Escape Claws. Linda Reilly
“No! You have to stay.” Sherry shot her gaze all around the coffee shop. Still clutching Lara’s arm in a grip worthy of a wrestler, she tugged her friend over to a table at which a young woman and a fortysomething man were hunched over cream-colored mugs. The woman was crying into a crumpled tissue. Lara recognized her as one of the book club members from the day before.
“Mary Newman, Chris Newman.” Sherry jabbed a finger at each one as she recited their names. “This is my best friend in the whole world, Lara Caphart. She’s going to sit with you today, okay?” Using two hands, she shoved Lara down into one of the vacant chairs. “I’ll bring you coffee in a jiffykins, Lara. Hang tight.” She turned and bolted with all the grace of a roadrunner. Lara would’ve sworn she saw a tail feather float to the floor.
Lara turned to her tablemates, both of whom were staring at her as if she’d just been lowered from a spacecraft. She looped her flowered tote over the back of her chair. “Hello, it’s nice to meet you. I hope you don’t mind me joining you. Sherry kind of foisted me on you, didn’t she?” She gave out a laugh that she knew sounded nervous.
For a moment no one spoke. Then the woman, Mary, who wore a beige sweatshirt embroidered with a pumpkin patch design, said, “No, of course not.” She squashed a tissue against one watery brown eye. With her freckles, turned-up nose, and dark hair curled into a flip, she didn’t look much older than a college student. “Except…I hope you don’t mind my crying. I just can’t seem to stop.” With that, she let loose a fresh waterfall of tears.
“Theo Barnes was her uncle,” her husband explained. He stuck out a hand to Lara. “Chris Newman, in case you missed the introduction.”
Lara shook his hand. It was smooth, but the nails looked chewed to the quick. “Glad to meet you, Chris. I’m so sorry for your loss.” Technically it was Mary’s loss, but her husband, no doubt, shared her grief. With his wire-rimmed glasses and gentle brown eyes, Chris Newman put Lara in mind of a kindly pastor.
“We were all shocked at the news,” Chris quietly told Lara. “I write feature stories for the town’s weekly rag—The Whisker Gazette. I guess I’ll really have something to write about this week,” he added grimly. “Mary wants me to write her uncle’s obituary.”
“Because I know you’ll write it with sensitivity,” Mary said, pouting a little. She sucked in a stuttering sob. “Not everyone loved Uncle Theo the way I did.”
Lara remembered what Aunt Fran had said about Mary—that she was the one person Theo truly loved.
Chris stared down at the table, frowning. “Theo was not an easy man to deal with. He—”
“Here you go!” Sherry swooped in from behind and placed a steaming mug of coffee in front of Lara. With her other hand, she plonked down an oversized basket crammed with warm muffins, butter, and blueberry preserves, along with plastic knives individually wrapped in carrot-colored napkins. “These are left over from breakfast so they’re on the house, everyone. If you’d rather have lunch, let me know, okay? Enjoy!”
“Thanks, Sherry,” Lara said to her friend’s retreating form.
Chris shot a guilty look at his wife and then leaned toward Lara. “Do you know if the police have any suspects?” he asked in a low voice, reaching for an apple-cinnamon muffin.
Ah, so the reporter wanted the skinny on the murder. Lara mulled it over for a moment and then said carefully, “Not as far as I know. They didn’t tell us very much.”
“Hmm. Did they…say how he was killed?” Chris asked.
“Chris!” Mary slapped her hands over her ears. “I don’t want to hear any of that. Please stop!”
Chris’s cheeks flushed a hearty pink. “I’m sorry, honey. I didn’t mean to upset you.” He reached over and hugged his wife, pulling her close. Mary sobbed into the shoulder of his blue crewneck sweater.
“To be honest,” Lara said, “even if I knew anything, which I don’t, I’m pretty sure I’m not supposed to talk about it.” The police already had her penciled in on their suspect list. She didn’t need to antagonize them by blabbing about what she had witnessed at the crime scene.
Lara started to reach for a blueberry muffin but then snatched her hand back. The herd of gremlins that had settled in her stomach would probably stage a revolt if she tried to eat anything right now. The miniscule blob of oatmeal she’d swallowed back at her aunt’s already felt like a leaden lump weighing down her insides. Maybe she should finish her coffee and get the heck out of there.
Chris Newman patted his wife’s back, and she lifted her head from his shoulder. With a loud sniffle she snagged one of the orange napkins, unfurled it, and pressed it to her leaky eyes.
Chris pushed aside his mug and removed his wallet from his back pocket. He withdrew a business card and slid it over to Lara. “If you think of anything you can tell me, Lara, would you give me a call or a text?”
Lara stared at the card, amazed at the man’s boldness in the face of his wife’s angst. It read CHRISTOPHER NEWMAN, CPA, and beneath that, Certified Public Accountant, along with his contact info.
“I thought you were a reporter?” Lara said, slipping the card into her tote.
“Accountant by day, journalist by night,” he said, without much enthusiasm. “That is, if you call reporting on things like the town’s upcoming pumpkin festival journalism.” He shot his wife a furtive look, but Mary didn’t seem to notice.
Over the low clamor sifting through the coffee shop, a feminine voice suddenly rang out from the doorway. “Cheer up, everyone—don’t look so glum. Theo Barnes is dead!”
Chapter 5
The coffee shop chatter ceased abruptly, as if a magician had waved a wand over the room and flash-frozen everyone’s tongues. All eyes, including Lara’s, followed the curvaceous brunette who weaved across the dining room, her stiletto heels clicking, her faux-leopard jacket perfectly complemented by a black velvet beret.
Lara couldn’t help gawking, especially since the woman seemed to be moving in their direction. With the woman’s approach came a swirl of floral perfume, a scent that hovered over their table and settled there in a potent cloud.
Mary leaped out of her chair. “Aunt Josette, you’re here!” She stumbled toward the newcomer, nearly falling over the leg of Chris’s chair, and threw her arms around her. Another cascade of tears began flowing from Mary’s eyes.
“Mary, darling,” the woman cooed, returning the hug. She patted Mary on the back as if she were a fussy toddler. “There, there, darling. It’ll all be okay. I promise. Everything will work out just fine.”
Mary cried for at least a minute, then sucked in one last sniffle. She stepped back and swiped the heels of her hands over her runaway tears. “But Uncle Theo is dead, Aunt Josette, and someone killed him. You’re…you’re not really glad about that, are you?” She said that with all the innocence of a newborn, as if she couldn’t conceive of anyone disliking her uncle.
Looking somewhat embarrassed, the woman pushed a stray lock of dark hair away from Mary’s forehead. “No, of course not. I’m sorry I came off sounding so harsh about Theo. I keep forgetting he was your mom’s only brother.”
“That’s okay. Aunt Josette, this is Lara,” Mary said. “She’s Fran Clarkson’s niece. You remember Fran, right?”
Josette’s mascaraed eyes widened. “Oh my, of course I do. Lara, I am so very pleased to meet you.” She held out a smooth hand tipped with gorgeously manicured nails.
Lara pumped it briefly with her own unadorned hand, blinking at the baseball-sized diamond glittering from Josette’s right middle finger. “Same here,” she said.
“How is Fran these days?” Josette inquired, her voice laced with pity. “Does she still have all those, you know—”