A Purr-fect Storm

by Addison Moore

  A throaty rather terrifying moan comes from Hazel as she snatches a chocolate chip cookie right from my hand and scarfs it down in less than a second.

  “Sorry, girls,” Hazel says, eyeing that abandoned dessert spread. “I may never go back to Starry Falls again.” The ghosts take off with her and it’s just Steph and me.

  She shrugs my way. “Like I said, easy come, easy go.”

  I make a face. I want my ghost back. And I want Frisk Foster’s killer behind bars. And mostly I want my freedom from those hot goons that think they’re going to own me.

  And oddly, I seem to have worked up an appetite myself.

  “Let’s hit Main Street and stuff our own bellies,” I say.

  Steph nods. “Have you ever noticed that all your good ideas revolve around food? Stay hungry, kid. It just might save your life one day.”

  “We’re Italian, Steph. Staying hungry is against our morals. Now let’s see if this town has some decent eats.”

  Not only can Lottie Lemon see the dead, but she can make a mean chocolate chip cookie. Let’s hope she can help solve a few mean problems of mine, too.

  Although, by the look of those sheriff’s deputies out front, she’s got more than a few problems of her own.

  Just my luck.

  And too bad for Lottie, because it looks as if I’ve just spread a little of my not-so-good luck around.

  Chapter 5

  There are a few prominent things that set the Manor Café apart from your average greasy spoon.

  The first thing is the fact the café is indeed set in a bona fide manor right here in Starry Falls—a mansion if you will—that is as tall and gaunt as it is haunted, but that’s neither here nor there. And then there’s the voracious feline population that in the colder months such as this takes over every nook and cranny of the Mortimer Manor. The kitties are feckless as they are cute and they are legion. They’re sort of Opal’s pet project, only she doesn’t see them much as pets as she does family.

  In fact, Shep and I took it upon ourselves to trap one of those furry cuties for ourselves, and that’s how we became the proud parents to Pixie, a pink long-haired Scottish fold who had white fur once upon a time until fate intervened. Pixie was in the wrong place at the wrong time and a wayward toddler dumped an extra-large fruit punch on her. I can really commiserate with that whole wrong place at the wrong time thing. But then, Starry Falls seems to have reversed the curse. And seeing that Pixie hates water, she’ll most likely forever wear that punchy hue. Not that either she or we mind.

  The Manor Café is brimming with bodies this afternoon, the very next day after we paid a rather brief visit to Honey Hollow. It’s light and bright inside, the floors are blond, the tables and chairs all share the same warm hue, and there are cute little pendant lights that hang over each of the tables, giving off a cozy ambiance.

  A few months back, we had a major renovation and Opal even installed a pizza oven to please me. Suffice it to say, between Nana Rose’s recipes and my shiny new brick oven, the pizzas are making Opal Mortimer a very rich woman—and me by de facto, too.

  For every moneymaking idea I come up with, Opal gives me a fifteen percent cut. It’s not much, but when you’re staring down the barrel of poverty, it’s practically a windfall.

  Besides, her little tactic to cut me in on the deals has motivated me to come up with all sorts of crazy moneymaking schemes, the most consistently fruitful of which has to do with the all too infamous Stitch Witchery sessions the Mortimer Manor plays host to.

  Stitch Witchery has been around in Starry Falls a lot longer than I have. It’s basically a stitch and bitch, but Opal is too much of a lady to invoke her salty side, so it’s better known as a stitch and witch.

  My idea was to add a dash of whiskey to that fine china she was hauling out for the occasion and to charge a little cash for the hot sauce while we were at it. And sure enough, it’s been a cash cow ever since.

  A lull in customers hits just after one, and in comes Shep with his sharp blue eyes and that sly grin he reserves just for me. He’s donned a dark fitted suit, and it’s a sure sign he means business today.

  “Hey, good looking.” I head over and wrap my arms around him. “Whatcha got cookin’?”

  “I should ask you that. It smells like heaven in here.”

  “If Nana Rose played her cards right, she’s up there right now making some of her baked ziti, so you would technically be correct about the scent. As for this place, her knockoffs aren’t doing so bad either. The kitchen has been baking Nana Rose’s ziti nonstop. So where are you off to? Are you writing about criminals or catching them today?”

