The Fashion Hound Murders (8 page)

“Daddy’s cat looks just like Harry,” Amelia said. “See how Harry’s stripes turn into sort of circles on his sides? He has a white chest and white fur around his mouth. He’s the reincarnation of Cookie.”

“He’s very pretty,” Josie said. She didn’t have the heart to say that nearly every brown tabby looked like Nate’s cat. I’m sort of a human tabby, Josie thought. I’m cute, brown-haired, but nothing special.

Harry approached them, sniffing loudly. Amelia sat perfectly still and didn’t try to touch the cat. Harry sniffed her shoes, then checked out Josie’s shoes. He tentatively batted Josie’s key chain with one brown paw, then stalked and attacked her purse, tangling himself in the long strap. Josie carefully unwound the cat from her purse.

Amelia giggled.

Harry pounced on Amelia’s shoestring.

“He’s so cute,” Amelia said. “Can we get him, Mom?”

“As long as he’s declawed,” Josie said. “Let’s ask the counselor about that.”

“Only the front claws are removed,” the adoption counselor said. “Cats need their back claws to defend themselves. You could get a good scratching post rather than de claw him. Many people think declawing is cruel.”

“So is attacking my couch,” Josie said. “I won’t be home all day to guard it. Declawing is better than no adoption.”

“Let me call our veterinarian staff.” The counselor punched in a number, then reported back. “Your cat can be scheduled for the procedure at seven tomorrow morning. Harry can stay here tonight.”

“But what if someone adopts him?” Amelia said.

“They won’t. We’ll put your name on his temporary collar. You can pick him up tomorrow after his surgery. We’ll give you a call when he’s ready.”

“Can’t we take him home now?” Amelia asked.

“You could, but you’d introduce him to a strange house for one night, then bring him back here again early in the morning. That’s very stressful. We’ll prepare him for surgery and make sure he has no food or water after midnight. These are familiar surroundings for Harry right now.”

Josie paid the adoption fee and collected her paperwork and discounts for cat food and medical care. “That was quick,” she said. “We were out in an hour.”

“What if Harry dies during surgery?” Amelia asked as they hurried down the broad sidewalk to their car. It was growing darker and colder.

“The Humane Society has good vets. Harry is young and healthy. He won’t die.”

“But Daddy died in the hospital,” Amelia said.

“Your daddy was very sick,” Josie said.

Your daddy was a drunk and he was murdered, she thought. But Josie was still worried. My daughter has had too many losses. What will I do if that cat dies? People die during minor surgery all the time. They die from simple tonsillectomies. You never know—

A yellow fur ball came hurtling across the brown winter grass and collided with Amelia, knocking her to the ground. A golden-haired puppy trailing a red leash sat on Amelia, licking her face. A small dog wearing a blue sweater bounced up and yapped by her foot.

“Chloe!” a despairing male voice said.

“Bruiser!” an angry woman cried.

Bruiser? My child was attacked by Bruiser? Josie thought. Let me at him.

It took a few minutes to sort out the fur and people. Bruiser turned out to be a scrawny brown Chihuahua. Chloe was the fat yellow lab mix who’d knocked Amelia to the ground. Her owner grabbed the red leash, then said to Amelia, “Are you okay, honey? Are you hurt?” He looked worried.

“I’m fine,” Amelia said, brushing off her jacket. She scratched the pup’s ears. Chloe did a full-body wag and gave Amelia another slurp.

“That’s a relief,” the man said. “I’m sorry. Chloe is still learning her manners. My name is Jerry.”

Jerry looked rather like a puppy himself, with soft brown eyes, unruly blond hair, and big feet. He offered a huge paw and pulled Amelia up off the ground.

Behind Jerry, a pale young woman in a long dark dress and navy wool coat clutched Bruiser. Her drab brown hair was tied back and her face was grim. Josie thought she looked like a member of a religious cult. “I’m terribly sorry,” she said in a soft voice. “Bruiser is small, but strong. Are you okay, little girl?”

Amelia’s mouth tightened. She thought she was too old be a “little girl.”

“My name is Nedra.” Bruiser’s owner stuck out her hand.

“I’m fine, really,” Amelia said, ignoring the handshake.

“Are you here with Jerry?” Josie asked Nedra.

“No, I live nearby. I was walking Bruiser when he saw the yellow pup and went running up to play. Bruiser is adopted from this shelter. I like Chihuahuas, but I was afraid I’d get a puppy mill pet if I bought one at a pet store. A pound puppy is the only way to end the cruelty.” Nedra kissed her little dog on its round dome.

