A Mew to a Kill

by Leighann Dobbs

  “So, you want me find your killer?” I asked.

  “Yes, of course. And I’m not going to leave you alone until you do.” She tapped her nail on a front tooth. “Although I have no idea who would want me dead.”

  “You have no idea who would want you dead?” I grimaced at the incredulous tone in my voice. Was it possible Paisley had no idea how abrasive she was? “I mean, was there anyone you had an argument with or had something on, perhaps?”

  She looked taken aback. “Had something on? Why, whatever do you mean?”

  “You know, like something you could blackmail them with? You have to be straight with me if you want me to find your killer.”

  “Well, I don’t know. I mean, I do collect information on people that gives me the upper hand. You might think I’m just an opportunist that uses things to her advantage, but when you grow up in a poor household with an abusive father like I did, you learn that you have to take these advantages to get ahead in life.” Her eyes misted over and I almost felt sorry for her.

  “So, what advantages did you take? Did you have something on George to get him to sway the vote in your favor for you in the art show? Maisie implied that maybe you and George were more than friends…”

  Paisley blanched, if a ghost could even do such a thing. “Well, George did fancy me and I guess I took advantage of that.” Her mouth formed an ‘O’ and she turned wide eyes on me. “Do you think George killed me?”

  “You were arguing with him last night in your shop.” I nodded toward the picture window which provided a view into the photography store. Paisley walked slowly down the aisle, quietly staring out the window into her former shop. The police were still in there and I could see Gus and Jimmy with their heads bent together, apparently looking at some piece of evidence.

  She turned around, confusion on her face. “It looks like there was a fire in there.”

  “Yes, there was. You didn’t know that?”

  Her hands flew up to her face. “No. My beautiful photos. Were they ruined?”

  “I’m not sure. It looks like the fire didn’t damage too much.” I would have never guessed it, but by the look on Paisley’s face she was genuinely distraught. Apparently, she really was serious about her photography work. Judging by the quality of her work, I’d always thought she’d just opened the shop on a whim. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that, though. “You mean you really didn’t know you died in a fire?”

  She shook her head. “No. I mean, I don’t remember how I died. I didn’t know anything about a fire.”

  “What did you and George argue about?”

  “He thought I had pictures of us … you know…”

  “And did you?”

  “Yeah.” She giggled. “Who would want to see those?”

  “He probably thought you were going to use them to blackmail him. Did you mention something about using those pictures to ensure you got a spot in the art show”?

  “I might have,” she said innocently. “But I did get that spot in the show, so why would he be afraid that I would use the pictures? I do have some ethics, you know. He did seem worried about them, but I promised that I would give them to him, and I eventually calmed him down and he went on his way.”

  “So, he didn’t kill you?”

  “Well…” She looked uncertainly back at the shop. “I don’t think so. I distinctly remember him leaving and I was alive then.”

  “But you stayed in the shop?”

  “I guess so. It all gets kind of fuzzy after that.”

  “This would be a lot easier if your memory was better. Try to think.”

  “Oh, I’m not worried. I’m sure that you’ll be able to find the killer even without my memory. I heard you were the best.”

  Maybe she wasn’t worried, but I was. Especially about that last comment. “You did? Where did you hear that?”

  Was there some kind of person in the afterlife that gave out this information to the newly deceased? Like a Walmart greeter who directed murder victims to my shop? Need to find a killer? That’s in aisle seven at Last Chance Books.

  “Oh, now, you don’t need to know that.” She eyed me critically. “What you do need is a fashion makeover.”

  “What?”

  She gestured at my body and I glanced down to see what was causing the sour look on her face. I had on my usual, loose t-shirt and jeans. What was wrong with that?

  “If you dressed a little sexier, you might be able to get more information from people. That could help you with the investigation. It’s always worked for me.” She ran her hands up and down her body to accentuate the form-fitting tank top and skirt she wore. Even the tendrils of ghostly swirling mist that surrounded her clung to her like a glove.

