Cat Got Your Crown

by Julie Chase

  I tried not to look as sick as I felt. “You said you love him.”

  “I do,” she pleaded, lacing her fingers together and extending the knot in my direction. “I do, but it’s not that easy and you know it.”

  “Important things rarely come easily,” I said. I tried not to be angry on behalf of all the other women like Eva who felt they could love only someone preapproved by their parents. “What did you see when you left the room?”

  She pressed her lips together and raised her shoulders. “Nothing. There was no one in the balcony, but I could hear Detective Oliver downstairs yelling and a few people were crying. I looked over the edge to see what was going on, thinking something had happened to one of the pets. I never expected to see Viktor.” Her eyes glossed with tears.

  “Eva,” I said carefully, “I believe you, but I have to tell Jack what you just told me.”

  She slumped. “I know.”

  “I’ll wait until I see him tonight, so you have time to do the right thing and make the call yourself.”

  She dragged her gaze up to meet mine, a mix of guilt and remorse in her eyes.

  “And you should probably tell your family and friends about Marcellus or cut him loose,” I said. “I’m no expert in love, but I can say as a fellow human being that I’d rather be dumped over someone else’s issues and family drama than crushed because the person I care about thinks I’m something to be ashamed of. If you love him, do what’s right by him.” I stood and lifted Penelope’s carrier into my arms. “Jack will be discreet with your personal information, but he’ll want to talk to you again once I tell him all this.”

  Eva wiped the tears from her eyes and nodded but made no move to stand.

  “I’ll see you tonight,” I said. “I can find my way out.”

  * * *

  I arrived on Magazine Street in time to park two blocks away from Furry Godmother and run to the shop through scorching heat and humidity. I flipped the CLOSED sign to OPEN at precisely ten AM and thanked my lucky stars I had central air-conditioning.

  I set Penelope free and loaded baked goods into the display case at warp speed, hoping to get ahead of the crowd.

  Shoppers began to trickle in almost immediately.

  I texted Scarlet to remind her she’d promised to find me a part-time shop keep before Imogene got completely fed up and quit.

  Scarlet replied with a smile-face emoticon and a tiny thumbs-up. HAVE THE PERFECT GIRL. IRONING OUT DETAILS.

  I breathed a little easier. Hopefully whoever she had in mind was less uptight and bizarre than the weird mix of nanny applicants she’d received. Then again, beggars couldn’t be choosers, and right now, I was a full-fledged beggar. I could deal with bizarre as long as it showed up on time and helped customers.

  By noon, I was spinning in circles from the bakery to the register to the telephone and all through the store, answering questions and taking orders on my own. I’d given Imogene the day off for a much-needed break, and I was partially regretting it already. I considered putting Scarlet’s skates on for added speed, but I’d probably never wear those again without seeing that lead bull’s flaring nostrils bearing down on me.

  A group of ladies with humidity-resistant hair and high-end pastel ensembles moved toward the counter with practiced steps. Their small, steady smiles were Stepford quality, the definitive result of too many etiquette and cotillion classes.

  I fixed a matching look in place to greet them.

  “Hey, y’all,” I said. “Out for lunch?”

  The NPP Welcoming Committee ladies let their smiles drop. “We came to check on you,” Elysia Mae Stevens said. “We heard about what happened with the bulls yesterday, and we thought we should drop in and see how you’re holding up.”

  “I’m great,” I lied. “Ready to get back to work tonight and see this pageant through.”

  A few of the ladies noticed the angry cuts and bruises on my hands and arms and stared. I forced myself not to hide them behind my back. “Where’s Eva?” I asked, surprised to see she hadn’t joined them yet and hoping it was because she’d decided to do the right thing.

  “Home,” Elysia said. “She told Reece Ann that Detective Oliver was coming for a visit. Apparently, Eva had something else she wanted to tell him.”

  I didn’t like the way Elysia shifted her lips into a tiny cat-that-ate-the-canary smile as she delivered the news, but I was proud of Eva for making the tough decision.

  Reece Ann looked as if she’d been slapped. “She swore me to secrecy, Elysia. Why on earth would you go and announce it like that?”

  Elysia slid her eyes in Reece Ann’s direction. “You weren’t so worried about keeping Eva’s secrets when you were telling them to me.”

