The Time for Murder Is Meow Read online

  The part about Tillie’s house being huge was true. At one point I’d even toyed with the idea of turning it into a bed-and-breakfast, but getting rid of all the collectibles my aunt had scattered around the mansion in order to do that would have been an insurmountable task. I chewed at my bottom lip. “Kahlua, we really have no choice. Purrday was Aunt Tillie’s baby, just like you are mine.”

  Kahlua shot me a look that plainly said, Well, I don’t have to like it now, do I? She lay down, head on paws, her eyes fixed on the Persian.

  Purrday, for his part, seemed unfazed by the Siamese’s reaction to him. He rose, stretched, and inched toward her, sniffing. When he got within a few inches, Kahlua raised her paw and smacked him straight across the nose. Purrday looked dazed for a minute, then turned, tail swishing, and hopped back up on the counter.

  “See that,” Rita cried triumphantly. “They’ll get along just fine.”

  I shot both cats a dubious look. “We’ll see,” I said at last. “I guess I owe it to Aunt Tillie to try, anyway.”

  “See, that’s the spirit.” Olivia nodded approvingly. “Trust me, the three of you will be fast friends in no time.”

  Kahlua removed herself to a far corner of the store and Purrday lifted his head and let out a soft meow. “He might be hungry,” ventured Rita. “We’ve been keeping food and water for him in the back. Come, I’ll show you.”

  I followed Rita into the back storage area. I put the overhead light on, and it was then I noticed the cutout in the back door. A cat door, no doubt. Rita saw me eyeing it and grinned. “Your aunt did that so Purrday could wander out. He likes to sun himself on the back stoop and watch the birds in that old elm tree.”

  I nodded. It seemed as if Purrday was pretty much at home in the store. Worst-case scenario, I could always leave him here. If my aunt’s ghost didn’t haunt me.

  Rita dug out a bag of dry cat food and filled the white ceramic bowl, then pulled out a jug of water and topped off the blue bowl that sat beside it. A minute later Purrday’s contented crunching was all we heard. We left the cat to chow down and returned to the main showroom.

  “So have you decided what you’re going to do with all of your aunt’s collections?” Olivia asked. “Tillie had enough collectibles to fill a dozen museums. Surely you’re not planning on keeping all of them.”

  “Truthfully? I haven’t decided yet. I’ll need to go through them, but it will take a while. Take her doll collection, for instance. I imagine there are quite a few very valuable ones that an avid collector would love to have. I just hate the thought of splitting everything up.”

  “True, especially when you think of all the time and energy that went into collecting them,” agreed Rita. “Does she still have that room on the third floor with all her movie memorabilia?”

  “Oh, yes.” I nodded. “I was in there the other day. That one life-sized cutout of Cary Grant looked so real I started talking to it.”

  “Oh, I know the one. I think it’s from His Girl Friday,” squealed Rita. “Your aunt had a lot of memorabilia from that movie alone.”

  “It was her favorite. She always said she could identify with the Rosalind Russell character,” I agreed. “She’s got lobby cards from that movie signed by Grant. Those are—were—the pride and joy of her collection.”

  “The Ridgefield Playhouse is having a Cary Grant retrospective in a few weeks,” Ron put in. “If I’m not mistaken, His Girl Friday is the centerpiece movie.”

  “I know,” I said. “As a matter of fact, I’m supposed to meet with a representative from the Fox Hollow Museum about putting Aunt Tillie’s collection on display there to coincide with that event. Mazie Madison assured me—goodness, is something wrong?”

  The moment I’d mentioned Mazie Madison’s name, the smiles had disappeared from all three faces, replaced by furrowed brows. Olivia cleared her throat. “What makes you think something’s wrong?”

  “The three of you look like you all just bit into sour lemons,” I answered. “Is there something about this Mazie Madison I should know?”

  They all exchanged a quick glance, and then Rita said, “Why, nothing, dear. Mazie is a lovely woman.”

  “Yes,” Olivia added pointedly, “she can be.”

  There was another few moments of uncomfortable silence, during which the three of them exchanged covert glances. I spread my hands across the countertop and leaned forward. “I’m pretty good at reading people, and right now I can tell you all are keeping something from me, so I’ll ask again: Is there something about Mazie Madison I should know?”

