Cat Got Your Crown

by Julie Chase

  I jerked upright, stunned speechless by his ridiculous stealth despite his size. “Hello.”

  “Your mom’s looking for you,” he said. “She’s gathering the judges inside to start the dress rehearsal.”

  “Okay.” I nearly knocked my chair over as I stood with all the grace of an injured elephant. “Thank you.”

  My ankles wobbled, and Chase’s big hand snaked out to steady me. “You’re going to do great. No worries.”

  His smile was contagious, and I felt my cheeks rise in response. “Thanks.” I gave his fingers a quick squeeze, planning to let go, but he held on for an extra beat.

  “I’ll come by tonight with champagne to celebrate your new role.”

  The air seemed to heat, and I kept my eyes off Jack. He and Chase had a strange and tense relationship that I tried to stay out of, though I suspected the circumstances of their friendship had a lot to do with me.

  I’d told Chase what I thought about him and me as a couple last Valentine’s Day. It had been hard for me to say because I’d had a feeling it wasn’t what he’d wanted to hear. I didn’t want to hurt him or lose a friend, but in true Chase Hawthorne form, he’d cheerfully accepted my rejection as an invitation for another time. He seemed to still be running on that idea.

  I nodded in acceptance of the champagne offer. “That sounds really good,” I admitted. Something told me I’d be ready for a drink by the time I got home tonight.

  My phone rang, and I jumped, breaking my connection to Chase. I used the distraction to rush inside, away from the testosterone-filled nightmare behind me. “Hello?”

  “Miss Crocker, this is Richard Hemsel, your Grandpa Smacker Product Placement Coordinator. I’m sorry to call outside standard business hours and on such short notice.”

  “It’s no problem,” I assured him, though I wasn’t thrilled with the words “short notice.” “Is everything okay?”

  “Yes. Fine. Thank you. However, the board has called an early-morning meeting to settle details for the Fall Food Festival, and we’d like you to be in attendance. Will that be possible?”

  “Tomorrow? I suppose. What time?”

  “Seven sharp.”

  Seven worked. I could easily open Furry Godmother by ten with a start that early. “All right, I’ll be there. Thank you for the call.” I disconnected in time to fill the last open seat at the makeshift indoor judges’ table before my mother took the podium.

  A white nine-by-twelve folder was on the seat. My name was written across the top in the same messy scrawl that was on the notes outside.

  Mom tapped the microphone at the center of the large round room, and competitors formed a broad semicircle as she began her speech about everything that had happened in the past twenty-four hours and what would come in the next four days of competition and celebration.

  Pet owners, PAs, trainers, and crew stood along the bowed walls, drinking in her words.

  I scanned their faces, surprised not to see Miles Mackey anywhere. This seemed like the kind of spotlight moment he would have loved to hijack. I twisted in my seat, checking everyone in the crowd. Chase and Jack were still outside, face-to-face and visible through the glass patio doors behind me. I would have loved to hear what they were talking about, but there were no signs of Mackey anywhere and that had my attention.

  I imagined him falling onto my new table from the chandelier, then scanned the domed ceiling overhead.

  Nothing.

  The top of his head came into view outside a window across the room. His body was blocked by a couple in matching black polo shirts with embroidery on the pockets, probably the name of the pet they were representing. I leaned over the arm of my chair until I thought it would tip over, seeking a better view. What was keeping Mackey from the chance to take Mom’s microphone and spotlight position?

  Suddenly, hands began to clap, and the couple in black shifted, revealing Mackey and another familiar face, Mr. North, the pet owner who’d fought with Veronica about getting into Viktor’s dressing room yesterday.

  “No way,” I whispered, leaning impossibly further in my chair. What are they talking about?

  “Lacy,” Mom said a little too loudly into the microphone.

  I snapped upright and smiled.

  The crowd applauded again, and Mom waved a hand, encouraging me to stand.

  I obeyed.

  Beyond the window, Mr. North passed something that looked like an overstuffed white envelope to Mackey. Was it possible? Could it be the same envelope from Viktor’s desk at the Saenger Theatre? The stolen money from the destroyed dressing room?

