Petal to the Metal

by Annabel Chase

  Ophelia licked her paws and tossed me a lazy look. Nope. She wasn’t buying what I was selling.

  I tossed the catnip into the crate to see if that enticed her. When that failed, I resorted to the internet for answers. According to the many, many videos on YouTube, cats were afraid of cucumbers, although I didn’t see how that would help me. I’d have to get the cat close enough to the crate that she’d leap backward into it to get away from the cucumber and I didn’t think I could orchestrate that exact outcome.

  A quick glance at the phone told me time was running out. I didn’t want to risk being late and miss the appointment.

  “Beggars can’t be choosers,” I said.

  Grabbing the blanket from the back of the couch, I pounced on the cat like I was a fireman putting out flames. I wrapped it firmly around her whole body to prevent her claws and teeth from doing further damage.

  I lifted the cat burrito and lugged it to the crate, stuffing the bundle inside and locking the door. Ophelia quickly shook off the blanket and glared at me resentfully.

  “It’s for your own good,” I said.

  The cat seemed unconvinced, yowling in protest.

  I carried the crate outside, trying not to give myself a hernia in the process. I set down the crate in front of the scooter. Was this really how my elderly aunt got around town before her eyesight began to fail?

  I fastened the crate to the basket with two black bungee cords I found in the shed. That ramshackle building was a treasure trove of seemingly useless items, as the police were discovering.

  “As long as I don’t hit any speed bumps, we should be good,” I told the cat. She fixed her green eyes on me with a pleading expression and I couldn’t discern whether it was the crate or the scooter that was the cause of her concern. Probably both. I got the impression that Ophelia liked roaming freely and didn’t want to be tethered to anything.

  I affixed the helmet to my head and heaved a sigh of resignation. I was about to discover whether helmet hair was a real thing.

  I straddled the seat and started the scooter, hopeful that the weight of the crate didn’t create too much of an imbalance. I wish I’d had more time to practice driving it before I placed another life in my hands. Granted, the ornery cat was probably fifty years old, but still.

  How long did cats live? Another question for the vet.

  Once I drove onto the main road, I tried to increase the speed, but the scooter seemed resistant.

  Did this thing go over thirty miles per hour?

  A pickup truck drove behind me, the driver beeping his horn. Thanks to the narrow and curvy nature of the road, this section was rightfully a no-passing zone. That being said, there was nothing I could do to go faster. I couldn’t exactly floor it on a scooter.

  He honked again, this time with more hostility. Part of me wanted to pull over and let him pass, despite the absence of a shoulder. The New Yorker in me, however, was a little more spiteful. I continued puttering along and ignored the urgent blare of the horn. His patience eventually wore out and he hit the gas. He made sure to flip me off as he passed me. I would’ve returned the gesture, but I was terrified of letting go.

  Who said life was more laidback in the country?

  I was relieved when I finally reached the vet’s office. It was a short, squat red brick building with a decent-sized parking lot attached to it. I parked as close as I could get to the entrance. The fewer steps I had to lug the heavy crate, the better.

  There was a young woman behind the counter with blue hair and a nose ring. “Can I help you?”

  “Hi, I’m Mia Thorne and this is Ophelia.” I tapped the crate with my foot, unwilling to lift it again. “We have an appointment with Dr. Warren.”

  The young woman behind the counter leaned over the counter for a look at the cat. “Hazel’s Ophelia?”

  “That’s right.”

  She slid back into her chair and eyed me. “You’ve adopted Ophelia?”

  “Sort of. Hazel was my dad’s aunt. She left me her house and everything in it, including the cat.”

  She gave me an appraising look. “May the Force be with you.”

  That wasn’t exactly encouraging. “You work at the vet’s office. I thought you were supposed to like cats.”

  “I like cats the way parents love all their children equally.”

  I squinted at her. “I’m an only child so I don’t know how to interpret that.”

  “You can go ahead back to the first room on the left,” she said. “Dr. Warren will be with you in a few minutes.”