“People who run puppy mills should get the death penalty for what they do to innocent doggies, shouldn’t they, Bruiser?” Nedra smooched the dog again. “I’m trying to leash train Bruiser, but he still makes some mistakes.”

Amelia gave Bruiser an ear scratch while Chloe begged for more attention. She tried to pet both dogs at once, but her arms weren’t long enough.

Nedra? Where had Josie heard that name before? “Did you know Edna, a saleswoman at Pets 4 Luv?” Josie asked.

“She’s the woman who was murdered last night,” Nedra said. “I saw that terrible video on the news this morning.”

“I talked with her yesterday,” Josie said. “Edna thought you were one of the good guys. She said you were investigating her store for puppy mill dogs.”

“I belong to People Are Animals, Too,” Nedra said.

“I’ve never heard of that organization,” Josie said.

“They’re headquartered in New Mexico,” Nedra said. “Near Santa Fe. If you ever vacation in that area, you should stop in at PAT. They do good work. PAT is more forceful than most pro-animal agencies. They haven’t compromised their ideals.”

Josie wondered if those ideals—and some clumsy investigation on Nedra’s part—had made Dave suspicious and led to Edna’s death.

“We just got a cat,” Amelia said. “He’s at the vet’s here, getting fixed.”

Josie was relieved that Amelia didn’t go into details. She suspected Nedra would disapprove of declawing.

Nedra handed Josie a couple of business cards and said, “If you need a veterinarian again, let me recommend this one. He loves animals. His office is near Maplewood. He works weekends and he’ll even come to your house. I’d better get Bruiser home. He’s shivering from the cold, aren’t you, sweetie?”

She left, kissing and cuddling Bruiser.

“May I buy you a hot chocolate or a cupcake?” Jerry asked.

“No, thanks,” Amelia said. “But I make a good brownie, if you want to come to our house.”

“Amelia!” Josie said, her cheeks flame red. “Sorry. My daughter, like your puppy, can be a little overly friendly.” She shot Amelia a glare.

“I understand. You shouldn’t invite strange men to your house, even if they do have cute dogs,” Jerry said. “How about if you have coffee with me someplace away from your home?”

Josie studied Jerry. He wasn’t ripped or cut like Stan. Josie couldn’t bounce quarters off his abs. The man was no hunk. But he was cute. A tabby like me, Josie thought. Maybe it’s time to see someone who isn’t obsessed with carbs.

“Thanks, but I’ve had too much coffee today,” Josie said. “I’m wired. Do you live near Maplewood?”

“Better. I live in Maplewood,” he said. “It’s a cool place.”

“I do, too,” Josie said. “Maybe we could walk your pup to Airedale Antics and get her a treat. Do you know that shop?”

“Sure do. It’s on Manchester between Sutton and Marshall. They have two Airedales—Sassybear and Harrybear. The dogs greet everyone with wagging tails. Chloe thinks they’re her buddies. We’ll meet you there tomorrow night about six o’clock. Bring Amelia.”

“I will,” Josie said. “On a leash.”

Chapter 8

“I can’t believe you asked that man to our house, Amelia Marcus.” Josie’s voice was rapidly rising to a shout. “You are grounded. Grounded! Give me your cell phone.”

“But Mom,” Amelia said, “what if something goes wrong and I need it?”

“There wouldn’t be any emergencies if you didn’t do stupid things, Amelia.”

“I was only thinking of you,” Amelia said.

“Me!”

“Well, I thought Stan was a hottie and you started dating him. That made Grandma happy, but he turned out to be really boring. I tried to give Stan a brownie last night and he said he didn’t eat bad carbs.”

“Now you know how it feels to have your cooking insulted,” Josie said.

“But I’m a good cook!” Amelia said.

“And I’m not?” Josie knew the answer. She took deep breaths to calm herself. Amelia said nothing.

“Look, Amelia, Stan turned into a fitness fanatic. And he is dull. But he does help us and he’s still a nice man.” A nice dull man, she thought.

“Jerry seems to be nice, too,” Amelia said. “He’s not ripped or anything, but I thought he’d be more fun. Stan is nutso-crazy about exercise.”

“I can take care of my own love life, thank you,” Josie said, her voice crisp as new lettuce. “I don’t need a man. Millions of women survive without them. Jerry seems nice, but we don’t know anything about him. He could be a serial killer using a puppy to lure his victims. We could all wake up dead one morning.”

Josie realized she was sounding a bit crazy herself.

“Well, you’re the one who agreed to meet him at Airedale Antics, Mom,” Amelia said.

