Cat Got Your Crown

by Julie Chase

  “Would you like to come and see the cookie shop?” Willow asked. “I’m dying to show you. I’ll bet we could bake a ton of pupcakes in there if you ever need to make a bunch in a hurry.”

  Baking in bulk was my life, and I had to admit I was curious about the magical cookie shop I’d heard so much about. I turned a bright smile on Imogene. “Mind covering for me again?” I asked.

  “Not at all.” She smiled. “I’ll keep Penny too. Just leave these delicious cookies here with me.”

  “Will do,” I said.

  What I needed was two lifetime supplies of those. One for Imogene, and one for my mother.

  The black cat leapt into Willow’s arms and she snuggled it, no longer the least bit put off by his clinginess. “Turns out this is Rune, my great-grandma’s cat,” she said. “Can you believe it? It’s like he knew me the moment he saw me, and he’s been keeping track of me since the minute I got into the city.”

  At the risk of sounding like Chase, I could believe it.

  * * *

  Thirty minutes later, we approached a storefront with a teal door and giant window I couldn’t recall having ever seen before, on the corner of two crossroads whose names I immediately forgot. Willow stooped to set Rune on the sidewalk.

  I tried the knob, but it didn’t budge. “Are you sure this is the place?” I asked.

  Willow set a palm on the door and it practically fell open. “Yep. This is it.”

  I followed her over the threshold into a shop pulled straight from the early twentieth century. Black-and-white-checked flooring. Teal walls and trim on the curved glass display case. White beadboard wrapped the counters, and the bay windows were lined in walls of exposed bricks and beams. A small black mat with white food and water bowls marked RUNE sat beneath a display table of pizzelles.

  Scents of warm vanilla, caramel, and brown sugar hung in the air, punctuated with the mouth-watering zip of almonds and pound cake. I ran my fingertips over the twisted wrought-iron backs of chairs with little pink seat cushions and coordinating white round tables.

  I drifted deeper into the room, admiring the rows of brightly colored cookies lining parchment paper–covered trays inside the case near a register that could have been a historic landmark on its own.

  “This is marvelous,” I whispered, turning in a small circle to take it all in.

  I stopped as Rune slunk through the slowly opening door. Behind him, Henry LaSalle poked his head inside, a deep frown on his forehead. “Lacy?” he said, one hand on the doorknob and the other on the butt of his gun.

  I did a little hip-high wave. “Hey.”

  Henri’s gaze rose to meet Willow’s, and his jaw dropped.

  “This is Veda’s great-granddaughter, Willow,” I said. “Willow, this is Jack’s former partner, Detective Henri LaSalle.”

  Willow smiled. “We’ve met. Unofficially.”

  “Veda gave this shop to Willow,” I told Henri, unsure how long he planned to keep one hand on his gun.

  Willow came to stand with me. “It’s nice to meet you officially, Detective LaSalle,” she said, a bit breathlessly. “I have the deed to the shop, if you’d like to take a look.” She offered him the document, and he took it slowly, attention glued to her smiling face.

  I got a little uncomfortable with all the googly eyes going on. “What brings you to the cookie shop, Henri?” I asked, scrambling to recall the shop’s name or if it had one. Why couldn’t I keep the details of this place in my head? I’d already forgotten exactly how we’d gotten there.

  Henri relaxed his stance, finally dropping his hand away from his sidearm and apparently deciding there wasn’t a need to shoot us after all. “I was making my rounds and saw the door was ajar, but Veda never opens until dusk. I assumed there was an intruder.”

  “Nope. Just us,” I said, wondering how a woman over one hundred didn’t open her shop until dusk, but my grandparents had eaten dinner at four and been in their pajamas by seven for most of my life.

  “Can I get you a cookie, Detective LaSalle?” Willow asked. Her cheeks pinked and rounded with another big smile. She tugged the ends of her wild wavy locks.

  “Please, call me Henri,” he said, standing infinitely straighter, showing off his broad chest and shoulders and emphasizing his height.