  “There’s no concierge service?” I asked.

  The blue-haired woman threw me a confused glance. “A what service?”

  “No doorman? Bellhop? Someone to carry the crate to the room? To be honest, I was expecting someone to meet me outside.”

  She threw her head back and chortled. “That’s a new one.”

  I looked down at the crate and heaved a sigh. If I threw my back out, I was withholding all future catnip as payback.

  I bent with my knees like one of my former trainers taught me and shuffled to the exam room with the crate. I lowered the crate to the floor and slid it across the linoleum floor with my foot.

  I dropped into a chair and glanced into the crate to check on Ophelia. Just because we weren’t best friends didn’t mean I wanted anything to be wrong with her. I wasn’t a complete monster.

  “How’s it going in there?”

  Ophelia hissed with a ferocity that made me jump. I straightened as a woman with light brown hair cut in a bob entered the room. I noticed that she wore protective gloves.

  “Hello, I’m Dr. Warren. I understand you have Ophelia with you today.”

  “That’s right. I’m Mia Thorne. Hazel was my father’s aunt.”

  “We were so sorry to hear about her passing,” Dr. Warren said. “She was a favorite here.”

  “She may have been, but I’m guessing not so much the cat.”

  Dr. Warren’s smile was tight. “What brings you in today?”

  “I need to get her tested for a bacterial disease. She bit me and scratched someone else and the woman she scratched has…” I struggled to remember the correct term. “Zoology disease.”

  “Zoonotic disease,” Dr. Warren corrected me. She stooped down and opened the crate, prompting another hiss from Ophelia.

  “Yes. They think it might be Pasteurella multocida.” I pronounced the words carefully.

  “Okay, we can run a test for that.”

  She lifted the cat and carried her to the exam table.

  “Do you wear those gloves for all the animals?”

  Dr. Warren smiled. “Only the most special ones.”

  “So, how old is Ophelia anyway?”

  “We don’t know for sure. Somewhere around twenty, we think. It’s amazing that she’s lived this long without too many complications, given her size.”

  I gazed at the volcano of a cat, her fur spread on the table like molten lava. “Should I put her on a diet or something?”

  Dr. Warren laughed. “We’ve certainly recommended it over the years, but if Hazel wasn’t successful, I’m not sure you’re up to the task.”

  “Then you have no idea how much longer she might live?” I realized how awful that question must sound to the vet. I’d only just inherited her and already I was counting the days until I might be free of her.

  Dr. Warren gave me a sympathetic look. “I understand it must be difficult for you. No experience with animals and suddenly you’re thrust into a relationship with a particularly challenging cat. Ophelia knows her own mind, no doubt about that.”

  “I’m not sure why she bit me, to be honest. I was working in the garden and she just attacked.”

  Dr. Warren smiled. “She wanted your attention.”

  “Well, she got it.” If it hadn’t been for Ophelia biting me, I wouldn’t have made the gruesome discovery.

  The realization jolted me. I zoned out while Dr. Warren handled the cat with the help
of an assistant, thinking about the cat tearing through the garden directly to the location of Gladys’s body.

  “All done, Miss Thorne,” the vet said, breaking into my thoughts. “We’ll let you know when get the results.”

  “Thanks.” I paused. “So, I’ve been trying to get a picture of Aunt Hazel’s life—friends and people she interacted with on a regular basis. Would you be any help with that?” It stood to reason that whoever killed Gladys had a connection to both the victim and Aunt Hazel, otherwise, why would they have been on the property in the first place?

  Dr. Warren placed the cat back in the crate and locked the door. “I have a fairly limited viewpoint, but I can tell you that she only had two people here with Ophelia once she stopped driving on her own. One was her friend Gladys and one was her housekeeper.”

  “Housekeeper?” I repeated. It didn’t occur to me that Aunt Hazel would’ve had a housekeeper. I’d wrongfully assumed that the help she rejected for the garden extended to the house.

