Cat Got Your Crown

by Julie Chase

  “Thanks. Wait until you see the kitchen. I just remodeled it, and I still get goosebumps.” I did a mental kick to my head for bragging. What was wrong with me?

  Willow’s jaw dropped as she took in the newly renovated space. “Wow.” She ran her fingertips over the white marble counters and across the stovetop before turning to admire the double oven and wine fridge. “This is right out of a magazine.”

  “I went a little overboard, I know, and I’ll never get the money out of it if I move, but I have no plans of moving and it makes me so crazy happy.”

  “I bet.” She pressed her palms to the island countertop and pulled her backside up to sit. Her feet dangled against the cabinets below. “I saw your store name on a billboard by the aquarium today,” she said. “You must do really well.”

  “Business is better since I got a few of my products in the Grandpa Smacker lineup,” I said. “Did you go inside the aquarium?”

  “No. I was down that way catching the ferry to Algiers.”

  “Really?” Algiers was a nice little community across the Mississippi from the French Quarter. Lots of people commuted back and forth from there for work and play. “What’s going on in Algiers?”

  “Nothing special. I just wanted to ride the ferry and see the New Orleans cityscape from a new perspective. I took a few pictures, then rode back. It was fun.”

  I sighed, appreciating her free spirit and trying to recall the last time I’d had a day without responsibilities and obligations dictating my every minute. “I’m glad you’re enjoying my town,” I said, then selected a bottle of Crescent City Merlot.

  “I love everything about it here,” she said. “Everyone I’ve met. Everything I’ve seen. Everything I’ve done. I’m a traveler at heart, but something inside me can’t imagine leaving this place. Isn’t that bizarre?”

  “Not really,” I admitted. I was intimately familiar with the feeling. “Have you seen your great-grandma yet?” I uncorked the bottle, then freed two glasses from the rack and poured wine into each.

  “No. I tried her again today, but she was out. A neighbor said she just got back from a trip, but that can’t be right. She was the one who sent me the letters asking me to come here.” Willow sipped the wine and shrugged. “Maybe it’s good that we’ve missed each other these last couple days. By the time we meet, I will have already seen the city, and I can focus on getting to know her instead.”

  I lowered my glass midsip as Willow’s plight began to sound familiar. “You’ve never met your great-grandma, but she sent you letters asking you to come to New Orleans, and she was gone when you got here.”

  Willow nodded. “That’s it.”

  The proverbial hamster began to fumble his way around his creaky wheel in my head. “You like to bake,” I recapped. Her mom said she could bake her emotions right into the dough. That sounded downright magical to me. “Is your mailing address in Ohio, by chance?”

  Her eyes widened. “Yes. How did you know that?”

  “Okay.” I set my glass aside and gave Willow a closer look. “This is going to sound completely bizarre, and I’m probably a nut for asking, but your story is so close to another one I’ve been following peripherally through a friend.”

  “Go on,” she said, a wide, expectant grin on her face. “What is it?”

  “Is your great-grandma’s name Veda, by any chance?”

  “Yes!” She patted the counter with her palm. “That’s totally crazy! You know Veda? And I keep running into you? It’s cosmic.”

  Her enthusiasm was electric.

  My smile widened until it hurt my face.

  “How do you know my great-grandma?”

  I sipped my wine, trying uselessly to make sense of such a wide and random coincidence. “Veda is my nanny’s best friend. I’ve never met her, but I hear about her all the time.”

  Willow swiveled on my countertop, dragging her gaze around my kitchen and the adjoining hallway. “You have a nanny?”

  “No.” I laughed long and loud, and it felt amazing. “She was my nanny. Now she’s my shopkeep. I still see her and talk with her almost every day.”

  “Is her name Emma Jean?” Willow asked.

  “What? Yes! I mean, it’s Imogene, but that’s close enough. How can you possibly know that?” My head spun as I gathered baking supplies onto the counter. “I don’t normally believe in coincidence, but this is too much.”

