A Claw-some Affair (MEOW FOR MURDER Book 3), Page 3

  His brows furrow as he quickly takes a picture of it.

  “I don’t know. But she could have picked it up as she was walking.”

  “Doubtful with that fabric.” I spike to my feet and quickly retrace her steps.

  Madeline staggered in from the left. She was unstable on her feet, clutching at her throat.

  A glimmer of a glass sits on the floor near the entry to the room, and there’s a film of lavender liquid in it, just like the drippings from Madeline’s lips. I quickly scoop it up with the hem of my skirt. If it’s evidence, I sure as heck don’t want to compromise it. I give a quick glance around, noting the man in the red suit who pulled Madeline to the side earlier stands by the door. He’s twirling a ring on his finger with his thumb, over and over, a nervous twitch if ever there was one. His eyes meet mine, and he frowns before making his way toward the body on the ground.

  Odd. I specifically saw him speaking to her just a little while ago. It’s almost as if he had no reaction to what befell the woman he was just having a conversation with. I decide to follow him and spot Kiera Hillerman, the blonde friend of Madeline’s, throw her arms around him.

  “Oh, Lucas!” she wails. “What’s to become of us? Our poor Maddie is gone!”

  Poor Maddie, huh?

  Not an hour ago she was accusing her of being philanthropic with her body. I guess giving up the ghost changes things. It whitewashes people of their sins pretty quickly—even moments after death.

  I spot that redheaded friend of Madeline’s staring dazed at the body on the floor as a team of emergency medical workers make their way in, followed by members of the sheriff’s department.

  “Sophia.” I step in close to the redhead and she does a double take my way.

  “We met earlier. Jackson introduced us,” I say, nodding over to him as he speaks with Shep. “I’m Bowie Binx.”

  “Oh, right.” She blinks hard. “What a disaster. I mean, who thought this night would end this way?”

  “Not me.” Some superpowers I have as far as peering into the future goes. Of all the things I could have seen, my mind decided to zero in on a flirtation gone awry. I take in the woman’s pale face and her bright orange lips that only seem to accentuate the cardinal hue of her hair. “Sophia, when you were at the bar, do you know what kind of drink Madeline might have ordered?” I ask as I curl the glass in my hand behind my back.

  Her lips part as a mild look of confusion takes over her face. “How do you—” She shakes her head. “I don’t know, Kiera was ordering something for her.” She takes a deep breath. “I was late to that party.” She shrugs. I got waylaid speaking to Jackson. Her lips invert a moment. “You don’t think somebody spiked her drink, do you? I mean, she was choking, and gagging, and clawing at her throat. My God, you don’t think someone killed her, do you?”

  “Well, maybe not on purpose. She could have ingested something she was allergic to. But the coroner will be able to determine that pretty quickly.”

  Sophia takes a step in closer to the body, her eyes quickly washing over her friend as she lies there lifeless just as Shep steps over to us.

  “Oh my God.” The words swim from her in a panic as she points to the same dark circle that caught my eye earlier. “That feather”—she wails as she cranes her neck in every direction—“I knew Kiera would take things too far. They never got along, but I’ll admit, I never saw this coming.” She darts off and the crowd blocks our view of her.

  “Shep, I found this on the floor.” I hold the glass out over the fabric of my dress. “It has a film of lavender liquid in it. I found it near the entry, in the direction where Madeline stumbled from. It’s the same color liquid that was—”

  “On her lips.” He quickly pulls the pocket square from his suit and gingerly takes the glass from me. “Bowie, this could be evidence.”

  “I know,” I say a smidge excited. “And you’re welcome.”

  He frowns my way. “I’m not thanking you. This could be compromised. You should have called me over.”

  “There were people all around. Someone would have kicked it away. Or the killer could have come back for it,” I hiss. “And did you hear? Sophia thinks Kiera took things too far.” My eyes widen over at him. “Shep, we have a murder on our hands.”

  His lips stretch slightly. “Bowie, I have a murder on my hands. Your job is to manage the Manor Café and keep your head low, remember?”

  I frown over at him. “I remember.”

  A petite brunette pops up with her hair pulled into a bun and her pale eyes narrowed in over me while she glowers as if I were the perpetrator in question.