  “You know, your sister could use a makeover, too. She’s always dressed in that unflattering uniform.” Paisley looked back out the window. I followed her gaze. It was true. I hardly ever saw Gus out of uniform.

  I remembered the last time I’d had to find a ghost’s killer and the resulting celebration in the Van Dorn mansion which had been turned into a museum to honor its former owner, psychic and magician Charles Van Dorn. Gus had surprised everyone by showing up in a slinky black dress which she wore like it was second nature. I hadn’t even known my sister owned a dress, never mind one that she could wear with ease. The dress had suited her and she'd looked great. I wondered if she had occasion to wear it much. I doubted it. As far as I knew, Gus was all work and no play.

  I glanced back down at myself. Maybe I should wear more dresses. Maybe I would look as good as Gus.

  “I don’t know…” I couldn’t picture myself using my appearance or flirting like Paisley did to get information.

  “You have a cute figure and you should jazz yourself up. Plus, the sooner you find my killer, the sooner I can move on and you can be rid of me.” She leaned forward and a blast of chilly air sent goosebumps up my arm. “Until then, I’m going to haunt you mercilessly.”

  Great. That was just what I needed, an abrasive ghost that doled out fashion advice following me around all day. I chewed my bottom lip trying to think up any other questions that might help me get a lead to solve this as quickly as possible.

  Right now, George was my main suspect. Paisley had said she’d been alive when he left, but that didn’t mean he didn’t return and do her in later. If only there was some more concrete proof. I remembered the camera I’d seen Gus’s deputy put in the evidence bag.

  “There was a camera near your body,” I said. “Were you taking pictures in the shop? Maybe you got one of the killer.”

  “Pictures? I don’t remember taking any pictures? But then again, I don’t remember much about what happened after George left.”

  “Dying amnesia.” A voice boomed from behind me and I turned to see Robert Frost. “It’s quite common.”

  “Yes.” Franklin Pierce nodded in agreement. “It’s like when you get amnesia after a traumatic event.”

  “Dying certainly is traumatic,” Robert said.

  “Especially if you are murdered,” Paisley added, eliciting laughter from Robert and Franklin.

  “So, she might not regain any memories about that night?” I asked.

  “Right. Or she might remember some if it.” Robert spread his hands. “It really depends. Everyone is different.”

  Perfect. Paisley might not remember a thing about that night—she wouldn’t be any help at all.

  Too bad bringing Paisley’s killer to justice wasn’t going to be as easy as her ghost just telling me who it was so I could get a jump on where to look for evidence. It looked like I had my work cut out for me. Lucky thing I had a good idea exactly where to start.

  Chapter Six

  The ghosts retreated back to wherever it is ghosts go when they aren’t haunting the living. I went back behind the counter to continue cataloging the books, which I hadn’t finished yesterday. Pandora curled up in her cat bed like she didn't have a care in the world. How nice for her.

&nb
sp; I hadn’t gotten very far into my cataloging when the bell over the door chimed and my best friend and fellow Main Street shop owner, Pepper St. Onge, came into the shop. She carried a silver platter loaded with a teapot, dainty porcelain teacups and scones. One might think it odd that she walked around with a platter loaded this way but, considering she owned a tea shop a couple of doors down, it wasn’t that unusual. She often came in for tea and to catch up during the times when our shops were not busy with customers.

  “Want to take a break?” Pepper’s green eyes quizzed me, her head tilted slightly to the right as she balanced the tray in her left hand. The smell of cinnamon wafted over. My stomach rumbled loudly.

  “Of course.” I logged out of my cataloging program and came around the counter to join her on the purple sofa and chairs.

  Pepper’s red hair was twirled up in a knot high on her head. She leaned over to pour the tea and one long strand escaped, floating in front of her face and almost landing in the teacup.

  Four scones sat on a dainty flowered plate, their lightly browned surfaces sprinkled with sugar and cinnamon. Pepper caught me looking. “Help yourself. They’re apple and cinnamon, a new recipe I’m trying out.”