  Willow lifted the beautiful amulet on her necklace and slid it back and forth over the shiny silver line. “It’s not a coincidence. I actually came to your shop because the handsome cop in the Quarter that saw me knocking on Great-Grandma’s door sent me there. He knew she wasn’t home but didn’t have any details, so he suggested I talk to Emma Jean at Furry Godmother, but when I met you and your name was Lacy, I figured he was wrong or pulling my leg.”

  I dropped a container of yogurt on the counter as another realization hit me. “The guy with the sexy southern-Louisiana accent was a cop?”

  “I think. He had a badge.” She lifted her necklace. “On a chain.”

  “Oh my goodness. I’ll bet that’s my detective’s former partner, Henri.” I laughed again. “I know him too. Jack has told me that Henri keeps an eye on Veda, and he surely fits the description you’re giving.”

  “Is he dating anyone?” she asked. “I think he’s my soulmate. Did you say you have a detective?”

  I laughed some more. My side ached. My heart was light. “Yeah. He’s not mine, but there’s a homicide detective in this district named Jack Oliver who has become a good friend of mine.”

  Willow swirled her wine and watched me as I ordered things on my counter and preheated the oven. “You like him.”

  “Yeah.”

  “He likes you, too.”

  I snorted. “How do you know? Have you met him too?”

  She stilled her wine and studied my face, smile drooping a bit at the corners. “I just know.”

  The doorbell rang, and I jumped. “Stay here and call 911 if I scream.” I tiptoed into the living room and peeked out the front window before opening the door.

  Chase pulled me into his arms as he stepped inside.

  I arched my back as he curled himself around me and squeezed.

  “Sorry I didn’t stick around to the end tonight,” he said. “I had to run to the office for some paperwork. Sue Li is like my personal marketing department. I had a line of pet owners asking me for pet custody papers, wills, and all sorts of things at intermission.”

  I pressed my palms to his chest and peeled myself away. “Your dad must be proud.” I grinned, imagining Chase explaining the situation to his father. His dad was probably almost as thrilled with Chase practicing pet law as my mother had been when I’d told her I wanted to open a pet boutique.

  “He’s so mad.” Chase smiled. “He’s forbidden me from representing any pets or their owners. I agreed, then I stopped charging them.”

  I laughed again, harder and louder.

  “I’d forgotten how much fun it is to irk my dad,” he said. His gaze drifted past me, and his brows rose. “Well, hello. I didn’t realize Lacy had company.”

  “I suppose this is Jack,” Willow said, standing in the kitchen doorway with a thoughtful expression. “He’s very handsome. I’m finding a pattern in this city.”

  I turned to smile at her.

  She looked my way. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to be nosy. When I heard all the laughing, I figured we didn’t need 911.”

  My cheeks flamed hot as I led Chase toward the kitchen, hoping she wouldn’t bring Jack up again. “Willow, this is my dear friend Chase Hawthorne. Chase, this is my new friend Willow.”

  Willow bit her bottom lip. “Ah,” she said. “Sorry for the mix-up.” She slid her gaze from Chase to me, then back. “Lacy mentioned her cop friend, and you look like a cop, so I just assumed.”

  He smiled. “You think I look like a cop?”

  Chase looked nothing like a cop. “Chase is an attorney,” I said, rounding my
counter to get to work.

  My guests shook hands.

  “Nice to meet you,” he said, taking his time to drink her in. “You’re not from around here.”

  “Totally,” she agreed, “but I’d like to be, and I’m thinking hard about staying.”

  Chase’s brows rose. He turned a curious look in my direction. “How did the two of you meet?”

  I poured him a glass of wine. “You’ll never believe it, but it turns out that it really is a small world. Willow is Veda’s great-granddaughter.”

  Chase took a moment to process, then stepped back, dropping his hands to his sides.

  I grinned.

  Chase Hawthorne was the single most superstitious, believe-anything man in all of New Orleans, and the great-granddaughter of a woman with an alleged magical cookie shop had just touched his skin. I imagined he was waiting to turn into a frog or frosting. I wasn’t sure how his mind worked.

