The Time for Murder Is Meow

by Toni LoTempio

  I wrinkled my nose. “Supposedly? The admin thought there might be another reason?”

  “She wasn’t sure, and she didn’t want to talk out of turn. She did say Kyle got in with a rather fast crowd when he first went to the school, though.”

  “Hm.” I pondered this. “Fast teen crowds sometimes mean drugs. If that were the reason, and the mayor was trying to keep it quiet and Amelia found out, she might have been using that as a bargaining chip.”

  Gary nodded. “Mother cubs kill to protect their young, and if Amelia threatened young Kyle . . .”

  Michelle reappeared, cutting off the rest of Gary’s thoughts. “Mollie said your table will be ready in a minute, so I’ll have your drinks sent over there. I hope that’s all right.”

  “That’s fine,” Gary said with a smile. “Thanks.” To me he muttered, “I sure could use a drink, how about you?”

  “I could use a whole truckful.”

  Ron put his order in for a Michelob just as Mollie swung by to tell us our table was ready. As I slid off my stool, the front door opened and Josh walked in, super yummy in a dark blue blazer, dress shirt, and blue and gray striped tie. Our eyes met, and he inclined his head perceptibly. I nodded and, as the others moved into the dining area, I hung back. Josh walked over to the end of the bar where I stood and ruffled his hair with one hand.

  “You wanted to talk to me?”

  “Yes, but how did you—” I stopped speaking and turned my head toward the bar. Michelle grinned, reached into her pocket and held up her iPhone. “Your sister texted you.”

  “Yep. So?” He leaned against the edge of the bar and crossed his arms over his broad chest. “What’s up?”

  I hesitated, then decided to plunge right in. “You haven’t uncovered the murder weapon yet, right?”

  He nodded, his eyes never leaving my face. “Right.”

  “But you’ve made a determination on what type of knife was used, right?”

  Josh’s brows drew together and he pursed his lips. His whole demeanor was wary, as if he were trying to decide how much or how little information to impart. Finally, he said, “That Tuareg knife blade most closely resembles the marks found on Amelia’s neck. We’re trying to track down who might have gotten their hands on one, so we’ve been canvassing dealers and specialty shops. Why did you ask? Have you heard something?”

  I quickly filled him in about Quentin Watson, Mel Feller, and the knives, and pulled out my iPhone to call up the image of the Tuareg knife. He listened impassively, and when I finished cleared his throat.

  “It doesn’t surprise me that Quentin found out. That guy is relentless when he’s after a story.” He hesitated, then added, “A Tuareg knife was supposed to be included in a shipment of rare knives the museum received a few weeks ago. I stopped by the museum late yesterday afternoon and asked Mazie Madison about it. She said that when she examined the shipment, there were three knives missing. She advised the store but hasn’t heard back yet.” He paused. “Mazie’s door was open, and there were people in the outer office. Anyone might have heard and tipped off Quentin. As for Melvin, well . . . Londra was sitting at her desk, and I know for a fact her hearing is exceptional. She probably told him. They’re rumored to be rather close.”

  His hand shot out suddenly, and his long fingers wrapped around mine. “You and your friends shouldn’t be getting so involved in all this. You’re not trained investigators.”

  I liked the feel of his fingers wrapped around mine, so for a minute I couldn’t think of a thing to say. Then I blurted out, “Some people, though, think I did it. How else am I going to clear my name and reopen Urban Tails unless I investigate?”

  His gaze softened a bit as it swept over me. “Not all people think that,” he said quietly. “Believe me when I say I want this solved just as much as, if not more than, you do.”

  It was on the tip of my tongue to ask just why he wanted the case solved, but before I could utter a word he added, “I’ve told you before, I’d hate to see anything happen to you.” Abruptly he pulled his gaze from me to study the toe of his shoe. “Rocco’s quite fond of you. That dog needs all the friends he can get.”

  “Just Rocco, huh?” I blurted it out before I realized I’d spoken my thoughts out loud. I clapped a hand across my mouth. Josh’s lips twitched and he started to say something.

  Just exactly what, I was destined never to know, because Gary chose that moment to yell over from the dining area.

  “Shell? Are you coming or what?”

