Cat Got Your Crown

by Julie Chase

  I positioned the money over the slot and fed it inside. When the tip of the bill breached the glass, a fan started beneath the base, and all the money on the ground swirled to life like a game show tornado machine. The vine of lights illuminated, and jazz music played. “Holy cow.”

  “There’s a sensor,” she said, crossing her arms and beaming.

  My money was sucked into the tornado. It joined the little party for another two or three seconds before the globe fell still and silent once more.

  “Isn’t it marvelous?” Mom asked. “Now, if you wanted to give some money to a table with adorable chickens, would you put your cash in the stenciled burlap sack of a pigtailed yodeler, or would you bring it here and make magic happen?”

  “I don’t think you understand farmers at all.”

  She ignored me. “Okay, enough dillydallying. Let’s get you into position before the show begins.”

  “I think you did great, Mom,” I said with a squeeze of her hand. “No one will be able to resist your donation collector machine.”

  “Thank you.”

  I made my usual circuit to check seams and stitches on contestants’ hats and gowns before letting Mom lead me to my seat at the judges’ table. Everything looked impossibly more beautiful from the new vantage point. Audience chairs had been set in arched rows and draped in black linen. Cameras were strategically positioned around the room, their operators at the ready. Speakers and wires were perfectly hidden. The center space was open for performers, and the judges’ table lined the rear wall of windows, with lush green gardens just outside. It was hard to believe anyone could have pulled this off in two days, but Mom was a force of nature. Pride filled my chest as she took the stand to announce Mackey and kick off the opening ceremony of the National Pet Pageant–New Orleans.

  One by one, the feline competitors and their owners showed off their stuff, sometimes to music, sometimes in silence. The costumes were fantastic on pets and owners alike. I gave every act a ten because anyone who could get a cat to perform deserved a pat on the back, but my favorite of them all was a local group called the NOLA Lolas.

  The NOLA Lolas were a tabby trio wearing the equivalent of giant scrunchies for collars. Purple, green, and gold. Lola, Lola, and Lola. I’d never heard of them before, but I would absolutely never forget them. My foot began to tap with the first measure of a familiar jazz tune. The trainer, dressed in a black suit with a purple fleur-de-lis tie, began to bounce in little timely bursts, perfectly choreographed to the tune. His cats took notice and began a game of leapfrog, hopping over one another in a crisscross pattern until the trainer took a bow. They ran for him then, one by one, and were tossed onto a broad platform several feet off the ground. From there, they drove a cylinder across the plank, each cat on two legs, front paws on the prop ahead of them. When the cylinder hit the short wall at the end of the plank, fleur-de-lis flags popped up, and the crowd went crazy. The cats ran down a set of padded steps and began a flurry of varied activities. I didn’t know who to watch. One spun on two legs. One ran a big colorful ball around the floor. One walked a little tightrope. It was a three-cat circus, and I was on my feet, whistling with the audience as the music climbed to a crescendo. The cats unified, climbed a row of carpeted columns, and grabbed the thick purple ribbons on top. When they jumped back down, fancy white letters became visible on the rich satin material. Together, they announced: NEW ORLEANS STRONG. The crowd exploded in applause and a set of tiny confetti rockets burst with the final note of the song.

  I couldn’t have been more excited if it had been Penelope on stage. Those cats were fantastic! My heart raced as I pounded my hands together while the trainer led them in a series of bows, all three cats cradled in his arms.

  I was thankful for the small break while the stage was cleared so I could catch my breath.

  By intermission, I was eager to get out of the spotlight and slouch a while. I moved slowly “offstage,” toward the green room with private refreshments set out for judges and pageant staff only. The spread was gourmet and elaborate, and once again, Mom had outdone herself. I found a place against the wall and watched as people trickled in. Unease crept over my skin, never far away these days. One of the people filling the room could be the same one who had threatened me this morning and for the third time this week. Worse, one of them was a killer.

  I rubbed the gooseflesh off my arms and willed my coiling stomach to still. Jack was on the case. If anyone could find the culprit, it was Jack. And the pageant will be over in a few days anyhow, I reasoned, so either way, the danger will soon be gone.

