Stephanie—Got everything after her father’s death. Dating Archie (could they have been working together??) and had frequent disagreements with Vaughan. Most likely suspect, but not the ghost as he was male.
“Are you writing a novel?” Gamma asked. “Or your memoirs?”
“You know I don’t have the patience for that,” I replied, and capped my pen. “I was just free writing some notes about our suspects. The way I see it, it’s got to be Archie somehow. Even if he was doing it to help Stephanie.”
“Then what was he talking about the other night?” Gamma asked. “Revenge. Revenge on whom?”
“Isn’t it who?”
“Does it matter?”
“Grammatically… right, OK. Never mind. Revenge on—hmm, on Stephanie! Of course. If she involved him in the murder then didn’t pay him his cut, he would want revenge on her.”
“Interesting point.” Gamma steered the car into the parking lot of the Gossip Cat Rescue Shelter. “But we don’t have any evidence that proves that.”
“We just have to find it.” I frowned, glancing up at the shelter. “Why are we here? I thought we weren’t due back to pick up new kittens for another week.”
“I’m concerned about the reports of catnapping in Gossip,” Gamma said. “We’ve been busy with the mystery, but it’s been weighing on my mind, Charlotte. Belle-Blue isn’t the most stable person around, but if she’s concerned about her cattery… well, there might just be something to that.”
I got out of the car with Gamma, brushing off my neatly ironed jeans and blouse. It was much easier to dress now that I was in control and no longer stuck with just the wardrobe NSIB HQ had given me.
Gamma wore an elegant sundress with a buttoned cardigan against the coming fall chill. We were nearing the end of summer, and I wasn’t prepared for another chilly winter in Gossip.
“Do you think the shelter volunteers would know something about the missing cats?” I asked.
“Allegedly missing,” Gamma said. “After what you saw at the petting zoo, I’m still not convinced that Belle-Blue herself isn’t involved.”
“What could be her motivation?”
“Anything that harms me and betters her,” Gamma replied, sagely. “The woman hates me.” She locked the Mini-Cooper, and we headed for the front door of the shelter.
I let Gamma lead, tucking my notepad and pen into my purse and losing myself in thoughts of the case.
The rumble of an approaching car brought my attention back to the present, and I turned in time to witness a blue Mazda spin around the corner, gravel spitting from the tires. It rattled forward then came to a shrieking halt just in front of us, engine ticking.
“What in the world?” Gamma gasped. “Are you insane?” She banged a hand on the hood of the car.
Another vehicle, a black Ford Ranger, streaked past in the road next to the shelter and disappeared.
“Get out of the car!” Gamma raged. “Get out.”
“Georgina, wait,” I said.
“She nearly hit us!”
The woman in the car got out, her baby blue eyes shimmering with tears. She wore a pant suit and crimson lipstick.
“Bridget?” I blinked. “What are you—are you OK?”
“N-no.” She burst into tears and covered her face.
“No time for crying now,” Gamma snapped. “You should’ve thought of that before you nearly knocked us over. We could’ve been killed! What were you thinking, driving at a speed like that?”
“I—I—I—”
“Incredibly irresponsible! I ought to call the police.”
“Georgina,” I said. “Let her speak. What’s going on, Ms. Myers?”
“I was chased,” she squeaked. “I didn’t mean to hurt anyone. I was being followed.” The last part came out as a wail, and she sniveled, tears carrying tracks of black mascara down her cheeks.
“By that Ford Ranger?” I asked.
“Yes,” Bridget said. “I don’t know what’s going on, but they drove up right behind me and tried to knock me off the road!”
“Oh my.” Gamma’s shoulders relaxed. “Oh, I’m sorry, dear. I shouldn’t have shouted.”
“No, it’s OK. Sorry I almost knocked you over. I only saw you at the last second, I was so scared. I was just—I—”
“It’s all right.” Gamma walked over, producing a pack of Kleenex from her handbag. “Take one of these. There, there.” She patted her on the shoulder. “You’re all right.”