  Shep’s dual careers might mirror one another, but I like to be in the know whether he’s penning his villain-like next move or donning a Kevlar vest to deal with the bad guys.

  He expires a breath as he looks at me. “I can’t write until I catch Frisk’s killer. I can’t believe Frisk, my good friend, was gunned down on my watch.”

  “It wasn’t your watch. You’re a homicide detective. You weren’t out patrolling the beat. Besides, you came to cheer him on that day. Just like everyone else in town. You were a very good friend.” I give his back a quick rub. “How about this? I help you bring down the killer and then I’ll let you oil me down.”

  His left brow hikes up a notch. “Is wrestling involved in this somehow?”

  “It can be if you ask nicely.”

  Regina Valentine walks by with a tray full of dirty dishes.

  “Barf,” she calls out as she lands the dishes onto the conveyer belt that leads to the kitchen then backtracks our way. “Keep your oily shenanigans out of my headspace. Neither I nor the rest of the people in the café want to hear about it.”

  Stephanie pops up. “I kinda want to hear.”

  Tilly crops up as well. “And I want to take notes.”

  “Well, I’m not giving a dissertation,” I tell her before reverting my attention back to Shep. “We should probably make a video.”

  Opal strides in clad in red from head to foot—not an easy feat by any measure, but she’s sheathed in a scrumptious silk dress that has a train of fabric dragging behind her and three furry little ginger cats tucked in her arms as if she was paying homage to the fiery hue through her feline companions as well.

  “Did someone say video?” She bats her thick lashes, a pair of fuzzy falsies, but who cares? Opal has donned a red choker that looks as if it’s comprised solely of rubies, and it’s a stunning pièce de résistance to her feisty ensemble.

  Tilly nods my way. “Shep and Bowie are taking a big step in their relationship.”

  “A wedding!” Opal clasps her hands together, and all three cats in her arms let out a hearty yowl. I take a moment to admire her red silk gloves that stretch past her elbows. Juggling cats or not, Opal Mortimer is a fashion maven at every turn. “Don’t you worry, Bowie Binx and Shepherd Pie. I’ll scour the land for a premier videographer.” She glances my way. “One who knows how to make the lighting do its job. Trust me, it’ll knock ten years off your age and mine.”

  Stephanie shakes her head. “They’re not getting hitched, Opal. They’re making a tawdry tape.”

  Opal gasps. “A tawdry tape? For shame.” She leans in hard. “I’ll allow distribution through the café, but only if I get thirty-five percent of every sale. Oh heck, I’ll let you shoot the perverted production in the library for an even fifty. Bowie, do something with your hair. Shep, I expect to be wowed by what you have to offer.”

  She stalks off to regale the customers with the furry menagerie tucked in her arms and leaves me with my jaw rooted to the floor.

  “We are not making a tawdry tape,” I hiss over at my tawdry sister. “And keep it down. We’ve got customers.”

  Regina snorts. “What’s the matter, Bowie? Afraid you’re going to get the clientele around here foaming at the mouth?” She shifts her attention to Shep. “It’s true. I’ve seen a man or two wag their tongues at your new girlfriend. But don’
t worry. She only wags back if she’s looking to score a big tip. Odd how she’s always looking to score a big tip.” She winks my way as she heads for the kitchen.

  “Sounds like someone is projecting,” I shout to her just as Thea and Flo step our way.

  They’re my two most reliable waitresses. Thea is a straitlaced girl next door with freckles and a picket fence smile, and Flo is your run-of-the-mill Goth princess, clad in black from head to toe, overdyed dark hair and combat boots to match.

  Flo nods my way with her overdrawn eyes and blood red lips. “Are we, like, having an employee meeting?”

  Stephanie chuckles. “No, but we’ll have an employee viewing party at my place soon. Shep and Bowie are making a tawdry tape.”

  “Cool.” She stalks back toward her tables without missing a beat.