  Chase inched along in my direction, surrounded by a gaggle of giggling women. I recognized most of them as pet owners and PAs, though one was a member of my NPP Welcoming Committee. I also recognized Chase’s smile as the one he used in court while facing off with a witness from the opposing side.

  I fluffed my hair and refreshed my smile. “There you are,” I said in a gush.

  “Here I am,” Chase repeated with the quirk of a brow. “Everything okay?”

  I reached for his hands and pulled him to me, forcing the women at his sides to fall back. I rose on my toes and kissed his cheek.

  Chase’s arm snaked out and held me in place. His lips found my ear. “Help,” he whispered.

  Behind him, the ladies ogled and giggled.

  I slid my arm through his and beamed at his pursuers. “Ladies, thank you so much for looking after him for me.” I snuggled tight to his side, “but I think we’re going to sneak off and get some fresh air.”

  A woman at least twice our ages raised her hand before we could escape. “Is it true he was a professional volleyball player?” she asked me. Her gaze slid over Chase thoughtfully.

  He squirmed at my side.

  Two of the other ladies began to tap the screens of their phones. Googling, I guessed, and I knew what they would find. A wide assortment of photos from past competitions where Chase wore nothing but sunglasses and board shorts. I’d looked too when he’d first come home, and suddenly I felt a little creepy for it. “I’m sorry,” I said, ignoring the question. “I don’t mean to rush off, but we only get a few minutes, so I’d better make haste while I can.” I slid my hand down to take Chase’s, then led him away. I didn’t stop until we’d found a quiet piece of the hallway where we were alone.

  “I feel dirty,” he said with a full-body shiver.

  I shook my head. “You know women go through that every day, right?” Did the men in my life really have no idea?

  He turned his mouth down and his expression softened.

  “It’s life,” I said. “Though women are normally more discreet about our appreciation of a nice physique,” I told him. “I guess this is the price you pay for being sexy, young, and fabulous.” I nudged him with my elbow. “Are you going to be okay?”

  “You think I’m sexy?” he asked.

  My mom came into view, and I stepped away from Chase with a laugh. “I need to catch Mom before intermission ends. I want to see if Eva’s here tonight. I haven’t spoken with her about Viktor yet, and I really need to.”

  Chase lifted his palms. “Go on, Crocker. Do your thing. I owe you one for the save.”

  “Darn right,” I said, slipping into the mix of people heading in and out of the private hallway.

  Mom looked up as I drew near. The ladies and Mrs. Smart turned in my direction as well.

  “Hello,” I said to the little group. “Everything is going well. Yes?”

  Mrs. Smart nodded. “It’s all very beautiful,” she said. “I think New Orleans might be one of my new favorite cities. Your mother has been spoiling me. Showing me around. Making sure I have everything I need, sometimes before I know I need it.”

  “That’s my mom,” I said, “selfless and giving.”

  Mom forced a tight smile.

  I scanned her group for the mousy brunette. “Eva?” I said, locking gazes with my quietest committee sister. “I’m so glad to see you. Do you want to get a little
air with me before intermission ends?”

  She nodded, then looked at Mom, presumably for permission.

  Mom gave a slow blink of approval, and I dragged Eva through the closest exit door.

  Night sounds chirped and croaked around us. The area was unlit, oddly dark when compared to the endless lights on every other side of the building. “How about a walk to the bridge and back?”

  We turned up a wide cobblestone path that glowed warmly beneath the extensive outdoor lighting at the Tea Room.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” I said. “We need to talk about what you saw in the balcony the day Viktor fell.”

  “I told the police everything already,” Eva said. Her wide brown eyes searched mine as we came to a stop on the high, arching bridge that separated the gardens from the zoo. “I don’t know what you think I’m hiding, but I assure you I’ve reported every detail from the time I spent in the balcony, and I didn’t see anything. By the time I got there, he was already gone.” Her normally gentle tone was clipped, the words rushed, and she chewed her lip when she finished.

