Claws for Celebration

by Linda Reilly

  Gideon opened his desk drawer and retrieved a box of tissues. He pulled one out and pressed it to her cheeks.

  “And let me add this,” he said. “Someday, if we’re living together, I expect cats to be a huge part of our lives. Without them, you wouldn’t be you, you wouldn’t be Lara. And Lara is the woman I fell in love with.”

  “What if you wake up some morning with a cat on your head?”

  Gideon’s eyes twinkled. “Then I wake up some morning with a cat on my head.”

  Lara leaped off her chair and threw her arms around him. “Thank you,” she whispered. A tsunami of sheer relief flooded every nerve in her body.

  “It’s simply the truth,” he said, hugging her.

  She pulled back slightly and put her hands on his chest. “And now, I’m going to let you finish up whatever you were working on.” When he started to protest, she said, “No arguments. I know you, and I know you have stuff to finish. Besides, there’s some research I want to do at the library before it closes.”

  Gideon looked relieved. “I do have to get this P and S overnighted to the seller’s attorney,” he admitted. “And I have to do a cover letter. And I have to send a copy to the broker. What’s your research about? Anything interesting?”

  “Actually, I never had a chance to tell you about it. I found the oddest letter in a library book last week. Wait...I have a picture.” Lara dug her phone from her bag and pulled up the photo she’d taken of the letter.

  Gideon enlarged the pic on her phone. His curious smile morphed into a worried frown. “How about that...another murder,” he murmured, reading the handwritten message. “What’s even stranger is that a cat is involved—and you’re the one who found the letter. I mean, what are the odds, right? Dozens of people must have checked out that book before you did!”

  “Maybe not,” Lara said wryly. “It’s the book I used to find recipes for cat treats. I don’t think it rocked the bestseller charts.”

  “Yeah, but still...” he said with a bewildered look. He shook his head. “Anyway, I don’t suppose there’s much danger in looking into a murder that’s almost thirty years old. But—hey, wait a minute. This letter is dated March 9, 1990. Isn’t that a week after you were born?”

  She should have known his eagle eyes would miss nothing. “Another weird coincidence, right?”

  “Or not,” he said. “Lara, I don’t like this. Too many things about it hit home.” He frowned at her.

  “I had a feeling you might say that,” she said. “Gid, I promise I’ll be extra careful. And like you said, who cares about a murder that old? Even if it really did happen, everyone involved is probably long gone.”

  “I wouldn’t make that assumption,” he said. He tapped a finger to his chin and thought for a long moment. “You know what we need? Some kind of code. Something that’ll let me know if you’re in trouble and need help.”

  Lara suppressed a groan. He was carrying things too far. Yes, she’d encountered two murderers in the past. But how likely was that to happen again?

  Although, she reminded herself, only five months ago Gideon had shown up just in time to help her subdue a killer. That time, however, a certain blue-eyed Ragdoll had made sure Gideon knew she was in trouble.

  “Okay, well, that might not be a bad idea,” Lara said, relenting. She snapped her fingers. “Gideon, I’ve got it. Code Blue.”

  “Code Blue,” Gideon repeated. “How did you think of that?”

  Lara scrambled for an answer. “I had a roommate in art school whose dad was a cardiologist. It’s hospital slang for ‘cardiac arrest...all hands on deck’...or—well, you know what I mean.”

  “I get the drift.” Gideon smiled at her. “Okay, then. Code Blue it is.”

  Lara breathed out a sigh. She hadn’t lied. Her roommate’s dad had been a cardiologist.

  But it was getting harder every day to keep her secret about Blue. It wasn’t a lie so much as an omission, she thought. Which, unfortunately, didn’t make her feel any better about it.

  Right then, Lara promised herself something. If they decided to make their relationship permanent, she would tell him. And if he said she was crazy and dumped her, so be it.

  One thing Gideon hadn’t mentioned—the code system would only work if Lara had quick access to her phone. She decided not to mention it; the less he worried, the better.

  “Hey, before you go, you heard about Daisy, right?” Gideon said.