  I tried to be polite, taking the scone and balancing it casually on one of the pink scallop-edged napkins that Pepper had provided, instead of scarfing it down right away. Then I realized Pepper knew me better than that and I gave into my hunger and shoved half of it in my mouth. I was starving. The flavors of vanilla, apple and cinnamon melded together on my tongue. A little moan might have escaped my lips.

  Pepper laughed. “Is it good?”

  “Umm-hmm...” I mumbled around another bite.

  “I can’t wait until you try this tea. It’s a special new blend.” She shoved a pink and green flowered cup toward me.

  I eyed the tea suspiciously. Pepper fancied that she had a way with teas. She was always coming up with special concoctions that she claimed could help fix people’s problems. The problem was, her teas often backfired and had the opposite effect. I didn’t really have any problems that needed fixing at the moment, but you never knew what Pepper might have thought I needed.

  She nibbled a tiny piece from the edge of her scone and noticed my hesitation.

  “Go on. There’s nothing magical about it, it’s just a regular tea. Not all my teas have special properties. Some of them are just for drinking.” She rolled her eyes as if I was being ridiculous to suspect her motives, then she leaned back into the couch. “So, tell me what’s going on over across the street.” She tilted her head towards the photography shop.

  Between finishing up the rest of the scone and drinking the tea, which really was quite good, I filled her in on the whole story, starting with bringing Paisley’s portfolio to the art show judges’ meeting and ending with my recent conversation with Paisley’s ghost.

  Pepper was the only one I’d told about my strange ability to talk to ghosts. I didn’t want people to think I was weird. Luckily, she didn’t think I was weird. In fact, she was fascinated, which was great because I didn’t have anyone else to share that part of my life with and Pepper was always a big help in the investigations that inevitably stemmed from my ghostly experiences.

  “Do you really think it was George?” Pepper’s nose wrinkled when she said his name.

  “He’s my only suspect.” I glanced out the window. “Unless you count Maisie Beardsley.” I’d told Pepper about Maisie’s parting words at the judges’ meeting.

  “Oh, it couldn’t have been Maisie,” Pepper said. “Could it?”

  “I don’t know. Her words weren’t really a threat toward Paisley, they were more a threat about her. At first, I thought it might even be Maisie in there. Like maybe she confronted Paisley and things went bad, but then Paisley’s ghost showed up here and I knew it was her.”

  I noticed the binoculars I had been searching for earlier were on one of the side tables next to the chair. I grabbed them and went over to the picture window. It looked like the police were finishing up inside the photography store. I raised the binoculars to my eyes to get a better view. “We need to find out how Paisley died. That might give us a better idea of who could have done it.”

  “Right. If she was bludgeoned or something, I guess Maisie wouldn’t have had the strength,” Pepper offered.

  “Exactly.” Through the binoculars, I could see Jimmy Ford giving instructions to one of the CSI technicians. Jimmy had been an ally of mine in a previous case. He wasn’t nearly as stingy with the details of a case as Gus was. “Jimmy’s over there. Maybe he’ll come over after he’s done and give us some information.”

  “That would be great.” Paisley sat back in her chair and straightened her cute-as-a-button purple and green plaid skirt. “Jimmy was one of my favorite transformations.”

  I smiled to myself as I continued watching the store with the binoculars. Jimmy had been an awkward and self-conscious young deputy when we met him earlier in the summer. He was like a gangly puppy, eager to prove himself to Gus, and falling all over himself in the process. Despite his eagerness, he was sorely lacking in self-confidence.

  Pepper had made some special teas for him and, over the course of the investigation, Jimmy did gain a lot of confidence and ended up playing a key role in capturing the killer. I figured it was just the added experience that made him more confident, but Pepper thought his transformation should be credited to drinking her tea.

  “So, what’s your plan?” Pepper asked after a few more minutes of me staring out the window.

  Good question.