  While I’d considered every ghost and witch story I’d ever heard to be exactly that, Chase had internalized and ruminated on them. Even Imogene freaked him out with her talk of juju and such. He’d once bought a spell from her called other-lawyer-be-stupid so he could get out of a Segway-riding-while-under-the-influence charge, and when the charges had been dropped, his weird beliefs had been cemented further. On a scale of one to ten for unusual people, Imogene was a seven and a half. Veda was fifty-two.

  Willow chose a bar stool as I tied an apron around my middle.

  Chase left an empty seat between them when he sat down. “How’s your progress coming on the other thing?” he asked, casting a cautious look at Willow.

  “It’s okay,” I said. “I told her about the investigation.” Though not exactly intentionally. “It’s going too slowly as usual, and I’m especially uncomfortable with the fact the person sending me threats knows my name, place of business, and home address.”

  “Not good,” Willow whispered.

  “Hear, hear,” Chase agreed.

  The low hum of my robot vacuum registered as Penelope rode by. Her chariot bounced off the kitchen door, turned in a circle four times, then headed back the way it had come.

  The black cat leapt onto Willow’s legs with ease, and she held him in place, instantly, absently stroking his shiny fur. “If this cat doesn’t leave soon, I’m going to have to name it.”

  “You’d better start thinking of names,” I said. “Chase can represent you or your cat in any legal issues you might be having,” I teased, pushing a sliver of carrot between my smiling lips.

  “Not my cat,” she said, turning to Chase. “It’s so bizarre. He’s just been following me around the city since I got here.”

  Chase downed the rest of his wine and poured a refill. He was especially attached to the idea of witches having “familiars,” or animal-shaped spirits who served their witch as a servant, spy, and companion.

  I made a mental note to dress up as a witch for Halloween while I slid the first round of canine carrot cakes into the oven. “If Willow isn’t busy tomorrow night, maybe she can go to the pet pageant with you and be your fake girlfriend.”

  “I doubt he needs a fake girlfriend,” she said.

  Chase widened his eyes.

  I added a little more wine to my glass and hers. “He does. A bunch of pet moms were ogling him today, and it made him uncomfortable.”

  “Welcome to our world,” she said dryly.

  I pointed at her.

  Chase shook his head regretfully. “I apologize on behalf of all men if I’ve ever made you uncomfortable,” he said, “or if I’ve ever said anything crass and inappropriate about your incredible figure.”

  Willow laughed.

  I smiled as the wine began to peel layers of stress away, at least temporarily. “You’ve never made me uncomfortable,” I told him.

  “Well, then, I apologize for all the wildly inappropriate thoughts I’ve had about you. Specifically those about your incredible figure.”

  I tossed a dish towel at his head.

  Willow moved to my side of the island. “Mind if I cut in?”

  “Be my guest.” I set the timer for a second round of canine carrot cakes, then went to sit on the stool beside Chase. “I’m glad you’re here,” I said. “Thanks for coming over tonight.”

  Chase reached for my hand. “You’re having quite the week. Where else would I be?”

  Willow began to hum as she gathered ingredients from my fridge.

  I leaned my head on Chase’s shoulder. “You’re my best friend, next to Scarlet,” I clarified. “You know that, right?”

  “I do.” He leaned his cheek on my head. “Normally, I’m not a fan of second place, but Scarlet Hawthorne is a worthy number one, and I’m not just saying that because she married my brother.”

  Willow smiled at us as she hummed. She seemed to float around my kitchen to the enchanting melody. She dropped folded whipped cream, vanilla yogurt, and a box of pudding mix into a bowl and stirred until it was a pretty, cream-colored, sweet-scented cloud.

  She filled a colander with strawberries and grapes, ran them under water, then set them in front of us.

  Chase leaned slightly away.

  Willow dragged a strawberry through the mix and bit into it with a little wiggle of her shoulders.

  My stomach growled. “I love fruit dip. This is perfect. Thank you.” I grabbed a grape and dunked it in, then tried the dip with a strawberry … then another grape. My shoulders began to shimmy like Willow’s. “You’ve got to try this.” I dipped a grape and pointed it at Chase’s mouth.

  He opened reluctantly, and I dropped it inside.

