Escape Claws. Linda Reilly
Hugging herself against the morning chill, Lara strolled toward the top of the hill and looked out over the landscape. A light wind lifted the ends of her hair. In the meadow below, behind the town park, the field grasses tilted in the breeze. How many winters had she sledded on this hill, gliding down the snowy slope on her aunt’s ancient Flexible Flyer? This was the parcel of land, she realized, that Theo Barnes had been pressuring her aunt to sell.
From where she stood, the block that housed Sherry’s coffee shop was visible. Across the street from that was the town library, a one-story red brick affair that looked as if it hadn’t changed in decades. Another old building squatted next to the library. With its dreary gray shingles and shallow front steps, it had all the trappings of an ugly apartment house.
A sudden flurry of movement in the meadow caught Lara’s attention. It was an animal on the prowl, sleek and stealthy, and—
Lara took in a quick breath.
It was Blue, stalking through the field toward the base of the hill, her aquamarine eyes seemingly fixed on Lara.
“Blue,” she called softly to the cat. “Come here, sweet kitty.”
The cat continued moving but then shot off through the tall grass, heading in the direction of the brook.
Lara scuttled down the hill as quickly as she could, determined to catch up with the elusive feline. The cat was trotting through the grassy field as if on a mission. Lara was so focused on keeping Blue in her line of vision that she didn’t notice the jutting rock embedded in the ground. It caught the toe of her boot. In the next instant she pitched forward, her arms flailing in a clumsy attempt to break her fall. She tumbled to the ground, skidding on her stomach, almost to the bottom of the hill.
For a moment Lara lay there, her breath coming in sharp gasps. She rolled over and sat up, groaning as she tested her limbs. Everything worked, although the palm of her right hand was scraped and sore.
After tossing a few colorful curses at the rock that had betrayed her, she hauled herself to her feet and began brushing dirt and grass from her hands and sweater. She slapped at her jeans to dislodge the clinging bits of dirt and grass. She hoped Aunt Fran’s washing machine was in good working condition. At the rate she was going, she’d be running a load through very soon.
One last time, Lara glanced around for any sign of Blue, but the cat was MIA. By now Aunt Fran was probably awake and wondering where she’d disappeared to. She felt her stomach rumble. It was time she made breakfast for the two of them.
Lara turned to start back up the hill when something caught her eye—a swatch of red, maybe thirty feet away, that she hadn’t noticed before. Whatever it was, it was lying behind the granite bench at the rear of the town’s property. Had someone left an old blanket there? Could it be something that belonged to Aunt Fran?
She moved gingerly toward the red lump. A weird chill crept up her spine. Nothing in the meadow had ever frightened her before, but now she felt oddly afraid.
Lara halted abruptly in her tracks.
It wasn’t a blanket, as she’d first thought. It was a jacket—a red-and-black-checkered jacket.
A jacket still worn by its very dead owner, Theo Barnes.
Chapter 4
Lara sipped from a steaming mug of mint tea, her brain still trying to delete the vision of Theo Barnes’s bloodied head.
“I need you to focus, Ms. Caphart.” Chief Jerry Whitley’s gruff tone made her jump a little. He sat at her aunt’s kitchen table, adjacent to where Lara was hunkered in one of the padded chrome chairs. “You still haven’t explained why you touched the deceased’s body if you already knew he was dead.”
Stay calm. Don’t get rattled, Lara told herself. “I’m sorry, Chief Whitley, but you’re wrong. I did explain it, at least three times.” She couldn’t help getting touchy, even if it did cast a shadow of suspicion on her. Why did he keep asking the same question? Was he trying to get her to change her story? Entrap her into confessing?
“I could tell he was dead,” she said evenly, “because his head was facing sideways. I saw his eyes. They were—” She swallowed hard. They were dead eyes, she wanted to say. “They were open and staring. It didn’t look, you know, natural. And yet—in case I was wrong, I wanted to see if there was any sign of life.”
A hand the size of a catcher’s mitt flipped to a new page in a tattered blue notebook. “So you went over to the victim and pressed a finger…?” The chief pulled off his cheaters and imitated the gesture, placing one thick finger at his own throat. “A finger to the victim’s carotid artery? Why not two fingers?”
Lara felt like snatching up his blue notebook and drop-kicking it into the next room. First of all, she didn’t want to admit that she had a phobia about dead bodies. The one time she’d had to attend a wake, she’d stayed in the back of the room, as far from the casket as she could manage. “Listen, Chief Whitley, maybe they use two fingers on TV, but I’m not a medical professional. I didn’t want to touch him any more than I had to. What difference does it make how many fingers I used?”
The chief regarded her for a long moment, and then, “And you’re sure you didn’t move the murder weapon? Maybe set it aside to get a closer look at the victim?”
Okay, now he was trying to trick her. “As I’ve said several times, I did not see a murder weapon. I do not know what the murder weapon was, nor do I know how the poor man died. I’m afraid I’ll have to leave that to you professionals to determine.” She looked him straight in the eye, but he only stared right back with a granite gaze.
“This is ridiculous, Jerry,” Aunt Fran interjected. “Lara didn’t even know Theo. I’ll thank you to stop badgering my niece right now.” Her tone was more bluster than bite, but it seemed to work its magic.
Whitley closed his notebook with an audible snap. “That’s all I need for now, Ms. Caphart. You’ll no doubt be hearing from us again. And while I don’t have any right to detain you, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t leave town. Not without contacting us first.” He scraped back his chair and rose, shifting his attention to Aunt Fran. “The state crime scene techs will be sectioning off a big chunk of your property, Fran. No one is to cross those lines. Not for any reason.”
Aunt Fran nodded. “We understand.”
The sound of a vehicle turning around at the end of High Cliff Road caught Lara’s attention. Through the kitchen window, she spied the Carroll County medical examiner’s white van. It cruised slowly past the house, heading toward the main drag.
Aunt Fran sagged in her chair after the chief left. “Oh, Lara, how did this happen? Who could have done such an awful thing?”
Lara couldn’t help shooting a glance at her aunt’s cane, which was propped against the table between them. One of the prongs was coated in dirt—dirt that had apparently dried overnight. Why had Aunt Fran gone outside last night? Was it before or after Barnes had been killed?
“I don’t know, Aunt Fran. The police will have to figure that out. Do you think you can swallow a little breakfast? I thought I’d make us some oatmeal.”
“That sounds good,” she said. “There’s a package of English muffins in the freezer. You can thaw a few, if you’d like.”
Lara went through the motions of preparing breakfast, but her appetite had taken a direct hit. Her discovery of Barnes’s body was giving her stomach a bad case of the jitters.
Aunt Fran sat quietly, a distant look in her eyes. The worry lines etched on her face seemed even deeper this morning.
After splitting an English muffin with her aunt and gulping back a few spoonfuls of oatmeal, Lara went to work scooping and freshening the litter boxes. She persuaded Aunt Fran to rest in her room while she vacuumed through the downstairs. Blue had yet to reappear, but Izzy and Pickles—the only cats who hadn’t fled at the sound of the vacuum—had