  “Yup. Aunt Fran told me she’s no longer a suspect. I feel like I can breathe again.”

  Gideon nodded. “The police are lying low on this one. They still believe someone tainted those cookies on purpose. If that’s the case, they want the culprit to feel secure in thinking that someone else will take the heat for the crime. That way he, or she, might relax and make a mistake.”

  “I can’t imagine killing someone and then letting an innocent person take the blame. Then again, I can’t imagine killing someone at all.”

  “Neither can I,” Gideon said. “Lara, I know you’re sick of hearing this, but please, please be—”

  “Careful,” she finished. “I know. And I will. I promise.” She kissed him lightly. “Hey, do you have a bottle of water I can take for the car?”

  “I’ll get one from the fridge. Be back in a sec.”

  The moment he was gone, Lara went over to where the picture of Gideon and his dad sat atop the bookshelf. She held up her phone and took a quick, close-up photo.

  Gideon returned with her water and a plastic bag. “Here’s your water and some peanut butter fudge. More calories for you, fewer for me.”

  Lara opened the bag and sampled a tiny smidgeon of fudge. “Gid, this is delicious—thank you. This will be my dessert tonight.” She resealed the bag and tucked it into her coat pocket.

  They indulged in a rather lengthy goodbye, after which Lara hurried out to her car, slammed the door, and locked herself in.

  From where she’d parked, she could see the downtown block. On both sides of the street, immense plastic snowflakes sat atop the light poles. Wrapped diagonally around the poles were garlands of faux greenery festooned with red bows. The scene made Lara smile, until the red-and-green lights twinkling in the windows of the library reminded her of the letter.

  On the day she was born, someone witnessed a murder. Someone who was afraid to go to the police.

  Someone who also saw the spirit of a blue-eyed cat float off to take care of a new life.

  Lara started the car, shifted into gear, and headed over to the library.

  Chapter 22

  Lara was surprised at how many workstations were occupied in the library’s microfiche room. At least five of the occupants were teenagers, probably doing research for a school project. Most looked bored, but a few stared at their monitors as if they were witnessing an alien spacecraft landing.

  Edith Daniels, her spectacles hanging around her neck on a multicolored chain, directed Lara to the area where newspapers from all over the state were stored. She pointed a gnarled finger at the gray metal shelves resting against the rear wall. “The year you’re looking for is 1990? Well, now, isn’t that interesting. Another young gal was in here a few days ago looking for the same year. Same newspaper, too.”

  “That was probably my friend Kayla. She was helping me out.”

  Edith nodded sagely. “Then I gather she didn’t find what you needed.”

  “She found some obituaries, but I don’t think they were the right ones. The thing is, we don’t know the exact name.” Or the name at all. “We know the date of death, though. Isn’t it strange that the obit wouldn’t have been published within two or three days of that?”

  “No, in fact, it’s not,” Edith said, leading Lara over to one of the free microfiche stations. “Why don’t you put your jacket on the chair, dear. That way no one will steal the machine while you’re looking for
the reel you want. As I was saying, the publication of obituaries can get delayed for various reasons. Sometimes, the family doesn’t want to publish until they’re sure the deceased’s loved ones have all been notified. Can you imagine returning from a ski vacation, opening the newspaper, and finding out that dear old Uncle Rudy died while you were away?”

  Lara removed her jacket and draped it over the back of the chair. “Did that actually happen?”

  “It did, although I changed the name to protect the innocent.” Her faded blue eyes twinkled over an amused smile. “If I were you, I’d search for at least a month after the date of death. Just to be sure you don’t miss it.”

  “Thanks. That helps a lot.”

  “And if you make any copies, tell Ellie you used machine seven.”

  “Will do,” Lara promised.

  Edith toddled off to help another patron. Lara set her tote on her chair and went over to peruse the rows of microfiche reels. The print on the labels was tiny—and sideways. Her eyes were nearly crossed when she found the one she wanted. The label read: February 23, 1990 –April 3, 1990.