  Preening, I realized.

  Willow hurried to her display counter and arranged a brightly colored cookie assortment on a small tray, then ferried it back to him.

  I felt my mouth forming a little O as I waited for his cookie selection. The chemistry zigzagging through the room was already a little intoxicating. I wasn’t convinced Henri could survive one of Willow’s special cookies without going partially insane.

  He shook his head. “No, thank you. I’m a vegan,” he said, “but they sure do look delicious.”

  “Vegan?” Willow said the word with quiet reverence. “I’ll have to think on that, but I’m sure I can make a cookie you’ll love.”

  “No doubt,” he said smoothly.

  I stifled an eye roll. Good for them. They’d met five seconds ago, and they were completely into each other. That was wonderful. Lovely.

  “You know what?” I said. “I’m going to go. You should get to know each other. You’re new to our city,” I told Willow. “Henri’s an expert on it.”

  “I’d love to show you around,” he said.

  I lifted a palm. “There you go. Congratulations on your new shop.” I gave Willow a hug and headed for the door. “Stop by and see me soon.”

  “Lacy,” Henri said. His slow, thick accent stopped me in my tracks.

  “Yeah?” I turned with a bright smile, hoping he wouldn’t ask me about the bulls. I wasn’t ready to talk about that again yet.

  “You and Chase,” he said, abandoning the sentence without finishing it.

  I waited, and so did he.

  I knew what Chase and I looked like together. Knew what Henri had seen when Chase had come to my rescue in Jackson Square. We were comfortable together, physically. Chase was doting and protective. He was a profoundly perfect and wonderful friend.

  “No,” I said finally. Even without knowing Henri’s exact question, I was sure this was the answer.

  Henri gave me a stiff dip of his chin. “Tell him,” he said.

  My stomach flipped as I contemplated what exactly he’d meant by the simple command, but I was too cowardly to ask.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Furry Godmother’s advice for the bold: When things get fishy, go fishing.

  I walked several blocks before digging my phone from my pocket and dialing Jack.

  He answered on the first ring. “Oliver.”

  “Hey. It’s me,” I stalled, not quite sure why I’d called or what to say.

  “Kristen?”

  “Kristen!” I barked.

  “Are you still up for that drink,” he asked. The uncharacteristic pep in his voice balled my fingers into fists at my side. “I can meet you somewhere, or you can swing by here.”

  I shut my mouth before it completely unhinged. Swing by his place? Was he serious? Jack never invited anyone to his massive estate. His significant inherited wealth wasn’t something he liked to talk about, and he never invited people over. The home was his oasis. His sanctuary. His Bat Cave. “It’s two o’clock in the afternoon,” I snapped, no longer able to hold my tongue. “Who is Kristen?”

  Jack coughed. “Sorry. My mistake. Is this Jenny?”

  I looked at the sky. “Never mind,” I said. “This was stupid. I have to go.”

  “Hey.” Jack’s voice was suddenly low and confident, the steady, almost dangerous sound I’d come to know and love. “Lacy. I was just kidding. Your mom said you do that to her sometimes, and I thought it was funny. I guess I did it wrong. What can I do for you?”

  I stopped walking and gave my heart a minute to settle, then cleared my throat. Twice. “How’s the investigation going?”

  He made an ugly throaty sound. “This pageant is one frustration after
another,” he said. “How are things going in the Quarter?”

  I started moving again. “How do you know I’m in the Quarter?”

  “Henri just called.”

  “Of course he did.” I refused to ask what Henri had had to say. “Did he tell you he took one look at Veda’s great-granddaughter, Willow, and fell in love?”

  Jack released a long breath into the receiver. “It happens sometimes.”

  I hailed a cab and climbed inside. “Furry Godmother, Magazine Street,” I told the driver. “I’m headed back to work,” I told Jack, “but we should talk later. Will I see you tonight at the Tea Room?”

  “Nah,” he said. “Bomb threat. The Tea Room is shut down while the bomb squad goes through it.”

