A Novel Death: a Danger Cove Bookshop Mystery (Danger Cove Mysteries Book 10) (13 page)

At my mother's insistence, I stayed with her after the break-in. It didn't take much insisting at all. I was still creeped out and didn't want to be alone. A good night's sleep in my childhood bedroom was just what I needed. Plus, my car had been blocked in by the crime scene techs, and they didn't know how long they were going to be. Burt had arrived and shooed me out, promising that he'd keep an eye on the store and then secure the busted door.

In the morning, I threw on my dress from the day before, looking a little worse for wear, and poured myself a cup of coffee in a tall to-go cup. I needed to get a shower, a change of clothes, and then make arrangements for someone to replace the back door on the bookstore. And that also required me to call the insurance company, follow up with the detective about the police report, and clean up the fingerprint dust.

"Are you feeling better this morning?"

My mother walked in from her yard, with her hands full of fresh-cut flowers to trim for a vase. She was wearing a simple blue Oxford shirt with khaki pants and looked like she'd walked out of a high-end catalogue. Her only offspring, on the other hand, looked like she'd slept in her clothes.

"I'm feeling fine." I took a long sip of the coffee and sighed. I got my expensive taste in coffee from my mother. "Thanks for coming to get me last night."

"Of course," my mom said, giving me a one-armed hug while she set the flowers in the sink. "Give me a few minutes to get these in water, and I'll drive you back to the store to get your car."

I sat in a chair by a window that overlooked the flower garden in Mom's backyard, and watched the sun dance through the leafy tree and onto the bright colors below.

"Your garden is looking so lovely," I said, relaxing with my coffee.

"Thank you, sweetie," she said. "I'm thinking of shaking things up this year. Maybe putting in a patio and some paths."

We chatted for several minutes about her garden plans while I sipped my coffee and watched her at the sink.

"Since you're planning on staying around Danger Cove, maybe I can help you with the backyard. It doesn't get much sun because of that sycamore, but we could plan a lovely shade garden."

I made a noncommittal sound and looked down, not ready to commit to anything—especially permanent things. Like putting down roots, in any sense of the phrase. I brushed a chunk of fur off my dress and tried to think of a good dodge, because if I didn't come up with an excuse, Kimberly Sinclair would take my silence as acquiescence and show up with a backhoe.

With a distracted frown, I brushed away more cat hair, and then I jumped up and stared down at my dress in horror. The soft gray fabric was covered in cat hair.

"Oh my God," I said, panic rising in my chest.

"What is it?" My mom turned from the sink, alarmed at my tone.

"Cat hair. Everywhere," I said. "I have to get out of this dress. I'll have an allergy attack."

Then I hit the pause button on my panic attack. The cat hair was from Cecilia's, I was sure. And I'd been wearing the dress since the previous afternoon but without any reaction. I should already be having an allergy attack. I should have had one yesterday afternoon in Cecilia's house.

"Wait. Why haven't I broken out in hives or sneezed or…"

My mother looked down, her cheeks turning pink. She bit her lip and then gave me a hesitant smile.

"Oh, probably because you're not allergic to cats," she said.

"Yes, I am."

She gave me a guilty smile. "No. Not really."

"I've been allergic to cats since I was a child," I said.

My mother tilted her head and sighed. "I made up the cat allergy."

"You what?"

"It was to protect you," she said.

"Protect me? From what? Cat litter and lint rollers?" I stammered my indignant response, trying to get the words out over the rage. My mother had lied to me. For my entire life. Because she didn't want a cat.

"You wanted a cat. Cats don't live very long. Your father had just passed away. I didn't want you to get attached to an animal," she said. "I honestly thought you'd figure it out by now. I'd actually forgotten about it."

She turned back to the sink, and I stood in the kitchen, my arms held away from my body, still afraid to touch my dress.

"What do you mean, you thought I'd 'figure it out'?" I demanded.

"Well, I thought you'd either think you outgrew the allergy or that you were misdiagnosed," she said with a shrug.

"You were the one who told me it was very unhealthy for me to be around cats. I've been avoiding cats my entire life," I said. "You could have told me when I was older. Like when I turned thirty, for instance."

She turned and wiped her hands on a dish towel. "It's not a big deal," she said, the guilty look gone from her face. "And really, they're messy little creatures. You have to clean up their litter boxes, and look how they shed."

She waved toward my fur-covered dress.

"I— Oh! I can't believe you lied to me!" I grabbed my purse.

"Meri, you're overreacting," she said in a far-too-familiar tone. It was the tone she would have used on me when I was a child. "I also told you that you had an allergy to cigarette smoke, and look at you now—you've never smoked a day in your life."

My eyes widened with the strain of holding in all the rage that was simmering inside me.

"I can't believe you!" I said, finally able to open my mouth without risking a flood of curse words. I started to continue but then snapped my mouth shut and turned toward the door.

