Dad realized what I was thinking and clapped my shoulder. “I think we cracked this case. The heat’s getting Dudley down. His flat nose and smaller air passages make the heat extra hard on him. It’s good that Dudley’s an indoor baby, but this breed needs somewhere to cool off regularly. Maybe there’s a place in your home where you can keep a fan running for him. When you go outside to garden, be sensitive. These guys are prone to heat stroke. If he seems down, let him inside. Some little changes will make a big difference. Do this and Dudley should be back to himself in no time.”
Mr. Fisher nuzzled his puppy. “So he’s not sick? He’s going to be fine?”
“I didn’t see anything to worry about, and the heat would explain his lethargy and loss of appetite,” Dad said. “You can feed him boiled chicken for a day or two if you’d like. Give me a call if he doesn’t turn around, but I expect all good things.”
“Thank you.” Mr. Fisher gave Dad a one-armed hug, smooshing Dudley between them.
We followed him to the driveway and waved at his retreating taillights. My sandals dangled on fingertips behind my back.
Dad gave me a once-over and scratched his head. “That was a solid deduction. I’m not sure if it’s age or fatigue, but I miss the obvious more and more, always seeking some deep-rooted malignancy.” He turned both palms skyward and laughed. “Heat.”
“Occam’s razor.” I mentally mocked Detective Oliver’s obnoxious voice.
He nodded. “It’s not too late to join the family practice.”
“I’m barefoot.” If there were a place in the world record book for most consecutive bad first impressions, I’d easily hold it.
“I’m sure he didn’t notice. You delivered fantastic news. That’s what he’ll remember.”
I gave him a disbelieving smile. “No more school for me. Besides, I like what I do, and I owe my left kidney to the student loan people already.”
“Wow. Fannie Mae’s gotten tough on repayment terms. Very specific, too.”
“Ha ha.”
Dad laughed.
I collapsed into a rocker beside his office door and slid my shoes on. “Mr. Tater dropped by to see me today. He wants to distance his name from the murder. If the police haven’t found the real killer before the lease comes due, he won’t make the next payment, and I’m up a proverbial creek.”
Dad lowered into the rocker beside mine. “Well, that’s unfortunate. What will you do?”
“I’ll take on as many side jobs as I can for extra cash this month.” Assuming anyone would let me work for them. “Maybe I can make the payments until things blow over. I still have two weeks this month.”
“Let me help you. I’ll make the lease payment.”
“No.”
“Then let me make your student loan payments so you can concentrate on the lease.”
“No.”
“Lacy, really.” He frowned. “Your education was my responsibility. No one asked you to take out those loans. At least let me help until you get this straightened out.”
“Nope. I’d agreed to go to Mom’s alma mater and study medicine. Once I changed schools and majors, I took over the debt.”
“That’s nonsense. Now you’re just being stubborn. You’re only punishing yourself.”
“I’m not punishing anyone. I’m being my own woman. Standing on my own two feet.”
“How’s that working for you?”
I huffed and let my head drop against the back of the chair. “Awesome.”
Lilies and cone flowers swayed in the mulch along the walkway. Flowers were a feast for the eye this time of year in the Garden District, but it was hard to enjoy them with the collapse of my business looming.
Dad’s warm hand fell on my arm. “Let us help you.”
“I’m not taking any more money from you. You’re preparing for retirement. You should be saving your money. I have a thousand years of work ahead of me. I’ll handle it one way or another.”
Dad leaned forward in his chair, bracing forearms on knees. “I hate to break it to you, sweetie, but you’re an only child. The kingdom is all yours eventually.”
“Don’t talk like that. You’re going to live forever. Mom, too.”
“Well then, I’m definitely not retiring anytime soon. I’ve got to stay busy or your mother will put me to work at her parties.”
A large delivery van pulled into the driveway beside my car. A man in white coveralls jumped down from the driver’s seat and turned the pages on his clipboard. “Mrs. Crocker?” He approached me with a skip in his step.
I pointed to Dad.