  “A bomb threat?” I yipped. Good grief! I tried to wrap my head around the words. “Is everything okay? Was there a bomb?”

  “Not as far as we can tell,” he said.

  “That’s why you thought I’d said bomb earlier, not bulls,” I guessed.

  “No. I guessed bomb because no one since the invention of the cell phone has called and caught someone in the middle of Jackson Square running from actual bulls.”

  I laughed. “You don’t know that.”

  “I do,” he said quickly. “I absolutely do. Your life is bananas.”

  I smiled at the passing scenery, enjoying the casual chat with the most intense man I knew. “You didn’t mention the bomb when you stopped by Furry Godmother this morning,” I said. “Why not? It’s kind of a big deal, don’t you think?”

  “I figured you’d had a bad enough day, and you’d hear about it soon. The squad was running a sweep while I came to check in with you. Local cops were holding down the fort.”

  My other line rang, and I pulled the phone away from my cheek to see who was calling. “It’s my mom,” I said.

  “Tell her I said hello, and I’ll see you when I wrap things up for the day.”

  “You will?”

  “If I’m lucky,” he said. “Later, Crocker.” Jack disconnected, and I smiled against the phone, drinking in the endorphins.

  The phone rang in my palm, and I groaned. “Hey, Mom.”

  “Lacy?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “This is your mother.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I know, Mom. Your name and face come up every time you dial me from your cell phone, plus I recognize your voice.”

  “There was a bomb threat at the Tea Room this morning, and they’ve decided to postpone the pageant until tomorrow,” she said, ignoring me like she always did during that portion of our how-cell-phones-work conversation.

  “I know.”

  “You know? How is that possible?”

  I smiled.

  “Jack,” she said. “What else did he say?”

  I rested my head against the sun-warmed vinyl upholstery of the cab as it crawled up to a red light. “That he will see me tonight.”

  Mom was silent for a long beat. “I was going to invite you for dinner. I have news.”

  “How about breakfast?” I countered.

  “You said no to breakfast the last time I invited you to meet me.”

  I rubbed my forehead. “That was only because I’d already promised to meet Scarlet somewhere else. I’m free tomorrow. I’d love to meet you then.”

  “Fine, but I’m not cooking.” She hung up before I could say goodbye.

  I dropped my head forward. Somehow I’d managed to irk my mother in less time than it had taken the light to change. That had to be a Crocker record.

  * * *

  I changed into cut-off shorts and a tank top the minute I walked through the door that night. Despite the million things I could have been stressed about, my mind had drifted back to Grandpa Smacker on repeat after seeing Willow’s new cookie shop. I’d helped Imogene at Furry Godmother until closing time, but the entire bakery display case had already been empty when I got there at three. I wasn’t a magical baker like Willow, but the things I made were special in their own ways. They were delicious and nutritious, for starters, plus they’d come to symbolize my successful reentry into the Garden District world. My pet-friendly recipes had gotten me the job at Grandpa Smacker, which had helped Jack with his investigation into his grandpa’s death, and that investigation had brought me closer to Jack.

  I tied an apron around my waist and got to work organizing the ingredients that were safe for pets on my countertop. I skipped the yogurt and peanut butter this time. I made enough sweet things already. It was time I made something savory. Something an owner could buy for lunch and share safely with their pet as they walked through the streets during the Fall Food Festival together.

  I flipped the television on for background noise as I worked and waited to see the news coverage of the morning’s bull fiasco. I found a rhythm in the kitchen that carried me through multiple recipes and most of the evening news.

  When the doorbell rang, it took a minute for me to orient myself. I wiped my hands in the material of my apron and struggled to pull my mind back to the moment. It felt a lot like coming up from under water.

  Scarlet dropped her keys on the coffee table before I could make it to the door. “I’m here to help,” she said. “What can I do?” Scarlet stopped to look at the island full of still steaming products. Her faded NOLA Saints T-shirt and worn-out jeans made her look impossibly younger. The low-riding pigtails probably helped. “I thought you’d be upset,” she said. “Chase told me you were almost killed today. Then my mother said your mother told her there was a bomb scare at the pet pageant. Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” I said for the millionth time. “I was trying to come up with a recipe for the Fall Food Festival. Taste this.” I offered her a meatball on a toothpick.