  Lara sat down and shoved the reel into the microfiche reader. She did a fast-forward to March 2, 1990—the known date of death—and went from there. She retraced Kayla’s steps, though she felt sure she hadn’t missed anything. Kayla was a stickler for detail.

  The job was more tedious than she thought it would be. Stop, read, go forward. Stop, read, go forward—until she was sure her eyeballs were going to pop out of her skull. And since she didn’t know the name of the deceased, the task was even harder. She’d just squelched a massive yawn when an obituary jumped out at her. She clapped a hand over her mouth. Oh my Lord, she mouthed through her fingers.

  The newspaper was dated March 19, 1990. The deceased: Eugenia Kay Thryce, nee Vigeant.

  Date of death: March 2, 1990.

  Thryce!

  Heart pounding in her ears, Lara scanned the obituary. Eugenia, age 82, died at Pine Hollow Nursing Home in Whisker Jog on March 2, 1990.

  Pine Hollow.

  That sounded familiar. Where had she heard it recently?

  She continued reading through the obit.

  Eugenia was survived by her grandson, Todd Thryce, and her son, Tate Thryce. Her other son, Holland Thryce, Jr., and her husband, Holland Thryce—philanthropist and founder of The Bakers Thryce—had both predeceased her.

  The remainder of the obit blurred before Lara’s eyes. How did Holland Thryce’s widow end up dying in a nursing home? Surely she’d had the means to be cared for at home? Even if she’d required nurses around the clock, the family hadn’t exactly been struggling to make ends meet.

  Lara swallowed. She perused the rest quickly. The obit went on to cite numerous charities with which Eugenia had been involved. Children’s hospitals, cancer research groups, and her parish church had all benefited from her generosity. It was the last one that made Lara’s breath halt in her throat.

  Eugenia was also a frequent contributor to charities for homeless cats. Her own cat, Angelica, was her source of inspiration as well as her constant companion.

  There was no mention of a cat being with her when she died. But then, why would there be? She died in a nursing home.

  Lara pressed the button to copy the page with the obituary. Once she got home she could read it again, slowly and more thoroughly. She slipped her arms through her jacket, then reached over to retrieve the copy from the output tray. A black nose attached to a golden head suddenly plopped into her lap. The nose sniffed her pocket, and a furry paw clawed at her jacket. “Oh my gosh!”

  “Sorry, so sorry.” A young woman with a nervous look, a dark braid trailing down her back, tugged at the dog’s halter. “Lucy Goosey, you know better than that. We don’t help ourselves to people’s pockets.”

  Lara patted her pocket and laughed. She’d forgotten that the peanut butter fudge was in there! She pulled it out and showed it to the woman. The dog, a gorgeous golden retriever, eyed it hungrily. “No wonder she was curious. I’m sure she smelled the peanut butter.”

  “Again, I’m so sorry,” the woman said. “Lucy is my therapy dog—I’m an epileptic. She’s still in training, but she sure does love her treats.”

  “She’s fine,” Lara said. “May I pet her?”

  The woman grinned. “Oh, she’d love that. Scratch between her ears and you’ll be her buddy for life.”

  With two fingers, Lara rubbed the golden fur between Lucy’s ears. The dog’s liquid brown eyes gazed up at her with pure adoration. “She’s beautiful,” Lara said. “I’d give her a piece of fudge, but I’m sure it isn’t good for her.”

  The young woman reached into the pocket of her corduroy slacks. “Here, give her this.” She handed Lara a dog cookie shaped like a mailperson.

  Lara fed the dog treat to Lucy. The dog swallowed it in one gulp and swished her golden tail, then began to whine.

  “What’s wrong, Lucy?” her owner cooed. She tightened her grip on the nylon leash attached to the retriever’s halter.

  Lucy tugged at it and whined even louder, jerking the leash away from her owner.

  “Stop that, Lucy,” the woman scolded, then looked at Lara. “She probably has to pee. I’d better take her outside. It was nice meeting you!”

  Lara waved goodbye with a confused smile, then removed her copy from the machine.

