by Julie Chase
I set Penelope’s carrier on the wide planked floorboards of my living room and kicked my shoes onto the shag rug beneath my coffee table. White wood trim ran the circuit through my home, outlining floors and ceilings, doors and windows. I’d painted the rooms in a muted palette, all various shades of the sunrise. There was something about colors like apricot and amber that warmed my insides and made me smile.
Penelope lumbered out of her carrier when I opened the door, stretching and yawning.
“Dinner,” I said, hurrying to the kitchen to refill her bowls and feed Buttercup, my little beta fish. “Auntie Scarlet is coming to help me brainstorm ways to prove Miss Eva’s innocence,” I told them as they each took a run at their meals.
I popped my phone onto the charging dock on my counter, then unloaded the contents of my refrigerator. Baking kept me calm, but the longer I stood in the safety of my beautiful home and newly renovated kitchen, thanks to the added income from Grandpa Smacker, the closer I came to having that long-overdue emotional breakdown.
A man had been murdered in front of my eyes today.
He’d landed close enough to splash cream sauce on my T-shirt. That was about as traumatic an experience as most people could imagine, and it was hands-down the worst thing that had happened to me in months. I deserved a cry, but I didn’t want one. I wanted to do something.
I wiped my eyes and piled cubed cheese onto a tray with olives, crackers, and grapes. Besides, I refused to have a meltdown with company coming.
I flopped my secret-recipe cookbook onto the marble countertop and flipped through the pages of things I already made regularly for my shop and special occasions, looking for something I could build upon. The board of representatives at Grandpa Smacker had suggested I divine a new product to be sold at the upcoming Fall Food Festival, specifically, something that could be enjoyed equally by humans and their pets. It was a tricky request, because instinct told me the simplest answer was to provide apple and banana slices with peanut butter for dipping, but I knew that wasn’t what the board wanted. They wanted something potentially proprietary, and the Fall Food Festival was a great place to create a test market. Problem was, I didn’t have any new ideas yet, and I’d hoped to bring some samples with me to this week’s early-morning meeting.
The doorbell rang, and I started, having nearly forgotten Scarlet was coming. I laughed at my foolish reaction, then headed for the door.
“Hello! Come in!” I sang, pulling the door wide to usher her inside. “I’m so glad you came. This has been a day from h—”
A startled bike messenger stared back at me from beneath a pointy red helmet. “Lacy Crocker?”
I yanked my chin back. “Yeah?” He was definitely not Scarlet, but I admired his bravery for wearing a skin-tight, bright-yellow knee-length onesie at his age. Since when had messengers needed to be so aerodynamic?
He handed me a clipboard. “Package.”
I signed beside the X. “What is it?”
He shrugged, then traded me a big envelope for his clipboard and pen. “Have a nice evening.” He climbed back on his bike and pedaled away.
I shut the door and ripped the bulbous package open. There was a stuffed National Pet Pageant Pet from my shop inside. I turned the big envelope upside down and shook the kitten out. A flyer for the event fluttered out with him. “Weird.” I lifted the kitty first, and my heart kicked into overdrive. Someone had taken heavy black thread and stitched a pair of large, poorly crafted Xs over his eyes and a series of smaller ones across the mouth.
Block letters on the back of the flyer spelled STOP.
I didn’t need to ask what the sender wanted stopped. I knew from experience. This was a warning to leave Viktor’s murderer alone.
Chapter Five
Furry Godmother’s words of warning: If you keep your head down, you’ll never see what’s coming.
I worked to steady my breathing, then took photos of the note and the ghastly stuffed cat’s face. I sent both to Jack before heading into the kitchen for a glass of wine. Someone knew not only my name and address but where I worked, and had been inside my store, today, to buy one of my products for mutilation. Then the lunatic had had my ruined kitty delivered to my doorstep with a warning. It was hard to believe any of that could be true when Viktor hadn’t been dead ten hours, but there it was anyway.