  “You can be seated now,” Mom said.

  I jerked my attention back in her direction. The crowd had traded clapping for staring, and Mom looked as if she might die of profound embarrassment. I forced my wooden legs to bend and fell back onto my seat.

  The barrel-chested judge beside me sniffed and turned his face away.

  I considered texting Jack about what I’d seen through the window but thought better of it. Truthfully, I wasn’t sure what I’d seen. Maybe Mr. North had only passed Mackey a handkerchief or a party invitation. Maybe I was continuing to snoop after I’d been told to STOP.

  Miles Mackey marched through the parted crowd and into the center of the room. He greeted Mom with air kisses, then accepted the microphone with a bow.

  She attempted to dismember me with eye daggers all the way back to her seat.

  “Lights,” Mackey instructed.

  The lights dimmed, and a projector sent the image of a score sheet onto a screen lowering from above.

  “These are the items our judges will be looking for tomorrow and all week long,” Mackey began.

  Beside me, the other judges had their sample sheets pressed to the table in front of them and were making notes on the lines and in the margins.

  I looked at the white envelope in my hands. The score sheets must be inside. I tapped the envelope’s contents halfway out, then thumbed through the papers in search of the one shown on the overhead display.

  Mine was marred with dark lines on the back side that were bleeding through and making it difficult to read. “Jeez,” I muttered, flipping the page over to see what was wrong.

  My heart rate spiked and my lungs constricted as I took in the three simple words written across the back of my sample sheet.

  YOU’RE NOT LISTENING.

  Chapter Nine

  Furry Godmother suggests counting blessings instead of calories; the latter will only make you cry.

  I snapped a photo of the note with sweaty hands before stuffing it back into the envelope with the other papers, then sent the pic to Jack, who appeared like Batman seconds later. He moved into my line of sight and offered a simple nod but didn’t approach. Instead, he moved silently through the crowded room as Mackey’s presentation went on, scanning faces, hands, everything in sight.

  I watched him work with a mix of hope and terror.

  A sudden intake of air ripped painfully through my chest, and I realized I’d stopped breathing at some point. I panted in response, suddenly starving for air. My slippery phone slid out of my hand and clattered onto the floor, sending my heart back into a sprint.

  How is this happening again? Why so soon? It wasn’t my first time being threatened by an unknown person, probably a killer, but the others had given me a little breathing time in between threats. Didn’t they?

  I ducked my head and scooped the device off the floor, then took my time sitting up. The panic spooling in my chest was quickly growing out of my control, like a tropical storm just off the coast. I inhaled long and slow, pulling air in through my nose before releasing it just as steadily through my mouth. I applied all the tricks and methods my therapist had taught me for times like these. I blocked out the noisy room and pictured my dad instead. I visualized Penelope, my store, and Imogene. Moonlight on the Mississippi and piles of warm beignets beneath a heaping mound of powdered sugar. Slowly, my heart rate fell back to something I could manage
while surrounded by strangers.

  “Miss Crocker?” Chase’s voice blew into my ear. He’d crouched beside me and covertly taken my hand while I regained myself. “There’s been a mix-up with the Siamese’s sweat suits. Would you mind lending a hand right now?” He leaned across me and whispered an apology to the table of judges. “I won’t keep her long. Very sorry for the interruption.”

  I let Chase lead me outside, where I immediately doubled over at the waist, sucking mild night air in deep steadying breaths. “Thank you,” I whispered.

  Chase rubbed my back. “You looked like you needed an escape hatch.”

  I straightened and pressed my palms to my hips, continuing the long breaths. The white envelope was sticky and wrinkled from my sweat-slicked hands. “I did.”

  “What happened?” He pulled me further into the shadows, away from the nearest window and prying eyes.

  “Jack didn’t tell you?”

  He shook his head. “No. He just took off. Did something happen?” Concern marred his handsome face. He seemed to see the truth in my eyes. Something had happened. To me. “Lacy, what’s going on?”

