Death by a Whisker

by T. C. LoTempio

  Grace let out a soft chuckle. “Well, I’ll probably buy a copy of her book, but only if it will benefit the shelter. A portion of the proceeds are still going there, I hope?”

  Kat held up her hand, all fingers crossed. “Ulla has the same publisher as Dudley Simmons, so that’s what we’re hoping for.”

  “I don’t think you have to worry. I’m sure that even if the publisher balked, Ulla would insist on it. She wouldn’t want to look like a piker. The signing is for charity after all.” Grace dabbed at her lips with her napkin. “I’m sure I can find someone on my Christmas list to give her book to.”

  “Why not read it yourself?” I suggested mischievously. “It’s supposed to be a real page-turner.”

  “No thanks.” Grace made a face, as I knew she would. When it came to bios, she preferred staid historical figures like Terry Roosevelt. She reached for her water glass, took a long sip, and then said, “Although I’ve no doubt the book is interesting, to say the least. Ulla probably considers this event a sort of ‘triumphant return.’ She always said that if and when she came home to Deer Park, it would only be because she’d have made something of herself, and she was right.”

  I took a sip of my own water before commenting, “So you knew her when she lived here?”

  “No, I never met her, but MaeAnn went to school with her. I’ve heard lots of stories.” Grace leaned forward. “When she was growing up here in Deer Park, she was Ulla Beckman. She and her brother, Bart, and their parents lived on the south side of town.”

  Back in the day, the south side of Deer Park had been classified as the “poor” section. Times had changed, of course, but some people still bore the “south side” stigma. I imagined Ulla was one of them.

  “From what I heard, Ulla wasn’t a very attractive teenager, and of course her wardrobe was quite limited,” Grace went on. “You know how cruel high school kids can be. Graduation day, Ulla stood up in front of all of them and said they’d all rue the day they made fun of her, that one day she’d come back to Deer Park and she’d be somebody. She’d be famous, and they’d all want to know her, but they could kiss her … you get the idea.”

  “Hmm, that was what? Twenty-plus years ago? She’s probably forgotten all about that now.”

  Grace eyed me over the rim of her water glass. “I wouldn’t bet on that. MaeAnn always said Ulla was great at nursing grudges.” She tapped the edge of her mug with her fingernail. “Ulla was no shrinking violet. She learned to give as good as she got. She pulled a few good pranks on a couple of girls. Some were mean and nasty too. She got away with it then, and it set the tone for the future, I suppose.”

  Our waitress appeared just then, and conversation came to a halt as we gave our orders. Both Kat and Grace picked one of the specials, chicken a là king over toast points, and I ordered what I’d salivated over all morning: a DuBarry burger, medium rare, with everything but the kitchen sink on it. Once the waitress had gone, Grace looked at us and asked, “How does Maggie feel about Ulla Townsend taking Dudley Simmons’s place?”

  “Funny you should ask that,” I said. “She had a pretty severe reaction. She got all red and said that she was sorry, but she wouldn’t have anything to do with the event if Ulla Townsend was part of it.”

  Grace’s head dipped. “I had a feeling she’d react that way.”

  I didn’t bother to hide my surprise. “You did?”

  “Absolutely,” Grace said. “Maggie and Ulla were in the same class in high school, and they never got along. As a matter of fact, to say they hated each other would be putting it mildly.”

  Chapter Three

  Toby woke me before the alarm went off the next morning. I awakened to find his gold and white face on the pillow next to mine as he gently raised a paw and batted my cheek.

  I stifled a yawn. “I’m awake, Tobes,” I said groggily before rolling over onto my back. Undaunted, Toby took a swipe at my comforter and let out a loud meow. Translation: “Get up, you lazy slug.” I had the distinct impression that if he knew how to rip the comforter off me, he would have done just that. I struggled to a sitting position and looked at him, and he dropped back onto all fours.

  “It’s still early. Maggie isn’t coming in this morning till ten.”

  My plan, as I’d outlined to Toby before I went to bed last night, was to arrive at the shelter just when Maggie would be getting there. The shelter was open by appointment only on Sunday, and we each took turns with “early duty” on Sunday, meaning someone went there between eight and ten to feed the animals, walk them, play with them, do whatever needed to be done. Maggie’s scheduled time was this morning, and she hadn’t cancelled as far as I knew.