  “Oh, no,” Ron and Rita both chorused. “She’s a dear,” Rita added. “Very easygoing.”

  “Too easygoing,” sniffed Olivia. “Those vultures take advantage of her. She’s like a coiled spring. You mark my words, one day she’ll unwind.”

  I looked from one to the other. “What vultures are you talking about?”

  Rita let out a long-drawn-out sigh. “The museum board,” she said. “They have the final say on all the big decisions.”

  I nodded. “Yes, she did mention having to speak with the board in the message she left me. She didn’t indicate it would be a problem.”

  “Really?” Rita shrugged. “Well, then let us know when to bring over the champagne to celebrate.”

  They all headed for the door and I followed. “Thank you all for coming, and for the lovely basket,” I said. “I’ll let you all know once I decide on a definite date for the reopening.”

  “Good!” Rita clapped her hands. “I’ll be glad to supply the treats and coffee, free of charge.”

  “And I’ll be glad to donate a floral arrangement,” Ron said with a wink. “I can’t be outdone by Rita, here.”

  “I can get my girls to give a little show, if you want,” Olivia offered.

  “That would be wonderful. Maybe something from Singin’ in the Rain? That movie had such wonderful numbers.”

  Olivia grimaced. “With my troupe, Flashdance or Footloose are probably more logical choices. Anyway, don’t hesitate if you need any help with anything. Dissecting your new neighbors, or town gossip.” She winked and took my hand. I felt something small and hard press into my palm.

  Olivia hurried after the others, and I closed—and this time made sure to lock—the door. I looked at what Olivia had pressed into my palm: a pink and gray business card with tap shoes in one corner, ballet slippers in the other. Niven School of Dance, 86 Banta Place, Fox Hollow 555-8675. On the reverse was another phone number in pen, which I assumed was Olivia’s cell. I slid it into the pocket of my jeans, and as I did so, Purrday leapt up on the counter and stretched his kingly body out, watching me.

  “So, Purrday,” I said, “I have the feeling they were holding something back from me. What do you think?”

  Purrday blinked his good eye twice, then rolled over on his side. From the far corner I heard a loud yowl. I walked over and found Kahlua curled up in a tight ball behind a box of litter mats. I picked up the Siamese and cuddled her to my chest.

  “You know that you are my baby,” I whispered. “But Purrday here has suffered a loss. He’s lost Aunt Tillie, the same as I have. Let’s cut him a break, shall we?”

  Kahlua looked at me, then over at Purrday. Her lips peeled back in a sharp hiss and she wriggled free of my grasp, dropped to the floor, and scurried underneath the counter.

  I sighed. So much for cat camaraderie. This wasn’t going to be easy. Then again, what in life was? I whipped out my cell, tapped it against my chin. “Maybe I should give Mazie Madison a call?”

  Purrday lifted his head and gave a sharp meow. From beneath the far counter, I heard another faint meow. I laughed. “Okay then. But first, let’s go home. If I’m ever to reopen this store, I need to get my stuff unpacked.”

  Purrday let out a rumble of assent and hopped down from the counter. Kahlua crawled out from her hiding place and minced over to where I stood hunched behind the register. She planted herself right at my feet and glared at the other
cat. I shook my head and rummaged through the drawers for a piece of paper. I found one and a black magic marker. I wrote out a sign, Reopening Soon, tacked it on the front door, and then drove my convertible back the short distance to Aunt Tillie’s house, my house now. I expected a bit more of a struggle from my feline companions, but to my surprise Kahlua curled up in the passenger seat and dozed and Purrday did likewise, stretched full-length across the backseat. Once we went inside, Kahlua headed straight for her food bowl in the kitchen while Purrday immediately started sniffing all the boxes that lined the hallway and parlor.

  “I know, I know, it’s a mess. But trust me, it won’t take long to put everything to rights. After all, my stuff only got here four days ago.”

  Purrday gave me a look that said he clearly didn’t believe me. I, however, knew better. After taking one look around Aunt Tillie’s house, I’d decided against moving my furniture. It had been secondhand anyway, and my aunt’s antique sets were in far superior shape.

