Читать книгу Claws of Death - Linda Reilly - Страница 15

Chapter 6

“I love adoption days, don’t you?” Lara set out a covered plate of homemade sugar cookies. A tall pitcher of lemonade, wrapped in a dish towel, rested nearby.

Aunt Fran smiled, but her eyes held a touch of melancholy. “I love seeing the good we’re doing for our rescue cats, yes. But as you know, my heart breaks a little each time someone adopts one of our babies.”

Lara slipped an arm around her aunt’s shoulder. “I know it does. I feel the same way. But remember how far we’ve come, and what we’ve already accomplished.”

Nine months earlier, Lara’s childhood bestie, Sherry Bowker, had asked Lara to return to her hometown to help her aunt. Locals had been calling Aunt Fran the crazy cat lady because she’d taken in more strays than she could handle. And with two bad knees, Aunt Fran had been overwhelmed trying to care for them.

At the time, Lara had been living over a bakery in Boston’s North End. She hadn’t seen her aunt in sixteen years—an estrangement she still didn’t quite understand. A struggling watercolor artist, Lara had been making ends meet by working part-time in her friend Gabriela’s bakery.

So much had happened since then. Lara had reconnected with the aunt she’d adored as a child. A murderer had been caught. And the High Cliff Shelter for Cats had gone from vision to reality.

The door buzzer to the shelter jolted Lara out of her reverie. A balding, elderly man was peering through the screen door. “Are you open yet?”

Lara glanced at the cat-shaped clock on the wall. It was only twelve-thirty; adoptions started at one. She opened the door, put on her best smile, and invited him inside. “Of course we are. I’m Lara Caphart. Welcome to the High Cliff Shelter.”

“And I’m Fran Clarkson. You look familiar. Do you live in town?”

The man’s filmy eyes brightened. “Sure do. Worked at the fire department, such as it is, for many years. Also did home inspections for the cooperative bank. I’m retired now. Wife died nine years ago.”

“Have a seat, Mr., um…”

“Heston. Curtis Heston. Everyone calls me Hesty, so you might as well do the same.” Walking at a slightly bent angle, he went over and plunked himself onto the nearest chair. “That lemonade sure looks tasty.”

Aunt Fran sat, and Lara did the same. Lara poured a glass of lemonade for each of them. The man—Hesty—slurped down a mouthful and gave out a loud, “Ahhhh.”

“So, um, Hesty, what brings you to our shelter today?” Lara asked.

He looked around. “Thought there’d be cats here. You run out of cats?”

Aunt Fran quirked her lips. “No,” she explained. “On adoption days, we keep them in the house until we’re ready to open. This porch—we call it the meet-and-greet room—is where we greet visitors and invite them to get to know the cats that are ready for good homes. Have you had cats before?”

Without warning, Blue sprang onto the vacant chair. The Ragdoll’s blue eyes widened. Her chocolate-colored ears twitched in agitation.

Uh oh, Lara thought.

“Yep, I’ve had several of ’em,” he said. “All of ’em lived to a ripe old age. Can’t say I’ll do the same, but I’m trying.” He cackled at his own joke.

Lara fidgeted on her seat. “Did your cats live inside, Mr., um…?”

“I told you, it’s Hesty.” He scrunched one wrinkled eye as if it had a magic view into the past. “No, my first cat went out all the time. Back in the seventies, I think that was.”

“And after that?” Aunt Fran prodded.

“After that I got married, and my wife gave me what for, if you get my drift, for letting my cat go outside.”

Aunt Fran smiled. “She was a wise woman. She obviously knew that indoor cats are healthier, happier, and live much longer lives.”

“You’re right there, young lady. Anyway, my Tilly—that was my cat, not my wife—died seven months ago. She was seventeen. Sweetest little furry gal you ever saw.” A tear crawled down one furrowed cheek. “It’s time for me to have another cat.”

Blue turned around in her chair and sat at attention.

Feeling unnerved at Blue’s apparent distress, Lara hesitated. Then, unable to delay any longer, she rose and opened the door to the large parlor. Almost instantly, Munster trotted over to Hesty and wrapped himself around the man’s legs.

“Aw, look at this one,” Hesty cooed. He scratched Munster between the ears. “Can I have him?”

At that moment, Frankie strolled in. The cat’s eyes went large at the sight of Hesty. Ignoring Aunt Fran, he padded directly over to the man and leaped onto his bony lap. Frankie leaned into Hesty’s chest and buried his face in his polyester shirt.

“Oh, would you look at that?” Hesty said. “This one already picked me!” He bent and rubbed his stubbled chin on Frankie’s head. Frankie closed his eyes and purred, looking as if he’d found the mythical Shangri-La.

Lara bit her lip. Blue’s tail was swishing back and forth. What was wrong?

“Okay, I’m picking this one,” Hesty said. “How much is he?”

“Don’t you want to know his name?” Lara asked. She felt her aunt’s quizzical gaze on her.

“Sure,” he said, “but names don’t matter. I’ll change it if I don’t like it. Won’t I, sweetie?” He kissed Frankie’s pink nose.

