Six Merry Little Murders

by Lee Strauss et al.

  Just further proof of his diva catittude.

  Nan, for her part, certainly doesn’t help matters by playing right into his paw. For instance, last Christmas Octo-Cat and I put in a brief appearance at our extended family gathering, then headed home to watch old movies on TV until bedtime. This year, Nan has insisted we whip out the elaborate advent calendar she designed during her community wood-working class.

  And there aren’t small gifts or chocolates waiting for us inside, either. That would be far too ordinary for my whacky grandmother.

  As Nan explains it, each tiny door has a rolled-up paper scroll behind it, and each paper scroll has a whole “experience” outlined for the day. This means we are celebrating Christmas proper for twenty-five whole days, and I’m already exhausted just looking at the giant three-dimensional calendar—let alone thinking about what might be waiting for us inside…

  My nan never turned down any excuse to live large, so naturally she had a special fondness for the holidays. This year, however, she’d taken her normal over-the-top nature to hilariously new heights.

  And she’d dragged me right along with her.

  “Now this is the life,” Octo-Cat said, stretching his paws contentedly before him as he watched me and Nan flutter around the living room, hanging decoration after decoration with no end in sight.

  Paisley stayed right at Nan’s heels wherever she went, which was good because Nan had the grace not to trip over the tiny ball of wagging fur. If she’d been glued to me, I would have definitely injured the both of us by now.

  “Isn’t there something we can have the cat do?” I asked my grandmother while she rummaged about in a giant storage container made of bright pink plastic. “He’s enjoying this way too much.”

  “Oh, so now I’m the cat?” The tabby rolled on his side and rubbed his head on the couch with apparent satisfaction. “You need to work on your insults, Angela. Oh, poor me. I’m God’s gift to the Earth. I’m sooo offended.” He let out a wicked chuckle, enjoying his role far too much.

  “Please,” I begged Nan as I raised my hands in supplication. “I know you can’t understand him, but he needs to be put in his place.”

  Nan pulled away from the garland she’d festooned with ribbons and tinsel, then shot me a mischievous grin. “Well, in that case, I suppose it wouldn’t do any harm to give him one of his gifts a bit early.”

  “Gifts?” I cried. “No, don’t spoil him more than he already is.”

  She just winked and climbed the stairs to her bedroom. When she returned, she carried a medium brown box with the telltale Amazon smile splattered across two of its sides.

  “The box is part of the gift,” she explained, “but the main thing is what’s inside. I made it.” She opened the top flaps of the box and set it down beside Octo-Cat on the couch.

  Of course, he shot me a quick smirk, then immediately jumped inside. “This box fits me perfect! How did you know, you old girl?” He purred as he padded whatever was inside in an effort to make himself even more comfortable, even more pampered.

  “Hold on, you silly kitty!” Nan plucked him out of the box and put him back onto the couch cushion, then lifted a small red and green item from inside and held it up to show me. “What do you think, dear?”

  I squealed, clapped, and then lifted my hands over my mouth—so enormous was my pleasure upon seeing the second part of my cat’s early Christmas present.

  Nan wasted no time in pulling the handknit garment over Octo-Cat’s head and then pushed his front legs through. The gift was even better with him wearing it. Truly, it was the ugliest Christmas sweater I’d ever laid eyes on, and I was one hundred percent here for it.

  Thick red and green stripes offset a neckline outfitted with at least a dozen little golden bells hanging from short yellow triangles of fabric. The body of the sweater also sported a knitted likeness of Octo-Cat wearing a Santa Hat and looking downright jolly.

  The real live version of the cat in front of me looked nowhere near as happy. Half of his face was caught up in a grimace with one tiny tooth poking through. The other half was wide with horror, humiliation—really all the best holiday moods.

  “Well, what does our guy think?” Nan asked, hugging the rankled tabby to her face and making squishy kissy sounds in his ear.

