The Time for Murder Is Meow Page 5

  “With papers to prove it,” I responded with a curl of my lip. Amelia made a motion to give the photo back, but I held up my hand. “Keep it,” I said.

  Amelia Witherspoon frowned, then slid the photo into her jacket pocket. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “A collection like that no doubt would require a lot of special handling and upkeep. To be frank, we have other issues that money would be better spent on.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense,” I cried. “The publicity and the increased traffic to your museum alone would more than compensate you.”

  “Where I come from, a no is a no and that’s that. Or maybe that’s not how they do things in Hollywood.” She opened the voluminous tote bag she carried and dropped the photo inside. “You’re a stubborn girl, just like your aunt.”

  “Yes, I am. Look, all I’m asking for is a chance to talk to the board—convince you all that you’re making a mistake.”

  Amelia clutched the black jacket she wore tightly around her body. “The board has already voted.”

  “Yes, but surely another meeting could be called, another vote taken.”

  “It could,” she said slowly. “But it’s a moot point. The vote won’t change.”

  “How can you know that for sure?” When Amelia said nothing, I added, “It would be unfair of you to deny me an opportunity because of some grudge you harbor against my aunt.”

  Amelia’s jaw dropped and her eyes widened. She took a step backward. “You’re a very impertinent girl,” she snapped. “Any history your aunt and I shared had nothing to do with my decision. Who’s spreading that lie anyway? Watson? Or Mazie Madison?”

  “I told you I don’t know anyone named Watson. And I didn’t hear it from Mazie,” I answered.

  Amelia waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. “It doesn’t matter, anyway. I’ve fed the gossip mill in Fox Hollow for years and I expect that will continue till the day I die. The matter’s closed. There’s nothing you can say to me that will change my mind. The decision’s been made. Period. End of story.”

  She turned on her heel and started to walk away but I cried out, “I-I’ll file a formal protest. It wasn’t a fair vote, not when you somehow bullied other board members into siding with you.”

  Amelia stopped dead in her tracks. Slowly, very slowly, she turned around. Her mouth was slashed into a thin red line, and her eyes glittered with barely repressed fury. I instinctively took a step backward, positive she intended to strike me.

  But she didn’t. Instead she leaned over until her lips were scant inches from my ear and hissed, “If I were you, I’d stick to your plan to reopen the pet shop and keep out of things that don’t concern you.”

  Despite the sudden chill that swept over me, I managed to maintain my composure. I looked her right in the eye and said, “But this does concern me. Perhaps I can convince one of those other members you’re wrong. It only takes one more vote to tip the scales in my favor, right?”

  She stared at me long and hard. “You think you can do that? Be my guest,” she snapped, and then with one last withering glance at me, she turned on her heel and lumbered up the sidewalk.

  “You’ll see,” I shouted after her retreating form. Like all the Washburn women, I needed to have the last word. “You’re the one who’ll be sorry, Amelia. Very sorry.”

  I turned to retrace my steps to Sweet Perks and caught a flash of green out of the corner of my eye. I turned my head just in time to see the cute guy from the park, Josh, staring at me from the doorway of a shop called Secondhand Sue’s.

  Judging from the expression on his face, he’d most likely caught the tail end of my conversation with Amelia.

  And he didn’t look happy. Not at all. As a matter of fact, he looked upset, and I had to wonder why.

  Five

  Olivia was waiting for me with a fresh mocha latte when I trudged back into Sweet Perks. I pooled into the chair opposite her and leaned my chin dejectedly in my palm. “You were right. She is a beast. I had visions of her pulling a poisoned apple out of her bag and force-feeding it to me.”

  Olivia made a clicking noise with her tongue. “That bad, huh? Were you right? Was it because of your aunt?”

  “She says her relationship with my aunt doesn’t figure into it. She said it’s because every other museum will be displaying Grant items that week and they want Fox Hollow to be different.”

  Olivia let out a snort. “Well, that’s a load of bull. No one else’s display could even come close to Tillie’s. Did you believe her?”