“See what I mean?” He scribbled on the line and returned the clipboard.
The man tipped his hat, and men in matching white ensembles unloaded stacks of chairs and folding tables from the truck.
Dad pointed to the house. “Take them in through the back.” He pushed onto his feet. “Speaking of parties, we’re having a completely casual gathering tonight. A midnight chocolates-and-wine fiasco. One where I have to wear a tie and entertain all the other husbands who don’t want to be here.”
“Sounds fun.”
“You should come. It’d mean a lot to your mother.”
Guilt flooded through me. I loved Mom but hated her parties. “I would, but I can’t. I’ve got a ton of work to do.”
Dad watched with furrowed brows as men hauled linens and glassware into his house. When the back door snapped shut, he drifted his gaze back to mine. “You might meet a nice young man from a good family.”
I covered my eyes with my fingers. “Et tu, Brute?”
“I’m just saying, don’t mark all men as the devil because of one moron’s actions. Pete was the exception, not the rule.”
“Got it.” I dropped my hands into my lap.
“Your mother and I just want you to find someone who makes you happy. We don’t want you to be alone one day when we aren’t here anymore.”
“Well, thank you for your love and concern, but I’m already happy.” I wrenched myself upright. “Tell Mom I wanted to stay for dinner, but I need to work on Mrs. Neidermeyer’s tutus, make a plan for paying next month’s lease, and solve a murder. Busy, busy, busy.”
Dad rubbed his forehead. “Don’t step on Jack’s toes. Our relationship will only go so far to get you out of an obstruction charge.”
“Everyone keeps throwing that threat around. Obstruction. Interference. Aren’t you supposed to tell me I shouldn’t look into this? I should stay safe. Batten down the hatches. Yada yada yada.”
“Probably.” His apologetic grin said it all. I got my insatiable curiosity honestly. From him.
I kissed Dad good-bye and cut through the flow of delivery men to my car. It was nice that my folks didn’t want me to be alone, but I had enough problems already without adding another.
* * *
The scenery changed quickly on my way home. Majestic nineteenth-century mansions morphed into the squat strips of housing that made Uptown the unique and lively place I loved.
I slid my car against the curb and zipped inside, locking the door behind me. My place was a classic shotgun home built to house workers in the early 1900s. Like all the others, it was designed to be dull, drab, and utilitarian. Honestly, the architects should have known better. This city didn’t believe in any of those things. Nowadays, the shotguns on my street were brightly painted, renovated, updated, and generally bedazzled into unique blends of art and history. One day I’d have enough money to do more than paint and hang art. Until then, I considered the aging light fixtures and stained floorboards part of the cultural experience.
My phone sprang to life with the unmistakable sounds of Psycho’s shower scene. Pete-the-Cheat was calling. I fumbled for my phone and rejected the call. My heart hammered stupidly. Pete had left bundles of messages in March and April, but I never returned them. By May, he’d called fewer than once a week. Even fewer in June. This was his first call in July, and the month was halfway gone. I’d heard it all. He was sorry. He wante
d to make amends, return some of my forgotten things, and apologize in person. I didn’t want to see him. I couldn’t picture his face without recalling his secret double life, his other girlfriend, and the fact he’d only asked me out as part of a long con for my family’s money. Whether he’d eventually cared for me or not was irrelevant, and keeping a second girlfriend was a solid indication he hadn’t. I dropped my phone onto the coffee table and groaned. Unless one of the things he wanted to return was Penelope, I had no interest in him or his hearty line of BS.
I poured a tall glass of ice water over lemon slices and stewed. The Barrel Room waitress had served up Miguel’s friends, and all I needed to do was go back at closing and talk to them.
I stacked tutu materials on the couch and curled onto the cushion beside them. I folded and cut sections of tulle while trying not to acknowledge my laptop on the end table. No time for the computer. I had work to do. First, I needed to create one perfect sample tutu. Then I could do research until dawn if I wanted.
I unrolled seven lengths of hot-pink ribbon and elastic.