I poured my first glass of wine to the rim, leaned over it, and sucked it down halfway, keeping one eye on my phone. Jack was the worst at returning calls and texts, except when I needed him. Then, there was no stopping him.
The phone lit with Jack’s face and a text message on the screen. ON MY WAY. STAY PUT. LOCK THE DOORS. BAG THE CAT.
I tipped the wine glass back and finished round one with a sigh, then poured a second just as liberally. Before I got goofy in an attempt to settle my nerves, I needed to bag the cat. I hunted through my kitchen drawers for gallon freezer bags to stuff the cat, note, and delivery envelope inside. I felt better as I sealed the bags shut, securing the threats.
My front door swung open with a creak, and I nearly swallowed my tongue.
“Sorry I’m late,” Scarlet said, letting herself in. I’d given her a key to my place last Thanksgiving and a code to my alarm in case of emergencies.
She locked up behind herself while I watched from the open kitchen archway. “I have red and white wine, plus two kinds of chocolate,” she said, bustling through the room. She dropped a large quilted bag onto my coffee table and raised a smile. Her satin emerald tank top and white shorts were adorable against her freckled porcelain skin and fiery red hair. Her crimson nails matched her parted lips as she took in my nearly empty again wine glass and likely bewildered expression. “Whoa.”
I lifted the freezer bags in my opposite hand. “I had a delivery a few minutes ago. Bike messenger. Mutilated NPP kitty.”
She took the clear packages, eyes widening as she turned them over in her hands, then read the one-word note aloud. “Stop.”
I cringed.
Scarlet sucked air, attention snapping back to my face. “Did you call Jack?”
“He’s coming.”
“Sit.” She pointed to the couch, then marched into the kitchen and returned with the bottle opener and a second glass. “Start from the beginning.”
I didn’t think the words would come out when I opened my mouth, but they flowed. I couldn’t stop. I talked until I’d unloaded every detail I could recall and every scary thought that went with it. Mostly, I couldn’t understand how I’d become the target for a threat before I’d even made it home from work.
The doorbell rang, putting me on my feet. I froze halfway to the door, hoping it wasn’t another delivery. Three steady thumps set my heart into a sprint.
“It’s Jack.” The familiar tenor rumbled through the door, unwinding my muscles.
I pulled him inside with bone-melting relief. “Thanks for coming.”
“Are you okay?” His eyes searched mine, probably seeing more in my unsteady stare than I was willing to say.
For example, I wasn’t fine. I was terrified. “Yeah.”
He greeted Scarlet, then scanned the room. “No Chase?”
“Nope, but there’s plenty of wine,” I said.
Jack turned a heated look on me. There was a question in his eyes I couldn’t read.
Scarlet handed him the bags. “This was delivered before I got here.” She reached for the wine, and I watched, stunned, as she poured a refill. Scarlet hadn’t enjoyed more than one glass of her favorite cabernet since she’d gotten pregnant with Poppet almost two years ago.
Where is Poppet? I’d been so focused on my own trauma, I hadn’t even noticed Scarlet was practically missing an appendage.
Scarlet studied me. “I’m not nursing anymore.”
My brows went up. “Is that okay?” I asked. How had I missed such an important transition in my best friend’s life? She loved nursing. Loved babies, and Poppet was going to be her last. “How are you doing?”
&
nbsp; She gave me a sad smile. “I’m okay. It’s how life works, right? She and the boys need me less and less all the time. It’s you I’m worried about.”
Jack snapped a pair of blue gloves over his big hands and shook the contents of my freezer bags onto the coffee table. He took snapshots with his phone and tapped the screen for a long while before returning the items to their bags and stuffing both into the black shoulder bag he’d brought with him. “I’ll see what the crime lab can get from these, contact the messenger service who made the delivery, and try to work backwards to identify the sender. Is that toy from your store?”
I rubbed the creeping chills off my arms. “Yeah, and assuming this is all about Viktor, I can narrow the date of purchase to today.” Though, busy as my store had been, I’d still have hundreds of sales to comb through, and if the buyer used cash, it would all be for nothing. “I’ll check the receipts tomorrow.”
