Literally Murder (A Black Cat Bookshop Mystery) (9 page)

“Well, Billy got it right again,” Darla’s neighbor conceded above the applause that greeted the winner. Leaning heavily on his cane, he lurched to his feet, and added, “You get a win from that man, you deserve it.”

Darla considered those words as she and Hamlet made their way back to the stage. Surely a man so scrupulous about judging a cat show would be equally on the up-and-up in his other doings, she decided. Still, it would be nice to have a consensus from a group other than the condo owners. Once the Russian Blue category had been judged, Shelley had fired up the PA system and called the lunch break. That meant an hour before it was time for Hamlet’s video airing. She could grab a couple of hot dogs from the concession for her and Jake and maybe casually ask around for opinions on Mr. Billy Pope.

When Darla said as much to Jake after unleashing Hamlet and closing the cage door behind him, the other woman shrugged.

“Go ahead, kid, if you think you can keep your motives for asking on the down-low. People like to gossip, so you never know what they might spill. Heck, you might even mention Stein’s name and see what pops up.”

“Uh-huh,” Darla replied, momentarily distracted by the sight of a slim, oversized volume lying faceup in Hamlet’s pen beside one of the shelves.

She could see the familiar illustration on the orange-and-white front cover, so she didn’t even need to read the title to know it was a copy of the Dr. Seuss classic
How the Grinch Stole Christmas
. A gap in the row above it seemed to indicate it had come from that collection. She gave Jake a questioning look.

“Was that book on the floor a minute ago?”

Jake shook her head. “Didn’t notice it. Hamlet must have accidentally knocked it down when you took him out to go touring.”

Accidentally?
When it came to books, Hamlet never did anything by accident. Darla slipped her hand through the wires of the pen and, with a bit of careful maneuvering, retrieved the book. Was the cagey feline trying to tell her something? Or had this been a simple slip of the paw?

Probably the latter, she decided.

“You’re right. He probably just knocked into it while he was sniffing around,” Darla agreed. “Now, what do you want on your hot dog?”

*   *   *

THE LINE AT THE CONCESSION WAS LONG, GIVING DARLA PLENTY OF
opportunity to casually chat with people about the head judge and innocently wonder about the Minx cat and its breeder. The few people who personally knew either all shared basically the same opinion as Darla: Billy Pope was tough but fair, and an all-around nice guy; Ted Stein was a blowhard jerk. Of course, Darla had to give the latter a bit of credit for his concern over the condo association’s lost funds, even if—according to Nattie—he was barking up the wrong tree as far as the culprit. Iffy as his motives might be, presumably Ted was trying to do the right thing.

When Darla finally headed back toward the stage, food and soft drinks balanced in one of those flimsy cardboard trays, she was halted by the sight of Billy Pope near one of the vendor booths talking to a young woman. Her back was to Darla, but something about her was very familiar—the short shorts, the blouse falling off at the shoulder, the fuzzy boots. Then the girl stuck out a hand, and the pose jogged Darla’s memory.

It was the same panhandler who had threatened Alicia Timpson last night! And now she was threatening the woman’s father!

Darla eased her way toward the pair, taking care to screen herself behind a hanging display of cat tote bags. Surely the girl wouldn’t try something in the midst of this crowd, she told herself. But if something did happen, at least Darla would be a witness to it.

“C’mon, I know you have the money.” The girl’s wheedling voice also seemed familiar, though Darla didn’t recall having heard the panhandler speak last night. “I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t really, really need it.”

Darla tightened her grip on the cardboard tray. She could see Billy’s expression of furtive resignation wash over him as he reached a gnarled hand into his jacket.
Why is he doing this?
she wondered in frustration.
What hold can this girl have over him?

But Darla was not the only one watching the pair. As Billy pulled an oversized wallet from his coat, Alicia Timpson swooped down upon them.

“What are you doing in here?” she demanded, grabbing the girl’s arm and giving her a shake. Then Alicia pointed at her father. “Don’t you dare give her any money, Dad. You know what she’s going to do with it.”

“Yes, but—”

She cut the old man short. “No buts. We agreed we’re not going to enable her anymore.”

“But I can’t just abandon her,” he protested, sounding like a sad old man instead of a retired real estate tycoon who’d spent years eating other businessmen for lunch. “Cindy’s my only granddaughter.”