  “Hell, no.” I grabbed the latte and took a long sip. “I think she just voted it down out of spite. I could tell I got under her skin, though, when I suggested that she’d bullied the other members into going along with her. I even said I’d file a formal complaint, but it didn’t faze her. She says the matter’s closed.”

  “Sounds about par for the course.”

  “Well, she did keep the photo I showed her of the autographed His Girl Friday poster. Maybe that means something.”

  “Yeah. It means she wants to keep a trophy of her triumph.”

  I grimaced. “She said something odd, though. She asked if I was one of Watson’s interns.”

  Olivia’s brows knit together, and then her expression cleared. “Oh, she must mean Quentin Watson. He’s the editor of the Fox Hollow Gazette. He can be persistent when he’s after a story, although why he’d be pestering Amelia is anyone’s guess. Unless he’s doing a feature on 101 Ways to Irritate People.” She chuckled as she wrapped her hands around her coffee cup. “What are you going to do now?”

  I plucked a napkin from the container on the table and started to fiddle with the edges. “There seems to be only one course of action left. I’ve got to try and convince at least one of those other board members to reopen the matter and vote against Amelia.”

  Olivia rolled her eyes. “Talk about Mission Impossible! Honey, no offense, but you’ve got about as much chance of doing that as Hugh Jackman coming to Fox Hollow to shoot a movie.”

  “Now that’s an interesting analogy.” I pushed the napkin away. “You’re probably right, but I’ve got to give it a try. I just need to sway one over from the Dark Side. Any ideas on where I should begin?”

  Olivia’s gaze was fixed at a point just beyond my left shoulder. “Yes. Ginnifer Rubin.” She gestured toward the register. “She just stopped in for a cup of coffee. That’s her standing right over there.”

  I turned and studied the lone woman waiting at the counter. Ginnifer Rubin was slight of build and walked with her shoulders slightly hunched over. Her face was tanned and lined with a web of fine wrinkles that were particularly visible around the eyes. Her short hair was red, but not a brassy red like Rita’s. Her age was hard to guess; I placed her in her mid-sixties. She wore knit pants and a red-and-black-checked shirt that seemed to be about a size too big for her. Everything about her seemed to reek of insecurity.

  I waited until she’d taken her coffee and muffin to a table near the back of the store, then I picked up my own cup and wended my way through the maze of tables over to her. She glanced up as I approached, and her eyes widened slightly as she saw me, but her expression was neutral.

  “Hello,” I said brightly. “Ginnifer Rubin?”

  She took a quick sip of her coffee and then leaned over to peer at me more closely. “I’m sorry, do I know you?”

  “No, I’m sorry. I’m new in town. Please allow me to introduce myself. I’m Crishell McMillan.” I looked pointedly at the empty chair. “I was wondering if I might have a few moments of your time?”

  Ginnifer looked as if she really wanted to refuse but couldn’t think of a good enough reason. At last she gave a curt nod and gestured toward the chair. “Please, by all means. Sit down.”

  I slid into the seat, wrapped my hands around my now cold coffee cup. I figured some warming up was in order. After all, I just couldn’t jump right in to plead my case. “I believe you might have been acquainted with my aunt, Matild
a Washburn?”

  Her eyes widened slightly. “Tillie was your aunt?” At my nod she continued, “We weren’t particularly good friends, but she was a charming woman and a tireless champion of causes. She’ll be missed.” Almost as an afterthought she added, “And I’m sorry for your loss.” She lifted the muffin to her lips, took a bite, then picked up her napkin and swiped delicately at her lips. “Tillie often spoke of her successful actress niece. I take it that’s you?”

  “I was very fortunate. I was discovered doing the lead in a play in college that I wasn’t even supposed to be in. I was the understudy, and the girl who had the lead took ill on opening night. A talent scout happened to be in the audience and the rest, as they say, is history.”

  “Yes, I used to watch All My Tomorrows. I was sad when it was canceled. And of course, I’ve seen Spy Anyone.” Ginnifer’s index finger tapped against the handle of her cup. “You’re here because it was canceled, right?”

  “Partially. My aunt left me her house and her business. Urban Tails.”

