Cat's Meow, page 2
I could hear Shelby’s voice clearly, although I couldn’t make out anything she said. Maybe I needed to have my prized supersonic teacher’s ears checked.
“Well, keep your chin up, girlie. Karma can be a powerful you know what in the you know where.”
By the time Nora had ended the conversation and replaced the cell in her secret carrying case, I was wound up tighter than an eight-day clock.
“And? What did she have to say?”
“You’re not gonna believe it.”
“Until I know what it is, I have no idea whether I will or not.” I gestured impatiently. “Spit it out already, slowpoke.”
“Don’t get your panties in a wad, woman. I’ll tell you on the way to get coffee.”
“Fine,” I grumbled. “And don’t forget we still need to discuss hiring another dog walker, so get busy talking.”
Nora, much to my chagrin, chattered about insignificant topics until we exited the lobby of the luxury apartment building.
When I was beginning to think I couldn’t stand it any longer, she reached over and clutched my arm, stopping me in mid-shuffle. I was wearing Birkenstocks, after all, and that required a slight toe curl to keep them in place as I walked.
“Okay, Sis, listen to this. The Wonderbra Woman of television has dissed our sweet Shelby so badly she’s considering murder.”
“Who is? Wonderbra or Shelby?” I couldn’t picture Shelby killing anyone, not really, and I certainly could not picture Babs Prescott doing so either. It might wrinkle her Botoxed face and designer dresses.
Nora poked me in the side irritably. “Shelby, silly. Babs had the nerve to suggest Shelby needed to book herself into a spa for a makeover. She even suggested one, some place called the Fabulous Fattie Farm.”
I had to hand it to her: Babs certainly had some nerve. Knowing her, she’d probably flashed her teeth and wiggled all the way through the conversation. No wonder Shelby had been glaring in the Instagram post.
“Well, I don’t blame her for being upset.” I nodded a greeting to a pair of whispering women and pulled my arm from Nora’s grasp. “And let’s start walking. People are beginning to stare.”
Shelby, in my opinion, was far from overweight. Sure, she’d never be found on a catwalk or wear a size triple zero, but she definitely wasn’t in need of a makeover. What had possessed Babs to make such an idiotic suggestion?
As if reading my mind, Nora said, “Apparently, Shelby was at the state capitol at the same time Babs and her cronies were, covering a new bill about food labeling. Isn’t that the craziest thing you’ve ever heard?”
“I’m not sure I’d call it crazy. More like commonsensical.” We’d reached the corner across from the coffee shop, and a light breeze coming in from the river ruffled my hair. “Don’t you want to know what’s in the food you’re eating?”
“Of course I do.” Nora spoke impatiently, jabbing one finger on the button to activate the walk signal. “What I’m talking about is why those two were sharing the same oxygen, Babs and Shelby. I call that crazy.”
“Probably because both of them are in the news business. You know, television and newspaper?”
“I know that, goofy. I meant I’ve never heard of the Great One actually speaking with other reporters before. Something must’ve happened to cause that. Or not happened. Maybe she didn’t get her daily dose of public admiration or something.”
The light turned green, and the sign lit up, allowing us to cross safely. I trudged along as I normally did, but Nora was giving every driver an eyeful of undulating black Lycra and strutting heels. I ignored her, hoping no one could tell we were together. She could be an entire headline herself, and I wanted no part of it. Retired teachers didn’t cavort with people like that.
“Hey, you,” she called out loudly, and I groaned, turning around to watch her prance the last few steps. “Mind waiting up for me?”
“Trust me, there are times I wish I didn’t have to.” I headed for The Friendly Bean’s entrance, stepping aside to let a giggling gaggle of teens exit. “Do you always have to walk that way when we’re in public?”
Nora preened, patting her curls and putting one hand on an outthrust hip. I held back an eye roll, pushing her inside ahead of me. Apparently, Babs Prescott wasn’t the only publicity hound in these parts.