  Toby meowed loudly again, and I figured this time it was part “Get up, Lazybones,” and part “I’m hungry—when are you going to feed me?” I swung my feet off the bed and reached for my robe. “Shower first, Fuzzball,” I told Toby, who promptly sat back on his haunches and took a pass at his furry face with his paw.

  I showered quickly and then went downstairs to make myself a cup of coffee. While it was brewing, I opened the front door and got the morning paper. I carried it into the kitchen and spread it across the table. I’d informed Leila of the change in guest, and she’d promised to put a notice in the Sunday edition, and there it was, right in the bottom corner of page one:

  SHOPPING CHANNEL HOST COMES THROUGH FOR FRIENDLY PAWS

  The two paragraphs that followed touched on Simmons’s accident and played up how willing Ulla Townsend had been to step in and help out her old hometown’s shelter. I wondered idly if Ulla’s publicist had been responsible for most of the notice. Well, if Ulla was half as popular as everyone claimed she was, she should sell a lot of books, which would result in revenue for the shelter. I hoped.

  After I was well fortified with three cups of coffee, I left the remainder in the pot for Leila when she woke up, said goodbye to Toby, and hopped in my convertible. My first stop was Dayna’s Sweets and Treats. The combination café and bakery had originally been known as McCall’s when my parents had owned it, and after my dad’s death, Kat and I had sold it to Dayna Harper, an attractive African American woman. Dayna had helped us out with our very first shelter event, which we’d held at her shop, and she’d promised to provide treats for the book signing as well. As soon as I walked through the glass door, I was hit by an overwhelming bout of nostalgia. Dayna had kept things pretty much the same as my father had, from the wide counter with its high-backed stools to the glass cases that displayed dozens of her homemade, mouthwatering treats. Dayna herself was behind the counter, and she waved as I made my way over to her.

  “Kinda early on a Sunday for you, isn’t it?” she asked in her singsong voice. “Or is today your early day at the shelter?”

  “No, not my early day—it’s Maggie’s. I thought I might go over and lend her a hand, though, and take something sweet while I’m at it.”

  “Well, girl, you came to the right place for something sweet.” Her gaze wandered to the large display case. “I’m trying out some new pastries for the event next week. How about a Dabby Dough?”

  I slid onto one of the leather-covered stools and rested my elbows on the wide Formica counter. “Sounds interesting. What’s in it?”

  “I made it from leftover apple pie dough. They’re filled with a mixture of cinnamon and sugar and butter, then rolled, sliced, and baked. Then there’s this other one.” She pointed to another pastry next to the Dabby Doughs.

  “That looks good,” I said. “What’s that one called?”

  “It’s a Moorkop, a Dutch cream-puff pastry. They came out pretty good too, if I do say so myself.” Dayna went over to the case, selected one of each, put them on a plate, and held it out to me. “Go on, try ’em,” she said with a wink. “You can be one of my official tasters. Free of charge.”

  I surveyed the Moorkop. The top of the cream puff was glazed with dark chocolate, and it was capped with a dollop of whipped cream. A tiny sliver of pineapple sat at
its base. Dayna handed me a fork, and I sliced the puff in half, letting the whipped-cream insides ooze out. I popped half into my mouth and made a little moan of pleasure. “Ooh. So. Good.”

  Dayna beamed. “I thought you’d like it. Now try the Dabby.”

  The Dabby was excellent too. I’m not ashamed to say I finished both. “I’ll take two of each to go,” I said, whipping out my wallet. “And I insist on paying for them,” I added. I knew Dayna was often much too generous for her own good. It sometimes amazed me that the store managed to turn a profit, what with all the free samples she liked to give away.

  Dayna shrugged. “Suit yourself.” As she rang up my purchase, she asked, “So, are you looking forward to Saturday? Now that Ulla Townsend’s part of the event, it wouldn’t surprise me if Crowden’s got a banner crowd of people Saturday. I know some folks from neighboring towns are planning to attend.”

  I hadn’t considered that possibility. I made a mental note to double-check with Tara about security for the event, then paid for the pastries and promised Dayna to stop in again before the big day.