  Ginnifer clapped her hands. “Oh, the pet shop. We all wondered what was going to happen to it. It’s quite a tourist attraction. You’d be surprised at how many people want to get a little something for their pets. I’ve missed it as well.” She let out a sigh. “My Chihuahua Charlie likes those Bradley liver treats, and Urban Tails is the only store around that stocked them.”

  “I’ll definitely look into that. My aunt let everything deplete during her illness, so I’ve been busy trying to get everything back up to speed. But the store will reopen, never fear.”

  “That’s good to know.”

  I leaned forward. “I’m sure you’re also aware that my aunt was an avid collector of movie memorabilia.”

  Ginnifer smiled thinly. “Yes, I had heard she had quite an extensive collection.”

  “Which brings me to the reason I wanted to speak with you. I offered to loan my aunt’s Cary Grant poster collection to the museum, but Mazie Madison told me the board voted it down.” I looked her straight in the eye. “Would you mind telling me why?”

  She shifted a bit uncomfortably in her chair. “Nothing against you personally, dear, but . . . ah, we just felt that we didn’t want to jump on the bandwagon and do what everyone else would be doing that week. We want to be . . . different.”

  “I see. And in what way do you want the museum to be different?”

  She hesitated and then said, “Well, we haven’t figured that part out quite yet.”

  “I see.” I let out a breath. “And is this desire to be different a consensus, Ms. Rubin, or just one person’s opinion?”

  Her eyes darkened. “Just what are you implying, Ms. McMillan?”

  “I’m not implying anything. But Mazie Madison informed me the vote against my proposal was four to three, so obviously, some members of the board feel otherwise.”

  “I can’t speak for everyone else. I can only tell you how I feel.”

  I decided to take a gamble and looked Ginnifer straight in the eye. “Do you know anything about a feud between Ms. Witherspoon and my aunt?”

  Ginnifer looked away and studied the checked tablecloth as if the pattern had suddenly become the most interesting thing in the room. “Nothing other than they had a falling out over something years ago, and neither one had much use for the other after that. Why do you ask?”

  I leaned forward and said in a conspiratorial tone, “Because I think Amelia Witherspoon is still holding a grudge. I think the reason she voted against displaying the collection has nothing to do with your museum being unique, but is just a continuation of an old feud, and I for one think it’s grossly unfair.”

  Ginnifer looked decidedly uncomfortable now. “Amelia is intensely committed to certain things, and the museum is one of them. She’s only doing what she feels is right. Unfortunately, doing the right thing isn’t always easy.”

  She was silent for several seconds, her face a study in mixed emotion, almost as if she were waging a silent battle. Finally she said, “I’ll mention what you told me to the other board members. But I can’t promise anything.”

  “Oh, thank you.” I reached over and impulsively grabbed her hand. “That’s all I ask. And thank you for your time.”

  I scraped my chair back and with a curt nod, made my way back to where Olivia was sitting. I slid back into my chair and said, “Well, she was a bit reluctant at first, but she said she’d speak to them.” I tapped my chin with the edge of my nail. “She said Amelia didn’t influence her, but I’m not so sure. She certainly seems to be afraid of her. It wouldn’t surprise me in the least if Amelia does have some sort of dirt on those three and holds it over their heads to get what she wants.”

  Olivia chuckled. “You’re not in LA anymore, sweetie. Fox Hollow’s a small town. Everyone has skeletons in the closet.”

  “Yes, and it seems Amelia knows which ones to rattle.”

  Olivia glanced at her watch and stood up. “Goodness, look at the time. I’ve got to get to the studio and get ready for class.” She leaned over and squeezed my arm. “Listen, if you want to talk to Lawrence Peabody and Andy McHardy, I’d suggest the Captain’s Club. It’s an upscale pub on North Street. They usually head over there around four for a midafternoon brew and the special of the day.” She gave my outfit a once-over. “I’d dress it up a bit, though. Show some cleavage.”

  “Why, Olivia,” I said and laughed. “Are you telling me those two are dirty old men?”

