When the Cat's Away

by Dane McCaslin

  Life was moving toward the interesting end of the scale, what with Candy's new baker and my blossoming friendship with Meredith Holmes. And it would become even more so as soon as I could be rid of my dearest spouse.

  * * *

  Without too much ado, I managed to get Gregory packed and on his way to Oxford. The ten days he'd be gone had already been planned out with Meredith to the last detail, and I was anxious to get Campaign Reclaim SMCC off and running.

  "You know, Meredith," I remarked, waving a forkful of salad at her, "I think I have a better idea for the first go-round with Miss Fancy Pants and her minion."

  We were sitting in the office at her bookstore, eating lunch and building up a head of self-righteous steam; as someone with a tangible stake in a local small business—my books in Meredith's bookstore—I wanted to take Lucia Scarantelli down a peg or two. Or five.

  "Oh, yeah?" Meredith lifted one eyebrow as she took the last bite of her turkey and avocado panini. "Pray tell how that will happen, Caro." She picked up a chunk of avocado and popped it into her mouth. "Bethany guards her like she's a flippin' rock star or something."

  "Bah." I dismissed her words with a wave of my hand and fished out a rather battered spiral notebook, flipping to a back page. "According to my contacts—" Here Meredith gave a hoot of laughter, shaking her head at me. I frowned at her. "—Bethany leaves for lunch and to do Lucia's errands at eleven sharp. With her out of the way, the Dragon Lady will be alone in her den. Or cave." I finished with a dramatic gesture and managed to fling my notebook across the table and onto Meredith's plate.

  "I sincerely hope your plan goes over better than this," she said drily, tossing the arugula- festooned pad back at me. She glanced at the antique schoolhouse clock standing on her desk. "And if we're going to confront Lucia, we need to get going."

  Meredith owns a bright red Mini Cooper that's decked out with the Union Jack fluttering from the antenna, something I find rather ironic for a Southern gal now residing in the great state of New York. If anyone should drive that, it should be yours truly, a genuine British import.

  At any rate, we took her car into the heart of Seneca Meadows' downtown, past the hardware store and a recently renovated secondhand shop that now boasted signage reading Second Time's the Charm. I sniffed. Highly unlikely, I thought. If no one wanted the stuff to begin with…

  My thoughts were interrupted by a sharp jolt as Meredith swung the Mini into the parking lot that lay between the bank and drugstore and abruptly shut off the engine. She kept her hands on the wheel, fingers tapping out an impatient tattoo.

  "What in the world?" I looked around the lot, trying to see why we'd stopped. "Are we walking from here?" I certainly hoped not; my recent foray into cycling with my husband—on the back of a tandem—had solidified my opinion that exercise was not for the likes of me.

  "No." Meredith's voice was as strained as her face, and by the way she was checking her wristwatch every five seconds, it didn't take a genius to see that something was troubling her.

  "Look, Meredith," I began, careful to keep my voice low and comforting. I'd talked others (and myself, to be honest) down from many an emotional ledge before, and I had a feeling that she was teetering on the brink. "You don't have to do this. In fact, I'd rather that I face the dragon alone and keep the spotlight off of the small business owner." I patted her arm and smiled encouragingly, meaning that I had pasted on a ridiculously happy face and beamed like a deranged clown. From the way she jerked her arm out of my reach, I could see that I hadn't been successful.

  "Nope. I need to do this, Caro." With one last flick of the wrist to check the time, Meredith turned the key, and we took off with a flourish, completely missing the lot's entrance and bumping into the street from the sidewalk. Brilliant. I only hoped that she would be able to park in front of the town's offices and not in them.

  As a fairly recent arrival to the United States in general and to Seneca Meadows in particular, I still find the local weather amazing, no matter the season. Just now we were in the throes of spring with summer still a few tantalizing months away, and the clear blue skies thrilled my heart to no end. Having been brought up on an island—which is what Great Britain is, technically—I was used to the misty mornings and overcast days of springtime. Here the rain was a welcome respite, not something to be borne with a grudge aimed at Mother Nature.