Granddaughter?

Darla almost dropped the tray. The panhandler who’d threatened Alicia Timpson was Billy Pope’s granddaughter? Did that also mean that Cindy was Alicia’s daughter? Darla wasn’t sure if Billy Pope had any other children besides Alicia, but she didn’t have time to mull over the implications, for the argument was continuing.

“All the more reason not to indulge her,” Alicia snapped. “Give it to her now, and she’ll be back for more tomorrow, and the day after. She’s my daughter; I should know.”

She whipped back around to the girl and went on, “And as for you, don’t think I don’t know what you did. Now leave, before I call security on you. I’ll be informing everyone at the door that you’re banned from the exhibit hall.”

Cindy spouted off a few colorful epithets in Alicia’s direction, ending with a hand gesture cruder than Nattie’s before spinning about and stalking away right toward Darla, giving her a good look at the girl as she hurried past.

She was young, pretty, petulant . . . and when her oversized top slid lower, it revealed a familiar bleeding-heart tattoo peeking out of a skimpy sequined bikini top. Not only was Cindy the panhandler from the night before, she was also the pink-thonged animal rights protester who’d accosted Darla and Jake that morning!

Which also meant she was the person likely responsible for pouring ketchup on Cozy Kitty, the HHP winner.

Feeling suddenly foolish that she hadn’t recognized the girl earlier—though, in fairness, she hadn’t seen the panhandler’s face the previous night, having only glimpsed her from behind—Darla assumed as nonchalant an air as she could. Pretending to give a cat toile tote bag a final look, she casually turned and continued on toward the stage area.

She’d have to let Jake know what she’d learned, Darla told herself. She suspected that sparks might continue to fly if Cindy managed to sneak back in again. With Hamlet being the guest of honor, he’d be an obvious target for some sort of dramatic animal protest statement.

She didn’t have a chance to enlighten Jake about the dysfunctional Pope-Timpson family, however. As soon as she reached the stage area, Jake snatched her drink and hot dog from the tray and took a big bite of the latter.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, pausing to wash down the cheese and chili with a big gulp of diet soda. “I gotta eat and run. It’s almost time for the video.”

Jake indicated Mildred, who was standing beside Hamlet’s cage talking into her walkie-talkie.

“Mildred and I hammered out a plan. As soon as you finish eating, you get Hamlet all leashed up. I’ll take him behind that curtain”—Jake used her hot dog to point to the split swag of fabric that divided the final quarter of the stage area from the rest of the space—“and we’ll wait there. You stand out front with the rest of the adoring public until Shelley introduces you and brings you up on stage to say a few words.”

“That’s right,” Mildred interjected with an eager nod, hanging the walkie-talkie back on her belt. “Shelley said that you and she discussed this on the phone. All we need is a minute or two to hear a little about your store, and then you can talk about how Hamlet learned karate.”

“When you’re finished talking,” Jake went on as Darla continued working on her hot dog, “they’ll play his video. Apparently, this is a special music-video version the show commissioned, so it will run two or three minutes.”

“Right, Shelley mentioned that,” Darla confirmed, shooting a look at Hamlet lounging in his makeshift bookstore.
What’s next, Hamlet on MTV?

“Once the video is over,” Jake continued, “I’ll bring Hamlet out to prance around the stage for photos and take his bows. Who knows? Maybe we’ll get lucky and he’ll do a few karate punches. Then it’ll be back to cat judging.”

She paused and looked at her watch, and then reached for her drink. “Chugalug. We’ve only got a few minutes before we have to take our places.”

They made quick work of their remaining lunch, Darla pretending not to notice the growing crowd of show attendees gathering near the stage. Mildred, however, wasn’t shy about keeping count.

“Oh, look—there’s at least a hundred people already, Darla,” she said in satisfaction. Leaning in with a confidential air, she added, “Now, remember, if you get nervous when it’s your turn to talk, just picture everyone out there naked. They say that’s a perfect cure for stage fright.”

“I’ll keep it in mind,” was Darla’s wry response. The bikini protesters had already filled her quota of naked—or, at least, mostly naked—people so far that day. A whole exhibition hall of them, even imaginary, might permanently scar her eyeballs.