  Purrday rubbed against my ankles. I figured he might be thirsty, so I went into the kitchen and took a small bowl out of one of the cupboards, filled it with water, and after a moment’s hesitation set it down on the opposite side of the kitchen from where Kahlua’s bowl resided. If Purrday had bowls already set up in the house, I’d yet to see them. I left the cats happily slurping, shrugged out of my light jacket, and headed up to the room I’d already branded as my office. My aunt had used it for a second-floor den, and it was cozy, with its floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, a large picture window, and another built-in fireplace. An antique bureau desk was right in front of the picture window, and one of the movers had been kind enough to set up my computer on it. I hurried over, started it up, and found the contact info for Mazie Madison. I dialed the number, but it went straight into voicemail. I left a message and then, figuring I’d done just about all I could do, decided that unpacking more boxes would take my mind off things.

  For the next two hours I busied myself unpacking the few belongings I’d brought with me from LA. The first item to be unpacked was a large twelve-by-fourteen framed poster depicting myself and Gary Presser, standing back to back holding guns. The caption above us read Who Says Spying is a Lonely Profession? Right below our figures in bright red letters was the show’s title, Spy Anyone. And underneath that our names, followed by Tuesdays, WPIX, 8:00. I looked at it, then turned it facedown and slid it underneath the couch. I’d figure out where to hang it later—if I hung it at all. That part of my life was over and done with.

  The last box held my own book collection. I didn’t have many books, but I loved them, most of them having been birthday gifts from my aunt through the years. I set the entire original Nancy Drew hardback series proudly on the top shelf. My first editions of And Then There Were None and Murder on the Orient Express went on the second, along with leather-bound editions of Gone with the Wind and Little Women. I had a few Ian Fleming novels, most sent to me by fans (obviously because I played a spy on TV, they thought I was a fan of the genre). The complete set of Perry Mason novels followed, along with a complete set of J. D. Robb novels. I’d just slid the most recent one into place when the doorbell rang. I hurried down the stairs, pausing for a moment to shoot Purrday a look as he lounged full-length across the bottom stair step.

  “We’re certainly busy today,” I murmured. “What do you think? More people with welcome baskets? More people wanting to know how I could have the audacity to ditch Hollywood for Fox Hollow? Or curious as to why an ex-actress wants to run a pet shop?”

  He folded his paws, rested his head on them, and closed his eye.

  I chuckled. “You’re right, Purrday. It’s none of their business, and I shall tell them that. Tactfully, of course.”

  I flung open the door, startling the woman who stood on my stoop, hand poised over the doorbell. She wore a simple tailored shirtdress, the lines of which accentuated her trim figure. The dress’s color matched her eyes, a vivid shade of blue that practically screamed tinted contacts. Her hair was cut short and framed her heart-shaped face in gentle waves, although I suspected its soft, ash-blonde color was courtesy of Lady Clairol. I put her age at somewhere in the mid-fifties, but she could have been either older or younger. “Crishell McMillan?” Her voice was soft, well-modulated. “I’m Mazie Madison.”

  “Ms. Madison, how nice. Did you get my message?”

  She looked puzzled. “You left me a message? I’m sorry, I’ve been having problems with my phone.”

  “It’s all right. You’re here now.” I swung the door wide. “Won’t you please come in?”

  She hesitated, then gave her head a brisk shake. “No. I’ll just say what I came to say. The board voted on displaying your aunt’s collection of Cary Grant posters last night.”

  “Last night?” I frowned. “I thought you said it wouldn’t be voted on until their regular meeting next week?”

  Mazie twisted her hands nervously in front of her. “They called a special meeting to discuss it. The vote was three to four.”

  “Oh. Well, I was planning on giving you some photographs of the collection to show the board, but since they’ve already voted in favor, I guess that won’t be necessary,” I said.

  Mazie Madison let out a deep breath. “I’m sorry, dear, I should have been more clear. The vote was three to four against. We won’t be displaying your aunt’s collection. I’m sorry.”

  Three

  “I don’t understand,” I said. I pushed a stray curl out of my eyes with the heel of my hand. “When we spoke last week, you seemed very positive about everything. What changed?”

  “That’s hard to say.” Mazie shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “The majority just didn’t feel the exhibit would be beneficial to the museum.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” I sputtered. “My aunt has one of the best and most extensive Cary Grant poster collections around! Besides being the perfect complement to the retrospective, I’m sure it would attract lots of people to your museum.” I cocked my head at her. “You did mention that it was Matilda Washburn’s collection, right? And that several of the posters were actually signed by Cary Grant?”