“And deprive the good folks of Portland? I think not.” She grinned over her shoulder, dropping one eyelid in a playful wink. “Now, how ’bout that coffee?”
I snagged an empty table near the rear of the café while Nora placed our orders. In our town, coffee was almost a religion, one I tended to follow with unwavering devotion. I liked my coffee dark and black and hot, although I’d recently ventured into the froufrou land of cappuccinos and mochas. By the time Nora had swayed back to the table, carefully balancing a pair of steaming lattes, I was ready for my daily dose of caffeine.
“The barista says she’ll bring our croissants over when they’re heated.” Nora took a sip from her coffee cup and closed her eyes. “Ah. That hits the spot. Nothing like a latte made with almond milk.”
I paused, holding my mug in midair. “Please don’t tell me you put that stuff in my drink.”
Nora merely smiled.
“Fine. I’ll handle it this time.” I glared at her over the rim of my cup. “Next time I’ll order my own coffee, thank you very much.”
“It’s much better for you, Gwennie. You know, healthy and all that jazz. Don’t you want to live to be a hundred?”
I snorted. “Not if it means drinking milk made from nuts. If God meant us to drink almond milk, he’d have given them little almond boobs.”
“Here’re your croissants.” The barista slid a thick white plate between Nora and me, her eyes wide as she stared at me. “Miss Franklin? Is that you?”
I could have kicked myself for that last comment about almonds and body parts. Forcing a smile onto my mortified face, I looked at the young woman, trying to recall her name. “Yes, it is. And it’s Kate—Katelyn, right?”
She beamed at me, and I gave a small sigh of relief. I’d had well over one hundred students per year throughout my twenty-plus years of teaching, and it was almost impossible to remember each and every name. Unless, of course, they’d done something to stand out, like plagiarizing a paper or leaving tacks on my chair.
“I’m getting ready to graduate from college.” She leaned one hip against the table and smiled proudly. “And guess what? I’m going to be an English teacher like you.”
“Oh, honey, you’re a brave soul.” Nora reached over and patted Katelyn’s arm. “Look at Miss Franklin here. That’s what happens after being in high school for fifty years.”
“It was twenty.” I spoke through gritted teeth, my lips curled up in what I hoped would pass for a smile. “And ignore my friend here. She doesn’t get out that often. Issues, you know.” I tapped the side of my head.
Katelyn flashed a look of sympathy at Nora. “That’s all right. My grandma’s got that too, the disease that makes you forget your name and say all kinds of crazy things.” She glanced over her shoulder at the front counter. “Whoops, I’d better get back. It was great talking to you, Miss Franklin.”
“Well, thanks a bunch, best friend.” Nora leaned over and snagged a steaming croissant, juggling it between her hands. “You made me sound like a raving imbecile.”
“And you made me sound like a drooling old hag, so we’re even.” I held up my coffee cup. “Here’s to another fifty years of friendship.”
We clinked our mugs together, smiling at one another with real affection. We’d been inseparable since kindergarten, and nothing as petty as name-calling would ever break us apart. At least it hadn’t yet.
We were in the midst of discussing Rachel as a possible employee when the television hanging on the wall behind us flashed the latest news bulletin from around the greater Portland area. Channel 12’s “News at Hand” was the best way to find out what was happening in our part of the city and usually focused on local farmer’s markets and craft fairs. I glanced causally at the screen, waiting to see what they’d say about the Clear the Shelter event.
The first item, however, caused me to gasp and Nora to sputter around a mouthful of croissant, sending a shower of crumbs across the table.
“We begin this broadcast with sad news.” The earnest young man seated at the news desk looked appropriately solemn, and I sipped my latte as I waited to hear the bulletin. “Shortly after a press conference at the state capitol today, the body of news anchor Babs Prescott was discovered in a nearby parking garage. This is a breaking story, and we’ll bring you all the details as soon as they come in. In other news, members of the local garden club . . .”
We looked at each other and said in one voice, “Shelby.”
Chapter 2
I stared across at Nora, my voice filled with horror. “You don’t think she actually did it, do you?”