“You should report this to the police,” I said. “It might be connected to what happened to Vaughan.”
“What d-do you mean?” Bridget hiccupped, smearing the tissue under her eyes and smudging her mascara further.
“Can you think of another reason someone might follow you?” I asked. “Do you have any enemies in the real estate business?”
“No, of course not.” She squared her shoulders, her chin coming up at the mention of real estate. “I’m very popular.”
“Right, so that leaves only one option. Someone was following you in relation to what happened to Vaughan. That’s my best guess,” I said. “What do you think, Georgina?”
“I think you’ve got a point, Charlotte. Unless Ms. Myers can think of anyone else who might want to chase her down and tag her car.”
“No one. No one. I mean… everything’s been great apart from what happened to poor Vaughan. You don’t think—that it was the murderer, do you?”
“I don’t know,” I said, shaking my head.
“Did you get a good look at who was chasing you?” Gamma asked.
“No. They had tint on their front window, and the sunlight got in the way too,” Bridget said. “I’d better call the police.”
“Yes, dear, you do that.” Gamma patted her one last time before withdrawing to stand next to me. “Revenge,” she whispered.
Could it be that simple? Archie didn’t seem the type who drove a Ford Ranger. But then, who knew what to expect? Nothing was ever simple in Gossip.
16
Inside the Gossip Cat Rescue Shelter, where it was relatively safe, Bridget sat in the corner on the phone, calling everyone knew to tell them about what had happened, while she waited for the cops to get there.
Gamma and I had stayed with her ‘til she’d calmed down enough to make the call, but it was time to get back to ‘business.’
“Good morning, Julia,” Gamma said. “How are you today?”
A volunteer at the shelter looked up and offered Gamma a sickeningly sweet smile. “Georgina! What a pleasure to have you back so soon,” she said, fluffing her bright red hair. “I hardly expected you back here so soon. You’re not due until… next week?” She squinted at her computer screen to check she was correct.
“Yes, that’s correct,” Gamma said, “but I came to discuss a sensitive issue with the volunteers. I have some questions about the cats.”
“Oh no, is everything OK?” Julia asked, fluttering eyelashes behind square-rimmed glasses. Her eyes were magnified to the point of obscenity.
“So to speak,” Gamma replied. “Is there somewhere we could speak privately?”
“Hmm. Just a second.” Julia headed for the door that separated the comforting pastel-colored front of the shelter from the back where the cats were fed and kept until they could be handed off to willing homes or foster centers. “Dalia, could you come look after the desk for a few?”
Another volunteer came through wearing another of the powder blue cat shelter shirts and took a place at the desk.
“This way,” Julia said, and beckoned for us to follow her into the office.
It was a small space, with a small, single-seater desk in the corner and a single pot of coffee that was cracked, sitting on top of a gray filing cabinet. Julia grabbed two plastic chairs from a stack in the corner and put them out for us.
We took seats, while the volunteer settled herself in the one behind the desk. She shifted back and forth in her chair, looking as uncomfortable as we felt.
“Much better, thank you,” Gamma said.
“Great. What seems to be the issue?”
“I’ve heard some rumors recently,” Gamma said. “About cats going missing. I wanted to check that everything was OK here. Or if you’d heard anything of the sort in the past few weeks.”
Julia’s gaze dropped to the desk. She sucked in a deep breath. “Unfortunately, you’re right to be concerned. We’ve had some break-ins over the past few weeks. Thankfully, none of the cats were taken, but there was evidence that someone was trying to get into their cages.”
“No!” Gamma gasped. “That’s terrible. Did you call the police?”
“Oh yeah, we did. But they’re investigating a murder at the moment. It’s not like they have loads of manpower to handle theft.”
“They’re two different crimes,” I piped up. “Surely the detectives working on murders won’t be working on cat theft too. They should have the manpower to take you seriously. Otherwise, crime would be rife.”
Julia sniffed. “Be that as it may, they haven’t taken my requests seriously. Nothing was stolen.”