  “I guess first we need to get some evidence. Of course, Gus was already over here telling me not to meddle, so I’m not sure how I'm going to do that. But Paisley did confirm that she and George were having a fling and he knew that she had pictures, so it makes sense that he would want to get rid of them. That’s what they were arguing about last night.”

  I kept my binoculars trained on the shop, noticing that the techs were starting to pack up now and Jimmy was securing the doors. I wondered how I would get in to snoop around.

  “Would Paisley have kept incriminating pictures of her and George in the shop, though?” Pepper asked as if she was also wondering how I would get into the shop to snoop around.

  Something Paisley had said came back to me. “Maybe not. Paisley said she’d told George she would give him the incriminating photos next time they were at her house.”

  Across the way, I saw Jimmy bend down to look at something on the floor. I pressed closer to the window, but I couldn’t see what he was doing as he was behind Paisley’s counter. I was squinting into the binoculars when suddenly my vision went completely dark.

  I whipped the binoculars from my eyes and came face to face with Eddie Striker. Crap, he'd caught me spying.

  My heart did a little flip in my chest. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to see Striker. His dark hair, strong jaw and mesmerizing eyes were a welcome sight on most days—just not today. Not when I had binoculars trained on the crime scene. Because Striker, the sheriff of a neighboring county, often teamed up with Gus on murder cases and, just like my sister, he took a dim view of me getting involved.

  Striker cracked that charismatic smile and waved his finger back and forth in front of my face while shaking his head. I gave him a smile and put the binoculars down while he walked over to the door and let himself in.

  "Hi, Eddie," Pepper chirped. “How are you?”

  Striker glanced over at the couch and nodded at Pepper. “Never better. How about you?”

  “Great.” She lifted the tea pot. “Would you like some tea?”

  Striker’s eyes narrowed at the teapot. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one suspicious of Pepper’s tea.

  “No, thanks.” His eyes slid over to me. “I saw Miss Nosy over here with the binoculars and figured I’d come over and find out what you two were up to.”

  “Up to?” Pepper plastered an innocent look on her face. “We’re just having some tea and sc
ones. We ate all the scones, otherwise I’d offer you one.”

  Striker came over next to me. He looked down at the binoculars, then out the window at the photography shop, then at my face. “Right. Just scones and tea.”

  I nodded innocently.

  “You guys wouldn’t be thinking about investigating what happened across the street, now, would you?” Striker asked.

  “No, of course not. I was just curious as to what was going on.” I narrowed my eyes at him. “What is going on?”

  Striker laughed. ”You know you can’t fool me that easy, Chance.” He used his nickname for me which was a play on my last name. Striker thought I took a lot of chances. Considering some of the dangerous situations I’d gotten myself into investigating, he might be right. But he didn’t know about my ghostly visits and why I had to take those chances.

  “We were just wondering,” Pepper paused to take a sip of tea and look at him innocently over the rim of her cup. “If the fire was started on purpose or not. It was probably just a terrible accident, right?”

  “Maybe. I couldn’t say either way because it’s an ongoing investigation.” He reached out and wrapped one of my unruly red curls around his finger. “I just wanted to come over and make sure that you ladies knew not to get in the way. If it wasn’t an accident, that means it was murder and a killer is on the loose.” He dropped the curl and his voice turned serious. “And that killer might not like you guys investigating.”

  “We wouldn’t want to anger a killer.” It was lame, but I couldn’t lie to Striker’s face and that was the only truthful thing I could think up to say.

  Striker smirked and stepped back. “Anyway, I have to get back to work but I will see you tonight?” He directed the question at me and I nodded, trying not to seem too enthusiastic.

  The shop door opened again and Jimmy came in. Pepper and I exchanged a disappointed look. It figured he would come in when Striker was here. Now we couldn’t grill him for information.

  “Hey, guys.” Jimmy’s face lit up with a smile. As we exchanged greetings, he sauntered over to the window and leaned down to scratch Pandora. She meowed and stretched lazily. Then he turned to Striker. “We’re pretty much done over there, but I’ll wait until you come in and take a look before I lock up.”