"Where are you going?" Mom asked.

"I'll walk to the bookstore."

"You don't have to do that," she said.

I turned back at the door. "You need to apologize for lying to me."

She threw her hands up and expelled a frustrated breath. "Meri, it's not a big deal."

"It is so," I said. "Parents are not supposed to lie to their children."

"It was for your own good."

I glared at her. "I'm walking downtown."

"Call me later."

Her voice followed me as I stormed out of the house but was cut off as the door slammed behind me. Fueled by my righteous anger, I barely even noticed the dozen blocks I walked, or rather, stomped, to get to the bookstore.

Every other life lesson my mother imparted was now under suspicion. Was it acceptable to put my elbows on the table? Was it okay to wear white after Labor Day?

Though I tried desperately to hang on to my anger, it faded a bit with every heavy step. I pushed my outrage to the side, saving it for later when I had time to really stew in it. My head cleared a little, and I focused other, bigger concerns than the fact that my mother had lied to me.

Concerns like a certain detective who thought I might have killed Cal Montague. There were certainly others the police should be looking at, and I just needed to point them in that direction. I brushed some more cat hair off my dress as I walked and exhaled a long breath.

Focus, Meri
. Cal must have come from Cecilia's house to the book signing. That would explain the cat hair on his jacket. That information might help Detective Marshall figure out who killed Cal. Or at least help take the heat off of me. If the detective would listen to me.

The back door of Dangerous Reads was nailed shut, so I drove home. After a shower and a change of clothes, I called my insurance company, and my agent recommended several local contractors. One of the contractors, Mal O'Connell, was available to meet me at lunchtime to start the work. Then I had a choice to make—go to the bookshop and clean up the crime scene, or do something I'd wanted to do my entire life.

Without further thought, I jumped back into my car and drove straight to the Danger Cove Animal Clinic. I stormed into the nearly empty lobby and found Adam behind the counter.

"Good morning, Meri," he said.

"I need a cat."

"What do you mean?"

"I want a cat. To take home."

He stared at me for a long moment, a slightly puzzled expression crossing his face. "All the ones I have are spoken for."

I put my hands on the counter. "You had a box of kittens last time."

"I took them to the animal shelter," he said.

"But I need a cat!"

"You're allergic to cats," he said.

"No. It turns out I'm not allergic to cats. My mother lied to me all these years," I said, the anger starting to boil up again. "And I always wanted a cat, and damn it, I'm getting one."

"She lied to you?" he asked, his eyes narrowed.

I nodded. "Yeah. Can you believe that? So I'm twenty years overdue for a cat."

Adam smiled, and I caught a glimpse of that dimple. Instantly, my anger faded, replaced by a flutter of attraction. "We'll get you a cat. Let's go down to the shelter."

"You'll come with me?" I wasn't expecting that, but it would be nice to have a professional helping me pick one out.

"Of course," he said.

My cell phone chirped in my pocket, and I pulled it out and saw a text message from the contractor saying he was free to come fix my door early. I took that as a good omen. My luck was changing.

"I have to go back to the bookshop right now," I said. "Can I meet you at the shelter this afternoon?"

Adam nodded and handed me a brochure from the stack on the counter—
Your New Kitten
and a map to the Second Chance Animal Rescue. "These are the supplies you'll need. Let's meet around three o'clock."

I smiled and felt like a weight had been lifted from my shoulders.

"Three o'clock is perfect, thank you," I said. "And then later tonight, would you have dinner with me?"

The words spilled out of my mouth while my brain was still forming the idea that I should be bold and ask him out. But then the question was just there, hanging in the air between us. Adam stood up a little straighter, and I regretted acting so rashly. I had no idea if he was married or if he had a girlfriend. Or a boyfriend, for that matter.

Then he smiled again. "I'd like that," he said. "I'd like that a lot."

I returned his smile, took my brochures, and hurried back to my car to get back to work.

Things were definitely looking up.

It goes without saying that I'd never been to the Second Chance Animal Rescue. I was aware of it, located just on the outskirts of town, in a converted detached garage behind the owner's house. I loved the idea of an adoption agency for homeless animals. I had just never been in the market myself.

I'm not sure what I was expecting. Maybe something like a prison for dogs and cats. But the room we were visiting at the shelter was nothing like that. It was warm and full of cat trees and toys, and several cats and kittens romped around the room or snoozed in the patches of late-afternoon sun coming through the windows.

Just a day earlier, this would have been my nightmare. Those old fears still lingered out of habit, but as soon as I picked up one of the fluffy kittens, they faded away. The kitten had long hair in gray and black stripes, and the markings joined to form a perfect
M
on her forehead.

"She's probably a Maine coon," Adam said, sitting next to me on the carpet. "At least partially. That means she may be a big cat when she's fully grown. They're wonderful pets. Very good with people."