“And, Charlotte, I know you’re new to this small-town business, but there are a finite amount of officers in Gossip.” Gamma was rewarded with a smile from the volunteer for that.
Catch more flies with honey. “Right, yeah, of course. Silly me, haha.” I twirled a finger next to my temple.
Julia laughed. “No problem. Well, look, we’re concerned about the cat theft too. We’ve heard the same rumors you have, and the thought of our kittens being taken when they’re at their most vulnerable is terrifying. But we’re actively taking steps to prevent that from happening. The owner of the shelter is having an alarm system installed.”
“That’s wonderful,” Gamma said. “Do you need financial aid? I’m sure we could drum up some help from the locals if we put on a fundraiser. Weren’t we discussing that the other day, Charlotte?”
“Yeah,” I said, because what else was I meant to say? I definitely wanted to help Gamma, the foster center, and the cat shelter, but my brain only had so much capacity to deal with mysteries and problems.
There was Kyle, the murder, the ghost, and now a potential catnapper.
Wait a minute…
An idea had formed in my mind, but I kept it to myself while Gamma and the volunteer partook in small talk about cats and weather and food. Finally, we left the shelter office, waved goodbye to Bridget who was now being interviewed by a police officer, and got into Gamma’s Mini-Cooper outside.
The minute we were in the car, I turned to Gamma. “Cat pee,” I said.
My grandmother pulled a face. “Honestly, Charlotte, I’m not sure how to take that. Are you insulting me? Confessing something?”
“No, no, the cat pee. Remember what Bridget said about Vaughan? That everything seemed fine before he died, but she’d noticed that he’d smell strongly of cat urine in the days prior to his death. Did Vaughan every come down to the foster center in the inn?”
“No, never. And I keep that place impeccably clean. You know that, Charlotte.”
“Yeah, I do. Which means he picked up that smell somewhere else. Where?”
“No idea,” Gamma replied.
“Me neither.” I sighed. “But I feel it might have something to do with the cats that have been going missing. Maybe it’s too much of a stretch, and I’m just trying to make connections where there are none.”
“Maybe. Or you might be onto something.” Gamma tapped her chin. “Either way, we’re not going to find the truth sitting here. Let’s get back to the inn.”
I put on my seatbelt, frowning. I’d look for secret entrances at the inn, but as things stood now, finding more clues had only proved to muddy the mystery.
Could a gal catch a break?
17
Lauren’s raspberry cupcakes were a true testament to her baking skills. I’d eaten three already, and I was itching to head downstairs to the kitchen and grab myself a fourth. I was comfort eating because of the case, but so what?
The clock on my bedside table flashed red numbers at me. 00:03. It was late, and I was probably the only one awake in the inn, but it was an excuse to brainstorm, eat cupcakes, and then do a set of fifty sit-ups out of guilt after eating said cupcakes.
None of it seemed to help me calm down.
Cocoa Puff meowed at me on my forty-fifth sit up, and I eyed him. “What? I’m not crazy.” I lay back, my stomach groaning for another snack. “I’m just hungry. And guilty. And confused. That’s different to being crazy. Right? Right?”
Cocoa meowed again and pawed my comforter.
“Ah, what do you know?” I flapped a hand at him, pulling myself upright with the edge of the bed as a counterweight. “Your life is simple. The hardest thing you’ve got to do today is lick that unreachable part of fur on the front of your chest.”
Yeah, you’re not crazy at all, Charlotte. Talking to a cat.
But sometimes, I could swear Cocoa Puff understood me. He lifted a leg and started licking his unmentionables. Apparently, now wasn’t one of those times.
I sighed and looked over at the map I’d left on my dressing table. Gamma had let me keep it for the night—she didn’t sleep much on the best of days, so she had nothing negative to say about my recent bouts of insomnia.
“Fine,” I said to Cocoa Puff. “I’ll work it out myself. And I’ll get myself another cupcake while I’m at it.” I winked at Cocoa then left the room, shutting my door behind me. I didn’t lock it, though I hesitated at the thought of the ‘ghost’ having been outside my room the night before Vaughan’s murder.