  I gave the sky one more appreciative glance before we entered the rather imposing edifice that housed the mayoral chambers, the town manager's office, and the Chamber of Commerce. Meredith stayed behind me, whether from nervousness or for protection I wasn't certain. I straightened my shoulders and took a deep breath, punching the elevator's up button. I was ready for battle.

  "May I help you?" The SMCC's receptionist, a plump pseudo-blonde with a pseudo-convention name badge (Hello! My Name is Jetta!) glanced up from the tell-all magazine she was perusing and turned a dazzlingly white smile on us. What is it with Americans and their fetish with teeth? I wondered to myself, returning her display with my own recently whitened smile. After all, when in Rome, as they say…

  On closer inspection, I could tell that she was at least a decade older than her style projected; maybe she was under the illusion that her low-cut blouse would disguise the beginnings of a wrinkled décolletage.

  I took the initiative. "We've come to see your boss, Jetta." I allowed the slightest of enigmatic smiles to cross my face then leaned forward as if to impart a secret. "It's a surprise."

  Jetta squealed, clapping her hands together like a child given a present. "I'll bet that's why Ms. Jorgenson is so late today." She pointed across the lobby to a set of double doors. "Ms. Scarantelli is in there." She smiled at us roguishly. "Have fun!" The magazine came back out, and we were dismissed in favor of the latest Kardashian gossip.

  "Don't you think we should knock first?" Meredith spoke in a whisper, and I had to grin at her reticence. She was really too nice to be involved in a confrontation. I, on the other hand, was neither reticent nor nice.

  "Absolutely not, my book-selling friend!" I reached for both of the door knobs and gave them a smart twist, opening the doors in quite a dramatic fashion…and promptly tripped over the sprawled body of Lucia Scarantelli, the late and unlamented leader of Seneca Meadows' Chamber of Commerce.

  Someone had beaten us to the punch—and had beaten the SMCC Dragon Lady to death.

  CHAPTER TWO

  "It's nice to see you again, Mrs. Browning."

  The cheery voice of Officer Scott rang across the lobby where Meredith and I were ensconced on a rather uncomfortable settee, huddled together for support. I gave him a half-hearted wave.

  "Likewise, officer," I replied with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. I felt rather than saw Meredith's interested glance my direction. I was in no mood for explanations at the moment, however; it was best to let sleeping memories lie, particularly those of the previous year.

  My momentary aversion to conversation did not stop one of Seneca Meadows' finest from striding toward me and taking a seat in an adjoining chair. With a sigh, Officer Scott sat down, stretching his long legs out in front of him.

  "Ah, that's better," he said as he rubbed his knees. "My old sports injuries are catching up with me."

  Officer Scott as an athlete was hard for me to believe: he was solidly built, the antithesis of agility. Somehow I couldn't see him swinging a bat or tossing a basketball around; it would be like playing on a team with a wooly mammoth.

  "So, the professor's out of town, and you get yourself in trouble, Mrs. B." He shook his head in mock disappointment, eyes twinkling as I pulled myself upright and thrust out my chin. "A case of the mice finding a bit of mischief when the cat's away, eh?"

  "I am not the one in trouble, officer, as you might have noticed."

  What an exasperating man, I thought to myself. Who does he think he is? My keeper? A suspicious thought crossed my mind. Surely Gregory would not…had not…actually, I wouldn't put it past him to engage
a minder to keep an eye on me.

  "…when you found her?" Officer Scott sat looking at me with an expectant expression on his face, and Meredith gave me a discreet poke in the side.

  "I'm sorry," I said, the beginnings of a blush moving up my neck. "I was thinking about something else." I motioned toward the double doors that stood wide open, giving me a clear view of the crime scene photographer busily snapping pictures, Lucia Scarantelli's body morbidly posed in the flashing light of the camera. I shuddered. This was déjà vu in the worst possible way. "Is there, I mean, do you, maybe, have any idea of what happened to her?" To my chagrin, I felt my eyes begin to fill with tears. Brilliant. Not only was I incoherent, I was now having a public meltdown.

  Meredith slipped a comforting arm around my shoulders. "Officer, if it's okay, could we do this later?" She gave a hearty squeeze, nearly toppling me into her lap. "We could come down to the station and make a statement, or whatever we need to do, after Caro is feeling better." Another squeeze. "I'm sure that's what the professor would want you to do, right?"