“Any idea who might’ve done this?” he asked.
“Viktor’s killer?”
His lips pulled down on both sides. “Anything more specific?”
“No.” I took my seat beside Scarlet on the couch. “But the culprit should be easy enough to find. We know he or she was in the building when Viktor died. You put the place on lockdown right afterward,” I said. “That alone narrows our suspect pool to roughly one hundred and fifty people if we include pet owners and trainers, assistants, pageant staff, and security. I like those odds better than we’ve had in the past, when the killer could have been anyone in New Orleans.”
“My suspect pool,” Jack corrected. “You don’t have a suspect pool, and the suspect is rarely a random person in the city because murders are rarely random. The killer usually has some connection to the victim, and most people have a lot fewer than one hundred fifty relationships, which makes this more complicated, and these suspects are about to scatter across the country in a few days when the pageant ends.”
I wrinkled my nose. I hadn’t thought of it that way. “Are you on duty?”
Jack scraped a heavy hand over his face. “No.”
Scarlet went to the kitchen and returned with another wine glass. She poured it to the top. “Here. Drink this. You’ll feel better.”
Jack gave the glass a wayward look but accepted and took a seat on the armchair beside the couch. “You should probably bow out of this event and lay low until it’s over,” he told me. “Maybe take a vacation.”
Tahiti came to mind. Maybe my therapist could fit me in between mai tais.
Jack sipped the wine and fixed an appreciative gaze on Scarlet. “Thanks. I ran into Carter last week. Congratulations on the sleeping baby.”
She beamed. “You’re welcome. I’m thinking of hiring a nanny so I can get more involved in things. Maybe volunteer at the boys’ school, help Carter at the office or Mom with her community stuff. I used Poppet as a cop-out for a long time, but I think I’m ready to see what the next stage of my parenting life will be like.”
“You want me to run a background check on anyone?” Jack asked.
“Not yet, but I could use some input on the interviews,” she said, swinging her eyes back in my direction.
“Of course,” I said. “Anything you need. You know I can use the distraction.”
Her eyes lit, and a sneaky expression crossed her pretty face. “Great, then maybe I can help you with something.”
Jack paused midreach for the chocolates. He gave us each an appraising look.
I wasn’t sure if he knew she’d just offered to help me find out who’d killed Viktor and threatened me, but I did, and I accepted with a tiny nod.
Scarlet lifted the box toward Jack with a sweet smile.
His eyes narrowed, and he turned them back in my direction. “Can you get off this committee of your mother’s? Tell her about the threat; she’ll understand,” he said. “If she doesn’t, I can talk to her.”
I didn’t want to burst Jack’s bubble, but his badge meant a total of jack-squat to my mother, especially where community service was concerned. My mother served the district like armed forces served our country. She would bleed and die for the cause, but unlike our military heroes, she’d cheerfully take me with her. “I have to help find a new venue, then reroute everyone and everything,” I said. “There’s a million things to do, and I can’t just quit. She needs me.” I paused to let the words sink in. A year ago I would’ve jumped on an excuse to avoid Mom’s goofy committees. Now I truly wanted to help.
Jack and Scarlet looked as stunned as I felt.
“I have to head over to the theater after work tomorrow and help transport everything to the new destination, wherever that will be. Between work and the pageant, I won’t have any downtime until the winning pets are crowned in a few days.”
Scarlet made a face and set her glass down. “No downtime at all?”
“I’ll make time for the nanny interviews,” I promised. “Just tell me when and where.”
“I was actually going to ask if you wanted to help me with something in the French Quarter Wednesday morning.”
“The Quarter?” Jack asked, sitting forward once more, his wine level now at a normal pour.
“Jackson Square,” she clarified, biting into another chocolate.
I smiled. I loved the French Quarter as much as I loved any part of my city, and I never said no to a visit or an opportunity for shenanigans with Scarlet. “What time?” I asked. “I’ll ask Imogene to open the store.”