  By midnight, the three of us had finished two bottles of wine and all my fruit. The last round of pupcakes was setting out to cool, and Chase was spinning Willow expertly in a move he’d likely learned at cotillion classes.

  I scooped the remaining fruit dip into a container and smiled as I pressed the lid into place. The night had turned out to be great. I never would’ve guessed I’d spend so much time laughing after my stress level had sprung off the charts just a few hours prior.

  Chase and Willow bowed and curtsied as the radio changed songs, and I exhaled a sigh of contentment.

  I opened my refrigerator to store the fruit dip and felt the worry creeping back into my mind before I could shut the door. My friends couldn’t stay forever. Soon, they’d leave, and I’d be alone. The killer might even be waiting outside my door for them to go.

  A dollop of dip clung to one knuckle, and I stuck it into my mouth as I pressed the refrigerator door closed.

  “Dance with me,” Chase said, a brilliant smile on his lips.

  “Yeah,” I said, feeling the worry slip away once more and wondering why I’d let anything get me down when my friends were still here and I could dance.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Furry Godmother’s words of warning: A bull in a china shop beats four in the Quarter.

  I took a cab to the French Quarter the next morning and got out at Jackson Square. The line from Café Du Monde was so long, it seemed like the ladies at the end might be closer to another café than the one they were aiming for. I’d filled up on coffee before leaving home to save time and money. Now I just had to hope the line to the nearest ladies’ room wasn’t as long as the line for coffee when I needed it.

  I smiled at the row of horses waiting along the curb for someone to want a carriage ride. I wished I’d brought them apples.

  A sharp whistle turned me around, and Scarlet skated into view, her short red tutu bobbing and bouncing with each flawless glide. The small red horns on her helmet had been replaced since the first time I’d seen them. No longer little cones, Scarlet’s new horns were long and curved, expertly crafted and intimidating enough to make any real bull jealous. “You’re early,” she said, pumping her little bat in the air. “Bless you.”

  “Anything for you,” I said, raising my gaze to her helmet. “Your horns look quite scary.”

  “Thanks.” She laughed and wiggled
her head. “Papier-mâché.”

  Scarlet linked her arm with mine and pointed me toward the far side of the square. “I’m setting up in front of the St. Louis Cathedral.”

  We passed throngs of people, street performers, and artists on our way across the lush green lawn and gardens, bypassing the statue of Andrew Jackson and a bubbling fountain behind him.

  Scarlet stopped at a long, white-skirted table. “Here we go. I just got the table covered. I need to unload the giveaways and load up the water.”

  “On it,” I said, ripping into the waiting boxes and setting out the Hawthorne law firm’s swag. Red buttons, bandanas, and foam bats all carried the firm’s logo and a tag line declaring that the Hawthornes had been “serving the Crescent City’s legal needs for more than fifty years.” I set piles of coordinating business cards and flyers in trays with weights and lined them on one side of the table. The other side would soon be covered in water bottles with personalized Hawthorne labels wrapping their middles.

  Soft scents of chicory and cinnamon sugar wafted from countless coffees and beignets in the square, and I took a beat to absorb the moment. The gleaming white cathedral before me. The steady rhythm of horses’ hooves behind me. A trio playing “When the Saints Come Marching In” on a trumpet, drum, and saxophone marching across the street at the corner. I loved New Orleans as a whole, but there was no beating the Quarter for ambience.

  Scarlet produced a gallon jug from a cooler beneath the table and stacked clear plastic cups beside it. “I know we have the bottles,” she said, “but some runners might be in the mood for a drink without having to commit to lugging a bottle around.”

  “Smart,” I said, unloading a case of mini bottles.

  The street before us was closed to traffic and teemed with men, women, and children dressed in white. Their ensembles ranged from fancy dresses with parasols to traditional bullfighter costumes, but they all wore a red sash about their waist, and the men had red bandanas around their necks as well.

  The “bulls” were gathered on the narrow side streets that flanked Jackson Square. Thousands of roller derby girls from all around the world were just waiting to be unleashed upon the crisp white-wearing masses. Shoulder-to-shoulder sheets of red, the girls seemed to move in waves as they grew more and more anxious for the run to begin.