  “Well, more like a cleaning lady. Nothing fancy. Casey Schultz. I only know because Casey cleans my sister’s house, too.”

  “Any idea where I can find her?”

  “Not offhand, but I can get her number for you before you leave.”

  “Thanks, that would be great.”

  “You can take Ophelia to the front desk and I’ll meet you out front.”

  I returned to the waiting area and Dr. Warren appeared a minute later with a slip of paper. “She drives around in a Ford Focus with the name of her company painted on the side, so if you see a bright blue car with ‘Scrubs’ written on it, that’s her.”

  “Thanks for the tip.” I tucked the number into my purse and the receptionist handed me the bill.

  I nearly choked at the amount. “Holy cow. You know I only brought in one cat, right?” For this amount of money, it seemed like I should’ve brought in an entire litter.

  The receptionist didn’t flinch. “Will that be cash or credit?”

  “Definitely credit.” I dug into my purse and produced my wallet. “I thought you were supposed to increase your money with an inheritance, not lose it.”

  “Pets are expensive,” the receptionist said matter-of-factly. “If you can’t afford them, you shouldn’t have them.”

  I gave her a sharp look. “Firstly, Ophelia is not a pet. She’s a feline companion. Secondly, I didn’t choose her, but she came with the house and I’m certainly not going to cast her out of the only home she’s ever known.” Red Clover was large enough for the both of us.

  The receptionist dropped her gaze to the desk. “Sorry, I didn’t mean anything by it. It’s just that I see a lot of folks adopting animals and then being surprised by the cost involved. Sometimes they end up giving the animal over to a shelter and it breaks my heart.”

  My gaze drifted to Ophelia curled up in the crate. What if I hadn’t come to claim my inheritance? What would’ve happened to the aging and ornery cat? I couldn’t imagine anyone would be quick to adopt her.

  Some things were best not contemplated.

  “No hard feelings,” I said to the receptionist. “I totally understand where you’re coming from.” She probably saw a lot more than she cared to from her place at the vet’s office, too.

  She swiped the credit card through the machine, her lips forming a thin line. “I’m glad Ophelia found someone willing to take her on. She’s not the easiest cat in the world.”

  “Well, I’m not the easiest woman in the world.” Unless you spoke to my college boyfriend. Jay would have an entirely different opinion after one unfortunate incident involving his roommate and a bottle of tequila. In my defense, his roommate was a foreign exchange student to whom Jay insisted that I ‘be nice.’ Needless to say, the relationship didn’t make it to graduation.

  The bark of a dog drew my attention to the door. I was glad Ophelia was in the crate because she undoubtedly would’ve launched herself at the black and white Great Dane in a fight for dominance. I was so distracted by the dog that I failed to notice its owner.

  “Mia?”

  My chin jerked up into the Caribbean eyes of Dane Fairfax. He wore a classic grey suit with a white shirt and a black tie.

  “Hi.” I momentarily lost the power of speech at the sight of the handsome lawyer.

  “I’m glad I ran into you. I heard about poor Gladys Spencer. Such bad luck.”

  “It’s awful,” the receptionist interjected. “Is Willow ready?”

  “Your dog’s name is Willow?” I asked. “She’s beautiful.”

  He stroked the dog’s back. “She certainly is.” He handed the leash to the assistant who appeared in the waiting area.

  “We’ll have her back out to you in a few minutes,” the assistant said and guided the dog into a back room.

  “She’s just here for a shot,” Dane said. “Otherwise, I’d go back with her.”

  “Do you have a Great Dane because of your name?” I asked.

  He laughed. “I don’t know. Maybe that’s what drew me to them initially, but Willow is a great dog.”

  “A gentle giant, right?”

  “That’s what they say.”

  “I saw your brother this morning,” I said.

  He flinched. “This morning?”

  “The cops are searching my property,” I quickly explained.

  “Oh, right.” He appeared to relax. “How are you settling in?”

  “Outside of being a murder suspect, you mean? Not too bad.” I opted not to mention the seance.

