A Mew to a Kill (17 page)

“Tricks?” Pandora thought about the pen Hope had shown her. That wasn’t really a trick … or was it?

“To try to get you to act in a certain way, or change your beliefs?”

“No,” Pandora said truthfully. “She didn’t seem evil at all. In fact, I think she was trying to warn me about Fluff.”

Inkspot nodded. “That is good. If the chimera has not turned to the dark side, we must influence her toward the good and protect her.”

“How do we do that with Fluff watching over her?” Snowball asked.
 

Inkspot licked his paw and smoothed behind his ear. “We must come up with a way to distract Fluff so that we can talk to Hope. We can’t take her from her human, but we must let her know we are out here and she can count on us.”

“Well, how do you propose we do that? Fluff could do a lot of harm to any one of us,” Otis said nervously.

Pandora’s pink nose twitched as she remembered her run-in with Fluff. “Leave that to me. I think I know Fluff’s weak spot.”

Chapter Seventeen

I woke up the next morning to a text from Jimmy. They had George down at the station and, by the way he was sweating bullets, it looked like he was about to crack.

I sprang out of bed with renewed vigor. Paisley wouldn’t be darkening my doorstep with her fashion advice anymore, but even more than that I felt a deep satisfaction at being able to help her pass over. Maybe ‘seeing ghosts’ wasn’t all bad if I could help them out like that. I showered, dressed and ate a quick breakfast, then followed Pandora out to the Jeep. She seemed as anxious to get the day started as I was.

“Maybe I should get a new job at the police station,” I joked to Pandora, who slitted her golden-green eyes at me.

“
Meoo.
”
 

“Right. I wouldn’t do that because I love working in the bookstore. I was just congratulating myself on my good detective work.”

“
Meh.
” She curled in a ball and tucked her face under her tail as if to say she was not as impressed with my investigative skills as I was.

When I got to the bookstore, the regulars were already lined up at the door. They’d probably heard about George and wanted to get in early so they could have plenty of time to discuss it.

“I ‘spose you’ve heard ‘bout George,” Josiah said as he handed me a Styrofoam cup.

I nodded. “I don’t know any details, though.”

“I heard it was true that George and Paisley were having a fling.” Cordelia’s cheeks turned red. She leaned in toward us and lowered her voice. “I heard the police have the proof right down at the station—a picture.”

I raised an eyebrow, feigning ignorance. “Really? I wonder where they got that.”

“Paisley had it at her house. Rumor is she was blackmailing George. That’s why he killed her.” Hattie sipped her coffee matter-of-factly.

“Yeah, but I hear George is denying that he killed her,” Josiah said. Josiah always seemed to know sensitive information. He must have a mole down at the police station.
 

“George wouldn’t be the first killer to deny doing the deed,” Bing pointed out.

“Yeah, I hear it’s an open and shut case.” Hattie glanced across the street at Paisley’s shop and shivered. “Poor thing, she never had a chance.”

“Well, she probably shouldn’t have been blackmailing George,” Josiah said. “Blackmail is dangerous business.”

“Yes, and to think it was all about a spot in an art show.” Cordelia pursed her lips. “That seems like a strange thing to blackmail someone over.”

“Now, don’t forget, sister,” Hattie said. “That art show grand prize was twenty thousand dollars.”

“True, but from what I hear, Paisley didn't have a hope of winning the grand prize,” Cordelia replied.

“Maybe she didn’t realize that.” Hattie turned to me. “You saw her portfolio. Was it really that bad?”

I remembered that Paisley’s portfolio was still in the back room where I’d stored it after taking it out of my car. I never had a chance to give it back to her.
 

I started toward the back room. “I thought they were, but you can judge for yourself.”
 

I grabbed the portfolio, brought it back out front and set it on the coffee table between Hattie and Cordelia. Hattie flipped it open and we bent our heads over it to look at the first picture.
 

The picture showed the large, plate glass window from the Atlas Hardware store located at the very end of Main Street. The picture had been taken at an angle so as to emphasize the reflection, which showed the Blueberry Queen float in the Founder’s Day parade. We all stared at the blurry picture of Tamara Pritchett in her Blueberry Queen gown, waving her scepter.

“Yeah, I guess that one isn’t so great.” Hattie flipped to the next page—a similar photo, this one taken in the drugstore window and showing clowns.

“I don’t know about you guys, but I don’t think she had a prayer of winning that grand prize.” Bing reached over Hattie’s shoulder and flipped to the next page. “Especially not with some of the other artists, like Maisie, as her competition.”

“Good thing, too,” Josiah said. “I know Maisie was hoping to win that money. She got wiped out, what with Ted’s medical bills and all.”
 

Maisie’s husband, Ted, had died the year before after a long battle with prostate cancer. I didn’t know Maisie needed money, though. That put things in a different perspective. I thought about the charm I'd picked up in the alley. I immediately felt guilty about even suspecting Maisie when there was a mountain of evidence pointing to George and he’d already been arrested.

"Lucky for Maisie the judges have no influence over who wins the prize," Bing said. "Otherwise she would have to recuse herself from the contest or from the judging."

"That's right," Hattie nodded. "It's not well advertised that the prize winners are voted on by the people who attend the show and everyone always forgets to go to the voting booth and cast their vote."
 

“Oh, my. This was probably the last picture of Amanda.” Cordelia had turned to the next picture. Her petal pink painted fingernail tapped one of the faces. It looked exactly like Brenda.

“How do you know that’s Amanda and not Brenda?” I asked.

“They were identical twins. It was always so hard to tell who was who. But we worked out a system.” Cordelia and Hattie smiled at each other.

“That’s right,” Hattie said. “Amanda always parted her hair on the left and Brenda always parted hers on the right. That was the way you could tell them apart.”