“Early,” Scarlet said. “Carter’s law firm is setting up a water booth during San Fermin en Nueva Orleans. We should probably be there by seven.”
Jack frowned. “The running of the bulls?”
“Absolutely,” I said, smile widening.
San Fermin en Nueva Orleans happened every July and coincided with the running of the bulls in Pamplona, Spain. Except, in New Orleans, the bulls were roller derby girls dressed in red with whiffle bats and set loose on the streets of the Quarter, where they chased down hordes of paying men and women dressed as bullfighters and gave them a whack. There were lots of parties before and after the event, with Spanish wine, sangria, and tapas galore.
“Count me in.”
Jack rubbed his eyes. “I don’t think a large-scale event in the Quarter is where you should be this week.”
I felt my smile fade and the enthusiasm slip from my limbs. I needed this escape with Scarlet. Time away from the pageant, my shop, my mother, the killer. “It’s not as if I’m going to announce I’ll be there,” I said. “Only you and Scarlet will know, and I won’t exactly be standing alone on a corner. I’ll be at Jackson Square with hundreds of other people, and the Quarter will be stuffed to the gills. I’ll blend in and disappear.”
“And I’ll be with her the whole time,” Scarlet said. “I carry mace and a stun gun now.”
“And I have my whistle,” I told him. I was licensed to carry a concealed weapon, and I’d had a lifetime of target practice at Dad’s club, but I wasn’t a fan of shooting people, so I’d never seen a good enough reason to have a gun outside the range. Jack knew that, and he’d given me a whistle to help draw attention if I ever needed help. That whistle had saved my life once, and I never left home without it.
Scarlet’s phone rang, and she excused herself to the kitchen to answer.
Jack took her spot on the couch at my side and hooked an elbow over the backrest. Depth and urgency raged in his eyes. His jaw clenched and released. His cologne reached across the small space between us, igniting memories of other times we’d been so close I’d thought I’d collapse. Just like then, he didn’t speak.
“What are you thinking?” I asked, feeling the warmth of the wine in my head and stomach.
“I’m wondering how I’m going to keep you safe.” His voice was low and his expression grim. “I don’t have a great track record when it comes to keeping you out of harm’s way, and I don’t know how to change it.”
I scooped his heavy hand in mine and squeezed his fingers. “You do,” I arg
ued. “You always save me. You’ll figure this out too, and I’ll be fine.”
Jack turned his palm beneath mine and laced our fingers together, a look of pain written on his brow.
The gesture was small but intimate, and my heart skittered and jumped in my chest. I was an affectionate person by nature, but Jack was not, and it made the easy, comfortable way he’d begun to touch me lately all the more meaningful. I curled my fingers over his and tried to look one hundred percent calmer than I felt.
“Don’t go back to the pageant,” he said. “Let your mom handle it. She’s got a whole committee of socialite minions at her beck and call. She can get by without one.”
If only it were that easy. Even if I hadn’t minded telling Mom I couldn’t help her anymore, I still had a job to do. “I’m in charge of costumes,” I said. “No one else can mend and repair on the fly like I can. I’ve got everything I need to fix any problem in my tackle box. I even keep extra costumes in my car in case something is damaged beyond repair and a pet needs a new outfit in a hurry.”
“Leave that stuff with your mom,” he said. “Let someone else dress the pets and sew the buttons. I know this pageant is important to you, Lacy, but returning puts you in close proximity to someone making threats against you, and you are important to me.”
My heart clunked to a standstill. I wanted to tell him I’d call my mother immediately and let her know I wasn’t returning. I wanted to tell him I trusted him to figure this out, release Eva as a suspect, and catch the true killer. I wanted to tell him, but the words piled on my tongue until I was sure I’d choke on them. I wanted to make Jack happy, but I also knew how these scenarios turned out. I’d lived through more of them than anyone should have, and the fact that I’d lived had had nothing to do with sitting back and waiting and everything to do with me getting involved in this investigation while the trail of evidence was still warm.