  I clapped my hands together. “Well, I’m glad Eva thought of something else,” I said. “Maybe this will change things for her and be exactly what Detective Oliver needs to find out what really happened to Viktor.” And hopefully Eva would put some clothes on before Jack got there.

  “Rumor has it Eva is hiding a secret boyfriend,” Elysia said. “You seem to know Detective Oliver better than anyone else. Any chance it’s him?”

  I clamped my jaw shut before it could swing open, then reapplied my practiced smile. “Hard to say,” I told her, “but I’m sure if the rumors are true about Eva and a secret boyfriend, she’s probably just trying to enjoy their time together before everyone starts sticking their noses in it.”

  The committee ladies broke formation at that, and most went to peruse my shop.

  Reece Ann and Elysia stayed behind.

  “I don’t think the detective is seeing Eva,” Reece Ann said softly. “She’s only been hiding her guy for a month or two, but my brother saw Detective Oliver at a benefit auction in March, and he said women were coming on to the detective left and right, but he told every single one of them that he already had someone in his life and he wasn’t looking to botch things up.”

  I fought the frown tugging on my features. Had Jack been blowing those ladies off politely, or was he hiding a girlfriend from me?

  Why did everyone in this district have to keep so many secrets?

  Reece Ann gave a beleaguered sigh. “I can’t wait for this week to end.”

  “Amen,” Elysia echoed. “The next time this district hosts a national event, I’m planning a month in France to avoid it.”

  “If it wasn’t for your mother’s fortitude,” Reece Ann said, “this year’s pageant would have been over before it started. First we were short an MC because the original one died. Then his replacement was disqualified for taking bribes. Now we’re on our third MC, which means another judge will move up, and we’ll need another judge.”

  “And they can’t keep appointing judges from our committee,” Elysia said. “Lacy’s already judging, and Eva’s missing so much time over this nonsense murder allegation that we’re working our tails off to keep up as it is. Then there are the venue issues. The Tea Room is pretty, but it’s not a theater, and since we were forced to change locations on a moment’s notice, the logistics are awful.”

  “Agreed,” Reece Ann said. “Yet again, Mrs. Conti-Crocker saved the day. I bet no other city has a planning committee with a head like hers. The pageant is lucky it’s having all this trouble in New Orleans, where we don’t let things stop us.”

  Elysia nodded. “True. We’ve dealt with and overcome a bunch of unpleasant challenges so far, but I’m starting to worry about what might be coming next.”

  “So true,” Reece Ann said.

  They weren’t alone in that concern, and I didn’t want to venture a guess on what was waiting around the next corner. Whatever it was, experience promised it wouldn’t be good.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Furry Godmother’s advice for housekeeping: Pick up the pieces of your life before you trip on them.

  I swung my car into the designated judges’ parking outside the Audubon Tea Room, then hurried up the walkway toward the foyer doors. According to a text I�
�d received from Eva, she was glad I’d dropped in on her this morning. She’d had a long talk with Jack, and she planned to tell everyone about her relationship with Marcellus, maybe even tonight. I couldn’t wait to congratulate her on her bravery in doing the right thing.

  Mrs. Hams and the Llama Mamas waved as I approached. They’d set up a tiki hut outside the main doors to the Tea Room and dressed the llamas in grass skirts and leis. Anyone donating to their charity received a plastic coconut filled with shave ice and a “signed” photo of the llamas in hula attire. The signature was just a hoof stamp, but people were loving it. Families crowded around the hut for a chance to donate, pet the animals, and spoon up the fruity dessert. I didn’t blame them. It was ninety with a real feel of one-oh-two, and I could use some pineapple-coconut shave ice in my life. I stroked a llama’s head, dropped some cash in the jar to support a local literacy program, then accepted a lei and mini cup of heaven. The whole scenario was beyond adorable and wildly effective. In other words, it was just the kind of thing to make my mother crazy.

  I gave myself a brain freeze finishing the ice before reaching the Tea Room doors. I passed my lei to an exited child and puffed air against one palm, hoping Mom wouldn’t smell the tasty sweets on my breath.