  “Detective Grimsley.” I offer a nod her way.

  “Nora.” Shep sighs at his former fiancée as he quickly gives a rundown on all that’s happened.

  “Give me the glass.” She pulls a plastic bag out of her pocket and takes it. “I’ll have forensics go over this.” She looks my way. “I would appreciate it if you left the sleuthing to those of us who are qualified to do so.” She shoots Shep the stink eye. “Let’s speak to this Kiera woman and see if we can open and close this case in one night.”

  They start to take off and Shep backtracks, piercing me with those day-glow eyes.

  “Bowie”—he whispers my name like a secret, with a twinge of disappointment in his tone—“do us both a favor. Stay away from this case.”

  Nora nods. “What he said.”

  They take off and I all but roll my eyes at the two of them.

  Why in the world would I want to involve myself in another murder investigation?

  I spot a man with a slight bald spot, a white feathered mask in his hand, and I recognize him from earlier this evening. He’s the one that grabbed Madeline by the elbow and had a few heated words with her before she took off.

  Without putting too much thought into it, my feet sail me in his direction.

  He’s handsome, dark hair for the most part, has broad shoulders and what appears to be a genuine air of concern about him.

  “It’s a horrible thing,” I say as I come upon him.

  He turns to look at Madeline lying there and blows out a heavy breath.

  “You can say that again.”

  “I’m Bowie Binx. I run the Manor Café. Did you know her?” I refrain from referring to the poor girl as the deceased.

  “Yes, actually, I knew her well. Parker Goldman.” He nods. “Madeline and I were working on a project together. I guess I won’t have to worry about that anymore.”

  “Project?” I lean in. “As in her philanthropy?”

  He gives a little laugh as if the philanthropy was a joke.

  “No, not that. This was something else entirely.” He shifts his gaze to the girl on the floor and a cold smile curls on his lips. “But that’s all in the past now.”

  The man in the red suit lets out a horrible moan as he falls to his knees before Madeline’s body and the entire room quiets to a hush.

  “Who’s that?” I whisper to Parker as we witness a rather theatrical performance. And believe me, if I didn’t see him twirling his bling by the door while watching things play out with an air of indifference, I wouldn’t be so quick to judge.

  Back in Hastings, the mob-rich territory in New Jersey where I’m from, I’ve seen my fair share of funeral theatrics—and, the man in red is right up there with the best of them.

  Parker’s chest bucks with a dry laugh as if he, too, found the drama amusing.

  “That’s Lucas. He is, was, Madeline’s boyfriend. I guess this is his moment in the limelight.” He winks my way. “Sometimes you gotta make it look good for the sheriff’s department.” He takes off, leaving me with his cryptic words.

  For the sheriff’s department?

  My God, this is all a show. I look back at Lucas who continues to howl like a werewolf in front of a full moon.

  I have to find Shep.

  No sooner do I take off than I bump into a body.

  “Excuse me,” a deep voice strums as Jackson M
ortimer takes both of my hands and kisses them in turn. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine, I just”—a thought comes to me—“Jackson, do think someone could have done this to your friend on purpose?”

  That flirtatious demeanor of his shifts on a dime as he shoots a sour look to the crowd around Madeline Swanson’s body.

  “I suppose nothing is impossible. Maddie had a way about her. Some might say she had a nasty disposition.” He sharpens his gaze over my eyes. “But don’t fret. These things have a way of working out in the end, as all things do.” He rubs the inside of my left hand with his thumb and I quickly pull it away as if removing it from the flames.

  Just as I’m about to rebuff his touchy-feely efforts, the room begins to swirl and that old, familiar, warm, fuzzy feeling takes over and a vision forms in my mind.

  The night sky hangs above, peppered with stars as I see Lucas holding Kiera by the arms.

  “Nobody needs to know,” he riots as he gives her a slight rattle.

  “Nobody tells me what to do,” she snips. “I should have done this the very first night and saved myself the trouble.”

  The room blinks back to life in a dizzying roar and Jackson Mortimer is no longer holding my hands. Shep Wexler is.

  “Bowie?” Shep’s voice is loud and sharp.