“In a public place on a busy street,” Josie said. “With people around. I didn’t invite him to our house. He doesn’t know where we live. Do you see the difference?”

“Mrs. Mueller, dead ahead,” Amelia said, sounding relieved. “She’s in our front yard and she looks like trouble.”

Mrs. Mueller always looked like trouble. Her arms were crossed and her face was grim. Her iron gray hair was sprayed into place and didn’t dare move, even in the brisk winter wind. Mrs. Mueller’s gray coat could have been swiped from a Soviet prison matron. She was frowning at Josie’s old couch sagging by the curb. It looked depressingly frayed, even in the dim streetlight.

“Go on inside,” Josie said. “I’ll handle her.”

She parked the car in front of her flat. Amelia ran for the front door. Josie wanted to join her daughter, but she climbed out of the car and locked it. “Hi, Mrs. Mueller.” Josie forced herself to sound casual.

“What is this couch doing in your front yard?” Mrs. Mueller asked in a voice like thunder.

Several wrong answers popped into Josie’s head including, “The backstroke” and “Whatever it wants.”

“It’s waiting for the city’s bulk-item pickup,” Josie said.

“Couldn’t you give it to Goodwill?” Mrs. Mueller said.

“I wouldn’t inflict that on the poor,” Josie said. “Maplewood has free bulk-item pickup. It will be disposed of properly.”

“Not for a week! Remove that object immediately,” Mrs. Mueller said, pointing at the couch.

“I can get Stan and Howie to carry the couch onto my front porch,” Josie said. “But I can’t guarantee they’ll move it after that. It could just stay there permanently. It would be cheaper than porch furniture and more comfortable. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get our house ready for the new cat.” Josie sidled past Mrs. Mueller.

“Cat!” shrieked Mrs. M.

She knew it was wrong, but Josie couldn’t resist. Mrs. Mueller made Josie feel fifteen years younger, which turned her age back to sixteen, when Josie seemed to spend most of her young life in trouble. Her nosy neighbor spied on Josie and reported any infractions to her mother, Jane. Josie was kissing a boy at ten o’clock at night in his car. Josie was smoking cigarettes by the Dumpster. Josie was riding on a motorcycle with Joe, who dropped her off a block away from her home.

Josie’s mother revered the old bat. Mrs. Mueller was the church power broker, controlling the choice committees.

Amelia held open the front door for her mother. “She went ballistic when you mentioned the cat.”

“That means you’ll have to be doubly careful,” Josie said. “If that cat ever gets out, Mrs. Mueller will have animal control here before his paws hit the yard.”

“Can we get our home ready for Harry?” Amelia said.

“We’re supposed to keep the new cat in a small room until he feels secure.”

“How about my bathroom?” Amelia said. “I’ll shut the door when I go to school.”

“Good,” Josie said. “That way, if Harry has an accident, it will be easy for you to clean up.”

Amelia wrinkled her nose.

Josie brought a soft, fluffy throw rug for the new cat to sleep on next to the bathroom radiator. She added the litter box but no litter. “We’re supposed to use shredded newspaper until his paws heal.”

“Who’s going to chop up the newspaper?” Amelia asked.

“Guess,” Josie said, and handed her the scissors.

“I can’t wait until tomorrow when I see Harry.” Amelia dutifully cut up copies of the
St. Louis City Gazette.

When she finished, Josie handed her a bag. Amelia pulled out something that looked like a long-handled feather duster. “Am I supposed to dust the cat?” Amelia asked.

“That’s a cat toy,” Josie said. “The saleswoman swears cats love it. The little mice are fake fur, not real. That’s a bag of yarn balls. Cats supposedly go crazy batting them around.”

“Will the cat play with me when he has all these toys?” Amelia asked.

“He’ll have to do something while you’re at school,” Josie said.

“You didn’t buy them from that place, did you?”

“They’re from a competitor.”

“Good,” Amelia said. “I don’t think we should support them.”

“Me, either,” Josie said.

“I’d like to go to bed early,” Amelia said.

“You would? Are you sick?”

“No, it will make tomorrow come faster.”

The next morning, she was up without Josie having to wake her. She fixed herself breakfast and was ready to leave for school on time. All the way to Barrington, Amelia talked about Harry. Josie waved good-bye to Amelia and went back home feeling happier than she had since Nate’s death. One small cat was making a big difference—if he survived the surgery.

When the phone rang at ten a.m., Josie nearly tripped over a kitchen chair running to answer it. The call came from the wrong Harry. Her boss wanted her to mystery-shop three small pet boutiques.