  I shot Meredith a look, trying to read her expression. Was everyone in on the please watch my wife and keep her out of trouble plan? She smiled sweetly at me, and my radar went on red alert. When he got back, I was going to give my dearest spouse a piece of my mind. If I still had a mind, that is; I was beginning to feel as though I was in the middle of a B-rated movie, the type where the heroine—me, of course—met a horrible demise at the claws of the swamp monster. Or whoever it was that had killed SMCC's resident terror.

  "That sounds okay with me," agreed the officer, standing back up with a groan, both knees cracking loudly. "Just make sure that you get her to the station tomorrow morning." He brought his hand to his forehead in a salute. "I'm off, ladies. Bad guys to chase, killers to catch."

  I watched him as he strolled away. He, in my point of view, was certainly one of the good guys, someone you'd want on your side when a crisis arose. Such as now. I sighed, pulling myself away from Meredith's grasp and standing to my feet.

  "Let's go," I said. "If you swing past Candy's Sweet Treats, we can pick up something for dessert."

  Meredith Holmes laughed. "I swear, girl, I've never seen someone eat so much sugar in my entire life." She fished in her pocket for her car keys. "And that's saying something. I grew up drinking sweet tea with every meal and my mama's pecan pralines." She gave me a push toward the door. "My mama would love you."

  "I'd love your mother," I said. "Blame it on a childhood without much in the way of sweeties. My mother was a health nut whose idea of dessert was a handful of oats and raisins." I shook my head at the memory. "I used to beg my friends for just a crumb of cake or biscuits—what you call cookies—or whatever they had in their lunches." I grabbed Meredith's hand, pulling her toward the door. "I feel the need for an entire strawberry cheesecake coming on."

  * * *

  I absolutely adored Meredith's bookstore. Murder by the Book, Seneca Meadows' newest addition to downtown, drew in readers from all over the county. She'd created several alcoves furnished with comfortable armchairs and low tables, and she encouraged her clients to stay a while, to bring their coffee with them, and to relax with a good book. She imbued the atmosphere with her own brand of Southern hospitality, quickly becoming one of our town's favorite residents. Anyone who came to Murder by the Book left with a smile on their face—and a bagful of books in their hands.

  In addition to a widely varied selection of mysteries, Meredith also managed to snag some of the current best-selling authors for book talks and signings. As we sat in her office and downed slices of cheesecake, I looked at her calendar of upcoming events with interest. I recognized most of the names, and one in particular made me grin from ear to ear.

  "Gia Hollingsworth!" I exclaimed. "I absolutely love her Cozy series, and she's as nice as she is talented." I finished off my second helping, licking every drop of strawberry topping off my fork. "We should have a reception for her, maybe get Candy to put together a dessert table."

  Meredith pushed her plate away with a groan. "I can't think of anything sweet right now, Caro." She tossed her paper plate into the trash. "Besides, we should be thinking of my inventory and what you'll be saying to Officer Scott tomorrow morning."

  I frowned slightly. "I'll have to tell him that it was your idea to talk to her, Meredith."

  "My idea?" She grabbed the clipboard holding her inventory sheets and headed for the store's main area. "You're the one who said—"

  "Look," I interrupted. "We'll both go and explain why we were going to see her." I shrugged. "Who knows? Maybe someone else had already complained about her enough to garner the police department's attention."

  Meredith gave a tight little laugh that did not sound amused. "And I'm supposed to hope that the police will link 'unhappy business owner' with 'killer'?"

  She stopped suddenly, and I almost ran into her. From the look on her face, I could see she'd made an unwelcome connection. I'd made the same: my friend Meredith could be a suspect.

  * * *

  I tried to sleep that night but gave up after two hours of turning my pillow over to the cooler side, listening to the international broadcast of BBC's news station, and fighting off Trixie's encroachment onto my side of the bed. It was absolutely amazing how much room one tiny dachshund required! How Gregory and I managed to ever get any rest with her in our bed was a mystery.