  The foyer was crowded, but significantly cooler than outside. Members of the FFA lined one side of the space, holding fluffy yellow chicks and speaking to a handful of moms with kids in strollers about the adorable little peeps. On the other side of the room, the Jazzy Chicks were collecting donations for our local children’s hospital, and the display table had a crowd three people deep in every direction, all angling for a chance to drop their money into the extraordinary machine Mom had gotten from her artist friend. The globe was nearly full of cash already, and I couldn’t say for sure, but it seemed as if the Chicks might beat the Llamas this time around.

  I slid a few folded bills from my wallet into the FFA’s burlap sack before hurrying into the Tea Room. It didn’t seem fair that Mom had nicked their donations with her fancy display, but the children’s hospital was a wonderful cause. Still, even Mom would admit the poor yodeling farm children should get a little something for their efforts.

  Mom shot me a proud grin as I passed. She was schmoozing with donators and clearly pleased as punch with her success.

  I wound my way behind the judges’ table and tucked my purse beneath the white linen skirt. Chase was holding court in the seat beside mine. A line of people and their pets were throwing rapid-fire legal questions his way.

  I took my seat and watched as he unleashed his megawatt smile and sweet southern charm on the unsuspecting masses. Chase Hawthorne was one hundred percent as smart as he was pretty, and he never missed a beat. The line before him didn’t stop until he was out of business cards and the lights were getting dim.

  “Nice work; now skedaddle,” I said. “The show’s about to start, and I don’t need a lawyer.”

  “You need something in that dress,” he said, eyeballing me like a sailor on leave. “Protection, I think. Someone to stick close and guard your body.”

  “Oh my goodness,” I chided, sucking in my stomach and squaring my shoulders. “Knock it off. The judge who sits there is going to be mad when he finds you in his seat.”

  Chase leaned on one hip and dug something from the pocket of his gray slim-fit dress pants. He slicked the name tag on the breast of his suit jacket. CHASE HAWTHORNE. JUDGE.

  “Shut. Up.” I laughed at the delightful surprise. “They made you a judge? Why?”

  “I saw a need and offered my services,” he said with a grin. “The fact that there are a limited number of impartial folks hanging around here who are both willing and available on a moment’s notice probably helped my chances. Mrs. Smart and the other judges agreed and voted me in unanimously.”

  “Imagine that,” I said with a smile. “You charmed an old lady and a bunch of women who are already in love with you to get what you wanted. Shocking.”

  He kicked back in his seat and stretched long legs beneath the table. “You think I’m charming.”

  Mom took the mic, and a spotlight splashed over her.

  Chase leaned in my direction. “Cheer up. Your work here just got a lot more fun.”

  I swiveled forward before Mom caught me talking, then bumped Chase’s shoe with mine. “I’m glad you’re here,” I said.

  “Back at ya.”

  We watched dogs do things I didn’t know dogs could do. Feats of speed and agility. Finding hidden toys. A conga line of poodles in every size. The tricks were hilarious and amazing. I clapped like a lunatic every time.

  When Tippy, the shopping terrier, appeared, I had no idea what was in store. She pranced onto an adorable set painted to look like a miniature shopping center and went straight for a small silver cart. The pink apron at her waist was lined in white lace, and the matching bow on her head was perfection. Tippy’s oversized shopping list hung from one side of her cart, easily visible to the crowd. EGGS, MILK, FLOUR, ICING. Tippy pushed the cart on two legs along the little aisle to a typical Muzak tune. She collected one of each item from the list, placed the selections into her cart, and pushed the cart to the checkout. Her trainer mimed ringing up the sale, bagged the items, then placed them in the back seat of a remote-control car. Tippy hopped into the front seat, and the music changed to Aretha Franklin’s “Freeway of Love.” The crowd cheered as Tippy took a couple of spins around her trainer while he traded the store set for a small kitchen, complete with pink appliances and bowls marked with Ts. The trainer moved Tippy’s groceries to the counter, and then Tippy took a seat in front of the little stove until a small ding! interrupted the music. Tippy grabbed a towel that was tied to the handle of her little oven and tugged the door down. Then she did the same with a second bit of fabric tied to an interior shelf. The shelf slid out to reveal a small cake, and Tippy dug in.

  I was on my feet with cheers and laughter. How could I not appreciate a tiny baking terrier?