  Thea shakes her head. “Don’t do it, Bowie. Once things go south, there’s a good chance he might use it to try to extort large amounts of money from you. And once you ante up your entire life savings, sell your Range Rover, and your condo, you might end up working as a waitress at a dead end job in a blip of a town that no one has ever heard of.” Her fingers fly to her lips. “I think table ten is calling,” she says as she takes off.

  “We don’t have a table ten,” I shout after her.

  Stephanie shakes her head. “I always knew she needed therapy.”

  Tilly pulls out her phone and begins tapping into it. “Doesn’t look as if it’s for sale. I bet she had to change her name, too.”

  “In that case”—I shed a quick grin Shep’s way—“I guess the tawdry tape is off the table until we’re officially hitched. Rumor has it, boyfriends can be vindictive. But on the bright side, we can sneak in lots of practice before the camera starts to roll.”

  A dark laugh rumbles in his chest. “Practice starts tonight at seven. My place. Don’t be late, Kitten.”

  “Or what? You’ll send me to detention?”

  Shep lifts his chin and looks even more lethally handsome than usual from this angle.

  “I don’t dole out punishments, sweetheart.” He dots a kiss to my ear. “I dole out—” His body straightens. “Mallory Aspen.”

  “Another woman?” I frown up at him. “If it’s all right with you, I’d rather have the punishment.”

  A woman clears her throat, and I turn my head that way only to see a statuesque blonde with chiseled features, ski-slope nose, bright eyes, and a timid smile. She’s wrapped in a plum-colored winter coat, and it takes a moment for me to register who she is.

  “Mallory Aspen.” I take a step away from Shep to head her way. “Mal the Mallet? I’m not sure if you remember, but I’m Bowie. We met the other day at the community center. Would you like a table?”

  “No to the table, but yes, I remember you.” A sly smile takes over her face as she looks to Shep. “And I especially remember you, detective.” Her chest expands, and it becomes painfully obvious she’s fallen under the good detective’s spell. I really can’t blame the girl. They don’t call him Sexy Wexy for nothing.

  Both Stephanie and Tilly lean their ears this way, not making any bones about their desire to listen in.

  “Can I help you?” Shep stuffs his hands into his pockets as he steps on over.

  “Yes, actually.” She tugs at a stray lock and bites down over her lip in an effort to seduce him. “You said if there was anything I could think of to help the case that you’d be open to listen. Well, I remembered something.” Her expression darkens. “Can we talk alone?” She motions toward the door, and Shep follows her out of the café and into the cold, dank foyer of the manor where six different cats scatter as I rush to keep up with them. I snap up a black and white cat named Bubbles and hold the sweet kitty close as I do my best to eavesdrop.

  Mallory does a double take as I scoot in close between her and Shep.

  “I’m his secretary.” I shrug. “And his fiancée.” It’s a cover I’ve used before, so I went with it. “Okay, fine. I’m just his girlfriend, but in my defense we were just talking matrimony and I got a little excited.” My eyes flit to his. “I’ll wait for the proposal.”

  A light laugh bleats from Mallory. “I wouldn’t pressure him if I were you. Besides”—her gaze rides up and down his body—“a man as drop-dead gorgeous as this one can’t be easily contained. He might even be too much man for just one woman.”

  This is typically where I’d turn the Jersey girl in me loose, but then I remember she walks around with a mallet for a living and reconsider.

  Shep’s a smart boy. He knows what side his banana is buttered.

  Darn Stephanie for polluting my euphemisms with her dirty mind.

  Shep’s chest expands. I’m guessing he’d like to set her straight himself but doesn’t want to risk the intel she’s here to offer.

  “What about the case?” he asks. “Did you remember something you saw or heard?”

  She gives a solemn nod, her eyes pinned directly over his.

  “Before he left the building, Frisk said his troubles were finally over. And when I asked him what his troubles were, he said one word—blackmail.”

  I gasp as she says it and lean in close. “Who do you think was blackmailing him?”

  Her lips twitch with a knowing smile. “The same woman who stole my position right from under me—Wendy Manning.” She bats her lashes up at Shep. “You’ve got my digits. Hit me up sometime.” She gives a quick wink as she sails out the door.

  “Hit her up and see what happens,” I tell him without missing a beat.