She headed to Hamlet’s pen, scanning first for any wayward books the wily feline might have tossed about. To her relief, all the volumes were neatly in place, so she snapped on his lead and handed it over to Jake. “Remember, keep the loop over your wrist all the time.”

“Hey, kid, I’m a pro. I’ve got it.”

“Now, Darla, go ahead and stand over there by Shelley,” Mildred said, making little shooing gestures toward the crowd. “Jake, you and Hamlet come with me. There’s a door right here that leads to a little hallway behind the back wall. I’ll show you a ramp you can walk up that will take you right to the stage behind the curtain. We want Hamlet to make a dramatic entrance, don’t we?”

Darla watched as the two women and Hamlet slipped out the side door. Then, checking the lock on the pen a final time, she went over to Shelley.

“Nervous?” the woman asked her with a smile. “No need to be, but if you get a little stage fright, just picture everyone out there naked. It works for me every time.”

“Great idea,” Darla agreed, suppressing a smile.

Giving Darla a reassuring pat on the arm, Shelley bounded up the short staircase at the side of the stage and whipped out the mike again. “Attention, everybody. We’re about to start.”

When the crowd had settled down so that only a soft undercurrent of meowing could be heard, she began. “First, I hope that everyone is having a wonderful time so far!”

When the obligatory applause died down, Shelley continued. “As you know, every year we have a guest of honor join us at the show. This year, we have a very special treat for you. Unless you’ve been living under a rock the past couple of months, you must have seen him. He’s an Internet sensation . . . Hamlet the Karate Kitty!”

This time, the applause was punctuated by laughter and whistling, and Darla found herself grinning. Hamlet really had made a name for himself. Depending on how things went at the cat show, she might have to start a fan club for him, or at least set up his very own Facebook page.

Shelley was gesturing for quiet. “Now, if you haven’t met Hamlet here at the show yet, we’ll be showing his famous video and bringing him out on stage in just a couple of minutes. But first, let’s hear from Hamlet’s owner. She’s the proprietor of Pettistone’s Fine Books in Brooklyn, New York. Please welcome Ms. Darla Pettistone.”

Naked people
, Darla reminded herself as she climbed the steps onto the stage and took the mike from Shelley. The crowd had grown to close to two hundred people . . . not a mob, but quite large enough for her usual stage fright to kick in. It didn’t help that she could see Billy Pope and Alicia Timpson standing to the front of the spectators. While apparently they had put aside their earlier argument—at least, for the sake of appearances—their presence reminded her of the recent unpleasantness marring what should have been a carefree couple of days playing celebrity.

Then she caught sight of Nattie standing to one side. The old woman gave her a big grin and a thumbs-up, and that bit of support was enough to allow her to say, “Hi, I’m Darla Pettistone. Hamlet and I are thrilled to be here in Ft. Lauderdale with you for this fabulous show. Now, let me tell you a little about Hamlet before he became—what did Shelley call him?—an Internet sensation.”

Swiftly, she related the story of Hamlet as James had first told it to her: how, as a tiny black kitten he’d shown up on the doorstep outside the bookstore and had made himself right at home when Great-Aunt Dee let him inside. And how, after he’d had a makeshift meal of milk and a bit of Dee’s tuna sandwich, he’d wandered over to the bookshelves and curled up on a fallen copy of one of Shakespeare’s tragedies, earning the name Hamlet. The story earned a few indulgent
ahh
s from the audience, so Darla mentioned some of his more memorable store antics—chasing customers, claiming the best reading chairs, even once stopping a shoplifter.

“Thank you, Darla,” Shelley said as the applause for her short speech died down. “Now, let’s take a look at the video that brought Hamlet to everyone’s attention.”

She escorted Darla to one side of the stage as the lights dimmed and then proceeded to press a few buttons on a video player Darla now noticed was hooked to the large screen television. A blast of music sounded, and Darla grinned. She recognized the opening notes to the 1980s hit song “Eye of the Tiger.” It was definitely appropriate.

The video that followed was slicker and far more produced than anything she’d yet seen online. Someone skilled at videography had taken the original upload of Darla doing karate katas at a tournament with Hamlet imitating her in the background and turned it into a comical music video. Hamlet’s image had been pulled to the forefront, with Darla now but a background character as the cat leaped and feinted to the music.