Escape Claws. Linda Reilly
bag. She felt sure that the current one was now packed with forty or fifty pounds of cat hair.
Lara was pulling a vacuum-cleaner bag out of the walk-in supply closet when she spied a new feline face watching her from the doorway. His coat was shiny and black, and his perfectly symmetrical white mustache gave him a slightly comical look. The tip of his right ear was missing.
Lara grinned. “I know who you are,” she said in a soft, singsong voice. “You’re Ballou, aren’t you.”
The cat’s eyes widened. For a moment Lara thought he would bolt. When he stayed put, she very slowly reached out a hand to him. Ballou dipped his head toward her outstretched fingers, but his paws stayed rooted in place.
A sudden noise above Lara’s head startled them both. Ballou turned and fled with the speed of a jet.
Lara dropped everything and raced upstairs, terrified that her aunt might have fallen. She dashed toward her aunt’s room, the door to which was open. Lara rushed in and found Aunt Fran sitting on the edge of her bed, her head in her hands.
“What’s wrong, Aunt Fran? Are you hurt?” Lara slipped an arm around her aunt’s thin shoulders.
“No, I… I’m fine,” her aunt said, her face suddenly flushed. “I was trying to reach a box in the back of my closet, but my arm wasn’t quite long enough and the silly thing tipped over.”
Lara glanced over at her aunt’s closet. The door was wide open. A gold-speckled box had toppled to the closet floor, spilling part of its contents. Lara went over and started to scoop up the envelopes that had fallen from the box.
“Wait! I’ll get those,” Aunt Fran said, waving her hands urgently. “Leave them right where they are, Lara.”
Lara stopped short at her aunt’s sharp tone, her hand inches from an envelope she was sure she’d seen her own name on. Had she detected a hint of panic in her aunt’s voice? Slowly, she got to her feet. “Um, sorry, Aunt Fran. I was only trying to help.”
Her aunt looked pained. “I know you were, Lara. But there are some things I need to do myself.” She smiled, her green eyes glistening. “Listen, you’ve had a rough morning. Why don’t you take a break and go to the coffee shop to visit with Sherry? I know she’d love to see you.”
“Will you come with?” Lara asked her.
“No, you go without me today. I need to sit and think about some things.” Her expression darkened. “Theo’s body was found at the edge of my property, Lara. That troubles me deeply. I want to give some thought to who could have done such a horrible thing.”
“It is bizarre,” Lara agreed. “On the other hand, I can’t help thinking that Barnes must have made more than an enemy or two in his day.” She gave her aunt a flat smile. “The man didn’t exactly impress me as a good-will ambassador.”
Her aunt’s gaze grew distant. “I can think of only one person Theo truly loved—his niece, Mary. She was the young woman sitting at the book-club table yesterday.”
An image of the attractive brunette flitted through Lara’s mind. She recalled Theo touching the woman’s cheek with affection, right before he kissed the other woman’s hand and then barked something into the older man’s ear. “Oh, that’s sad, then. I didn’t realize they were related.”
“Mary’s adoptive mother, Elena, was Theo’s sister,” her aunt explained. “Elena died several years ago from uterine cancer.” Aunt Fran patted Lara’s knee. “You go ahead. Don’t worry about me. Why don’t you leave your cell number on the kitchen table in case I need to call you?”
“Sounds like a plan.” Lara kissed her aunt’s cheek and trotted downstairs. She located a piece of paper, jotted down her cell number, and left it on the kitchen table. There was no sign of Ballou, but Munster sidled over and rubbed against her leg. Lara reached down, scooped up the kitty, and kissed his furry head with a noisy smack. “I’ll be back soon, I promise,” she told him.
After plunking another kiss on Munster’s soft white whiskers, she set him on the floor, grabbed her flowered tote, and tucked her phone in one of the pockets. Outside, a state police car sat parked in her aunt’s driveway, directly behind Lara’s rental car. She couldn’t help wondering if they’d blocked her car on purpose. Too bad for them if they did, she thought. The coffee shop was only a six- or seven-minute walk from her aunt’s.
The door to the state vehicle swung open without warning. A sturdy, middle-aged woman who looked about forty hopped out and stepped in front of Lara. “Ma’am?” she said, one carefully plucked eyebrow rising to her crisp hairline. Her uniform was dark green, pressed to perfection, and her steady gaze was somewhat intimidating. “I believe you were asked not to leave the premises?”
Lara gave the woman a smile that she hoped looked benevolent. “Actually, Officer, it was suggested—and it was only a suggestion—that I not leave town. Besides, I’m only heading down the street to the coffee shop. My friend and her mom own it. Have a nice day.” She stepped around the officer and marched toward the road, half expecting the woman to run after her and whip her around by the arm. When neither happened, Lara turned and waved at her. The trooper, stone-faced, only stared back.
On her way to the coffee shop, a twinge of guilt poked at Lara. The state trooper was only doing her job—a tough job, at that—and Lara had been a tad sarcastic. But honestly, the woman could’ve cracked a smile, couldn’t she? Even a half smile would have sufficed.
In spite of the October breeze that chilled Lara’s cheeks, the sun was casting pale, golden rays from an azure sky. Sugar maples lined the main drag, their leaves dry and faded. They rustled overhead with soft, soothing sounds.
She passed some of Whisker Jog’s oldest homes, including Hendricks House, a once-elegant restaurant. A large sign on the lawn announced that it was now a holistic massage practice.
Although Lara loved her hectic neighborhood on Boston’s popular Hanover Street, with its bakeries and restaurants and ever-present pigeons, it felt good to be back in Whisker Jog. She wished desperately she hadn’t been the one to find Barnes’s body. If only she hadn’t gone searching for Blue, she’d never have spotted that red-and-black-checkered jacket.
Lara tucked her tiger-striped scarf more tightly around her neck. It was the favorite of all her scarves, and she was glad she’d remembered to pack it. She was almost at the coffee shop when she realized she was walking past the local beauty salon. Kurl-me-Klassy, the lettering on the glass front window announced. She sneaked a peek through the glass. A young stylist with crimson hair was snipping away at the curly gray head of a woman who looked at least eighty. Both spotted Lara looking in. They waved at her and smiled.
Lara returned the greeting and moved on. Even before she pulled open the glass door to the coffee shop, she could see that the place was bustling. She recognized some of the official-looking types from the crime scene. She also spied Daisy, moving at warp speed as she delivered steaming plates to a table of diners.
From behind the counter, Sherry spotted her instantly. “Lara!” she called over the din of chattering customers.
Lara stepped toward the counter, the ambient warmth in the coffee shop wrapping around her. She went over to the only unoccupied stool, on which rested a velvety-brown homburg. Next to that sat an elderly gent whose bald head sprouted long white tufts. “Is this seat taken?” she asked, indicating the hat. She gave him a pleasant smile.
He did not smile back. “That’s Herbie’s seat,” he answered gruffly. “He’s been sitting there every day for thirty-seven years.”
Sherry looked wide-eyed at Lara, giving a rapid little shake of her head. Lara got the message: don’t ask questions. Sherry held up a finger, the tip of which was painted glowing orange, then scurried around the edge of the counter. She marched over to Lara. “It’s like a mob scene here today,” she said, darting her gaze all around. She clamped her neon-tipped fingers onto Lara’s arm. “Lara, what happened this morning? Everyone’s saying