  “Yes?” I straighten in an instant and take in the worry on his face.

  “Was Jackson hurting you? I practically had to chase him away.”

  “No.” The word comes out less than a whisper as my mind drifts back to that strange vision.

  “Bowie, what keeps happening to you? Are you all right? Are you prone to seizures?”

  “What? No!” Oh dear God, he’s going to demand I get my head examined.

  “I’m sorry, I think you need to see a doctor, or maybe this is a psychiatric issue. But I’ve seen you zoned out and unresponsive one too many times for me not to step in to help. I’m worried about you.”

  My heart drums at the thought of Shep worrying about me, stepping in to help me.

  My breathing grows erratic.

  “I don’t need your help, Shep. I’ll stay out of your investigation if you stay away from my problems.”

  I bolt out of the ballroom and straight out of the manor under a star-filled night.

  It’s bad enough Shep knows one dark secret of mine. I have no intention of adding something supernatural to the mix.

  It looks as if Shepherd Wexler and I don’t stand a chance in hell of happening.

  An image of Madeline Swanson lying lifeless on the floor flits through my mind, and a part of me knows I can’t keep my end of the bargain.

  I’m not staying out of his investigation.

  And I have a feeling he’s not backing down when it comes to investigating my fractured mind either.

  Chapter 4

  One might think the day after some poor soul dropped dead at the Mortimer Manor, the Manor Café would be listless and devoid of a single human body, but quite the contrary is true.

  Every chair, table, and booth was filled as soon as we opened the doors at seven a.m., and that includes Shep’s regular table near the back. You’d think a hotshot writer like him would want a primo window seat where he can stare out at the green belt surrounding the manor and the hundreds of feisty felines lounging over it. The rest of the patrons seem to get quite a kick out of watching the kitties while noshing on their morning waffles.

  I came in early myself and thought I’d give making a special of the week a whirl. I’ve been toying with the idea for a while, so I picked a few recipes, but since Nana Rose’s lasagna was making my tummy rumble I thought I’d start there.

  The Manor Café has three cooks and a baker, but I’ve taken the helm on this dish. I crumbled and browned the ground beef, whipped together a tomato sauce base with garlic, onions, fennel, sugar, a hint of cloves, black pepper, and a sprinkling of hope sent from my dead Italian ancestors before allowing the sauce to simmer for the next couple of hours.

  I may not have paid much attention to Nana and my mother in the kitchen, but one thing I keenly observed was the fact the sauce was left alone to do its thing for hours at a time. The thought of heating up spaghetti sauce from a can was tantamount to cursing in our house.

  One thing is for sure, our home always smelled like an aromatic Italian paradise on days the sauce was simmering. And it just so happens the heavenly scent trailing from the kitchen behind me brings back those wonderful memories.

  Tilly comes my way with an empty coffee carafe as I stand staunchly behind the register.

  “Smells like Nick’s Pizzeria.” She sniffs the air. “You’re not making a pizza, are you? I’m getting hungry for a large pepperoni with olives.”

  Regina steps up. “It smells like a hostage situation brewing with my senses. You do realize nobody in Starry Falls wants a side of garlic with their pancakes. Hold off until noon next time.”

  “I can’t hold off until noon,” I say. “Everyone knows a good lasagna takes hours to perfect. I’ll be lucky if I’ve got a lasagna to serve at noon.”

  Regina rolls her eyes. “Next time make a so-so lasagna. And by the way, the jury is still out if this one will be any good.”

  “It will,” I assure her.

  I hope.

  Tilly scoots in close. “Do you really think there’s another killer on the loose?” she asks as she reworks her blouse and ties it beneath her bellybutton, forcing two of her best assets front and center.

  “Yes, Tilly,” Regina answers for me. “And spoiler alert? She’s the killer.”

  “Bowie?” Tilly giggles my way before her expression falls flat. “You’re not really the killer, are you? No, wait, don’t tell me. If you’re about to kill me, I want it to be a surprise. Can you somehow work Jackson Mortimer into that killer scenario?”

  “I’ll do my best,” I say, shooting Regina a look.