  Maybe Eva was just nervous about being cornered and led into the night to be questioned, but I couldn’t help thinking she was nervous for another reason, one I wouldn’t like.

  “I’m not suggesting that you lied,” I said. “I’m just trying to put the pieces together, and you’re our best chance at finding Viktor’s killer. Everyone else seemed to be in the theater or otherwise accounted for at the time of his fall.” Except Veronica and North, I realized. Where were they before I found them arguing?

  “I know you mean well,” she said, “and that this is the sort of thing you’re known for doing, but I don’t have anything else to say.” Eva leaned against the narrow stone ledge and stared into the water far below.

  I wasn’t sure if I should feel offended by her words or her tone, but I did. “If there’s anything you forgot to mention when you gave your official statement,” I suggested, “maybe something you remembered after you left the station or something else has happened since then, I could help you get those details to the detective in charge.”

  “No.” She tucked thick brown locks behind one ear and turned to face me. “It’s just like I’ve told everyone else who has asked. I heard a commotion, and I went to see what was happening, but by the time I got there, there had already been a loud crash and there was screaming coming from below. I stretched onto my tiptoes to see what was happening, and that’s when you saw me.” She blinked back fresh tears, composure quickly slipping. “I didn’t kill him, Lacy. I know I’m the easiest one to point fingers at, but I didn’t do it, I swear.”

  I gave her a short hug. “It’s going to be okay,” I said, casting my gaze back toward the lights glowing softly in the distance. “I’ll figure this out.”

  Eva hadn’t killed Viktor, but someone in there had.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Furry Godmother’s words of wisdom: Life is short; eat the fruit dip.

  I drove home with the windows down. The rush of wind in my hair was freeing after a long, tense night in the spotlight. It was unnerving the way audience members scrutinized the judges as carefully as they watched the contestants, as if they could intuit our thoughts, guess our scores. My scores were usually tens, so maybe that was true. Still, the fact that one of the onlookers was likely a stalker and cold-blooded killer tested my antiperspirant’s promises.

  I slowed at the next intersection and smiled as Willow’s face came into view beneath a streetlamp. Her eyes were closed and her chin was up as she seemed to savor the firm rush of summer wind. I pulled against the curb across the street and waved from my open window. “Willow!”

  Her eyes opened. “Lacy?” The same black cat wound around her ankles. She held her cross-body bag against her middle as she jogged over to see me. Wedge-style sandals peeked from beneath the flowing material of her patchwork skirt with each long stride.

  “Where are you headed?” I asked.

  “Just walking. Enjoying the city. I got on a green trolley near my hotel and it brought me all the way here.”

  I laughed. “That was the St. Charles streetcar,” I told her. “It’s a historic landmark, the oldest continuously operating line in the world and my personal favorite.” I’d ridden the St. Charles Streetcar dozens of times before I’d had a driver’s license or money for a cab. The rush of climbing on board and leaving my life behind had been intoxicating, and I’d gotten hooked fast. In fact, most of my early teen adventures had begun with a ride on that streetcar, and shockingly, my mother had never stopped me. As long as I was back in time for dinner.

  “Cool,” Willow said. “Where are you going all dressed up? Hot date?”

  I gave my new dress a look. “Home. I was judging a pet competition. Cats tonight. Dogs tomorrow. Birds and other pets on day three, and the last night is for crowning the winners.”

  She puckered her brow. “That sounds like fun, so why do you look distressed?”

  “It was fun,” I said, working up a better I’m-fine face. I considered how to put everything that had happened to me these last few days into words, then decided not to burden her with the mess that had become my life. “I saw a man fall to his death from a balcony,” I blurted.

  My jaw dropped, and I slapped a palm across my open mouth. “I’m so sorry.” I apologized. “I didn’t mean to say that.” I bit the insides of my cheeks in embarrassment.

  “The guy from the paper?” Willow asked. “Oh my gosh. I just read about that in the headlines this morning. He was with the National Pet Pageant.” She bounced the heel of her hand off her forehead. “Of course. Oh my goodness. You must be so shaken. I hope you didn’t have to see the aftermath.” She shivered.