  When the night finally ended, I was completely exhausted from the thrill and still had hours of baking to do.

  Chase walked me to my car at a leisurely stroll, tossing peanuts from the green room into the air and catching them in his mouth. “I’m still laughing at the wiener dog dressed as a wiener,” he said. “I haven’t laughed that hard since the last time we were judges together. We should do this again tomorrow.”

  “Deal,” I said, “but I don’t think those dogs like to be called wiener dogs. It’s actually pronounced ween-ie dogs.”

  Chase laughed. “My bad. I’ll try to keep it straight next time.”

  A black town car stopped beside us, and the back door popped open. Mom leaned her head out. The back seat was packed with NPP Welcoming Committee ladies. “Lacy?” Mom called. “We’re going out for drinks. Why don’t you join us?”

  “Sorry,” I said. “I’m beat, and I have a ton of baking to do before I can sleep. I’ve got to go home and get to it. If I have a drink first, I’ll be asleep before the first round of kitty kisses come out of the oven.”

  “Don’t worry about the drinks,” Mom said. “You ride with us, and Chase can take your car to your house for you.”

  I looked at Chase. “Is she drunk now?” I asked. “I didn’t say anything about not wanting to leave my car. I said I have work to do. I swear she only hears what she wants.”

  “If that was true,” Mom interrupted, “I’d hear you agreeing right now.”

  Chase smiled. “It could be fun. I think you should go.”

  I gave Chase a crazy face, then turned to Mom and waved. “No thank you,” I said. “Another night.”

  Mom scoffed. “Fine. Then will you at least run by your shop on the way home? Imogene left her silk scarf, and she’s headed there now to meet you. She wants it for tomorrow morning. She’s spending the day with her granddaughter, and it was a gift from her.”

  “She’s going there now?” I asked. Had I missed something? Why hadn’t she led with that information
? “Why doesn’t Imogene just use her key?”

  “What do I look like,” Mom asked, “a mind reader? It’s bad enough she called me to ask you to do something. That woman, of all people, should know she’d have a better chance of getting that scarf if she asked anyone else to pass the request along, like maybe a vagrant or park squirrel.” Mom shut the door. The car drove away.

  I rocked back on my heels. “Wow. She really needs that drink.”

  “You probably should have gone,” Chase said. “It’s not too late. You can always call her. I’m sure she’d turn around.”

  “No. I just want to get the scarf for Imogene and go home,” I said. “This week is catching up with me.”

  “Wait.” Chase patted his pockets. “I think I dropped my keys.”

  I scanned the dark ground at our feet. “When? Outside or in?”

  “I’m not sure.” He made a lost-puppy face. “Will you stay and help me until I find them?”

  I hung my head. “Okay, but we have to hustle, because apparently Imogene is going to be standing outside my shop in a few minutes.”

  Chase smiled. “Perfect.”

  We searched the walkway from the Tea Room to the parking lot, the mulch along each side of the walkway, the entire parking lot, and the ground around a dozen trees and shrubs near my car. When I finally insisted on taking Chase with me to meet Imogene and dropping him at home afterward, he found the keys.

  In his pocket.

  Weirdo.

  I shook my head and said goodbye with a laugh. Maybe I wasn’t the only one who was heavily sleep-deprived and distracted these days.

  The streets were dark as I motored along Magazine toward Furry Godmother. Pedestrian traffic had thinned to the occasional couple or jogger. The shops were all closed, and most people had gone in for the night or out to a pub or show. Either way, the world before me seemed desolate. A row of ON DUTY cabs lined the block near my shop, forcing me to park farther away than I would have liked.

  I checked my surroundings before getting out of the car, then moved quickly toward my destination. The wide, empty sidewalks were eerily quiet, and the full moon overhead cast ominous shadows across my path. Muted sounds of jazz lifted from the courtyard of a nearby café, and my mind conjured unwanted images of the Axeman of New Orleans, an early-twentieth-century serial killer I didn’t like to think about. The Axeman was said to have targeted homes where jazz music wasn’t playing. He broke into homes and killed the residents, more often the women than the men, and he basically terrorized the city for a year from 1918 to 1919 before stopping as suddenly as he’d started. His identity had never been discovered, but he was the reason I’d earned first chair in my high school jazz ensemble.