  “Have you been cleared? My brother said the autopsy shows Gladys died before you came to town.”

  “I gave him the stub of my train ticket with the date I arrived.”

  “Good, good.” He rocked back and forth on his heels and I felt like there was more he wanted to say. “Do you need help carrying the crate outside?”

  “Would you mind? She’s heavier than she looks.” Who was I kidding? She was actually heavier than she looked.

  “No problem.” He bent down to lift the crate and I could see from his expression that he’d underestimated the weight.

  I ran ahead to get the door for him and he settled the crate in the basket.

  “You want me to do the bungee cords?” he asked. “I can basically do any kind of knot you need.”

  “Boy Scout?”

  He offered a shy smile. “Made it all the way to Eagle Scout.”

  Naturally.

  “Before you go, I was thinking maybe we could plan to get dinner one night this week. Help you sample the local fare.”

  My heart skipped a beat. “You’re asking me out to dinner?”

  “Is that…Yes.” Dane seemed flustered.

  “Yes, I would love that,” I said.

  I saw the relief flash in his eyes. “Great. How about tonight? I can pick you up at seven.”

  “What? You don’t want ride together on my scooter?” I joked.

  “I don’t know. Maybe. I really like the way that helmet frames your face.”

  I laughed. “I haven’t worked up the nerve to look in a mirror or I might never wear one again.” I slipped the helmet on my head.

  “Safety first,” Dane said, patting the top of my helmet.

  Warmth spread throughout my body in response to the unexpected affectionate gesture.

  “I’ll see you tonight,” I said and drove away as fast as I could to keep myself from grinning at him like a lunatic.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Hard. No.” Patrick stood in the doorway of my kitchen with his arms folded. “You cannot wear that on a date. You cannot wear those clothes I hate. You cannot wear that here or there. You cannot wear that anywhere.”

  I glanced at my outfit. “What’s wrong with it, Dr. Seuss?”

  “You look like a hooker with a heart of gold.”

  “Isn’t that a good thing?”

  “Maybe in the 90s. We’re past that now.” Patrick angled his head, scrutinizing me. “Dane Fairfax is a cerebral guy. He doesn
’t want too much skin.”

  I held out my arms to accentuate my three-quarter sleeves. “You think this is too much skin?”

  “I can count your age spots.” He paused. “Actually, I can’t count your age spots because there are too many. You look like a dot-to-dot painting.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t have time for sugarcoating. This is a sartorial emergency.” He ushered me upstairs to my bedroom to change. “Let me see what I can find.”

  “No sweaters. They trigger hot flashes.”

  He ducked into the walk-in closet and groaned. “Are you sure you were living in New York City? These clothes scream Suburban White Woman.”

  “I like to blend in.”

  “Why would you want to do that?” He emerged from the closet holding two hangers. I recognized one dress from a former client’s cocktail party and the other from Christmas Eve dinner a few years ago. I wasn’t even sure that one would still fit me. I seemed to gain weight now by simply contemplating calories.

  “You don’t think those are too fancy?” I asked.

  He blew a dismissive breath. “I know you think this is farmland, but Newberry is a very hip, eclectic town. Besides, Dane Fairfax is a catch. You need to glam it up if you want to lock him down.”

  “It’s one date. I’m not locking down anything.”

  Patrick held out the black dress from the cocktail party. “Let me see you in this one. It’s simple and chic.”

  “It’s March. I’ll freeze.”

  “Wear a jacket. You’ll be fine. Didn’t your mother ever teach you that we have to suffer for our art?”

  “My mother taught me about suffering. Period.”

  Patrick’s face split into a grin. “When is she coming? The more you talk about her, the more I can’t wait to meet her.”

  “Sometime between this month and never.” I took the hanger and hurried into the bathroom to change.

  “You don’t need to be modest,” Patrick called.

  “It’s not modesty. It’s embarrassment.” My gym membership had been for access to the smoothie bar more than anything.

  “I thought you had more confidence than that. My mistake.”