  “I did. Up close,” I said. “He nearly fell on me.” My eyes went painfully wide.

  “No wonder you’re distressed. That’s enough to ruin anyone’s week.”

  “It’s not just that,” I rambled on. “A friend of mine is a suspect in the murder, so I’ve been trying to prove her innocence, but now I’m on my third death threat since Sunday. Well,” I paused, “they aren’t literally threats, but the threat is implied.” Holy cow! Why couldn’t I shut up? Did I need to talk to someone so badly that I’d unload such horrific and personal details on a virtual stranger? When was my therapist coming back from vacation? I need her. “I’m going home to pour a glass of wine and bake. Do you want to join me?”

  I slammed my mouth shut. Since when did I ask people I’d met once at work to come home with me? I forced my smile in place as I searched my head for what had possessed me to make the impetuous offer but came up empty. I dug deeper for a polite way to redact and had the same result.

  My passenger side door opened, and Willow poked her head inside. “I love to bake!” She lowered onto the seat, pulling the fabric of her skirt safely inside with her and tucking it under her thighs. The black cat jumped on her lap. “No,” she said, gripping him around the middle and attempting to lift him off.

  The cat stretched his legs toward hers until they seemed to thin into four black strings, reaching for her lap. “Mew!”

  “It’s fine,” I said. “Penelope loves company, and I don’t mind if you don’t.”

  Willow groaned but shut the door and put the cat back on her lap. “This cat is obsessed. I ate lunch at a café having open-mic poetry readings today and lost track of time. When I left the place two hours later, the cat was still sitting outside the door. Waiting. He just fell into step beside me when I passed, as if I’d only been gone a few minutes.”

  “Wow. He’s really attached.” I angled back into traffic and motored onto my block a few minutes later. The streets were quiet in my neighborhood, beautiful and calm. A couple held hands in the distance, swinging their arms between them, and a jogger rounded the corner as I pulled into my drive. I felt a pinch of panic as I looked at my front door. Was my house clean? Would I die of embarrassment when she saw ten discarded outfits strewn over chair backs and couches or fif
ty pairs of shoes piled near the door? Was Willow possibly dangerous? Had I invited a lunatic inside to kill me privately behind closed doors?

  “Sometimes baking is the only way I can work out my thoughts and frustrations,” she said, slowly stroking the cat’s fur. “It’s a good plan for tonight. It’ll clear your head and help you refocus yourself after the week you’ve had. What are you baking?” she asked as we climbed out.

  “Pupcakes, tuna tarts, pawlines, and canine carrot cakes.” Three dozen of each, and they’d probably all be sold out before lunch tomorrow.

  Willow spouted a whimsical laugh. “I’ve baked just about everything, but I’ve never baked for animals. This will be fun.”

  “You’ve baked everything?” Was she for real? “Like what?”

  She shook her head, looking truly joyful. “You name it. I was baking before I could reach the countertop without a step stool. My mom used to tell me to always bake happy because I had the power to bake my moods right into the dough.”

  I opened the front door feeling lighter and let my new friend inside. “I love that.” The warm feeling I got when I saw my dad suddenly enveloped me, and I was thankful my path and Willow’s had crossed. I didn’t know any other bakers, and I really liked the idea of working side by side with someone as passionate about it as I was.

  Penelope eyeballed the new cat, then ran for a seat on Spot, the robotic vacuum I’d recently purchased for home. The one at work made her so happy that I’d finally broken down and ordered one for the house too, but she wasn’t usually as interested in this one. I’d always assumed she’d simply had enough vacuum riding at work and had other things to do at night, but now I wondered if it had more to do with showing off. There was rarely an audience at home.

  “I love those,” Willow said, stepping nearer to the vacuum.

  Penelope pawed the big round button, and Spot played his get-up-and-go song, then disembarked the dock and headed for the nearest wall.

  Willow laughed. “Excellent.” She gave my home an appreciative scan. “Your place is beautiful.”