Adam had patiently let me meet every cat in the shelter, both adult and kitten versions. He had answered all my questions—even the ones I suspected were pretty stupid due to my complete lack of cat-related experience.

I set the squirming kitten down, and she bounced off to attack one of her siblings.

"I want them all," I said.

Adam laughed. "You should probably just start with one or two. There are adult cats up for adoption too."

He held his hand out, and a large blond cat with pretty amber eyes walked up and gave it a gentle head butt.

"Oh, she's pretty too," I said. "Is this a buff-colored, long-haired domestic cat?"

He gave me a grin. "Yes, it is. His name is Grimace."

I'd seen a cat like that recently—sprawled on Gibson Knox's papers in Cecilia Evers' house.

"Cecilia Evers has a cat like that," I said. "That's what you couldn't tell me, right?"

Adam shrugged. "Sounds like you figured things out for yourself."

I had left a message for Detective Marshall about the hair on Cal's jacket from Cecilia's house. Hopefully, that would help the police put together the dead man's timeline before he'd arrived at the bookstore. But Cecilia was at the reading, so the police probably would have talked to her. That would be a good lead—talking to the murder victim's family member who was present at the scene of the crime. But as everyone kept telling me, I wasn't a professional investigator, so what did I know?

I had left a message at the high school for Cecilia Evers too. I hoped that she'd call me back so I could ask some questions, and I prayed that she had no idea that I'd sort of broken into her house. Okay, that I had definitely broken into her house.

Pushing all thoughts of the investigation from my mind, I held my hand out like Adam had, and Grimace rubbed his face against my fingers. The cat's purr rumbled through his whole body and made me smile.

"I don't know how to choose one," I said. "They're all so sweet. What do you think I should do?"

Adam picked up Grimace, and the big cat relaxed and flopped against his chest, the purring increasing in volume. Adam scratched the cat's chin while he mulled over my question.

"Every girl should have a kitten at some point," he said. "Plus, they like to climb. So you'll have that in common."

In the end, I picked the first kitten that had come over to me—the fluffy gray-and-black one—and then went to fill out the paperwork. I'd been warned that the rescue might screen new adopters, but since I'd shown up with Adam, the paperwork was a breeze.

To my grave disappointment, my new roommate had to stay at the shelter for another few days until she was old enough to come home with me. That didn't stop me from dropping a bundle on all sorts of cat supplies, again with Adam's guidance. As soon as my new little friend got sprung, my house would be ready for her.

"I still don't understand why your mother told you that you were allergic to cats," Adam said as he loaded the trunk of my car with bags of litter and cat food and then wrestled a small, carpeted cat tree into the backseat.

"I'm not entirely sure. She said it was to protect me because cats have a short lifespan and my dad had just passed away," I said. "I think it has more to do with the fact that she's a clean freak and didn't want to have an animal in the house."

Adam shook his head. "That's too bad. But I'm glad you got it sorted out. You'll have your cat in a few days."

"Thank you for helping me," I said, unlocking the driver's door.

"Anytime," he said. "I'll pick you up around seven, if that's okay."

I nodded and wrote my address on the back of a receipt I found in my center console. My mother's clean-freak gene had certainly skipped a generation.

Despite that, I still had a couple hours of work to do at the store, cleaning the fingerprint powder off the doorframes and other surfaces, so we'd be ready to reopen tomorrow. Mal O'Connell had replaced the door in short order, and I now had a reinforced door and new locks.

After a good hour with a scrub brush and a bucket, the break room was free of dark smudges on the doorjamb, and the front counter sparkled in the afternoon sun. The only thing left to do was give the floor a quick mop to erase the dusty footprints the cops had tracked through the store.

I found the mop in the closet, a small bucket under the sink, and the detergent, then started at the front of the store and worked my way back to the break room. For all her faults, my mother had at least passed on all her handy housekeeping tricks. I didn't pull them out as often as I probably should, but when it was necessary, I knew what to do.

I rinsed out the bucket in the sink then wiped down the counter with a towel, moving Burt's massive can of cheap ground coffee out of the way. His cell phone lay between the wall and the coffee, and he probably didn't realize that was where it was. It was connected to the charger but not plugged into the wall. Burt's tech avoidance apparently extended even to his phone's need for fuel. I plugged it into an outlet and placed the phone back on the counter. Tethered to the wall socket, I had to leave it near the coffeepot, but made a mental note to remind Burt to take it home.

Then I stood back and surveyed the room. It did look nice and bright, and I felt better having done the work.

I hated to admit that my mother might be right about something, since I was still trying to hang on to the anger about the cat allergy. My cell phone did not reflect an apologetic text message or even a missed call, so I stuffed it back into my pocket and closed up the store. I'd have just enough time for a quick shower and change of clothes before Adam picked me up.