  I handed him the envelope. “Another threat. This one was at my seat when I got to the judges’ table. It even has my name on the outside.” Which meant the killer was there, in the building with me. Sharing my space. My air. Lurking far too close and utterly undetected. My cheeks and ears flamed hot with the realization I was right, and it was scarier than any other scenario I could imagine. I might’ve already spoken to the nut today. We might’ve had a casual conversation about snaps verses buttons on feline fedoras or how much we enjoyed the iced lattes from French Truck Coffee in the Lower Garden District. All while I was clueless and the other person was planning to deliver threat number two at first opportunity. I pressed a palm to my mouth, the other to my rolling stomach.

  Chase shook the papers out of the envelope and fanned through them to the page in question. He raked a hand through his hair while overenunciating some classic swears. My sentiments exactly. “Where’s Jack?” he asked. “Why isn’t he with you? Why didn’t he pull you out of there as soon as he knew?”

  “I think he’s looking for who might’ve done this. He went into panther mode in there and started slinking around, watching.” I rubbed the knotted muscles at the base of my neck and walked nervously in small random patterns.

  “Well, I’m done watching you be threatened,” Chase said, catching me midloop on my path to nowhere. “Let’s go home.”

  “I can’t.” I planted my feet as Chase tried to tug me away. “No, Chase. Stop. I’m safer here with all these people than I am alone at my place.”

  “Really?” he asked, brows up. “Like Viktor was?”

  My mind swam. Good lord. The killer is here and could kill me in front of everyone exactly like he killed Viktor. I leaned forward again and did some more deep breathing.

  “All these people didn’t stop what happened to Viktor,” Chase said. “Home is better. We can lock up and control who comes in the door. Plus you won’t be there alone. I’ll stay with you, or you can stay with me.” His expression turned pleading. “If you don’t want to be with me, then at least let me take you to your parents’ house. The security system over there beats Fort Knox.”

  “I think I saw Mr. North hand Mackey an envelope,” I said. “What if he’s the one who stole the money from Viktor’s room, and now he’s giving it to the new judge?”

  The telltale sound of a lighter drew my attention away from Chase before he could answer. A little golden glow appeared several yards away in the night.

  Chase reached for me and pulled me close. “Be calm,” he whispered in my ear. “You’re safe.”

  I nuzzled against his chest on instinct, not wanting to know if the smoker who’d appeared was really a killer who’d hoped to find me alone. I wrapped my arms around Chase’s middle, thankful for his calm, strength, and sanity when I wanted to collapse, cry, or pack my bags for Indonesia.

  “Hey,” Chase said, projecting his voice congenially. “How’d you get out here?”

  I lifted my eyes in curiosity.

  Miles Mackey puffed a long skinny cigarette in the darkness. Creeping tendrils of gray smoke climbed like gnarled fingers into the air as he meandered in our direction. “Even the MC gets a break from time to time,” he said, looking every bit as pompous as he sounded. “I see you two are having a little break of your own.” His beady black eyes trailed over me in an icky leer that knotted Chase’s fingers into the material of my dress and pressed me impossibly closer.

  “We’re just getting some fresh air,” Chase said. “Miss Crocker has run herself ragged these last few weeks preparing for the show, and the last twenty-four hours have been especially difficult, as you know.”

  Mackey seemed confused. “I suppose moving an event this size takes some effort, but everything always gets done, now, doesn’t it? No need to fret.”

  “I witnessed a murder,” I said, unexpectedly and with more venom that I’d intended. “One can hardly blame me for my fret.”

  Mackey took another drag on the cigarette. “Of course.”

  I wanted to tell him he couldn’t smoke here. That smoking was a terrible, potentially deadly habit and that I didn’t want to breathe in any more of his toxic mess, so he should kindly leave, but that was just my adrenaline kicking in. None of my upbringing or debutante training would allow that sort of outburst anyway. What I’d actually say would be much less honest and forthright. “Did you know Viktor Petrov well, Mr. Mackey?” I asked, much more sweetly. “You’ve worked with him for several years, haven’t you? I’m sure this has been especially hard on you.”