  Josh patted my arm. “Thanks for the information. You go on with your friends, now, and remember my advice.”

  “Oh, I’ll remember it,” I said. Josh gave me a tight smile and then went over and sat at the far end of the bar. I watched him ease his lanky frame onto a stool. After a few moments, Michelle walked over to him. She leaned forward and whispered something to him. He threw back his head and laughed.

  Well, at least someone could make him smile. Until this cloud was lifted from over my head, it was a sure bet he’d never laugh like that at anything I said.

  If I ever wanted to get anywhere with Josh Bloodgood—and, I admitted to myself, I did—I had to get rid of the “person of interest” label damn fast.

  “Oh, I’ll remember your advice, all right,” I muttered as I headed for the table where the others sat. “But that doesn’t mean I have to follow it.”

  Eighteen

  Purrday woke me before my alarm went off the next morning. I opened my eyes to find his flat white face next to mine as he gently swatted at an errant curl with one paw.

  I let out a gigantic yawn. Not to be outdone, Purrday opened his mouth in one as well. I got a whiff of cat breath and it made me sit up straight in the bed. Purrday rolled off my chest and lay on his side on the comforter, looking as annoyed as a cat can look.

  “Yowzah,” I said to him. “We’ve got to get you some breath mints, or else cut back on the tuna.”

  “Ye-owl!” The elegant white plume flicked back and forth, double time. His majesty was not pleased with that remark.

  I chuckled, stretched, and leaned back against the pillows. My thoughts wandered back to last night. We’d certainly learned a lot, but there were still a ton of unanswered questions. Thinking of unanswered questions made me think of Josh, and his parting warning. Beside me on the bed, Purrday made a sound in the back of his throat that sounded a bit like a disgruntled humpf.

  “Yes, it certainly was nice of Josh to be concerned about my safety,” I told the cat as I absently scratched him behind one ear. “But if he thinks a little danger is going to stop me, well, he doesn’t know me. After all, on Spy Anyone I took down international bad guys every week. One knife-wielding murderer isn’t going to discourage me from finding out the truth of who killed Amelia.”

  I paused in my scratching ablutions as Kahlua hopped up on the bed. She gave Purrday a wary look but didn’t raise her paw. Purrday, for his part, apparently knew who the boss was. He shot me a sidelong glance and then hopped off the bed, allowing Kahlua to take his place. I scratched the Siamese under her chin and received a contented rumble in return. Purrday, resigned to not getting any more scratching for a while, lofted up onto the highboy and started grooming his tail.

  “There’s some connection between Mel Feller and Londra Lewis other than knives, but just what that is remains to be seen,” I mused. “And just what is their fascination with them, anyway? The mayor’s son might be involved with drugs, which would give her a motive. Garrett Knute seems darn suspicious to me too. He never answered me when I asked him about the contents of that envelope he and Amelia argued over.”

  Kahlua let out a sharp meow. Purrday blinked his good eye.

  “So far, I believe I can eliminate Simone Bradbury and Andy McHardy,” I went on. “Simone doesn’t seem to figure into any of this. She has no motive, and Andy doesn’t either, unless you count getting disgusted doing Amelia’s bidding.” I pushed the heel of my hand through my tousled curls. “Larry, th
ough, is still on my list. He’s hiding something, I just know it. Mazie Madison? I’m not certain, but I’d tend to eliminate her. She and Amelia didn’t agree on museum business, but there’s nothing to indicate she had any sort of reason to want her dead, other than it would be an annoyance out of the way.”

  Kahlua wriggled free of my grasp, stretched, and settled next to my hip.

  I stretched my own arms wide and laced my hands behind my neck. “It was nice of Josh to be concerned,” I continued. “There were definite sparks between us that day in the park, but all that dissipated the minute I found that body, and Josh found that note.” I let out a long sigh. “There’s no concrete evidence to prove I killed her, but there’s none to prove I didn’t, either. If there’s ever to be any hope for me to reopen Aunt Tillie’s shop, let alone have a normal relationship with Josh, I’ve got to clear my name. Right?”

  Both cats sat up straight. “Er-owl,” they chorused.