“Hesty,” Aunt Fran put in tactfully, “we’re happy that you found a friend so quickly—that’s Frankie, by the way. But like all shelters, we do have an application process. After it’s reviewed and your references check out, we’ll contact you to pick him up.”

Hesty shrugged. “Oh. Well, no problem, I guess. My granddaughter can help me fill out the application. I don’t see so good these days.”

“There’s also an adoption fee,” Lara said. “All of it goes toward our shelter’s expenses.” She quoted the fee.

“Like I said, not a problem.”

Lara nodded. Her head was beginning to throb. “Would you like us to email you the application, or—”

“Email, shmee-mail. Just give me the dang form.”

A bad feeling gripped Lara. Blue had clearly given Hesty a thumbs-down. Yet Frankie had snubbed his beloved Aunt Fran and cozied right up to the man!

“Excuse me just a moment,” Lara said. “I’ll go print out an application.”

Lara quickly left the room, puzzled by Blue’s behavior. Could the Ragdoll cat be wrong about Hesty?

She returned with the application and set it down on the table in front of the man. By that time Blue had vanished—not a surprise.

As she started to reclaim her chair, she felt something push, hard, at her hand. Her lemonade glass tipped over, spilling pink liquid over the table.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry,” Lara said, wincing. The lemonade saturated the application and dripped onto Hesty’s trouser legs.

Hesty frowned and swiveled his legs around in the chair. “Don’t worry, Frankie,” he said lovingly, “I won’t let that sticky stuff get on you.” Hugging Frankie close with one arm, he snagged his napkin and swiped at his trousers with his free hand.

Aunt Fran scooted from the room. She returned moments later with a roll of paper towels. The mess got cleaned up quickly, but Lara was in a mental tizzy.

A knock at the shelter door interrupted her thoughts. Kayla peeked her head in. “Hi,” she said shyly. “May I come in?”

Lara was relieved to see her. It gave her something else to focus on. “Of course. Come right in, Kayla. Would you like some lemonade?”

Kayla nodded and stepped inside, handing Lara a sheaf of papers. Introductions were made, both human and feline. Lara poured her a glass of lemonade and invited her to sit.

“I guess I better go,” Hesty said, “before something else spills on me.” He kissed Frankie’s furry head so sweetly that it made Lara’s throat tighten.

“Let me print another application for you,” Lara offered and left the room. She returned a few minutes later and gave the form to Hesty. He rolled it into a tube and rose from his chair.

“I’ll be back for you, Frankie. Ladies, I’ll have my granddaughter drop off the application later today.” Reluctantly he handed over the cat to Kayla, who immediately took him into her arms. Frankie’s gaze never left Hesty—he watched the man until he was out the door.

“He seems like a nice man,” Kayla said in her soft voice. “Frankie sure liked him.” The cat squirmed in her arms, and she set him gently on the floor.

“Yes, he did,” Aunt Fran said, sliding a glance over at Lara.

The remainder of the afternoon went by quickly. No other visitors arrived, which didn’t surprise Lara. The day had turned out to be perfect beach weather—which is probably where most people had spent the day.

Kayla worked neatly and efficiently, cleaning litter boxes and taking out the trash to the barrel behind the house. After that she spent time with the cats, getting to know each of their personalities.

“Should I come back tomorrow?” Kayla asked, pushing her glasses higher on her nose.

“Absolutely, if that works for you. I assume you read over the materials we gave you about the shelter?”

“I did. I think it’s unbelievable what you’re doing here.”

“Thanks. Since tomorrow is not an adoption day, we’ll work on some other projects. Catalina and her one remaining kitten have a vet appointment tomorrow. Do you think you can handle taking them? We have a large-sized carrier that will fit them both. I’ll help you get it in and out of the car.”

“I’d love to.” Kayla clasped her hands under her chin. “Thank you, both of you, for having me here. This is going to be a wonderful summer—and such good experience for me.”

Kayla left a little after four. Aunt Fran pounced on Lara.

“What in heaven’s name was going on with you when Hesty was here, Lara?” she said, an edge to her voice. “You acted as if you didn’t like the poor man.”

With no way to explain about Blue, Lara hedged. “I-I can’t put my finger on it, Aunt Fran. I was just getting a weird feeling about him.” She held up a hand before her aunt could interject. “I know, Frankie obviously swooned over the man. The two looked like a match made in heaven.”

“I called Jerry while you were working with Kayla. He’s known Mr. Heston—Hesty—forever. He might not be the most polished of individuals, but he and his wife have always had cats. They gave every one of them a loving home.”

“Okay, I concede,” Lara said. She threw up her arms. “We’ll review his application, if he ever delivers it, and check out his references. Then we’ll go from there.”

“Agreed,” her aunt said, but she still looked a bit miffed.

Lara went over and kissed Aunt Fran’s cheek. In an attempt to lighten the tension, she said, “Don’t mind me. You should know by now I have paranoid tendencies.”

Her aunt laughed. “I won’t argue with that. But so long as it’s for the good of the cats, I suppose I can overlook it.”