Mrs. Neidermeyer was in the studio when Miguel came in. She’d called him a derelict. His friends called him Tony. Detective Oliver called him Anthony Caprioni from New Jersey.
I grabbed my laptop. “I’ll do one quick search, but that’s it.” I typed Anthony Caprioni into the search engine. Dozens of articles came up.
He was a thief.
I scrolled through page after page, then checked the criminal justice site in his old county. Anthony Caprioni had a record twenty counts long. It started when he was eighteen, and I was willing to bet there was a sealed juvenile record before that. Probably a lifestyle he’d developed young. Statistically speaking, if he’d been arrested so many times, there was likely an iceberg of things he’d gotten away with hiding beneath the surface. That, or he was the world’s worst criminal.
Miguel had cased my store. He’d asked about the products. He must’ve known I didn’t have anything with significant resale value. Surely, a life of crime had given him a more discerning eye. His latest arrest was in relation to a diamond heist. Alarm bells screamed in my head. A jewel thief! A few searches of the local paper around the time of his arrest revealed Miguel had had a partner in the crime but rolled on him for a reduced sentence. The phrase “no honor among thieves” came to mind.
I rubbed my temples and shoved the laptop away. Miguel stole diamonds. It was highly likely he’d been involved in the local jewel heists.
Even so, I ran a pet studio. So why’d he break in that night? What did he want? Not jewels. Could he have also been a thug for hire?
A shiver raised gooseflesh on my arms. What if that smoothie on my window wasn’t a random act of vandalism? What if this was about me after all?
Chapter Six
Furry Godmother’s quick tip: Sunshine is an excellent source of vitamin D and inside information.
I squinted into bright midday sun, soaking vitamin D into my skin and sucking the caffeine from a jumbo iced latte into my slumping system. I’d slipped out for coffee after Paige arrived. Another restless night had left me shuffling squint-eyed around the shop by noon. Nothing a little caffeine couldn’t cure, I hoped. Magazine Street was my favorite part of the Garden District. Miles of hip and artsy shops stretched in either direction, lively and chic, inviting and invigorating. If anything could get my blood pumping, it was a few minutes on the brightly painted bench outside my studio. That and the frozen coffee melting in my cup. Wind whipped through my hair, tussling the strands and throwing away the sleepless night. The rich scents of freshly fried foods at a restaurant three doors down mingled with the sweet aroma of flowers in storefront window boxes.
I took another pull on the big green straw as I admired my window display. I’d been up until dawn reading every article I could find on Miguel, poring over his social media accounts and trying fruitlessly to deduce the reason he’d come to Furry Godmother. The most I had to offer him was a connection to my family’s money, but he was a thief, not a kidnapper. I might’ve had more information to work with if I hadn’t let Detective Oliver get under my skin. I’d considered returning to the Barrel Room a dozen times before midnight, but each time, the detective’s smug face came to mind, warning me to stay away from his investigation. That man was looking for a reason to cuff me.
I shook the cup and exhaled defeat. What I had were too many questions and a looming lease payment I couldn’t afford. I’d noodled myself cockeyed hoping for an epiphany and still had nothing.
Paige bounced into view, and I jumped.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
I managed a limp smile. “I was concentrating.”
She settled on the bench at my side. “How are you?”
“Befuddled.”
“Oh, well, you look pretty.”
“Thanks.”
She crossed long, thin legs and locked her fingers over one knee. “I miss it here when I’m away at school. Did you?”
“Every day.”
“I can never explain it right to my friends. They don’t have places like this in their lives. They aren’t attached to their hometowns in weird, dysfunctional, codependent ways like me.”
“Like us,” I corrected. “You have to grow up here to understand, I think.”
“Yeah. Did you know this street has always been my favorite? To me, Magazine Street is like if the French Quarter and Grandma’s fancy social circle had a really cool baby.”
I shook my coffee and pumped the straw. “Agreed.” My tummy gurgled. “How’s it going in there?” It felt like lunchtime and frozen coffee wasn’t making the cut.
