past my head, and I fought to keep my seat. Somebody was after me with an AR-15 with military grade ammunition, and he meant business.
“Are you okay?” Josh yelled.
“Yes.” My horse bolted and I wasn’t certain Josh heard me. I was already far down the trail and he was already racing off in the direction of the shooter. Was it Nick? Rocco? One of the Coselli henchmen? How had they found me so fast, and what on earth was I going to do about it?
Wind Runner’s hooves thundered on the forest floor, and I dodged branches as he veered off the trail and roared through the woods, still spooked. I was more worried about him stumbling over a fallen tree and breaking a leg than I was about getting shot. The woods were so thick it would be hard for anybody to make me a target.
Finally I eased him to a stop. I dismounted and walked around to the horse’s head, soothing him with voice and hands, just the way I’d seen Dad and Steve do a million times. When he finally quieted I got very still, listening.
At first I heard nothing except the sounds of branches stirring in a slight breeze and a few surreptitious scurryings in the brush nearby. Then I heard something else…another shot from the AR-15.
I leaped onto Wind Runner’s back and urged him in that direction. Heedless of branches snatching at me and the danger that lay ahead, I raced against time, hoping Josh hadn’t been shot, praying I’d get there before it was too late.
When I spotted him—standing, thank goodness, apparently okay— and facing a man who was two inches shorter but at least seventy-five pounds heavier, I brought Wind Runner to a halt. There was a sturdy sapling nearby, and I tied him down then crept forward, keeping to the cover of the forest with my gun aimed.
Josh had seen me and started talking to the shooter, very fast and loud. “You don’t have to do this, Homer. Doing time for murder is going to be a whole lot worse than doing time for assault and battery.”
So, Josh knew the assailant. The gunshots had nothing to do with me, nothing to do with Nick’s threats or Rocco’s extra-curricular activities.
Still, Josh’s mention of murder had not been casual. His eyes had lifted briefly to mine, sending me a message. The situation was volatile and dangerous.
I eased into place under the cover of some thick bushes then studied the assailant. In spite of having fired off two shots, the man’s finger was not on the trigger. Nor was the gun pointing at Josh. Homer held the AR-15 loosely, pointing it toward the ground.
Focus, Maggie.
It’s what I always told myself when I took aim at a target. But this time the target could shoot back.
Don’t think about it. Focus.
Homer was getting agitated, and Josh shot another glance in my direction.
Do it.
I aimed and squeezed the trigger. He screamed as his AR-15 shot from his hand and fell to the ground.
I stepped into the clearing, gun pointed straight at my target—Homer’s central nervous system.
“Don’t even think about picking it up, Homer,” Josh said. “Her next shot will be right between your eyes.”
There was a commotion behind Josh as Betty emerged from the trees, her gun painted at Homer’s heart. “Great shooting.”
I merely nodded, and Betty let the subject drop. Then she cuffed Homer while Josh filled her in.
Homer’s ex-wife had come to Josh to protect her from her husband, and Homer had ended up doing time for assault and battery. He was out now and looking for revenge.
“Breaking probation, too,” Betty said. “You two finish your ride. I’ve got this covered.”
“Can you keep Annie Oakley out it?” I was grateful Josh didn’t say my name or identify me as a friend in front of a low-life criminal. Who knew what sort of network Homer had built in prison or how far-reaching that network might be?
“Not a problem. Go on, you two.” She shooed us away like a mother hen, then pulled her cell phone out of her pocket and started talking to somebody she called Trouble.
Neither of us spoke until we were back in the saddle and well on our way to the stables.
“Trouble?” I said. “I’m dying to know.”
“Dewayne Dickens at the NOPD. They were partners before she retired.” Josh studied me a while. “You were great back there. Nerves of steel.”
“My Olympics coach taught me how to focus. Seeing you in danger provided extra incentive. Do you make many enemies like that?”
“A few. When he first fired, I thought he was after you.”
“So did I.”
“I did some research on the Coselli family last night after you went to bed.”
“And?”
“The FBI has had a target on their backs for a long time, but the family covers its tracks too well to get caught.”
“Until I saw that body going out in a garbage bag.”
“Do you think they know what you saw?”
“I think not, but I can’t be certain. All I know is that Nick won’t rest until he finds me, and I don’t think he wants a loving reunion.”