  “I’m not telling you anything.” She closed one eye in a broad wink. “Trust me, strutting your stuff can’t hurt. Especially if you’re looking to pry information out of them they might not be willing to share.”

  Six

  “So, what do you think, kids? The black or the red?”

  After Olivia had gone back to the studio, I’d ordered another skim mocha latte to go and brought it back to the house with me, then devoted the rest of the afternoon to unpacking my boxes and setting my new house to rights. I stopped at three, took another shower, dried my hair, and arranged it in soft curls around my face. I added blush, eyeliner, and lip gloss, and now all that was left was my wardrobe choice.

  Purrday was sprawled full-length across my cream comforter, blinking his good eye sleepily. I gave a mental note of thanks for deciding on a neutral color, since my new roomie tended to shed, as evidenced by all the long white hairs now deposited on the furniture. Kahlua was across the room, perched on top of the highboy. She watched, head cocked, as I held the two dresses up before the full-length mirror. The red had a scoop neckline and a princess skirt that came to just below my knees. The black was a form-fitting sheath, with a low neckline and cap sleeves. I’d worn both to premieres in Hollywood before, and they’d both received flattering reviews from the Fashion Police. Now that was about as high a praise in Hollywood as a dress can get.

  Purrday stretched out his paw, and he seemed to be pointing toward the black one. I held it up and Kahlua inclined her head and let out a sharp yowl as only a Siamese can. I nodded and slipped it off the hanger. “That’s what I thought, too,” I said. “It might be a little much for a late-afternoon drink in Fox Hollow, but Olivia did say to show some cleavage.”

  I glanced over at Purrday. His eye was closed. When I looked over at the highboy, Kahlua had done a disappearing act. No matter. She wasn’t that up on fashion anyway.

  I slipped the dress on over my head, gave my hair a quick brush, slid into high-heeled black pumps, and then surveyed myself in the mirror.

  “Not bad if I do say so myself. What do you think, Purrday? Purrday?”

  I heard a low buzzing noise coming from the direction of the comforter. Purrday had rolled over on his back and lay there, all four paws in the air. He was snoring.

  “Sorry to bore you, pal. If you’re awake when I get back, I’ll fill you in.” I snatched up my purse and cell, which immediately started to buzz. I glanced at the name on the incoming call.

  Gary Presser. Uh-oh. Max must have told him I’d t
urned down the series. No doubt he was going to try and talk me into it. I sighed. While I was fond of Gary, there was no way in hell I was taking this call now. I stuffed the phone in my purse. I’d have to deal with him at some point, but right now later was better than sooner.

  • • •

  I took the convertible downtown in deference to my heels. It was a lovely afternoon, with a clear cloudless sky and a soft, gentle breeze. I tied a scarf around my hair and drove the short distance with the top down, taking in the country ambiance of my new home. I drove past Urban Tails and for a moment I was tempted to forget about confrontation, pull over, and go inside the store. That temptation lasted only a moment. If I were to make any kind of a life for myself here in Fox Hollow, I had to get this other matter resolved. I wasn’t going to be able to form friendships or drum up customers if I had an ongoing feud from the get-go.

  I found North Street without much trouble and there was a parking spot right on the corner, lucky me! Luckier still, it was right in front of the pub. The building stood on the corner’s edge and was totally black, save for the battered stone front flanking heavy oaken doors with lights on either side. A wooden plaque right above the doors read in large block letters Captain’s Club, and the name was repeated in gold raised lettering on the large picture window that took up almost all of the building’s right side. I stepped inside and stood for a moment on the threshold, letting my eyes adjust to the dim lighting.

  A young girl wearing a trim black skirt and white blouse appeared almost instantly, a menu in her hand. The brass name tag pinned to her blouse said her name was Mollie. “Hello, there,” she said. “Table for one?”

  I glanced around at the tables. There was a guy in a beat-up jacket seated at one, busy devouring what looked to be a corned beef sandwich, a frosty mug of beer pushed off to one side. A middle-aged woman sat alone at a table near the sign marked Restroom, and she seemed to be more interested in what was on her tablet than the salad in front of her. No one was seated at the bar.