“Good. The gawkers thinned out. Still no sales. I came to see if you want to set up a new window display while it’s quiet. Do you have a design consultation?”
I checked my watch. “Not until three.” I shot to my feet on a caffeine and New Orleans high. My petal-pink maxi dress billowed around my ankles, a striking contrast to Paige’s white pleated miniskirt and navy cap sleeve blouse. “Let’s change the display.”
“Excellent.” She hopped up beside me. “I finished taking the old one down.”
Cool studio air shocked my skin into goose bumps and added spring to my step. I inhaled the yeasty aromas of fresh-baked pawlines and gave silent thanks for an evening of insomnia. I’d lost a second night’s sleep wondering what really happened to Miguel, but I’d gotten ahead on the daily baking. My display was full, and there were enough treats in the freezer to last a week.
Paige hefted a box of discarded items from the Alice in Wonderland display. “What will it be this time?”
“Let me check the stockroom for inspiration.” I grabbed the box and headed to the back.
The empty window was a canvas awaiting a masterpiece. The new display should stop pedestrians in their tracks and beckon them inside, hopefully to spend some money. “Something divine,” I whispered to the shelves and piles of beautiful materials. “Ah ha.” I gathered bags of white fiberfill, bolts of blue chiffon, and a caddy of glitter with my spare sprayer.
I floated back to the front, dropped my caddy on the counter, and faced off with the empty window.
Paige uploaded digital photos of the gowns I’d created for a Weimaraner wedding at Jackson Square on Monday and saved them to my computer.
I lined the window in chiffon and doused it in tufts of fiberfill for a heavenly backdrop, stretching and puffing the latter into soft, cloudlike forms.
“How’d you get all these puppies to endure formal wear?” Paige asked.
“Magic.” I gathered the line of undressed animal mannequins from the previous display and arranged them in the faux clouds.
“Yeah, right.”
“I sprayed the pieces with perfume so they weren’t interested in chewing them off.” Also, I kept a generous pocket full of treats. I’d learned that secret from Dad. All tricks aside, my patience was long, and that was the key to everything. “Can you toss me the glitter and sprayer?
”
“What color?”
“Silver for clouds and angel wings. Gold for the harps and halos.” I strapped small white wings on the naked pet forms.
Paige moseyed over with the glitter caddy and leaned against the wall. “I don’t like it.”
My hands froze on a cat statue. “Why not? It’s pretty.”
“They’re angels.”
I snorted. “You don’t like angels?”
“Not these. It looks like all those pets died and went to heaven.”
“They’re supposed to be guardian angels.” I eyed the blooming display. She was right. I stripped the wings and shook my head. “I’m off my game.”
“Head in the clouds?”
“Ha.”
She left the glitter on the windowsill and went back to the computer. “You’re the artist. I might be wrong.”
“You’re not. It’s me and this day.” I pulled handfuls of clouds away from the soft-blue backdrop. “I could do a fairy theme.” The wheels of creativity spun reluctantly into motion again. “No. Scratch that. Let’s do a garden theme. I can put red gnome hats on the bunnies, bring in some wooden flowers and make a faux pond with iridescent gift wrap, add some pretty stones and turtles in tiaras. Paige, you’re a genius.”
“That’s what they tell me.”
“Humble too.” I gathered the excess fiberfill into my arms and fisted a group of unnecessary wings. “I’m going to restock this and make a few gnome hats for those bunny statues. Shout if you need me. I might have to dig for some decent toadstool materials.”
She gave me a salute and went back to scanning my digital pictures.
A dizzying carousel of ideas spun through my mind as I unloaded my arms and searched for perfect accessories.
The phone rang, and I fell into my chair’s waiting embrace. “Hello?”
“Mrs. Crocker?” a strange voice chirped across the line. “This is Maddie Graves from National Bank. You left a message about a business loan?”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. I’d forgotten about the desperate late-night calls I’d made to loan officers. “Yes. Hi. It’s Miss Crocker.” I gave Maddie the run down on my debt, income, and immediate need. She gave me the boot, unless I could find a cosigner.
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