Nora’s face was grim as she extracted her cell phone and hit redial. “I wouldn’t blame her one bit, but I sincerely doubt it. She’s too smart to throw her life away on someone like that.” She waited for Shelby to answer, her mouth a thin line of unease. “Shelby, it’s Nora Goldstein again.”
My heart began to race as I watched Nora’s expression change from concern to shock as she listened.
Finally, she said, “Don’t you worry, girlie. I’ll call Marcus, and we’ll get right on it, okay? You hang in there. And give me a call if you need something.”
She slowly slipped the cell back into her top and looked across at me, her expression somber.
I was absolutely dumbstruck: Shelby Tucker a killer?
“She found the body.” Nora’s tone was as dark as her words. “And you know what that means.”
I nodded soberly. “The person closest to the crime scene is usually the suspect.” I paused for a moment, thinking. “Do you think someone overheard that conversation about the fat farm?”
“I’d say that was likely.” Nora tore off a piece from the last croissant and chewed it slowly, a thoughtful expression on her face. “And obviously they told the cops about it as well.” She shook her head, sending her curls bouncing like deranged corkscrews. “It must have been one doozy of a discussion.”
“So you think Marcus will be able to help?”
“Possibly. He helped me last year, right?” Nora took a sip of her latte and made a face. “This is cold.” She inclined her head at my cup. “How about yours?”
I took a small drink. “It’s cooled down, but it’s still drinkable. Do you want me to ask Katelyn to heat yours up?”
“No thanks. I’ll leave it. Besides,” she grinned across at me, “it was the croissants I really wanted.”
I looked at the empty plate. “Obviously.” I used one finger to pick up a few of the crumbs, popping them into my mouth. “What’s not so clear from the report is how Babs was killed. That’s the first thing we need to find out.”
“Text Rachel.”
Rachel’s father was a homicide investigator with the Portland Police Department. We’d first met him during an earlier investigation that involved Nora and, to some extent, Marcus, Brent, and me.
“If I do, I’m going to offer her the job before I ask her to start digging for information.”
“Of course.” Nora’s expression was pure innocence. “That’s exactly what I was going to suggest.”
“Uh huh.” I shot her a sardonic look and then glanced back at the television screen, where a smiling troop of Girls Scouts held up boxes of cookies for the camera. “It looks like there’s nothing else about Babs. Let’s head back to your place so we can make a battle plan to help poor Shelby.” I shook my head. “I’d be barking at the walls if someone was blaming me for something I hadn’t done.”
“Don’t forget we’ve got a business to run as well.” Nora stacked our cups and plate in the tub near the door. “Hopefully, we’ll be able to get everything taken care of between the two of us.”
After I’d taken early retirement from my teaching career, Nora had decided I needed something else to fill my time. Taking care of pets seemed as good as any place to begin, and so we’d started Two Sisters Pet Valet Services. I’d been hesitant at first, especially since I’d always suffered from allergies, but between Benadryl and Hercule, I’d developed a tolerance of sorts. Cats still did a number on my eyes, though, so Nora or Brent handled those jobs. For the most part, though, I was fine.
“And the Clear the Shelter event tomorrow evening as well.”
The temperature had dropped while we’d sat inside The Friendly Bean, and I wished I had worn a heavier jacket instead of my favorite long cardigan. Some climates might let folks collect a variety of light clothing or swimsuits to wear, but here in the great northwest we were all about our coats and boots. And Birkenstocks.
“I wonder who they’ll get to replace Babs at the event.”
Good question. There would undoubtedly be no shortage of those who’d want their fifteen minutes in the spotlight. It wasn’t for me, though. I’d always been fine with an audience of thirty or so teens in various stages of wakefulness, but speaking to a crowd of adults was definitely not my thing.
“You should volunteer,” I said.
Beside me, Nora gave a distinctively sarcastic snort.
“I’m serious. You’d be great with a crowd. Besides, they’d be so busy gawking at your outfit they wouldn’t pay attention to a word you said.”