“Do you remember anything else about the girl besides her toenail polish?”
“No.” I replayed the evening in my mind, trying to remember every detail. The shape a garbage bag takes when there’s a body inside. The vulnerability of that single bare foot. The glare of neon polish against the pale skin. The small gleam. “Wait. She was wearing a toe ring! It was gold.”
“Anything else?”
“It was shaped like a dragon. The scaly body curved around her toe and ended in a tiny dragon’s head.” Then I told Josh about the two missing girls from New York.
“Does this mean you’re asking?”
“I guess I am.” That was too wimpy, a copout. Josh deserved more. “Yes. I’d like your help.”
“Good. If we can bring the Cosellis down for murder, you won’t have to worry about being Nick’s target.”
“It won’t be easy.”
“No. Nor quick. I started to say, I’ve got your back, but looks like you’re the one who has mine.”
“Maybe it works both ways.”
“Maybe so.”
The stables were in sight and as much as I loved Wind Runner, I couldn’t say I was sorry to see this day come to an end. I guess life was like that. Sometimes things start out so well—Lucy’s wedding, my engagement, my parents’ boat ride on Mobile Bay, even a knitting circle in an old house in New Orleans—and end up being the kind of day you wished you could throw back, like a fish you’d caught that turned out to be poisonous.
Still, I had enough grace to tell Josh thank you when he delivered me to the courtyard behind my apartment.
“See you later, Maggie.”
I didn’t ask where he was going. Or when I’d see him again. It was enough that I’d already asked him to help solve my problems with the Coselli family. Josh didn’t strike me as the type of man who wanted somebody keeping tabs on him. And I most certainly didn’t intend to turn into the kind of woman who needed to know his whereabouts and his schedule.
When I opened the door to my apartment, I jumped six feet in the air. Houdini sat in the middle of the sofa glaring at me as if he’d made dinner and I was the cause of the food now sitting on the table getting cold.
“Good grief! How’d you get up here?”
If he answered me, I was going to climb into bed and cover my head and not come out for the next two days.
Chapter 11
In which Houdini becomes a hero
A lesser cat might not have picked up on Jo Jo’s anxiety, but I’m certainly no lesser cat. The minute she walked into the apartment I could tell something had spooked her. Wait till she heard what all Grace and Pearl had planned for the evening.
“I brought him up here, dear.” Grace appeared from the direction of the bathroom. “Pearl will be here as soon as she closes the shop. We thought a little light supper might fortify us for what lies ahead.”
“What do you mean, what lies ahead?” The girl didn’t like the sound of that, and was it any wonder. Grace had so many dangerous vibes coming off her it was likely to take a Voodoo spell to get her back to normal.
“Well, you see, Josh got the fingerprints off Pearl’s knitting needle, and you’ll never guess.”
“Do I have to?” The girl was definitely in no mood to play games.
It was a good thing that Pearl walked in or Grace might have gone on for another fifteen minutes without revealing a single thing. She’s partial to big moments, and she’s brushing up on her acting skills.
Pearl saw what was going on with one look. “Grace, are you playing guessing games again?”
“No, I’m relishing the moment.”
“Fiddlesticks. You’re practicing to be in the play.”
“What play?” Jo Jo asked. “Now I’m really confused.”
“Let’s talk while we eat. I’m starving, and there’s a lot to tell.” Pearl marched to the table which was already set for three and started ladling soup. “For starters, the prints on my knitting needle are small, indicating they belong to a woman. But she’s not in the database.”
“Imagine that!” Grace said. “Murder is her first crime!”
She was too excited to eat so I just jumped on the table and helped myself to her soup. It was chicken noodle, one my favorites. Naturally I asked her first. My manners are impeccable, something I can’t say about that basset hound who recently came to visit, in spite of the airs he put on. Acting like he’s the King of Rock n’ Roll! I never heard him sing a note in tune, and I’m a cat with an ear for perfect pitch. If Elvis is the famous singer reincarnated, I’m Tweety Bird.
“Of course, you can have my soup.” Grace patted my head and rubbed behind my ears.
But I didn’t purr. Ordinary cats sound like somebody forgot to turn off the electric razor. No, thank you very much. I prefer to make my opinions known the magical way. After all, I am Houdini.