  Another furry face gazed up at her—this one with turquoise eyes. Lara jumped. She understood now what had alarmed Lucy.

  “You frightened that poor dog, you know,” she whispered to Blue.

  Blue reached up and clawed at the obituary, then sat and stared directly into Lara’s eyes.

  “This is the right one, isn’t it?” Lara said softly.

  Blue blinked, then lowered her head to her forepaws.

  Lara glanced around. Seated at one of the microfiche machines, a curly-haired teenage boy gawked at her as if she’d grown a second head. She gave him a disarming smile, shoved the obituary into her tote, and scurried off to the front desk to pay.

  * * * *

  “Find what you were looking for?” Ellie Croteau said flatly, with an air of clear disinterest.

  “I think so.” For once Lara was grateful that Ellie wasn’t the nosy type. She didn’t want anyone to know whose obituary she’d copied.

  “Let’s see. You were at machine number seven, right? That’ll be fifty cents for the copy.”

  Lara dug two quarters out of the change purse she kept in her tote.

  “Need a receipt?”

  “Yes, please.” Lara hoisted her tote back onto her shoulder.

  “Lara?” A voice from behind startled her.

  She swerved to see Whisker Jog High School’s principal standing behind her.

  “Oh, hi...Andy Casteel, right?” She took the receipt from Ellie, then slid over to one side so he could check out the book he was clutching—the latest Dean Koontz thriller, Lara noticed. She herself was on the library’s waiting list for it. Judging from its popularity, Aunt Fran’s tulips would be poking through the ground before she’d ever get the chance to read it.

  The barest hint of a woodsy aftershave wafted over Lara. Casteel set the book on the counter and gave Ellie his library card. “It’s certainly nice seeing you again. So, you’re friends with Gideon Halley.”

  Something about his tone irritated Lara. Was he fishing? Trying to find out how close she was with Gideon? She stepped slightly away from him. “That I am,” she said. “He mentioned that you’re the principal at Whisker Jog High. That must be a stressful job.”

  Casteel nodded a quick thank you at Ellie, then took his card and snatched up the book. He moved away from the counter, then stopped and peered down at Lara from a height of at least six feet three. His sheer bulk, along with his shock of white hair and piercing gaze, made Lara wonder if his students were intimida
ted by him.

  He laughed, displaying a mouthful of overwhitened teeth. “I guess it is, but I’ve been doing it for so long I don’t notice anymore. Just part of the daily routine.”

  “Still, it must have been so horrible when that poor woman died at the cookie contest Saturday. Not that it had anything to do with the school,” she added quickly, “but I heard Miss Plouffe used to teach there.”

  Andy looked at Lara for a long moment, as if he were memorizing her features. “The school is cooperating with the police in every way possible. Naturally, if Gladys’s sad death was not a tragic accident, we want to get to the bottom of it.”

  His spiel sounded too careful, as if he’d practiced it, Lara thought. “Mr. Casteel—”

  “It’s Andy,” he said. “I hope you don’t mind that I called you Lara.” Again, the bright white smile.

  “No, not at all. Andy, do you think we could chat for a few minutes? Something’s been bothering me a lot. Now that I’ve run into you, I’m hoping you can help clear up a few things for me.”

  Andy’s jaw tensed slightly, as if he were debating with himself. Then his face relaxed, and he said, “Certainly, Lara. I’d be glad to answer any questions I can, so long as confidentiality isn’t required.”

  It sounded like he was hedging, but Lara would take what she could get. “Of course. I understand.”

  Andy glanced around the library. “I’m just trying to see if there’s a free table. Oh—there’s one over in the periodical area no one’s using. Shall we grab it?” He held out one bear-like arm in the direction of the magazine section.

  “Oh, sure, that would be great. Thanks.”

  Lara went ahead of him into the periodical area. The table was in an alcove of sorts, which made it perfect for a private discussion. She draped her tote over the back of a chair and sat down. Library patrons occupied the remaining three tables. They tapped away at laptops or flipped through magazines.

  Andy set his Koontz book on the table, then sat facing her. “Now, what can I help you with, Lara?”