  The real mystery that was troubling me, though, was the thought of Meredith and her possible role in Lucia Scarantelli's death. Granted, a woman such as Lucia, someone who ran roughshod over folks when they didn't see things her way, probably had more than a handful of enemies, but to think that my newest friend had a part in anything so atrocious didn't make sense. It was a good thing that Greg was away; I'd need to devote my time to clearing Meredith's name and to finding the real killer without having to explain my absences.

  And with that thought, I turned over my pillow one last time, pushed the ear buds firmly into my ears, and promptly fell asleep.

  I awoke the next morning to the wonderful smell of coffee brewing. Gregory had purchased a ridiculously complicated machine for my birthday that could do everything except carry the coffee mug to my bedside. With a grumpy Trixie padding next to me, I headed for the kitchen and a mug of my newest favorite flavored coffee, Southern Butter Pecan. I needed to wake up quickly and get ready for my visit to the Seneca Meadows Police Department.

  The sight of Meredith's face pressed up against my kitchen window nearly gave me heart failure, and I shook my empty mug at her in mock menace as I unlocked the back door. I got another mug out and poured two cups of the blessed elixir, eyeing Meredith warily as she dropped into a chair.

  "What's up, buttercup?" I set the steaming coffee in front of her and nudged the creamer across the table.

  She took the mug in both hands and held it close to her as if she needed its warmth. It was then that I saw the faint traces of tears on her face and red-rimmed eyes. Without another word, I walked around the table and put my arms around her. Meredith began to cry again, softly, desperately, and I felt my pulse quicken. What in the world could have happened?

  "Meredith?" I stepped over to the counter and snagged the tissue box. "What is it?"

  "It's Bea," she sobbed into a tissue. "She's been arrested!"

  I was mystified. I wasn't acquainted with anyone by that name, unless it was one of Seneca Meadows' business owners. I put the question to Meredith, and she confirmed what I had already guessed. Beatrice Lemon, owner of the second-hand store, was accused of Lucia Scarantelli's murder. At least it isn't Meredith, I thought, relieved.

  "That's a good thing, right?" I sat back down across from Meredith, enjoying the taste of buttery pecan goodness.

  "No, it isn't!" She frowned at me, ire replacing the sadness. "Bea wouldn't hurt a fly!" She stood up abruptly. "And I'm going to find out who really did kill that witch!"

  "Sit down, Meredith," I said, using the soothing tone that I em
ployed at times with my hubby. "Let me fix some breakfast, and we'll both tackle the issue." I smiled brightly at her. "Deal?"

  She sat back down with an expression akin to relief. Trying to track down a killer was not a solo performance, as I had found out the year before. And I figured that eating would give us time to think of the next step.

  "Doesn't it feel like we eat every time we get together, Caro?" Meredith pushed back her empty plate, its surface polished clean with a last swipe of buttered toast. "If we keep this up, we'll be rolling around town, two butterballs on the lookout for Lucia's killer."

  "Speak for yourself, Meredith. It's just fuel for the quest." I gave her shoulder a playful tap. "I'm off to the shower."

  "And I'll still be sitting here, digesting my fuel," Meredith replied, patting her stomach. She looked down at Trixie who was nosing around the floor for crumbs. "We'll wait right here for mama, won't we, sweetie?"

  * * *

  When I am in the middle of writing a new book, I like to set up a system with sticky notes; they help me keep my characters in order and give me a visual for the developing plot. As Meredith and I sat in her bookstore office, I proposed that we use the same system of organization.

  "If nothing else, Meredith," I pointed out, "We'll be able to see who would be capable of doing this and the alibis for each person." I rummaged in my hobo bag, a replacement for my overlarge leather tote, and produced a plastic-wrapped packet of the infamous yellow paper. "You talk, I'll write."

  "Well, there's Bethany," Meredith said. "If someone treated me the way that Lucia treated her, I'd be first in line."

  "Okay." I wrote the name on a sticky and handed it off. Meredith posted it on the wall behind her desk.

  "And there's Bea's assistant, Mabel."

  I stopped writing and stared at Meredith in amazement. "There's really someone named Mabel? I thought that went out with bloomers and corsets."