  Mazie’s eyes darted nervously around. “I really can’t stay,” she murmured. “I just felt that you deserved to hear the news in person, from me, rather than a phone call or a letter.” She gripped my hand, squeezed it hard. “Please, dear. If it makes you feel any better, I’m as disappointed as you are. I was looking forward to working with you and displaying your aunt’s collection. And now I really must go.” She turned and started to walk down the steps.

  “Perhaps I should speak with the board members,” I called after her.

  Mazie whirled around, her blue eyes so big and wide I thought they might bug out of her head. Her hand shot to her throat. “Oh, no, dear. That would end up doing more harm than good. Trust me, it’s best for you to leave this alone and move on. Perhaps you can find another venue to display the collection, or better yet, a buyer for it. Besides, I’m sure you must be busy, what with getting your aunt’s pet store ready to reopen and all.”

  She clattered down the rest of the steps as quickly as she dared in her high heels and walked swiftly down the block. I watched her for a few moments, then shut the door and walked slowly into the parlor, sank into the high-backed Queen Anne chair in front of the fireplace. Purrday waddled over and leapt into my lap, purr going full throttle. He butted the tip of my chin with his head, turned around twice, then wiggled himself into a comfortable position across my thighs, his head on his paws.

  “Do you believe that?” I whispered into the cat’s soft fur. “Why on earth wouldn’t they want to display Aunt Tillie’s collection?”

  Purrday burrowed his head into the crook of my elbow and I leaned back in the chair. Mazie had never answered me when I’d asked if she’d told the board it had been Matilda Washburn’s collection. Could the fact that it was have something to do with their rejection? And if so, why?

  “Don’t tell me Au
nt Matilda’s the reason I got rejected,” I cried, digging my fingers into Purrday’s ruff. I must have dug a little harder than I intended, because he raised his head and looked at me.

  “Merow.”

  I patted his head. “Sorry, boy. You probably think I’m overreacting, but that collection is amazing. Aunt Tillie practically dedicated her life to it. For all the good works she did for this town, I just feel that the least they can do for her is have her memory be recognized and remembered through this display. Over-the-top or not, it’s important to me.”

  Purrday looked at me for a moment, then butted his head against my hand. I smiled. “I knew you’d understand. So . . . Mazie said the vote went against displaying the collection four to three. I’ve got to find out who those four people are, and why they voted against it.”

  Purrday let out a loud yowl. He jumped off my lap and padded over to the far corner of the room, arranged himself comfortably against the wall, and started licking his chest. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the card Olivia had given me with her private cell number on the back.

  She answered on the first ring. “Taking me up on my offer so soon?” she asked.

  “Yes, as a matter of fact, I am. I just had a visit from Mazie Madison. What can you tell me about the museum board members?”

  Olivia laughed. “How much time do you have?”

  I glanced around the room at the boxes in their various stages of disarray. “I can make as much time as you need.”

  “Sure, I’ll tell you what I know. I don’t have another dance class till four thirty. How about a coffee? Can you meet me at Rita’s shop in twenty minutes?”

  I looked down at my grubby sweat suit. After unpacking for two hours, I needed a shower.

  “Make it forty,” I said, and hung up.

  • • •

  I took a refreshing shower and changed into a clean navy sweatshirt and matching yoga pants. I swept my blonde curls back into a loose-hanging ponytail and after a short debate, added a swipe of blusher across my high cheekbones and a light pink gloss on my lips. I’d been trained to always look my best no matter where I went, whether it was to a black-tie premiere or just a run to the supermarket. One never knew when the paparazzi would pop up, cameras in hand. And while I was certain none of them had tracked me to Fox Hollow yet, I didn’t want to take a chance and run around the streets of the town looking like I’d been digging ditches (which I hadn’t) or unpacking boxes (which I had). With my luck, someone from a rag like Insider Tidbits was probably lurking in the town square, waiting to snap a candid photo and run it on the cover with the caption: Look who we caught in her new home trying to fit in with the natives, sans makeup: Shell Marlowe! That wouldn’t help my new business.