  “I’m planning on handing out some leaflets and flyers for my shop too,” she told me as she handed me the white and pink pastry box. “After all, there’s no telling how much extra business this event could attract.”

  “That’s true. Aren’t you glad you agreed to provide the treats, gratis?”

  “I’m glad you pointed out I could take the deduction from my income tax as a charitable donation,” Dayna said with a broad wink. “This event could prove profitable for both our businesses.”

  The door opened and Leila sailed in. “Well, fancy seeing you here,” she drawled. Turning to Dayna she said with a smile, “Coffee, extra-large, please. The dregs my roomie left me this morning just didn’t cut it.”

  As Dayna moved off to get the coffee, I gave Leila’s outfit a once-over. She was wearing a low-cut floral sundress, with a white lace shrug around her shoulders, and strappy white sandals. “Nice outfit. Going to church?”

  She flushed. “Ah, no. Actually I’m heading over to Raleigh. They’ve got an antique street fair going on.”

  I looked pointedly at the dress. “By yourself?”

  Leila shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “No,” she said at last. “Jim’s taking me.”

  “Jim Wantrobski? Again?” I couldn’t resist a grin. Jim was a reporter/photographer on the Deer Park Herald. It was no secret he had a huge crush on Leila, who was always quick to disavow any interest in dating him. However, this was the third time now in the past two weeks they’d gone somewhere together that wasn’t work related.

  The man in question walked through the sweet shop door just then. “Hey there,” he said cheerily. “I got your text. I just have to drop some photos off at the office, and I’ll meet you outside here in ten minutes.”

  Dayna returned to the counter, bearing two large Styrofoam cups of coffee. She handed one to Leila and one to Jim. “I got your text too,” she said with a wink. “It’s extra strong, the way you like it.”

  Jim took a quick sip of the coffee, gave Leila a peck on the cheek, and then, with a wave to Dayna and myself, vanished out the door. I gave my bestie a playful poke in the ribs. “I see why you like him. He’s very accommodating.”

  Leila pulled a face at me. “Very funny. And speaking of accommodating males, I heard you had dinner with Will twice last week.”

  I sighed. “They were more like run-ins. We haven’t been on an actual date in weeks. Will’s been putting in a lot of overtime since Bennington left.” Will Worthington, my current boyfriend, was a homicide detective on the Deer Park police force. His partner, Henry Bennington, had recently taken a position with the Broward County Homicide Department. Since Bennington had given both Kat and myself a hard time during a recent murder investigation, I had to admit I wasn’t sorry at all to see him go. “Will’s practically living at the station, what with Randy Michaelson and Trent Duggan both out on medical leave. He and Charlie Callahan have been picking up the slack.”

  “Who’s Charlie Callahan?”

  “He just transferred here from Macon. I haven’t met him yet, but Diane gave me the lowdown.” Diane Ryan, one of our volunteers, was also the admin down at the station. Diane loved her job, but she loved to gossip more. “He graduated from the police academy top of his class, worked second lead on some high-profile cases. Plus, he’s the nephew of Mayor Bascomb.”

  “Which means he’s in the running for Bennington’s slot too,” said Leila. She shook her head. “Captain Connolly is fair, but he can be a political animal, especially in an election year. It’ll be interesting to see how this plays out.” She took a quick sip of her coffee, and then said, “It’s time to ’fess up, Syd. Has Will’s kissing technique improved since high school?”

  “Where’s that coming from?” I certainly wasn’t about to admit that so far the opportunity for Will to kiss me hadn’t presented itself. Our few dates had always been interrupted at the most inopportune moments. “I might ask you the same thing? What sort of a kisser is Jim?”

  She winked at me. “Better than I thought.” She jumped as her cell phone let out a loud beep. Whipping it out of her pocket, she looked at the screen and shook her head. “He needs to work on his timing, though. He’s outside. But our discussion isn’t over,” she said as she started for the door. “I still want an answer to my question.”

  “Funny,” I murmured as the door closed behind her. “So do I.”