  I wasted no time in making my reply, keeping my eyes on Octo-Cat the whole time. “He thinks this is wonderful. So wonderful that he’d love to have a special outfit to wear for every season,” I said, not breaking eye contact but having a very hard time maintaining a straight face.

  “That can most certainly be arranged.” Nan kissed Octo-Cat again and then set him back on the couch.

  “I hate you,” he ground out before stepping back into the box and turning in several tight circles before he finally settled in a position, one that faced away from us both. Despite the crick in my neck from hanging dozens of decorations overhead, I ended that night feeling incredibly nice.

  If every day on Nan’s advent calendar held as much joy as this one, it would certainly be a Christmas to remember…

  2

  Nan’s quirky calendar kept us very busy the entire first half of the month. On December second, we drove over to Glendale’s highest summit and went sledding… even though there wasn’t yet any snow to speak of. Definitely an adventure, especially considering we brought the pets along.

  On the third, we went Christmas caroling downtown. The day after that, we literally roasted chestnuts on an open fire. I have a nasty new burn on my hand to prove how well that went.

  But did that slow Nan down even one iota? Of course not.

  We went on to handcraft Christmas cards to send to our extended family, the folks around town, and her many, many friends across the country and abroad. We also went to a different local church or synagogue every Sunday morning, cooked a truly astonishing number and variety of cookies, and made a very generous donation to the nearest food bank.

  It had already been a holiday to remember, and we hadn’t even done the traditional family gathering and gift exchange yet. Lucky for us, Nan was long since retired and my new P.I. business still hadn’t earned its first client. That’s probably a big part of why all this seasonal merrymaking occupied so much of our days.

  And if anything, she still seemed to be ramping up.

  “Kill me,” Octo-Cat pleaded as I stuffed him into his handknit holiday sweater, then topped it off with the neon green pet harness he loathed.

  “Oh, you’ll be fine,” I promised dismissively, even though I knew this one would take him a while to recover from.

  “That’s a lie, and you know it!” After I set him back on the floor, he took a few shaky steps and then threw himself over in a dramatic huff. “I’d rather die than suffer the humiliation of this ensemble—and out in public, no less,” he moaned. “What if other cats see me?”

  This was the first time I’d heard my tabby worry about what other cats might think of him, but I decided not to tease him since he was obviously already feeling so down. Besides, when the other cats learned that his best friend was a shivering five-pound Chihuahua, they’d have more than enough material to tease him straight through this life and into the next.

  “The other cats won’t be paying any attention to you,” I said encouragingly. “They’ll probably be so embarrassed and agitated that they won’t notice anyone but themselves… and possibly the nearest exit.”

  Octo-Cat let out a low, rumbling growl that sounded so disheartened, I almost called the whole thing off.

  “Would it help if I wore something embarrassing, too?” I offered with a hopeful smile.

  A pained expression crossed his face, causing me to wonder if cats really could die from embarrassment. I don’t think I’d ever be able to forgive myself if that happened, regardless of the fact he still had four lives left—per his own count.

  He wagged his tail vigorously, then paused and took a deep breath before answering. “Marginally,” he said.

  My smi
le grew quicker than the Grinch’s heart as I marched toward the closet and pulled out a white party dress patterned with tiny Santa Claus heads and a green scarf with a jingle bell print.

  He watched me dress with that special disinterest only cats seem to possess, then flicked his tail a few times and said, “Honestly, now I’m embarrassed for you.”

  “Good,” I answered with a wink. “That means Nan will love it then.”

  Sure enough, when we headed downstairs, we found Nan and Paisley ready and waiting for us, wearing perfectly matched outfits. How she managed to find something that was equally unflattering to both her and her dog was a mystery to me. Let’s just say there was a lot of faux fur trim and shimmering tinsel and even mistletoe headbands.

  My little lovable disasters. So sweet.

  “See,” I leaned down and whispered to Octo-Cat. “You’re the most stylish one out of all of us.”

  He scoffed. “Like that’s hard to do with this bunch.”