The porch table now wiped down and the floor washed, Lara prepared an early supper for the two of them. She grilled two marinated chicken breasts while Aunt Fran whipped up a salad of romaine lettuce and fresh, local tomatoes. For dessert, they splurged on strawberry shortcake with strawberries from Daisy Bowker’s garden.

After the dishes were done, they watched the news for a while. Reports of Donald Waitt’s murder monopolized almost every major network. As if his death wasn’t bad enough, veiled references to a prior relationship with Deanna Daltry gave the story a tawdry angle.

“I can’t watch anymore,” Aunt Fran eventually said.

“I’m with you,” Lara said. “I’m going to work in the small parlor for a while. Catch up on some correspondence. Maybe do a little painting.”

And try to figure out why Blue was so dead set against Hesty.

* * * *

Lara sat at the card table in the small parlor and pulled up Google on her tablet. The room, which had been her favorite when she was a child, served as both her office and art studio.

She started by searching Curtis Heston—a name, she was surprised to see, that popped up with some frequency. In his heyday, he’d been a captain on the Whisker Jog Fire Department. Given the town’s size, it had been only a part-time job. He’d also worked as a home inspector until he retired several years earlier. Exactly as he’d told them.

A slew of commendations appeared online, including one from a grateful owner whose puppy Hesty had rescued from a drain pipe back in the late 1990s.

Lara sighed. If his application looked good and his references checked out, he’d be eligible to adopt Frankie. Maybe she could stall him while she tried to figure out Blue’s objection to the man.

Or maybe she was crazy, seeing a cat no one else could see. Maybe she was the problem and not Hesty.

Pushing those thoughts aside, she Googled Donald Waitt. Aside from the news blasts about the murder, there was little to learn about the man. He’d been married with two grown kids. If he had any social media accounts, Lara didn’t trip over them.

But that didn’t mean he didn’t have secrets.

Why had he been so anxious to talk to Deanna at the tea party on Sunday? Lara suspected Deanna knew more than she was saying. She also sensed that the actress had returned to her hometown to find peace and solitude. Scratch that, she thought. Deanna’s privacy—to the extent she’d had any—had already been shattered.

Anxious about the kittens, Lara snatched up her cell. She sent off a quick text to Deanna.

Are N and D enjoying their new space?

She wanted it to sound casual, not as worried as she felt. Almost immediately, a return text came through.

Kittens loving it here. Haven’t eaten much yet, but curled up together in cat bed. Love these darlings! We’re lying low. Media crawling everywhere!

Hmm. Haven’t eaten much yet? Lara didn’t like the sound of that. And who did she mean by “we”? She’d forgotten to ask Deanna if Nancy Sherman lived at the mansion.

As for the media and the looky-loos who’d camped out in front of Deanna’s, Lara knew they weren’t going away any time soon. Deanna would have to endure it for as long as it lasted. Lara felt bad for the woman, but it was, unfortunately, the price of fame.

Aunt Fran knocked lightly at the door and popped into the room. She handed a folder to Lara. “Hesty’s granddaughter just dropped this off.” She winked at her niece. “Oh, and I meant to give you this earlier,” she said and gave her a sheet of pink paper. “I picked it up today at the library. There’s a community book-slash-yard sale in their parking lot on Saturday. I knew you might want to go.” She scooted right back out and closed the door.

Lara set aside her tablet and glanced at the yard sale flyer. She’d probably enjoy poking around there on Saturday, but she’d have to get back before adoption hours started. Right now, she was far more concerned with Hesty’s application.

She opened the folder—a folder?—and perused the application. No red flags popped up. Hesty appeared to be a solid citizen with a penchant for helping others. Tomorrow she’d check his references and then go from there.

Her eyes burning, both from reading and from stress, Lara set up her easel with a fresh sheet of watercolor paper. From the sealed bottle she kept in the room, she poured water into two separate cups. She’d taken pics of the stone mansion earlier in the day and saved them on her cell phone. She pulled up the one she liked best, enlarged it slightly, and went to work.

An hour later, she’d managed to produce a rough watercolor of the mansion. She’d captured the sun gleaming off the stones, and the lush green of the ivy clinging to the stone columns. It needed much more detail, but she’d tackle that tomorrow.

In all the hoopla after the murder, she’d almost forgotten something else: the threatening message left on Deanna’s car window. Did she dare text Chief Whitley about it? She was itching to know if they’d identified the graffiti artist. The chief would probably tell her to mind her own business. Which, of course, he had every right to do.

She texted him anyway.

Any news on Deanna’s car vandal?

Wait a minute. Where was her brain? That day, when she’d first spotted the lipstick message on Deanna’s car window, she’d taken a picture of it! How had she forgotten that?

Lara picked up her cell again and scrolled through the photos. Yes! There it was. TIME TO PAY THE PIPER. The letters are printed carefully, almost childishly, she thought. And next to that was a circle with a roughly drawn flower in the middle.

She enlarged the photo with her thumb and forefinger, shifting it to zoom in on the circle. The flower was a series of loosely connected dots—dots that formed a picture. It reminded Lara somewhat of a snowflake. Although the artwork was amateurish, Lara could see a pattern.

Unless she was imagining it, it was the same flower—Queen Anne’s Lace—she’d seen scattered at the crime scene.