I high tailed it down the hall and stairs, then into the kitchen to fetch the cupcake from the stash Lauren had left for us. She’d been perfecting her recipe for the fundraising event we’d started planning for the kittens.
I took one, jiggled my head from side-to-side, then grabbed another and started the trek back up to the room, licking the raspberry swirl frosting off the top of the deliciously moist cake.
The ghost was standing in front of my doorway.
The thought popped into my mind and stayed. I stalled on the landing, a raspberry cupcake halfway to my lips.
The ghost was standing in front of my doorway! Why didn’t I think of it before?
I scuttled into my bedroom and put the cupcakes on the dresser. Cocoa had already settled down to sleep, but opened his eyes to slits and flicked his tail at me.
“I’ve just realized something,” I whispered, grabbing my phone. “Something so obvious, I should kick myself.”
I stepped into the hallway and switched on my flashlight app, heart in my throat. It had to be here. It had to be.
Carefully, I felt the walls on either side of my door. But there was nothing, no mysterious cracks, clicks or odd breezes. I tested the floorboards with my shoes, but no, nothing—that made sense, since I wasn’t on the bottom floor. But if not there, then…
I moved down the wall, feeling for irregularities, until I was about halfway between my bedroom and Smulders. My fingers slipped on something hidden underneath the wallpaper. A metal ring? No, a button!
I pressed on it, and a soft ‘click’ sounded.
If my heart had been racing before, it was nothing compared to now. I pushed on the section of wall gently, and it slid inward, silent on hidden hinges. A rush of musty air, and a hint of scent—cookies?—came with it. A light flickered at the end of a narrow hallway that had to run between my room and Smulder’s.
I’d found it.
The secret hiding place of the ghost.
18
It wasn’t a smart idea to head down the secret passage with its glimmering light at the end. If the ghost was my ex, then I couldn’t afford to go in unprepared, but I was pretty sure he wasn’t. A seed of doubt had sprouted in my mind.
Maybe it was the fact that nothing had happened to me yet. Or that the ghost had had a genuine reason to be outside m
y door—it was close to his hiding spot. Or maybe it was the scent of cookies.
Kyle wasn’t the type of guy who’d hole up in a secret passageway with cookies. He’d come in, find me, grasp his revenge, then leave again.
But if the ghost wasn’t Kyle, then who was he?
I’d been standing in front of the opening to the secret passageway, unmoving, for about a minute.
It was now or never.
I took a breath and started down the darkened hallway, putting one foot in front of the other, pausing every few seconds to listen. Nothing. No movement.
Another step, and a dull growl reached my ears. I paused, pulse racing. The growl came again, and my shoulders relaxed. It was snoring. The ghost was asleep.
I took the rest of the narrow passage in three broad steps and entered a tiny square room. A candle flickered on top of an upturned box. A plate of half-eaten cookies—Lauren’s if my nose was right—sat on the floor beside it. A pile of rags sat in the corner, and the snoring had stopped, leaving an awkward silence and a question.
“Where are you?” I whispered.
The bundle of rags twitched, and I froze.
Not rags. A person!
“You there,” I hissed. “You in the corner. Get up!”
A man rose from the corner, scratching his rear-end and rearranging an oversized hoodie. He was pale as milk with a smattering of freckles across his nose, blue eyes so pale they were almost white, and a shock of red hair on his head.
No wonder Mr. Shone and Lauren had thought he was a ghost. With a hood up, he was practically translucent.
“What are you doing in here?” I asked. “Who are you? Who sent you?”
The guy rubbed his eyes. “Hello,” he said, slowly.
Why wasn’t he the least bit alarmed about being caught out? Hiding out in the walls of an occupied inn was hardly a normal thing to do. And the guests had caught this guy at least two times. The hair on the back of my neck rose, and I readied myself, mentally and physically, for a fight.
“What are you doing here?”
Mission Inn-possible 04 - Raspberry Revenge Page 7