I’m also a young tom, so I’ve got many lives left. I’m not eager to cross the rainbow bridge, even knowing what I do. Grace thinks that when one of her cats dies, another gets magically sent back to take its place.
That’s not the way it happens. Just any old tom can’t be Houdini. I’m the one and only. When I’ve run out of lives down here on earth, that great magician in the sky will say, “Presto,” and I’ll get sent right back to Grace as a not-so-cuddly black tom kitten. In other words, myself, the great prestidigitator reincarnated, complete with attitude and magic powers.
Grace left off admiring me…which is very hard to do, considering I’m the best looking cat in New Orleans. “It was obvious from the beginning that somebody in our knitting circle was up to her neck in the plot to kill Lolly.”
“Obviously,” Pearl added, “that same someone could have stolen my knitting needle and passed it along to a male cohort in crime, lurking in our back yard. But since there were no other prints besides mine and those of the small-fingered killer, that left one of our knitting circle to be the murderer.”
“We think we know which one.” Grace was so pleased with herself she started talking with her mouthful and almost choked on her sandwich. For a minute there, I thought I was going to have to do cat-to-mouth resuscitation. “And it was Houdini who gave us the clue. But just in case we’re wrong, we’ve laid a trap.”
“We’re hardly ever wrong.” That’s Pearl for you, self-confident from the roots of her dyed red hair to the tip of her toes. A woman after my own heart. “But in order to wrap this case up before somebody down at the NOPD realizes Grace and I are playing fast and loose with their murder case, we’ve got to nab the right person.”
Pearl proceeded to lay out this evening’s plan in such precise language even a dumb dog like that one in Tupelo, Mississippi, could understand. How do I know he’s dumb? Listen, if he was as smart as he thinks he is, he’d have understood every word I said. As far as he’s concerned, I might as well have kept my opinions to myself. Talking to that Elvis dog was like casting pearls before swine.
When Pearl finished outlining the plan, Grace clapped her hands. “Pearl is so clever. It was all her idea.”
“It does sound like a feasible plan. As long as you don’t except me to use my gun.”
“Only in extreme emergencies,” Pearl said, and Grace chimed in with “Why, dear? You’re so good at shooting.”
Jo Jo gave this little shrug then explained what had happened to her and Josh in the woods. Which just goes to show that if they’d invited an attack cat to go along, that gun battle would never have happened. I can spot trouble better than any bloodhound you ever saw. Listen, I don’t have to use my nose to sniff the nasty ground. I use my power
s of prestidigitation.
“Why, you are so right, Houdini,” Grace said.
“Do I dare ask what he said?” There was not the least bit of irony in the girl’s question. I started to tell her that if she believed, she should clap her hands, but not everybody is as fond of Peter Pan as I am.
“Why dear, he said to put a smile on that pretty face of yours. Nothing’s going to go wrong tonight, but in case it does, he’ll be there to save the day.”
Chapter 12
In which a killer is revealed
I wasn’t about to depend on a cat to save the day. When I arrived with Aunt Grace and Aunt Pearl at their rambling old house, I was packing enough heat to make sure nobody in the Delaney sisters’ knitting circle got carried off in a body bag. Or a garbage bag either, for that matter.
I’d had it up to neck with murder and intrigue. It would be a relief when this skullduggery ended and I could just go back to being a girl living a lie and being hunted by her former fiancé.
Aunt Grace put some store-bought cookies on a platter, clear proof that her mind wasn’t on entertaining. Even in the short time I’d been with my great aunts, I’d learned that both of them take great pride in social gatherings. Every meal I’ve had with them featured linen napkins, sterling silver utensils, white candles in crystal holders and delicious food prepared in their kitchen. I even got the same royal treatment with tonight’s soup and sandwiches. It was served on Lenox china, and we ate by candlelight.
“Pearl, I don’t know how successful we’ll be unmaking a killer without everybody here.”
“Flitter, Joanie Watkins can’t move fast enough in her tight pants to kill somebody and Geraldine Hopper can’t remember Lolly’s name half the time.”
“You’re right. When she’s not coaching her swim team she’s in the pool or thinking about the pool.”
“We’ve got the killer pegged, Grace. All we have to do is smoke her out into the open.”