I felt a little queasy looking at the picture, knowing that it was the very last one taken of her alive. The fire had happened that afternoon, so Cordelia’s theory that it was a last picture of Amanda was probably correct.
 

“
Meow!
” Pandora leaped onto the coffee table and pushed her way over to the portfolio. For a second, it appeared as if she was actually looking at the picture and then she flopped down on it and rolled on her back begging to be scratched.”

Hattie laughed. “Just like a cat to put themselves right in front of what you’re looking at so that you have to look at
them
.”

We all laughed with her. Anyone with a cat knew that was true. If I had a dime for each time Pandora had gotten on top of the newspaper, in front of my computer screen, or in between me and a book I was reading I’d be rich.
 

“Well, I don’t think we need to look at any more of these, anyway.” Bing gestured toward the portfolio. “I’m sure we’re all in agreement that she didn’t have a chance of winning the grand prize.”

“It doesn’t really make much of a difference now, I suppose,” Hattie said.

Everyone nodded their assent just as the bells over the door jangled and Striker walked in.

“I see the Mystic Notch grapevine is in full bloom.” Striker nodded at the regulars. “I assume you’ve all heard the news about George.”

“Yup.” Josiah swigged down the rest of his coffee. “Is he giving you all trouble down at the station?”

Striker narrowed his eyes. “Now, where did you hear that?”

Josiah simply shrugged.

“So, George really did kill Paisley?” Hattie asked.

“We don’t know that for sure. We got some clues from an anonymous source.” Striker leveled a look at me that told me he might have some suspicions about who this anonymous source was. “It was enough to bring him in, but we still need to establish a timeline. So far, all we know is he had means and motive.”

I thought about how Neil had told me he’d seen George that morning. I must have been hanging around with Pepper too much because I kind of felt sorry for Neil and didn’t want to put him through the police questioning unless I had to. “What if you had someone who could place him at the scene around the time of the crime?”

Striker’s eyes narrowed even further. “Do you know of some such person?”

I played with the plastic tab on my coffee, avoiding eye contact with him. “No. Not really, but maybe Myrna saw someone.”

“We already talked to Myrna. She didn’t see George there that morning.”

“I was thinking that she might’ve seen someone else who saw George.”

Striker looked puzzled, then he continued on, “Anyway, I didn’t stop by to talk about George.”

“No?”

He glanced over at the regulars and they must have exchanged some sort of telepathic communication because they all scrambled up from their seats and made for the door.

“See you tomorrow, Willa.” Bing opened the door and stepped out onto the sidewalk.

“Ditto.” Hattie glanced at Striker out of the corner of her eye. “Keep us posted if you find out any news about George.”

The four of them spilled out onto the street and the door slammed shut, leaving me alone with Striker.
 

He advanced on me like a tiger advances on a gazelle. “We’re not shorthanded anymore so I have free time tonight. You want to do something?”

“Sure.” Good thing he hadn’t asked me yesterday. But now that this whole thing with George was wrapped up, I had plenty of time and I was happy to spend it with him.

He tucked a lock of hair behind my ear. The intimate gesture made my pulse skitter. Then he stepped away from me. “Okay, how about eight-thirty? I could meet you at your place.”

“That sounds great.”

He scrunched up his face. “Unless you want to go somewhere. Your sister keeps asking around like you’ve been wanting to take me to some bar. Except she seems nervous about it, like she doesn’t want you to go there or something. What’s that about?”

I smiled to myself. Gus must be nervous I’d try to take Striker to the jazz bar, but she needn’t worry. Her secret was safe with me. “Oh, nothing. Just sister stuff. Meeting at my place will be fine.” I wiggled my eyebrows to get his mind off Gus’s questions and accentuate what I meant by ‘fine’.

He backed up toward the door. “Good. I figured you’d be free now that this whole thing with Paisley is pretty much tied up.”

I plastered a look of innocence on my face. “What do you mean?”

Striker smirked. “You don’t fool me. I know you can’t resist looking into a suspicious death.” He glanced out the door in the direction of Paisley’s shop. “Just be careful, though. We still don’t have all the evidence back so the case isn’t a done deal yet.”

Striker blew me a kiss and disappeared out the door. I felt uneasy at his parting words. What did he mean all the evidence wasn’t in yet? I guessed he was talking about the last picture that Paisley had taken. Last night, Jimmy had said they hadn’t been able to recover that data. But what could possibly be on there that would exonerate George? There was already enough evidence pointing to him.

Striker was probably just being overly conscientious. He was a lot like Gus in that way–they liked to cross all their t’s and dot all their i’s before they deemed a case closed.

I grabbed the portfolio from the coffee table and stashed it behind the counter. I wasn’t sure what to do with it. Give it to Paisley’s brother, I guess. But I’d have to do that later. Right now, I was ready to get started with the day’s work.
 

I cast another glance at Paisley’s former shop. I wondered what would happen to the contents now that the case was closed. Would her brother get whatever was in there … and everything in her house, including her cameras?
 

I guessed her ghost was already gone. She hadn’t been too bad. In fact, I’d kind of miss her. I knew Robert and Franklin probably would. Actually, I would have thought they would have appeared here to moan about her passing. Where were they? I hoped they weren’t too depressed to haunt me. I kind of liked their company, especially when the shop was slow with no customers to keep me occupied.
 

My leg was starting to ache, so I pushed my stool over to the section of counter that had shelves and pulled my laptop in front of me. Sliding my leg into one of the shelves so I could have it straight out in front of me was the best way to stop the aching.

I slipped off my white Keds and slid my leg in. My foot came into contact with something soft and furry … not exactly furry but fuzzy … and not exactly soft, either. More like wooly. And it felt a little sticky and crunchy. I removed my leg and bent down to look inside, my stomach churning as I realized that it was a giant hairball.