Nora could still run, even in heels. Flopping sandals, unfortunately, weren’t conducive to a speedy getaway.
* * * *
Back at my bungalow, with Herc sprawled cozily across my feet, I thought about what had happened that day. No one deserved to be killed, not even a showboat like Babs Prescott, but no one deserved to be falsely accused of the crime either. Poor Shelby. The last thing we’d heard, she’d been let go with a warning not to leave the Portland city limits.
“I have no idea how I’m going to do my job,” she’d wailed over the phone. “The paper sends me all over the place to cover the news.”
Nora had called her after we’d returned to her apartment, out of breath from running like a pair of loons, but definitely warmed up.
“Maybe they’ll let you take some vacation days,” Nora had suggested. “Only until this mess gets sorted out.” She’d slid a glance at me before adding, “Or I can call Marcus. I’m sure he’d be more than happy to help you.”
I’d rolled my eyes at her words. Shelby needed someone who could dig through information for answers, not a plaid-wearing wannabe Sam Spade.
Shelby’s reply had burst from the phone, causing Nora to hold it away from her ear, grimacing as she did. I wouldn’t have been in Shelby’s shoes for all the gold in the world, and it certainly looked like it was going to cost some gold—or at least a few thousand dollars—to straighten out this debacle.
Sighing, I reached over and gave Herc’s ears a quick pat. At least I had him in my corner. As long as I kept him in kibble and treats, he’d back me up from here to the moon. Shelby had no one. Picking up the top volume from a towering pile of “to be read” books, I forgot about reality for a while and followed the canny Miss Marple around St. Mary Mead as she solved yet another baffling mystery.
It was while Herc and I were on our way home from our evening walk that I heard someone calling my name. Turning, I spotted a tall, well-built man, one hand wrapped in two leashes and the other lifted in greeting. My cheeks grew warm in spite of the cooling breeze as I waggled my fingers in return.
What was the man’s name? My pulse began to pick up as I wracked my brains for a hint. I’d met him briefly during a walk last year and had admired the two golden retrievers that had exchanged sniffs and tail wags with Herc, not to mention the handsome man holding their leashes. Maybe I could get around it by falling back on my fail-safe greeting of “Hey, you.”
I paused on the sidewalk, holding Herc’s leash tightly as I waited for the man to catch up. Could there be anything more awkward than watching someone approach whom you barely know? Thank goodness for the dogs. At least they gave me something on which to focus my gaze.
“It’s nice to see you again.” I reached out with my free hand and gave each of the retrievers a quick scratch on their ears, buying time before I had to confess that I had no idea what his name was. “Hasn’t the weather been nice? It’s so nice to be out walking without getting soaked.”
“It certainly is nice.” He gave the inane word a slight inflection, and his eyes twinkled. “Although I might call it ‘serendipitous’ or ‘fabulous.’”
So much for showing off my extensive vocabulary. Heat inched its way up from my neck to my cheeks as a smile played in the corners of his mouth. A rather sensual mouth. A nice mouth.
“It’s been somewhat of a crazy day so far.”
“Really? How so?” Roger—oh, thank the memory gods above—switched the leashes to his other hand as the retrievers and Herc began their ritual circling and sniffing.
“Someone I know, a former student, has been accused of killing Babs Prescott.”
There. Once it was out in the open air, it almost sounded ridiculous. Who stood around discussing murder, for Pete’s sake?
“Babs Prescott? Is that someone I should know?”
I should have bought a lottery ticket. I’d met the only man in Portland who didn’t know who the blond goddess of the airwaves was.
“She’s one of the prime-time news anchors—or was—on Channel Thirteen.” Seeing he still had no idea who I meant, I added, “You know, the one who’s always on those huge bulletin boards around town. Has that big hair and those big, uh, teeth. You might have noticed.”
My face was getting warm again. I’d almost said “boobs” but stopped myself in time. Nora was really beginning to rub off on me.