  Scarlet popped it in her mouth and chewed slowly. “I’m not going to lie,” she said, “It’s not great.”

  “Okay.” I grabbed a pen and paper. “What’s it missing?”

  “Salt? Pepper? A little punch of something.”

  “Great.” I set the notebook aside. “Now this.” I passed her a napkin with a bacon-and-rice patty.

  “What is it?” she asked, sniffing it first this time.

  “Bacon, rice, chicken broth, bread crumbs, and an egg.”

  Scarlet’s ruby-red lips pulled down on the sides. “Are you feeding me dog food again?”

  “It’s not dog food,” I said. “I told you. I have to make a recipe people will enjoy, and their pets can safely share.”

  She imitated a crossing guard, raising a palm in my direction. “No thank you. Find another guinea pig. It’s bad enough Carter makes me try all the little jars of baby food, and that’s actual people food, just pureed.

  “One bite,” I begged. “And this is all people food. I’m just trying to get the right combination, and none of it has been pureed. Here. I’ll pour the wine while you think it over.” I slid a glass of cabernet in her direction.

  “One bite.”

  I waited while she chewed the bacon-and-rice patty. “This isn’t bad. For dog food,” she added, swigging the wine.

  “I think you’re too in your head about it being dog food,” I said. “It’s a combination of ingredients you eat all the time. I’ve just put them together, without any other ingredients that aren’t safe for canines.”

  Scarlet finished the little patty, then pulled a laptop from her satchel and powered it up. “I didn’t hate it,” she said. “Now it’s your turn. You have to watch some of these nanny applications with me. I’ve narrowed it down to the handful of applicants that didn’t make my skin crawl.”

  “Interesting.” I moved to her side of the counter and took a seat on the stool beside hers. “What kind of people sent nanny application videos that made your skin crawl?”

  “You don’t want to know.”

  The doorbell rang.

  “Be right back.” I went to answer the door and found Jack on the porch in dark-washed jeans and a fitted black button-down. The shirt was unb
uttoned at the neck, revealing the curved collar of a black T-shirt beneath. His sleeves were rolled to the elbows, and his hair was still damp from a recent shower.

  “I didn’t realize Scarlet would be here,” he said softly.

  “Neither did I,” I answered. “Come in.” I took his hand and led him to the kitchen. “Scarlet came to check on me after the bull thing and to ask me to help her screen video applications from potential nannies.”

  Scarlet whistled as we walked into the kitchen. “Nice,” she said, giving Jack an appreciative nod.

  Jack gave her a crooked smile and shook his head. “Thanks.”

  “You going on a date?” she asked.

  He flipped his gaze to me, then quickly back. “Just checking in on Lacy too.”

  “Good.” Scarlet patted the stool beside her. “I’m glad you’re here. I can’t think of a better vetter than a cop.”

  Jack took a seat. He swiped half a chicken BLT off the counter and took a bite.

  Scarlet and I watched as he chewed. “Now this,” she said, handing him a meatball on a toothpick before he could take a second bite of the sandwich.

  He took it, but he gave the array of food on the counter another look. “This is dog food, isn’t it?”

  Scarlet barked a loud laugh and clapped her hands. “She got me, too.”

  “It’s not dog food,” I argued.

  Jack tried the meatball. “No,” he said, spitting it into a paper towel. “Bad.”

  “What about the sandwich?” I asked.

  He took another bite. “I like the sandwich, but it could use some mustard.”

  I raised my arms overhead in a V for victory. “Then it’s decided. That’s what we’re serving to people at the Fall Food Festival,” I said. “Every single ingredient is safe for pets, and it tastes good enough for people. I can blend up some special dips for the humans to use with their portions.”

  He ripped his half-a-sandwich down the middle and handed me one side.