  “I knew you’d agree.” I threw back the covers, swung my feet over the side of the bed, and slid them into my well-worn scuffs. I reached for my robe and motioned to both cats. “Let’s get some breakfast, what do you think about that?”

  They both took off, a white blur and a coffee-colored one, through the door. I shook my head. Food. It’ll do it every time.

  • • •

  The aroma of fresh coffee assailed my nostrils before I was halfway down the stairs, and it got stronger as I entered the kitchen. Gary stood in front of the stove, cracking eggs into a pan. He looked up, smiled, and motioned toward the old Corningware percolator on the stove.

  “Keurigs are great, but nothing beats a fresh-perked pot of java, am I right?”

  I stifled a yawn. “You sure are. Aunt Tillie felt the same way about fresh-perked too.”

  “See, great minds think alike.” He waved the spatula in the air. “And it’s nice to see you up and about, sleepyhead. If you hadn’t rolled out of bed by the time I finished, I was going to bring you breakfast in bed.”

  I went to the stove, grabbed a mug, and filled it with coffee. I added a little cream and sugar and took a large gulp. “Delicious,” I said, sinking onto one of the stools beside the counter. “To what do I owe this special service?”

  He grinned. “I was hungry, and it seemed the least I could do.” He gestured toward the pan. “Scrambled okay? I used some of that cheddar in the fridge, and diced up a red pepper.”

  “Ooh, an omelet. I haven’t had one of those since I breakfasted in the commissary at the studio.” I licked my lips. “Jose’s were darn good.”

  “Yeah? Well, if you liked his, you’ll love mine!”

  While Gary puttered at the stove I got up, pulled a loaf of rye bread out of the breadbox, and put two slices in the toaster. “Did you sleep all right?” I asked.

  “Like a rock, when I finally drifted off. My mind was pretty busy, counting suspects,” he said and chuckled.

  Kahlua was busy gobbling down food. Purrday, however, lay on his side, batting his paw against the edge of the place mat that held his food and water bowls. Gary had pushed the mat a bit farther back so that it was almost flush with the wall, and Purrday didn’t seem to like that too much. He dug his claws into the mat’s edge and gave a sharp tug. His water bowl jerked, spilling water all over the tiled floor.

  “Purrday. Bad cat!” I admonished him.

  “Guess he didn’t like that I moved his mat,” Gary observed. “I just wanted to get it out of the way.”

  “Purrday does have very definite ideas about things,” I admitted, eyeing the cat, who didn’t look upset in the least at the mess he’d made. He wedged himself in between the mat and the wall and lay down, then stretched his paws out to the wall and started digging his claws into its base. “Goodness, Purrday, what on earth are you doing! You are a bad cat this morning.”

  Gary leaned over and squinted. “Say, it looks like a portion of the wall is raised there.”

  I frowned. “Where?”

  Gary pointed. “See that little separation? It almost looks as if there’s a cavity behind it.” Gary knelt and gently gave Purrday a little shove. The cat’s head jerked back and he opened his mouth and bared his fangs, emitting a loud hiss.

  “Purrday!” I cried. “Don’t be rude to our guest, even if it is Gary.”

  Gary shot me a look over his shoulder. “Thanks a lot.” He squinted again at the wall over Purrday’s head. “There is a separation there,” he said and chuckled. “Well, well. No wonder the little fellow got upset. I bet we’ve found his stash.”

  “His stash?” I couldn’t help it, I giggled. “What, you think Purrday made off with Aunt Tillie’s jewels?”

  “I don’t know. Is any of her jewelry missing?”

  “Aunt Tillie never wore jewelry,” I shot back, rolling my eyes. “And the little she owned is all costume. His stash, as you put it, is probably more buttons.”

  Purrday had apparently tired of us making disparaging remarks about his hiding place. He rose and with a brisk shake of his plume-like tail, strode to the opposite end of the kitchen and sat, tail wrapped around his forepaws. He blinked his good eye twice, almost as if daring us to take further action. Purrday’s movement, however, was all the consent Gary needed. He stretched out full length on the floor and started to pry at the opening with his nails.

  “Man, this is wedged in tight,” he grumbled. He glanced at Purrday over his shoulder. “That cat must be supercat to even move this thing.”

  I gave him a little push. “Let me try.”