  I drove right to the shelter and parked a few spaces away from the rear entrance. I noticed Maggie’s Volvo parked under the elm tree, and the lights were on in the cattery, a sign that she was already at work. I let myself in, balancing my tote and the pastry box, and called out, “Hello! Maggie, are you here?” Receiving no answer, I set the tote and pastry box down in the breakroom and made my way to the cattery. No one was there, but I saw a thin sliver of light emanating from under the door across the hall marked PLAYROOM. I rapped on the door gently with my knuckles and was relieved to hear Maggie call out absently, “Come in—but be careful.” I edged the door open and stopped at the sight before me.

  A beautiful, light-hued calico cat was on the long counter, her tail in the air, her back arched. Maggie was at the other end, holding a non-decapitated, fully limbed Melvin the Mouse. She waved Melvin in the air, and the calico launched herself forward, paws outstretched. She clamped one around Melvin’s neck and drew the little mouse to her; then she rolled over on her back and held the mouse in her front claws, her back ones wiggling in the air. Her head lolled to one side, and her pink tongue was partially out of her mouth, a sure sign that she loved the catnip.

  Maggie glanced up and her intense expression relaxed somewhat when she saw me. “Hey, Syd, meet Olive.” She gestured toward the calico. “The poor girl was trapped underneath Bert Park’s porch. He called me yesterday afternoon, and I managed to coax her out. I brought her over to Donna’s for a checkup. She’s expecting.” Maggie let out a small sigh and ran her hand over the cat’s belly. “You know what that means.”

  I sure did. It meant more kittens for a future shelter event. Olive would be spayed as soon as possible after giving birth, and then she too would be available for adoption, but it wouldn’t be in time for this event. I walked over and looked down at the cat. “She’s beautiful,” I said. “I’ve always loved calicos. I especially love the colors on this one. Pale peach and gray.”

  “She’s what is called a dilute calico,” said Maggie. “People love them. I’m sure once she’s ready, we’ll have no trouble finding her a forever home.”

  “I’m sure we won’t. She certainly seems to enjoy Melvin there. Toby does too, only he seems to enjoy making mincemeat of Melvin’s body parts more than anything else. I’d hate to tell you how many he’s decapitated so far.” I eased one hip against the table. “I just hope that this penchant for beheading mice isn’t an indication of, ah, some other behavioral problem.”

  Maggie angled her
head to one side. “I doubt it, Syd. Toby was originally an outdoor cat, and now he loves to stay inside and play with toys. It says a lot that you’ve gotten him domesticated. He likes his new environment.”

  “He seems to,” I said slowly.

  “He does.” Maggie’s tone was firm. “He wanted to be with you, Syd. Lots of people showed interest in him, but he never behaved himself until he met you. As for the mouse thing, well, hunting’s in every cat’s DNA, and maybe it’s just more pronounced in Toby. Remember his nickname—the Wanderer? If I recall correctly, there were a few, ah, gifts, shall we say, left on the shelter stoop that were most likely from him. His hunting tendencies won’t disappear overnight, but consider yourself lucky he takes it out on rubber toys.” Her lips curved upward. “Look on the bright side, though—you and Kat will probably never have a rodent problem.”

  I burst out laughing. “I guess you’re right. I’m probably worrying over nothing.”

  “Rest assured, you are. So, what brings you by this morning? I didn’t see your name on the schedule.”

  “It’s not.” I paused and then said the first thing that came into my mind. “I wanted to work on some ad copy at home, but I left my notes here. I stopped by Dayna’s for some coffee, and she insisted I try out some of her treats she’s making for Saturday. I thought maybe you might like to try them too.”

  “How thoughtful of you. Yes, I would. I skipped dinner last night, and I didn’t have much time to eat this morning.” She inclined her head at me. “You never forget your notes, Syd, and I’m sure you didn’t get up early just to bring me Dayna’s pastry to try. So why don’t you just come right out and tell me what’s on your mind.”

  “Okay, I will.” I shoved both hands into the pockets of my light jacket. “I came to talk to you about Saturday.”

  Maggie’s brow furrowed, and she let out a deep sigh. “I thought so. Look, I’m sorry for the little tantrum yesterday. It’s just when I heard her name …” Maggie bit down hard on her lower lip. “It stirred up emotions I thought were long buried, but it’s got nothing to do with you or Kat, and I’m sorry I reacted like that. It’s just the last thing I ever expected was to hear that Ulla Townsend was replacing Dudley Simmons at that book signing. It … it took me by surprise.”