  Mackey tossed his cigarette onto the stone pathway and crushed it underfoot like a disgusting piggy litterbug. “I knew Viktor well. He was a cad and a pill, and he knew it. He didn’t care. Why should he? He was the star, after all.” Heavy emphasis on was. The bitterness in Mackey’s tone and words was strong enough to taste on my own tongue.

  “And now you’re the star,” I said.

  “Indeed.” Mackey smiled, turned, and strode away with a jaunty whistle.

  “I don’t like him,” I whispered, stepping away from Chase. “He has motive,” I said.

  Chase hung his head forward. When he’d righted himself a moment later, he seemed to have aged. “We’re not leaving, are we?”

  “No.”

  “And you’re doing this again?”

  “What?”

  “Meddling. Poking bears and such. Probably putting yourself in danger unnecessarily and trying to give me ulcers.”

  I let my mouth form a little O. “No. Of course not.” I stroked the sleeve of his dress shirt, then caught his gaze with mine. “I would never try to give you ulcers.”

  He smiled.

  “Let’s get back inside. It looks as if everyone else is still on a break in there.” I pointed to the closest window, where the lights inside put the people on display. “Let’s see if we can find Mr. North.”

  I explained the exchange I’d witnessed from my seat at the judges’ table while we maneuvered through the throngs of animals and people inside, searching for one man in particular.

  “No wonder Mackey’s in such a good mood,” Chase said. “He just got thirty-eight large in cash. Do you know how much fun we could have with that? What we could do?”

  “Open a cat shelter?” I asked. “Remember, I can’t be sure of what I saw. There were people in the way, but it would make sense given everything else I’ve learned so far.” North had wanted into Viktor’s dressing room the day he was killed, then the money went missing, and now North had passed something that looked a lot like the cash envelope to the new MC.

  “No cat shelters,” Chase said. “You and I could take a private jet to Paris for the day or rent an island for the weekend.”

  “What would we do with a whole island?” I asked, stopping to consider the possibility.

  Chase wagged his eyebrows.

  “Be s
erious.” I smiled and moved on, searching the crowd of faces for Mr. North. “No one needs a whole island for that.”

  Chase laughed. “Maybe I do.”

  I turned to ask a few follow-up questions on that, but North’s familiar profile caught my eye. “There.” I lifted a finger toward the refreshment table, and we wound our way across the room, then pinched ourselves into line behind North.

  I grabbed a disposable cup and pretended to wait my turn at the coffee dispenser. “Oh, hey, Mr. North, right?” I asked innocently.

  His smile fell a bit when he saw me. “Hello.” He filled his cup with hot water, then opened a paper tea packet and popped the little bag into the water.

  I pushed my cup under the coffee dispenser and pulled the tab. The heavenly aroma of liquid energy soared into my nose, and I smiled. “How are you doing?” I asked, pressing the full cup to my lips.

  “Fine, thank you.” He moved away to stir his tea, but I followed.

  “I just wanted to see if you were okay after what happened yesterday,” I said quietly.

  Chase had a plate of fruits and cheeses behind me, moving as inconspicuously as he could at my back.

  “Well, it was unfortunate. Mr. Petrov was a nice man,” North said, seeming not to have noticed the six-foot lawyer attached to my rear.

  I held back a snort. North was officially the first and only person I’d spoken to who thought Viktor was a nice man. “I’m actually referring to the fight I saw you having with that PA, Victoria.”

  “Veronica,” he corrected.

  “That’s right,” I said, “it’s just so hard to keep everyone straight. I guess I have a lot to figure out. For example, are the PAs usually difficult to get along with? It doesn’t seem like they should ever argue. They’re here to assist. It’s right there in their titles. Personal assistants.”

  “That sort of thing never happens,” he said. “It was completely my fault we argued. Tensions are high and all.” He glared at his tea bag, then checked his watch, probably wishing he could speed up the steep and escape the refreshment area and me.

  “What were you arguing about?” I asked.