  “Let me guess,” Nan said as she fiddled with the draping on my scarf. “A certain cat is complaining. Again.”

  I shrugged. “Well, he’s nothing if not consistent.”

  Even though Nan couldn’t understand the animals when they talked, she’d heard enough of my side of the conversation these past two weeks to know that a certain member of our eclectic little family was far less enthusiastic than the others.

  “Look at me, Mommy!” Paisley the Chihuahua called, drawing my attention to her wagging tail and happy face. “Do I look pretty?”

  Octo-Cat stalked over to her and said, “You look like something straight out of—”

  “A holiday fashion magazine!” I finished for him. “So, so pretty, sweetie!”

  Nan lifted Paisley in her arms, then grabbed her car keys from the hook by the door, glanced back over her shoulder, and cried, “Let’s do this thing.”

  Of course, we’d been taking her little red sports coupe everywhere this month even though it was a bit cramped. She’d added antlers and giant googly eyes to turn the normally stylish vehicle into a giant likeness of Rudolph the red-everything’d reindeer.

  It was about a half-hour drive to the pet supplies store in Dewdrop Springs, and by the time we arrived, the modest store was practically filled to bursting with locals from all over Blueberry Bay and their furry, feathery, or scaly counterparts.

  We’d all shown up for one very important reason: to get our pets’ pictures taken with Santa Claus. Octo-Cat still didn’t know this part, and I preferred to keep it a secret from him as long as possible. That plan went out the window the very second we stepped through the door, however.

  Officer Bouchard, our favorite local police officer with a secret soft spot for his two rescue cats, came rushing over to greet us. “Well, don’t you four look photo ready,” he exclaimed with a merry chuckle that could rival the man in red’s.

  “Angela,” Octo-Cat drawled, turning around to face me and tangling himself in the tacky green harness in the process. “What does he mean photo ready?”

  “I, um—” I stopped myself. Sure, I could have pretended to be speaking with Nan or Officer Bouchard as I answered my cat’s question, but the mixed company provided the perfect excuse not to engage with my crabby tabby. Our friendly neighborhood cop didn’t know my secret—most people didn’t, as a matter of fact—and I intended to keep it that way as long as I possibly could.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever met your cats before,” I said, nodding toward the carrying case he held in each hand. “Are these them?”

  He beamed proudly and lifted the case on the left so Nan and I could see the sleek black cat inside. “This is Shadow,” he said before lowering the first case and raising the other. “And this is Ghost.”

  The second cat was also all black but had gorgeous long fur and little white tips on his paws. “I don’t want to be here,” she said in an alluring feminine voice.

  “Tell me about it,” Octo-Cat answered her with another drawn-out sigh.

  “Now isn’t that cute?” the officer said, looking from one cat to the next. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think they were saying hello.”

  “Ha, right!” I said perhaps a bit too enthusiastically, then thanked my lucky nativity star that he didn’t know any better…

  3

  The door swung open behind us, almost knocking me off my feet. Well, that’s what we got for starting a conversation right next to the entrance of a busy establishment.

  “Merry Christmas!” sang Mr. Gable—the owner of Glendale’s finest jewelry store who also served as the head of our downtown council—offering hugs all around. In his arms, he held a lop-eared rabbit with smoky gray fur. Its little nose twitched with curiosity as it tried to burrow deeper into its owner’s embrace.

  “What a cutie!” Nan cooed, reaching a hand toward the small, scared animal, then changing her mind and drawing it back when she saw just how terrified the poor animal appeared. “What’s her name?” she asked instead.

  “E.B.,” Mr. Gable revealed with a proud papa grin. He carefully extracted the small bundle of fur from his armpit and placed her hindlegs on his forearm, using his other arm to hug her to his chest. “Short for Easter Bunny. My sister bought this little girl for her grandkids’ Easter basket. Three days later, the kids got sick of her and their mother got tired of the mess, so E.B. ended up with me. We haven’t looked back since.”