  I knelt beside Gary but it was soon evident the opening wasn’t getting any wider.

  Gary got up and walked over to Purrday and looked down at him, his hands on his hips. “His paws are pretty big,” he said. “I can’t see how he ever got ’em in that tiny opening to hide anything.”

  “Well, then, maybe it’s not his hiding place after all. Maybe the wall just has a crack.”

  “Aw-arr,” cried Purrday. He got up, crossed over to the wall, raised his paw, and it landed—thunk!—square in the middle. With that, the section of wall gave a loud creak and groaned inward, revealing a dark cavity.

  Gary and I both stared, our jaws open. “Well, I’ll be,” I muttered finally. “It is a hiding place, but it’s got to be manmade. He just happened to find it. I’ll bet it was Aunt Matilda’s. She always used to talk about hidey-holes.”

  “Great.” Gary gestured toward the stove. “The omelet’s getting cold. Want to eat first?”

  I made a face at him. “Are you kidding?”

  He laughed. “Me neither. I can whip up another one later.” He knelt on the floor and peered into the hole. “Jeepers, it’s dark in there.” He stuck his hand tentatively inside, kept going until half his arm was swallowed up in the wall. “This runs pretty deep. Got a flashlight?”

  I found one in the drawer and handed it to him. He flicked it on, shone it inside. “I see a few buttons—a little ball—oh, and a catnip mouse. Maybe this is Purrday’s hiding place after all.”

  Maybe, but I didn’t think so. “Keep looking,” I encouraged him. “You said it ran deep.”

  He shot me a dirty look and then thrust his arm inside all the way up to his elbow. “Noth—Wait! There is something all the way in the back.” He wiggled the light around. “Looks like a box.”

  “A box!” I leaned forward excitedly and tried to peer over his shoulder. “Can you grab it?”

  “I think I can get both hands in there if you hold the flashlight.”

  He passed it to me. It took a few minutes, because I kept jiggling the light around and he had to stop every few seconds to chastise me, but eventually Gary pulled out a long, rusty metal box. He also pulled out Purrday’s toys. Purrday walked over, picked the catnip mouse up between his teeth, and went over to lay in front of the refrigerator, happily chewing away on his toy. Gary set the box on the counter and we examined it. It wasn’t very deep, but it was long. Actually, it looked like the type of container you find inside bank safe-depo
sit boxes. There was no lock on the box, just a little lever that you flipped up. Gary looked at me questioningly.

  “Want me to end the suspense?” he asked.

  I hesitated, then shook my head. “I’ll do it.” I held my breath, then flipped the lid back.

  Inside lay two books. The top one was leather-covered, with faded gold embossing on the cover. I picked it up and turned it over in my hand. The embossing was faded, but I could still make out the title: My Diary.

  “Oh, goodness.” Suddenly I felt guilty, as if I’d invaded my aunt’s privacy. “This—this has got to be Aunt Matilda’s diary.”

  Gary let out a low whistle. “The old girl kept a diary? Wow.”

  He reached for it, but I held it back. “I’m not sure we should look at it.”

  He stared at me. “You’re kidding, right? There might be something important in there.”

  I raised one eyebrow. “Like what? A combination to a secret vault loaded with diamonds?”

  “Hey, you never know. It was important enough for her to hide it in a place no one would have ever found, if it hadn’t been for Purrday, here.” Gary gestured with his jaw toward the cat, who was now lying on his back, his hind legs in the air, his forepaws wrapped firmly around the catnip mouse. His tongue lolled out of one side of his mouth, and I swear I saw a bit of drool spill out onto the tiled floor.

  “Yes, Purrday, you were very helpful,” I said dryly. “Thank goodness you led us to the secret panel before you got high on catnip.” I tapped my forefinger against the gold embossing. Should I or shouldn’t I?

  “Did you ever think that maybe you were meant to find that?” Gary said suddenly. “That Purrday was sent by your aunt to lead you to it?”

  I stared at him, open-mouthed. “That’s a line from our next-to-last show,” I said, pointing an accusing finger at him. “When I found the sacred medallion among Captain Ruddy’s things. That’s what you said to Destiny, only you substituted Purrday for Lola and my aunt for Ruddy.”