  “Don’t worry, Bowie.” Shep’s cheek cinches on one side. “You frighten me more than any mallet she might be hiding. So what do you think of the info she just laid at our feet?”

  “I think someone is gunning to be teacher’s pet. I don’t trust her. Information like that should have stuck out like a sore thumb on day one. She might be trying to set Wendy up.”

  “You’re right. And that’s exactly why you make a great detective.”

  I suck in a quick breath. “Shep, I just remembered something. Next to Frisk’s body there were a few pale blue scales—the exact same pale blue scales that Mallory had on her top that day.”

  He nods. “I have those scales as evidence. I guess I’ll have to ask her to surrender her top to me.”

  I make a face. “I don’t think she’ll have any problem doing that. But lucky for you, neither will I.”

  He dots my lips with a kiss. “Seven. Don’t be late.”

  “I might be late just to see where it takes us.” I shrug up at him. “I’ve always been one to knock the fire hydrant off its base just to see how high the water can go.”

  A dark smile twitches on his lips. “I won’t say what comes next, but I’m guessing you know.”

  “I take it there will be precipitation.”

  His lids hood a notch. “But it’ll be fun.” He takes a step toward the door and backtracks. “Do me a favor and don’t touch Wendy Manning. I’ll be with forensics all day.”

  “Good to know. I’ll wait until we can tackle her together.”

  Shep gives a long blink. “Tonight. You and me. Practice.”

  “Fire hydrant,” I say as he takes off with a wave.

  Wendy Manning—aka Wendy City Destruction.

  Now to find out if Wendy caused Frisk a little destruction that fated day.

  Is she a woman who would blackmail her way to progress her career?

  More importantly, is she a killer?

  Chapter 6

  With Shep the fire hydrant can go pretty darn high, and I was only about ten minutes late. I let him know not to expect me for hours next time. I’m far more interested in seeing what punishment he cooks up next. Not that there was any punishing involved, but I do appreciate that devious side of Shep.

  The next day, late in the afternoon, bordering on evening, I take it upon myself to go through the hall closets here at the Mortimer Manor to try to mine them for anything that resembles Valentine’s Day decorations. If we’re goin
g to throw a heart-shaped party, it may as well look like Cupid puked all over the ballroom.

  “Bowie?” my sister calls out. “We’ve got company.”

  “It had better be Hazel,” I shout back with my head buried in a large plastic bin that might just be the breeding ground for every spider that lives in this haunted castle. “I could use her help going through the rafters.”

  A flurry of footsteps speed in this direction and I extricate myself, only to see two women heading this way with my sister, and the two of them seem to be scooping up every cat they can catch.

  “Oh, there’s another one.” Lottie points to the corridor and the older woman snatches up King by his hind leg, and now they’ve got three and four apiece. And all seven cats give me a pleading look as they yowl out for help.

  Lottie Lemon and the older woman who happens to look a lot like Lottie herself, with the same wavy caramel-colored hair—a bit grayer than it is caramel—deep welled laugh lines, and crow’s feet both smile over at me. Lottie is wearing a navy velvet maternity dress and her belly looks as if it’s grown significantly from just a few days ago. The older woman is bundled in a sweater and jeans and has a red and pink scarf wrapped around her neck.

  “Lottie!” I straighten at the sight just as Hazel floats down from some nebulous place in the ceiling, aglow with a shower of miniature pink stars surrounding her.

  “Well, look who the cats dragged in,” Hazel teases. “If it isn’t Lottie Lemon and Carlotta!”

  Lottie nods to my sister. “Lola, Bowie, this is my biological mother, Carlotta Sawyer.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Stephanie and I say in unison. And I don’t bother correcting Lottie on the whole Stella/Stephanie, Bowie/Lola melee. I’d much rather they use our covers anyway.

  Lottie slings an arm around her doppelgänger. “Carlotta is supersensual as well. I would have brought Meg, but I’ve yet to fill her in on my supernatural secret. I’m not sure why I haven’t told my sisters, but there’s so much going on right now.” She holds her enormous belly. “I guess I’ll have to wait for yet another day. You’re really lucky you have each other.”