  “Well, she’s darling,” Nan said, shaking her head and letting out a slow tsking sound. “Even if she does have an unfortunate start to her story.”

  “Please don’t eat me,” E.B. begged in a breathy voice, but I couldn’t tell to whom that particular plea was addressed. Perhaps all of us.

  “Nan!” A red-headed blur launched herself at my grandmother and wrapped her in an enormous hug. It took me a second to recognize her since we’d only known each other briefly—and close to a year ago at that. It was the little Yorkie at her side that ultimately helped me remember.

  “Mitch! Yo-Yo!” I cried, looking down just in time to see Octo-Cat get slobbered by the hyperactive dog. I laughed at the look of abject horror that crossed his face and shifted my focus back to the dog’s human companion. “How the heck are you guys?”

  The smiling college student wrapped me in a tight hug next, yanking Yo-Yo away from Octo-Cat once she pulled away.

  “It’s been much better now that I have my Yo-Yo with me.” She offered a brief, sad smile. Poor thing. Her parents had both been brutally murdered, and her traumatized Yorkie was the only witness to the crime. It hadn’t been easy, but Octo-Cat, Nan, and I had helped find the real culprit and clear the name of the falsely accused.

  Ahh, memories.

  “Charles is here, too,” Mitch said, her smile growing strong again. “He tells me you two are together now. That’s great!”

  “Thanks,” I mumbled, heat rising to my cheeks. My crush back then had been painfully obvious to everyone—everyone but Charles himself.

  She dropped her voice to a whisper and leaned in closer to reveal, “He also has the freakiest looking cats I’ve ever seen.”

  We both laughed at the mention of my boyfriend’s two Sphynx cats, Jacque and Jillianne. They’d also been witnesses to a murder this past year, and they themselves had been framed for it. Luckily, they had a great home now with Charles Longfellow, III, the sole partner of Glendale’s only legal firm, my former boss, and most recently the love of my life.

  “Man, it’s so nice to see you again,” I told Mitch and gave her another quick hug. I loved how the holidays brought people together.

  “I wish I could say the same to you, Dum-Dum,” Octo-Cat said to the Yorkie after he and Paisley had finished their ritualistic butt-sniffing. “But I generally try to avoid lying.”

  “Greetings, Octavius. It’s good to see you again. A very happy holiday to you,” Yo-Yo answered with a smooth, even voice, leaving me dumbfounded in the process.

  Back when we’d worked with Yo-Yo, I hadn’t yet been able
to understand any animals besides Octo-Cat, which meant he had to act as my translator. The way he’d translated for this Yorkie had made the dog seem like a simpleton of few words. Of course, I was more than a little surprised by how eloquent and well-spoken he actually sounded now that I could understand him, too.

  I’d have to call Octo-Cat on that later when we weren’t around so many people who didn’t know my secret. The last thing I needed was to expose my freak ability in such a crowded place. It was already hard enough to focus with all the human and animal voices swirling around the small retail space.

  Even now, more and more people squeezed into the pet shop, forcing our merry gang of people and pets to shuffle toward the aquarium section to make space for the new arrivals. Most people hadn’t dressed up for the occasion, although a majority of dogs did sport seasonal costumes or festive sweaters. Octo-Cat was the only feline to be subjected to clothing, which he pointed out multiple times during our wait for Santa.

  This particular shop had been victim to a string of thefts a couple months back. They’d never caught the person behind it, but I was happy to see that business was good. Perhaps all the extra holiday sales would help make up for the loss of income earlier in the year. At least… provided Santa ever showed up.

  I pulled my phone from my purse and glanced at the digital clock. 12:20.

  “Shouldn’t we have started already?” I asked Nan, recalling mention of a noon start time but not being entirely sure.

  “Yes, I was late as a matter of fact,” Mr. Gable said, showing off a gorgeous diamond-studded watch.

  “Maybe Santa is home with a tummy ache after feasting on one too many Christmas cookies,” Nan quipped.