  Regina snorts. “Please, Tilly. Jackson Mortimer is easier to land than a Frisbee.” She grins like the cat who ate the Mortimer canary, and both Tilly and I groan.

  I lift a brow to Tilly. “At least we know who he was playing Frisbee with last night.”

  Tilly grunts my way. “It’s all my fault. I should never have gotten comfortable with that vision you sold me. I let my game slip. And now look what’s happened. I’m altering my uniform in hopes of landing Regina Valentine’s leftovers.”

  Regina leans in, her eyes squinted and beady as she examines us both.

  “Wait a minute.” She turns her ear toward Tilly. “You said she sold you on a vision? What in the name of black magic is going on here?” She jabs a finger in my direction. “Are you reading cards? Do you have some crystal ball tucked in the office? Is that what’s happening here? Did you cast a spell on Shepherd Wexler? Because nothing else can explain his sudden urge to rebuff every offer I toss his way.”

  “I’m no witch.” I dip my chin. “Maybe Shep just doesn’t feel like playing Frisbee with you. Maybe he’s tossed his Frisbee in another direction.” Okay, so it’s not mine. But there’s no harm in her thinking it is. Regina has been nothing but snippy, rude, and darn right wicked to me ever since I set foot in Starry Falls.

  Hey? Maybe she’s the witch?

  The door whooshes open and a cool breeze snakes into the café. Summer is quickly giving way to fall in these parts, and I’ll be the first to sing hallelujah. I’m not a big fan of triple digits and ninety percent humidity. I’d rather curl up by the fire with a nice cup of cider, a book, and my new sweet cat, Pixie.

  Pixie is actually an accidental acquisition. She wandered from Opal’s cat farm here at the manor, and Shep just so happened to feed her—the rest is cat-napping history.

  “Well, well.” Tilly wraps an arm around my shoulders. “If it isn’t Sexy Wexy,” she purrs as Shep pops up and surveys the overcrowded landscape.

  He’s donned a suit, a silver tie that offsets his eyes, and his dark hair is slicked back, still dewy from the shower. His heady cologne has
already made its first arrest of the day—me and my good senses—and suddenly it doesn’t seem fair that Shep isn’t interested in playing a game of Frisbee with me.

  “I see business is brisk.” He sheds a brief smile our way. “Opal must be happy.”

  Tilly leans his way. “Opal is sleeping off a hangover.”

  Regina scoffs. “Ten bucks says she’s dead and this one did it.” She hitches her thumb my way as Shep takes a seat right here at the bar. “Did you know she’s a witch?”

  Shep’s eyes widen my way a moment before he nods to Tilly and me.

  “Morning, ladies.” He frowns at Regina. “No name calling.”

  “I’m not kidding.” Regina continues her baseless campaign against me.

  Okay, so it may not be that baseless, but it doesn’t make it true either.

  Regina plops down in the seat next to Shep. “Did you know she gave Tilly a vision that she would land on her back in the carnal sense with Jackson Mortimer?”

  I suck in a quick breath.

  “A vision board,” I blurt it out so loud, half the room looks my way. “I gave Tilly a vision board.”

  Tilly snarls my way. “A lousy one at that. It turns out, Jackson was interested in landing Bowie here on her back, but he had to settle for Regina instead.”

  My lips invert to keep from laughing.

  “What?” Shep’s jaw tenses as he studies me a moment, and a part of me is afraid he’ll see right through me and straight into my otherworldly abilities.

  It’s not that I don’t trust Shep with my inadvertent supernatural talent—although, some might contest the use of the word talent, and by some I mean me. I just don’t think he’s the type of person who would respond well to the idea. I’m not sure why I was so quick to share it with Opal and Tilly when I arrived in Starry Falls, but in a way I’m glad I did. It gave me a sense of kinship with them, and after unmooring myself from everything and everyone I knew, I think I needed it.

  When I was of age—seven to be exact—Nana Rose explained to me that the strange ability we shared was something she called transmundane. Apparently, there are many supernatural talents that fall under the umbrella of transmundane, such as reading minds, seeing the dead, and other cool and slightly off-putting things that I don’t even want to think about. Nana Rose and I happen to fall under the umbrella of something called sibylline—meaning we can catch a sneak peek of what’s to come.